Don't go breaking my heart Kiki Dee.

You know what. I kissed Kiki Dee tonight.

she said; Where have you been all my life?

Ask Tilly. She heard it.

Kiki Dee. Her hair was the colour of hair dye.

I don't think she really wanted to know where I had been for the previous ten minutes let alone all her life.

That's show business.

I wanted to say to Tilly: I know where I want you to be for the rest of my life!

But I didn't.

Ode to a departed tooth.

Tristan has been having dental problems... Ouch!

My teeth are out in sympathy.

He sent me the following which I suspect may refer to something other than a molar:

Your absence has left a void

which I have filled with pain

The exquisite agony

taunts me with your parting

Although I realise that when the pain goes

I shall remember you for what you really were

It hurts too much to miss you right now.

Girls I have teased.

Duck noodles.

How do they get the duck sauce into the pot noodles?

Hands and feet.

Last years notes.

When I am gone

first drain the blood and set aside

Burn me

Mix ashes and blood with cement

Cast bricks.

with which to build a folly.

Build it in the meadow where we were happy.

According to last years notes.

I can die now.

I've seen this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bU1LB4StySo

The Island experiment, Sandy Lamb and the World Cup.

To the Tabernacle last night for the'Island Experiment'; an evening of live music, which, considering it clashed with some football event or other was the place to be. A very upbeat happy occasion.

http://www.theislandexperiment.com/The_Island_Experiment/Home.htm

l

Among the acts was Sandy Lamb.

She is great!

Portobello Rocks

The effect of air-freight on poetry.

Sorry about the sound quality... I need a techie type to help on that.

Tilly, coffee and a hit spot.

Coffee with Tilly this morning at 'Coffee plant' on Portobello Road, by far the best coffeeshop in the area. (Three coffee's in a sentence, not good but Tilly has that effect on me). My cappuccino hit the spot.

I complained to her that Tristan's work was suffering as a result of her interference in his musings.

'For heavens sake Tilly'. I said. 'He's writing bloody romantic poetry when he should be doing his dark stuff.'

Tilly smiled beautifully, said nothing, sipped her espresso while I combed my besotted brain for words to rhyme with gorgeous.

'Shall I pop home and get my husbands thesaurus?' She asked.

That hit the spot too.

http://www.yelp.co.uk/biz/coffee-plant-london

Oscar Hazell.

I may not understand everything he is doing but I will defend to the death his right to confuse me.

http://oscarhazell.blogspot.com/

http://oscarhazell.tumblr.com

A poem written in a silk shirt that you hated.

Her life was a discoball constructed from shards of shattered bliss

Lies

the blunt but self sharpening things

you bring into the bubble of bliss.

The knife you hold to your wrist

should I threaten to leave.

The new man you prefer to the last man

Who all forget to leave a forwarding address when they go

to

meet clandestinely in the pub

To discuss

the blunt but self sharpening things

You leave lying around

Amid shards of bliss.

Oh. And bullshit.