Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Grumbling Gargoyle and Mother Gargoyle's Big Bite Out!.....**BLOG POST**

Went for a bite to eat with MG ....( Mother Gargoyle )...recently, where, over a hot, festively frothy coffee, she reflected upon her childhood, eighty plus years ago, and the delightful simplicity of play, in a time when paved streets were the canvas upon which your imagination painted its own landscape of fun.

Engrossed by her tales of yesteryear, of her growing up in a gas lit, terraced street of the 30's, I gradually became conscious of a warm glow filtering through the chilled atmosphere of winters trappings to rest upon my heart, as I delighted in watching MG's face brighten with her happy reflections.

That's when MG casually chucked into the conversation how her and some of her friends would knock upon a neighbours door and ask if they could view the dead!..." Ah those were the days"...

I thought I'd misheard her, and I told her so....

"Oh no" she answered with a warm smile " It's what you did back then, we always did it!"

"Hold on mum, you 'always' did it? What do you mean? Did you just knock on random doors and hope there'd be a dead body inside or was it part of a tenancy agreement that you kept one? Was this a weekly occurrence...you know...like, was there a specific day set to one side for it...like wash day or shopping day...did you have 'visit the dead at home day'?"

She did that thing with her eyelids, you know, that thing you do when you half droop them like a narrowed shutter to minimise the amount of stupid your eyes are witnessing!

And then after a swallow of coffee she continued...

"It was the custom, back then, that when someone died in our street we'd go round to the house and ask to see the body" she paused here, for another little slurp, before finishing with...."and then we'd kiss it"

Instantly I regretted just having taken a huge gulp of my own coffee, as my flabergasted state caused me to spray most of it over myself and everyone within a 1 metre radius of our table...

" Oh for God's sake mother!! Kiss it!!! Why the hell would you do that???" I asked incredulously

With an exasperated 'tut' she went on...

" Because that's just how it was!...anyway, I stopped doing it when old Mrs Green from over the road died, because seeing her gave me nightmares...it was a struggle to kiss her, I can tell you!"

My face went through a series of expressions worthy of gymnastic merit, each displaying varying levels of repulsion, before asking..."Why, what was it about Mrs Green, in particularly, that scared you?"

Sitting back in the chair in the eatery, after a lengthy sigh and with a little bit of a shudder, MG sat forward, somewhat conspiratorially, to share with me in quieted whispers...

" She was a small grey haired woman, tiny and withered....her eyes were wide open and staring. Her mouth was open too but they'd stuffed cloth into it...REALLY stuffed it in!...She had a surprised look on her face and hollowed cheeks!" reclining back into her chair she shivered with the memory and drifted into a contemplative swig of her coffee.

My mind was flitting from...the possibility that given Mrs Greens post-mortem state...( bulging staring eyes...rag stuffed into gob )... maybe natural causes wasn't much of a truism to have etched onto the Death Certificate...to a series of business cards, that would have come in handy at the time, advertising the services of the most industrious partnership called 'Kiss A Corpse Inc'...and the slogan?.....'You Snuff It. ~~ We Snog It'........Hm...I think there's room for a revival here!....

Anyway, just as I was mentally sifting through the possibilities for merchandising this, cups, T Shirts...Lip Balm!....our food arrived...

I'd ordered a Chicken Caesar Salad, which, by the look of it, had been designed to represent the death of Julius Caesar himself! The lettuce lay across the plate in a theatrical state of withered collapse, like a disassembled laurel leaf crown, bearing the scars of a frenzied knife attack!

This being apparent by the profusion of brown, wounded leaves which were evident. The 'brown', as I'm sure you know, occurring due to the oxidisation process caused by the reaction of metal upon the lettuce....( impressive eh?...*smug grin* )...

As for the rest of the ingredients, as sparse as they were!...well, the chef must have flung them onto the plate via catapult whilst to-ing and fro-ing, at some speed, from his lofted position on his mood swing!!!...They were just measly, scattered offerings of chicken that wouldn't have provided sufficient nourishment to feed the actual chicken in the first place!...had that bizarre situation ever occurred.

MG had ordered fish and chips which, unfortunately, had also succumbed to the effects of the chef's psychotic break!
To be fair his mindset, despite its meltdown, remained loyal to a theme, and on this occasion he had seen fit to cook my mothers fish as a tribute to the victims of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, AD 79.

Indeed, looking at the fish, which lay preserved, in an impossibly curled position upon the plate, it was obvious that it had been subjected to the same pulse of thermal energy that the poor residents of Pompeii and Herculaneum had suffered on that fateful day! All that was missing from this pseudo-biblical tableau, was a layer of ash from the chefs fag!

Well, whilst the culinary trip through the dark annals of history had been an engaging affair, our grumbling stomachs demanded to be fed and so, after voicing our complaint, the previous disaster was replaced with fare of such equally disastrous content, as to convince me that the chef had finally managed to attain a level of psychosis never before known to man nor lobotomist!

The chicken, and whatever other unidentifiable scraps which accompanied it, were even more meagerly distributed than before, and whilst the lettuce was more fresh this time,  psycho-chef had used enough of it as a filler on the plate as to feed the entire cast of Watership Down for several sequels!!

This time, MG 's fish  had taken on a mummified appearance, dry and tightly bound in breaded wrappings, applied haphazardly in such a style as to suggest the chef was wearing boxing gloves!

It was at this point myself and MG, our appetites now depleted, decided to admit defeat and so, after acquiring a well deserved refund, we made our escape from the restaurant with a backdrop of clanging pots and pans as an accompaniment.

Lunch hadn't quite been what we'd expected and we wondered what we could do to bring some cheer into the rest of our day...

"How about a nice walk around the cemetery?" suggested a smiling MG

"Mother, I can't think of anything more perfect" said I.............and with decision made, off we went, with a jolly step, to canter with the cadavers....

                                 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 6 December 2014

The Cup of Sanity...

Drink not

From the cup

Of sanity

Lest its poison

Corrupts your mind

And withers your soul

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Friday, 5 December 2014

Monday Melancholia...

My hair is the colour

Of misery

I am dressed

In the garb

Of pain

My soul is a 

Cowering shadow

And all 'cos it's

Monday again!

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

( The Goddess of Depression by Alexandra Koukinova )

Tuesday, 2 December 2014

No Salads For Sonya...

No salads for Sonya

You can stick 'em up your arse

Just pass the cream buns

And daily dose of forty fags

No gym whims for Sonya

Sod that rubbish, why should she

Let the ties of exercise 

Prise her from the settee!

No lemonade for Sonya

She likes her vodka neat

In vast amounts, who's keeping count!

She's no mind to be discreet 

No lectures for Sonya

She doesn't need your spiel 

Of conscience nudging, lifestyle judging

Crap to spoil her meal!

No energy for Sonya

She's not feeling too good

Even fries and a couple of pies

Aren't pleasing her as they should

No visitors for Sonya

The nurse says that won't do

Her any good, not that it could

Whilst she's wired up in ICU

No tears for Sonya

Just shaking heads and talking

Of had she listened, her present position

Wouldn't be her in a coffin!

 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Monday, 1 December 2014

Madly Morphing...

She walks the walk

Of the uninspired

Doesn't have a job

'Cos she's far too tired

To be bothered

She spends all day

Staring at her phone

Updating her status

She's a Facebook clone

Like all the others

She's gradually forgetting

How to speak

'Cos her world's all texts

And rhetorical tweets

She's madly morphing

Into a creature

Who doesn't have a tongue

Just a transfixed eye

And opposable thumbs

For techno talking

All too late

She'll realise

Mind and body

Can't be fed online

She does not panic

'Cos by now she's numb

She's just a drone

No needing of feelings

And you can't download a soul

She is your future

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Sunday, 30 November 2014


I lie down

But am not defeated

I crawl

But am not beaten

I kneel

But am not weakened

I stand

Yet know not freedom

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 29 November 2014

Ding-Dong-Soddin'-Merrily.....an' all that!!...

Just to explain...my most recent vent, which you are about to suffer, was written following my having been cruelly subjected to a certain 'Festively Heartwarming' video recently....I'm still trying to un-clench my fists!!...

Well it's that time of year again whereby it's generally accepted that if you stuff a random, dodgy looking, white-bearded fat guy into an equally dodgy looking red suit and ram a supposedly 'tear-jerking' script down his throat, amidst a backdrop of snow capped bullshit, in a  musty old shed with some suitably maudlin merry-mind-f**k music attempting to subliminally manipulate your emotions....

...he will regurgitate a heart rending story of such condescending bollocks as to have you racing to your computers to order industrial sized quantities of tissues inbetween clicking on 'virtual' orphans to pity during the festive season.........but not beyond it!... 

Obviously, that elevated feeling of...'Good Will To All Men'...an' all that shite, will dissipate the moment the video is over, allowing you to cancel your tissue order and replace it with whatever garbage the Yuletide advertising industry is insisting you can't live without this Christmas...as they themselves "HO-HO-HO" all the way to the Bank of Ding Dong Merrily & Kerching!!...


What am I going on about?...

I'll show you if you can strain yourself to be a little more patient...*points above to 'Good Will' etc...sighs*....

Right...before you read further, it is ESSENTIAL that you take a look at the video below...this should help you understand the rant which follows...

Okaaaaaaaay...let's put this into perspective!..

Where the kid could have offered to fill the universe with love and kisses for her 'daddy'...( albeit as a verbal gesture...I'm not expecting miracles, we'll leave those to the Catholics ).....she selfishly chose to use ALL the paper and VAST amounts of 'Scotch Tape' to pointlessly prove her affections via what is, essentially, a box full of spit, lies and deceptions...( 3 hours blowing wind into a cardboard void?...I don't effin' think so )... AND at the cost of the partial demise of yet ANOTHER rain forest!!...*arches brow*...

The real meaning behind the conversation......

Daddy : "You haven't saved any of the paper for me have you Katy"

Katy: " No Daddy...'cos F**k you Daddy"

But that seems to be acceptable to 'Santa' who also used the Scotch Tape to mock the Titanic tragedy with a morbidly-obese HO-HO-HO!.............How seasonably sensitive of him!...

What lessons have we learned from this festive message?...

Well, one is...that nothing puffs Santa's cheeks up with cheer as much as the misery and heartache which follows a good ol' human catastrophe...

In fact there's many a Christmas scene depicting a red faced jovial Santa in the forefront as the very iceberg which sank the Titanic drifts chirpily along behind him!

But mostly, the lesson learned is that the kid is a spoiled brat who, despite her father's requests to be frugal with the paper AND the reminder that it was 3 days before Christmas so present opening wasn't on the agenda, stamped her feet 'till she got what she wanted! Well more fool daddy....God help him during the teenage years!

And where's mummy through all of this? Rehab I suspect...driven to drink by her dysfunctional family and the bearded psycho-weirdo who is obviously stalking them!...This could explain why a four year old would be 'toddling' into the room to speak to her dad rather than walking with a gait more usual for a four year old!.....'cos she was off her face on the booze her alcoholic mother had failed to successfully hide!... 

ANYWAY......don't let my little rant on the moronic bullshit we're drip fed at this time of year, PARTICULARLY this time of year,  tilt YOUR  world....If this is how you enjoy a Merry Little Christmas....then feel free to do as Santa says and....

"Be The Santa In You"..........yeah....then see how YOUR family react when you give them a great big box full of f**k all on Christmas day........

Merry Christmas ....:)

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012