Stop 1
Sometimes I get the bus back from London, rather than the train. It takes longer, but its cheaper and warmer and more sleep inducing.
So, last night the bus is delayed. again. but the depot is cold so we're allowed to sit in the bus while the driver finishes up her game of canasta and her woodbine.
In front of me are two terribly terribly ladies, reminiscing
Lady1 "We didn't have apartheid as such in Botswana but, even so, there were hardly any Blacks at the golf club"
Lady2"Oh. I used to play golf with them. The Blacks. Some of them were quite charming people."
Lady1" At our club, the men had their private lounge, the Blacks had the salon, and the women were left out on the veranda with the mosquitoes."
Stop 2
My good friend, recently acquainted with the interweb as Her Imperial Maj, texted me during Stop 1 above, to tell me she was abandoning her fruitless search through the telly channels of nothingness, and sitting down with her guitar for some good old fashioned, finger blistering music learning.
I said maybe i'd scribble her a song to practice with.
Here it is. (I hope that in cold light of blog it doesn’t wish it was back being a quick half lit half ass scribble in my jotter
The Two of Us
(from the back of the special bus)
I wrote you a song
You’ve looked out for my heart so long
that I
Hardly can recall
Where it was that it went before
When I
Needed space to roam
My thinking found a home from home
Even
If we’re both at sea
You make it back to port for me
So I
Wrote you a song
It’s sentimental
It won’t take long
Cos I’ve
leaned on you
So much of late
it’s true
and I
need you to
help me
relate life to
the world inside my head
Or I’d be lost
I wrote you a song
You’ve looked out for my heart so long
that I
Hardly can recall
Where it was that it went before
And I
Wanted you to know
Each little thing
makes a great big whole
Lot of
Meaning much to me
You defy my gravity
So I
Wrote you a song
It’s sentimental
It won’t take long
Cos I’ve
leaned on you
So much of late
it’s true
and I
need you to
help me
relate life to
the world inside my head
Or I’d be lost
[And this
Depots not too bright
And I’m writing late at night
And
Straining rhymes oh lord
Just to get you to practice your chords
So keep
Strumming just for me
I’ll toast the crumpets and make the tea]
(i hear it with cheesey guns n rose-ish guitars, but Maj says its countryfied)
Stop 3 (at which you must disembark and change vehicle)
On a local bus this morning. As I'm buying ticket, offsping bounds off, as usual, to find someone interesting to sit next to. She finds a roundish older lady with long, neat hair and immaculate lipstick in a red coat.
Offspring"Hello, I’m 3"
Lady "Hello dear"
O"Are you somebody's grandma"
L"yes I am dear
O”I’ve got a new dress, it’s pink”
L”yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it, dear. What’s your name?”
O, quick as a flash, as if that entire preamble had been engineered to this moment:
“Lauren Twinkle Flower Fairy”
Really – I have no idea where this stuff comes from.
posted by dodo @ 11:29 pm
4 Comments:
Let your little one know that I am sorry but...I'm sooooo stealin' that "Twinkle Fower Fairy" bit! I LOVE it!
Twinkle Flower Fairy? I love it.
btw, I SO ALWAYS do what you describe doing when my husband is out of town. Ok, that was a mouthful. But I do those things. All of them. But I may skip the bath tonight as Vancouver's water is currently brown.
Lauren Twinkle Flower Fairy. Love it.
why do fabulous childer never sit by me on the bus? why do i get the legs spread MAN seat encroachers with their dry coughs and dull dull reading material.
yep. it's me. i'm that person reading your book over your shoulder with the head phones on.
I'm still loving my song, btw
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