Don't you hate it?

- When you have your arms full and a mosquito is sucking blood from your ear lobe and you can do nothing about it.

- When it the dark you put on your pyjama top back to front and it feels like it does not fit properly, and when you take it off and put it on again it is still wrong.

- When you are going up stairs and you step up a stair that is not there.

- When your hands are full of shopping and your car keys are in your pocket.

- When there are lots of doors to open to get to where you want to go

- When a door has three handles or locks on it and it needs two people to open it and you are there by yourself.

- When the bottom is about to fall out of the paper shopping bag

- When radishes go to seed and you have not eaten any of them.

- When the bus driver moves away from the bus stop, and no matter how hard you bang on the door he will not open it up and let you in.

- When you are a second late for a train and it pulls away from the platform

- When the car runs out of petrol and there is not a garage in sight, and when you try to call for help on the phone the battery goes dead.

- When directory of inquiries can find a phone number for you when you know it exists. When they don't even recognise your own name.

- When you have done the shopping only to discover you have left your wallet in the car.

- When you can't find your car in the airport parking lot.

- When sombody wags their finger at you, beeps their horn, and flashes their lights, and you have no idea why they are doing it or if it is really directed at you.

- When nails keep bending over when you try to hammer them in.

- When nails refuse to come out of wood no matter how hard you pull.

- When you crack your head on the door lintel because the door is too small

- When in the pitch black with arms outstreached you inch your way to where you think the open door is, only to have both arms go on opposite sides of the door, with the end result that you crack your head on the edge of the door.

- When the chain comes off you bike when you are going uphill and changing gears.

- When you are positive that you right and it turns out that you are wrong.

- When you say something to a group of people and realise nobody is listening.

- When your soup is too salty.

- When the bit of cheese you ave been saving for later has turned mouldy.

- When you realise the things that you don't want to happen are going to happen anyway.

Crescent fresh dude

Crescent fresh dude
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

When I came to Finland the first bike I had was an old rusty brown bike that belonged to Maija's father. It had no gears and big wheels, and once you cranked it up you could give any bike with gears a run for its money. It was an old army bike. The chrome was striped from the handle bars and the drab brown color gave the appearance that the whole bike was rusted. It was a bike nobody would want to steal because it looked too distinctive and horrible. Ahh but the gearing on it was wonderful, and the chain and cogs were oiled to perfection.

I used to buy bikes for my kids from the police lost property auctions and over the years I must have bought 20 bikes or more. Sometimes I would buy a bike only to have it stolen the next day. When you go to an auction you have to check the bikes to make sure you are getting a good one. Lift the front forks up and spin the wheel to see if it is running true, and that the brakes are not rubbing. Repeat the procedure with the back wheel, check the tyres from pressure, check the pedals for loose cotter-pins, test the brakes, change the gears to see if they work, and see that the steering is true, and then note down the number so you know which bike to bid for when it comes up.

I overheard a couple of winos at the auction discussing which type of bike to buy. One was saying he would never been seen dead on a woman's bike (dead on a bike would have been a feat in itself) but the other wino insisted that it was too dangerous to ride a man's bike in traffic. With a womans bike it is so much easier to dismount since you just "step through" to get off, whereas with a man's bike you have to lift your leg over the saddle to get on or get off and with the way car drivers are in Helsinki, they would have your leg off as soon as look at you. I think he had a point.

So how did I get my Crescent ( a Swedish bike) All self respecting Finns would only buy Tunturi or Helkima and begrudingly buy a Crescent as a last resort. They somehow have an aversion for all things Swedish. Must come from the times of Swedish rule.

So the story went like this. I noticed a Nopsa in a skip, a woman's bike with a torpedo three speed. I ran the usual test and thought it was worth salvaging. It did not have any valves so I did not know the condition of the inner tubes. Bought 2 valves at 50 cents a piece and the back tyre was OK but the front tube had a puncture. Bought a new inner tube from Anttila for 3.90 euro and The bike was reay to roll. A usable bike for 4.40 euros, not a bad deal. I used it to go down to the allotments and on the way I noticed this matte black batmobile of a bike on sale. Everyone seems to want to trade up. As soon as the bikes have shock absorbers on the front forks and disk brakes on the front wheel the old model has to be traded in and a new bike bought. I gave the Crescent a run, wheels were true, brakes worked, and the twist grip gears were slick and clicked into place with precision.

I traded in the bike I had got from the dumpster and got the Crescent. I don't mind running a Swedish bike in Finland. I am pleased with the deal.

Blossoms and Words

Yes it is June and only now are the blossoms coming out on the trees. For the past month the temperature has hovered around 15 C and it has rained alot. At the allotment the ground is still brown and bare. In the UK I suppose people are already harvesting things from the ground. The only thing that I have showing is "trp". I squatted down and picked a few leaves and ate them. They were peppery.

With growing things there is a time and a season for everything. Arafat the Palestinian has not even started putting things into the ground. He says it is too cold and too wet. I think if I don't get things into the ground then they won't have enough time to grow. The summer is so short. Three months and it is gone.

The blossoms are beautiful. Now is the time and a season for them. Plants perhaps know when to do things, unlike us humans who are famous for doing things at the wrong time. I sometimes wish words were flowers or blossoms, coming into bloom at the right time, and that sentences would be something of beauty. Something to be admired and appreciated. But I speak thistles and all manner of weeds that choke. Weedy words that spring from my mouth at the wrong time and season.

Words are so important and they should be used as a blessing. Dew dripping from a rose, words should have a fragrance that delights our souls. I have not heard enough good words in my life, and I have not spoken enough of them either.

Minature pleasure garden

In the winter the snow plough whacked the side of the shed and ripped off some panels. The bits of wood lay on the ground for weeks, and each time I passed I thought i could make something of that. I asked if I could have the wood and I carried them on to our balcony with the idea to build something. A box for flowers or something.

The planks then lay there for months and months and I never did anything. They were moved from corner to corner on the balcony and nothing ever happened to them. They were an eyesore.

During the time they lay there I visualised various constructions, tiered quarter pyrimids, steped terraces, all requiring mathematical calculations, exact measurements and infinate skill to bring them into existance. Everything should be worked out in my head and drawn on paper before any attempt could be made in making the mother of all flower boxes. I never got passed the thinking stage, and the planks remained stacked on the balcony.

You see there are only certain boxes that can be built with the amount of planks that I had. The thicker wood for the braces would only be enough for a box of a certain size and shape, so one day in Spring after a period of 9 months, just like a pregnancy. I gave birth to a box with two sections. A deep section for a rose and lavender, and a shallow section for a small desert and an oasis with rocks and birds.

How many people try to build a castle with 25 planks of wood? Efforts to do things are limited by resources and imagination. The box is not the best in the world and it would not win any prizes in box beauty competitions, but for now it is a miniture pleasure garden.

Boys in the barrow

Salem an Hassinen take a rest from carrying horse manure to their allotment. It seems that all the Kurdish boys work, and work very hard, digging the ground and improving it. I have loaned my tools to Salem and Behzad since they seem to like the action of the Finnish mattock.

There is definately a different work ethic with the Kurds. They are always busy. It is also strange that children on their own, are more than willing to work. I can not imagine Finnish children or British children spending all of their free time down the allotments. The disco calls. The weekend rave and dancing is all the exercise they get.

Maija made some rhubarb cake and we took it down there and gave some to Salem and Behzad. Salem wolfed it down but Behzad was a bit more cautions, whereas when Rasheed was offer some he took a bite then exclaimed it was tosi hyvä, and with every bite after that said it was tosi hyvä. I left a couple of bits for Ulla and Janne and they said they would have it with their afternoon coffee.

All of my allotment is now planted up mostly with potatoes and onions. Around two of the edges I have planted linen seeds cos they give nice blue flowers and along the third edge I have more "tirp" which I got from Rasheed, which no doubt was payment for the tosi hyvä rhubarb pie. I have two types of beetroot planted, and now that it is in I discover that beetroot does not like too much nitrogen and fresh manure, so that might not go so well. I tried once again Kohlrabi the red variety and panted half a bed of radishes. On the balcony there is gherkins and beans waiting to sprout and once they are up I will transplant them into their alloted space.

I water mornings and evenings and I am eagerly waiting for the first seeds to show their heads.

Gulam and his seeds

Gulam is from Afghanistan. He gardens in a nice shirt and stay-pressed tousers. He is unemployed like most of the people who work at the allotments. If he had money he would buy a plastic tunnel to bring on his seeds, but instead he builds his own cold frame with wood from the building site and a bit of plastic.

In it he has marrows, cucumbers, and different salads that he has grown from seed brought from Afghanistan. He has given me seeds wraped in little paper cones. He says it is "tirp" I have sown it and he promises that in a week the plants will have germinated and I should have a bed of green that is cut and come again. Sounds interesting. Some of the salads he has have got interesting tastes. One looks like clover but tastes like peas.



He is also of the opinion that cheap vegetables you buy from the supermarket and expensive ones you grow for yourself. He waxed lyrical about the number of varieties of grape that grew in his village, and told stories of some miraculous drink that once you drank it no matter how stuffed you were feeling it instantly made you feel hungry again. He told of seven men roasting and eating a whole sheep. He laughed at the memory of it. Something that belonged to home. Something that could never happen in Finland. There was a longing for the fire and the open air and the smell of roast lamb. He sucked the air in through his teeth and nodded his head, and there was a sadness in his eyes for times gone by.

Ulla and Janne at the allotments

The weather has warmed up, and there is alot of activity down at the allotments. The Chinese and the Cambodians are the most active, and the Kurds and Afghans a close second. The Finns and myself are late starters. I talked to a Finn who once had once owned a plot near to mine and I was complaining that the ground was so wet and heavy it was difficult to turn. Heavy clay which when it gets baked in the sun turns to concrete. He said he gave it up just becasue of those reason. The plots where I am gets lots of runoff water from the slope above the allotments.

I borrowed a rotovator from Veski and I have broken up the ground as best I could, and then I have turned in loads of horse manure to lightern up the ground. Over the weekend I put in Timo potatoes and onions. Nobody grows potatoes except me and the Finns. Why is this? Well a Kurddish boy says you can get potatoes for 50 cents a kilo so it is not worth to grow potatoes. This opinions was reinforced by Gulam from Afghanistan who only grew things that were expensive in the shops, or things that would not be eaten by hares or rabbits.

I loaned the rotavator to Salem and Behzad, and in turn they dumped manure on my ground. Behzad also gave me some rhubarb cos he did not like it... too sour... I think he must have been eating it raw, and never thought about putting it a pie. Salem also sowed some "tartur" for me. It is a Kurddish salad which they sow and cut when it reaches 15cm, and then it grows again. It reminds me of some sort of cress, and Salem says it should be up is 3-4 days.

Now that I have got the ground into a reasonable condition Ulla and Janne tell me that the local council have plans to use the allotment area to build a library and a culture centre. So this may be the last year. Typical!!! you bust your gut getting the ground into condition only to discover that you won't reap any benifits next year. I walked around and looked at all the black current bushes, raspberries, rhubarb, strawberries, apple trees, and all the other perenials. If the development goes ahead then everything will be ripped up.

This is really ironic that the allotments are mostly worked by displaced peoples. People who have lost their homes and their land. The Kurd who works the plot next to mine once had 50 cows and a farm in Iraq. Now he has a plot of hard clay 10x10 meters and that will be taken away from him. No wonder people get the impression that they are continually being oppressed.

But that is the price of culture.

Reading by candle light

Red rose when plucked, my soaring heart did thrill,
Dried rose by candlelight, excites me still.
Locked heart yields not, the secrets of the soul,
By candle light, all secrets can unfold.
Skin feels the touch of frost, the chill of snow,
Bathed warm by candle light, healed by its glow.
Shadows fade, age no longer haunts the night,
Youth again returns in that wonderous light.
The flame, does dance, outside the air is cold,
wax melts, to hide the candlestick of gold.

Theology can wait until the last line of the poem

The ballad of Judas Iscariot by Robert Buchanan (1841-1901)

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Lay in the Field of Blood;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Beside the body stood.

Black was the earth by night,
And black was the sky;
Black, black were the broken clouds,
Tho' the red Moon went by.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Strangled and dead lay there;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Look'd on it in despair.

The breath of the World came and went
Like a sick man's in rest;
Drop by drop on the World's eyes
The dews fell cool and blest.

Then the soul of Judas Iscariot
Did make a gentle moan --
'I will bury underneath the ground
My flesh and blood and bone.

'I will bury deep beneath the soil,
Lest mortals look thereon,
And when the wolf and raven come
The body will be gone!

'The stones of the field are sharp as steel,
And hard and cold, God wot;
And I must bear my body hence
Until I find a spot!'

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,
So grim, and gaunt, and gray,
Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.

And as he bare it from the field
Its touch was cold as ice,
And the ivory teeth within the jaw
Rattled aloud, like dice.

As the soul of Judas Iscariot
Carried its load with pain,
The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye,
Open'd and shut again.

Half he walk'd, and half he seemed
Lifted on the cold wind;
He did not turn, for chilly hands
Were pushing from behind.

The first place that he came unto
It was the open wold,
And underneath were prickly whins,
And a wind that blew so cold.

The next place that he came unto
It was a stagnant pool,
And when he threw the body in
It floated light as wool.

He drew the body on his back,
And it was dripping chill,
And the next place be came unto
Was a Cross upon a hill.

A Cross upon the windy hill,
And a Cross on either side,
Three skeletons that swing thereon,
Who had been crucified.

And on the middle cross-bar sat
A white Dove slumbering;
Dim it sat in the dim light,
With its head beneath its wing.

And underneath the middle Cross
A grave yawn'd wide and vast,
But the soul of Judas Iscariot
Shiver'd, and glided past.

The fourth place that he came unto
It was the Brig of Dread,
And the great torrents rushing down
Were deep, and swift, and red.

He dared not fling the body in
For fear of faces dim
And arms were waved in the wild water
To thrust it back to him.

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Turned from the Brig of Dread,
And the dreadful foam of the wild water
Had splashed the body red.

For days and nights he wandered on
Upon an open plain,
And the days went by like blinding mist,
And the nights like rushing rain.

For days and nights he wandered on,
All thro' the Wood of Woe;
And the nights went by like moaning wind,
And the days like drifting snow.

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Came with a weary face --
Alone, alone, and all alone,
Alone in a lonely place!

He wandered east, he wandered west,
And heard no human sound;
For months and years, in grief and tears,
He wandered round and round,

For months and years, in grief and tears,
He walked the silent night;
Then the soul of Judas Iscariot
Perceived a far-off light.

A far-off light across the waste,
As dim as dim might be,
That came and went like the lighthouse gleam
On a black night at sea.

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Crawl'd to the distant gleam;
And the rain came down, and the rain was blown
Against him with a scream.

For days and nights he wandered on,
Push'd on by hands behind;
And the days went by like black, black rain,
And the nights like rushing wind.

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,
Strange, and sad, and tall,
Stood all alone at dead of night
Before a lighted hall.

And the wold was white with snow,
And his foot-marks black and damp,
And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose,
Holding her yellow lamp.

And the icicles were on the eaves,
And the walls were deep with white,
And the shadows of the guests within
Pass'd on the window light.

The shadows of the wedding guests
Did strangely come and go,
And the body of Judas Iscariot
Lay stretch'd along the snow.

The body of Judas Iscariot
Lay stretched along the snow;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Ran swiftly to and fro.

To and fro, and up and down,
He ran so swiftly there,
As round and round the frozen Pole
Glideth the lean white bear.

'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,
And the lights burnt bright and clear --
'Oh, who is that,' the Bridegroom said,
'Whose weary feet I hear?'

'Twas one look'd from the lighted hall,
And answered soft and slow,
'It is a wolf runs up and down
With a black track in the snow.'

The Bridegroom in his robe of white
Sat at the table-head --
'Oh, who is that who moans without?'
The blessed Bridegroom said.

'Twas one looked from the lighted hall,
And answered fierce and low,
''Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot
Gliding to and fro.'

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Did hush itself and stand,
And saw the Bridegroom at the door
With a light in his hand.

The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And he was clad in white,
And far within the Lord's Supper
Was spread so broad and bright.

The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look'd,
And his face was bright to see --
'What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper
With thy body's sins?' said he.

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stood black, and sad, and bare --
'I have wandered many nights and days;
There is no light elsewhere.'

'Twas the wedding guests cried out within,
And their eyes were fierce and bright --
'Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot
Away into the night!'

The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And he waved hands still and slow,
And the third time that he waved his hands
The air was thick with snow.

And of every flake of falling snow,
Before it touched the ground,
There came a dove, and a thousand doves
Made sweet sound.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Floated away full fleet,
And the wings of the doves that bare it off
Were like its winding-sheet.

'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,
And beckon'd, smiling sweet;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stole in, and fell at his feet.

'The Holy Supper is spread within,
And the many candles shine,
And I have waited long for thee
Before I poured the wine!'

The supper wine is poured at last,
The lights burn bright and fair,
Iscariot washes the Bridegroom's feet,
And dries them with his hair.

Poetry evening for the ladies

It is six o'clock and it is a wonderful spring evening, the buds on the birch trees are begining to break, the birds are singing they love melodies in the trees so what do you do? Well naturally you go down to the biggest graveyard in Helsinki and walk among the graves for an hour and a half an listen to readings of poems by female Finnish poets from the past century.

Poems by nurses, librarians, painters, housemaids, ordinary women writing about life, and even though more than a century has gone the same themes bring joy, the same injustices bring anger, the same hurts and pains are still being felt. The TV cameras were there. They were making a programme for mothers day and it will be broadcast this coming sunday on a YLE programme called KULT. If you see a bald headed man in a blue top always jumping in front of the camera that was me.

Alli Nissinen who founded the "Martta" women's movement wrote of a drunken man who abused his horse, and then for one day the tables were turned and the horse was given the chance to rule his master. The horse was not merciful and he made his old drunken master pay dearly. You are left with the impression of how can such a noble horse behave so badly, then you realise that the horse was only doing to the master what had been done to him. A sort of sly way of saying "love your neighbour as yourself"

An exception was made and there was one poem by Jorma Etto (a man) was read at the grave of Helle Kannila (a librarian). It was called "The Librarian" and the reader had everyone in stiches with the reading of this poem which was a dialogue of a conversation between a rather officious librarian who was ever so willing to offer solutions to the problems of his bewildered customers. It is very fine to hear over one hundred people laugh out loud in the open air. I managed to talk to the reader of the poem and got a copy of it. Here is my translation

The librarian by Jorma Etto

What do you want to know, just ask me
I have answers to everything.
A moment please!
I'll look through my index cards.
How to live
How to read the Bible
How to achieve happiness
(even you Miss Finland)
Excuse me can you say
how to get rid of stupid worries,
how can I live joyfully,
how should I decorate my appartmentl,
what day of the week is it,
You see I just want to know
where should I go on my summer holidays.
(how is your soul today
Professor Sutinen is it a problem
how to tell about the Prophets to your children
and is Christ being confessed in Helsinki)
Good evening Mrs Kataja
raining again.
(like it always is when you come here)
You want to know how it is going with Europe
You tire yourself too much dear woman
It can't be true that your husband
doesn't know how to catch a pike
(your questions are really all the same
how to search for truth)
Wait a moment, wait a moment.
I'll look it up in my index.
Good night, see you again.
Good night now, good night
You wonderful ladies.

Banana phone

Thought I would give Big Al Davies a blow on the banana phone. He might not be able to pick up the signal cos he has got one of those new staple gun phones... hard black plastic... brittle, and if you are not careful you could staple your ear to the side of your head. Besides that the spring at the flexi-joint has a nasty habit of catching the flesh on the palm of your hand and giving it a nasty nip.

Now a banana phone on the other hand has got a certain class. You know that russians never take the labels off their Ray Bann or DG sun-glasses. They just have to let you know that they have Ray Bann or DG sunglasses, cos you wouldn't recognise them otherwise. (note to self: Investigate the possibility of printing up a few thousand Ray Bann or DG labels to attach to cheap sunglasses to be sold at an outrageous profit)

Well as I was saying I left my "fair trade" sticker on my banana phone just so folks would know I am politically conscious. I wouldn't be seen dead with a Delmonte banana phone, and those Chiquita banana phones are rubbish, made with cheap labour down in Mexico. Buy a bunch of those and you are inviting a tarantula into your ear.



You see I have been trying to get in touch with Big Al for sometime, but can't get through. Over a thousand of his photos disapeared overnight. Not a fez in sight. Mandolins and copy-cat stratocasters all gone. Punk gigs from the eighties, beer and more beer, beer mats, pub signs, collages with course fish, Laurel and Hardy, chronicle of life in a welsh vilage, punks on the wall, leather studded jackets, Dr martins bovver boots, stones and stone circles, weddings, Geoff's paintings of old blues men with spidery fingers, and pork pie hats on the back of their heads. sheep on the moors, church doors, cottages in remote cornwall, the british seaside resort. ice-cream and sunshine, sunflowers in his lapel.

You see all of this is from memory because none of this exists any more. Consider the nights that went into scanning old photos, the selection process, the steady stream of photos spotlighting the past. The work and the endevour, the obvious joy and fun, the twinkle in the eye, the allusions to old songs, the playing with words, the laughter, the fellowship, the record of a life time condensed into a few months and then deleted with the press of a key on the computer.

It is strange when people disappear. Remember Lord Lucan of course you do. Became more famous for disappearing than for living. THe singer with the Manic street preachers disappeared, and at one time Peter Green from Fleetwood Mac threw it all in to become a grave digger in Cornwall. Disappearing is not so bad if it gives you mystic. Then you have those people like Lennon who believed music should have the permenancy of newspapers. Cut the disk get it out and let posterity decided if it was good or not. And what of those famous people who burn all their love letters and corrispondence, as if to obliterate their tracks. If there is no evidence of a life lived then it might never have been lived. And then you have people like efatima and Big Al who document their lives and then in one fell swoop, erase it as if it never existed.

Oh yes I forgot about the banana phone how did that really come about. Well I discovered that Big Al and all of his photos had gone over the blue event horizon and I had a banana in my hand, and I remembered his photo where he is using a stapler as a phone, so I stuck the banana in my ear and said "If you are on the line somewhere Al pick up"

But of course he hasn't. The idea that he could is just plain bananas. I was just hoping to say let's take it from the top one more time.

A non competative Peacock

Peacock turns his back on us
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

The twin boys were looking at the peacock on the roof.
"Spread your tail feathers then." said the first boy
"Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on." said the second boy
"Mum why won't he spread his tail feathers?" said the first boy

"Because he has two females on the roof with him, and he feels he does not need to bother. He is spoilt for choice. But if you made out that there was another male peacock in the vacinity then he might get worried and make a show. Males behave stupidly when there is competition about."

"How do we make the sound of a peacock?" said the second boy
"Just make a sound like a 2x4 going through a circular saw." said the mother.
"Like this "KKreeeccccccKKKKK?" said the first boy, smiling at his brother
"Yeah that should get him worried." said the mother, proud of her son
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the second boy, immitating his brother
"Not so loud" said the mother, wondering what the passersby thought
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the first boy, his eyes popping for effect.
"People are looking" said the mother, getting agitated
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the second boy, flapping his arms like wings.
"Stop it now your drawing attention to yourselves" said the mother. trying to grab hold of them.
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the first boy, ignoring the peacock and screaming in his brothers face.
"That's enough." said the mother, swinging her shopping bag at the boys
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the second boy, nose to nose with his brother and the spit flying.
"Just wait to you get home" said the mother, aiming a drop goal kick at their backsides.
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the first boy, grabing his brother around the neck and getting him in a headlock.
"Your dad is going to hear about this" said the mother, chasing after them through the bushes.
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the second boy, tripping up his brother
"No more pocket money for you" said the mother. grabbing them both by the scruff of the neck
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK" said the first boy, flailing his arms about wildly in an attempt to escape.
"Will you stop that!!! No more sweets for a week!!!" said the mother., shouting after the boys as they sped off down the road together.
"KKreeeccccccKKKKK " said the boys in unison.

Clivia flowers again

Clivia
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

We got this plant last year at our house warming party. It bloomed for quite a while and then lay dormant over the winter, and was left to "suffer". Just left in a cool dry place, and over the winter months it did nothing.

Only in February did we begin watering again and and adding some fertiliser. A few green shoots began to sprout from the centre, and then some sort of buds that did not look promising at all.

Slowly however a stalk began to form and now we have been rewarded by a new set of glorious orange flowers.

Everything has its season.

Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain

Finlandia encore
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

Went to the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain's Concert in Espoo tonight. There are two more nights Friday 15th and Saturday 16th and if you are a fan of dry British humour then it is a treat. Tonights performance was sold out, and if you decide to go here is a tip get in the queue early are get right down the front and sit at the tables on the dance floor instead of the seats in the theatre.

I happened to sit down the front near Dave the long haired one and he selected our table to give presents to. I received a two day old copy of the Guardian, and the man who was sitting next to me go a used ferry-boat sticker, while his two children were given a used British rail ticket and a used stamp. As you can well imagine no expense is spared on this tour.

What can you expect? Well music from that great classical composer Johan Sebastian Hendrix. They also do modern composers like Stockhausen in a Johnny Cash style. Kiss by Prince gets a going over, and well as a cossack interpretation of Leaning on a lampost, the George Formby classic which now becomes Lenin on a lampost. The ying-tong song by Spike Milligan gets a good thrashing as does the Robert Johnson song "Hot tamales and their red hot". Songs by Marylin Monroe get featured twice, and there is a very moving performance of a Tom Waits tune.

The featured instrumentals include the theme from "the good the bad and the ugly," and that bit of music everybody knows from silent movies when the hero has to made haste to rescue the heroine who is tied to the railway tracks. At one point they had 5 people playing the one small ukulele at the same time, as a novelty. They also did a rendition of Finlandia, which brought the house down.

The concert lasts 2 hours. Drinks are served at a bar, as well as coffee and cakes. At the interval they sell their latest CD which they will autograph, although George did comment that he believed they would be more valuable if they remained unsigned.

Picture taking with flash was forbidden doing the performance, but nobody seemed to mind if I popped off a few shots when they were accepting applause.

Guitar solos are from the dark side

Born to be wild-Smells like teen spirit
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

You see ukuleles are the only real stringed instrument that humans should be allowed to play. Anything bigger and with more strings comes from the "dark side", that is what George said. Guitars are mutant ukuleles. Genetic abberations. And we all know what we get with guitars... guitar solos.

George warned us that the man next to Dave. His ukulele was just on the border line and that the force from the dark side might be such that we might be subjected to something like a guitar solo, and if it happened then we were under no circumstances to give him any encouragement.

Well sure enought the dark side of the force took over and the fellow with the big ukulele went into a mega thrash of the Byrds "eight miles high" and the other ukulele players were aghast and stoped playing... that is all except Dave with the long hair who was drawn in by the dark side and joined in a solo duel with the fellow with the big ukulele.

One by one the other band members left the stage in disgust, shaking their heads in dismay, and Dave and Rodney (yes that might have been his name) exchanged blistering solos reminiscent of the master of darkness his Highness Hendrix.

Then slowly they emerged from the euphoric guitar solo induced rapture to discover that the stage was abandoned save for themselves, They glanced furtively at each other, and began to squirm in their seats with embarrassment. In public they had had committed the ultimate sin aof any ukulele player and gone over the the dark side by playing guitar solos in public.

And so it proved to be an appropriate momment to have an intermission.

World turned upside down

Deathmetal rockers - dressed in pink
Politicians who sit down - and think
Catwalk models who - eat what they want
Schoolyard bullies who - refuse to taunt
Soldiers who - refuse to shoot
Burglars who - give back their loot
Multinationals that always - go bust
Lawyers that you can - really trust
Food bred for taste - not for shape
Mr. Incredible - wearing a cape
Communists with the - cross of Christ
Cats who love to - play with mice
Christians with the - crescent moon and star
A Tee-totalers office - in a downtown bar
Cooperation and willingness - from a mule
Wisdom and insight - from a fool
No more fear - from the pentagram
Muslims and Jews - eating ham
Chairman Moa hat - on a conservative head
Riches for the poor - and the hungry fed
Only laughter and no tears - from the clown
Heaven on earth - the world turned upside down.

New life (Resurrection)

Then Lemminkäinen's mother
took them into her mouth
she tested them with her tongue
tasted them to her liking:

"These are some of those ointments
the Almighty's remedies
with which God has anointed
the Lord poured on injuries."

Then she anointed the weary one
tended the ill-befallen
anointed through the gaps in bone
and through the cracks in limbs
anointed below and above
slapped the middle once.
Then she put this into words
she declared and chattered.

"Rise up out of sleep
get up out of dream
from these evil places
from the bed of hard luck!"

Kalevela (Resurrection)
Lemminkäinen's mother heals her son.

Arise with healing in his wings

Last Glimpse
Originally uploaded by KasiaS.

The pope died at Easter. The easter message has been about death, suffering, and most important of all ressurection.

So over the weekend in Rome, thousands of people were praying for the pope, and I expect most of them are feeling some dispair or sadness. So what would be the last word the pope would have for the masses of people waiting for a final message from him? It is the measure of the man that he did not focus on himself, but instead directed us towards song and rejoicing.

I picked something up on Flickr from someone who has been struggling with depression. I felt the words were full of hope, and this person by uttering them was bringing hope to himself and others. Words are like that once they are spoken or written they can become a blessing. So I am writing them down here as a blessing.

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people, and hallelujah is our song." - Pope Giovanni Paolo II (Karol Jozef Wojtyla)

The photo itself is very symbolic since in the old testament a white dove features in the story of Noah, in that it returned with the olive branch to the ark, and this has become a modern symbol of peace. While in the new testament the dove has been the symbol of God's Holy Sprit which decended like a dove when Christ was baptised in the Jordan river.

In this photo the dove seems to have another meaning, and Karol Jozef Wojtyla is watching his own spirit soar away to a better place where every tear will be wiped from our eyes and there will be no more suffering.

My kids in 1986 (smiling)

My kids in 1986 (smiling)
Originally uploaded by HyperBob.

Laughter is a good thing. Smiling is good, even a snigger is permissable. A discrete titter behind your hand is OK, but there are times in life when you need to blow coffee out your nose in an explosion of laughter.

You get giggles from tickling but that is sort of cheating. A belly laugh that comes rumbling out of the depths of you is good for your soul, but the best laughs are the ones you do in unison, with other people... lets call it orchestrated laughter. No that gives the idea that it is organised and structued in some way. The laughter that has refreshed me the most is more like free form jazz, the noises of laughter are all improvised.

These times do not happen very often but they are characterised by abandonment and helplessness. Birds in Spring sing their heart out. There is joy in the sound of their voices, the warbling and the whistling. Laughter is something like that. Non-verbal communication of happiness and hope.

These are the laughs that leave your breathless, gasping for air. What do you feel when you are swamped by your own laughter, and joy is ringing in your breast like a bell.

It is like listening to a scratchy recording from the 1930's and recognising the wonder and the beauty of it all and saying Oh Yeah!! Oh Yeah!! Oh man!!

Choirboys vs The Camel that wept

For our wedding anniversary we went to BioCity and watched a french movie called the choirboys. It was the story of a terrible boarding school, with children that were out of control. They have a fat pudgy bald teacher who gets them interested in singing, and so begins their road to salvation, as they escape from the brutality of their prison like surroundings into the freedom and beauty of music. The headmaster is a sadistic monster. The janitor is abused and worked like a slave. The gym master tries to keep everything under control by twisting ears. The music teacher is kind hearted and although he has succes in teaching the kids to sing he is fired from his job.

The singing is spine chilling and has a countess clutching a handkerchief to her bosom and looking dewy eyed at the choirboys with angelic voices. There is no happy end and no John Wayne salutes. The fat bald music teachers does not get the girl and he gets fired for all his troubles. The soprano boy in the choir does become famous and he owes it all to the fat bald music teacher.



The other movie we thought about going to see was "The camel that wept" which was made in Mongolia. I just did not see the potential for any drama coming from a movie about weeping camels. We did see the trailer and I was halfway disappointed that we had not gone to see a story about a young camel being deserted by its mother. I think I might have been put off by the thought that it might have been a Disney type "Incredible Journey" with camels talking to each other in Bronx accents, but apparently not. Camels are big in mongolia so why shouldn't they star in their own movies?

The Camel that wept review supplied by crfullmoon on flickr