(Entrance to The Church of St Guillotine, Patron Saint of The Headless, Provins, France)
It’s been humid and very hot in these parts this week. In my studio, I’ve been boiling alive. Even so, I’ve not been out much. Just working.
Whatever, yesterday my dear mother calls out saying she needs to borrow my car so she can take some garden waste down to the local dump. I give her the keys. Not a problem.
Today, I need to buy some stuff in town. I get to my parking space and notice, as per usual this time of year, around the wing-mirrors of my car there are spiders webs. That’s a bit of a nuisance, because while I generally prefer things from the animal kingdom over humans, I’m not good with spiders. I wouldn’t harm them, but they do freak me out. I always ignore the wing-mirror spiders the best I can.
I open the driver’s door and settle in. What I had overlooked – not even thought about if the truth be told – was that the bags of mum’s garden waste contained an insect type accidental ethnic cleansing. Inside my car, on both the front and back seats, roof, the dashboard, everywhere and – an important bit, this is – also on me, at least 40, maybe 50 spiders of all shapes and sizes. I screamed like a girl, of course. Logically, I should have had my GoPro fixed to my forehead and videoed the whole thing; put it up on my YouTube channel and watch it go viral. But I didn’t do that.
It’s at times like these a handy barge pole would be useful. All I could find was an old dry mop. I used it to chase the spiders away best I could. Still in a state of worry, on the edge of panic I drive off.
Because it’s as hot as the Amazonian Rain Forest inside the car, I’ve got the windows down. The traffic lights turn red. I stop. It is then I notice one of the wing-mirror spiders (an orange one, I was later to name Adolf) is trying to make a break for it into the relative safety of my car. I purse my lips and blow as hard as I can in the hope the spider will get the message and turnabout face. With my lips all pursed up like that, a girl crossing the road thinks I’m blowing her a kiss. She frowns and looks offended. My immediate thought that my day is going horribly wrong. The lights change and I’m off without being able to plead my innocence. I make a note to myself to thank mother dear later – not.
It’s happened again. The North Korea missile thing. Madness. Every time that madness begins again I think of my song Erasing the 38th written a while back when I first became fully aware the world could end in a flash simply because some lunatic hasn’t thought things through. I’ve posted this song before, yet it’s time for a reprise.
By the way, here’s link to my new album, ‘DREAM RESCUER’. It costs not much, and is available worldwide. If you fancy buying it and feel able to post a review on Bandcamp, I’d appreciate it.
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