A Woman Bending Over.

I could sit here quite straight-faced and pretend that i think that the finest sights on Earth are to be found amongst mountains, oceans, lakes or forests but you would only raise a knowing eyebrow and tut at my lofty proclamations...after all, you know me better than that.

The irrefutable Laws of Nature are a mighty force beyond human domain and they state that one thing above all others is an absolute impossibility: No man can look away when a woman bends over.

Even under threat of turning into a pillar of salt, we are powerless to tear our eyes from the subject in question until she has straightened up and continued about her business, leaving us free again to go about our own without the influence of this overpowering compulsion.

Believe me when i swear that We have no choice in the matter whatsoever.

It's a commonplace enough spectacle but with each new instance of this daily occurrence the so-called higher intellect of the species is completely disengaged, propelling us back thousands of years to the days of the grunting, lust-ridden caveman.

Engage me in whatever intellectual conversation you please but the moment some comely wench happens to bend over within 500 yards, i will be struck dumb and stand with eyes locked onto the target of my desire, a boyish grin creeping across my wrinkled features and a fleck of dribble running from my hungry lips.

It truly is a vision more breathtaking than anything else the natural world has to offer.

Waves

No time can be more pleasing to my soul or blessed with more tranquility than when i simply sit down somewhere quiet and gaze out to sea; an hour spent meditating and watching the waves at play is never an hour wasted but time that enriches the soul and confirms to my heart the uncomplicated pleasures of life.

I watch the sunlight glittering on the calm waves and spy distant boats or ships as they slowly make their way through the water. Even better when the distraction of people and traffic is far distant, freeing my attention to turn inwards and allowing my mind to wander idly as it pleases.

Brisker condition hold just as much enchantment as sleepy, summery days for myself, relishing the feeling of the wind whipping across the open beach and lathering the seething waves into a turbulent, foamy mass.

All my life, i have lived close to the sea and this is how i pray it will always remain, never many miles from the mighty sea's mercurial inlfuence and soothing salt air, i can never imagine a time when i reside anywhere else.

Give me a little windswept cottage that overlooks the waves, that faces up to the wintry storms and howling gales, that basks in the summer haze...then i will be deeply content, each morning awaking to see the mood of the surf and the swell of the tides...and who knows, maybe one day i'll even see a mermaid?

Angels & Devils.

We may aspire to be angelic and sometimes pretend that we're purer than pure but, deep down inside us all, a little devil lurks, licking his lips at the prospect of wickedness and sin.

There's a lot to be said for both angels and devils, our flawed humanity naturally consists of both elements, each battling the other to gain the upper hand within us...it all sounds very agreeable to be idling on a soft, fluffy, white cloud all day, listening to the heavenly harpists and innocently sipping ambrosia but how long until a naughty thought or feeling causing your golden halo to slip lopsidedly?

The other angels would soon sense that you had furtively been trying to look up their flowing robes.

Meanwhile, you could be sizzling in the almighty inferno, an eternal orgy of debauchery and excess with imps urging you ever onwards to new sins and wilder acts of sensuality amongst the heaving mass of writhing flesh.

Being either a full-time angel or devil would be a great strain and very tiring, which is why we may be glad that, as mere mortals, we can permit our devils to runs free when they choose but also repose peacefully with the angels when we need comfort and love: We can play with the devils and rest with the angels, a happy mixture of both for as long as we remain on this earth.

Pickle My Walnuts

The shock elimination of delectable Swiss Miss, Martina Hingis, in the opening week of Strictly Come Dancing has left me somewhat stunned and crestfallen, having looked forward to her appearance on the show for many weeks now and having pencilled her in as my personal One to Watch.

She showed more than enough promise to justify an extended run in the contest and looked simply divine in costume but sadly it's not to be and it seems i already need to seek someone else to support this year.

Should i follow Chris Hollins, Craig Kelly or Rav Wilding simply because i'd like to see much more of their respective gorgeous dancing partners; Ola Jordan, Flavia Cacace and new girl Aliona Vilani?

Of the remaining female celebrities, my eyes are most drawn toward Laila Rouass but she doesn't even perform until next week so my decision will remain suspended although i must say that the most promising dancer i've seen thus far is the pretty Ali Bastian.

But i was so eagerly anticipating spending autumnal saturday evenings casting an appreciative gaze upon Miss Hingis that it now feels as if i've had the rug pulled from under my feet...the party balloons are deflating before we've even begun and that i might do just as well to go home and pickle my walnuts instead.

Black Sheep.

It appears that my great, great, great, great grandmother, Hannah, was (to say the least) a bit of a girl, a black sheep of the family and floozy of the locality, as the following historical extract reveals:

She was comitted for trial by warrant dated December 29 1810 and convicted to one year's gaol on the oath of the Overseer of the parish of being a lewd woman, she having five bastard children chargeable to the said parish. As to whether all of Hannah's children had the same father is not known.

Upon discovering this tale, my initial reaction was to be thrilled at finding myself descended from a woman whom i romantically envisioned as a kind of wild and passionate Moll Flanders character, swashbuckling her merry way across rural, Georgian Wiltshire with a smile on her face and a saucy glint in her eye, for she appeared to me precisely the sort of untamed heroine that i'd always dreamt of, adored and secretly longed for.

However, upon reflection, i began to imagine just how bleak her life may have been; times could be hard enough in those days but must have been tougher still for a single mother of five children who encountered only scournful disapproval of her situation wherever she went.

I began to wonder, did her family lovingly support her throughout all her misadventures or did they collectively turn their backs on poor Hannah, along with the rest of the local community?

The more i dwelt upon the matter, the more i came to like and admire her...indeed, if it lay within my power to send just a little love and support over the two-hundred years between her life and my own, i would gladly do so without a moments hesitation, trusting that it may have warmed her soul to know that at least one member of the family held her in high regard and was proud to call her kin.

Who Do I Think I Am?

I've recently become interested in genealogy thanks to the tv show Who Do You Think You Are? which has proved to be compulsive viewing for me, the stories unearthed by the diligent historical detective can prove quite fascinating, providing unexpected twists and turns together with equal measures of sorrow or joy for the individual involved.

But as far as my own family history goes, i was always tempted to take the view that simply wondering where i came from was preferable to actually knowing the dreary truth of the matter but now i've been bitten by the bug and have immersed myself in the pursuit of the past.

Was it really an ancestor of mine who published A Gentleman's Guide To Terrorising Wenches In The Shires & Counties Of Merrie Olde England?

How many leaves of the stalwart family tree habitually trembled with lustful desire and frequently brought down scandal after scandal upon their own foolish heads?

Do i share my genes with the poor 17th century parson who was hounded out of his parish by hoardes of outraged villagers brandishing flaming torches and what unspoken tales of unseemly behaviour lie mouldering away in the dusty family vaults?

All will be revealed in the fullness of time, of course, and i may have rather more fun in inventing my origins to suit personal taste rather than facing the possibility that i am merely descended from a long line of humble folk who perpetually dreamt of infamy and and notoriety without once attaining so much as a sniff of it.

Girl Friday Required.

A Girl Friday is currently desired to assist in various, undefined and vague operations within my domestic household, age not important but enthusiasm is a must.

The succesful applicant will be flexible, accommodating and willing to work long hours, including some nights.

She will also be willing to bend over backwards to please her Master, be pliant and keen to follow her orders to the letter...no matter how strange they may appear.

She will also need to be a good little scrubber, eager to polish things up and used to working on her hands and knees for long periods with good communication skills, especially oral.

Girl Friday will need to be disciplined and vigorous in her allotted tasks, showing humility and gratitude when it is due, always willing to lend a helping hand to the Master of the house.

It must be stated here that any errors or slacking will incur a severe reprimand at the Master's own hands, although it will be guaranteed that no punishment will be too harsh or stinging.

Wages will be strictly by negotiation and full uniform will be provided on the first day.

Recurring Dream

She always enters my dream like Cathy's returning spirit in Wuthering Heights, drifting silently across the moors as i turn fitfully in my sleep, my tired body slumbering in the warm bed while my dream-self wanders across those same lonely moors by starlight.

Outside my window, the lady moon watches over both my sleeping being and my roaming soul, her silvery rays bathing the object of my affection with an almost supernatural aura, causing my eyes to widen in wonder, beholding her quiet and serene beauty.

Has she truly haunted this desolate spot for two hundred years now?

Constant and alone in her grief, she awaits the time when i shall return to her, born again a different and new man but still holding her deep and unbroken love within my soul...lying on the pillow with eyes still closed, i murmer a few words of comfort to her across the years, my hand reaching out in the void to claim and embrace her once more.

Then my old tormentor, wakefulness, suddenly grips me, chasing the dream from my mind for another night no matter how hard i try to recall it...and here i lie in darkness, overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of loss and sorrow...troubling dreams that bring only questions and never answers, always that same silent spirit, always that sense of deja-vu and of almost grasping a vital truth but never quite succeeding in comprehending its elusive meaning.

The Princess Beneath.

She herself was something of a princess turned into a swine-girl, in her own imagination. And she was afraid lest this boy ... might consider her simply as the swine-girl, unable to perceive the princess beneath; so she held aloof...she tried hard to scorn him, because he would not see in her the princess but only the swine-girl.

Anyone who has read the book that i myself read not so long ago, Sons & Lovers by DH Lawrence, will recognise these words as describing the dark-eyed young maiden, Miriam...a lovely, gentle, modest and thoughtful creature.

I'm sure that she's not alone in secretly being a beautiful princess whilst thinking herself coarse and unworthy; often those with the most inflated opinions of themselves are the least deserving of attention and, more importantly, the opposite also applies.

The real treasures of this world are likely to be riddled with self-doubt or self-consciousness, possibly thinking things over too much and prone to daydreaming...quiet, shy and introspective, these are the people that touch me most.

Isn't it funny how, sometimes, you can have instant affinity for certain characters in a book, wishing them a happy life whereas others pass you by without troubling the imagination or emotion in the least?