The news is full of threats, doom and gloom. Knife crime in a church in Nice and three people killed, one decapitated. Rising Covid death rates accompanied by more communities going into lockdown, rising unemployment, no income so empty store cupboards and the real threat of children going hungry during the half term holiday. And at last a ray of sunlight. Rashid, a young football player with a real heart and a determination to take action has forced our government to take another look at their plans, so proving that it only takes one young man with imagination and determination to turn the tide. Communities have begun to come together to provide food for children on half term holiday and ‘government’ who are only people who believe they have power have been forced to think again. I still treasure the words of Lord Palmerston ‘The people have the right to be well governed.’
It is easy to fall into a trap of despair like a rabbit I found when I was a teenager, cowering and shivering in long grass having run into a snare. All it could do was to keep still and wait to be found. If it tried to escape the snare tightened round its neck, death and a very painful one, was certain either from the human who had set the snare or from passing dogs. Fortunately that day I was walking without a dog dog. That evening was seventy years ago but the memory is as clear as if it was yesterday. I knelt in the wet grass, slipped my finger between the wire and the furry neck, loosened the snare and having taken it off, buried it in a nearby ditch. For a few moments of disbelief the rabbit remained stillbefore running off to safety. And I, what have I gained from telling my tale of the trapped rabbit? I’ve woken from despair with new ideas to be released from memories into the realm of stories yet to be told.
Tribute to a distilled Spirit
A novel, like an evening with a friend,
Accompanied by tankards of good beer
Allows usto develop themes and share
Love, laughter, jealousy or fear
And contemplate a carefully crafted end.
A glass of wine, a connoiseur's delight
Will be remembered for bouquet and taste
And for the dinner that it graced
nver a drop allowed to go to waste
A story shorted than a summer's night.
But for a poem I would chose
A glass of single malt to be my muse.