Dear Reader,
A seagull named Steven who lives in Wyke Regis, Dorset, has been banned from a convenience store for stealing packets of crisps over a six year spree. Posters have been put up urging customers to "close the door' behind them in a bid to stop Steven. This didn't work, he tapped the door with his beak, opening it.
The manager of the store, one Stuart Harmer, said the crafty seagull had made off with about 30 packets of crisps in the past two months alone. According to Mr. Harmer Steven is particularly fond of BBQ beef flavoured crisps.
Once he is outside the shop on Portland Road he uses his beak to open the packet and then eats the crisps in the street alongside his feathered friends. Mr Harmer said in a desperate move to stop the thief, the team put on a selection of spicy flavoured crisps but Steven ignored them and still managed to find his favourite flavour.
Seagulls seem to be a constant source of conversation and thought for those living by the sea or visiting it. Either people hate them, or love them, find them irritating, love their cry or loathe it, and some find them frightening. I always think of seagulls as romantic, winging their way upwards towards the sun with their very distinctive cry. So I think I am on the side of Steven and wish him luck with his pillaging.
*
From Francis Kilvert July 29th 1871 in Radnorshire
'Torrents of lashing and streaming rain all the morning, a thunderstorms without thunder braking into a beautiful sunny afternoon. I went to Hay to pay some bills. On the crest of the hill above Hay i met a tall woman smoking a clay pipe and driving a black donkey.'
From Dorothy Wordsworth July 31st 1802 in London
'We mounted the Dover Coach at Charing Cross. It was a beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river and a multitude of boats, made a most beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not over hung by their cloud of smoke, and they were spread out endlessly, yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a fierce light, that there was even something like the purity of one of nature's own grand spectacles.'
*
A Valediction
To innocence
to childhood
to youth
to skipping about
to making daisy chains
to looking in the mirror
seeing someone pretty
to wearing gypsy clothes
feeling exotic in them
to flirting and being flirted with
to kissing someone new
drowning in that indescribable
feeling of lust and love
to smoking king size cigarettes
to being passionate about something
daydreaming about a bright future
to changing the world
making poverty unknown
the poor rich.
But knowing now the truth
about old age being shite
hello to fudge and ice cold gins,
small pleasures and quieter things.
*
With best wishes, Patricia
Always requested
The Mind Cupboard My mind cupboard overflows with unwanted debris. It needs a spring clean. I will brush away the cobwebs of cheerless thoughts. Scrub out the stains of childhood. I will replace the brass hooks corroded with salt tears, empty all the screams hoarded through the years. I will replace the accumulated ashes from the worn shelf-paper, with virgin tissue. I will chase and catch the wasps, relieve them of their stings. I will refill this cupboard with love, and learnt, brighter things.
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