Blah blah from the countryside

Today I wrote blah, yesterday I wrote blah, blah; tomorrow I will write blah blah blah and so on; recording the mundane details of a boring life. Texting and  twittering; recording minutiae on Facebook. I browse with disdain,the young ones  looking forward to the Apprentice,they love their families,the car breaks down,they list the occasional cool film,comment on a new download, funky nail varnish;  so banal and tedious.
This is a rant from an ageing hippy
I often reflect on what I leave out in my own blog or journal, more observations from up my arse.
The little dog bites the big dog's tail  because he's bored.
Who wants to know this crap, whether we discussed curtains for the new room,  the wild flower seeds will be sown today, in newly turned over soil, rich and dark, briefly devoid of menacing weeds.
This is an ageing hippy drifting...
Who wants to read the  rumblings and grumblings of a fading sixty year old, or the tweetings and bleatings of the thrusting generation with their misspellings, misquotings, sharp comments, quicky snappies of mad coloured hatties, temples in Thailand,blonde lovers in the snow, cartwheeling on a beach in Brazil.
Young and old,little puppy and old dog,fading eyes, fading hearing, strong beating heart. The puppy's floppy ears twitch at the footsteps of an ant far away.
They came out in their thousands to celebrate the  hot sunshine, swarming over thin floorboards .Maybe they arrived on the puppy's paws, the monster baby disrupting their hills and valleys.
The morning glory seeds have all taken and await like delicate soldiers in their pots until they're strong enough to spread their roots  and climb their canes, a new china blue flower will turn its saucer shaped face to greet the morning sun; a reason to rise early each one blooms only once. I wait to watch how the light shines through translucent petals.
This is an ageing hippy, perhaps writing a memoir, blah blah


 Carry /inks and watercolour