I Want You Now.

I Want You Now.

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I’ve wanted you

For quite a time,

Exactly when

Will you be mine.

Surely you know

My need is real,

Don’t you enjoy

The way I feel.

I think it’s time

We had a screw

And did the things

That lovers do.

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The People Who Lived On Stilts.

Hey,

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I hope I find you well and happy today.

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All is cool here.

I have been up since the early hours, which has enabled me to have a bath, wash my hair, feed the birds, and enjoy a huge pink pot of tea and two Warburton’s Potato Pancakes…and all before the painters arrive at their usual hour of nine.

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Today promises to be much more pleasant than yesterday.

Since Big H managed to fix the radiators, our new, temporary living room room has now warmed up to a tolerable level.

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Now I am sitting here without my sheepskin coat and my big hat, which is how I was dressed all day yesterday, looking more like an extra in Doctor Zhivago than an English person!

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I read some very interesting stuff too.

Have you heard about the Stilt People who lived in the Landes area of France?

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It is quite amazing!

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This was a huge area of  totally flat plains in the south-west.

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Long ago this area was very boggy, as well as totally featureless, and the main way of surviving there was to have herds of sheep, and to keep moving them around the very poor quality ground.

In order to watch their sheep in such a flat place, the Shepherds devised a method of living on tall stilts, which allowed them to be high enough in the air to be able to keep watch effectively. and move very quickly.

It also meant that everyone could stay warm and dry.

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There were reports of these Stilt people from the 1700’s but no-one knows for sure when this practice developed.

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The Landes folk all lived their lives on stilts and they could quickly cross large distances in this fashion.

Travelling thirty miles per day was common.

It was also possible to safely cross rivers full of poisonous snakes, and pass over large flooded areas, using this method.

Young children were quickly taught to walk in this fashion and would eventually spend most of their lives on stilts.

The housewives would go to market on their stilts and stand in groups gossipping together like flocks of long legged, ungainly birds.

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Letters were delivered by postmen on stilts, and people would carry long staffs so that they could have a rest by using the stick as a third stabilising leg to give easy balance.

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They would rest comfortably like this for long periods of watching their sheep, or talking, and they would also knit to help pass the time.

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It is said that in the late 1800’s a young Landes man performed the amazing feat of walking on stilts for 58 days and he ended up covering over 2,000 miles.

I believe that he ended up in Moscow.

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This unique way of life began to disappear after the middle of the 19th century, because a huge forest was planted in the Landes area,

This, of course, changed the landscape, and made it less suitable for the stilt wearing people and their sheep, who had evolved there previously.

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The old practice now lives on only in folk performance.

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I don’t know why it all fascinated me so much.  It is just amazing how inventive people are at adapting themselves to circumstances and overcoming them.

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Thank god my life is a lot easier then that….it is all I can do to walk in  four inch heels….never mind stilts!

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Speak with you again soon.

Take care.

Jaksie x

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Poem: That’s Finally It.

That’s Finally It.

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What happened to

Your early words,

You’re passion when

We kissed,

How did it change

As time when by

‘Til now you raise

Your fist.

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Poem: Johnson Saves The Day.

Johnson Saves The Day.

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The army loved young Johnson

He could fart in splendid style,

Well loud, and long, and windy

He was heard for half a mile.

There came a situation

When the phone was broke by mortars,

So Johnson sent a fart morse code

They heard back in headquarters.

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Poem: Live With It.

Live With It.

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It was a simple, plastic spell,

You never saw the seams.

It was a truly heavy sell,

A trade in porno dreams.

That awful creature handled you

Much better than I could,

I wouldn’t take you back again

No reason why I should.

You’re just a broken wind-up toy

And now you’re feeling used.

Don’t try to pull the wool again

Because you’ve been abused.

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Poem: Sex.

Sex.

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Sex is good

For when you’re bored

It’s good for

For when you’re not

It’s good for

Helping when you’re ill

No matter

What you’ve got

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Call Of Duty…

Hey,

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Tuesday again, I think!

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It is hard to keep track at the moment because of all the upheaval.

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Last night Big H rang the friend that he goes to play his computer games with one night a week, and asked him to come over and help him put up his new screen over the fireplace.

Of course that necessitated a few beer…and then a few games as a test….and then some popcorn to go with the cold beer!

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Basically it ended up as an evening of unexpected, and totally unscheduled fun and games .

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I stayed with them until about 10.15pm before retiring to my bed for a quiet read, no doubt much to their relief at being able to turn up all the side effects of maiming, killing and generally socking it to the enemy.

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Big H’s life has continued to be further enhanced by the timely arrival this morning of the new  computer game he has ordered.

It is ….  The Call Of Duty Series-Modern Warfare 2…. and will no doubt add greatly to his pleasure and his reaction times.

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If we are ever attacked by highly trained special forces, in overwhelming numbers, in real life, no doubt we will now last at least two seconds .

So of course I feel much safer!

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We actually needed someone to arrive and cheer us up, because we were feeling very frustrated by our Paint Pod, the one that we bought a while age.

Initially we had intended to use it immediately we bought it, but as things turned out it had not been used before, as we were waiting until the different workmen were finally getting near to the end of all this dust and mess, which has gone on forever.

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Big H got the Pod out and brought it into the living room, along with some of the containers of the special paint you have purchase to use with the machine.

He wanted to paint the chimney breast in order to finally fit his television.

This was at about 3.00pm, and well timed for asking our big, strong painter to help lift the huge thing up to the wall brackets, before he went off home for the night.

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The machine would not bloody work.

No way could we get the paint to come up the tube and into the roller.

After hours of swearing, we could only deduce that the pump was not working for some reason.

It was not as if we had even used it before.

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Anyway, hours later, Big H had to admit defeat and paint the wall in the old, tried and tested, machine-free fashion …by hand!

Not helped, I confess, by me laughing and threatening to take a picture of him painting with his new ‘machine’.

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Today, I have moved up into one of my sons’ old bedrooms, because the painters are going to start doing up the living room and our proper bedroom.

I got everything we needed moved upstairs, only to find that the room was freezing and the radiators were not actually working, even though they were turned to full heat settings.

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Big H found that when the plasterer had removed them to do his thing, he had put them back but not done anything to adjust them again.

As a result, he had to bleed them etc, in order to get the pressure up again.

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The poor thing was absolutely shattered from continually having to keep going up and down all the stairs.

But he succeeded, even though it is going to take some time to warm up the room.

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Small irritations really, when you think what some unfortunate people have to face daily.

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I wonder what you will do today?

It always seems to me that not a lot happens on a Tuesday…it is a quiet sort of day.

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I don’t like a Tuesday, because that is the one night that our local Chinese takeaway is closed, and that very fact makes me want one badly, even knowing that I am doomed to be disappointed.

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There is nowt as contrary as people, as my old Uncle Herbie used to say….when he was not coughing!

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Have a good one,

J.

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Poem: Another World.

Another World.

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It is very boring

Doing the hoovering.

There is no I.Q. test

For making beds.

Shopping is a drag,

But I’ve always known

The reason why I cope.

I love him, and he holds

Another world than is

In his fingertips.

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Poem: Mismatch,

Mismatch.

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How I hate you,

When we play this game

Of left-hand jabs

Below the belt.

How can this match

Be anything I need.

Why can’t I be

The linesman

Who calls out.

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Adult Poem: Not To Be.

Not To Be.

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Within the pan

She sees a man

Incredible, in every way.

He lived, and yet,

This very day

He’ll flush away.

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