The Grass Is Definitely Greener…

Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

A few years ago I wrote a song called “Take Me Away”. The lyrics reflected my weariness at being in a city where I felt deprived of the space to breathe.

I was dissatisfied with my job, tired of the bureaucracy of being a small cog in a very large corporate machine, and grimy from the constant dust thrown up by improvements to the centre of Liverpool, as it was prepared for being the City Of Culture in 2008. I was ready for a change.

One day I observed someone pushing their way past everyone so they could to get to the ticket barrier first. They were not alone, and one bad days, I joined that race. On this occasion, they almost knocked down the blind guy who I often saw on the way into Liverpool. Something in my mind said, “they show you no pity”, and soon after, the song was born.

Sad sad song coming up from the pavement,
every day just the same such frustration,
look of sheer desperation and dismay.
Sad sad face looking out from the window,
saying “where did my yesterdays go?” 
Hanging on for tomorrow, night and day.

So take me away from the sad lonely face of the city,
Take me away from the grey and the black and the blue.
I don’t want to stay in a place where they show you no pity.
So sorry babe, I got to say,
Take me away.

Lyrically, I was yearning for open countryside. Move forward two years and I made my escape. For the last few years I have been working in a rurally based company with an agricultural focus. Yes, there’s still bureaucracy – I suspect that I will always experience this in my line of work – but I am a larger cog in a smaller machine, and there is so much fresh air just outside the door.

Where I took my lunchtime walk on Wednesday

Where I took my lunchtime walk on Wednesday

Ironically, the thing I miss the most about not working in Liverpool is the train journey. Logistically I am forced to drive to and from work every day, which affords me the privacy that public transport cannot, but I am not able to read, or close my eyes and drift away, and write a song or two.



EE : Oh-Oh

EE called in sick yesterday. No great surprise as she’s not been too well for a while.

And we all know why.

When she, in her usual unaware of what people might think way, told the boss and yours truly of her condition, she immediately followed this up with

don’t worry, I’m not keeping it


Trying not to judge is my pre New Year’s resolution. But I am beginning to wonder whether not expressing my views becomes an excuse for not upholding a good moral stance. Is there a happy medium where one can make clear that EE’s approach to life shows little concern for those around and, currently inside her, that she does not have to map her life out like a soap opera. Yet still remain caring and supportive.

Perhaps there is. And perhaps in the coming weeks, months and years I will be granted the patience of Job and the good grace to strike this medium.

In the meantime, bite tongue and count to ten.




Well, the bed bath and light trim does not appear to have done  the treasure any harm. It looks less ‘wilty’, if a little less compact.

The blighters had not been eradicated entirely, so my colleague and myself administered a lunchtime wash down – this time armed with sprayer. A lot easier, and a lot less leaf loss.

On a different treasure theme, I continue to be struck by the complete lack of understanding of basic right and wrong by one of my colleagues, who I’ll just call EE.

EE is young, attractive and wants things. If she were a bird, no surprises, she’d be a magpie.

EE doesn’t generally care how she gets things unless she believes she will be caught and punished. I don’t think that discovery of her wrong doing is enough. It is clear that she has got away with it before now by a flash of her smile and flick of her hair. To the best of my knowledge she’s never stolen anything, and, I’m sorry that I think this, but I do not believe that little light shoplifting is on her list of what is not acceptable.

EE is witty and sometimes intelligent, but seems to have no awareness of consequences, particularly where her own actions are concerned. Either the end justifies the means, or the desire for instant gratification blocks out any contemplation of what might happen, who might get hurt, what people will think.

I used to believe that she was essentially a good person. I on the whole I cling to that belief for as long as possible as I hear about who she’s in trouble with now. Recently the ability to recognise unacceptable appears to be lacking.

Maybe I should give a little leeway. She is still young, but she’s old enough to have responsibilities – a car, house, job. Thankfully no pet. I ache when I think what will happen on that front one day. I’ll probably report her to the RSPCA.

She’s probably never torched a furniture store but I can see parallels with recent events in the UK. The thought processes are similar, the means and ends differ.

On the other hand, I get the distinct impression that she’s also been given free rein or given in to. Or should I say “free reign”? EE is definitely princess material. She wants it, and she wants it now.

Ironically, the little princess appears less and less regal with each new fall from grace.



I have been left in charge of a treasured plant by one of my work colleagues, the posh one.

Handover took place at the end of last week, and the treasure was left on a desk pedestal where I could not forget its need for morning watering.

As a precaution, the last pre-weekend watering took place on Friday afternoon and I forgot about the treasure until yeasteday morning.

When I arrived yesterday – shock horror – major leaf wilt! Cue immediate watering.

On close inspection minor scenes from a horror movie were being played out on several stems. The leaves were desiccated like post death bodies in Aracnaphobia – this effect being further enhanced by close spun webs and tiny little mites. A little research identified the culprits as

Spider Mite!

I feel like I’ve stepped into a 1970s sitcom where I am charged with the care of a much loved pet (usually a goldfish), which meets its demise whilst the loving owners are on holiday.

Another work colleague and myself have administered a ‘bed bath’ of heavily diluted detergent and some pruning, but will the treasure survive? Only time will tell.