Recipe Poetry - If I Knew You Were Coming I'd Have Baked A Cake

For the past week, I’ve had Blue Mink’s ‘Melting Pot’ going round in my head. It was a good song back in the day, carrying a message in a poetic recipe form. Unfortunately, the lyrics, seemingly harmless in 1969, are inappropriate for our enlightened PC modern times. I decided not to include them here, but they are easy enough to find on Google.

Instead, I share with you my wonderful birthday cake recipe, made the same way for years and years of family members birthdays, even my own. My sister has made me a cake a couple of times. She’s got a birthday this week, one of those with a ‘0’ on the end and she looks so much younger.

Hands washed, pinny on, oven on 180c, and off we go.

Ingredients:  3 eggs, or 2 eggs and a splash of milk; whipping cream, strawberries and chocolate flake to decorate; 6ozs of self-raising flour, 6ozs of caster sugar, 6ozs of margarine.

Give yourself at least an hour,
Gently sift the finest flour.
Caster sugar is the best
Weighed properly, not just guessed..
Use three fresh eggs, nice free-range
Or two with milk for a change.
Margarine, the best is Stork,
Mashed and softened with a fork.
Beat all in the Kenwood, fast,
‘Til a smooth and shiny cast.
Transfer the mix to cake tins
And bake for twenty-five mins.
Whilst they cool, whip up some cream
And prepare the décor theme.
Strawberry halves, chocolate flake,
For this special birthday cake.

Trust me, it is delicious!

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Music - Saved by the Music

“If music be the food of love, play on…” Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare.

 

Lots of us have an ‘Our Song’ or a piece of music which is meaningful and special, above and beyond all others. I find it uplifting when something significant comes on the radio and transports me back in time. If that particular time was happy, it’s nice to re-live that fond memory. If it belongs to a dark time, it’s good to reflect on how we coped and what changed. Challenges and experiences make us who we are.

I love music. I grew up with Sing Something Simple on Sundays long before the contents of the pub juke-box became important to me. My mother listened to the wireless Light Programme or played records, so I was effectively drip-fed her favourites. Tommy Steele’s Little White Bull, Acker Bilk’s Stranger on the Shore, Anthony Newley, Billy Fury, Neil Sedaka, Dusty Springfield, Joe Loss and his Orchestra, Elvis, and of course Russ Conway, amongst others. This was before The Beatles. She was young and trendy, my mum. I still have her record collection and just looking at them brings back childhood memories. There are lots of Russ Conway, singles and a couple of LPs. I don’t know if they were called albums in the 1950s. I think I’ve mentioned before that Russ Conway was responsible for me longing to learn to play the piano. I wanted to lift the lid on the old upright in the concert room and make music come out of it, not the out of tune honky tonk sound that someone knocked out of it on a Saturday night. What a blessing a juke-box was in later years.

I had years of classical training but I do not have musical talent. Occasionally I play on our electric piano, a cast off from a very talented nephew with a music degree. Our son can play piano, keyboard, guitar and bass, all perfectly well by ear. He’s amazing at that. Our daughter has a beautiful singing voice.

The first album I bought was The Rolling Stones, Through the Past, Darkly. The second was The Moody Blues, A Question of Balance followed quickly by In Search of the Lost Chord as I discovered there was MBs stuff I needed to catch up with.

The pub juke-box and The Moody Blues was and is the soundtrack to my life, as it constantly grows. No juke-box now, but the radio is always on, or a CD, YouTube or MP3. Music will always surround me, in any form.

When I was fortunate to meet Moody Blues bassist, singer, song-writer, John Lodge, I took the opportunity to tell him how glad I was that he had included ‘Saved by the Music’ in his solo tour. It is a song that means so much.

Hymns have their place amongst my favourites. As a child I was more than happy to sing in church. As an adult, I enjoyed teaching my Sunday School class new songs or hymns. It was a small group but they were enthusiastic and we had lots of fun.

 

When I started to write this poem, it seemed to grow legs and run off taking with it all the thoughts that were buzzing round my head. As a result, it is more personal than I intended, but what it is, is me.

 

 

My Music

 Music, my music, my loud surround sound,

I smiled and sang as my nemesis frowned.

Her eyes swept my room, not an inch unexplored,

But for now, my feelings were carefully stored.

I’m with The Moodies In Search of the Lost Chord.

 

I made that room spotlessly clean and sparkly

While the Stones carried on, Through the Past, Darkly;

Then busied myself with the next task to hand

And wasted no effort to understand

Her jealous resentment or what might be planned.

 

I’d given up wond’ring what she even means

As I sewed fabric flowers on my old jeans.

And Stevie belted out For Once in my Life

And I join in fully, like he knows my strife.

We could have slashed the atmosphere with a knife.

 

All I was saying was Give Peace a Chance.

I’m off at the weekend to spend time in France,

Away from that border-line aggression

When she hits the drinks in rapid succession

Attempting to cover her sick obsession.

 

Music, my music, my means of survival

And sanity, with her hasty arrival.

Bad mem’ries and nightmares, too much have amassed,

But those times are now long since gone, in the past,

And I’m Saved by the Music, myself, at last.

 

PMW 2019

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Windmills - Rhyming in my Mind

I was washing glasses in our pub, hidden away in the ‘still room’ on my regular Friday night and Saturday night stint during the busy Illuminations, singing along to the music that drifted in.

There was a song on the jukebox in the front bar, a haunting melody that forced me to listen and beautiful, poetic lyrics that reached out to me. Any meaning in those words was lost on me, but being an impressionable hippy-ish rock-chick in my mid-teens, I’m proud to say that I learnt it off by heart. It is still up there with my favourites, sung by Noel Harrison.

 

The Windmills of Your Mind

 

Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.

 

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.

 

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!

Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.

 

Songwriters: Marilyn Bergman / Michel Legrand / Alan Bergman

 

It was the theme song to The Thomas Crown Affair, a major film at that time, and I wonder if the lyrics might make more sense to me if I actually saw the film, or the more recent remake? It will be something else to do in my retirement.

There’s always fun to be found in doing new things. I’ve lived in Blackpool since 1965, a long time in South Shore, but never travelled on a train from Blackpool South until this year. That rail adventure with my friend took us to Lytham for lunch and a pleasant stroll along the front to the fabulous, white windmill which holds centre stage on the green. Another first. The closest I’d previously been to Lytham Windmill was the main road.

I found this poem,

 

The Windmill

 

 

Behold! a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow,
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive,
My master, the miller, stands
And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Sounds From The Stands

So the football seasons have ended, the Play-Offs are into their second legs, the curse of Benfica continues, and the success of Arsene Wenger's season will be known after Saturday's F.A. Cup.

For those with an Ings, Nugent, Sako or Winnall there was cause to celebrate. For others, the dream of promotion or survival has faded like the colour on second-hand football seats. But through it all there have been chants - songs rising from the terraces as elation, passion, believe or protest is expelled.

*          *          *

At nine I knew I would never fall out of love with football. My Dad took me to my first Coventry game (holding my hand just a little too tightly) and there - in a seat which would become mine for the next seven years - I found my voice. For ninety minutes the shyness slipped away and football took over. When I eventually went to my first proper away game, a last-match-of-the-season at Vicarage Lane looking for our first away win, I sang like I had never sang before.

The atmosphere on away days is like no other game - 3,000 fans in one section of the ground, all standing up and belting out song after song. At Watford (to the horror of my Dad's wallet) I caught the 'away bug'...

I've jumped to my feet singing, 'Stand up if you're one nil up,' at Old Trafford. I've mocked other teams' fans with: 'Shall we sing a song for you' on cold Tuesday nights. At forty-four football grounds I've sang 'In Our Coventry Home', and I've joined in with songs which, if my mother had heard me singing, would have resulted in a soapy mouth.

*          *          *

With simple rhyme, a splash of wit, and to a well-known or in vogue tune (after Bob The Builder topped the charts with 'Can We Fix It' there was a few choruses of 'Gordon Strachan can he fix it' at Portman Road, needless to say it didn't really take off) football songs take hold of fans, stands and stadiums across the country. They have the ability to express our pride, our joy and our frustrations; they're the thing which creates atmospheres that television (whether 3D or not) will never be able to replicate. They're 'love' songs for the beautiful game and for the teams we refuse to abandon (no matter how much they hurt us).

Thank you for reading,

Lara

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It's CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!

Time for a new Christmas song...

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Ho Ho Ho

Goes the fat man in red

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Jingle jingle jingle go the bells on his sleigh

Wave your hands

Cheer and sing

Dance around

if that’s your thing

The fat man’s coming

and he’s wearing red

If you've been good

you’re on his list

which means you get

a Christmas gift

you'd better be ready

coz he’s on his way

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Ho Ho Ho

Goes the fat man in red

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Jingle jingle jingle go the bells on his sleigh

if you're awake

he won’t come in

so be asleep

it’s time to dream

of all the lovely presents

that the fat man will bring

waking up

on Christmas morning

getting dressed

while birds are snoring

rushing down to see

the parcels under the tree

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Ho Ho Ho

Goes the fat man in red

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Jingle jingle jingle go the bells on his sleigh

Wave your hands

Cheer and sing

Dance around

if that’s your thing

The fat man’s coming

and he’s wearing red

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Ho Ho Ho

Goes the fat man in red

Jump up

Turn around

Can you hear that Christmas Sound

Jingle jingle jingle go the bells on his sleigh

repeat (to fade)

Merry Christmas Everyone

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Tanned Bodies

Sorry about this, I'm on a bit of a Tom Waits trip at the moment.

Song (Music to be a piano, bass, swamp blues played to sound slightly out of tune)

Tanned Bodies

I spent all my money man,

Finding a place to stay.

Just so I could say that,

I’ve been here anyway.

Now I’ve got my hands,

And bottle full of booze.

Palm trees dancing in night,

nothing left to lose.

(chorus)

And there are, tanned bodies,

Sea still looks blue.

Tanned bodies,

Nothing new.

They say God gets pissed,

on the essence of the young,

Backed out drying,

on the sand in the sun.

But nothing in my eyes,

Can take the place of you.

Missing is my reasons,

To try to make it through.

(chorus)

Everywhere are, tanned bodies,

Sea still looks blue.

Tanned bodies,

Nothing new.

For all this beauty,

Surrounding my mind,

Will mean nothing to me,

In about an hours time.

Coz vodka makes it easy,

and the warmth makes it nice,

and the cold doesn’t bite me,

in the dark of the night.

(chorus)

I see, Tanned bodies,

Sea still looks blue.

Tanned bodies,

Nothing new.

So excuse me while find myself,

in the bottom of a glass,

Sitting on a Miami beach,

With sand in my ass.

Why’d you have to leave me?

Why did God let you go?

Why I’m still breathing?

Why I just don’t know?

(chorus)

About these, tanned bodies,

Sea still looks blue.

Tanned bodies,

Nothing new.

So I’ll just keep on drinking,

Until I die.

Leaving just this lonely man,

No one asking why.

So this is the last place,

I will go on vacation.

Missing you my love,

In this exotic location.

(chorus)

With it’s, tanned bodies,

Sea still looks blue.

Tanned bodies,

Nothing new.

(Repeat to fade)

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