Mothercluckers! (Of chickens and eggs.)

Can you help solve this child’s conundrum?

My daughter (Matilda, who is 5) was playing a sequencing app on her tablet.

You know the kind, the first picture was of a baby, the second a child, the third of an adult and my daughter easily placed them in order.

The next was a triangle, square and pentagon – a little more difficult, but I got there eventually.

The third one bemused me. Truly.
It was of an egg, a chick and a chicken!!!

I mean…..c’mon! Like a five year old can solve a riddle that has puzzled the human race since before sun dials began!

Surefootedly (or surefingeredly?) she tapped in her best guess. Egg. Chick. Chicken…Hmmm, I’m not so sure…


First Line – comments

Here’s the first line for my first novel.
It’s stolen directly from my Dad –

‘Under every pony tail is an arsehole, and Charles was no exception.’

Exercising Cruelty

I go jogging quite a bit and here is a question for those annoying black flies that end up in your eye, semi-blinding you for half an hour whilst you try to get it out.

It’s called:

Questions For The Smallest Aviators.

If a fly
Has the whole sky
To fly
And so many eyes
To navigate by
Into my eye
To die?

Death of a friend

Dying is about the person.
Death is about everyone else.

It is 15 years since I lost my Dad.

Whenever I look back, it is with fondness. Great memories of holding onto his stubbly chin for a shoulder ride. How he always smelled of creosote or just plain old outside. How he used to do a 14 hour shift then fall asleep reading me and my sister a bedtime story. How he could build a shed in an afternoon and still have a bit of wood (and time) left over to help me make a crossbow to fire Mum’s clothes pegs at the neighbours windows. He’d even fetch me the pegs.

I can remember near the end, when he was fighting to stay around to see the cherry blossom. Prolific this time of year.
Whenever I see it I think of him.
How he fought, his breathing machine rattling on for one more breath. His family rattling alongside him through the dark, painful, destroying hours where we clung onto him as he dwindled away. Where we fought to stay awake, to hear his next breath; to make sure he did not die alone in the dark.

Like I said, Cherry blossom is prolific. It brightens up our world for a few days then fades away. We remember the vivid colours it shouts into spring, not the brown, desiccated remnants that lie on the floor then disappear on the breeze.

Though cherry blossom saddens me, just a little, the colours and joys prevail. Like death and life I suppose.

Like father like son.

Time – my first line

Here is the first line from new novel.
It sums up my view on time.

Let me know what you think of it, either comment or follow my blog.

Thanks. Daz

“Whoever said time is a healer, lied. It is not. It is just another dirty four letter word.
A dark destroyer.
A hurtling obsidian juggernaut.
The wrought-iron wrecking ball that swings at the tiny, fragile, ceramic, hand-painted ornaments of our lives and heals them to smithereens.”