Every time I think of you
I always catch my breath
And I’m still standing here
And you’re miles away
And I’m wondering why you left
And there’s a storm that’s raging
Through my frozen heart tonight
I hear your name in certain circles
And it always makes me smile
I spend my time
Thinking about you
And it’s almost driving me wild
And that’s my heart that’s breaking
Down this long distance line tonight
I ain’t missing you at all
Since you’ve been gone away
I ain’t missing you
No matter
What my friends say
There’s a message in the wild
And I’m sending you this signal tonight
You don’t know how desperate I’ve become
And it looks like I’m losing this fight
In your world I have no meaning
Though I’m trying hard to understand
And it’s my heart that’s breaking
Down this long distance line tonight
But I ain’t missing you at all
Since you’ve been gone away
I ain’t missing you
No matter what I might say
And there’s a message that I’m sending out
Like a telegraph to your soul
And if I can’t bridge this distance
Stop this heartbreak overload
'Cause I ain’t missing you at all
Since you’ve been gone away
I ain’t missing you
No matter what I might say
I ain’t missing you (I ain’t missing you)
No way
Since you’ve been gone away (I can lie to myself these days)
I ain’t missing you
And there’s a storm that’s raging
Through my frozen heart tonight
And I ain’t missing you at all
Since you’ve been gone away
I ain’t missing you
No matter what my friends say
I ain’t missing you
I ain’t missing you (I can lie to myself these days)
I ain’t missing you at all, I ain’t missing you (No way, baby)
No matter what my friends say (I’m doing fine here)
And I ain’t missing you at all
I ain’t missing you
I keep lying to myself every time I think of you
I’m okay
I’m doing fine here from day to day
I ain’t missing you
I can lie to myself
Songwriters: Cha Sanford / John Waite / Mark Leonard
Nice to see Spring is in the air, nice bit of music and verse too, a bit of sun certainly makes folks put on a happy face around my area.
I’m busy at the bench working like a dorg, making money to buy her things while I should be sleeping like a lorg, instead of making rings, as the song goes.;-)
Something funny happened in the local last Wednesday, well I thought it was funny, I’ll tell you about it later when I’m finished working.
I do miss the Gumbud fella.
Ah come on now Pug me lad, we all know that deep down you had a soft spot for our Gummy. ;-)
Thank God I know naw thing about politics, but there must be a terrible smell in the house of commons lately, all that hot sweaty air rising, is that why that little fella with the red face sitting in the high chair keeps shouting “Odour odour odour!!!” God help the man, nobody listens to him, and he would be getting the full blast of the stink being elevated in that seat.
Great craic in Mick’s Bar the other night, there wasn’t as much excitement there since Fanny Del Roy the old belly dancer come stripper refused to drop the last veil and that young bowsey Paddy Maguire jumped up on the stage to pull it off her, only to discover “She” was a man, yells of fraud, cheat, he-whore, and bastard filled the air, Fanny was off like a light, it was the quickest escape from a stage in Irish history, she/he was never seen again.:shock:
Back to last night, and I’ll try to condense it as much as I can without losing the gist of it.
It was a fairly mild night considering it’s still march and we were all chatting away as the fat lady on the small stage was singing “Show me the way to Amarillo” (this song seems to have cornered the top spot in pub singing today, some of the elders here will remember when the number 1 was “Roll out the Barrel”)
At about 10.30 the door opens and in walks a man in his thirties, he’s wearing a pair of black shoes and nothing else. he has a stationary smile on his face as he slowly makes his way through the packed pub. all the women are laughing, some are pretending to be shocked, one great grandmother shouts out in a cackled voice “I see ya baby, shaking’ ya ass”, all the men are trying to figure out if they know the fella, I didn’t.
The fat lady stops singing because she is laughing so much. The man then heads into the gents toilet, two barmen rush in after him carrying towels and a bar apron that was hanging on a hook behind the counter, quick thinkers these bar lads.
It was only at closing time that we found out what it was all about. It seems the landlords son was filming a scene for a film he was making, something to do with James Joyce’s Bloomsday, hoped to be shown at the Cork film festival later this year. Two girls and a young lad were among the bar crowd filming the whole thing, the landlord had given permission to film in his pub but had to keep it secret or it would spoil the expressions on the patrons faces if they were expecting it.
Incidentally the naked man had nothing to write home about, so most of the men went home feeling quite adequate. A good bit of unexpected laugh and no creatures were hurt in the process.
I always think that unexpected fun is the best kind of fun, and unexpected trouble is the worst kind of trouble.
Ode on Melancholy
BY JOHN KEATS
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
Indeed he wasn’t Spitty, and I’m not being rude, just truthful here, but there was hardly anything there to arouse, if you follow me.
I forgot to add all the regulars got a free drink the following night, a decent old skin is Mick the Innkeeper.
I was up there earlier today with an old mate Tommy Lacey, poor old Tommy, he has an awful time with his nagging wife Betty, Christ she never stops giving him orders, “I can see him taking a hatchet to her one of these days” Agatha Christie used that line a few times in some of her stories where murdered nagging wives were concerned, I love it, so blunt and straight to the point at the same time, brilliant Agatha.
I have some sympathy for hen pecked husband/partners, but it’s really their own fault, couples should mutually agree some basic rules before they decide to spend a long time together, perhaps even a lifetime.
Young and all as we were at the time the wife and me set out a few do’s and don’t’s before we married, we have managed to stick to them more or less for over 50 years.
Anytime she want’s to get around me for something she uses tact instead of nagging, far quieter and much more effective.
She also knows when to pick the right moment to do it, if she tried it while I’m working in the shed for example, she may as well be talking to herself, it goes in one ear and out the other, I’m completely switched off to outside reception while working.
The best time to get her way is when we’re out having a drink, she knows I’m a man of my word and when I give it it’s set in stone, tipsy or not, my word is very sacred to me, so I’m putty in her hands when I have a few on me. ( that’s Put-tee by the way, not Pat-tee, I’m going to have some tea and Scow-ens now, not Scons)
This is the world – thus we cannot expect to give way many hours to pleasure – Circumstances are like Clouds continually gathering and bursting – While we are laughing the seed of some trouble is put into the wide arable land of events – while we are laughing it sprouts i[t] grows and suddenly bears a poison fruit which we must pluck – Even so we have leisure to reason on the misfortunes of our friends; our own touch us too nearly for words.
Stephen Hebron 2014
And then there were two.
Strange how things can change so quickly, I think they call it the Butterfly effect or something.
“Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung”
Deep stuff indeed, far too steep for me to figure it out, what was that Keats fella thinking of when he tried to burst Joy’s grape? but then I was never edumacated proper.
I’m more used to the simple stuff, I think it could have been put a bit more clearer to facilitate the likes of me. It appears to me that bit of the poem is about a fella coming home drunk to his missus.
“He didn’t see anything bar her big wet tongue
As she joyfully burst him like a grape
His jaw got a sample of her wallop
And he landed in the wash-pile, where old knickers, he was among ”
The wife has been with her sister in Wexford for a few days, just me and the dog keeping house, she’ll be back tomorrow.
And now the lovely voice of Brenda Lee singing a very appropriate song.
