Red and Black

This is how I want mine, that is how you like yours.

Chilli flakes, lemon, tangy tangy sauce for me. Mild and juicy, plain chicken on rice for you.

I like mine sweet, savoury, bursting with flavour. You like yours safe. Warm. Known. Clean.

I like mine messy, tumbled, piled on a plate. You like yours tidy. Neat. Michelin star.

I like red, you like plain. Red on me, black on you.

You like me, I like you, but the mess gets in between.

I like books, you like films, so I can read while you watch things. Hand on thigh, foot on foot, head on shoulder, reading nook.

I like storms. Rushy wind. Messy hair. Chaos and crayons, bric a brac on a tottering tower. You like calm. Green. Black. Sharp lines, white blinds, no rug and clean chair. Leather. Perfume. Smart shoes.

I like spice, shake it up, hot hot hot.

You are still. Sailing ship. Planning calendar. Secure. Control.

When life is chaos, I am at its helm. Hair streaming in the wind. Face turned to the sun.

You need control. So you break down.

Hold my hand. Sail through the tempest.

Chaos meets chaos.

Storm meets calm.

Image Credit

A Furious Tempest

This morning, I became acquainted with Doris.

What a tempest of a woman she is. I was minding my own business, stripping my bed to wash the bedclothes, when a loud crash made me stop in my tracks. I was home alone, see, so who could it be?

Peering out the window, in the cloudy gloom that told me the sun was rising, I saw empty bottles whizzing across the road, and the trees were bent Northwards. Then I heard her wailing scream, as she furiously knocked over some wheelie bins and spun them relentlessly in the road. She spat furiously and her spittle was swept up by the wind, creating waves along the glistening pavements that whipped the drops with every gust of her angry tempest.

My, I thought, going back to my task, what a passionate storm she is.

Not a few moments after I thought that, I heard another crash. This time louder, and more ominous. I heard it in the very foundations of my house. I rushed downstairs. Everything was still, in the kitchen. So I ventured cautiously to the living room, where, though the french windows, I saw the fence that divided the neighbour’s garden from mine flattened against the grass, leaving their lawn naked. Too naked, I thought, where is their massive trampoline that took up all the space in their yard?

Huh? I ran upstairs again and through my window, saw what Doris; mad, passionate Doris, had done. She had pummelled the trampoline into our fence, until it staggered and fell over into my garden. Then she had lifted the metal frame and hurled it right over my garden wall and into the road beyond!

I don’t know what irked her, folks. But I wouldn’t like to be the object of her wrath.

The flattened fence.

The trampoline flew over the garden, into the road, then was whipped into the wedge between my back garden the the house opposite.