Category Archives: Daily Doings

Everyone is English

My poem about immigration

Everyone is English

I don’t get this immigration crap
it really hurts my brain.
There’s talk of putting on a cap
even if we vote remain

But I don’t see the problem
where are these migrant folk?
Everyone I know is English
It really is a joke

My kids have an English teacher,
my doctor’s English too
and if we get a blockage
an English plumber clears our loo

I have an English landlord
at my local pub.
He serves me English lager
along with English grub

I work with English people
every single day
I even have an English priest
when I feel the need to pray

So why should I vote Brexit?
it goes against the grain,
when everyone is English
here in sunny Spain.

 

 

 

 

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A review. A night at the Arena.

After seeing one or two concert reviews appear on Facebook I thought I’d revisit a concert I attended with my wife a few short years ago. This was written at the time. It isn’t new.

Looking through my documents folder this morning I discovered my review of an Eric Clapton concert I attended in Nottingham a few years ago. It bought back some happy memories and some very disturbing ones.
The Concert

Last night we went to see the legendary guitar hero, Eric Clapton, in Nottingham.
The show was staged at the Nottingham Arena, which also doubles up as an ice stadium. For those of you having visions of the great man skating around the stage in lycra pants and a frilly shirt whilst belting out Layla, let me put your minds at rest. He didn’t. Continue reading

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WIN A FREE, SIGNED BOOK FOR CHRISTMAS!

Misty with books

 

Misty, Trevor Forest’s number one fan with part of her stash.

 

Anyone who buys a T A Belshaw or Trevor Forest book in November, or anyone who leaves a review for one of my books in November (preferably both, will go into a draw to win a signed paperback book of your choice. (kids or adult,) postage free, in time for Christmas. Just contact me any way you like when you’ve done the deed.

You’ll find me on Facebook, Twitter,  at trevorATtrevorbelshaw.com,  trevorATtrevorforest.com  or simply reply via the contact button on this website. Thank you and GOOD LUCK.

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A rarity. An interview with yours truly

crescentRare events are like buses. You don’t see one for ages then two come along at once. Following the Blood Moon/Eclipse at the weekend, the world has been treated to an event so unexpected that it was shocked into stunned silence. I speak of course about my author interview with the fabulous Brook Cottage Books. It’s been about three years since I last opened up for posterity. It will probably be even longer until the next time, so, dip your wick, as they say. Click the link below to read.

My Interview With Brook Cottage Books

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A poem for Doreen

bench_under_the_tree_by_evgenyaverin-d4uysvxA couple of years ago I wrote a poem about a bench seat that sits  beneath a tree at the top of a hill in the Rushcliffe Country Park. Doreen and I walked that park with our dogs for years, we knew every twist and turn in the miles of dirt paths by heart. We used to sit on this bench to get our breath back and just take in the beauty of he place. When I originally wrote the piece it wasn’t about Doreen, or us, it was about an imaginary couple that  trod the same paths,

Since I lost Doreen I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the past, trying to focus on the happy times and our walks around the country park came high on my list of things we did together.  Doreen loved those walks, we used to go most nights through the summer and just about every Sunday morning. Last night, in bed, I followed our route in my mind and when I arrived at the bench my poem sprang to mind. This morning I made one or two small changes and it now works as a tribute to Doreen and to the place she loved so much.

It’s not the best poem in the world, but it’s mine. I’m thinking of having it read out at Doreen’s funeral on Tuesday but I don’t know if it’s worthy of her. I’ll think about it between now and then, If anyone can think of anything that will improve it I’d be more than grateful. I really don’t want to it to come across as oversentimental.

For Doreen. The Bench (remembering)

The blossom’s gone for this year,
the seat beneath the tree,
is empty now, devoid of life
for anyone but me.

I still feel your presence here
I never feel alone, in
our special nook, our secret spot,
the place we made our own.

I make this journey every week,
it isn’t hard on me.
I’m happy knowing you are here,
sad, things weren’t meant to be.

The tribute plaque was fitted
without a lot of fuss,
the sun reflects upon the words
as I reflect on us

‘In memory of Doreen,
my beautiful, best friend,
you’re with me in this lovely place
until the very end.’

And when at last my life is done
we’ll make that final climb,
my ashes strewn along with yours,
together for all time.

Soft winds will blow us through the grass,
the rain will make us whole
Autumn leaves will hide us, ‘til
spring breezes free our souls.

Our bond will be eternal and
whenever lovers meet
they’ll feel our love around them
unified, complete.

 

 

 

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Deep Thought Thinks

ErnestHemingwayAnalysis.

I’ve been thinking a lot about books just lately. AHA! I hear you cry, that explains the strange noise that has echoed around the place for the last few days. The clanging sound was my steampunk designed brain turning over.

The Facts

I used to be an avid reader. I devoured books like a chocoholic demolishes a tin of Roses at Christmas. I’d find something to read wherever I was; a book or a magazine in my tea breaks at work, the rules and regulations on the guesthouse reception wall; sometimes, even the fire drill instructions. At breakfast, in the digs, I’d even read the back of the cornflakes packet if there wasn’t a newspaper around. It didn’t matter which paper either. Although I lean to the left and have been an avid Guardian reader for decades, I’d still happily pick up the Times, or, dare I say it, the Telegraph. I even admit to reading the lofty ambitions of the page three girl as she smiled at me from just inside the cover of the Sun. Continue reading

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An Ode to the (Recent) Literary Past

Written following yet another conversation with a lady who thinks writing a book is as easy as making a coffee on the Tassimo

ErnestHemingwayAn Ode to the Literary Past

It used to be that writers, were looked upon with awe
and bookworms read with bated breath whilst clamouring for more
Books were treasured items, treated with respect, and,
scribes had readers at their fingertips, or words to that effect.

But now once mighty wordsmiths are, cast from the ivory tower
The storyteller’s silent, her words have lost their power
The writer’s art’s diminished, the alchemy all gone,
and anyone can publish, thanks to Amazon.

Books are ten-a-penny in the throwaway digital age
with publishing on Kindle, currently all the rage
And you hear the new-age Hemmingways, scream with great delight
‘This really is piss easy, anyone can write.’

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Domestic God

HooverWhooo, I have just Dysoned up the downstairs and cleared it of our Springer, Maisie’s shed hair. (That’s hair my dog has shed, as in lost, not hair she bought in from the shed. Is that clear? Good.) There’s usually more on the floor than on her.

But wait! While this bombshell might shock, it isn’t the most important part of this post.

The BIG news is that I have finally worked out the pressy things on the Dyson. I managed to get the extended hose out, fit an attachment brush and everything. Amazingly the whole machine didn’t collapse into 20 kit-form pieces. This has happened before, when she went to Scotland. That was a proper disaster.  I had to get the neighbour’s wife in to rebuild the bloody thing. Shhhh though, don’t let my missis know I’ve learned how it works. I’m still performing dishwasher duty from the time she discovered I’m not quite as thick as I try to look.

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Home Alone

I am Home Alone as my gaoler has buggered off to that London for the day. (God knows why, it’s just the worlds biggest rip off city. You see it once, you’ve seen it all,  all that’s worth seeing at least.) Anyhoo, this means I have a day to myself, a day to spend doing anything I fancy… Hmm, hang on, there’s a note…. ‘Don’t forget the plumber coming to rip out bath today and can you nip to the shops for… Oh and the chickens, the dog and the cat need feeding, I didn’t’ have time… Can you put the washing out if it isn’t too wet and give the downstairs a quick hoover? There’s  salad and pasta sauce in the fridge for when you cook your dinner…’

This Home Alone lark isn’t as fabulous as i’s made out to be. I didn’t even get a lie in, I woke up as she left at 6.30 am and couldn’t get back to sleep again. I lay there contemplating my navel for a while but then the dog started barking, wanting to be let out.

Oh yeah, the final insult.

When we discussed her plans the other day, she said she was going to catch the bus home when she got off the train. No longer it seems. I’m picking her up at the station now… no idea what time, after 10.30 pm  is the only info I have.

Great.

Ah well, the day is still my oyster, there will be lots of loud rock music, I’ll have a vinyl day once my chores are completed, and bugger the pasta sauce and salad. I’ll make double egg and chips, a mountain of chips, a pile so big I’ll need two plates.

The day is looking better all the time.

egg n chips

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Black Friday

I’m really not happy about this Black Friday thing, in fact, I’m quite shocked to be honest.

I was in a shop this morning trying not to spend anything, as you do, when suddenly I was kicked, punched, and spat at. This was followed up with a torrent of verbal abuse and to top it all off, I was then threatened with having my balls cut off. In the end I had to give my wallet to the missus, she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

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