The Law of the Jungle

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Miki had a quiet word with me the other day about my bouts of "road rage."
She drew my attention to the fact that I, apparently, within minutes of asetting off in the car, hurl abuse at the first unfortunate that happens to cross my path on the highway. The journey then inevitably descends into an expletive-ridden roller-coaster ride of terror for my hapless and unwitting passenger. I have resolved to be a more courteous and patient driver. For her sake. But for my sanity, I have to get this off my chest....

When will the Spanish learn how to drive and park???!!?? ...and why, more to the point, do the other nationalities that come here descend into the same madness???

I'll tell you why, it's the law of the jungle. Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. Yep, you name it, I've got a cliche for it. They park on yellow lines, on junctions, on roundabouts, simply stop halfway into a turning to talk to their bloody wife, no indicators, no hazards, and a perfunctory glance your way when you have the temerity to sound your horn. Only yesterday, we were gingerly making our way across a local junction where the rule of the highway code appears to have broken down altogether, and we were overtaken, in the wrong lane, crossing a light controlled four lane highway by some suicidal dutch nutcase.Even Miki expressed some mild concern (this is the equivalent of apoplexy in ordinary mortals) I actually burst out laughing, so ludicrous was the maneouver.

Miki believes that the problem is a logistical one, the area is growing at such a phenomenal rate, there simply isn't the infrastructure to cope with parking facilities for all the additional cars, but that hardly explains why they swing merrily from lane to lane on the autoroute doing a convincing imitation of having sold their indicators, does it?

Oh, I can rant and rave against it all day, but I can feel it happening, ever so slowly, insidiously, creeping up on me like a bad winter cold...I'm..becoming like them. I'm beginning not to care..block someone in because I cant find a space? No problem!! Triple park on the main road? Thats me, mate! Park on a pedestrian crossing so oncoming drivers cant see the poor sods stepping out? Bring it on!
What? Its illegal? Don't blame me, it's the infrastructure mate!

Rainy Days and Mondays

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After the winds, the clouds engulfed Albir today and we were treated to some nice chilled Rain. Our planned trip away,then, seems to have fallen just right! We head North into France and Germany for a week for a mix of business and pleasure. These trips always replenish our reservoir of tales, experiences, sketches and songs, not to mention the growing collection of photos Miki is unable to stop taking! So I'm sure we'll have a variety of things to share with you on our return, or perhaps even while we are away, if we can find the a) time and b) cybercafe!



But for now, here's a poem I wrote about a place from our previous meanderings that we stumbled on when Miki and I were both "down my way" in Almeria. It was a beautifully named secret little Spanish village called Los Molinos del Rio Aguas" which roughly translated means "The Windmills of the River Waters" Let's hope our travels continue to inspire us.

Los Molinos Del Rio Aguas

The trees impede, then teasing, let us pass
Insects buzzing, cossetted by tall green grass
All at once, A clearing
With goods for sale in shanty shack
While crickets chirp ahead of us
And stunning mountains at our backs

Perhaps this place remains forgotten, Brigadoon-like
Forever lost inside the mists of time
Then, once an age, appearing
Reminding us of all that's fine

And though they spin no more
And sails no longer cut the sky
Let's linger here in Los Molinos
For a moment
You and I.

Kev Moore 03/06/06 inspired by a visit to Los Molinos 18/05/06

Take the Palm Tree

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It's been a windy couple of days. I know what you're thinking....it's all to do with that Chicken Curry I made the other night. Well you'd be wrong (apart from that incident in the supermarket) it's been blowing a gale here in Albir recently, for up to 14 hours at stretch, and the old Palm tree's taking a bit of a battering. We've discussed getting it removed before, of course. (I'm trying to convince Miki that we need to replace it with a Jacuzzi)I think it's time has finally come. The leaves die off with monotonous regularity, and the more it grows, the harder it is to reach them and cut them down. It's a fairly unpleasant task, not to say precarious. Some time ago, I committed my thoughts on this problem to a poem, spurred on by revelations at the time of Keith Richards' celebrated plummet from one such tree.
For your delight, (With Painting from Miki, naturally!)I present;

Take the Palm Tree


Take the Palm tree, there's a thing
The pleasure that a Palm tree brings
Stunning just to look a upon
Its branches shield us from the sun

But try to trim one - Jesus Christ!
Just leave it mate, that's my advice
The little hooks will tear your flesh
At worst, they'll gash you, then infest..

..your skin,with tiny little bits
That make you squirm and scratch and itch
There is another type though, but
Concussion via a coconut
Is all you'll get for trying to
Expand your Palm tree point of view

Just ask Keith Richards, he will say
A Palm tree didn't make his day
He nearly ended up in traction
I'd hardly call that Satisfaction

So if you're an arborealist
I beg you, no, you must desist
And if you come to view my trees
Just take the Palm tree,
Take it, please!

Kev Moore 04/06/06

The Dishwasher

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I'm happy to help around the house. As Miki, she'll tell you, I'll cook, clean, all that stuff. I'll even do the dishes, by hand, in the sink. But there's one thing I just don't do. I do not open the dishwasher and put stuff in, or take stuff out. I never had a dishwasher before see, and I'm not really comfortable with them. I know they're fantastic labour saving devices and all that, it's just.....I'm a little coy around them, shall we say.
That's coy as in shy, not koi as in expensive japanese fish. I've never been one of those. That would be just silly.

I decided I needed to invent a cover story for my profound neglect in the dishes department, so I came up with this poem by way of an explanation. There's an illustration, too. I'm seeing the therapist next week.

The Dishwasher

So, I'm stood there in your kitchen
With the detritus of dishes from the day
And as I ponder how to clean those nasty stubborn stains
I sense a voice and turn to hear you say

"You can put them in that cupboard,
For a washer it conceals,
But take care to never open when its on,
For who can know who does the dishes
And what horror it reveals
If you try to open when the light is on?"

So, this piqued my curiosity, and at the witching hour
Decided to investigate this claim
With a teetering pile of crockery resembling the Sears tower
I opened, loaded, closed it up again.

Now, 30 minutes in, the cycle building to a roar
I lost the will to sit it out and wait
With a sharp intake of breath, I reached, and, opening the door
Prepared to meet my culinary fate...

The plates flew thick and fast, some saucers hit me, some flew past
But in the maelstrom of the bubbles there appeared
A horrendous yellow goblin with a scourer and a sponge
And a little bit of food stuck in his beard

He leapt upon my neck, and razored teeth began their work
And as my head came off, the last thing I had seen
Was the little yellow fellow quietly mopping up the mess
So, though I'm dead, at least I'm scrupulously clean.

Kev Moore 03/03/06

The "Make-do" Culture

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Don’t get me wrong. I love living in Spain, and I’m not one of those Brits who expects everything to be home from home, like those bloody awful advertising hoardings that are up everywhere here. “Make your home from home in Spain” They are endorsed by Claire Sweeney...is that important? Why the hell would a photo of some scouse bint make you think “Oh well, if our Claire likes the idea, then its got to be okay , hasn’t it?” Bloody lunacy. But I digress.

What frequently stuns and amuses me, is the Spanish predeliction for shoddy workmanship. Whilst walking around Villajoyosa the other day, I came across this superb bit of quality Mains electricity cabling.(See Picture)

Im sure the guy thought; “Ooh, it’s a bit warm today, I won’t bother sinking that dangerous cable into the brickwork, in fact, I won't even bother to affix it correctly to the wall with cable ties…I’ve got a bit of spare mortar here, I’ll just lob it on, and Jose’s yer uncle!” Fantastic, But not quite as fantastic as the builder who recently ran a rubber gas pipe directly below an (occasionally) red-hot cooker hob. Fortunately the owners discovered it in time.

It makes you wonder how they survived into the 21st century, doesn’t it? If only the Inca’s had known this, they might still be around……

Monsieur Fermat and his Theorem

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I know what you're thinking...what on earth has some muso who barely scraped through his Maths CSE got in common with Pierre Fermat. Well, I guess, nothing, save for the fact that Miki is a Mathematician who studied at the elite Fermat centre in Toulouse in addition to being an Artist. However, I liked the idea of him coming up with a theorem that nobody could solve for hundreds of years. I guess I can always admire a smart-arse. So I wrote a little poem about him.



Monsieur Fermat's Theorem

Take my blessed pen and write
In faded figures on the wall
Equation in its purest form
That will explain it all

The beauty of simplicity
In all its eccentricity
As complex as it needs to be
Yet not complex at all

Perfection, Numeration
Pearls of wisdom before swine
An age has tried to solve it
- A Mystery in time

And scholars of the future
May look back and pity them
The one that proved elusive
Monsieur Fermat's theorem.

Kev Moore 2006

Post Script

In a bid to be an even bigger smart-arse than Fermat, Andrew Wiles eventually proved the theorem 357 years after it was first published, in 1995. Spoilsport.

Leipzig to Dusseldorf

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I thought I had lain the Mighty Pen down for too long, so here's an entry from my archives to set the ball rolling again!

I'm often spirited away from the Sanctuary of Miki and I's Art and Sound studio here in Spain to perform around the world. My travels take me far and wide, and Miki always encourages me to take a notebook to write down anything that might pop into my head, such as "why are they taking my deodorant off me at the airport" and "why would I want to kill anyone with my guitar lead, I'd just buy a garrotte, it's more
effective."




One of my shows last year with BC Sweet was near Colditz castle in what used to be East Germany, and is now, well..erm, east Germany. My promoter had booked my flight back to Spain from Dusseldorf, and so I was deposited on the platfrom at Leipzig Train station and a ticket for the High Speed (ICE)train was thrust into my hand.
The poem that follows is pretty much an account of my journey on that Sunday, May 14th, 2006.

Leipzig to Dusseldorf

Steel Wheels contrive to leave the platform far behind
With world-renowned efficiency, the service leaves on time
Bahnsteigs filled with well-ordered humanity
The train departs - Tranquility

Red brick dream recedes apace
An empty seat, a weary face
Sunlight soaked suburban sprawl
Allotments, gaily coloured all
Lawns tended, Shed's mended, Answered Sunday's call

Conductor's voice intrudes upon
The soundtrack of my day
A litany of towns announced
As we speed on our way

What secret places railway tracks reveal!
The private gardens, perhaps a glimpse to steal?
And now, containered all, proceed to gather pace
As we, across green carpet landscape race

It's cargo of the young, the old
The children brought into the fold
Some on business, some for fun
Some not sure which train they're on!

But all enjoy the scenic views
White fabrik against an azure sky
And do I hear you asking why?
The reason for the journey is the trip itself
And not the destination that you choose

A gash of yellow cuts into the green
The silver ribbon of a stream
That flows beneath this mass of steel
Thrust forward on its many wheels

Relentless, this machinery
Unrivalled in its Majesty
Communes with Nature,
Seemlessly....

A great expanse of countryside
A patchwork quilt of fields abide,
But for a second, replaced at speed
By other sights

The cotton clouds caress the sky
Formless, without symmetry
And as the destination advertised
Rushes to meet our eager eyes

I'm moved to question, yet again
What genius engineered the train?
To take us there and back again
Its form and function definite
And certain to exhilirate!

To bring our loved ones closer, 'til
Its task to make Earth's curve much smaller still
Its part in Global Village played
In face of flight, or car
Its welcome never is outstayed

Romanticism, Glory Days

For surely there's no finer notion
Than the Majesty of Locomotion!

Kev Moore

(dedicated to Miki's Father, who spent a lifetime on French railways, Get well soon!)