Mango stone

An Ode to a mango stone
You'll never know how much you disappointment me
As you cling to the juicy fruit
I understand you helped my mango grow
But
I hate you

Thatcher

1984 saw a Christmas of 20lb turkeys and a mountain of My Little Ponies; the survival of a striking family through the generous donations of a supportive nation. 

We marched and sang and when the Police kicked down our snowmen we built them back up around concrete bollards.

As a six year old child I could not understand why we hated a woman who we'd never met. 

A lady who saved me from having to drink warm milk at school. 

Today she passed away peacefully at The Ritz

...which says it all.

Other people, elsewhere

I am taking a (not necessarily very well earned) break for coffee so as to scrape my eyes off the screen and I notice a busy outside world with people busily going about their busy business.

In the last three minutes, whilst I slurp, pedestrians have passed each other, up and down the heaving street, speaking with people who are not there.

A business-man instructing his staff of multiple tasks to complete, back in the office.

The van driver requesting clarification on a delivery, 'is it this one or that'?

Multi-tasking mum with perfect pushchair maneuvering skills, texting whilst steering a sleeping child.

Young female enthusiastically sharing what 'he turned round to me and said', then 'she said' then 'he was like...'.

What first looks to be a crowd is actually a collection of individuals, all communicating; not to each other but to people who are not standing on the street, they are possibly not even in this city and maybe not even here in this country.

Other people, elsewhere.

I imagined with delight what it would be like...to be there, where they might be...on the other end.

And now I am back in front of that computer screen...yet again.

Souper Food

'When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand...and nothing...oh nothing is going right. Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there...to brighten up even your darkest night.'

...This is the song of soup, singing from the back of my kitchen cupboard. The smooth silky sound is ringing in my ears, taking on a brave battle with the extraordinarily loud alarm which is selfishly warbling monotonous war cries, against the backdrop of a proud church bell just a few metres away. Throw in the engine of the bus awaiting all kinds of commuting custom and my brain is about to burst!

When I am feeling this audio induced type of frustration, it isn't alcohol or chocolate or narcotics that I turn to...I seek out the cockle warming liquid lift in a pan, the tasty treat of the gods, the food for the fragile...SOUP. 

The Souper Food!

Whether from a can or carton, tub or tin; when the world is not your best friend and you've asked fun's mum if it can come out to play but it's grounded...it has to stay in. When there's just no joy to the day or if, like me, you just feel a little bit sorry for yourself. Forget the grumbling and listen out for the mumbling from the cupboard, for soup is smiling and dancing and letting you know that with a ring pull and a pour, all will be well.

And whether you are a carrot and coriander, oxtail or lentil, stilton and broccoli or leek and potato; just heat and stir and blow and sip and smile. Why feel sad when all this while the solution is stacked alongside the baked beans, macaroni cheese and marrowfat peas. 

The choice of taste is completely yours but do not be fooled by the chicken pushers! Tomato is the best, no bread or accompanying sandwich, just pure proud soup, naked and neat. No lumps or cream swirls or added garnish; that's just showing off. 

Avoid the soup/stew debaters and those who try to convince you that, minus a crouton or a noodly ring, a soup is just souperfluous....there's no benefit in chewing. 

Choose the smooth...you'll never look back and after just one slurp, your future will be brighter...you future will be tomato.