A sad tale which I hope will provoke some thought

I held the tiny form in the palm of my left hand. The forefinger of my right hand could detect movement in its chest and its eyes were open but I was helpless. Then movement stopped and they eyes closed. It was dead.

How old was this tiny baby bird ?  A life measured in weeks or would that be days ? This little baby robin would not grow to proudly display a bright red chest. Nature can be cruel. Nature IS cruel. ALL LIFE IS SACRED. The world had lost a beautiful little creature and would not be the same without it. I was sad. If I had Found it earlier could I have saved its life or had Destiny mapped out a shortest life span which nothing could change ?

My garden is full of birds, an aviary to the sky and without walls. Blue Tits, Blackbirds, Starlings, Pigeons, Doves, Sparrows, Robins. HE SEES THE MEANEST SPARROW FALL UNNOTICED IN THE STREET. Does he ? If he does, does he care ? Did he care about the death of this baby robin ? If he did, if he exists at all which I doubt, I doubt he cared one tenth as much as I did and still do.

What is the point of any life if its end can only be death ?

Where is that tiny infant bird now ?  I know where its body is, I buried it in the garden where it was born and spent its short life, but where is its  spirit ?  Where are those tiny little legs, fluttering wings and eyes I looked into before death closed them ? Where is my little friend now ?

That is a true account, it happened to me last week. Earlier in the Spring I stood smiling at a group of spring lambs in a field. Spring lambs waiting to be murdered.

We get excited about a poacher killing an elephant in Africa or shooting a tiger in India but what about the lambs in Buckinghamshire ? I do not see any difference.

It is a year now since I became a vegetarian, sixty-seven years a meat-eater and now one refusing to eat a fellow life. It was not a conscious decision to stop eating meat, I drifted into it by accident. It was not a decision based on morality, it just happened but with it my attitude to life, all life, has changed.

Last week a fly became trapped inside my car. I could have squashed it against the window with ease but I could not do that. It took major effort to set it free.

Jake the dog, Jake the dog - there's no one quite like Jake the dog. He is asleep and snoring at my feet as I type up these words. Such a loyal and loving friend.

Last week Jake and my human friend Josh were in the car with me. Jake suddenly have Josh a big wet kiss on his face. I laughed and said my two best friends were doing tongues. Josh was not amused, Jake did not know what I was talking about !

So could I make a meat pie out of Jake. How about slitting the throat of Josh, cutting him up and grilling the bits on a BBQ ?

Hideous !  Obscene ! Ridiculous !

Perhaps I could have cooked and eaten the fresh meat from the baby robin.

Hideous !  Obscene ! Ridiculous !

No more hideous, obscene or ridiculous that murdering a spring lamb to make a shepherd's pie !

When that tiny baby robin died in my hand I scribbled the words opening this page in its memory. I then thought I could used the paragraphs as an opening to a longer story, a book I have in my mind to write. The plot is there, perhaps I will write it one day. Perhaps not.

Writers Block

Retirement is not all it is cracked out to be ? Trust me it is not.

Here I am five weeks into retirement and I am suffering from Writers Block.

There was a time when I could write a short novel in three to four months but right now I am stuck.

I have not given up on my book FANTASIES OF A GERIATRIC DJ but I have not written anything for weeks - no months.

The central character is the younger brother of a British rock and roll star and very much in his shadow, That is until he breaks out and becomes a DJ on a pirate radio station.

With The Marine Offences Act on the horizon Max joins Golden Gate Radio in San Francisco, perfectly poised for The Summer of Love.

Falling in love with a dancer in The San Francisco Ballet Company when she is offered a position with The Royal Ballet Company our hero returns to England to work with Radio One.

Max hates Radio One, don't we all, but sticks it out to be with his lover now a star with The Royal Ballet Company. However, with her dancing years coming to an end our hero is moved by the BBC to Radio Two. He tells them where to stick that and moves to Barbados where he sets up his own radio station.

The two are very happy on the beautiful island but want to see more of their children so decide to return

to England. There Max joins an internet radio station where he becomes The Geriatric DJ.

But my writing is stuck in the Spring of 1967 !

I have been to San Francisco more times than I can remember and know

the City By The bay well but I can not get into the mood to write.

I remember well The Summer of Love - I was 16 years old and living in Birmingham, England. No hippies in Brum !

I need to go back to San Francisco, sit in Golden Gate

Park and soak up the atmosphere in order to continue the story. Right now that is not on the agenda so I guess Writers Block has stalled The Fantasies Of A Geriatric DJ !