Monday, 25 August 2014


 MY GRANDMA is ninety-eight today. She broke her hip recently, and the Doctors didn't think she'd make it. But she bloody did. So they gave her a new hip. Then she had a fall and broke her nose, and the Nurses named her Miss Independence and she recovered. 
My Grandma is amazing. My Grandma renews her circle of friends every ten years or so: not that she outgrows them; she out-lives them. My Grandma likes Bombay Sapphire and Grey Goose. My Grandma can still beat me at Scrabble.
My Grandma is still beautiful. My Grandma will not be beaten.

Here is a poem about birthdays. I've just noticed it's one of three that I've written where the last line is nicked from Shakespeare. I didn't write it for my Grandma, but I like it and it's got a Hello! style magazine cover to go with it, which is at the bottom, and you can scroll down and look at it, but read the poem first, please, because it's fun, and it's got fairies in and that.

Happy Birthday, Fairy

Happy Birthday!  Being nine
Is super fun – it’s just divine!
And so last-year, now, to be eight:
Quite vieux-chapeau (that’s ‘out of date’)
But: with age comes duty, too
And every fairy knows it’s true
So in between the cake and tea,
And all good things your day should be
A moment, please, to think about
A fairy’s work indoors and out
Wave your wand about like so
To make the pretty flowers grow
In brightly-coloured dainty crowds
Shine the sun and pink the clouds,
Shake the trees to fill the air
With perfumed cherry-blossom fair,
Smile to lift the sky – and just
Remember all that Fairy Dust
Won’t get sprinkled by itself
And never ask a passing Elf
To help – they simply can’t be trusted

To get a single daisy dusted -
Let alone a Fairy Dell
(Do that yourself, it’s just as well);
Bollocks to all that – it’s too
Much like hard work, I think – don’t you?
Sit your arse down, have a fag
A quick flick through a gossip rag
And gloat at all the trash you read
About Peaseblossom, Mustardseed
Cobweb, Moth and all the others
A-List Fairies, like Godmothers
Down through all the woodland folk
Like talking rabbits (what a joke:
Who on earth cares what they say?
They’re high on clover anyway
Check out those photos! What the fuck –
Somebody’s had something tucked
I can’t believe it’s Tinker Bell!
Mavis Cruet’s diet hell
Is all behind her,she looks grand
(She’s fitted with a gastric band)
In his column, saucy Puck
Rakes through all the fairy muck:

Turns out Oberon has fathered
Quite a clutch of fairy bastards
When it broke, as scandals must
Titania hit the fairy dust
Never one to take things lightly
The fairy queen, it’s said, was nightly
Found sprawled upon a bed of Moss
Til Kate herself was at a loss
There’s only so much you can do
Men will be men, and fairies too
Lay aside such trifling leaves
There’s yet an arc of spells to weave
So polish up your fairy shoes
And then, the magic evening dews
Will need a very generous sprinkling
Drip drops until the garden’s twinkling:
For many a Princess’s true-love spell
(A few enchanted frogs’, as well)
Have sadly never come to pass
Because some sprite could not be arsed
Enchanting every nook and cranny
Granted it’s a proper fanny
If the job’s done properly

But all the fairy folk agree
Far worse if we were stuck inside
At office desk and chair confined
Screen-gazing til our temples bleed

Lord, what fools these mortals be
© Muriel Lavender
September 2011

Rubbish artwork © Muriel Lavender using Paintbox and a rather cool tattoo I found on the Internets

No comments:

Post a Comment