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Quite vieux-chapeau (that’s ‘out of date’)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
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| Rubbish artwork © Muriel Lavender using Paintbox and a rather cool tattoo I found on the Internets |
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