Not Doctor Ted, arriving at a computer screen near you soon, possibly.

Feeling the rashly self- hyped ,self-induced ,weighty burden of expectation surrounding my forthcoming play/story /Tv series/Hollywood blockbuster, 'Doctor Ted' ,I have decided to subtly distance my masterpiece totally from any unfavourable comparison to the much loved hit TV series, 'Father Ted', by changing the name to' Not Doctor Ted or anything like Father Ted the smash hit Tv series' This is, after all , just a blog, not RTE or the BBC and things are by the very nature of the medium supposed to be here today gone tomorrow , mere candy floss, vinegar and rain soaked fish and chip paper for the transient ethereal ethernet times we drift through, gutterbound and forgettable. So it would be silly to put any pressure on myself,particularly in my present weakened state, balanced on the cusp of feeling the steel of the blade of the grim reaper(and I don't mean Mary Harney) 'Not Doctor Ted or anything like Father Ted the smash hit Tv series' remains though a true masterpiece and is without doubt the greatest piece of wrting of any kind produced since the dawn of time.

Shite, I think I may have done it again.

Coming soon to a computer screen near you

Doctor Ted.

I is back outta Hoshppidal

and hopefully nearly outa the woods too.Very tired, very weak.Must bed rest for another week then take it easy for another three,then go back for x rays.The roots and branches of infection got a real good grip of me and aren't keen to let go despite almost a gallon of liquid antibiotics and a bucketful of tablet ones.After a day of tests and who wants to be a millionaire type questioning in A+E they put me in a bed on a ward and stuck a four inch nail,er, I mean needle, into my arm with a nozzle on the end.I wondered if they were going to re-inflate my lung with a bicycle pump ,but no, it was for putting huge syringes of antib's into me at regular intervals.It's become a cliche I suppose to say the 'nurses were angels' but this hackneyed phrase is only a cliche because it is so true.I am filled with huge admiration for every single one of them and enormous gratitude.I don't know how they do it, don't know why they do it, but I thank God that they do. I would really love to win the lottery and give each and every one of them a huge wedge of cash and all the catering staff and all the domestics. You hear so many horror stories about hospitals and care and cleanliness that I was very concerned going in. In reality this hospital was everything you would hope it to be and to say I was relieved and highly impressed would be an understatement.They will have forgotten me already as they deal with the next intakes on a never ending conveyor belt, but I will never forget any of them. Thanks to you too ,blog pals ,for all your warm wishes and humour, they are most appreciated and apologies that this blog of photography and writing and idiocy has become a catalogue of illness.Everybody gets ill , everybody has troubles, I'm sure some of yours are worse than mine and you don't bleat on about them.
It's funny I spent a lot of this summer angry at the weather ,raging at it like that fecking other EEjit raging at windmills. I used to walk the dog across this field and a swallow would fly past, up and down , swerving past us at the last secondIt was beautiful and it was amazing ,but inwardly I was still eyeing the grey skies,feeling the cool breeze, and moaning.When I was in hospital and sick I thought of that moment and how I would dearly love to be under those grey skies , feeling the breeze on my face and watching that small bird.So maybe not ALL cliches are true. Maybe, just maybe, one swallow really can make a summer after all.

Gone to hospital

See you all later.PG.

The kiss of death


I was the king of Spain
and she was the queen.
We fought with pillows, feathers and hammers,
through the fever of ourselves.
White canaries sang on the windowsill,
Galleons rose on tall black seas as
day and night in battle we fell.
The heat of her made me sweat,
hot hands and thighs all over me,
long black hair hanging loose,

painted nails clutching at my heart.
She was beautiful, too beautiful, her
soft words were spoken, barely whispered
sweet nothings, in breathy deathly lust.
She wanted me so bad
if I but closed my eyes
and kissed her lips,
I was gone.

EEjit found alive if not kicking

Despite fears to the contrary, EEjit is not dead yet, though I think I came pretty close last night(more about that later) thanks lads ( 'lads' in Ireland means often males and females collectively) for all your support.strange to think I kept blogging when I was potentially dying,what's that all about? Not counting my chickens and keeping well way from the pigs but I think (hope,pray) the tide may be turning in my favour,at last.

The word on the street is...

Pneumonia and partially collapsed lung.

The Word on the street of ill is X-Ray!

Through it all,not a single sneeze, n'er a snuffle ,not one runny-nosed tissue thrown down the back of the headboard. No but by crikey a virulent cough to beat the band.I coughed so much and so hard last night that they think I may have pnemonia or a collapsed lung -or both.Hence the x-ray.A vast epic cacophany of a cough, if it were music it would be wagner,mighty and intimidating, it comes in night long bouts that make you wonder if you have an ounce of air, or cough,or energy left in your pathetic little frame.The kind of cough that doubles-up your legs, smashes your ribs with hammers and threatens to break you in two,leaving you shipwrecked and broken on the distant shore of your bed,thrown there as flotsam by the mighty epic sea of the swine flu,and there you sweat barely daring,barely able ,to breathe for fear of the inevitability of the next violent wave.


I was thinking of stuff written on headstones and the only one I really don't like is the 'Only sleeping' one.Feckin hell.! Only sleeping? WTF is that all about.Every time I see that in a graveyard I quicken me pace and keep an eye out over me shoulder.What if the poor fucker wakes up!
Iwas thinking of something fairly conventional for my headstone and even maybe a little poetic so that people would be drawn into it ,and then, written in really small print so they have to lean right in squinting to read it
'You, yes, YOU! I'm keeping my eye on you!
That should put the wind up them!

The word on the street is ,ROTTEN.

totally rotten /wrecked/too ill , feverish exhausted to blog but ,Mrs Niamh, one if the world famous 'Poetry Divas' performance group is going great guns with 'man and superman ,the world tour.' Always a witty blog, go over there and see what she's up to in a tent in a field with 3 other poets. http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/08/poetry-is-new-going-out.html
I'm going now ,i want to die in bed with me boots on not at the computer from hell that has been the bane of my all-too-short life.Tanks fer all your comments good wishes, i will get Jimmy the Butler to reply to them after the funeral

One swineflu does not a summer make

Mrs EEjit also full of it.


US.


Are they swifts or swallows,
I can never tell
and did either of them ever make a summer anyway?
Hard to believe ,now,
in the detritus and deus ex machina of our lives,
as we look with cool autumnal stare,
that once, vital, we loved and bobbed and weaved
upon the wing ,dewy-eyed
and without a care.

TFE Poetry Ireland Review no 71

Anyone who doesn't like the sight/sound of an overgrown man wallowing in self pity and misery, turn over now.On the other hand it won't be forever as I'll either die ,or get better and cheer up,either way the moaning will stop. Currently after another rotten night I am bathed in sweat and appear to have an ice-pick stuck between my shoulder blades,or that's what it feels like.
It gets into you, every fibre of you ,throws you around the ring, pummels you on the ropes,batters the inside of your head with pneumatic drills,poisons you,puts you in a pot of boiling water then dunks you into an arctic lake and leaves you there.This it does in waves, all day all night ad infinitum.till eventually you are destroyed as a living thing and heads for the lungs to finish you off.Totally free,available in an intake of breath, a shake of the hands and all good hard surfaces.Swine Flu-it does what it says on the tin.


'If I had my time again' Part one of a new play ,probably in one part, by TFE.
Scene one a Doctors surgery.


DR: Hello TFE.

TFE:I'm dying ,give me some Tamiflu!

DR: Ah !Now, Tamiflu can make you feel a bit sick you know.

TFE:Swine Flu can make you feel more sick than sick can be and it can kill you.Give me some Tami!

DR: But you only have 'mild ' symptoms Mr TFE.

TFE: Fuck off!

DR: I don't like your tone ,Mr EEjit.

TFE: I don't like your face , Doctor. And how do you know my symptoms are mild, you only see me when I'm temporarily well-enough to drag my sorry arse all the way down to your surgery

DR: How do I know, Mr EEjit , how do I know? I'll tell you how I know,In case you hadn't noticed I am sitting at a rather large desk and I have a brass plaque on the wall outside with a long list of letters after my name.These things tell me your symptoms are mild and you do not need Tamiflu.

TFE: In case you hadn't noticed Doctor I am sitting with a rather large baseball bat in my holdall and I have a gang of mates sitting on the wall outside with a long list of convictions after their names.Give me the Tamiflu.

DR: How many would you like? Need any antbiotics ,you seem to have a rather nasty chest infection starting? How about a nebuliser to ease your breathing?

TFE: Thanks a million ,Doc.

DR: No problem TFE, anytime, cheery bye now !