Two Moons

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.Look, she says. Look. There are two moons tonight. Do you think that means anything?

Like end times, you mean?

I don’t know, she says. It can’t be good.

We move closer. There they are above the rooftops, one higher and to the right of the other.

Someone in the ranch-style house switches the porch light on and joins us.

My ex-wife phoned, he says. She saw it too. She’s bit of a sky watcher.

So we stand there out the front as one then the other veer off in a north-easterly direction, silent and glowing as moons.

Barking Mad

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There’s a wine called ‘Barking Mad’.

I liked it so much I bought six bottles and drank them all.

Not in one night, of course.

There have been times when I have been barking mad:

Over the insurance company’s delay in fixing my storm-damaged gate because ‘it is just a gate’,

Over next door’s yippee yappy dog who goes off when I piss under the lemon tree at night alarming the neighbours and the back lights go on to see what’s up [ Can’t a man piss in peace? ]

But mostly it’s the scammer with the heavy Slav accent who phones every few days to tell me my internet has been infected and will be turned off unless I phone a certain number.

It hasn’t been turned off yet and I haven’t phoned.

Over petrol prices that go up and down like a wild week at the Dow Jones.

I could go on but you get the idea.

Everyone is a Howard Beale barking mad at something.