Mounties

Time to don your toque and get cozy in your bunnyhug Purple People because today we are beginning our North American tour and our first destination is Canada, Ey!

We’ll warm up with a steaming bowl of Poutine followed by a double-double and a few Timbits as we get on the (etymological) road stopping along the way at Newfoundland and the ‘Capcity’, Ottawa.

Talks of Newfoundland lead Gyles to share stories of his ‘most magical, musical’ evening at the theatre seeing a show about the island but that’s not before we have a triple Canadian name drop and discover that Gyles himself has Canadian blood! Susie’s dendrophile nature is perfectly placed to explore the wilderness of Canada but it’s the ice hockey that has her sharing a long lost dream of performing a deke on the ice.

We’ll take a small trip with the mounties before settling down for a Jiggs Dinner for a couple of Twoonies and a bit of cloffin by the fire.

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Enjoy Susie’s Trio for the week:

Cloffin: to warm yourself by the fire and to warm the back of your legs specially, that is Brabbag

Exlex - An outlaw

Fysifunkus: One with no curiosity at all

Gyles' poem this week was 'Variations on the Word Love' by Margaret Atwood

This is a word we use to plug

holes with. It’s the right size for those warm

blanks in speech, for those red heart-

shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing

like real hearts. Add lace

and you can sell

it. We insert it also in the one empty

space on the printed form

that comes with no instructions. There are whole

magazines with not much in them

but the word love, you can

rub it all over your body and you

can cook with it too. How do we know

it isn’t what goes on at the cool

debaucheries of slugs under damp

pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-

seedlings nosing their tough snouts up

among the lettuces, they shout it.

Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising

their glittering knives in salute.

Then there’s the two

of us. This word

is far too short for us, it has only

four letters, too sparse

to fill those deep bare

vacuums between the stars

that press on us with their deafness.

It’s not love we don’t wish

to fall into, but that fear.

this word is not enough but it will

have to do. It’s a single

vowel in this metallic

silence, a mouth that says

O again and again in wonder

and pain, a breath, a finger

grip on a cliffside. You can

hold on or let go.

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