2. Jun, 2019
This is an exhuberant joyride through the always larger than life world of the fantastically surreal, being a children's story for children of all ages. A witch's prophecies, witch finders, a demon, an angel, armageddon and the assorted foul fiends and celestial coves you might expect to find in heaven and hell - they're all in there, together with a bit of accidental satanic baby swapping to begin with which nicely sets all the wrong wheels in motion. A lot of famous faces have a lovely time of it one way or another. One of the devil's side starts out a bit zombie Bowie but comes over all decayed Keith Richards by the end. Beelzebub definitely 'has a devil put aside for me' (Queen romped through the soundtrack throughout) and also has a tasty set of flies hopping happily round her head (yes God and Beelzebub are both female here).
The demon Crowley is a cool, drawling rocker, sway hipped and louche in leathers, while Aziraphel is really quite 'awfully nice' as the angelic antiquarian bookshop owner. The demon Crowley's quite nice by now too underneath it all, what with fraternal bonding with Aziraphel over the millenia and quite liking life on earth, really, after all this time, even though, for it was he, Crowley serpanted Eve into eating the original sin apple in the first place. Aziraphel was always going to be in heavenly hot water for giving away the flaming sword to Adam and Eve to protect themselves with when they are made to leave Eden and is often questioned as to its whereabouts by the ineffable's bean counters when it crops up from time to time.
There is the wonderful Madame Tracy (a bawd) and her witchfinder lodger, the ferociously puritannical Sergeant Shadwell, who never misses an opportunity to thunder at this mumsy wee Jezebel like Ian Paisley getting something he didn't quite like the look of for his tea. I'll leave you wondering if the four horsemen of the apocalypse, who for some reason remind me of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on mod bikes, get to race to the finish. I gobbled the whole season up in two bites but then, I can always watch it again while it's on Amazon Prime.
Two teddies are now
Both in my keeping,
Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.
When new, Bruin was purple, larger,
With a deep growl.
My brother's.
Teddy was smaller, fawn,
Mine.
He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall
And a sink bath.
I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.
I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple
And my own ted must never know of that.
I was the oldest but the girl.
Perhaps that played into who got which bear.
Bruin is no longer purple,
Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,
At home and in his flat.
For a few years now, both have looked down from
The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.
They leaned together, slightly forward,
As if wanting to come down.
I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.
Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small
bald patches.
It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.
I felt I had let them down, the two teds,
Neglected while cherished still.
I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet
Of the single bed below,
Where they seem more contented, two old men together.
Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.