Tuppence A Bag…

Feed the birds…

Feed the Birds (Tuppence a Bag)

Mary Poppins soundtrack (1964)

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul’s
The little old bird woman comes.
In her own special way to the people she calls,
“Come, buy my bags full of crumbs.
Come feed the little birds, show them you care
And you’ll be glad if you do.
Their young ones are hungry,
Their nests are so bare;
All it takes is tuppence from you.”
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.
“Feed the birds,” that’s what she cries,
While overhead, her birds fill the skies.
All around the cathedral the saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares.
Although you can’t see it, you know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares.
Though her words are simple and few,
Listen, listen, she’s calling to you:
“Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.”

Blog: Interrupted

Interruption. They just put my teeth on edge. Of all the times the internet connection can choose to be a total failure at existence is when I settle in to compose a blog post. The worst part of this has been that I probably started off as having a great idea of what I wanted to write and by now, which is my fourth attempt, I am just blergh…

I believe that blogs are one of those outlets where one can express in terms of first draft with no fear. At least that is what I do. I find that more often than not, post editing, work tends to lose the true, raw edge that it once had. Sure it may not be spell checked and raped by the grammar Nazi, but that’s what makes it special right?

This post will not amount to much though, sad as that is. The internet has played one too many games with me this morning and I am now not as happy a camper as I started out. Maybe later in the day I shall make another attempt?


Just FYI: countdown to Malaysia has begun! just thought I should put that out there in case people started to wonder where the Travel part of this Travel blog is.

What does it mean to be a writer these days?

Long gone seem the days when Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg sat at their typewriters, chain smoking shoddy cigarettes and creating works that stood the test of time. Even more far afield is however Oscar Wilde went about it. Today, if you are reading this, piece or whatever, you know someone sat behind a PC or a Mac and mashed out a jumble of words, a hipster trying to sound like she knows something about something, all the while never sure if she is making spelling errors along the road in her quest to be “heard” and “understood” and that all illusive dream: Taken Seriously.

I am tempted to run the spell checker, tempted to through in relevant pop-culture references to sound informed and aware and up to date. But the truth is that I wish i didnt have multiple tabs open in my Firefox, a youtube, a hotmail, a gmail, a google and that worst of all, a facebook. I wish I wasnt distracted. I wish I could actually WRITE!