Episode 5 And A Bit: The Umpire Strikes Back!

My beloved Reader, it has come to my frazzled and most nervous attention that the two thespian actors, widely known for their frequent and loyal photographic services in my whimsical projects and who recently starred in the ambitious visual production of my story, ‘The Legend Of Corfe Castle’, were spotted early this morning in our majestic capital city of London and each had on their person a suspicious article swinging off their arms! CCTV cameras picked up a clear visual of the two ladies – a Ms Agnes and Ms Katie – casually approaching the front façade of The British Museum, a landmark reputed to stand as a forefront in world-class architectural sophistication and whose contents are filled with astounding artefacts of impressive educational merit.

When detectives finally could not bear the suspense for a moment longer, they stormed into the paved courtyard and stopped the aforementioned suspects in their tracks. Meanwhile, the head co-ordinator of the taskforce made an urgent request for reinforcements in case upon confrontation the ladies were to reach into their bags and pull out certain named chemical irritants. In five minutes flat, ice-creams vans were dutifully deployed on standby to cool the situation down if things got out of hand – literally!

Witnesses report that when the senior field officer asked the two suspects to drop their bags and to step away immediately, they chose not to comply. The officer repeated his commands, but this time he spoke through an old brassy gramophone horn that belonged to his granddad . Each woman gave a disarmingly wry smile that had the remarkable effect of confusing all the officers on the scene. It would appear that this cleverly engineered state of unfocused attention created an opportunistic time window for both ladies in which they were able to quickly dig into their bags and unleash upon the faces of the officers an attack of the most orangey oranges, each one shining ripe and bursting with exponential quantities of Vitamin C!

Both ladies were handcuffed, each to an officer, and then promptly scooted off in cars with wailing sirens and screeching tires, all the way down to the London Metropolitan Police HQ where they were detained securely inside separate interrogation chambers.

When questioned about their motives their answers were remarkably identical.

What is the purpose of your possession of suspicious quantities of oranges in your bag?

We were inspired to bring colour back into people’s cheeks…

Ergo, I have now successfully got myself stuck in a highly pickle situation. The entire Metropolitan force is in pursuit after me and I need somewhere to lay low. Any offers?

NB (No-Ball nota bene) To the proprietors of dodgy and ruinous castles who may wish to assist. Thank you, but no thank you!

Giggle, giggle!!! ♥♥♥ 

Episode 5 And A Bit: The Umpire Strikes Back!

“… Each woman gave a disarmingly wry smile that had the remarkable effect of confusing all the officers on the scene…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | British Museum | London | UK 2016

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To Mr Porter, The One Who Crossed The Lines To Carry Me

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

Fortune, small as it was, glistened on my side that dreadful, foggy, colonial winter’s night
For Mr Porter was The Fat Controller, a chap famously known to be polite!

“It’s alright my dear Hobbit girl, Her Majesty’s soldiers won’t find You here”
And pointed he did swiftly to a gap to blend in, to disappear

Jumperless and cold, skin shivered to whispers of ice
The Fat Controller pitied and he pulled out something nice

“Take this, my dear! Furry feet You have though nothing to wrap on top
This jumper to keep You warm until You reach Snow Hill Station’s stop.”

Holding his hand in mine, my frayed fingerless wool mittens
I thanked my friend with my eyes as endearing as a pair of kittens.

Looking out one last time, then hunched on cog-bones of metal
Sighed out to stars above, how I wished for tea and kettle

Chug-chug the coal-hearted lizard wrote along tracks into the seamless unknown
Over via-ducts of bricks, by new rivers, sidling dark forests groan

Peril at my heels but I sought hard to lean back to contemplate
A good thought to mind came about the nature of a Soulmate

For I bear a Ring of Power that to Snow Hill Station I must take
A folly’s errand, I would have failed, please at that make no mistake!

If it were not for God to appear as He did that colonial night of nights
Who carried not the Ring but the Ring Bearer herself so to reach my destined rights

He’s just a Porter to the world, no one seems to notice, or to him give any care
But to me he is my fatty Soulmate, who saw my Destination outweighed the fare

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

AFTERWORD: My Birmingham tribe are well versed in my eccentric interests, they have long ceased to question why I am the way I am or poke fun at the myriad passions I hold for things that traditionally do not fall into the remit of the mindset of an Asian lady. Steam locomotives of olden times are one such artefact, as You have come to know by now, and I suppose there cannot have been no more an affectionate a gesture my family of the Middle Lands could have made than to have organised a whole day of sightseeing at their city’s impressive ‘ThinktankScience Museum where a dedicated gallery exists on the subject of the golden era of travel! When I heard the news the ecstasy and delight overtook my little hobbity feet like an invasion of excitable ants and I demanded that we made haste, a single moment could not go to waste! I was yearning to be re-united with the wheels of the olden times!

It was there that my jaws crashed to the ground as I found myself stood in front of the massive black wheels of the former Great Western Railway’s glory, a preserved Castle Class Locomotive! I boarded the vessel and even, in my disorientating madness, stuck my head into the furnace where the coal used to be shovelled and chucked into by soot-faced servicemen! Before boarding off I noticed a wall of antiquated signs from Birmingham’s Snow Hill Station that had been preciously collected and preserved for display. One small section spoke about the hardships that were endured in the life of the railway porter, carrying the whole world on his back so to speak. I was immediately overwhelmed by the unifying thread that linked the responsibilities of the Porter of the real world with that of the mythic task once long ago assigned to an unassuming and little Hobbit of Middle Earth. Destiny manifested in the most beautiful of expressions, I smiled as like Frodo had done, peacefully and quietly, assured that I was never at any point abandoned to loneliness in my quest, there is another like I, a Visionary chap, and even at present I am not quite sure what he REALLY looks like in this lifetime… ♥

But to end for now, Ladies, Gentlemen & Children, I offer up this poem puffed out of my imagination and whose fare You have paid me satisfactorily by Your taking the time to read it. I trust You employed the Admiral telescope to inspect the written text on the wall… :)) :)) :))

The world follows my Words, yet in the end only ONE will persist to meet me
Always Your Loving Riddle,
Mazzy xxx

To Mr Porter 1

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

To Mr Porter 2

“… It’s alright my dear Hobbit girl, Her Majesty’s soldiers won’t find You here
And pointed he did swiftly to a gap to blend in, to disappear…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham Thinktank Science Museum | Birmingham | Midlands | UK 2015

 

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books!

Date: 22-10-15, One month since original post

An Editor’s Note To My ‘Dear Friend’ !

Do You know what the definition of the word ‘enantiodromia’ is?  I strongly suspect that the chances are that You are a novice here, never having heard of it and will certainly not have encountered it even in Your most wildest dreams. Allow me to relieve Your frictioned nerves at this point with the application of the cooling balm of the enlightening answer. Exotic and mysterious to the ears and lips, the word refers to those things that steer in opposite directions, where it becomes so that clockwise is entrancingly paired with the counter-clockwise. I shall further clarify this gift of a new word by citing iconic instances that exemplify it, with necessary succinctness, and these include the Forces of Light and Dark, Good and Bad, Masculine and Feminine, Fortune and Misfortune, Ice and Fire.

And of what significance do my words carry here, Dear Detective?

There is much. You and I propagate two Visions of the world, whose umbilical mission is to depict the great dichotomy of the human condition, its perplexing extremes and astonishing polarities but whose unifying commitment is always the soul-driven quest to ignite the flame of Hope once more into the hearts of our readers so that they may be inspired to become stewards of Good Magic; looking after the world one person at a time, starting with that greatest of barriers – themselves.

While You utilise Your brave and noble moral foundation to primarily present the darker, shadier and tragic stories, it is in the flash of a proton dance the gears of Destiny come to life to propel my pen to take on the role as Your enantiodromia, fulfilling completion by counterbalancing what has been laid down by You with my contribution of tales and poetry from the lighter, brighter and triumphant layer extracted from my own plethora of experiences.

I have one such extremely significant example of enantiodromia and it occurred today. One of the reasons why I am an infrequent visitor to the virtual world is that I prefer, more than words could encapsulate, to dedicate my time to writing letters to my friends rather than tapping away at keys, for the ink seems to be a most faithful conduit for the inner musings of my Soul. As per routine, I wrote one such letter to my mate, Jan, two days ago, accompanied with a printing of an article from the Brainpickings website, edited by Maria Popova, a faceless Russian genius of the pen. There was, however, one special difference to be observed in my postal habit this time insofar that I gave Jan strict instructions to use her Smartypants phone to photo-archive my offerings and post it on FB today.

Why?

A gut instinct, an intuition, a sixth sense, a premonition. Study closely and carefully:

LINK TO LETTER: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10206246775946661&set=a.1349103125974.2044798.1183222940&type=3&theater

 

  1. I write of a heavenly place, the solace and beauty that I feel when I am in the embrace of my garden. You hint of the same place, though You speak of loss leading to Heaven.
  2. In the letter I am wrapped in warm and comforting attire, You mention of a place on earth that is classically thought of as a freezing tundra.
  3. Maria Popova, a Russian Editor – I do not think it necessary to tease out the connection there!
  4. The written word acts as an amplifier of my thoughts of the beauty of the present moment in my letter, You refer to it as a repository of the Past.
  5. I allude to the wild, roaming child of the forest who is a happy wanderer of the earth, Your child is lost to the ether.
  6. Your characters are sooted in darkness with sparse grains of Light tapping down on them, others stripped of flesh, seared by the blazing shadows of hellish curses; that is why not BRAIN but RAIN PICKINGS appears in the photograph, it is what I send You, like elixir-filled berries, may it soothe, cool and cure any doubts You may have of the sustainability of Your Vision. Never lose sight of it!
  7. ‘X’-cessive flammable activity proves to be an IRRITANT in Your story whereas ‘X’ marks the ‘Treasure’ in Jan’s caption.
  8. Jan has chosen to lay my mail against a backdrop of pretty hand-sewn embroidery, on the contrary Your story pleads for restorative stitches in time and on skin.
  9. You refer to ‘15’ time and time again as a number associated with hardship and tragedy, whereas it is symbolic of Victory and Freedom under the wings of my penmanship.
  10. If a SNAIL were to view its intended destination it may very well utter under its breath: “ Me-Far…”
  11. And that is WHY I wrote the poem below, a month ago, because Autumn Rain Was Made For Books – care to imagine how blessed EDITORS must feel when the heavens release their watery flocks!
  12. Do You CATCH my drift or do I, like the 12 hours of CLOCKWORK, elude Your Logic yet again… :)) 


Whoever You may be, may it be under the healing auspices of rain
Your Mazzy xxx

Wrapped warm in furry teal poncho, motherly amber cave of armchair, though toying with dilemma
Should these eyes walk into Dickens’ ‘Pickwick Papers’ or stray towards Austen’s ‘Emma’?
No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain… :))

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books

“…No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

TOMBOY ALERT! 92212 British Railways Standard Class 9F

BEWARE, this article may sound incredibly boring to those whose minds are disinclined to gear their attention towards reading accounts of exuberant praises of one of the finest examples of British industrial age engineering! For nerds and tomboys, You are in for a veritable treat! Giggle, giggle!

Designed for British Railways by Mr Riddles in the 1950s, this powerful locomotive was initially intended to travel at fast speeds – 35mph (!) – operating freight trains and after a few modifications were applied by Mr Riddles, a more efficient relationship between fuel consumption and load distribution was achieved. This steamer has the mighty lady power to carry 900 tons at any one time, although just before the Fat Controller stomps aboard she is known to let out a boom of smoke to remind him that he ought to go on a calorie-controlled diet! Hehehehe!!!!

Ladies, Gentlemen and Children, I am enormously excited to present to You the sublime supernova of steel, the ineffably cool, the ethereally seductive, the transcendent cloud-puffer, the First Lady of the Tracks, The 92212 Class 9F!

EPILOGUE:  I would only ever marry a man who was brave enough to engage with me in a discussion on the subject of steam locomotives! Choo-choo, could it be You…? :))

LINK: I shall leave it in Your good telepathic intelligence to decipher which trains would LINK You to my Home… :))

92212 - British Railways Standard Class 9F

“… This steamer has the mighty lady power to carry 900 tons at any one time, although just before the Fat Controller stomps aboard she is known to let out a boom of smoke to remind him that he ought to go on a calorie-controlled diet…”

 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Summer Reunions | Alresford – Alton | UK 2015

Freeze! You Are All Under Arrest!

News has just leaked in that British tractors are the object of affection
For crooked eyes, thieves who steal and sell them off with no objection
How dare they?! What grand impudence! Rudeness that cannot go unmissed
Tractors are important to me, for a future scene in which my Visions are kissed
So stomped in my Special Ed student, a debonair specialist in detainment – a true gem
Intelligence gathered from Interpol quick, behold a composite of all six of them!
Maintain vigilance, keep your eyes peeled, should you see them prowling about
These tractor thieves are cunning as fox, try not to be tricked out
For they’ll appear FROZEN to you, statues lifeless, beckoning you to move on
Cuff their hands on the spot, waste not a second otherwise they’ll be GONE..!!

EPILOGUE & NEWS: This light-hearted and jester-jingling piece was inspired by what I watched on the BBC News this morning. How dreadfully wretched that thieves have nothing better to do than to smuggle out of the country my beloved crown of the countryside, the trusty old tractor! I could not believe my ears as I listened to the newscast! Dear Destiny, please be as kind as to ensure that we have an ample supply of tractors in the future because I am expecting a very SPECIAL encounter by the doors of one… :))

LINK: http://bbc.in/1LNdnvu

Freeze! You Are All Under Arrest!

“… So stomped in my Special Ed student, a debonair specialist in detainment – a true gem
Intelligence gathered from Interpol quick, behold a composite of all six of them…”

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Reveries On The Wings Of Coastal Zephyr

The fierce midday sun beating calypso drums on our backs and a car desperately in need of a breather, for it was as hot inside as to be perfectly suitable for boiling an egg, Susie decided it was high time for a pit-stop before marching on with our road trip down to Ventnor on the southern tip of the island. Maybe it is in the fibre of my genetics, the non-negotiable inheritance left by my warmer clime ancestors which makes me so superbly immune to even the most oppressive of heatwaves. To everyone’s amusement and envy I simply thrive and transform into a skipping hobbit of carousing frolics when the temperature shoots to cosmic levels – with tea in hand of course! Duh!

Somewhere along the picturesque coastal path between The Needles and Brighstone Bay, we pulled over and leapt out of the car, falling straight into the arms of a most refreshingly intoxicating coastal breeze, a zephyr that must have up until now been saved in someone’s dreams and only unleashed for the very first time on our long locks. My black gypsy hair was unruly as ever so I silenced its disobedience by tying it up in a bun and, oh my, the back of my neck was deceived for a second that it had been kissed by the seductive eyes of a distant lover.

Three girls stood facing the Atlantic Ocean and a country road emblazoned with glorious Technicolor dreams cast in the guise of wildflowers and green grass, this was a place time forgot on purpose so that people like us would remember it at a later date, penned within a personal sphere of words or perhaps shared with friends over delicious tea and cake. I am abundantly blessed by Destiny to have it lead me down such palatial routes of natural beauty whose perfume I can still envision in colours thanks to my synesthetic palette of senses.

Agnes and Susie are casually poised to the left of the frame but, dear reader, you cannot pull back your pondering as to why my eyes linger to the right? For whom does my red-red heart faithfully wait for? For whose footfall does the dusty footpath anticipate? I had once revealed to you that I do not appear in photographs in the orthodox manner. If your heart is true you will naturally realise that to see me you must decipher my cheeky presence in other ways, and if you do so successfully, by golly, you shall see me! A glowing mascot of sun and sunflowers, Yellow is the colour of my Home and, as is obvious as crystal, both my good friends are in possession of it! I did not tell them to bring Yellow with them but I am confident to conjecture that Destiny had a hand to play in this. Does it not seem to you that they have become as like two loyal representatives of my Yellow homestead, on guard duty at the end of the footpath, ready to welcome the weary traveller who so clearly wears my red-red heart…?

I dedicate this photo story to someone I have yet to meet, for although I appear before him hidden, he is masterful in his Vision and sees me more clearly than I could ever possibly see myself… :))

For me, From You:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHtJDfgRJKo 

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Reveries On The Wings Of Coastal Zephyr

“… Does it not seem to you that they have become as like two loyal representatives of my Yellow homestead, on guard duty at the end of the footpath, ready to welcome the weary traveller who so clearly wears my red-red heart… “

 

Photography & Words:  © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories |Brighstone Bay | Isle Of Wight 2015

A Jolly Good Easter Holiday In Paddington’s London [I]

Squinting your eyes, you say?! Well, do not be so meek and brave a double-click on the image for a more comfortable enlarged view! Honestly!

Dedication:

Just as a certain stowaway bear from Darkest Peru had once felt nerves deep in the pit of his tummy by the daunting future that lay ahead of him in our great capital, London, I too am always a little prickled by the disorientating hullaballoo of cities. I am, simply put, a country girl far more comfortable with leaning on muddy tractors than coiling around in the squishy spaces of the Underground Tube! Yet, as like the bear that has eternally enamoured my imagination and heart, I do not give in without a fair fight and always, thus, head out to the smoky streets of London with my trademark attitudinal suitcase of curiosity and thirst for extraordinary adventures. However, those innate sticklers aside what really clinches my life-long passion for this particular city is that I have the most lovable of family members living right here! They are the kind of good folk that can beguile you into thinking that you never had any other home apart from the one in which you find yourself in right now. Isn’t that a marvellous blessing to be gifted when indeed you are so far from home?! Each face that you shall come across in this series of reunion tales is no more a soul as warm and kind as the big-hearted Brown family who once showed my beloved little bear that there was a home to be found away from home.

Without stretching my powers of tedious verbosity any more than they have already, I raise my chipped teacup in humble thanks and heartiest affections to each and every one of you who stirred inscrutable magic into my Easter holidays and the memories that I shall carry in the pockets of my little red heart forever…

First up, we have the ever so bubbly and hazardously witty Nuha, my cutesy cousin of age 10 – or was it 11?! Yikes, what an infuriating time to fall victim to a horrid memory lapse! Nuha, my darling, if you are reading this I know I have committed an awfully gross and unforgivable sin of forgetting your age! I promise to make it up to you by, erm, signing you up to a lifetime supply of Haribos! Gulp! As for the photograph, I would have loved to have boasted that this startling piece of Roman tile mosaic is hung proudly in the cloak room of the house but that would be a big fat fib for its true home is in one of my most cherished sanctuaries on this side of the galaxy. Oh yes, you are rather clever when you want to be – it is indeed in the prestigious British Museum! Now, onto the matter of mosaics, I have stoutly treated the art with deep respect and appreciation since I first laid eyes on them and the reason for that lies within its paradox: painstakingly designed and pieced but it maintains a resolute insistence to deliver the full fruits of its meaning only when you distance yourself as far away as possible from the craftsman’s work! Ah, and there is another quite amusing side to it all – viewing a mosaic in an exhibition is as enthralling as riding bumper cars at the fairground, all those steps taken backwards for proper focus and you’re ready to be a hit – to the person behind you! Ooops – sorry did I make you spill your beetroot juice on that white shirt of yours? I suffer from the occasional urge to dye people’s clothes free of charge! Giggle, giggle!

How very rude of you to presume that these four youthful sprites are the human spyware employed by that faceless artist par excellence, Mr Banksy! On the contrary, may I have the pleasure of introducing to you my wonderfully cheeky cousins, Samia, Tania, Nuha and ‘King Tut’! Here our streetwise quartet add a touch of an impending storm in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. The busiest road junction in England seems to be upstaged by the sense that these four are about to sprint in each of the four directions of the compass and do something terribly anarchic, like sneakily puncturing the tyres of rowdy sports cars and setting the giraffe free from London Zoo! Me, the mastermind? Never!! Ahem, ahem!

What sad misfortune to befall this statue of a pharaoh from Ancient Egypt! As I stood underneath the shadow of his massive statue I enquired to myself whether the damaged beard was the work of the ransacking itchy fingers of Napoleon’s army or, could the community of mice living under London’s pavements have an appetite for ancient history? Let us reserve this question as a prime specimen of rhetoric because to find its answer would mean I being distracted for far too long and then facing the wrath of a cold cup of tea! Sacrilege indeed!

Yes, dear readers, it will take a whole Spanish Armada to shackle me down from escaping into the pleasant greeneries of the park! I cannot do a photo story without at least one visit! If you are thinking that I took this shot of my cousins BEFORE running at speed towards them so that I had enough kinetic pump to run vertical up the trunk and then land with a double flip then, well, you’d be quite right! Giggle, giggle!

Ah, one of my favourite photographs from the bunch makes a dazzling entry next in my commentary! The cuddly lady with the strawberry cheeks whom I know you are dying to hug is of course my Mumsy, my boss 24/7! She is stood with my Aunty on the end whose heart is as golden as summer honey and she packs a punch when it comes to rustling up delicious food! The broad sporty chap with the beautiful head is my Rana Mama who is desperate to get me to enrol into the world of Smarty pants phones but I reckon my iron-clad refusal to do so has sent him into new worlds of dizzying headaches! Sorry Uncle, thou are defeated but at least you tried and that counts for something! Ah, and now to welcome you to the newest addition to our family and the better half to Rana Mama,  a stunning lady with a radiant smile and who has taught me the magic of the ice-breaker, “Khem-Choo”, for she hails from Gujarat, India, is my gorgeous Aunty Apeshka! I like her all the more after she approved of the dangerously handsome and brooding torment that is Mr Poldark! An encore of giggles I say!

Tania, modelling the brightest red jumper ever to have come off the garment industry, enjoys testing the safety quality of the bridge chains in the park. She is in no way engaged in any form of play despite the maniacal smile on her face!

‘King Tut’ is one of the most conscientious teenagers I have ever met. Sample here how he utilises a plastic replica of a Viking horn to summon our group to re-band at the predetermined assembly point in the British Museum! I have a strong suspicion that this tall chap may just someday blow into his toy device and the next minute you know you’re inexplicably stood in front of him! If ever your feet twitch in directions that have no relation to you then halt a moment and hold onto something. We cannot be held liable for the open frequency of the horn’s audio! Hehehehehe!

Meet Mr Hoa Hakananai’a, an Easter Island statue, whose name means ‘Hidden Friend’. On his back there is a ring motif and at this point I am sure the cogs in your imagination are whirring away at rapid speed to decipher the message…  :))

And last but not least, here is the highly decorative and gold painted coffin of Lady Henutmehyt from the 19th Dynasty, Priestess of Thebes and Chantress of Amun. A highly influential woman of her time, her mummy has not survived but tests based on a small fragment of her skull that remains inside reveal that she had curly reddish hair. I love the way in which a single colour can defy the prisons of time and space…

A Jolly Good Easter Holiday In Paddington’s London [I]

“… Yes, dear readers, it will take a whole Spanish Armada to shackle me down from escaping into the pleasant greeneries of the park! I cannot do a photo story without at least one visit! If you are thinking that I took this shot of my cousins BEFORE running at speed towards them so that I had enough kinetic pump to run vertical up the trunk and then land with a double flip then, well, you’d be quite right! Giggle, giggle…!”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Spring Reunion Series | London | UK 2015

 

“Fancy That Of….” : Reporting From The Capital

I know very well that I am clocking up the years which often proves to be the calculating culprit behind my little memory lapses so, I do beg your pardon dear reader should this question clang and clamour and rattle against your better side for the 3132th time but, do YOU believe in Destiny…?

Whilst you cartwheel your brain cells along the poser that I have requested of you let me brief and besiege every iota of composure you might have had before veering my way – for the male readers my deepest sympathies for your inability to multi-task but stop whining my unknown sir and pull your socks up! I can now begin! As many of you may have surmised by now, my heart is irreversibly conjugated to the airs and delights of the countryside. Seas of green, peasant birds regaling their pompous okra-thin tails on single tracks, narrow and squidgy with mud, rolling vales, clouds of dense woodland, the oblivious sedentary livestock of sheep and cows and, of course the lack of mobile phone reception, are all badges of ‘likes’ that I wear proudly on my chest in my showmanship of pride for the wilderness of the less travelled worlds that throb in the rhythms and rhymes of Mother Nature’s bosom. Here is the ivy-spangled poetry that I shall never be able to recreate.

Then why on earth am I tip-toeing across the city of London with rockets of mischief whizzing in my eyes? Why am I writing of and from one of the most hectic metropolitan hubs of our planet?! Well, as an unmovable adventurer I must be prepared for all quests, even those that do not align comfortably with my rustic tastes. After all, I ask you, how could we ever possibly designate anything worthy of the title ‘adventure’ if there was no delicious risk of it to propel us out of our comfort zones? Oh yes! I have caught the nod of agreement from you and, oh my, how you despise this definition of adventure because, there is a goal – a dream – bubbling away in your arteries which you pray for every second but it would seem that everyday what you yearn for moves a step away from you. Do not be so deceived, the mind can play tricks on you!

So why is the country girl in London? Because I believe that even in the most chaotic and alienating places, there is Love and it thrums its warm recognition of who I am with an embrace that I feel no one can see but only I. Take for example the photograph I submit below of a quaint and tiny independent shop lovingly made up to celebrate all things British, a paragon to the loyalties that people abide to round the clock in my country – namely tea, biscuits and, erm, more tea! Shopping has never been a pastime of much interest for me, however, the shop itself is a different matter. Ones that ooze with character, charm, history and buried secrets never fail to magnetise my feet towards their doors and into their dim-lit but boundlessly curious interiors and sellers that exude knowledge that has the mustiness of old library books.

The blood-red façade of the shop below was an instant hit for me since it is the colour I associate with the factory of the heart and it is also the beloved flower emblematic of my nation, the English rose. Do not get too settled with these explanations for they are simply the tip of the iceberg! It is the phrase, “Fancy that of London” which I would request you to turn your attention to. Does it sound like an odd phrase to your ear bones? Well, that would be no surprise. This is British colloquial for you, dear reader. Here, we say “fancy that…” to express surprise and awe over something or someone. For example, “fancy that he should declare his love for me in front of the children in class” translates as “the idiot is the most lovable idiot in the world because he saved his declaration of love for me until the day I’d be surrounded by 1010 innocent children and in front of whom aggressively retorting with a rejection would mean dealing with 1010 sad faces and thus, I’d have no choice but to say ‘yes’ – and oh what a cunning rascal he is!” So, there you are! Fancy that! So, in the context of our shop, the phrase can be interpreted as an exciting eulogy of the capital of my country, London.

Fancy That Of London

“The blood-red façade of the shop was an instant hit for me since it is the colour I associate with the factory of the heart and it is also the beloved flower emblematic of my nation, the English rose…”

 

DESTINY, you ask? Whomsoever reads this post today will have written about or received a ‘capital’ today. No, I do not mean the business of capital letters but, the capital of countries and since the photograph depicts a shop I will, in addition, allow for capital as in when used to refer to financial assets. If you are a Facebook or Twitter user, look at your post and the comments of people beneath it. You or someone, has done as I have described above. Perhaps, as examples, they might be: ‘Fancy that of money?’, or, ‘Fancy that of Rome?’ Look closely, dear reader: do my words hold the test of your scrutiny? If you have none of these accounts then try and remember if you partook in a talk of cities today.

There is a Bonus Round! Should your ‘capital’ have a strong link to the location or phrases in my previous post – about the sunshine island of Guernsey – then YOU AND I ARE MOSTLY CERTAINLY CONNECTED. Why are you smiling….? Fancy that….!

Word of caution: ‘Baba Yaga’, the nasty old witch, will have her own answer for this one but the first syllable of the city that was uttered in her post or comments will be very telling of her heart – another British colloquial!

This is Mazzy of Bee-Bee-See News reporting from London! Put the kettle on, people…!

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | London | UK 2014