One caravan, abandoned

Such a despairing sight to see, an abandoned caravan. If you've ever owned a caravan, you'll know what I mean. Because a van becomes an extension of a home; step inside and it's just another room with everything so familiar. No need to pack to go away in your own van, everything is there (if you're clever about it) and you can just up and go. But it's also a microcosm of life. For condensed periods of time, family and friends come together in such a small, contained space. Within those flimsy walls, everything is intensified. Immense fun and laughter is a necessity when living in such close confines, but equally, if things get fraught, there's no way of avoiding it. If you really want to get to know someone, go away in a van with them, even for just a few days. 

There is something about a home on wheels - the ability to go anywhere, to pick up and move on, just on a whim. I've slept on a cliff by a beach and woke up to the sound of waves lapping against the rocks. And then moved on to pitch in a forest with wild horses. But then again, I always loved to go camping so it's not that much different - just easier. Given the choice, I'd always prefer to be outdoors. And I like the way kids always gather when a new van pulls up on a site, ever hopeful that it's another playmate. Friendships are forged within minutes and another adventure begins.

When I came across this poor old van with a broken window, dumped on a private piece of land, I couldn't help but wonder how it came to be in such a sorry state. Once it must have served its owners well, only to fall into disrepair, to become so unwanted. It's nothing to do with age; on caravan sites, you can find many an older van that has been lovingly maintained and cared for. They simply shine and their owners sit outside proudly, more than happy to tell you all about it, like a dear old friend. I wonder how many adventures this van has been on, where it has travelled and the various sites its been pitched up to. Surely it's deserved a more fitting retirement than this?

The Parrot Bar

Botero

The maid arrives at sunrise, to sweep away

cigarette butts and discarded bottles.

She doesn't like the bloody parrots;

only adds to the mess she has to clean up.

She steps over the drunk on the floor,

face down and asleep in an ale induced haze,

later she will help him home and into bed.

The girl sits in her underwear and stockings, 

drinking from a bottle, the liquor now tasting bitter,

her pretty green headband adorns another.

He can keep it, she thinks. It matches his socks.

Besides, he wears her dress. A cotton frock,

with thin shoulder straps and lace trimming.

He always insists on doing his own makeup.

She adores him while he cherishes her.

A love based on trust and friendship, not lust.

They embrace and hold each other, giving comfort

and kindness, shutting out the world around them.

Like the nameless soul who stands at the bar.

He wants only to spend a few hours in the barmaid's arms,

before heading back to the bed of another.

Meanwhile, another collected his jacket and hat,

was going to move on, then changed his mind.

Just one more. That was six drinks ago.

Earlier on he tried talking to the parrot but, 

all too quickly, the bird tired of his prattle.

He doesn't believe in love, minds none for company.

Had his heart broken once and is still waiting for it to mend.

© the dishonest woman

Photographic truth?

To look at this photo you would think these two are the best of mates. A picture of contentment and love. That's what I find so intriguing about photographs - capturing a moment in time that is then frozen forever. And someone will come along in years to come and 'believe' what they see. I am fascinated by old pictures - can look at one for ages, the expressions on people's faces, trying to second guess what's going on... such an impossible pursuit.

As for these two, are they mates? Well... of sorts. A few minutes before this photo was taken there was a high-speed chase, 3 times around the living room. It came to a swift ending when one crashed into a door and the other did a dramatic backflip onto the window sill. They then retired to the couch for a nap; the black one is actually cleaning the white one. An act of love? Perhaps, though it will likely end with a bite from one and a swipe from the other. But I suppose that's what true friendship is all about.

A February morning

Cold, 
but the sun is shining.

Much too early

and the carpark, empty.

Unlike my head, which has 

way too much going on. 

I look up

and there you both are. 

So beautiful, watching me.

We stare at each other,

frozen in time 
and reluctant to move on.

Are you as fascinated by me

as I am by you?

© the dishonest woman

And then she kissed him

Botero, Dancing Couple, 1997

She was late arriving at the dance

hadn't even wanted to go

but relented, finally, to please a friend.

Entering the room, in a pretty dress

with sandals on her feet,
rather than jeans and trainers,

she felt naked.

He noticed her at once

hair long and flowing,
tied back with a simple ribbon.
Ruby red lips, toenails to match,

she wasn't like the others,

withdrawing from admiring eyes

that sought out her attention.

How he wished they were both naked.

She went to the bar and ordered

two drinks, one vodka one rum.

When she turned around

he was standing behind her.
A neat moustache and combed back hair.

Slight curve to his lips. A smile. Care to dance?

No thank you, she replied.

But he took her drinks and

gave them to her friend

before holding out a hand. Just one? 

Go on, whispered her friend.

And so, reluctantly,

she placed her hand in his,
and he led her onto the dance floor.

Resting a hand on her side, as

their fingers touched, 
he held her gaze.
And they moved together, 
becoming one,

legs braided and arms entwined.

In that moment, he knew he could hold her forever.

And then she kissed him.

© the dishonest woman

"The truth - without it, we're animals"

A film from 2004, I watched it about a month ago, and it has stayed with me. Chance meetings and instance attraction - two couples bound together through love, deception, honesty and jealousy. Relationships are complicated and people can be cruel, even when in love. 

"The truth," one says. "Without it, we're animals." 

At times the characters are so brutally truthful it is painful to watch. As the four characters seduce and become seduced, their relationships seem based as much on lies as they are on deceit. These are smart, articulate and beautiful people - driven by passion, shameless deceptions, forthright sincerity, and then jealousy. The more they confess the less, it seems, they can trust anyone.

A bonus is the soundtrack:

Lemons from above

Botero, Woman at a window, 1999

She watches from her window, looking out 
over a sea of rooftops and narrow laneways where

two cats chase each other, hissing and spitting

and a dog knocks over a rubbish bin.

A city she no longer recognises, 

where she is nothing more than a stranger.

Too many years have passed since she
wandered those streets, high heels catching
between cobbled stones, her glossy hair flowing
freely, while the sun caressed her shoulders.
A carefree life filled with happiness and laughter,
like an overflowing fruit bowl.

She recalls that evening as a recent memory,
one etched into her heart, deep and tender, 
a seeping wound that refuses to heal.
In truth, time has abandoned her, a soul lost
to bitter thoughts and desperate wishes.
But her love is strong, has never waned.

When the stairs creak she is ever hopeful, yet
always disappointed. It is never her door that opens.
She keeps watch, convinced of his return,
that he will keep his word. I will always love you.
But his footsteps are no more.
So she carelessly throws lemons from above.

© the dishonest woman

Another day

I woke up this morning to find an email from an old friend - and a photo. We're relaxed and on holidays, sharing a meal, a story, a bottle of rather nice red wine (we've shared a few over the years). The t-shirt I'm wearing is familiar, in fact, it probably still sits in my wardrobe. Was it really so long ago? My hair is short, a different shade. Dare I say it, my face has fewer lines. But it's me, just a younger version. A reminder that I'm getting older. Does it bother me? Not really. Age just doesn't seem important so I don't dwell on it. Besides, I quite like my memories. I'm all too fond of reminiscing and love photographs, recalling happy moments. And they have been many since that particular photo was taken. Little people that turned lives upside down and inside out; wouldn't have it any other way. Special times shared with loved ones, good friends and furry companions. Some are no longer with us, but they live on in so many ways. Trips to fascinating places and meeting interesting people. Dreams that have been followed, a few amazing achievements, alas others best forgotten. But I'm still here, still writing... and, most importantly, I'm happy. So I guess that's what counts. Besides, while looking back is fun, what lies ahead is what really motivates me - there is so much to do and achieve, to look forward to and I hope will experience. I have my dreams. Novels to write, papers to produce, students to teach... paths to walk, hands to hold and bottles of wine to share. And, of course, there is still so much to discover and learn. Like this little robin I met recently, I need to flap my wings and just get on with it.