Iestyn Edwards Wonders...is it Lumpy or Runny?

  Just been to check the horses. The stallion's walking around as ever looking terribly pleased with itself. #bass-baritone #strauss #classicalsinging 

  Chasing opera dreams again means going legit. Queeny O'Shaugnessy in her Blackpool B and B would have something to say. I stayed with her for the Showzam Festival. ‘And I shan’t kid you, kid,’ Queeny said, booking me in over the phone. ‘It is a greasy spoon with rooms. Don’t expect any of your ensuite this or sachets of chocolate that or distressed drawers the other. I’ll have Pledged, Swiffered and Toilet Ducked right round your bend – but no chocolate on the pillow. Though turning in I guarantee you’ll still be full up from the egg and sausage barm I dished you up that morning, if not the previous. Mellow Birds cupped bottomless. If I find you can ply draft excluders fastidious, I’ll jug you a kipper. ‘My mother, God find a refuge from her, ran a bed and half board up nearer Stanley Park than she warranted. In those days her gaff were certainly called ‘legit’. You’d never have been let in. It were for actors, classical musicians – no variety turns. John Mills’s f

  When the committee chair asks about your dietary requirements, then gets passive-aggressive about them... 'We've had quite the trial as you're non-dairy veggishistic. Menu option after menu option from my poor bedraggled - mustn't say lowly - village hall committee handmaidens defunct. Amanda's plainest consommé - that would otherwise sing with its going to table splunge of non-pasteurised fuller-fat-than-you'd-ever-suspect Guernsey cream enriched mascarpone. And what price leaving out the dolcelatte bind and yak's yoghurt drizzle from Beth's vegan offal sharing platter? Not to mention that Katrin's traditional paella fails to cajole without its hand of Giant Finn MacCunhaill's crumbling of gouged from between the trotters gelatin swole gelding's testicle steeped Caerphilly cheese. They're needing outreach support. Luckily, the touring scheme is of necessity insured for all fall out from incoming fusspot dietary requirements.

                                                       c. Laura Pink Photography  For Lewisham it was an otherwise quiet evening. So, I went next door to remonstrate with whoever was endlessly mowing. Handsome, forties, with a bit of a belly, he mowed the border of what had been the Salvation Army old people’s hostel. I supposed he was one of the guardians — folk paying to squat in buildings awaiting development, to deter non-paying squatters from tipping up with their dogs on strings, army surplus jackets bulging with beer can bongs and contempt for toilets. He mowed on. I did the English thing of staring, hands hovering midway to hips, brows hoisted. He took his palm off the gas. ‘Sir, yes?’ Absolutely self-assured. ‘Er…hello…yes, to you, also. Iestyn. And…I was hoping to borrow the lawnmower.’  ‘Jake. Are you in the harpist’s flat?’  I nodded. ‘Staying till my new flat has floors.’ ‘How do you know her?’ Suspicious — did he think I might have broken in, suddenly thought I’d mow the

                                                                                          Me on the verge of being Sultan'd Nanna Ak, dressed in her dinner lady's shallows-blue tabard, would read all day. Beside the gas fire; slurping humbugs; tweaking, smoothing and sifting her hair, seams and hems.  Finishing one library book, she would immediately take another off the pile in the grate. Lots of pink on the book covers - mainly fondant, some rose, occasionally hot when, as she explained, 'The setting's off an aeroplane, all over some water, exotic.'   She knew she would like a book if she turned to page seventy-six to find, say, a sultan and Moreland nanny having their first kiss. 'Listen to this, now,' she would sigh, '"The sultan's eyes were like polished cocoa".  Aww, there's proper romantic.'  She did worry there was no mention of the nanny having applied a brake on the pram, or of a mosquito net over baby. 'But then, none

We discuss the arts, creativity, my retraining as a bass-baritone...and my unique way with a sledgehammer.  Petra left the interview rough cut because (she says) I'm funny from the off.  https://youtu.be/7NJtMD6xAdc

 '...the Royal Marine guard on the ship shouted he wished they had shot me in Portsmouth Docks -  and  he confiscated my chocolate HMS Victory canon ball!'   Lovely mention from  The Telegraph about the Trafalgar 200 supper on board HMS Victory with Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh as guests of honour.  Lula, harp, and I performed the Duke of Edinburgh's favourite song.  Hit the link below to hear my version of events on BBC Radio.     Duke of Edinburgh interview begins at 3hrs 30mins

 

      'After sound check, you have a query out front,' said stage management. I was hosting Showzam in the Blackpool Tower Ballroom. 'Her over there. She's been too difficult even for the circus archivists.'  A woman with a waved combover, in a sequined puffa jacket, nylon culottes and pink trainers. Wafting Lily of the Valley and carbolic.    'You may have seen my quick step earlier to the Wurlitzer.'  Her tone was no-crap librarian.  'Every Wednesday I've danced here since before even my mother passed on. To the Wurlitzer only when practicable.'  She spiralled a wrist at me.   'And I've got my three expected carrier bags.  In this first one: Happy Shopper vodka. Not paying your bar prices. In two - shrimp that were Morecambe-bought, home-self-potted. In three - glad rags. So, I'll thank you to tell me your band's set list. Then I'll decide if or not I'm staying.'    I told her.   She nodded. I watched her step high t

                                                    Image Copyright Laura Pink Photography   Here I am reading an excerpt on my YouTube channel... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eiJANvbjwQ&t=15s #birdsandbees #humanreproduction #humanbiology #sexeducation