Category Archives: Our Girl on the Outside
Heathland
By: Lydia Crow A fire scorched the heath last night. A burst of flame cast a shadow as far as the eye could see; leaving a changed land in its wake. A numbing, a pause. But even as we … Continue reading
Nurse-Bashing and Avocado-Smashing
By: Lydia Crow May-Go-Round No sooner had the Conservative manifesto been published, than there was a retraction – sorry, a clarification – of policy relating to our more elderly nearest and dearest. Even some of the more right-wing newspapers … Continue reading
A Change of Shape
By: Lydia Crow I started Our Girl on the Outside some years ago; before the ShiverWriggle hiatus, and before I cut half the content from the site and subsequently emerged bleary-eyed to throw out a few more bobs and … Continue reading
Brexit Gets Harder
By: Lydia Crow Brexit gets harder As the Spanish Armada Scratch heads, befuddled.
Punching Nazis (or, ‘Sorry Mum, It’s Hard To Know What’s Right Anymore’)
By: Lydia Crow Do not resort to violence, You must learn to understand. Try to speak their language, Don’t draw lines across the sand. But when violence is their language, Inciting fear and hate, Interpretation falters, struggles; It’s too … Continue reading
Inauguration Week
By: Lydia Crow Amused disbelief, derision, horror. We mock the trumped-up man-child. Laughter turns to fear, and the newspapers threaten tears before bedtime. And now, just waiting. Heads bowed, they shake in horror at this brave new world.
Franchise Success
By: Lydia Crow “Well I do declare,” Said the man in first with a bowler hat And a rigid smile like the Cheshire cat, “That this here train has got it right.” “I quite agree,” Said the businessman with … Continue reading
Nothing
By: Lydia Crow Nothing to say, nothing to give. Nothing to die, nothing to live. The tar of the greasepaint, the feather of time Scars my skin in this pit of lime. A moment in time, a pause in the … Continue reading
Leave it there
By: Lydia Crow Leave it there, my love, Lest you disturb far more Than dust and bones And corpses of flies Who withered in the attic there During long, hot summers When the room’s dead air Was still and … Continue reading
Foiled
By: Lydia Crow Dig, dig, scrape, dig, dig. Bark, bark, bark, BARK. Bark. Bark. Bark. “Bugger.” (In Spanish.) Paraguay: Stray dog’s barking foils prison break