5,7,5 – 365  8th December 2015 

5,7,5 – 365

8th December 2015

A haiku, eight hairy legs , and a diary entry, almost every day for a year. 

The internet had us out collecting conkers this October, they apparently will ward off house spiders. It does seems to have worked. Now the only time we see anything with eight hairy legs is when Archie and Arnie are wrestling under the coffee table. Sadly however, whereas the old lady who swallowed a fly ended her story with a horse, we began ours with a horse chestnut and now find ourselves bothered by flies. Beware! You meddle with nature at your peril.


Bowls of horse chestnuts

Have house arachnids conquered

But plague us with flies

5,7,5 – 365  29th November 2015 

5,7,5 – 365 29th November 2015 

A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year. 

It’s Sunday morning, it’s grey and blustery outside on the fens but in here it’s warm and quiet. We are treating ourselves to End of the Road Pie – our name for them, after first buying them for The End of the Road festival in 2014. I have to eat mine warily, Laila having finished hers too quickly, she is hovering to my right, cake fork in hand. If only they came in boxes of three.



Our breakfast in bed

Outside blow November winds

Sunday indulgence

5,7,5 – 365  22nd November 2015

5,7,5 – 365 22nd November 2015 

A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year. 


I recently learned from another post on here the Japanese name for the Milky Way, Amanogawa. The word literally translates as ‘River of Heaven‘ or ‘Celestial River’. Because the Celestial River becomes brighter in the night sky during the Japanese Autumn, Amanogawa is a kigo for that season. A kigo in haiku being a word or phrase that is traditionally associated with a particular season.
On clear nights, when looking up at the Milky Way, staring deeper and deeper into it, I often find myself knocked off balance, as if the ground beneath me has shifted. Here is my own crude stab at a haiku using the same kigo.

River of heaven

Flowing through the black night sky

Feel the Earth moving 

5,7,5 – 365  23rd November 2015

5,7,5 – 365 23rd November 2015
A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year.

This morning my windscreen is frozen over. After the stormy winds of last week, the air is still and sharp with frost. Smoke rises from the chimneys of Dowsby and Dunsby, and I smell wood and coal smoke even in the car. In contrast to the cold, the sky in the East glows warm pinks and red.

Still frosted morning

Smell of burning wood and coal

Ember glowing sky

5,7,5 – 365 11th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365
11th November 2015

A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year. All in no particular order. 
I’m behind on my blog, I have a gig to write up and another important event but they are still works in progress. So Diary entries and haiku may appear out of synch. It doesn’t really matter, I hop back and forth in my head and the blog will just reflect that.

In the meantime, over a coffee in my favourite weekday haunt, with no willow in sight, I came up with the following.


The Willow weeping

Cries golden tears to the wind

For Winter draws near 

5,7,5 – 365 4th November 2015 (2)

5,7,5 – 365
4th November 2015 (2)


A haiku and a diary entry, everyday for a year. Sometimes twice!

I wrote this morning’s blog whilst waiting for my train to depart, an exercise in the avoidance of over thinking.

I’m on the train home right now and Laila just texted me, saying I was a crow, a reference to an old Stewart Lee and Richard Herring sketch, ‘Histor’s Eye’ in which Pliny, an egg obsessed crow, is unable to answer any question without mentioning the word egg. So, in the spirit of continuing to try to write spontaneously and to prove I’m not egg obsessed, I texted back the following haiku. Sadly, I then spoilt it a bit by texting, “The eggy, egg, egg, egg”, but you can’t win them all.


Black on rainbow black

Riding on cold Autumn wind

CRAWK, I am the crow

5,7,5 – 365 4th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365

4th November 2015

A haiku and a diary entry, everyday for a year.
It’s one of those chilly, wet, foggy Autumn mornings that demands I keep my umbrella up and my head down. As I walk to the station a lone ornamental tree catches my attention on the opposite verge. The rain has taken the last of its leaves off, leaving them in a circle beneath. The wet black branches, like skeletal fingers, point straight upwards, leaving me feeling even colder.

Naked she stands now

Reaching up to the grey sky

Her gold at her feet