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 |   The loneliness of the long distance ranter--all visitors are welcomed and forewarned. |
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Back in 2007 I blogged. I blogged a lot. I closed all 3 and went cold turkey for a few years, but, a bit like cigarettes, the craving never really goes away, so I am back. Still an addict. Still a... ... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** A HUGE thank you to Nada  for the fabulous awardicon  I'm docked at "Blog Harbor from The Talent Pond"  , a safe port for bloggers to connect. |
| Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1981, the second scheduled flight of the space shuttle Columbia was halted with only 31 seconds left in the countdown. Has there ever been a situation that you went through a lot of trouble trying to pull off (or really looked forward to) only to see it cancelled at the last minute? How did you feel about it, and was it, in retrospect, a good or bad decision? Back in my 20s I managed a pub (think of the opening scenes of American Werewolf in London and you'll have pretty accurate image in your head). The the locals liked real ale. They all wanted a day trip to Cains Brewery near Liverpool. There were about 15 in all, so I booked a coach for twenty. All that was needed was a fiver each (£5) to pay for the deposit and another fiver to cover the whole thing. "I'll pay you next week!", or avoidance and excuses along the same vein appeared, "But don't cancel it--we really want to go." So, with assurances that interest was still keen, I paid the deposit. The date loomed ahead. The coach company pressed for further payment.. "I never said I was definitely coming...", "It's great-aunt Marie's 2nd anniversary without the cat!", and, "When is it, again?" were some of the responses. In the end I had to cancel. Lost my deposit. Learned a couple lessons: 1. Drunk people lie 2. I cannot organise a piss-up in a brewery 3. Stick to the path I reckon most lessons have value, so are worth paying for. Maybe there is no such thing as a 'bad' or 'good' decision: there are only decisions, and if you don't like the result of a particular decision, make new ones that are more agreeable  |
| What makes you feel lucky?" My grandmother always says that any day you wake up and your elbows don't strike wood is a good one. She's 100. She's a settled down one (a traveller who was born in a horse-drawn gypsy caravan, who one day buys some brick). Luck, to her, is red. It's one of the remaining colours she can see clearly. Sure, she could have her cataracts taken care of easily, but that would involve a hospital, and when she was growing up they were typically where consumptives, mad folk, or amputees went to be forgotten and die. When she travelled with the fairs, she ended up on the coconut shy--reading palms had made her ill (all those folks with heartache and woe ahead of them couldn't be told the sadnesses ahead of them, so inward it went, poisoning the palmist). She said she was lucky to be on the stalls. One of her friends (I think it was a Mary Hay or Heyes?) was destined to become the tattooed lady: her father had been tattooing her since a baby. At thirteen, she had the face of a lion. This made her stand out at schools, where fairground folk tended to stand out anyway. All summer they would follow a route with other travellers that took in fairs and circuses. The local children would shun the tattooed little girl, so Nana would play with her. Nana felt lucky. Nana has sadly only 2 remaining siblings (both in their 80's) out of the 13 originals. Lucky for some. Nana has buried both her daughters (34yrs and 64yrs), but considers herself lucky to have us grandkids and great grandkids. Her husband died when my mum was in her teens, so I never met my grandad. She considered herself lucky to have had such love at all, never bemoaning the lack of time together, because, from the moment they met, only the second war separated them for a short while. And he came back from it. Every day after it with him in it was lucky. They never raised their voices to each other, nor went to bed on a bad word, and the legacy he left was a house full of love and a heart fuller for the space his memory left, in between all the bits that everyday living takes up, between thought. Without a mother, I have never taken her presence for granted. She lived independently until last Friday. After a couple of falls, she's had to go into a care home: "Until I get my wind back," she tells me. She has her health, and, as she points out, all her marbles. She is, by her own admission, blessed with luck. I found myself missing seeing her in the congregation last Sunday. I looked at her 'spot', in the pews--folk had left it vacant. Most Sundays (and not many missed due to Nana's request) for the past 19+ years at our church, I have grown used to watching from the quire as the Priest finishes communion at the altar, before going down the aisle to share the Eucharist with Nana. Two Sundays ago she was there. It was a co-Patron's feast day, S. Chad of Lichfield. After Mass we had a Parish lunch (4 x course, homemade fabulousness, in the church hall we had celebrated Nana's 100th in at the end of July). Nana was sorry to have fallen, sorry to have had to leave her cosy home for a care home, but, you guessed it, she felt lucky! She had been granted another party, before she fell, one with all her church friends and family. She could add it to a very rich and long, lifelong list of wonderful memories that would take another lifetime to re-live. I don't have a lucky colour, nor lucky pants, and I have no gut feelings for winning sports teams, but I do believe myself fortunate indeed, to continue to share my life with the most amazing woman, inspiration and friend that the universe could grant me the blessing of knowing: Nana Lena. |
| War Chest Wednesday! For those who aren't familiar, these prompts are from previous challengers... What is the difference between 'judging' someone and simply 'disagreeing' with someone? Is it possible to let someone know you disagree with them without judging them? Right now I am judging the question; it seems silly (Notice I said "it": I am judging the question, not the questioner). The only things we have at our disposal to exercise our own judgement are our own knowledge and experiences, as well as the ability to further research from other trusted sources: primary preferred, but secondary sources can add value. For instance, a frickin' dictionary definition of judge: A person able or qualified to give an opinion on something. Or, Form an opinion or conclusion about Do I really have to do a dictionary search for 'disagree'? I think the question is really about intolerance: are you intolerant if you disagree with someone? Perhaps I am a little tetchy on this one, because I am a judge: a contest judge on WdC, when fancy tickles me, and my day job has an element of teaching (work-based), where I judge the technical competency of candidates in a specialist field of industry. Sometimes I get shit for both these things. Is it possible to let someone know you disagree with them without judging them? Is it possible to judge people's work without them disagreeing with you? And why does any of it really matter?. Might sound flippant, and I really don't mean to be rude or offensive here (because I am achingly aware I an tired and grumpy and still in my work/choir clothes), but it is the curse of the reviewer: you follow guidelines, best practice, do your research (used to do a lot of research for the History Contest...), put the hours in (your own, where you could be doing something else), and run the risk of hurting someone by accident because they might take you the wrong way, or feel personally reviewed, instead of their work, or want to argue with your take on things. Sorry, I don't get it, because, especially if folks ask to be judged, by entering a contest, surely they might expect an element of, ooh look, I dunno, judgement?  . And back to "why does it really matter"--no one has to listen to the judge and take on board their suggestions if they are just that: suggestions/opinions. I had one writer, years ago (damn good, she was, and ended up being quite the friend), who asked me, "If my story was so good--and you said it was in your review--why did I come second?" "Someone's story was better." "Oh." At work, I deal with professionals with industry knowledge spanning decades, but in some cases, that experience is actually what I am up against: something worked in 1990, and even though huge advances in practice, materials, methods and technology have occurred, the ongoing CPD hasn't. In specific areas of practice, this lack of skills up-grade could actually be dangerous. A couple of years ago I got a 1st Class Hons. Sure, my grandmother has a very nice picture of a googly-eyed and grinning Acme in cap and gown, but heck, that's all it's worth, if I don't continue to learn, review performance, read and stay up to date with subject specialism? Nothing. When teaching I get observed, internally and externally. Ace. Critique the practice. It's not as if I am being judged--my skills are, and so they should be. Got £500 of CPD budget allocated to me this afternoon, because a recent peer review indicated my formal, summative assessment skills were weak. Ace! I get to polish the not so shiny bits of professional me  .Perspective is in the eye of the beholder. I don't mean to be such a grouch. I have had lots of lovely experiences with writers and trainees. So let me give the challenge a better answer than a whine-fest: What is the difference between 'judging' someone and simply 'disagreeing' with someone? Is it possible to let someone know you disagree with them without judging them? Use judgement when disagreeing. Question the baggage you bring to your judgements (your perspective). Factor in the judgee's perspective to make the world a more tolerant and thoughtful place. As for the blog entry title, this whole prompt made me think of the childhood heroes and influences on the way I view things. The ABC (atomic, biological and chemical) Warriors had a huge influence. I still consider Deadlock's bike to be the reason I have a 1979 Suzuki X7 in my front room instead of a dining table (the dude looked cool!). Anyhoo, he was part of Khaos, and held a torch for anarchy with a credo of Do what thou wilt, provided thou harm none... Only he said it much better in my head, and I can't do the voice.... |
Sunday is definitely the start of the week: it is knackering. Back to work tomorrow and it's really an hour later than I think... It won't feel that way tomorrow when I have had a good night's sleep, but right now every second seems stretched and simple things, like telling the iPad what I want it to say, is proving difficult  I want a dictablog!Different ticks tonight (the boxes are a little mentally restraining)  church = alto was a nice harmony in one of the hymns today. New to me, as I missed last week's practice, but happily the other alto knew it, so I tagged along day 2 after daft exercise usually aches more than the day directly after, but not tonight (I am putting that down to the extra hour). Have either the first stirrings of an autumnal cold, or am experiencing pre-Monday workitus--resolving it with self-medication (2 x small glasses of cooking wine   ) spent the past 3 hours wondering what to put in my sandwiches for work. Only just remembered to liberate loaf from freezer. Will see if I can answer the big question in my sleep whilst the loaf defrosts. Quite the puzzle, due to contents of fridge revealing 10 days out of date humous, half a frozen lettuce leaf and an unopened jar of pickled cockles. I've been in tighter jams...may go for all three.  confessed to Sssssh! I'm not really here.  that I couldn't understand where the Spam emotion {e:spam} had disappeared to -- it would seem that I dreamt its existence. Final day of Spam tomorrow. Today's took some doing (putting it down to that extra hour, too) "Invalid Item"  handed out the awardicons, merit badges and candy over at the Comedy Scream, so I can rest easy that one deadline is done and dusted  . Whilst everyone else NaNos I will get on with my secret mission and hit targets with Rising Stars. tuckered. Off to bed. WdC never sleeps. Somewhere in that big ole world, some writer is getting up, logging on, and squeezing oranges. Love it  |
| I am having a blast at multi-tasking and writing this entry in snatches, so it may not be coherent: I picked up parts for car = £95 Gave in to social pressure = cleaned the house, as it better than me in a mess-off (like a stare-off [who blinks first contest], only this place never cleans itself when I am not looking) Ran 5k = in the drizzle and mist of the glowing reds, yellows and oranges of a disrobing park (which made me feel like Clarise, running through the countryside in Silence of the Lambs) Spammed = "Invalid Item" Filled a form in = for a friend who was guilty of question pressurising himself by over-thinking such things as 'name?' 'Date of Birth?' Became an unlicensed and unpaid taxi for BA. Visited my grandmother, who had to go in home for the elderly for yesterday, for a 4 week stint, due to last week's shenanigans of falling over. A lot. She is slapping a brave face on, but hates old people. She is 100. Was discovered by a much-loved blogger friend from my early days here. Can't tell you what her writing, and her friendship, has meant to my enjoyment of being on this site! I soooo hope I can keep up the blogging and she does, too. Her life is like many: full of ups and downs, but what a ride, what an adventurer, what a writer, and what a fabulous soul to shine out in the world (missed you Nada )Would have loved to reviewed more and handed out hallowe'en candy awardicons at the Comedy Scream, but that can wait...tonight is duvets on the sofa with BA as we get into the horror vibe of the season. A choice of film each. BA's choice is their personal favourite (and one I have never seen) The Purge. Mine is, of course, my favourite, which I have lost count of watching and never get bored of, Jaws! Putting the shark on first, in the hope we'll be too tired for dystopian futures riddled with people killing people. I like my monsters to be made-up. Reality is shite. |
| Thank Fuck it's Friday! When all the week is put to bed, And all thoughts turn to dreams, instead. The weekend lives, instead of looms, Unlike Monday's grizzled womb, Which only swells with aching pangs, Laments of lie-ins lost and damned. Drear Tuesday is a nothing day, When suicides give in to fate. And 'mid-week drinkies' get you through, The misery of Wednesday's blues. Thursday's fridge is looking barren: Pauper's fayre, befitting Charon. Fat with freedom's bliss is Friday! All the in-tray horrors, waylaid. When all the week is put to bed, And all thoughts turn to dreams, instead! I am, you may gather, looking forward to the weekend   Spam! Free verse, no less: "Invalid Item" . Waaaaay out of my comfort zone, and, I think, only the safety net of daring to dash it down the throats of those brave souls at the "Invalid Item" , who must, by now, be desensitised to swallowing shite, was the real impetus to dip my nib--oh, and WakeUpAndLive️~🚬🚭2024  and SB Musing  's unintended, but most welcome, encouragement. Feck me, look at the size of that sentence. This free verse thing is scary in its power to remove the bonds of sensibility of a creative mind. I will write 2 x sonnets and recite 1 x Betjamin as penance... Blog. On it! Review/edit. Made my eyes bleed. One long article and all the Comedy Scream entrants. No contests next month, but may have a little Yule game in December before ... Before things which cannot be spoken of are unleashed in January     Chores! find iron. Sounds like nothing, but remember I said I had an indoor garage/would-be hardware store? It was, allegedly, in there, in a shoe box, and Jnr needed it. I haven't got time for the thing. Life's too short. I remember vowing I would never fall prey to its evil, after watching my mother spend endless, thankless weekends ironing, amongst other things: duvet covers, knickers, socks and frickin' handkerchiefs. Jnr had left the water in after last using it, 12 months ago. It came out lumpy. I hate the damn thing even more. It's like some modern bust of Pallas, quoth the Acme, "Nevermore!" 3hour round trip to visit Jnr with needed essentials (iron, lasagne and paperwork), at her uni, before she started her first day in a new part time job. Soooo proud  housework. In your face, oppressive, bourgeois tyranny! Tomorrow, if'n I can rise like yeast, I shall fill my lungs with park air instead of fags, on a 5k run, where I usually come last (I like to leave the place without medical assistance, so pace myself at either Stroll, Promenade, or Perambulate, all of which are slightly too fast to allow me to roll a small cheroot without losing half me baccy. Proof, if ever you needed it, that exercise is good for you). |
| Strange days, indeed... I went into work to train bonders. No bonders arrived. Now, I had been reassured by my boss and another manager that I should not go in, as the compassionate leave granted to me is until Monday, but if I was determined to go in, I should spend as little time there as possible: ignore my emails, gallop through the training, not even stop to tidy up, but to go as soon as possible. Fair enough. Trainees are asked to arrive by 9:15am for a 9:30pm start. No sign of any of them by 9:30am, so I go up to my desk, turn on my computer and check the emails I was told not to check: there they all are. Unopened. Seems like no one has checked my mail  Anyhoo, I left half an hour later as the 2nd in command came grinning over at me with two parts of a glass golfing trophy ... It should not have been in parts. "Can you UV bond this?" She grinned. "No. Sorry. The light would refract..." (It's a golf ball!) "Can you, oh I don't know, just glue it? He [the boss] says you could use 2part adhesive." "I could, but the thing's a mess--there are glass shards missing from the break area on both sides. It won't look pretty and might not work..." "Thanks!" I find myself staring at two halves of a trophy that have magically appeared in my hands. On the way to my sanctuary (the training suite) 2 other members of staff come up to me to apologise for bothering me when I shouldn't be in, but could I just...? I sound like a right asshole, I know, especially as my colleagues are all lovely, but sheesh, I look like shite with all the bagged faraway eyes and lopsided half-smile. Heck, if I saw me on the street, I would cross over!    Writing! Spam slopped out!
Blog (heheh, loving this one...!) Reviews/Proofing. Done a batch of solitary star Spam reviews Would have loved to review some of the Scream Hallowe'en entries, but I am saving them for the weekend. Why? Who knows? Chores! lasagne. Sounds like nothing, but I haven't had lasagne for over a year, and I am Garfield for the stuff. I just can't justify making a tray (or two) of it when BA hates it and Jnr is at uni. Then it hit me: I am visiting Jnr tomorrow, and what good parent wouldn't take a whole heap of readymade home cooking over? Result! I sit here typing with a very cheerful belly Home insurance documentation hunt. Took over an hour, but oh yes, I was ready for ... ... meeting with bank to review insurance policies and quote. Wow, quite the increase in cover cost  Will look around. Got a month before renewal.Got to say, making 'doable' lists is giving me a good boost in the motivation department ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Right. Have new blast of energy. Good thing, really, as I have to break from compassionate leave and head in to work (forgot I have students travelling from Leeds and Germany tomorrow for technical and practical lessons in the fine art of bonding glass with UV-curing adhesives. Whoops). Happy Birthday, Hillary  This one's for you (Well, it's not, but some nod to 69 and looking less, has to be recognised globally. I lie: I tell people I am in my sixties, when I am really in my forties, so they think I am doing a better job of maintenance than I actually am):
One more check box checked |
| I am a bullish person. That is simply a fact, not a celebration, nor a criticism. I am not dainty. I have incredible strength, an ethos of loyalty unsurpassed, a hard work graft-itude to life, and am not subtle. I crash about a lot. Demolition is a breeze. I like a plan, too--a furrow to follow. China quakes before me. Stones in front of my plough disturb me. Not sure how open I want to be in this blog, or rather, not sure how to lay out all the crap without it being too whiffy, but, basically, this week is not going to plan. It has taken me until Wednesday to admit this, even though this week has not gone to plan since last Friday morning. I should be at work. I am not. I am on compassionate leave in order to sort out a basket full of home issues. Started out as one issue, which has multiplied. In these circumstances, my typical strong bull characteristics are redundant. I need another animal analogy to absorb, and, while the natural inclination is revert to a tortoise in hibernation, I feel the big guns growling in the back of my throat...she's coming..burning bight... "Invalid Item" So, enough of that twaddle *sucks freshly torn flesh from between vegetarian fangs* How are my lists today? Mmm...today ain't over yet Writing: Blog. Spam Hunter's Day 2 Poem. Got a meeting across town in an hour, followed by choir practice. I will see what I can get started after this entry and try to finish up when I finally get home around 10pm, which may end up being 11pm, because I cannot miss viewing the Great British Bake Off final on the evening it actually happens, predominately because I am trying to be more sociable with my colleagues at work, and, to do so, I had to choose from a list of shots reality TV shows that either involved dancing celebrities, Simon Fuckin' Cowell, or baked goods. Baked goods won. Whilst I would rather sort out the rusting bucket of an entire life's accumulation of assorted bolts and screws than use the oven, the show has sometimes proved enjoyable, as far as torture goes. If I get a hint of a spoiler about who has won, I will feel cheated. And angry. Yes, I can feel my nostrils flaring as I think about it...anyhoo, the point is, I have actually been able to interact with 99% of the office, as Bake Off is acceptable water cooler talk. This is nice for me, as no one ever has seen the shit I watch/read, such as The News  or Adam Curtis documentaries [documentaries in general, really]. Anyway, I know this is going to impact on getting myself ready for a good night's sleep, but, quite frankly, I have resigned myself to the fact that I am soooo out of time/place this week, that tonight can be as screwed up as it likes. Review/Edit. I really want to take a look at 2 X poems for WakeUpAndLive️~🚬🚭2024 She is flippin' lovely and groovy with no rush, no pressure, as this has a deadline of .... 7 months! But I would rather take a look see sooner than later. I am not going to go near them today, not the way my head is: it would be a disservice.Chores: reboot the ole laptop (took over 3 hours of updates, and a couple of blue screen crashes, but done!) upload 2 x Gilbert & Sullivan comic operas (HMS Pinafore and Trial by Jury) to laptop, so I can sync with the iPad and learn the frickin' chorus. 29 songs. During last year's Mikado there were half the amount of songs, and I was still using crib sheets on opening night. Opera's a right laugh, though. I used to be lead guitar in an indie band in the 90's, think Pixies, Smiths, MaryChain, meets Blur, Suede and Nirvana. My own roots of musical likes were born of punk and post punk, and nowadays sees me singing alone with 21 Pilots, Panic! And a whole host of pop punk American Idiots and dirty guitar-based riot dirge. So, perhaps a bit of G&S seems an oddity, but there it is. I will always look back fondly on the opening night of The Sorcerer when my mates turned up. "There are 4 punks in the audience!", soon turned into, "Anarchists are ready to protest during the show!". I laughed myself silly as the Punk, the Goth, the Rocker and the Psychobilly Chick, went on to astound the tea ladies, by buying raffle tickets and leaving a tip when buying out the French Fancies... update TomTom Sat Nav map... which is out of date by 2years. I am checking this off as done, because I truly am done with it. Took me over an hour to get to the screen I needed to be on for updates and then tried to charge me for the lifetime map updates that I paid extra for 2 years ago. I keep hold of every damn box anything ever came with, but can I find the 'safe place' I put this box? No. And I looked. I looked with eyes and hands. As far as the damn Sat Nav goes, it can stay out of date for another 2 years. I've done caring about missing roundabouts  |
| I tried the list...it worked-ish: 1. 3x Writing goals Spam poem. I won't list it. It is gross (intentionally) and offensive. Not, sadly, as gross and offensive as some of the other entrants managed! , but I did it! Review or Edit. I reviewed, naturally. Not public ones, oh no, as they were for my fellow Spam hunters, and who am I to public review before da judges get to do so, when I happen to be amongst peers--just doesn't feel right... Blog. Ta-frickin-dah!2. 3x Chores list wardrobe doorknob fixing. Oh, yes, those sliders slide! one x home cooked meal. (Erm, yes, and 2 on the hoof) drive to the next town and purchase 1 x school uniform rugby shirt for BA. Yes, this too, is done, but gave me an impromptu 4th job...... order up new plugs and leads for The Beast (Acme Wagon), as the trip to the next town revealed a misfire...Ho-hum. This is going to be a pig. Sure, new leads and plugs aren't a real biggy, but they are likely to arrive with the other parts I ordered at the weekend--inner rack joint and track rod arm--and those are going to be time-consuming, grease an oil-spewing, crawling under axle stand-hurting, awkward, heavy, sweaty, arm-straining, head-banging, bastard jobs. *sigh*Right-oh, log off due, so that I can give SB's insomnia tips a good go |
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