After a long spell of ennuii I really had to get off my bottom and do something. Some new pills have made me feel a bit better of late so I spent a few weeks thinking about what I wanted to do. The answer came to me in the form of a programme called The Choir. Gareth Malone, he of the serious glasses, terrific musical talent and the looks of a 12 year old got me all fired up when he formed a Choir at RMB Chivenor in Devon. The Choir was the story of a group of military wives who find solace and cheer in music whilst their husbands are away on a tour of Afghanistan. The programme held me rapt. I cried, laughed and cheered along with them. Our Gareth triumphed and all was well in Forces Land. The men came home safe and as I write this The Military Wives Choir are are tipped for a Christmas number one slot with their single 'Wherever You Are'.
In my experience, almost all of us can sing in one form or another but most of us left singing behind along with our O levels. I certainly did. Apart from the odd wedding/funeral it has been 30 years since I sang a song. I have tried in the car but The Git (who has of course been blessed with perfect pitch) shouts at me to shut up so I honestly thought I was a bit crap!
I rang a choir called Moor Harmony, at least I thought they were a choir but I was quickly corrected. They are a Ladies Barbershop Chorus. 'Really' said I 'Blimey, I thought that stuff was for blokes and extremely hard to sing'. I was encouraged by Mel to come and have a go so it was with trepidation that I arrived in Wadebridge to do just that. I was shaking like a leaf and after saying a quick hello I spent the next 15 mins on the loo!
Sian, the Musical Director took me into another room to see what my range was. I always sang Soprano back in the 'olden days' but as I opened my mouth to follow her notes a deep rumbling Bass wandered out. I clapped my hand over my mouth in complete shock. Bugger, was that actually me? Sian laughed at my confusion and placed me firmly in the Bass section. Oh the shame....I was going to sound like a Bloke, or so I thought...
Okay, so just consider this, I haven't sung for 30 years, I have just been told I have had a vocal sex change and now they are asking me to do warm up exercises. This involved jigging about the hall like a disjointed giraffe. I was the giraffe the others were all swans to my stumbles. Actually I had to sit some of that out after nearly falling over a few times. I thought it might be best to try and get to the singing part in one piece.
Now came the hard bit. After warming up our vocal chords with me rumbling along in entirely the wrong places, I was given a piece of sheet music and asked to join in. Now I may not be a soloist but I have a good ear and am a natural mimic. These dubious talents ensured that I could Blag it for the first half of proceedings. This involved identifying the clearest singer among the Basses and attatching myself firmly to her side.
All I can say is what a blast this evening has been. Once I had found a smidgen of confidence, I lost myself in the music and started to learn how to sing in parts. At one point I carried on singing when all had stopped, swiftly clapped my hand over my mouth and blushed a deep shade of crimson which was tempered with a slight amazement at the sound coming out of my mouth. So I am renewed and feeling happy and exhausted. It's not easy, it's hard work. You constantly have to rehydrate and I have to admit I got extremely tired. A lot of laughter was shared among us and I can't wait for next week. Thanks to all the girls in Moor Harmony for making me feel so welcome.
I just want to end this Blog by saying that most of us left singing behind with religion as the 'Great God Supermarket' seems to be our only form of religion today. Some of us will sing at the Carol Service in the next couple of weeks or hum along at the Nativity Play but that will be it for another year. I would encourage anyone to join a Choir/Barbershop Group because the rush you experience whilst revisiting your vocal chords is better than any Dirty Martini you could ever mix!
The Ladies of 'Moor Harmony' are performing live at The Callywith Pub tonight. So if you live in Bodmin then go along and support them. I shall be there to provide a bit of moral support but I have a long way to go before I get up there with them.
Friday 9 December 2011
In The Shadow of Donut Child.
Here I am again. I have to admit that I have failed miserably to create a new Blog. I cannot shake Donut Child off however hard I try. I wanted to create something that was a bit less personal. I yearned to be more professional, casting a cool arched eyebrow over the various news stories of the day. I aspired to the likes of Suzanne Moore, Caitlin Moran and Deborah Orr. All of whom I follow avidly on Twitter.
I also had a number of emails asking me why I had tried to kill off Donut Child and a lot friends told me they missed it, particularly the very busy side bar. Thanks to all of you for your generous comments. Then a famous publisher sent me a book to review and the writer of this book also encouraged me (review coming soon!) I had to admit deafeat. I just needed to realise that I wasn't Caitlin Moran, I was Donut Child with my own style of writing and should stick with that because despite not writing for three months 400 people read this Blog last month. Well I say 'read' they probably had a cursory glance and thought where the heck is she?
So to cut a long story short, I have had a 3 month break and am raring to go again. So be gentle with me won't you!
I also had a number of emails asking me why I had tried to kill off Donut Child and a lot friends told me they missed it, particularly the very busy side bar. Thanks to all of you for your generous comments. Then a famous publisher sent me a book to review and the writer of this book also encouraged me (review coming soon!) I had to admit deafeat. I just needed to realise that I wasn't Caitlin Moran, I was Donut Child with my own style of writing and should stick with that because despite not writing for three months 400 people read this Blog last month. Well I say 'read' they probably had a cursory glance and thought where the heck is she?
So to cut a long story short, I have had a 3 month break and am raring to go again. So be gentle with me won't you!
Tuesday 23 August 2011
Ascension Island. - Bungalow 17. For Jane x
I have been very fortunate to visit Ascension Island three times. Not many people get to do that on HOLIDAY! My Dad was out there having fun on the Donuts expense account. A lovely girl called Jane Williams posted on the ASI Facebook page and was worried about serving a 3 year tour of ASI, accompanied by large centipedes and small children - aged 1 and 3 as I recall - the kids not the crawly things! I hope that I soothed her worries by asking if I could be her 'third child' I told her that the St Helenan's were wonderful, to check her bathroom carefully and to drink lots of shipwrecks! Perhaps not the greatest advice but honest I was sober there once, during my first visit....
I arrived on the great bird Tri Star, 16 weeks preggers with number one son. My Pa met me and I was shoved into a CSO nasty minibus, taken to English Bay (take note of this Jane) and introduced to a Moray Eel; a bit hot and stunned I was taken to The Exiles for lunch. Okay, Jane, that was the boring visit, where I spent a few weeks in hospital. I went into labour at 26 weeks and having no back up the Doc, Shubash sent me to sleep for about 4 days. My husband was somewhere in Norway for 4 months at the time and he could not speak to me because every time I woke up they fed me from The Galley, let me go for one 'wee' and sent me back to sleep. They realised that they had no 'back up' and decided that the only option was to send me to bed. My son James is now 23. Had I been in the UK at the time they would have left me alone and let me 'get on with it'. I was so lucky that I had a dedicated medical staff. By the way I got on the Tri Star at 16 weeks and got off it at 32 weeks. My hubby met me at Brize and nearly fainted at my size! Okay those were the 'Mummy Years. Time for the fun times! What follows is something published in THE ISLANDER on Friday 9th August 1996. Note to Jane...my parents were actually looking after my children at this time....
BACK TO ASCENSION - THE ISLANDER 1996
At last! Eight years on and I made it back to Ascension. Everyone on the plane thought I'd lost my marbles when, on final approach I jumped out of my seat and yelled 'Look its ASI...look, look its Ascension Island, we made it!' This is the person that needs four valium and a large vodka to even approach a plane! Ignoring strange looks and black mutterings from Falkland bound passengers, I scrambled over the poor soul who had endured my company for the last eight hours and was first off the plane.
I strode purposefully toward the Terminal, waving madly and making a complete spectacle of myself. I did however, resist the urge to kneel down and kiss the ground. 'Come on Chaps it's through here' I said , as I led all passengers into a 'no go' area. Running 'smack bang' into a very stern RAF chap, who said I should return quietly to the arrivals lounge or he would break out the emergency sraight jacket! Little did I know that the last time I had visited the island my dad had broken all the rules and met me at the gate..... I was soon surrounded by friends and family, dragged into Mrs Miggins for a cuppa, bundled into the 'I make you car sick machine' (read that as Lada Cossack) and driven at high speed..25 miles per hour to Two Boats.
I couldn't believe how green the Island had got since my last visit, but was soon to find out that the lovely green bits were in fact a secret military weapon the Mexicans had sent in place of Chili Con Carne. Ouch! That stuff hurts when you fall into it! I had forgotten about the friendly but dangerous habit of waving to everyone that you pass. I should point out that this is only dangerous when you drive a Lada Cossack! The scenery once again took my breath away and I kept pinching myself to make sure I was not dreaming! Lunch at The Exiles, a quick power nap and a wander round to explore. So many friendly and familiar faces (the Donkeys I mean). I was amazed to see how little had changed.
The next night I was introduced to The Senior Mess, where I found a lot of people whispering about Bar Chits. Bar chits are really rather wonderful, you put your name on a piece of paper and a nice man gives you a drink. Shipwreck is the alternative term I believe. Apparently my sister had visited the island before me and my dad's bar bills had broken all previously held records. I thought he was looking a bit ashen when he met me off the plane. So I showed him my wad of cash and also promised faithfully that I would put petrol in the car. John Fail shall be named as the man who poured my first shipwreck so you can all blame him!
The day of the Dew Pond Run arrived and feeling guilty I sat on the patio in my nightie, clutching my Lucozade and crunching on my Nurofen as I watched all these completely mad people running past. In fact I felt so guilty that I was compelled to do my own Dew Pond Run and asked Dad to drive me up the mountain. I am not silly enough to run UP it! I hummed the 'Sound of Music' as I broke both knees coming down the ramps, cursing myself for forgetting my camera. Oh No! I had got the walking bug, next stop four miles to North East Bay. This walking downhill isn't so bad, I said as he picked me up at the Ariane site. It also helps if you have an obliging Dad who drives you back uphill! Another walk to North East Bay and OUCH! Medic, two medics, I'm hurt bad - the left ankle, only used to depressing left clutch pedal, has gone on strike. As I sat in my usual pew at the Senior Mess that night, a strange man approched, lifted my left foot into his lap and started to undo my shoe. "Help, should I be letting this man do this", I cried. Perhaps this was another strange custom peculiar to Ascension Island. USO (Unsweetened Orange Juice) Merrick assured me that it was in fact the PTI holding Open Surgery at the Senior Mess.
Unable to walk far due to the ankle and not the shipwrecks, I hit the beach and on getting rather hot I decided to go for a swim. I had forgotten about the blackfish and decided to paddle instead. "Relation to the Piranha you know" said my father conversationally. It was to be a day of finding out about the 'Fauna' of Ascension. After having an unwelcome guest in the car (locust) I was lucky enough to find a centipede under my suitcase. My father came running into the bedroom as I stood on a chair and screamed loudly. He apparently thought I was being murdered. "Don't be such a baby mum" sighed Sian, rolling her eyes. A mention of the 'beasties' on Ascension is incomplete without a mention of our friend the 'Mosquito'. Have you noticed that the word Mosquito is synonymous with the word Grenade? People jump around, slapping their legs and generally causing havoc with the nerve agent gas also knoiwn as MOD fly spray Mark One! It is guaranteed to kill a human at three paces but the mosquito must sit there breathing deeply, saying "hey man, give me another hit, you hear what I'm saying"!
Onto the Flora of Ascension Island. Falling into bed after discovering the delights of shipwrecks, I bent down to undo my shoelaces and howled in pain as 500 'Double G's' embedded themselves in my left hand. 'Double G's' is the polite term for them but I can think of at least 10 impolite ones. In fact I think the boys in blue call them 'ouchy twats'! Being an adult (who said that?) I know the colours red and yellow in nature spell danger. My son and his friend obviously did not as they were having a great time bursting 'yellow flower bombs' on each other foreheads. This had the same effect of 15 packets of smarties, 4 fizzy drinks and a line of cocaine. "No darling, please don't do that" I said as James' eyeballs disappeared into the back of his head!
Enough of my ramblings. This Whitey from Blighty is sadly homeward bound very soon but will be returning tanned relaxed and very, very happy - note this another term for shipwrecked! Thank You to all the new friends and old, the hospitality has been wonderful. You never know, you may see me back again. I'll pose for the WANTED posters now! Last but not least thanks to my long suffering parents Jim and Pat Anderson and thanks for paying my bar bill dad!
So there you have it Jane. The 'polite' version of my bar room brawling on ASI where I also fell in love with The Gits dad and managed to climb The Exiles balcony, wearing 4 inch heels, ignoring the fact that I was 30 feet up and could expire at any moment! We had no air conditionng, no TV, no mobile phones and no Internet. The St Helenans are wonderful and my 23 and 26 year old children can still do the accent. My 26 yr old daughter, Sian keeps in touch with her childhood friends that landed in the UK.
Have a wonderful time.
Muse x
I arrived on the great bird Tri Star, 16 weeks preggers with number one son. My Pa met me and I was shoved into a CSO nasty minibus, taken to English Bay (take note of this Jane) and introduced to a Moray Eel; a bit hot and stunned I was taken to The Exiles for lunch. Okay, Jane, that was the boring visit, where I spent a few weeks in hospital. I went into labour at 26 weeks and having no back up the Doc, Shubash sent me to sleep for about 4 days. My husband was somewhere in Norway for 4 months at the time and he could not speak to me because every time I woke up they fed me from The Galley, let me go for one 'wee' and sent me back to sleep. They realised that they had no 'back up' and decided that the only option was to send me to bed. My son James is now 23. Had I been in the UK at the time they would have left me alone and let me 'get on with it'. I was so lucky that I had a dedicated medical staff. By the way I got on the Tri Star at 16 weeks and got off it at 32 weeks. My hubby met me at Brize and nearly fainted at my size! Okay those were the 'Mummy Years. Time for the fun times! What follows is something published in THE ISLANDER on Friday 9th August 1996. Note to Jane...my parents were actually looking after my children at this time....
BACK TO ASCENSION - THE ISLANDER 1996
At last! Eight years on and I made it back to Ascension. Everyone on the plane thought I'd lost my marbles when, on final approach I jumped out of my seat and yelled 'Look its ASI...look, look its Ascension Island, we made it!' This is the person that needs four valium and a large vodka to even approach a plane! Ignoring strange looks and black mutterings from Falkland bound passengers, I scrambled over the poor soul who had endured my company for the last eight hours and was first off the plane.
I strode purposefully toward the Terminal, waving madly and making a complete spectacle of myself. I did however, resist the urge to kneel down and kiss the ground. 'Come on Chaps it's through here' I said , as I led all passengers into a 'no go' area. Running 'smack bang' into a very stern RAF chap, who said I should return quietly to the arrivals lounge or he would break out the emergency sraight jacket! Little did I know that the last time I had visited the island my dad had broken all the rules and met me at the gate..... I was soon surrounded by friends and family, dragged into Mrs Miggins for a cuppa, bundled into the 'I make you car sick machine' (read that as Lada Cossack) and driven at high speed..25 miles per hour to Two Boats.
I couldn't believe how green the Island had got since my last visit, but was soon to find out that the lovely green bits were in fact a secret military weapon the Mexicans had sent in place of Chili Con Carne. Ouch! That stuff hurts when you fall into it! I had forgotten about the friendly but dangerous habit of waving to everyone that you pass. I should point out that this is only dangerous when you drive a Lada Cossack! The scenery once again took my breath away and I kept pinching myself to make sure I was not dreaming! Lunch at The Exiles, a quick power nap and a wander round to explore. So many friendly and familiar faces (the Donkeys I mean). I was amazed to see how little had changed.
The next night I was introduced to The Senior Mess, where I found a lot of people whispering about Bar Chits. Bar chits are really rather wonderful, you put your name on a piece of paper and a nice man gives you a drink. Shipwreck is the alternative term I believe. Apparently my sister had visited the island before me and my dad's bar bills had broken all previously held records. I thought he was looking a bit ashen when he met me off the plane. So I showed him my wad of cash and also promised faithfully that I would put petrol in the car. John Fail shall be named as the man who poured my first shipwreck so you can all blame him!
The day of the Dew Pond Run arrived and feeling guilty I sat on the patio in my nightie, clutching my Lucozade and crunching on my Nurofen as I watched all these completely mad people running past. In fact I felt so guilty that I was compelled to do my own Dew Pond Run and asked Dad to drive me up the mountain. I am not silly enough to run UP it! I hummed the 'Sound of Music' as I broke both knees coming down the ramps, cursing myself for forgetting my camera. Oh No! I had got the walking bug, next stop four miles to North East Bay. This walking downhill isn't so bad, I said as he picked me up at the Ariane site. It also helps if you have an obliging Dad who drives you back uphill! Another walk to North East Bay and OUCH! Medic, two medics, I'm hurt bad - the left ankle, only used to depressing left clutch pedal, has gone on strike. As I sat in my usual pew at the Senior Mess that night, a strange man approched, lifted my left foot into his lap and started to undo my shoe. "Help, should I be letting this man do this", I cried. Perhaps this was another strange custom peculiar to Ascension Island. USO (Unsweetened Orange Juice) Merrick assured me that it was in fact the PTI holding Open Surgery at the Senior Mess.
Unable to walk far due to the ankle and not the shipwrecks, I hit the beach and on getting rather hot I decided to go for a swim. I had forgotten about the blackfish and decided to paddle instead. "Relation to the Piranha you know" said my father conversationally. It was to be a day of finding out about the 'Fauna' of Ascension. After having an unwelcome guest in the car (locust) I was lucky enough to find a centipede under my suitcase. My father came running into the bedroom as I stood on a chair and screamed loudly. He apparently thought I was being murdered. "Don't be such a baby mum" sighed Sian, rolling her eyes. A mention of the 'beasties' on Ascension is incomplete without a mention of our friend the 'Mosquito'. Have you noticed that the word Mosquito is synonymous with the word Grenade? People jump around, slapping their legs and generally causing havoc with the nerve agent gas also knoiwn as MOD fly spray Mark One! It is guaranteed to kill a human at three paces but the mosquito must sit there breathing deeply, saying "hey man, give me another hit, you hear what I'm saying"!
Onto the Flora of Ascension Island. Falling into bed after discovering the delights of shipwrecks, I bent down to undo my shoelaces and howled in pain as 500 'Double G's' embedded themselves in my left hand. 'Double G's' is the polite term for them but I can think of at least 10 impolite ones. In fact I think the boys in blue call them 'ouchy twats'! Being an adult (who said that?) I know the colours red and yellow in nature spell danger. My son and his friend obviously did not as they were having a great time bursting 'yellow flower bombs' on each other foreheads. This had the same effect of 15 packets of smarties, 4 fizzy drinks and a line of cocaine. "No darling, please don't do that" I said as James' eyeballs disappeared into the back of his head!
Enough of my ramblings. This Whitey from Blighty is sadly homeward bound very soon but will be returning tanned relaxed and very, very happy - note this another term for shipwrecked! Thank You to all the new friends and old, the hospitality has been wonderful. You never know, you may see me back again. I'll pose for the WANTED posters now! Last but not least thanks to my long suffering parents Jim and Pat Anderson and thanks for paying my bar bill dad!
So there you have it Jane. The 'polite' version of my bar room brawling on ASI where I also fell in love with The Gits dad and managed to climb The Exiles balcony, wearing 4 inch heels, ignoring the fact that I was 30 feet up and could expire at any moment! We had no air conditionng, no TV, no mobile phones and no Internet. The St Helenans are wonderful and my 23 and 26 year old children can still do the accent. My 26 yr old daughter, Sian keeps in touch with her childhood friends that landed in the UK.
Have a wonderful time.
Muse x
Tuesday 16 August 2011
Cold turkey and Survival
My broadband crashed a few days ago and I am only online because of The Gits laptop Dongle, which I stole from his bedroom a few minutes ago. I had to steal it because I am suffering with a sickness. This is commonly known as going cold turkey from the internet. Sweaty palms, an unquenchable thirst for information and bad dreams all feature heavily. In fact I even found myself searching for an old Dongle of mine the other night with the desperation of a 40 a day smoker looking for that last fag in a pack down the sofa!
I digress. I have been doing a lot of reading recently, I always read a lot but having no internet has meant a book every couple of days. I was musing through the shelves in Asda and came across a book called 'Outpost' by 'Adam Baker'. It's about a skeleton crew on an oil rig called The Kasker Rampart in the Arctic Ocean. They are waiting to restart the fuel pipeline and boredom features heavily in their daily lives. A deadly virus hits the planet and they lose all communication with the outside world. They are marooned and have to somehow survive the long Arctic Winter as the deadly virus is heads their way. That is all your getting of the plot!
I could not put this book down. I was still reading at 4am when I fell asleep clutching it. 'Outpost' fired my imagination and the characters were so well written that you actually thought you were part of the crew. I felt as though I was on Kasker Rampart. I knew my way around the rig and could visualise every scene. I could smell and touch my fellow crew members. As an avid reader I often get pulled into a book but I haven't been so enthralled since Huxleys 'Brave New World' and Niven, Pournelle and Barnes' 'Legacy of Heorot'. Adam Baker is a force to be reckoned with and I know a brilliant future beckons him. I read a lot of Sci Fi and the usual horror books as a young woman but haven't in recent years, so why did this book suck me in and leave me wanting more?
I guess it is because I am a Donut Child. My father was Forces then GCHQ and he taught me an important lesson about the survival of the fittest. Throughout my childhood I was completely convinced that 'The Bomb' would drop at any moment and I spent the long evenings of The Winter of Discontent planning how we would live under the stairs with a torch, a mattress and some baked beans until help came. My father encouraged this by keeping our house warm, well lit and even powering a portable TV whilst eveyone else shivered in darkness. Personally I think he must have lifted a few batteries from the comcen where he worked but who am I to judge!
My childhood fears morphed into a full blown interest in survival guides, Ray Mears and an unhealthy interest in all things Triffid and the series Survivors. I am an adult (as I remind myself on a daily basis) but I still carry this monster obsession with me. I have a well stocked larder full of tinned and dried goods, buy bottled water and worry that I don't have my own generator, fresh water well or an emergency battery supply big enough to power a nuclear sub. On top of all this I start to fret the minute there is unrest in the world. When trouble started in Tunisia, I was unable to sleep and told my 23 year old son not to go on holiday to Morrocco as I was convinced the trouble would spread....
So here we are with trouble on our own doorstep and the unease I felt all those years ago is right back with me. I cannot help it but here I am, desperately trying not to place that ebay bid on a deserted ex cold war bunker and empty supermarket shelves of anything remotely long life! Deep breath here. I am a Donut Child, and think I can survive anything because of my background but the reality is that once the power goes off and the water trickles to nothing we are all dust. Shiver! I guess I have answered that age old question: "What would you do if you won the lottery?"
Sleep safe in your beds
Muse x
I digress. I have been doing a lot of reading recently, I always read a lot but having no internet has meant a book every couple of days. I was musing through the shelves in Asda and came across a book called 'Outpost' by 'Adam Baker'. It's about a skeleton crew on an oil rig called The Kasker Rampart in the Arctic Ocean. They are waiting to restart the fuel pipeline and boredom features heavily in their daily lives. A deadly virus hits the planet and they lose all communication with the outside world. They are marooned and have to somehow survive the long Arctic Winter as the deadly virus is heads their way. That is all your getting of the plot!
I could not put this book down. I was still reading at 4am when I fell asleep clutching it. 'Outpost' fired my imagination and the characters were so well written that you actually thought you were part of the crew. I felt as though I was on Kasker Rampart. I knew my way around the rig and could visualise every scene. I could smell and touch my fellow crew members. As an avid reader I often get pulled into a book but I haven't been so enthralled since Huxleys 'Brave New World' and Niven, Pournelle and Barnes' 'Legacy of Heorot'. Adam Baker is a force to be reckoned with and I know a brilliant future beckons him. I read a lot of Sci Fi and the usual horror books as a young woman but haven't in recent years, so why did this book suck me in and leave me wanting more?
I guess it is because I am a Donut Child. My father was Forces then GCHQ and he taught me an important lesson about the survival of the fittest. Throughout my childhood I was completely convinced that 'The Bomb' would drop at any moment and I spent the long evenings of The Winter of Discontent planning how we would live under the stairs with a torch, a mattress and some baked beans until help came. My father encouraged this by keeping our house warm, well lit and even powering a portable TV whilst eveyone else shivered in darkness. Personally I think he must have lifted a few batteries from the comcen where he worked but who am I to judge!
My childhood fears morphed into a full blown interest in survival guides, Ray Mears and an unhealthy interest in all things Triffid and the series Survivors. I am an adult (as I remind myself on a daily basis) but I still carry this monster obsession with me. I have a well stocked larder full of tinned and dried goods, buy bottled water and worry that I don't have my own generator, fresh water well or an emergency battery supply big enough to power a nuclear sub. On top of all this I start to fret the minute there is unrest in the world. When trouble started in Tunisia, I was unable to sleep and told my 23 year old son not to go on holiday to Morrocco as I was convinced the trouble would spread....
So here we are with trouble on our own doorstep and the unease I felt all those years ago is right back with me. I cannot help it but here I am, desperately trying not to place that ebay bid on a deserted ex cold war bunker and empty supermarket shelves of anything remotely long life! Deep breath here. I am a Donut Child, and think I can survive anything because of my background but the reality is that once the power goes off and the water trickles to nothing we are all dust. Shiver! I guess I have answered that age old question: "What would you do if you won the lottery?"
Sleep safe in your beds
Muse x
Friday 12 August 2011
One of Lifes Little Lessons!
I decided to paint my lounge, the reasoning, being that if I started to decorate, I would finally manage to move house, aka Murphy's Law! I was determined not to involve the parents or anyone else and do this myself. Note, I have NEVER decorated anything in my entire life. I have always decreed this is a blokes job and it is their responsibility. This is what happened.....
STEP 1. Move furniture away from wall with one arm and marvel at the amount of crap underneath sofa, bookcase etc... Also realise where The Git has been hiding his 97,000 sweet wrappers, 11 pairs of undies, Pokemon Cards and 75,000 comics all this time!
STEP 2. Fall over for two days and rest as exhausted (not kidding).
STEP 3. Find dead Hamster, last seen in 2008. Respectfully give it a full Military Funeral but forget (on purpose) to inform the Git. Take curtains down. Eye various cobwebs with trepidation and resolve to buy a feather duster.
STEP 4. Fall over again and sleep for 36 hours. This M.E business is a twat when you are trying to accomplish something.
STEP 5. Go to Trago Mills to buy supplies. Ask nice but condescending man for advice and travel home with boot full of painting things you had no idea existed. Buy large feather duster and systematically wreck Spiders 6 year old homes...I am such a slut!
STEP 6. Start as you mean to go on. Cover eveything with dust sheets. Carefully use masking tape as wiggly lines are not allowed in this house. Lay out all tools needed and ensure not one drop of paint shall be spilled. Wash one large wall, have a glass of wine and...fall over!
STEP 7. After another little nap, use a paint brush to paint around walls and then its 'roller time'. After three hours of careful concentration one wall has one coat on it. Sit and look at it in disgust. Have a glass of wine and a Tramadol as arm is fecked and fall over.
STEP 8. Answer door (in a dishevelled state) to parents. Pa takes one look and tuts a lot, muttering about it needing another coat and on noticing the state of me tells me to go to bed.
STEP 9. Wake after a few hours sleep to find that Pa has not only finished painting my 22 foot lounge but has moved most of the furniture back.
STEP 10. Resolve NEVER to decorate again and leave it to the Blokes!
Lesson learned!
Muse x
STEP 1. Move furniture away from wall with one arm and marvel at the amount of crap underneath sofa, bookcase etc... Also realise where The Git has been hiding his 97,000 sweet wrappers, 11 pairs of undies, Pokemon Cards and 75,000 comics all this time!
STEP 2. Fall over for two days and rest as exhausted (not kidding).
STEP 3. Find dead Hamster, last seen in 2008. Respectfully give it a full Military Funeral but forget (on purpose) to inform the Git. Take curtains down. Eye various cobwebs with trepidation and resolve to buy a feather duster.
STEP 4. Fall over again and sleep for 36 hours. This M.E business is a twat when you are trying to accomplish something.
STEP 5. Go to Trago Mills to buy supplies. Ask nice but condescending man for advice and travel home with boot full of painting things you had no idea existed. Buy large feather duster and systematically wreck Spiders 6 year old homes...I am such a slut!
STEP 6. Start as you mean to go on. Cover eveything with dust sheets. Carefully use masking tape as wiggly lines are not allowed in this house. Lay out all tools needed and ensure not one drop of paint shall be spilled. Wash one large wall, have a glass of wine and...fall over!
STEP 7. After another little nap, use a paint brush to paint around walls and then its 'roller time'. After three hours of careful concentration one wall has one coat on it. Sit and look at it in disgust. Have a glass of wine and a Tramadol as arm is fecked and fall over.
STEP 8. Answer door (in a dishevelled state) to parents. Pa takes one look and tuts a lot, muttering about it needing another coat and on noticing the state of me tells me to go to bed.
STEP 9. Wake after a few hours sleep to find that Pa has not only finished painting my 22 foot lounge but has moved most of the furniture back.
STEP 10. Resolve NEVER to decorate again and leave it to the Blokes!
Lesson learned!
Muse x
Tuesday 2 August 2011
Questions...
I DO try to take people at face value but it becomes harder and harder as I get more and more sucked into the social networking sites that have become our new Religion. Ten years ago it was the Great God Supermarket. I remember coming off a night shift and so desperately hungry that I parked up outside a Supermarket to feed myself with hot coffee and toast in order that I could drive the 75 miles home safely. It was 9.30 am on a Sunday morning and I groaned at the amount of bored people sat in their cars, queuing to get in. Our Church today is of course Facebook and the acidic Twitter. More of that later.
Going back to face value. There are two points I need to make about 'Face value'. The first is, can we take anyone who is online at face value? Am I so naive that I still try to do so? Yeah, yeah, yeah...I got my fingers burned ONCE and ONCE only on a dating site. I lent a guy £100 and he buggered off. But I feel quite smug as I dated 17 guys in a year (for this Blog) and never once got 50K in debt. I am talking about a programme I watched last week where older women ...shall we just say jaded, lonely, messy looking older women...(sorry but frankly my Great Aunts keep themselves in better shape!!!!) plundered their life savings in order to finance someone they had never met. Oh and can I just say here (cattily) that the 22 year old girl that ran off with my ex got stung for 15K. Phew! nice to get that out of my system!
Anyway, I digress. I NEED to realise that I am actually naive and should not get sucked in to everyones life stories on FB/Twitter. Erm..FB is not too bad as you can usually weed out the nutters but as for Twitter...Feck knows. It seems that everyone has an alter ego/is pissed off with the world/does not understand the rules of life or is some loved up religious freak. So perhaps it is time for me to create an alter ego, to be a Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde and to have stupid fun on Twitter. Hmmm...I'll have to think about it but honestly I am such a crap liar that my new Twitter account will have a huge red siren over it every time I tell a lie! Enough about our new Gods!
The other thing I wanted to say, quite gently, in case you think I am a man hating Amazon, is that HOW can I possibly understand men when one of my life long male friends has grabbed his testicles and dived into 'lurve' with a lady that has somehow managed to scoop his brains out? Well done babe...lets see you deal with the consequences! Why is a Higher Power up there laughing his/her bits off when they see us doing all these dances around each other?
Blimey toots...my brain has had enough for today. Answers on a Postcard Please!
Namaste
Muse x
Going back to face value. There are two points I need to make about 'Face value'. The first is, can we take anyone who is online at face value? Am I so naive that I still try to do so? Yeah, yeah, yeah...I got my fingers burned ONCE and ONCE only on a dating site. I lent a guy £100 and he buggered off. But I feel quite smug as I dated 17 guys in a year (for this Blog) and never once got 50K in debt. I am talking about a programme I watched last week where older women ...shall we just say jaded, lonely, messy looking older women...(sorry but frankly my Great Aunts keep themselves in better shape!!!!) plundered their life savings in order to finance someone they had never met. Oh and can I just say here (cattily) that the 22 year old girl that ran off with my ex got stung for 15K. Phew! nice to get that out of my system!
Anyway, I digress. I NEED to realise that I am actually naive and should not get sucked in to everyones life stories on FB/Twitter. Erm..FB is not too bad as you can usually weed out the nutters but as for Twitter...Feck knows. It seems that everyone has an alter ego/is pissed off with the world/does not understand the rules of life or is some loved up religious freak. So perhaps it is time for me to create an alter ego, to be a Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde and to have stupid fun on Twitter. Hmmm...I'll have to think about it but honestly I am such a crap liar that my new Twitter account will have a huge red siren over it every time I tell a lie! Enough about our new Gods!
The other thing I wanted to say, quite gently, in case you think I am a man hating Amazon, is that HOW can I possibly understand men when one of my life long male friends has grabbed his testicles and dived into 'lurve' with a lady that has somehow managed to scoop his brains out? Well done babe...lets see you deal with the consequences! Why is a Higher Power up there laughing his/her bits off when they see us doing all these dances around each other?
Blimey toots...my brain has had enough for today. Answers on a Postcard Please!
Namaste
Muse x
Sunday 31 July 2011
Curses.....
I was talking to my lovely girlfriend Prenders about swearing the other day. I was complaining that the Brits were quite frankly CRAP at it. We only manage one word per insult and most of them begin with B, F ,C or W. How boring. I love how other nations swear.
The Irish are masters. They don't bother with our pale and uninteresting curses. let me give you some examples...
You feckin' self polluter..
Arse Picker.
Truffle Snuffler
Bollix
He was a great Ride...
Ask me arse...
and so on. However the Gods of the curse must be the Arabic nations. Stuff like 'your mother was a camel and your father was a donkey' or 'you are the dirt on my shoes' or 'may a million locusts descend upon your field'. Oh! and those are the ones I made up. From Bulgaria comes the phrase 'your mother sucks bears in the forest' or the wonderful 'you are as ugly as a salad'. See! We are all pants at swearing in the UK. Now for some of my own.
Flower Sniffer
Wine Spitter
Button Burster
Lamp Switcher
Computer Cacker
Heel Breaker...
The list is endless. Bit of a shame that I revert to the old Brit type behind the wheel. Even the 13 year old has stopped laughing at the C word.
Must try harder...
Muse x
The Irish are masters. They don't bother with our pale and uninteresting curses. let me give you some examples...
You feckin' self polluter..
Arse Picker.
Truffle Snuffler
Bollix
He was a great Ride...
Ask me arse...
and so on. However the Gods of the curse must be the Arabic nations. Stuff like 'your mother was a camel and your father was a donkey' or 'you are the dirt on my shoes' or 'may a million locusts descend upon your field'. Oh! and those are the ones I made up. From Bulgaria comes the phrase 'your mother sucks bears in the forest' or the wonderful 'you are as ugly as a salad'. See! We are all pants at swearing in the UK. Now for some of my own.
Flower Sniffer
Wine Spitter
Button Burster
Lamp Switcher
Computer Cacker
Heel Breaker...
The list is endless. Bit of a shame that I revert to the old Brit type behind the wheel. Even the 13 year old has stopped laughing at the C word.
Must try harder...
Muse x
Sunday 17 July 2011
Nightmare on Spaghetti Street...
Ma and Pa are moving, long boring story, they are moving to a bigger property and so I had to indulge and entertain the little darlings today, whilst they actually packed boxes - must just say this, I have packed for them since I was 6 years old so it is about time they learned to do it for themselves. I have had nightmares about inventories since the age of 10. Control freak me...NAH!
Angelina, my grandaughter, The Git and I set off for a place called 'Raze The Roof' in Falmouth. I knew, of course, that this was always going to end up in the 'Minor Injuries Unit' but being a little tired at the moment, the left brain did not connect with the right and I went along with my mothers suggestion. First stop was Macdonalds and I tried not to think about what I was feeding them whilst I scrubbed the table carefully with my hand sanitiser. I bit into my cheeseburger and attempted to enjoy it....I bit into it again and decided that it may have seemed a good idea at the time but quite honestly, biting into it was like biting a bad 'smell' and I really could not carry on! I then freaked the kids out by scrubbing their hands and refusing to let them take said 'toys, odd chips, half bitten chicken nuggets' into my car.
Raze The Roof was my worst nightmare come true. It was based in an industrial unit full of soft play areas, ball pits and large slides that scared the Feck out of me but did not seem to faze Angelina - mind you, I am still scared of Dr Who and she loves it so WTF!
I decided that I could do this two ways. I could follow the kids around, desperate for a vodka and get very upset or I could take a couple of valium, buy the Mail and do the crossword and let 'em get on with it. I chose the latter. In my defence, The Git followed Angel around and really looked after her. Bless his heart.
I have to describe this place to you before I carry on. The height of the ceiling meant that every scream/yell/shriek was multiplied by 10. Each time a child opened its mouth all the parents would glance/run/skitter to the source of the terrible ear splitting yell... Utter torture. I was so determined not to do this but as we were admitted I nervously pulled The Git to one side.
'Erm, erm, erm the thing is Josh, I don't know what Angelina sounds like if she's, erm...you know, erm..in pain'. He was pretty quick off the mark. 'Don't worry about that mum, I know 'eggsactly what she sounds like'. Hmm... Its fine I said to myself, I'll just try and ignore it....NOT! The first hour passed by. I did not manage to solve one clue and despite wishing that valium or vodka was available I knew that I was in CHARGE and I must be a good mother/nanny. (Which I am not by the way as I am bloody scared of small children...).
S'fine. s'fine...I kept telling myself as I watched one horrid little 2 and a half foot thing, try and tear his sisters hair out and observing whilst the parents waded in and broke up the scrap. Shudder. I was half expecting an injury of some sort as I glanced around the 'restaurant facilities' where I was perched nervously on a 'primary school chair'. The 'restaurant' in question was a large depressing grey area full of uncleared dishes, nasty fingerprints and a mash of beans and spaghetti hoops that you had to wade through in order to reach your seat.
Just as I thought about dragging said children out of the place and bribing them with a visit to the nearest Toy Shop...my poor little Angelina calmly tapped me on the shoulder. Some nasty two foot tall person had thrown a ball at her face so hard she was sporting a large shiner... 'Oh Feck', I thought 'I'm in trouble now'. A nice but indifferent girl came over with an ice pack and asked me to fill in an accident form. She was so indifferent, her pen did not work, she nicked mine and forgot to ask me to sign the accident form. Just as well I'm not in the mood to sue isn't it! Indifferent girl gave me a voucher so that I may return and 'enjoy my next experience'....
We made our exit and I was mightily relieved to be out of the place. Angel was so bloody brave, none of this yelling and screaming thing for her, just a bit of a miserable face. I took her home with my tail between my legs, clutching some childrens painkillers in case she needed them later. See...I keep telling people, I should never ever be left in charge of small children!
I was telling my friend Sharon all about it on the phone tonight. We agreed on a few things.
1. Never ever visit those places unless your mother insists. It is far safer to wrap up your kids and let them abseil off the Welsh mountains in a Force 9!
2. We were both desperate for a 'shiner' at the age of 9 and Angelina is very cool for getting one at the age of 5! (We are very jealous).
3. We were also rather desparate to 'break something' and get lots of attention and a cool plaster. Alas both of us broke something when we were old and grumpy and had to do without the plaster and deal with the pain!
Be careful what you wish for...
Namaste
Muse x
Angelina, my grandaughter, The Git and I set off for a place called 'Raze The Roof' in Falmouth. I knew, of course, that this was always going to end up in the 'Minor Injuries Unit' but being a little tired at the moment, the left brain did not connect with the right and I went along with my mothers suggestion. First stop was Macdonalds and I tried not to think about what I was feeding them whilst I scrubbed the table carefully with my hand sanitiser. I bit into my cheeseburger and attempted to enjoy it....I bit into it again and decided that it may have seemed a good idea at the time but quite honestly, biting into it was like biting a bad 'smell' and I really could not carry on! I then freaked the kids out by scrubbing their hands and refusing to let them take said 'toys, odd chips, half bitten chicken nuggets' into my car.
Raze The Roof was my worst nightmare come true. It was based in an industrial unit full of soft play areas, ball pits and large slides that scared the Feck out of me but did not seem to faze Angelina - mind you, I am still scared of Dr Who and she loves it so WTF!
I decided that I could do this two ways. I could follow the kids around, desperate for a vodka and get very upset or I could take a couple of valium, buy the Mail and do the crossword and let 'em get on with it. I chose the latter. In my defence, The Git followed Angel around and really looked after her. Bless his heart.
I have to describe this place to you before I carry on. The height of the ceiling meant that every scream/yell/shriek was multiplied by 10. Each time a child opened its mouth all the parents would glance/run/skitter to the source of the terrible ear splitting yell... Utter torture. I was so determined not to do this but as we were admitted I nervously pulled The Git to one side.
'Erm, erm, erm the thing is Josh, I don't know what Angelina sounds like if she's, erm...you know, erm..in pain'. He was pretty quick off the mark. 'Don't worry about that mum, I know 'eggsactly what she sounds like'. Hmm... Its fine I said to myself, I'll just try and ignore it....NOT! The first hour passed by. I did not manage to solve one clue and despite wishing that valium or vodka was available I knew that I was in CHARGE and I must be a good mother/nanny. (Which I am not by the way as I am bloody scared of small children...).
S'fine. s'fine...I kept telling myself as I watched one horrid little 2 and a half foot thing, try and tear his sisters hair out and observing whilst the parents waded in and broke up the scrap. Shudder. I was half expecting an injury of some sort as I glanced around the 'restaurant facilities' where I was perched nervously on a 'primary school chair'. The 'restaurant' in question was a large depressing grey area full of uncleared dishes, nasty fingerprints and a mash of beans and spaghetti hoops that you had to wade through in order to reach your seat.
Just as I thought about dragging said children out of the place and bribing them with a visit to the nearest Toy Shop...my poor little Angelina calmly tapped me on the shoulder. Some nasty two foot tall person had thrown a ball at her face so hard she was sporting a large shiner... 'Oh Feck', I thought 'I'm in trouble now'. A nice but indifferent girl came over with an ice pack and asked me to fill in an accident form. She was so indifferent, her pen did not work, she nicked mine and forgot to ask me to sign the accident form. Just as well I'm not in the mood to sue isn't it! Indifferent girl gave me a voucher so that I may return and 'enjoy my next experience'....
We made our exit and I was mightily relieved to be out of the place. Angel was so bloody brave, none of this yelling and screaming thing for her, just a bit of a miserable face. I took her home with my tail between my legs, clutching some childrens painkillers in case she needed them later. See...I keep telling people, I should never ever be left in charge of small children!
I was telling my friend Sharon all about it on the phone tonight. We agreed on a few things.
1. Never ever visit those places unless your mother insists. It is far safer to wrap up your kids and let them abseil off the Welsh mountains in a Force 9!
2. We were both desperate for a 'shiner' at the age of 9 and Angelina is very cool for getting one at the age of 5! (We are very jealous).
3. We were also rather desparate to 'break something' and get lots of attention and a cool plaster. Alas both of us broke something when we were old and grumpy and had to do without the plaster and deal with the pain!
Be careful what you wish for...
Namaste
Muse x
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Think About this Please....
A lovely, caring friend of mine has recently been diagnosed with M.E. Also known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She talked to me about how this had affected her. At first she was unsure and hesitant, cancelling two appointments with a Consultant because she was scared and fighting for her life and desperately clinging to her sanity. She did not believe that M.E. existed. Eventually she gave in and attended the appointment with said Consultant.
He was a very clever man and managed to pull her down from her 'expectations' of life, cleaned her glasses, held her hand and told her she was a bright, beautiful person and needed to understand her condition. He read her Blog and encouraged her.
The first few weeks after their meeting were really good. She managed her time and recognized how to deal with her condition. Still, she hated the diagnosis and fought against it. The Big Fight versus Life was on! She refused any counselling and decided that she would ignore all advice, push on and look after others.
She went on a holiday and despite her determination, collapsed. A friend said he understood but she soon realised that no one could understand. A girlfriend did and looked after her. She was so grateful for that.
She soon realised that the term M.E. was a stigma, despite being a proven illness. How could she live with this terrible Stigma? How could anyone understand? Her parents tried but really had no idea and many more said they did but were totally ignorant.
I understand and I hope that you can too. No matter what advice you give her, she will strive for perfection. It's just the way she is made.
Namaste
Muse x
He was a very clever man and managed to pull her down from her 'expectations' of life, cleaned her glasses, held her hand and told her she was a bright, beautiful person and needed to understand her condition. He read her Blog and encouraged her.
The first few weeks after their meeting were really good. She managed her time and recognized how to deal with her condition. Still, she hated the diagnosis and fought against it. The Big Fight versus Life was on! She refused any counselling and decided that she would ignore all advice, push on and look after others.
She went on a holiday and despite her determination, collapsed. A friend said he understood but she soon realised that no one could understand. A girlfriend did and looked after her. She was so grateful for that.
She soon realised that the term M.E. was a stigma, despite being a proven illness. How could she live with this terrible Stigma? How could anyone understand? Her parents tried but really had no idea and many more said they did but were totally ignorant.
I understand and I hope that you can too. No matter what advice you give her, she will strive for perfection. It's just the way she is made.
Namaste
Muse x
Sunday 3 July 2011
Stepping from Narnia to Hell!
I have been away for the last week in Warwickshire having a large lot of fun on Folk on The Water. I am just digesting all that went on and am feeling pretty exhausted but will start to write my FOTW Blog next week. For now, you guys are going to have to put up with a rant. For those of a nervous disposition, please look away now.
The Git and I had a great journey up to Leamington Spa and thought that going back would be a breeze. After all we were taken to the station by Barge. I kid you not. We moored at the bank and Dutch took us up about 10 steps and there was the station. How cool is that. It was like walking from Narnia to Hell! Actually I cannot take credit for that comment it was one of Dutch's!
We got on a small train to Reading. We were on there for an hour and unfortunatley had to sit by a big growlie guy who had three kids with him. The kids were pretty well behaved but I think he had tourettes. An hour of screaming, swearing and random bouts of bad singing followed. There were also two very fretful newborns jostling for attention above the din. Ah well thought I, we shall soon be aboard a nice swish train with food and coffee and films for The Git. It can only get better. Oops....
The aforementioned 'big swish train' looked like the Calcutta Express it had people hanging out of the windows, Tiffin Wallahs and all! The Git and I could only board in carriage D but our seats were in carriage A. Every single seat was taken. We had no option but to find our seats. We had two over stuffed bags and The Git did a magnificent job of politely hauling them through the carriages. Chivalry is indeed dead, as not one guy offered to help. Failing that, I looked so hideous after a week on the water, I was given a wide berth!
Carriage A was in sight, thank god, I could relax. Tap on right shoulder from 60 ish woman, carrying a coffee and fed up we were holding her up. 'You could sit on that seat there' she said. I was too tired to explain as by this stage we had mountaineered over several suitcases the size of a semi detatched house (I am not bloody joking) and had said excuse me (sub text - move your fucking foot you ignorant bloke) so many times we had lost the will to live. I nearly broke out the crampons at one point. Even The Git was trundling over peoples feet by this stage. Be polite, I said to myself...and just told her that I needed to find our reserved seats when left brain was telling me to punch her, HARD! Exhale...
Got to carriage A. Asked a nice guy to move out of our seats, which he did, ta chap. Obviously by then there was not a cat in hells chance of getting said bags into luggage rack. Managed to stow The Git with bags in my seat. He was such a fanatastic help and support to me, I couldn't have done it without him, thanks Joshy x. Then wandered off to find coffee and food. The buffet car was hilarious, long queue and lots of drunk and disorderly 'I can't find my seat but who gives a Feck' people. Found food and coffee, lurched back to seat, fed the git and spied an empty double seat. As I sank into it a pretty blonde girl sidled in beside me. I moved to get out and she said don't worry, just stay there. I was soooo.... bloody grateful for that little bit of TLC, thank you Sophie! As we settled down my phone rang, I said one word... 'Hello' and the lady that had tapped me on the shoulder previously stood up from her seat in front of me (groan) and hissed loudly 'this is the QUIET carriage'. My lovely Dad was on the other end, telling me that he would pick me up up. I mumbled thanks and he said ' tell that woman to shut up by the way'. Hilarious!!!
I was so stressed and damaged by this point that I really was ready to stick a pair of underpants on my head and put two pencils up my nose (note, I am not mad just a fan of Blackadder). The lovely Sophie listened to my ramblings and managed to calm me down. Thank you Sophie, I really hope I wasn't 'the nutter' on the train for you. Its a big wide world out there and despite being well travelled I quite like my little life as a Cornish Muse in our sleepy, beautiful bubble.
Musing about public transport. After that journey I have decided it should be known as Pubic transport from now on ie: not everyone wants to feel it, deal with it or look at it!
Be Careful out there
Muse x
The Git and I had a great journey up to Leamington Spa and thought that going back would be a breeze. After all we were taken to the station by Barge. I kid you not. We moored at the bank and Dutch took us up about 10 steps and there was the station. How cool is that. It was like walking from Narnia to Hell! Actually I cannot take credit for that comment it was one of Dutch's!
We got on a small train to Reading. We were on there for an hour and unfortunatley had to sit by a big growlie guy who had three kids with him. The kids were pretty well behaved but I think he had tourettes. An hour of screaming, swearing and random bouts of bad singing followed. There were also two very fretful newborns jostling for attention above the din. Ah well thought I, we shall soon be aboard a nice swish train with food and coffee and films for The Git. It can only get better. Oops....
The aforementioned 'big swish train' looked like the Calcutta Express it had people hanging out of the windows, Tiffin Wallahs and all! The Git and I could only board in carriage D but our seats were in carriage A. Every single seat was taken. We had no option but to find our seats. We had two over stuffed bags and The Git did a magnificent job of politely hauling them through the carriages. Chivalry is indeed dead, as not one guy offered to help. Failing that, I looked so hideous after a week on the water, I was given a wide berth!
Carriage A was in sight, thank god, I could relax. Tap on right shoulder from 60 ish woman, carrying a coffee and fed up we were holding her up. 'You could sit on that seat there' she said. I was too tired to explain as by this stage we had mountaineered over several suitcases the size of a semi detatched house (I am not bloody joking) and had said excuse me (sub text - move your fucking foot you ignorant bloke) so many times we had lost the will to live. I nearly broke out the crampons at one point. Even The Git was trundling over peoples feet by this stage. Be polite, I said to myself...and just told her that I needed to find our reserved seats when left brain was telling me to punch her, HARD! Exhale...
Got to carriage A. Asked a nice guy to move out of our seats, which he did, ta chap. Obviously by then there was not a cat in hells chance of getting said bags into luggage rack. Managed to stow The Git with bags in my seat. He was such a fanatastic help and support to me, I couldn't have done it without him, thanks Joshy x. Then wandered off to find coffee and food. The buffet car was hilarious, long queue and lots of drunk and disorderly 'I can't find my seat but who gives a Feck' people. Found food and coffee, lurched back to seat, fed the git and spied an empty double seat. As I sank into it a pretty blonde girl sidled in beside me. I moved to get out and she said don't worry, just stay there. I was soooo.... bloody grateful for that little bit of TLC, thank you Sophie! As we settled down my phone rang, I said one word... 'Hello' and the lady that had tapped me on the shoulder previously stood up from her seat in front of me (groan) and hissed loudly 'this is the QUIET carriage'. My lovely Dad was on the other end, telling me that he would pick me up up. I mumbled thanks and he said ' tell that woman to shut up by the way'. Hilarious!!!
I was so stressed and damaged by this point that I really was ready to stick a pair of underpants on my head and put two pencils up my nose (note, I am not mad just a fan of Blackadder). The lovely Sophie listened to my ramblings and managed to calm me down. Thank you Sophie, I really hope I wasn't 'the nutter' on the train for you. Its a big wide world out there and despite being well travelled I quite like my little life as a Cornish Muse in our sleepy, beautiful bubble.
Musing about public transport. After that journey I have decided it should be known as Pubic transport from now on ie: not everyone wants to feel it, deal with it or look at it!
Be Careful out there
Muse x
Thursday 23 June 2011
Wherever I Lay My Hat.....
Here I am at last! Sorry I have been absent for a while but I have been a little distracted. I may/may not tell you about it one day. It is just before six here in the UK and I have been up all night. Cooking and packing for The Folk on The Water Festival in Warwickshire.
I finally realised that despite writing a Blog about it last year, most of you don't really know what it is. I have a great friend by the name of Dutch Van Spall. I met him when I was 17 in another, much more charmed life. Dutch is a bit mad about music, he loves everything about it and has dedicated his life to it. Dutch masterminded The Folk on The Water Festival (FOTW) last year. http://www.folkontheWater.com .Dutch decided to get on a Barge, stop at a few pubs along the way and host live music at every place he 'laid his hat'.
I live in Cornwall and as FOTW takes place on the Warwickshire Ring Canal, I offered my services as Chief Cook and Bottle Washer. Funnily enough, Dutch accepted. So I found myself on a Barge, in a County I had no knowledge of and managed to pitch in and look after the crew in some small way. What a fantastic time we had. We could not believe how many people turned out to welcome us and what a positive response we had. Oh and the two weeks of sunshine helped as well! So here we are again with a much bigger FOTW. Much more press attention and many more artists, with more coming forward as I write, despite the fact that FOTW started on June 18th.
I wanted to tell you about life on a Barge. Firstly it's difficult. You have to almost walk sideways to get anywhere when you have a Crew plus four and some nights that can mean 9! Feeding people is also fun. Trying to open an oven door or peer into the fridge whilst a few of the Crew wander past is interesting to say the least. You have to think about lots of things like taking on water, going to the pumping station - read that as 'getting rid of Poo!' Food supplies and managing to recharge your mobile phone/laptop/ipod...etc...etc...whilst the engine is running also feature. Note to Blokes - read that as Please! can I switch my hairdryer on NOW! Then there is the 'trying to find your land legs' after spending a week aboard. The world tilts gently when you have spent so much time on the water. No alcohol needed. It took me a week at home to realise that my shower wasn't going to be interupted by a another Barge sloshing by and turning my world slightly skew whiff!
Ah but the upsides....in the summer it really is living the dream. Imagine (excuse The Pun) living aboard a Dutch Barge (only 160K, fully fitted). Having a little plot of land with some solar panels and a beautiful grapevine, a veggie patch and a peaceful mooring. Complete Bliss! Then of course you would need a one bed flat close to your mooring so that you could spend the coldest months of the year in centrally heated heavan. Oh and don't forget a nice battered hat to wear at the tiller! That is the dream. But for now I am going to live the dream on FOTW for a week.
I can't wait to meet all the new artists and of course all my friends from last year. Joshy will be there, running the locks and more importantly 'running free'. So looking forward to meeting you all and catching up with precious friends. See you there!
Barge It!
Muse x
I finally realised that despite writing a Blog about it last year, most of you don't really know what it is. I have a great friend by the name of Dutch Van Spall. I met him when I was 17 in another, much more charmed life. Dutch is a bit mad about music, he loves everything about it and has dedicated his life to it. Dutch masterminded The Folk on The Water Festival (FOTW) last year. http://www.folkontheWater.com .Dutch decided to get on a Barge, stop at a few pubs along the way and host live music at every place he 'laid his hat'.
I live in Cornwall and as FOTW takes place on the Warwickshire Ring Canal, I offered my services as Chief Cook and Bottle Washer. Funnily enough, Dutch accepted. So I found myself on a Barge, in a County I had no knowledge of and managed to pitch in and look after the crew in some small way. What a fantastic time we had. We could not believe how many people turned out to welcome us and what a positive response we had. Oh and the two weeks of sunshine helped as well! So here we are again with a much bigger FOTW. Much more press attention and many more artists, with more coming forward as I write, despite the fact that FOTW started on June 18th.
I wanted to tell you about life on a Barge. Firstly it's difficult. You have to almost walk sideways to get anywhere when you have a Crew plus four and some nights that can mean 9! Feeding people is also fun. Trying to open an oven door or peer into the fridge whilst a few of the Crew wander past is interesting to say the least. You have to think about lots of things like taking on water, going to the pumping station - read that as 'getting rid of Poo!' Food supplies and managing to recharge your mobile phone/laptop/ipod...etc...etc...whilst the engine is running also feature. Note to Blokes - read that as Please! can I switch my hairdryer on NOW! Then there is the 'trying to find your land legs' after spending a week aboard. The world tilts gently when you have spent so much time on the water. No alcohol needed. It took me a week at home to realise that my shower wasn't going to be interupted by a another Barge sloshing by and turning my world slightly skew whiff!
Ah but the upsides....in the summer it really is living the dream. Imagine (excuse The Pun) living aboard a Dutch Barge (only 160K, fully fitted). Having a little plot of land with some solar panels and a beautiful grapevine, a veggie patch and a peaceful mooring. Complete Bliss! Then of course you would need a one bed flat close to your mooring so that you could spend the coldest months of the year in centrally heated heavan. Oh and don't forget a nice battered hat to wear at the tiller! That is the dream. But for now I am going to live the dream on FOTW for a week.
I can't wait to meet all the new artists and of course all my friends from last year. Joshy will be there, running the locks and more importantly 'running free'. So looking forward to meeting you all and catching up with precious friends. See you there!
Barge It!
Muse x
Friday 10 June 2011
Brushes With Royalty
I have just finished watching The Prince at 90. An interview between Fiona Bruce and Prince Philip. Blimey, he was awful to her. I think she showed 'fear in the face of adversity' or actually sat there quaking in the chair. Joanna Lumley described him as a 'Hawk Like'. Fiona was his prey and frankly I would have loved it if she had fought back... Twitter was awash with comments. One particularly funny - by @jannism
'Well I think Fiona Bruce handled that admirably. If "admirably" were to mean "like a cringeworthy, sycophantic arse cloud" '.
All I can say is get your Leathers back on love and assume the 'Cowgirl' position.
Talking of Royalty the extended Muse family have had our fair share of 'up close and personal' moments with them. My dad, in his prime, was a bit of a cheeky sod. At some point during the early sixties, Princess Anne locked herself out of her car in the middle of a huge storm. My father happened to be around and managed to break into her car and send her on her way. Fast forward to the eighties. We were on tour with the Donuts in Cyprus and Princess Anne was on a visit. My father could not get into the Sycophants line up as he was only a Mini (non glazed, variety) Donut at the time and took matters into his own hands. He had a huge collection of cameras as he has always been an avid photographer and strung the most impressive of which around his neck. Strolling nonchalantly to the end of the line he flashed his 'Press Pass' and got some great pics of her and brazenly asked her if she remembered her 'Knight in Shining Armour'. Apparently she did!
My mum is such a sweet thing, she gets all of a fluster about Royalty and launches into her Hyacinth Bouquet routine (scary...) when they arrive in the same County as her. This was not to be in 1970's in Berlin though. We were there courtesy of the Boys in Blue, my fathers job prior to the Donuts and she heard that Prince Charles was landing at RAF Gatow. I can't remember, but I don't think it was an official visit, just a stop over. The news spread throught the married quarters like wildfire and my mother pulled a scarf over her rollers and hot footed it down to the airfield. Unfortunately for her, Charlie made a beeline for her and shook her hand, oh the shame of being pictured in your rollers in the local rag!
Not to be outdone, his father also embarrased my mother. Ma and Pa were loitering on Ascension Island, having fun on the Donut expense account and Prince Philip was on a 'scheduled' stop over, on his way to South America as President of the WWF. All the local dignitaries were lined up, dressed up in their finery. My mum was in the crowd. Philip wandered off the TriStar, ignored the line up and went straight up to my mother. He said hello and shook here hand. She was so shocked that she said, 'I hope you don't mind me saying but you look like you could do with a good Iron Sir'. He roared with laughter and moved on. Poor woman she has never got over it!
I have only had one brush myself. In 1991 I had landed in godforsaken Tidworth, a really horrible Army hell hole, after a blissful tour of Cyprus. What is it about those movement guys at MOD when they think its funny to post your husband to Tidworth after having such a great swan in the sun? Anyway I was driving home from work. I had just turned off the A303 toward Tidworth and could not understand why the roads were so quiet. I stopped at a junction to give way and there, right in front of me was the Queen in a glass topped Daimler. It was a perfect moment. Just me, Her Maj and her driver. I can only think that I had avoided the roadblock by taking my usual short cut, there wasn't even a Security Car in sight. I waved and 10 feet away she waved at me, sat in my humble Yugo.....awwww! Say what you like about the royals but I love Her Maj!
Last but not least, a couple of weeks ago The Queen arrived at Penzance Station on an Official visit. My number one son James works for Customer Services and the poor Queen stepped off the train to a reception of Truro 'Party Animals' AKA James, Olly and Treve....... I wonder if she has recovered from the shock!
Namaste
Muse x
'Well I think Fiona Bruce handled that admirably. If "admirably" were to mean "like a cringeworthy, sycophantic arse cloud" '.
All I can say is get your Leathers back on love and assume the 'Cowgirl' position.
Talking of Royalty the extended Muse family have had our fair share of 'up close and personal' moments with them. My dad, in his prime, was a bit of a cheeky sod. At some point during the early sixties, Princess Anne locked herself out of her car in the middle of a huge storm. My father happened to be around and managed to break into her car and send her on her way. Fast forward to the eighties. We were on tour with the Donuts in Cyprus and Princess Anne was on a visit. My father could not get into the Sycophants line up as he was only a Mini (non glazed, variety) Donut at the time and took matters into his own hands. He had a huge collection of cameras as he has always been an avid photographer and strung the most impressive of which around his neck. Strolling nonchalantly to the end of the line he flashed his 'Press Pass' and got some great pics of her and brazenly asked her if she remembered her 'Knight in Shining Armour'. Apparently she did!
My mum is such a sweet thing, she gets all of a fluster about Royalty and launches into her Hyacinth Bouquet routine (scary...) when they arrive in the same County as her. This was not to be in 1970's in Berlin though. We were there courtesy of the Boys in Blue, my fathers job prior to the Donuts and she heard that Prince Charles was landing at RAF Gatow. I can't remember, but I don't think it was an official visit, just a stop over. The news spread throught the married quarters like wildfire and my mother pulled a scarf over her rollers and hot footed it down to the airfield. Unfortunately for her, Charlie made a beeline for her and shook her hand, oh the shame of being pictured in your rollers in the local rag!
Not to be outdone, his father also embarrased my mother. Ma and Pa were loitering on Ascension Island, having fun on the Donut expense account and Prince Philip was on a 'scheduled' stop over, on his way to South America as President of the WWF. All the local dignitaries were lined up, dressed up in their finery. My mum was in the crowd. Philip wandered off the TriStar, ignored the line up and went straight up to my mother. He said hello and shook here hand. She was so shocked that she said, 'I hope you don't mind me saying but you look like you could do with a good Iron Sir'. He roared with laughter and moved on. Poor woman she has never got over it!
I have only had one brush myself. In 1991 I had landed in godforsaken Tidworth, a really horrible Army hell hole, after a blissful tour of Cyprus. What is it about those movement guys at MOD when they think its funny to post your husband to Tidworth after having such a great swan in the sun? Anyway I was driving home from work. I had just turned off the A303 toward Tidworth and could not understand why the roads were so quiet. I stopped at a junction to give way and there, right in front of me was the Queen in a glass topped Daimler. It was a perfect moment. Just me, Her Maj and her driver. I can only think that I had avoided the roadblock by taking my usual short cut, there wasn't even a Security Car in sight. I waved and 10 feet away she waved at me, sat in my humble Yugo.....awwww! Say what you like about the royals but I love Her Maj!
Last but not least, a couple of weeks ago The Queen arrived at Penzance Station on an Official visit. My number one son James works for Customer Services and the poor Queen stepped off the train to a reception of Truro 'Party Animals' AKA James, Olly and Treve....... I wonder if she has recovered from the shock!
Namaste
Muse x
Thursday 2 June 2011
Half Term and Wiggies
It is half term here in Cornwall and I had a lovely afternoon with The Git, my Grandaughter Angel and my son James on Tuesday. We went to the Great God Pizza Hut, which the brats loved. Eeewwww - evil stuff! Angel was really funny but Josh was hilarious.
Josh usually stays with Ma and Pa over half term and if Angel gets wind of it, she refuses to go home, as he is her hero. Josh is really growing up now and as the folks live in a Lodge on a big Holiday Park near Newquay there are a lot of 'city kids' staying at the moment. Angel and Josh disappeared when I drove them back on Tuesday at about 6pm. I was literally with Pa for five minutes and went to find them to say goodbye. Pa said, 'they will either be chasing Rabbits and Wiggies (Angels word for Squirrels) down by the park or they will be loitering by the pool hoping to get in'. Josh and Angel have all sorts of adventures at the Park. They climb trees, trying to get as high as the pet cat...nah, no chance and they have the bruises to prove it! Owls, Wiggies and rabbits feature heavily and Gramps keeps them entertained, letting them run free but always keeping an eye and an ear out for them.
I walked around the park, tutting and wishing I had taken the car and finally found them....in the bar playing pool!! Do you think they are a tad young to be barflies? I mean how young do you have to be to get a bar tan?? In my day it was at least 16... Actually the pool table is in a different room from the bar and as long as the kids are quiet they let them play. Thank god pubs don't let us smoke anymore - erm...thats for the poor city kids whose parents don't care what they are doing or erm...is that the Grand Kids of people who are too innocent to understand what they are doing at the age of 5 and 13!!! This is supposed to be funny BTW!
Okay, deep breath taken, I clocked the scene. Angel was on the floor playing dollies with two other lovely, (obviously, she says hysterically) poorly parented city girls and Josh was looking pretty cool playing pool with the other badasses - I think the eldest of whom might have been about 11. Josh was indeed the coolest dude. He had his best skater shoes on, his flashiest baseball cap and was sort of hunched between a lounge and thrust position...god help me!
Take another deep breath, I muttered to myself. Do NOT under any circumstances embarrass The Git, he is just finding his feet. I breezed in, said to Angel that Gramps wanted to play Dinosaurs with her, grabbing her firmly by the hand and giving her my best 'no nonsense honey, you are coming with me' look and waltzed over to Josh. He did his 'rabbit caught in headlights' look and his jaw dropped as I said 'want some change for the pool table Josh'. Dropping 6 quid into his hand I walked out of the door, breathing heavily and then looked down and realized that Angel was still clutching my hand, bless her heart!
Arriving back at the parents' lodge I gave them a lecture about not keeping an eye on Angel and Josh. Dad looked up from his book, laughed and said 'don't worry they are fine and will you stop being a stressy knickers'. Ma just continued listening to The Archers. Angelina got out her foam Dinosaurs pack that I had bought her that day, eyeing me warily. Erm...I might just mention that they had been gone from The Lodge for all of 7 minutes....
I phoned Josh this afternoon. Apparently he has a hot date with the pool table and will not be returning home for several days...I try, I try so hard to be a good mum but it seems that my parents know far more than me and just how to let a little boy grow up!
Namaste
Muse x
PS I have to confess that my Barfly days allegedly started at 15 ish...
Josh usually stays with Ma and Pa over half term and if Angel gets wind of it, she refuses to go home, as he is her hero. Josh is really growing up now and as the folks live in a Lodge on a big Holiday Park near Newquay there are a lot of 'city kids' staying at the moment. Angel and Josh disappeared when I drove them back on Tuesday at about 6pm. I was literally with Pa for five minutes and went to find them to say goodbye. Pa said, 'they will either be chasing Rabbits and Wiggies (Angels word for Squirrels) down by the park or they will be loitering by the pool hoping to get in'. Josh and Angel have all sorts of adventures at the Park. They climb trees, trying to get as high as the pet cat...nah, no chance and they have the bruises to prove it! Owls, Wiggies and rabbits feature heavily and Gramps keeps them entertained, letting them run free but always keeping an eye and an ear out for them.
I walked around the park, tutting and wishing I had taken the car and finally found them....in the bar playing pool!! Do you think they are a tad young to be barflies? I mean how young do you have to be to get a bar tan?? In my day it was at least 16... Actually the pool table is in a different room from the bar and as long as the kids are quiet they let them play. Thank god pubs don't let us smoke anymore - erm...thats for the poor city kids whose parents don't care what they are doing or erm...is that the Grand Kids of people who are too innocent to understand what they are doing at the age of 5 and 13!!! This is supposed to be funny BTW!
Okay, deep breath taken, I clocked the scene. Angel was on the floor playing dollies with two other lovely, (obviously, she says hysterically) poorly parented city girls and Josh was looking pretty cool playing pool with the other badasses - I think the eldest of whom might have been about 11. Josh was indeed the coolest dude. He had his best skater shoes on, his flashiest baseball cap and was sort of hunched between a lounge and thrust position...god help me!
Take another deep breath, I muttered to myself. Do NOT under any circumstances embarrass The Git, he is just finding his feet. I breezed in, said to Angel that Gramps wanted to play Dinosaurs with her, grabbing her firmly by the hand and giving her my best 'no nonsense honey, you are coming with me' look and waltzed over to Josh. He did his 'rabbit caught in headlights' look and his jaw dropped as I said 'want some change for the pool table Josh'. Dropping 6 quid into his hand I walked out of the door, breathing heavily and then looked down and realized that Angel was still clutching my hand, bless her heart!
Arriving back at the parents' lodge I gave them a lecture about not keeping an eye on Angel and Josh. Dad looked up from his book, laughed and said 'don't worry they are fine and will you stop being a stressy knickers'. Ma just continued listening to The Archers. Angelina got out her foam Dinosaurs pack that I had bought her that day, eyeing me warily. Erm...I might just mention that they had been gone from The Lodge for all of 7 minutes....
I phoned Josh this afternoon. Apparently he has a hot date with the pool table and will not be returning home for several days...I try, I try so hard to be a good mum but it seems that my parents know far more than me and just how to let a little boy grow up!
Namaste
Muse x
PS I have to confess that my Barfly days allegedly started at 15 ish...
Saturday 28 May 2011
Wanderlust - Part II
It continues, The Wanderlust. I cannot help it. My brain just wants to stretch out on a beach and chill, it must be the brain talking because I have never been a sunbather. I always preferred doing dangerous things with skis, canoes and windsurfers. I have a lot of new readers on my Blog (thank you, lovely people) so I suppose I ought to return to my roots and explain the origins of 'Donut Child' and the 'Donut Kids' that are still with me.
Donut Child started because, after keeping a life long journal, I injured my arm (also known as The Fecking Bastard Arm) and could not write in longhand. The first year was so hard. Somehow, I had to share my thoughts, in a sanitised way, with the rest of the world. Anyway! I got over all that. Shoved the dirty linen under the bed as far as I could and coped.
Onto Donut Child and the wonderful childhood I experienced. My father was a very small fish in a very big pond when I was born in Cyprus in 1963. My dad was 22 and my mum 19 years old, a long way away from home. He was the lowest of the low, an SAC in the RAF. My earliest memory is of heat, a warm frisky, dry heat. Watching my brother and sister play and fight and get into all sorts of trouble. They were twins and absolutely gorgeous children. I was five, they were two and a half. I remember being so protective of them and if they did anything I would 'own up' on their behalf.
I can remember my dad taking me to my first day at school at Ay Nik Primary School. I was so glad of his hand in mine. We had to go on an enormous bus (erm...actually a small falling apart 'Chicken Bus') and I loved school. Some of the Donut Children that read this started on that day with me and 13 years later, despite following each other, randomly around the world, the same kids managed to finish Secondary School at King Richards in Cyprus with me.
Digressing again. Can you imagine coming home from school at the age of five, living right on the beach, throwing off your clothes, climbing into your swimmies and plunging into the warm Mediterranean Sea. After a swim, my mother would call me and lower down my lunch in a little bucket from our second floor flat. Then dad coming back from work, pulling off his uniform and swimming out with me on his back out to the reef to snorkel and swim with the fish and the turtles.
Life as a Donut Child wasn't always so romantic, we did our time in Germany, in the snow drifts of Berlin, also in the depressing quarters of RAF Digby, where we experienced The Winter of Discontent but somehow I managed 13 whole years in Cyprus and three visits to Ascension Island. What more can a girl ask for!
The Donut Kids are with me today. We have managed two reunions so far. The first was so special. It had been 30 years since we had seen each other. No boring school reunion for us. We had not only travelled throughout our childhoods but many of us had been abroad for most of our adult lives. I am so grateful to be in touch with them as even today many of us travel and are never in the the same place for long. I suppose that is why we cling to one another, even though we are all in our forties.
My father left the RAF but got a new job as a Donut at The Central Spelling Office. Can't tell you much about that as The Central Spelling Office is supposed to be a secret. Now you understand the reason for my Wanderlust.
Thank you for reading Donut Child, I appreciate it so much.
Namaste
Muse x
Donut Child started because, after keeping a life long journal, I injured my arm (also known as The Fecking Bastard Arm) and could not write in longhand. The first year was so hard. Somehow, I had to share my thoughts, in a sanitised way, with the rest of the world. Anyway! I got over all that. Shoved the dirty linen under the bed as far as I could and coped.
Onto Donut Child and the wonderful childhood I experienced. My father was a very small fish in a very big pond when I was born in Cyprus in 1963. My dad was 22 and my mum 19 years old, a long way away from home. He was the lowest of the low, an SAC in the RAF. My earliest memory is of heat, a warm frisky, dry heat. Watching my brother and sister play and fight and get into all sorts of trouble. They were twins and absolutely gorgeous children. I was five, they were two and a half. I remember being so protective of them and if they did anything I would 'own up' on their behalf.
I can remember my dad taking me to my first day at school at Ay Nik Primary School. I was so glad of his hand in mine. We had to go on an enormous bus (erm...actually a small falling apart 'Chicken Bus') and I loved school. Some of the Donut Children that read this started on that day with me and 13 years later, despite following each other, randomly around the world, the same kids managed to finish Secondary School at King Richards in Cyprus with me.
Digressing again. Can you imagine coming home from school at the age of five, living right on the beach, throwing off your clothes, climbing into your swimmies and plunging into the warm Mediterranean Sea. After a swim, my mother would call me and lower down my lunch in a little bucket from our second floor flat. Then dad coming back from work, pulling off his uniform and swimming out with me on his back out to the reef to snorkel and swim with the fish and the turtles.
Life as a Donut Child wasn't always so romantic, we did our time in Germany, in the snow drifts of Berlin, also in the depressing quarters of RAF Digby, where we experienced The Winter of Discontent but somehow I managed 13 whole years in Cyprus and three visits to Ascension Island. What more can a girl ask for!
The Donut Kids are with me today. We have managed two reunions so far. The first was so special. It had been 30 years since we had seen each other. No boring school reunion for us. We had not only travelled throughout our childhoods but many of us had been abroad for most of our adult lives. I am so grateful to be in touch with them as even today many of us travel and are never in the the same place for long. I suppose that is why we cling to one another, even though we are all in our forties.
My father left the RAF but got a new job as a Donut at The Central Spelling Office. Can't tell you much about that as The Central Spelling Office is supposed to be a secret. Now you understand the reason for my Wanderlust.
Thank you for reading Donut Child, I appreciate it so much.
Namaste
Muse x
Testcard - Normal Service will be resumed shortly.
I really need to get this out of my system before I carry on with my very successful Blog! Someone reads this Blog, via her daughters FB account - v.v.v unhealthy if you ask me, I mean WHO gives their Ma their internet password...shudder.
All I can say to her... J - you know who you are. You are a kindred spirit and love to read the written word, just like me. I am quite sure you would love to have a go at this Blog lark so either get on with it or create a Google Account and open your mouth in person. The comments posted on this Blog are let to run free unless like last week a personal phone number is posted. A young girl was in trouble and needed my help. Nuff said.
So darling, get over it or get on with it. Would absolutely love to see you do so because I suspect there is a little frustrated talent hiding in there and no doubt your writing would give mine a run for its money! And that is all the 'breath' I am prepared to give you.
Namaste x
PS Look at your lovely Ma and compare her to many much younger people, she is beautiful and I am so proud of her.
All I can say to her... J - you know who you are. You are a kindred spirit and love to read the written word, just like me. I am quite sure you would love to have a go at this Blog lark so either get on with it or create a Google Account and open your mouth in person. The comments posted on this Blog are let to run free unless like last week a personal phone number is posted. A young girl was in trouble and needed my help. Nuff said.
So darling, get over it or get on with it. Would absolutely love to see you do so because I suspect there is a little frustrated talent hiding in there and no doubt your writing would give mine a run for its money! And that is all the 'breath' I am prepared to give you.
Namaste x
PS Look at your lovely Ma and compare her to many much younger people, she is beautiful and I am so proud of her.
Thursday 26 May 2011
Wanderlust and Barging It!
All The Donut Kids have Wanderlust in one form or another. I lost mine a couple of years ago, settling in to my fluffy slippers, scootching up to my fire and ignoring any memories of faraway places. I found it again a few weeks ago and it is causing no end of trouble. Put it this way, it is either Wanderlust or a bloody mid life crisis!
It started with a boat. I live very close to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. All it takes on a sunny day is to grab cool box, a body board, shove The Git into the car and Hey Presto! We are there, walking on the beaches, lookin' at the Peaches...A'hem. Actually it is more a case of getting the Bino's out to ensure The Git is not drowning or getting into trouble. I also love looking at the tourists (Emmetts, as we call them down here) and thinking how lucky I am, sitting on the sand, watching the sun go down and The Git surfing in the waves. We have had a few great evenings like that recently.
I digress, I have been salivating over boats for sale, nothing special, just your average luxury 48 footer. Then I realised that I was actually financially in the Poo, so to speak, and decided to look at....erm, she says shamefully....erm...Motor Homes. See!!!! I am losing my marbles! This has to be a mid life crisis as I hate the damn things. After all, I spend most of my life in the summer, either sitting patiently (not!) behind them or watching them being towed away. If I go camping, I expect a bouncy air mattress, a generator, a plug and Sky Plus, not to mention The Butler!. I get grumpy if there is not enough power for my hair straighteners and if it rains I head straight for the nearest plush Hotel with feather duvets and a roof.
SEE! I got old, unadventurous and soft. Now all I can think of is setting sail in a (at the very least 48ft) boat or perhaps a driving across Continents in my top of the range Motor Home with enough room to square away half of the Glastonbury audience! Not entirely sure what brought this on but the realisation that I have actually lived in Cornwall for the last 8 years, without pinging off to some random place or other, may have something to do with it. Blowing into brown paper bag now...really!!! did I actually manage to settle for 8 whole years???
Never mind, my wanderlust will be cured next month. I am off to deepest Warwickshire with a Maestro, a load of terrifically talented Musicians and we'll be aboard a 'Rosie and Jim' Barge tootling along for two weeks. There is something magical about the canal and being aboard a Barge. You have no option but to slow right down to gas mark 3 miles an hour - it is very good for my mid life crisis and I intend to enjoy every minute!
Watch this space for futher updates. My slippers ain't got me just yet!
Namaste
Muse x
http://folkonthewater.blogspot.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/FolkontheWat...
http://www.folkonthewater.com
http://twitter.com/folkonthewater
http://www.kateboats.co.uk/
http://www.bathplace.org/
http://www.canalsidecommunityfood.org.uk
http://www.bluelias.com/
http://www.thebridgeatnapton.co.uk/
http://www.newboldcomynarms.co.uk/
It started with a boat. I live very close to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. All it takes on a sunny day is to grab cool box, a body board, shove The Git into the car and Hey Presto! We are there, walking on the beaches, lookin' at the Peaches...A'hem. Actually it is more a case of getting the Bino's out to ensure The Git is not drowning or getting into trouble. I also love looking at the tourists (Emmetts, as we call them down here) and thinking how lucky I am, sitting on the sand, watching the sun go down and The Git surfing in the waves. We have had a few great evenings like that recently.
I digress, I have been salivating over boats for sale, nothing special, just your average luxury 48 footer. Then I realised that I was actually financially in the Poo, so to speak, and decided to look at....erm, she says shamefully....erm...Motor Homes. See!!!! I am losing my marbles! This has to be a mid life crisis as I hate the damn things. After all, I spend most of my life in the summer, either sitting patiently (not!) behind them or watching them being towed away. If I go camping, I expect a bouncy air mattress, a generator, a plug and Sky Plus, not to mention The Butler!. I get grumpy if there is not enough power for my hair straighteners and if it rains I head straight for the nearest plush Hotel with feather duvets and a roof.
SEE! I got old, unadventurous and soft. Now all I can think of is setting sail in a (at the very least 48ft) boat or perhaps a driving across Continents in my top of the range Motor Home with enough room to square away half of the Glastonbury audience! Not entirely sure what brought this on but the realisation that I have actually lived in Cornwall for the last 8 years, without pinging off to some random place or other, may have something to do with it. Blowing into brown paper bag now...really!!! did I actually manage to settle for 8 whole years???
Never mind, my wanderlust will be cured next month. I am off to deepest Warwickshire with a Maestro, a load of terrifically talented Musicians and we'll be aboard a 'Rosie and Jim' Barge tootling along for two weeks. There is something magical about the canal and being aboard a Barge. You have no option but to slow right down to gas mark 3 miles an hour - it is very good for my mid life crisis and I intend to enjoy every minute!
Watch this space for futher updates. My slippers ain't got me just yet!
Namaste
Muse x
http://folkonthewater.blogspot.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/FolkontheWat...
http://www.folkonthewater.com
http://twitter.com/folkonthewater
http://www.kateboats.co.uk/
http://www.bathplace.org/
http://www.canalsidecommunityfood.org.uk
http://www.bluelias.com/
http://www.thebridgeatnapton.co.uk/
http://www.newboldcomynarms.co.uk/
Tuesday 24 May 2011
TLC and a rather good Vintage!
I had a bit of a rant about 'The Rapture' on Donut Child the other day. I suppose I could not believe that some idiot, organized religion was getting so much publicity. Get me...I gave it publicity. Doh! This Blog is not about religion it is just about us and our faith in each other. I may be dismissive about organized religion and I DO respect those that practice it within their hearts but I struggle to cope with others that feel the need to force me to participate in their God Delusion. Oh Bugger I am just digging myself a deeper hole.
Let me put this into some sort of context. I was about 23 when a relative was diagnosed with liver cancer. She was the same age as I am now. Just 47 years old. Let us just call her Doris for arguements sake. Doris had three weeks from her diagnosis of a terribly painful cancer to her death. She calmly put her affairs in order, sorted out her will and asked for a humanitarian service with no flowers as she would not be present to appreciate them. I remember thinking at the time how brave and rather stupid she was. I hedged my bets at the age of 23, I said my Hari Krishna once a week, my Hail Mary and The Lords Prayer before I nodded off at night. I did not realise it at the time but she was one of the bravest people I have ever met.
It takes a courageous person to dismiss the religion that your parents passed on to you. I was more unfortunate than most. I was brought up within a predominately Catholic family. I won't go into what disillusioned me, suffice to say, one particular Donut Child knows why, and of course I learned to think for myself, something I am able to thank my Father for.
My distrust of religion does not mean I am devoid of Kindness, Love and Respect for others. We all need a little Tender Loving Care. We all appreciate something to believe in, it is called HOPE and as I said in my last Blog, if you put 300 of us in a plane and stick it in a dive, we will all revert to form and pray to the 'God' we have been taught to pray to.
For me, I want to concentrate on one day at a time. I need to get my priorities in order and they start with my family. If I stumble across someone in need or a person who I can help then yeah, why not? If it makes you feel good and gives hope to another then get on with it. This Random Acts of Kindness thing does work. Try it, you may surprise yourself! Oh, just in case you think I have gone all Mushy....my latest RAK was repaid by 6 bottles of a rather good wine!
Namaste
Muse x
PS Still working on my road rage....
Let me put this into some sort of context. I was about 23 when a relative was diagnosed with liver cancer. She was the same age as I am now. Just 47 years old. Let us just call her Doris for arguements sake. Doris had three weeks from her diagnosis of a terribly painful cancer to her death. She calmly put her affairs in order, sorted out her will and asked for a humanitarian service with no flowers as she would not be present to appreciate them. I remember thinking at the time how brave and rather stupid she was. I hedged my bets at the age of 23, I said my Hari Krishna once a week, my Hail Mary and The Lords Prayer before I nodded off at night. I did not realise it at the time but she was one of the bravest people I have ever met.
It takes a courageous person to dismiss the religion that your parents passed on to you. I was more unfortunate than most. I was brought up within a predominately Catholic family. I won't go into what disillusioned me, suffice to say, one particular Donut Child knows why, and of course I learned to think for myself, something I am able to thank my Father for.
My distrust of religion does not mean I am devoid of Kindness, Love and Respect for others. We all need a little Tender Loving Care. We all appreciate something to believe in, it is called HOPE and as I said in my last Blog, if you put 300 of us in a plane and stick it in a dive, we will all revert to form and pray to the 'God' we have been taught to pray to.
For me, I want to concentrate on one day at a time. I need to get my priorities in order and they start with my family. If I stumble across someone in need or a person who I can help then yeah, why not? If it makes you feel good and gives hope to another then get on with it. This Random Acts of Kindness thing does work. Try it, you may surprise yourself! Oh, just in case you think I have gone all Mushy....my latest RAK was repaid by 6 bottles of a rather good wine!
Namaste
Muse x
PS Still working on my road rage....
Saturday 21 May 2011
The Rapture
Yeah I know - TWO posts in a day! I have buggered up. I forgot all about 'The Rapture'. You are all quite able to look it up yourselves. I only know about this stuff as a few weeks ago I happened upon a book. I will not give you the title as it is just a nasty piece of Pentecostal Propoganda and you really don't want to know. I glanced at the back of it and I mean 'glanced' and thought 'mmm, sounds like a good Sci-Fi tale to me'. Got home and three chapters in realised it was a piece of shit. I don't really care who I offend, most of those that know me understand that I have no patience with organized religion.
Put it this way. Put 300 people in a big plane, stick it in a nose dive and count how many pray to God, Allah, Buddah, Ganesh...etc..etc. It is ingrained in us all, no matter how brave we are, how we do not believe. Our society has ensured that during our darkest moments we pray to the shining star in the sky. But this 'Rapture' stuff is a different ball game. Apparently all the good people of this world will be taken up to Heaven at 6pm tonight - does not matter what timeline you are on, that's neat isn't it! What this means is the great and the good will disappear, leaving their clothing behind and the rest of us baddies will stay and face the terrible music.
How arrogant, irritating and hideous. There is no peace in terror, no love in rules and no bravery in shoving organized religion up our arses. Yep this Donut Child just grew teeth.
Pray to your God Quietly, Meditate in your Soul Respectfully, Enjoy your Dreams Blissfully and be at Peace.
Just don't shove it in my face or I may bite...hard!
Namaste
Muse x
Put it this way. Put 300 people in a big plane, stick it in a nose dive and count how many pray to God, Allah, Buddah, Ganesh...etc..etc. It is ingrained in us all, no matter how brave we are, how we do not believe. Our society has ensured that during our darkest moments we pray to the shining star in the sky. But this 'Rapture' stuff is a different ball game. Apparently all the good people of this world will be taken up to Heaven at 6pm tonight - does not matter what timeline you are on, that's neat isn't it! What this means is the great and the good will disappear, leaving their clothing behind and the rest of us baddies will stay and face the terrible music.
How arrogant, irritating and hideous. There is no peace in terror, no love in rules and no bravery in shoving organized religion up our arses. Yep this Donut Child just grew teeth.
Pray to your God Quietly, Meditate in your Soul Respectfully, Enjoy your Dreams Blissfully and be at Peace.
Just don't shove it in my face or I may bite...hard!
Namaste
Muse x
Tibby and The Git
I am babysitting my parents' kitten at the moment. His name is Tibby - he was named by my son. Imagine the embarassment of going out at night and calling his name... He is a charming little thing, very affectionate, very clever and quite a delight. He likes to poke his head into my book when I am reading. Oh, thats apart from when he decides to play at 2 am and taps me on the head gently with his little paws. Josh adores Tibby. He has spent all his pocket money on his little kitten. He loves Tibby without question and is very protective of him.
My problem is not keeping him in but keeping other cats out. He is only a baby and unsure about going out. I live in a place which is overrun by 'feral cats'. They are big, scary and do not deal with any nonsense. If Tibby managed to get out he would be eaten alive.
I have never been a cat lover. Cats know everything. They look at you, sit on your kitchen window sill and report back. Look into the eyes of a Cat and you may become lonely, hirsute, shuffling of slippers and accepting of old age!
My little man, Josh AKA The Git is a bit like Tibby. He is finding his feet in the world. He is unable to go out as he is bullied very badly and up until now he has been struggling to find his place in society.
Josh has just started to find his feet and make a few friends. My little man has become Master of the Household, tutting at me if I struggle trying to put a new fuse in a plug, pulling bags from my hands to carry them for me, putting out the rubbish, locking up and switching lights out. Josh and his little group of friends keep each other safe in school. They reside in a kaleidoscopic bubble of friendship and look out for each other. Perhaps you could call them Geeks but I think they are just like Tibby. Young, clever, entertaining and aware that they could be someone elses dinner but always staying one step ahead.
I am so grateful that The Git has finally found his feet with the help of a little kitten called Tibby....
Namaste
Muse x
PS I have to go now as Tibby has already deleted half this post with his clever paws. He loves the warmth of the 'Pute.
My problem is not keeping him in but keeping other cats out. He is only a baby and unsure about going out. I live in a place which is overrun by 'feral cats'. They are big, scary and do not deal with any nonsense. If Tibby managed to get out he would be eaten alive.
I have never been a cat lover. Cats know everything. They look at you, sit on your kitchen window sill and report back. Look into the eyes of a Cat and you may become lonely, hirsute, shuffling of slippers and accepting of old age!
My little man, Josh AKA The Git is a bit like Tibby. He is finding his feet in the world. He is unable to go out as he is bullied very badly and up until now he has been struggling to find his place in society.
Josh has just started to find his feet and make a few friends. My little man has become Master of the Household, tutting at me if I struggle trying to put a new fuse in a plug, pulling bags from my hands to carry them for me, putting out the rubbish, locking up and switching lights out. Josh and his little group of friends keep each other safe in school. They reside in a kaleidoscopic bubble of friendship and look out for each other. Perhaps you could call them Geeks but I think they are just like Tibby. Young, clever, entertaining and aware that they could be someone elses dinner but always staying one step ahead.
I am so grateful that The Git has finally found his feet with the help of a little kitten called Tibby....
Namaste
Muse x
PS I have to go now as Tibby has already deleted half this post with his clever paws. He loves the warmth of the 'Pute.
Sunday 15 May 2011
Payback Time!
I am not a bitchy woman, never have been, never will be. I am a frustrated writer and have a lot of opinions but I have learned not to sweat the small stuff. Oh,but the small stuff does not include road rage. I am the worlds worst. Today was a good day for me. I only managed two road rage incidents. However, I did manage one grudge match and a near 'scrape the keys down that feckers car' incident. Let me explain.
I usually park the car at the front of my humble house but after 3 acts of vandalism within 6 months, I decided to park it around the back. All the parking is public, none of it is designated. I innocently parked my car and after three days started to receive 'love letters' from someone whose 'space' I had evidently nicked. Life is too bloody short so I just shoved these notes in my glove box and carried on. I did not know what space I was supposed to be nicking as I had parked in several. It soon became clear and I identified the house these letters were issued from. The last one read, 'Park in my space again Bitch and I'll destroy your crap car'. Oh how poetic. I collected about 6 of these badly spelled notes and sighing heavily, wandered off to the Polis station, just to confirm that I was actually parking in a non designated zone.
I did not realise that the Polis would take this seriously as they had never bothered to investigate the vandalism to my car. Cue 'SHE- MAN'. No other description would be fitting. Tall amazonian, mono brow, cheap trainers (who wears trainers unless you are at a gym???) and I suspect her Ma had mated with a Gorilla. Her husband is of the spotty, weedy variety with blonde hi-lights. Now I'm being a snarky bitch but I was pushed! She- Man apparently received a caution and I thought that would be an end to it. How wrong I was, it was only the start. So far I have been blocked by her car on several occasions etc..etc...ad nauseum. I have kept photographic evidence just in case she/he decides to torch my little banger but can't be bothered to do anything more. I have better things to do.
I was driving home tonight and spotted her pulling out behind me. Ha! Here we go darling. I am a better driver than you, a better person and no-one does payback like me. Foot to the floor, I swerved off the high street, using my gears to negotiate a steep hill, lots of speed bumps and keeping a wary eye out for small children. She decided to go the long, allegedly faster way round. I beat her, I beat her. I am a god. My driving is superb.
I smoothly slid into 'her' parking space as she pulled around the corner. I could see the steam hissing out of her ears. I got out of the car with a large smirk on my face. Actually I was cackling like a Hyena with Pleurisy inside that smirk. She had to park around the front. If you can't drive it love you shouldn't fecking own it! Serves you right Madam.
Don't care if I've been bad tonight it was bloody worth it!
Muse x
I usually park the car at the front of my humble house but after 3 acts of vandalism within 6 months, I decided to park it around the back. All the parking is public, none of it is designated. I innocently parked my car and after three days started to receive 'love letters' from someone whose 'space' I had evidently nicked. Life is too bloody short so I just shoved these notes in my glove box and carried on. I did not know what space I was supposed to be nicking as I had parked in several. It soon became clear and I identified the house these letters were issued from. The last one read, 'Park in my space again Bitch and I'll destroy your crap car'. Oh how poetic. I collected about 6 of these badly spelled notes and sighing heavily, wandered off to the Polis station, just to confirm that I was actually parking in a non designated zone.
I did not realise that the Polis would take this seriously as they had never bothered to investigate the vandalism to my car. Cue 'SHE- MAN'. No other description would be fitting. Tall amazonian, mono brow, cheap trainers (who wears trainers unless you are at a gym???) and I suspect her Ma had mated with a Gorilla. Her husband is of the spotty, weedy variety with blonde hi-lights. Now I'm being a snarky bitch but I was pushed! She- Man apparently received a caution and I thought that would be an end to it. How wrong I was, it was only the start. So far I have been blocked by her car on several occasions etc..etc...ad nauseum. I have kept photographic evidence just in case she/he decides to torch my little banger but can't be bothered to do anything more. I have better things to do.
I was driving home tonight and spotted her pulling out behind me. Ha! Here we go darling. I am a better driver than you, a better person and no-one does payback like me. Foot to the floor, I swerved off the high street, using my gears to negotiate a steep hill, lots of speed bumps and keeping a wary eye out for small children. She decided to go the long, allegedly faster way round. I beat her, I beat her. I am a god. My driving is superb.
I smoothly slid into 'her' parking space as she pulled around the corner. I could see the steam hissing out of her ears. I got out of the car with a large smirk on my face. Actually I was cackling like a Hyena with Pleurisy inside that smirk. She had to park around the front. If you can't drive it love you shouldn't fecking own it! Serves you right Madam.
Don't care if I've been bad tonight it was bloody worth it!
Muse x
Wednesday 11 May 2011
Shameful Trojans
I am grumpy - very bloody grumpy. In fact I may have to pick this computer up and hurl it through the window. I am obviously a stupid blond bint as I had the audacity to get a TROJAN! Feck, feck, feck! Oh the shame! I never even got to look at any porn sites and I GOT A TROJAN. The Trojan in question has so far taken three days of my precious time. I finally decided that I was bored looking at the laptop trying to boot up and finally contacted Penfold. Why DO people use laptops anyway? They are sooo...slow. I really do not get Laptops. Nothing but trouble if you ask me.
My problem is, I have been driving 'putes for about 25 years and have forgotten more than I have been taught. This means I have avoided all mentions of back ups, fragmenting discs and completely side stepped anything involving stuff that will delay me getting on with what I want to do. I asked my Pa to look at it a couple of days ago.
'You haven't done any back ups in THREE years...'
'You haven't deleted any files...'
'For Gods sake Lynette, you know about this stuff...'
OUCH! He used my 'given'....this means I am in the shit! I mumbled something about not knowing how to do these things and he walked away in disgust and threw a Windows Vista book at me. Can't say I blame him!
I drive a computer much in the same way as I drive a car. Impatiently, changing gears often and spouting lots of really really bad words beginning with the letter C. You are talking to 'Ms Road Rage' here. All that know me understand that I do not swear unless I am driving the 'pute or the car! I am bloody lucky to be alive considering that I have pulled at least two 6ft blokes out of their cars for cutting me up. I just cannot help it. I am usually a reasonable person but all that goes out of the window in the driving seat.
Cue Penfold. He dealt with my Trojan for two hours over the phone. I am in bits. I could no longer concentrate so he left me to it and we have round two tomorrow. Luckily Penfold does this for a living. Erm...what he actually does is deal with lots of impatient and utterly stupid people trying to cut corners and whinging when they end up in the Doo, Doo! He tells me there is money to be made doing this. Frankly my Dear, I wouldn't care if they paid me a million quid and hour for doing what he does because I would haul 'em out of their stupid leather computer chairs and bang their heads against their 19 inch touch screen!
In my defense I had to take The Git to the Dentist today.
Ms Stressy Knickers AKA Muse x
PS Thanks Penfold.
My problem is, I have been driving 'putes for about 25 years and have forgotten more than I have been taught. This means I have avoided all mentions of back ups, fragmenting discs and completely side stepped anything involving stuff that will delay me getting on with what I want to do. I asked my Pa to look at it a couple of days ago.
'You haven't done any back ups in THREE years...'
'You haven't deleted any files...'
'For Gods sake Lynette, you know about this stuff...'
OUCH! He used my 'given'....this means I am in the shit! I mumbled something about not knowing how to do these things and he walked away in disgust and threw a Windows Vista book at me. Can't say I blame him!
I drive a computer much in the same way as I drive a car. Impatiently, changing gears often and spouting lots of really really bad words beginning with the letter C. You are talking to 'Ms Road Rage' here. All that know me understand that I do not swear unless I am driving the 'pute or the car! I am bloody lucky to be alive considering that I have pulled at least two 6ft blokes out of their cars for cutting me up. I just cannot help it. I am usually a reasonable person but all that goes out of the window in the driving seat.
Cue Penfold. He dealt with my Trojan for two hours over the phone. I am in bits. I could no longer concentrate so he left me to it and we have round two tomorrow. Luckily Penfold does this for a living. Erm...what he actually does is deal with lots of impatient and utterly stupid people trying to cut corners and whinging when they end up in the Doo, Doo! He tells me there is money to be made doing this. Frankly my Dear, I wouldn't care if they paid me a million quid and hour for doing what he does because I would haul 'em out of their stupid leather computer chairs and bang their heads against their 19 inch touch screen!
In my defense I had to take The Git to the Dentist today.
Ms Stressy Knickers AKA Muse x
PS Thanks Penfold.
Saturday 7 May 2011
Behind The Bike Sheds.
I am bleary eyed and my mind will not shut down. Why? Because I have discovered Twitter, thats why. I have avoided it for a long time. Sniffily declaring it was for saddo's that really should have something better to do. Get me!
Oh the joy of dropping in on an anothers life. Vacuous, periphery, inane and fecking brilliant. I sit here with the The Twitter tab open, eyes glazed, desperate to be accepted, followed. Twitter is the biggest school playground we have ever played Hopscotch in. One guy @tweetygeeky says "now following stars in our galaxy, will you be one of the lucky ones? ..". The desperation of wanting him to follow me, you can almost smell it. Oh, what a delicious challenge, it was almost as good as eyeing up the best looking boy in the class and praying he would deign to speak to you. @tweetygeeky has granted me absolution. I am one of the chosen few. I can now breathe again and whisper to myself how clever, beautiful, wonderful and talented I am!
The spiders web grows ever wider and I discover more and more connections, some of them , frail and friable, others strong and unbreakable. I am Borg like. I am part of The Collective!
Be Careful out There!
Muse x
PS @Donut_Child. Follow me...follow me....follow me....
Oh the joy of dropping in on an anothers life. Vacuous, periphery, inane and fecking brilliant. I sit here with the The Twitter tab open, eyes glazed, desperate to be accepted, followed. Twitter is the biggest school playground we have ever played Hopscotch in. One guy @tweetygeeky says "now following stars in our galaxy, will you be one of the lucky ones? ..". The desperation of wanting him to follow me, you can almost smell it. Oh, what a delicious challenge, it was almost as good as eyeing up the best looking boy in the class and praying he would deign to speak to you. @tweetygeeky has granted me absolution. I am one of the chosen few. I can now breathe again and whisper to myself how clever, beautiful, wonderful and talented I am!
The spiders web grows ever wider and I discover more and more connections, some of them , frail and friable, others strong and unbreakable. I am Borg like. I am part of The Collective!
Be Careful out There!
Muse x
PS @Donut_Child. Follow me...follow me....follow me....
Thursday 5 May 2011
Random Acts of Kindness.
I have been thinking...yeah I know, a bit of a dangerous occupation! Through my Blogging and the Great God FB, I have met so many fabulous, endearing, arrogant, self serving, bewildering, humbling and amazing Human Beings that I have to talk about Random Acts of Kindness.
I have been grumpy of late and only managing to feel happy when the sun is shining. Perhaps I have become so insular that I have forgotten that giving is so much more satisfying than receiving. I started a new note book today. I can no longer write longhand, due to the fecking arm but can manage to keep a small book by my bed and scribble in it. I flicked through the old one. RAK's are mentioned. I have managed to hold a door open, give someone parking money, stop for someone who has broken down and lend someone my mobile.... Bland and Boring! I also leave books that I have read, on bus stops, in phone boxes and in restaurants/cafes. I delude myself, thinking that if I leave books in odd places, I may be encouraging people to read. Durr....
My other talent is feeding people. I usually go to my Hairdresser at teatime on a Thursday, when they are open until 9pm. I like to take them some 'tea'. It is called "Open Bribery and Corruption". Treat all Hairdressers, Window Cleaners and Nurses with great respect and you are guaranteed a good experience.
It seems to me that I must UP my game. I am dissatisfied with my life and despite searching the Net for a great 'RAKer', I can only find the likes of Bill Gates or some sickly sweet American sites, boasting of bland RAKs. Failing that I am overwhelmed by organized religious sites. Shiver! I wanted to give you stories of inspiration and hope but the only person I can think of is my mother. She is fondly known to us as Hyacinth (Mrs Bouquet). Look it up readers outside the UK....
My mother is a force to be reckoned with. My first memory of her RAK personality is at the age of nine. A child was hiding behind her skirts, whilst his mother yelled that she would kill him as he had cut all the heads off her beloved tulips with a pair of scissors. Oops! My mum had 4 kids under the age of five at one point and was always such a sweet and forgiving person.
My next tangle with her RAK mind was sitting at the dinner table on Christmas Day at the age of 17, whilst she searched the streets for someone worthy to share our Christmas Dinner with. She arrived back with a 'Gentleman of The Road'. He proceeded to eat his food, drink us dry and peed on his seat. I was (as a teenager) disgusted! This Christmas tradition continued and one Christmas I found myself in the passenger seat beside her. I think this was much more due to me trying to upset and bait my father, rather than doing a good deed. Oh! the years of the 'Gents of The Road' were great! The best Christmas I ever witnessed was when we were invited to a posh drinks party at the nauseating 'K's house. Put it this way, the daughter was probably doing her dad and I suspect her husband was doing her mum! The said 'Gent of The Road' was utterly blasted and gave us all quite a good show - oh... and he peed on their sofa - triffic!
My mother, did actually manage to open my mind and if I cook Christmas Dinner I am happy to get into the car and find someone having a crap time and bring them back. My mum is one of the great RAKers of life and continues to be so. I am not going to do Christmas with the Family this year. I am going to volunteer somewhere and probably have a better day than you. Blimey, that all sounds a bit patronising doesn't it? Nah, no prisoners taken here - just time I upped my game, thats all.
If any of you have a RAK you want to share then please do, because I am all out of ideas! The bigger the better folks....
Up to You.
Namaste
Muse x
I have been grumpy of late and only managing to feel happy when the sun is shining. Perhaps I have become so insular that I have forgotten that giving is so much more satisfying than receiving. I started a new note book today. I can no longer write longhand, due to the fecking arm but can manage to keep a small book by my bed and scribble in it. I flicked through the old one. RAK's are mentioned. I have managed to hold a door open, give someone parking money, stop for someone who has broken down and lend someone my mobile.... Bland and Boring! I also leave books that I have read, on bus stops, in phone boxes and in restaurants/cafes. I delude myself, thinking that if I leave books in odd places, I may be encouraging people to read. Durr....
My other talent is feeding people. I usually go to my Hairdresser at teatime on a Thursday, when they are open until 9pm. I like to take them some 'tea'. It is called "Open Bribery and Corruption". Treat all Hairdressers, Window Cleaners and Nurses with great respect and you are guaranteed a good experience.
It seems to me that I must UP my game. I am dissatisfied with my life and despite searching the Net for a great 'RAKer', I can only find the likes of Bill Gates or some sickly sweet American sites, boasting of bland RAKs. Failing that I am overwhelmed by organized religious sites. Shiver! I wanted to give you stories of inspiration and hope but the only person I can think of is my mother. She is fondly known to us as Hyacinth (Mrs Bouquet). Look it up readers outside the UK....
My mother is a force to be reckoned with. My first memory of her RAK personality is at the age of nine. A child was hiding behind her skirts, whilst his mother yelled that she would kill him as he had cut all the heads off her beloved tulips with a pair of scissors. Oops! My mum had 4 kids under the age of five at one point and was always such a sweet and forgiving person.
My next tangle with her RAK mind was sitting at the dinner table on Christmas Day at the age of 17, whilst she searched the streets for someone worthy to share our Christmas Dinner with. She arrived back with a 'Gentleman of The Road'. He proceeded to eat his food, drink us dry and peed on his seat. I was (as a teenager) disgusted! This Christmas tradition continued and one Christmas I found myself in the passenger seat beside her. I think this was much more due to me trying to upset and bait my father, rather than doing a good deed. Oh! the years of the 'Gents of The Road' were great! The best Christmas I ever witnessed was when we were invited to a posh drinks party at the nauseating 'K's house. Put it this way, the daughter was probably doing her dad and I suspect her husband was doing her mum! The said 'Gent of The Road' was utterly blasted and gave us all quite a good show - oh... and he peed on their sofa - triffic!
My mother, did actually manage to open my mind and if I cook Christmas Dinner I am happy to get into the car and find someone having a crap time and bring them back. My mum is one of the great RAKers of life and continues to be so. I am not going to do Christmas with the Family this year. I am going to volunteer somewhere and probably have a better day than you. Blimey, that all sounds a bit patronising doesn't it? Nah, no prisoners taken here - just time I upped my game, thats all.
If any of you have a RAK you want to share then please do, because I am all out of ideas! The bigger the better folks....
Up to You.
Namaste
Muse x
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Stalking Catfish.
I stumbled across something called 'Stats' on Blogger a few weeks ago. Those that know me understand that I am Internet Savvy but prefer to ignore most of it and stick to the basics. I have no patience and need a personal trainer...if he looks like George Lamb then so much the better! Driving a computer is much like driving a car to me and believe me I suffer with incurable road rage. Not proud of it but that's how I'm made. I don't like foul language but get me in front of a wheel or a keyboard and a I can swear in 5 different languages not including Chinese! I digress. The 'Stats' I refer to are something that Blogger has introduced so that you can see who and where and how many times people are reading your Blog.
Blimey I thought, thats a bit Big Brother isn't it? Previous to this I had a little ticker counter on the bottom of Donut Child that was about as reliable as a dodgy motor bought from Arthur Daley, it kept resetting itself. Imagine my surprise when I clicked on Stats and found lots of people reading my Blog, all over the world. Some results were a bit worrying, I have 86 readers in Russia and 2 in Iran. The best bit is I am, apparently, a National Hero in Denmark! Whoo Hoo! Oh and the worst bit. One particular post has been read 526 times by the same guy.....shudder!
This brings me neatly onto the subject of the Documentary film Catfish made by brothers. Nev and Ariel Schulman. I am not going to go into the plot too much as it will spoil the film for those who have not seen it. You need to watch and/or review the film to understand where this Blog is coming from. Nev meets an 8 year old, prodigy artist on Facebook and befriends not only her, but her family. Nev is a dance photographer and Ariel is a film maker. What follows is a quite, mesmerising film but the Donut Child in me did not get sucked into the hype that is Catfish. Perhaps Nev and Ariel started to film events in innocence but I think the latter part of it was staged. The shots were too perfect.
I suppose that Catfish should serve as a warning to us all. We are entering uncharted waters. Or should I say, have entered. The Internet got so big, so fast that no authority in the world has a cat in hells chance of policing it. And thats the way I like it!!! So yeah, you can create an alter ego, the definition of which reads - A person's secondary or alternative personality. There is no harm in that. We all have an alter ego, whether it be inside our heads, the make up that females or males put on, the clothes we wear or the cheerful Tweets and FB posts that we deign to share with the world. FB and Twitter would be quite a turn off if we all posted how we really felt in everyday life. Catfish explores how FB and social networking sites can abuse the trust that we put in them. Big Deal! TV has done that for years, its called Propaganda folks....
The thing we all need to think about is EVERYTHING we put on the Internet cannot be deleted, it cannot be removed, you cannot even remove posts from Facebook now as (like me) many people have a separate email address dedicated to FB and the posts ping in to that email. Let me give you an example, a friend of mine was accused of a crime a couple of years ago. He was exonerated and proved to be totally innocent. Not before the press got hold of it though. He has spent a lot of time putting positive things on the Net to cover the nastiness that had been written about him. Why? Because he is a personality, a great philanthropist and as he puts it, 'a public domain'. The only way he can try and wipe out unfounded accusations is by spending time publicising his positive profile. It stinks for him but perhaps others are so stupid they do not realise or care what they are writing. All I can say is don't go running to your Ma when you get your fingers burned. Think about it..The Net is a bloody wonderful thing and used positively is changing the way we live our lives. Treat it with respect and don't be surprised if it comes right back at you and bites you in the bum!
Stay Safe
Muse x
Blimey I thought, thats a bit Big Brother isn't it? Previous to this I had a little ticker counter on the bottom of Donut Child that was about as reliable as a dodgy motor bought from Arthur Daley, it kept resetting itself. Imagine my surprise when I clicked on Stats and found lots of people reading my Blog, all over the world. Some results were a bit worrying, I have 86 readers in Russia and 2 in Iran. The best bit is I am, apparently, a National Hero in Denmark! Whoo Hoo! Oh and the worst bit. One particular post has been read 526 times by the same guy.....shudder!
This brings me neatly onto the subject of the Documentary film Catfish made by brothers. Nev and Ariel Schulman. I am not going to go into the plot too much as it will spoil the film for those who have not seen it. You need to watch and/or review the film to understand where this Blog is coming from. Nev meets an 8 year old, prodigy artist on Facebook and befriends not only her, but her family. Nev is a dance photographer and Ariel is a film maker. What follows is a quite, mesmerising film but the Donut Child in me did not get sucked into the hype that is Catfish. Perhaps Nev and Ariel started to film events in innocence but I think the latter part of it was staged. The shots were too perfect.
I suppose that Catfish should serve as a warning to us all. We are entering uncharted waters. Or should I say, have entered. The Internet got so big, so fast that no authority in the world has a cat in hells chance of policing it. And thats the way I like it!!! So yeah, you can create an alter ego, the definition of which reads - A person's secondary or alternative personality. There is no harm in that. We all have an alter ego, whether it be inside our heads, the make up that females or males put on, the clothes we wear or the cheerful Tweets and FB posts that we deign to share with the world. FB and Twitter would be quite a turn off if we all posted how we really felt in everyday life. Catfish explores how FB and social networking sites can abuse the trust that we put in them. Big Deal! TV has done that for years, its called Propaganda folks....
The thing we all need to think about is EVERYTHING we put on the Internet cannot be deleted, it cannot be removed, you cannot even remove posts from Facebook now as (like me) many people have a separate email address dedicated to FB and the posts ping in to that email. Let me give you an example, a friend of mine was accused of a crime a couple of years ago. He was exonerated and proved to be totally innocent. Not before the press got hold of it though. He has spent a lot of time putting positive things on the Net to cover the nastiness that had been written about him. Why? Because he is a personality, a great philanthropist and as he puts it, 'a public domain'. The only way he can try and wipe out unfounded accusations is by spending time publicising his positive profile. It stinks for him but perhaps others are so stupid they do not realise or care what they are writing. All I can say is don't go running to your Ma when you get your fingers burned. Think about it..The Net is a bloody wonderful thing and used positively is changing the way we live our lives. Treat it with respect and don't be surprised if it comes right back at you and bites you in the bum!
Stay Safe
Muse x
Monday 2 May 2011
Royal Weddings and Grumpiness.
The week before The Royal Wedding (hereafter known as TRW) hacked me off. The Media speculation as to what may or may not happen made me grumpy. I don't mind a bit of a Royal Knees Up, after all I am a Brit and am very proud of our Queen. Charlie and Camilla can bugger off as far as I am concerned - puppets of the establishment, hedonistic and arrogant.
I never really got to grips with the Nations worship of Princess Di? I didn't get all the howling and National grief thing when she tragically died. Nice Sloany girl, fed to a pair of lions named Charlie and Camilla like a sacrifice. I felt sorry for her, desperately sorry and was sad that she had, had to cope with some seriously nasty people, in order to survive. Still, she knew what she was doing with the Press and used them to her own advantage. It all got a bit 'Dynasty' there for a few years.
After the week of Media frenzy, prior to TRW I had, had enough. I got very little sleep the night before and popped a sleeping pill at 4am in desperation. I stuck the duvet over my head and slept blissfully through the whole thing. Bad Muse! My mother phoned me at about 4pm, asking my opinion of the dress etc. As I had just crawled out of the shower, I mumbled that I loved the dress etc... not having seen a damn thing!
At this point I thought I had better switch on the box and catch up with all things Royal and gushing Media Shite! All my preconceptions were shot down in flames and I did have a tear or two as he said 'You look beautiful' to her as she stood beside him at the altar. My faith in Romance has been restored. William must have known that his words would be read but it seems he was determined to make it their day as well as the Nations. Good luck to them, they will need it.
I have just watched a film called The Young Victoria. I thoroughly enjoyed it as was in the mood for a bit of a Costume Flick. It has sat in my DVD collection for the last 6 months and it finally got dusted off tonight. Now there was a Royal Court to be bloody scared of. Victoria must have been a very strong woman to go through what she did. Her accession to the throne was difficult to say the least but after 9 children and a reign of 63 years and 216 days, she became our longest serving British Monarch. Our own Queen is a close second at 59 years and 84 days. Interestingly Charlie has recently become the longest serving king-in-waiting in British history.
Seems there is a god after all!
Be Careful out there.
Muse x
I never really got to grips with the Nations worship of Princess Di? I didn't get all the howling and National grief thing when she tragically died. Nice Sloany girl, fed to a pair of lions named Charlie and Camilla like a sacrifice. I felt sorry for her, desperately sorry and was sad that she had, had to cope with some seriously nasty people, in order to survive. Still, she knew what she was doing with the Press and used them to her own advantage. It all got a bit 'Dynasty' there for a few years.
After the week of Media frenzy, prior to TRW I had, had enough. I got very little sleep the night before and popped a sleeping pill at 4am in desperation. I stuck the duvet over my head and slept blissfully through the whole thing. Bad Muse! My mother phoned me at about 4pm, asking my opinion of the dress etc. As I had just crawled out of the shower, I mumbled that I loved the dress etc... not having seen a damn thing!
At this point I thought I had better switch on the box and catch up with all things Royal and gushing Media Shite! All my preconceptions were shot down in flames and I did have a tear or two as he said 'You look beautiful' to her as she stood beside him at the altar. My faith in Romance has been restored. William must have known that his words would be read but it seems he was determined to make it their day as well as the Nations. Good luck to them, they will need it.
I have just watched a film called The Young Victoria. I thoroughly enjoyed it as was in the mood for a bit of a Costume Flick. It has sat in my DVD collection for the last 6 months and it finally got dusted off tonight. Now there was a Royal Court to be bloody scared of. Victoria must have been a very strong woman to go through what she did. Her accession to the throne was difficult to say the least but after 9 children and a reign of 63 years and 216 days, she became our longest serving British Monarch. Our own Queen is a close second at 59 years and 84 days. Interestingly Charlie has recently become the longest serving king-in-waiting in British history.
Seems there is a god after all!
Be Careful out there.
Muse x
Saturday 23 April 2011
Haile Selassie, Hope and Hartland.
I have been trying to keep my posts short and sweet recently as I don't want you all nodding off whilst trawling through them. This is going to be a tad long so settle down and pour yourself a drink.
I am two thirds of the way through a book and it has had a profound affect on me. This book is almost like a spider sitting in the middle of it's web, casting hundreds of strands out and drawing you in to the story. I have read more about Ethiopia tonight than I ever though possible. The book is called 'The Hospital by The River - A Story of Hope' by Dr Catherine Hamlin, an Australian Gynaecologist. I picked up a ten year old copy of it in a Charity Shop in Bodmin. I think there must be an Aussie in Bodmin who donates books because this is the third book I have read that has been published in Oz but not here. I feel so strongly about this book that I had to write about it.
It is the story of a husband and wife team, Dr's Reg and Catherine Hamlin. They trained in Sydney and accepted a post in Addis Ababa in 1959. When they arrived, they had no idea of the task that they had undertaken. It's hard to precis the story but I'll give it a go. Catherine and Reg were apalled at the number of women arriving at the hospital with Fistulas. Fistula by definition is; An abnormal or surgically made passage between a hollow or tubular organ and the body surface, or between two hollow or tubular organs. Essentially, a tear or hole in the wrong place.
Ethiopian women often marry when they are 12 and are typically preganant by 13 or 14. Many of these young wives are unable to give birth naturally as their bodies are too immature to bear a child. Couple this with very rural areas, no roads and very few Hospitals and you have a problem, rarely seen in the West. These women would fail to give birth. The baby would die inside them and start to be reabsorbed into their bodies, which is when they finally managed to expel the baby. There is no easy way to put this but young women were arriving at the Hospital with terrible Fistulas and dreadful bladder and bowel incontinence caused by days of straining to deliver their baby. They would be ostracised by their husbands and families and cast out of their village society.
Reg and Catherine saved over 20,000 women and after Reg died. Catherine continues her work at the Hospital, they founded together, even though she is well into her eighties. What struck me about this book was Catherines faith in herself and Reg. Catherine came from a missionary background and her prayers to her God kept her strong. I wish I had the same strength of character and more importantly faith. She stoically went through revolutions, famines, the near loss of her son and the death of her husband but still keeps going. Please read the book if you can. It is available on Amazon.
I suppose there are many stories of triumph over adversity, like Catherines but it was the way she told it. Her calm and gentle manner inspired me beyond anything else. The other thing that influenced me was her friendship with Haile Salassie, Emperor of Ethiopia. She found herself in a social circle with him and his extended family. Catherine supported his family when they were imprisoned after a coup by Mengistu and during the terrible times of The Red Terror.
I have always been rather entranced by Haile Selassie and his story. Catherine describes him as a gentleman, concerned for his family and during the famine of 1974 (no that is not a typo - Geldof came 10 years later - Dimbleby did it first in '73) she reports him to be an old man and out of touch with his subjects. Not in a critical way, being Catherine, she merely states the obvious. Ethiopia has been a Feudal state for centuries. The gap between rich and poor is massive.
Let me tell you how I became entangled with Haile Selassie. My parents lived in the parish of Hartland in North Devon for 10 years whilst my father was working for the 'Donuts' in Morewenstow. Just a mile or so out of the village is a beautiful church called St Nectans. I would sometimes drive back from Hartland Quay and sit quietly in the church. I came across a chair with a plaque on it stating 'This Chair was used by Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia who visited this Parish on 17 August 1938'. I wondered who he was and went home and asked my mother. We had no Wikipedia or internet then. I searched the library for books about him and became transfixed with his life. To have Catherine's account of his later life and subsequent death delighted me because she wrote 'as it was' and this was a treasure to me.
Hartland has always been a special place for me. I met a magical man by the name of Satish Kumar who lives in the village. A former Jain Monk and a disciple of Ghandi, a founder of Dartington College, he has touched many lives. Mary Norton, author of The Borrowers and Bedknobs and Broomsticks made it her home. Singing carols with Joss Ackland, the actor and him judging my eldest son to be Prince of Hartland in the Carnival was another memorable moment.
Its funny how certain people touch your life. Haile Selassie touched mine and 20 years on Catherine helped me to understand more about him and the proud and wonderful women of Ethiopia.
I just wish I had her Faith.
Namaste
Muse x
I am two thirds of the way through a book and it has had a profound affect on me. This book is almost like a spider sitting in the middle of it's web, casting hundreds of strands out and drawing you in to the story. I have read more about Ethiopia tonight than I ever though possible. The book is called 'The Hospital by The River - A Story of Hope' by Dr Catherine Hamlin, an Australian Gynaecologist. I picked up a ten year old copy of it in a Charity Shop in Bodmin. I think there must be an Aussie in Bodmin who donates books because this is the third book I have read that has been published in Oz but not here. I feel so strongly about this book that I had to write about it.
It is the story of a husband and wife team, Dr's Reg and Catherine Hamlin. They trained in Sydney and accepted a post in Addis Ababa in 1959. When they arrived, they had no idea of the task that they had undertaken. It's hard to precis the story but I'll give it a go. Catherine and Reg were apalled at the number of women arriving at the hospital with Fistulas. Fistula by definition is; An abnormal or surgically made passage between a hollow or tubular organ and the body surface, or between two hollow or tubular organs. Essentially, a tear or hole in the wrong place.
Ethiopian women often marry when they are 12 and are typically preganant by 13 or 14. Many of these young wives are unable to give birth naturally as their bodies are too immature to bear a child. Couple this with very rural areas, no roads and very few Hospitals and you have a problem, rarely seen in the West. These women would fail to give birth. The baby would die inside them and start to be reabsorbed into their bodies, which is when they finally managed to expel the baby. There is no easy way to put this but young women were arriving at the Hospital with terrible Fistulas and dreadful bladder and bowel incontinence caused by days of straining to deliver their baby. They would be ostracised by their husbands and families and cast out of their village society.
Reg and Catherine saved over 20,000 women and after Reg died. Catherine continues her work at the Hospital, they founded together, even though she is well into her eighties. What struck me about this book was Catherines faith in herself and Reg. Catherine came from a missionary background and her prayers to her God kept her strong. I wish I had the same strength of character and more importantly faith. She stoically went through revolutions, famines, the near loss of her son and the death of her husband but still keeps going. Please read the book if you can. It is available on Amazon.
I suppose there are many stories of triumph over adversity, like Catherines but it was the way she told it. Her calm and gentle manner inspired me beyond anything else. The other thing that influenced me was her friendship with Haile Salassie, Emperor of Ethiopia. She found herself in a social circle with him and his extended family. Catherine supported his family when they were imprisoned after a coup by Mengistu and during the terrible times of The Red Terror.
I have always been rather entranced by Haile Selassie and his story. Catherine describes him as a gentleman, concerned for his family and during the famine of 1974 (no that is not a typo - Geldof came 10 years later - Dimbleby did it first in '73) she reports him to be an old man and out of touch with his subjects. Not in a critical way, being Catherine, she merely states the obvious. Ethiopia has been a Feudal state for centuries. The gap between rich and poor is massive.
Let me tell you how I became entangled with Haile Selassie. My parents lived in the parish of Hartland in North Devon for 10 years whilst my father was working for the 'Donuts' in Morewenstow. Just a mile or so out of the village is a beautiful church called St Nectans. I would sometimes drive back from Hartland Quay and sit quietly in the church. I came across a chair with a plaque on it stating 'This Chair was used by Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia who visited this Parish on 17 August 1938'. I wondered who he was and went home and asked my mother. We had no Wikipedia or internet then. I searched the library for books about him and became transfixed with his life. To have Catherine's account of his later life and subsequent death delighted me because she wrote 'as it was' and this was a treasure to me.
Hartland has always been a special place for me. I met a magical man by the name of Satish Kumar who lives in the village. A former Jain Monk and a disciple of Ghandi, a founder of Dartington College, he has touched many lives. Mary Norton, author of The Borrowers and Bedknobs and Broomsticks made it her home. Singing carols with Joss Ackland, the actor and him judging my eldest son to be Prince of Hartland in the Carnival was another memorable moment.
Its funny how certain people touch your life. Haile Selassie touched mine and 20 years on Catherine helped me to understand more about him and the proud and wonderful women of Ethiopia.
I just wish I had her Faith.
Namaste
Muse x
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Arse Kicker...
I saw these 'Words of Wisdom' on the back of a sweatshirt, worn by a blonde, large 'arse', 30 something. I used to be an Arse Kicker - 'AK'! When I was young, I had beautiful skin, witty words and sexy eyes and many older women would not speak to me. I did not understand why they treated me like dust. I have never been a 'bitchy' woman as I could not see the point. I vowed, at the age of 26, I would never, ever treat a younger woman like that. I have stuck to my vow.
Onto the AK that I am now. Recently, I found myself stumbling through my life but it was only tonight that I realised that I can be an AK again. I still have sexy eyes and am able to be generous, loving, giving and...as hard as bloody steel if the situation demands.
Talking of which, I am made of Stern Stuff because I come from Stern Stuff! My 90 something Grandmother made the trip to Cornwall yesterday. She looks absolutely fabulous with her 3 inch heels and her lipstick. My grandmother or as she is known as 'Nanny' to me and 'Two Nanny' to my children or 'Three Nanny' to my Granddaughter Angelina. It is a beloved Welsh thing and she is a definite 'AK' plus two.
I am trying to imagine her life. She has lived in the same house in Cardiff for 70 plus years. During the Second World War she took a Belgian family in and looked after them. She had three bedrooms, three children and another family to look after. As a young boy my father had a great friend called Roger and when they were teenagers, Roger was left to fend for himself. She took him in, fed, clothed and watched him join the RAF with my dad.
Just as I did, she found herself pregnant in her 30's with my lovely Aunt Jacqueline. When I fretted over my late pregnancy, she telephoned me, told me not to worry and told me it would be alright.
I must look to her and realise that whatever she went through was far and beyond what I am going through. Her name, by the way is Florence May.
Thank You Flo.
Be Careful out there.
Muse x
Onto the AK that I am now. Recently, I found myself stumbling through my life but it was only tonight that I realised that I can be an AK again. I still have sexy eyes and am able to be generous, loving, giving and...as hard as bloody steel if the situation demands.
Talking of which, I am made of Stern Stuff because I come from Stern Stuff! My 90 something Grandmother made the trip to Cornwall yesterday. She looks absolutely fabulous with her 3 inch heels and her lipstick. My grandmother or as she is known as 'Nanny' to me and 'Two Nanny' to my children or 'Three Nanny' to my Granddaughter Angelina. It is a beloved Welsh thing and she is a definite 'AK' plus two.
I am trying to imagine her life. She has lived in the same house in Cardiff for 70 plus years. During the Second World War she took a Belgian family in and looked after them. She had three bedrooms, three children and another family to look after. As a young boy my father had a great friend called Roger and when they were teenagers, Roger was left to fend for himself. She took him in, fed, clothed and watched him join the RAF with my dad.
Just as I did, she found herself pregnant in her 30's with my lovely Aunt Jacqueline. When I fretted over my late pregnancy, she telephoned me, told me not to worry and told me it would be alright.
I must look to her and realise that whatever she went through was far and beyond what I am going through. Her name, by the way is Florence May.
Thank You Flo.
Be Careful out there.
Muse x
Sunday 17 April 2011
Dedicated to D - She knows who she is.
I tried to watch 'The Social Network' the other night and failed to watch it to the end. For those not in the know, it is the story of Facebook. How it was founded by Mark Zuckerberg and various other people, the ensuing lawsuits and 'Social' fallout he endured.
Perhaps 'endured' is the wrong word for it, as to me, Zuckerberg is an infamous Geek with the mind of a genius and the social skills of a Hermit Crab. Note the reference to 'Hermit' and recent pap pictures of him squatting in a shop doorway, eating Mexican food. There is a reason for this. He is probably what I fondly call an 'Aspe' - I've dated a few BTW! His Asperger traits, linked with the mind of a Japanese high speed Bullet Train have got him into an awful lot of hot water. I understand the premis of FB and how it is used. Post what you want to folks but be aware it may come up behind you and bite you in the bum! Therefore, I don't really have a problem with Zuckerberg, suffice to say; get those fecking ads off my wall, they are irritating the pants off me!
Facebook has given me access to so many long lost friends and so much enjoyment that I cannot thank the Geek enough. Getting in touch with the Donut Kids was such a massive thing in my life. Last night I heard from a girlfriend that I had 'lost' along the way. I missed her so much but wasn't able to write that letter or make that phone call - as you do.
I searched for months on FB for her and my little bit of grey matter finally registered that she had a maiden name - I had been searching for her married name. Durr! I had a precious message from her and am delighted that she is bigger and better than me and was able to put my past mistakes behind us both. That little message meant so much to me.
Whatever you all think of 'The Great God Facebook', use it as it is supposed to be used and enjoy the ride.
Be careful out there.
Muse x
PS - Shame you did not use your talents effectively V.
Perhaps 'endured' is the wrong word for it, as to me, Zuckerberg is an infamous Geek with the mind of a genius and the social skills of a Hermit Crab. Note the reference to 'Hermit' and recent pap pictures of him squatting in a shop doorway, eating Mexican food. There is a reason for this. He is probably what I fondly call an 'Aspe' - I've dated a few BTW! His Asperger traits, linked with the mind of a Japanese high speed Bullet Train have got him into an awful lot of hot water. I understand the premis of FB and how it is used. Post what you want to folks but be aware it may come up behind you and bite you in the bum! Therefore, I don't really have a problem with Zuckerberg, suffice to say; get those fecking ads off my wall, they are irritating the pants off me!
Facebook has given me access to so many long lost friends and so much enjoyment that I cannot thank the Geek enough. Getting in touch with the Donut Kids was such a massive thing in my life. Last night I heard from a girlfriend that I had 'lost' along the way. I missed her so much but wasn't able to write that letter or make that phone call - as you do.
I searched for months on FB for her and my little bit of grey matter finally registered that she had a maiden name - I had been searching for her married name. Durr! I had a precious message from her and am delighted that she is bigger and better than me and was able to put my past mistakes behind us both. That little message meant so much to me.
Whatever you all think of 'The Great God Facebook', use it as it is supposed to be used and enjoy the ride.
Be careful out there.
Muse x
PS - Shame you did not use your talents effectively V.
Friday 15 April 2011
Middle Class Bangers.
My little Banger has gone and has been replaced by a bit of a smart Nissan Micra. Tis very plush, it has a radio instead of a hole, power steering and some brakes.... imagine having Feck Off Brakes that you can actually use instead of having to change from 5th to 2nd very rapidly! Note to all you guys out there, I can read a map and tend to drive with my gears rather than wearing out my brake pads...nuff said! The blowers for the windscreen work so that I don't have to travel with 15 tea towels and a Shami stuffed in my glove box. Even more impressive is that the sun roof does not leak! No more Chinese Water Torture for me!
I have to say that the Banger has been a faithful and trusty companion for the last 9 months. I was very sadly broke at the time I purchased it. Obviously, I bought it on a sunny warm day and everything looked fine. I had a terrible winter trying to mop crap off the inside of the windscreen. I do not normally touch the inside of my windscreen - only 'women' drivers do that...ooo get me! I used to struggle to get into the damn thing as sometimes the central locking went into 'sulk' mode and it would take me a good half an hour to gain entry. Oh! And do not forget all the times that the alarm has gone off at 3am and I have had to get out of bed to silence, kick and swear at it. Apparently it wanted to kip on my sofa when we were experiencing high winds and rain.... However, it has never ever broken down and never failed to start! This I must be grateful for!
I knew that the banger was coming off the road, so was reading the motoring section of the local paper a couple of weeks ago and wondering how I was going to manage to get another Ve-Hickle on the road. I came across an Ad asking for a banger from a guy who wanted it for his son to learn to drive in. As I was reading the paper 4 days, after it was published, I rang the number and thought that he probably had a banger already. He rang me straight back and we agreed to meet. Surprise, surprise he offered me £170 for it! This meant I could afford to invest in Middle Class Banger rather than Working Class Banger. The MOT was due and as my car had a huge hole in the back passenger floor, an exhaust that farts like a Pregnant Elephant and the need to kip on my sofa when it's cold and exhausted, I said to him "Are you sure"? I am too honest to sell a load of crap onto someone else. After all Bad Karma comes back to haunt you! He was quite happy to take it and told me that he lived in deepest Cornwall, had a lot of land and it was for his 12 year old son to drive around his field in. Apparently his son has already wrecked a Ford Escort on the field. What a great dad he is!
That! was my childhood. At 13 years old I was driving Landrovers (real nasty ones) and backing Speed Boats down the jetty at Dhekelia Ski Club. At 17, I actually managed to 'deep six' a Landrover complete with trailer and Speedboat. Erm...I think this was due to a 4.30am start at Dhekelia Ski Club and a 2.30 am finish at The George Club! The Yompers at Alexandra Barracks had to pull out my Landrover, with their Landrover. Oh, the shame! I was Catatonic!
So here I am, in a state of bliss, driving my zippy little Micra through the Cornish lanes with superb v.flashy stereo on extra loud! The stereo is so good that apparently I have to remove the cover and take it with me in case someone is jealous. Apparently people are more jealous of Middle Class Bangers than Working Class bangers... It's All Greek to me!
Be careful out there
Muse x
I have to say that the Banger has been a faithful and trusty companion for the last 9 months. I was very sadly broke at the time I purchased it. Obviously, I bought it on a sunny warm day and everything looked fine. I had a terrible winter trying to mop crap off the inside of the windscreen. I do not normally touch the inside of my windscreen - only 'women' drivers do that...ooo get me! I used to struggle to get into the damn thing as sometimes the central locking went into 'sulk' mode and it would take me a good half an hour to gain entry. Oh! And do not forget all the times that the alarm has gone off at 3am and I have had to get out of bed to silence, kick and swear at it. Apparently it wanted to kip on my sofa when we were experiencing high winds and rain.... However, it has never ever broken down and never failed to start! This I must be grateful for!
I knew that the banger was coming off the road, so was reading the motoring section of the local paper a couple of weeks ago and wondering how I was going to manage to get another Ve-Hickle on the road. I came across an Ad asking for a banger from a guy who wanted it for his son to learn to drive in. As I was reading the paper 4 days, after it was published, I rang the number and thought that he probably had a banger already. He rang me straight back and we agreed to meet. Surprise, surprise he offered me £170 for it! This meant I could afford to invest in Middle Class Banger rather than Working Class Banger. The MOT was due and as my car had a huge hole in the back passenger floor, an exhaust that farts like a Pregnant Elephant and the need to kip on my sofa when it's cold and exhausted, I said to him "Are you sure"? I am too honest to sell a load of crap onto someone else. After all Bad Karma comes back to haunt you! He was quite happy to take it and told me that he lived in deepest Cornwall, had a lot of land and it was for his 12 year old son to drive around his field in. Apparently his son has already wrecked a Ford Escort on the field. What a great dad he is!
That! was my childhood. At 13 years old I was driving Landrovers (real nasty ones) and backing Speed Boats down the jetty at Dhekelia Ski Club. At 17, I actually managed to 'deep six' a Landrover complete with trailer and Speedboat. Erm...I think this was due to a 4.30am start at Dhekelia Ski Club and a 2.30 am finish at The George Club! The Yompers at Alexandra Barracks had to pull out my Landrover, with their Landrover. Oh, the shame! I was Catatonic!
So here I am, in a state of bliss, driving my zippy little Micra through the Cornish lanes with superb v.flashy stereo on extra loud! The stereo is so good that apparently I have to remove the cover and take it with me in case someone is jealous. Apparently people are more jealous of Middle Class Bangers than Working Class bangers... It's All Greek to me!
Be careful out there
Muse x
Wednesday 16 March 2011
His Crap is the same as my Crap !
T'Internet went down last week. Not just me but most of my neighbours. Blimey, my front door was red hot with people knocking on it and wondering whether I had a landline. The answer was a No. Not difficult in Bodmin, where I live. My phone number has only 5 digits and if its gonna crash then we are usually the first to do so.
A few nights without the Internet does strange things to a person. I actually watched some Crap TV. Dutch and I were discussing this and we agreed that my Crap is the same as his Crap. That means same Crap but different Crap to other people. Hmmm, hopefully you know what I mean! Crap means something that you can watch on TV with your thumb up your bum and the brain in neutral - erm...thats how the old saying goes.
Okay, onto my Crap. Reality TV. First, I watched something on BBC3 called 'Working Girls'. A programme about getting young girls to work as they were unemployed. Jaw dropping stuff. All they wanted to do was stay in bed. Getting these young women to work was like pulling teeth. Perhaps I am lucky. My elder children both work full time and have done so throughout their 6th form/degree education. We have always had a work ethic and I expected nothing more. I brought my children up to be independent.
These young women were unbelievable. They actually had no confidence in themselves. Sorry to preach but at 18, despite growing up under the 'Forces Brat' umbrella I was delighted about starting work. The girls in question had been spoiled by their parents, waited on hand, foot and finger. The parents should have taken responsibility for themselves, not just their offspring. Back to the sofa. I ground my teeth down to nothing as I sat and watched apathetic young women resist every opportunity that was thrown their way. All was eventually sorted and the girls started to realise that work might be a good thing. Hurrah for that but why did they need such remote 'Mentors'?? Why were their parents so submissive?
Onto the hilarious 'Living With Women'. Yeah, a fairly ridiculous premis. Again the parents played a huge part in this. Young guys were sent off into the yonder by their long suffering girlfriends to learn how to 'live' with older, wiser and much more savvy women. Actually they were rather gentle with their 'victims'. The whole thing stank of very bad parenting. Not difficult is it...
I did watch one whole episode of 'Jamies Dream School'. That's a lie! I had to turn it off. Stick to the cooking you Mockney Illiterate Little Boy!...Ooo get me! Our teachers are having to deal with the lack of parental control and could do without your help. Get over it man!
Onto 'One Born Every Minute'. Channel 4's rather excellent attempt at showing what happens when women go into labour and give birth. Personally, I would rather have my Ma there than some poor man who is having to deal with the incoming concept that is Fatherhood and his girl completely losing it in front of him. Believe me, an air of mystery is far better than asking him to shave your legs for you !
This week we had Oakley and Dave. Dave is an ex-Heroin addict now turned Methodone addict. He probably had about three brain cells in his head and was so laid back that I was rather worried he would actually lay back and stick his feet in the stirrups. (Note all single guys, look up Birth and Stirrups, not to be confused with a sexual preference.) Oakley is a pretty 18 year old, middle class girl who had (in her defence) got up the duff by accident. Dave was the love of her life...aww bless she's 18! Oakley had to grow up rather fast and supervise their finances and cope with his methadone habit. Oakley was so in awe of him because he represented everything her parents abhorred.
Oakley; Quote - I want to give my baby girl everything my parents gave me. We had a lovely life with beautiful things and lovely holidays. - Unquote. God help her!
I am so distressed for her. Baby Tallulah or Tiffany or something like that was born at a whopping 9lb ish to this tiny size 8 girl. All Dave could do was grin and congratulate himself. Gruesome.
My Crap might be the same as his Crap but I think it upsets me more.
Look after you and yours.
Muse x
A few nights without the Internet does strange things to a person. I actually watched some Crap TV. Dutch and I were discussing this and we agreed that my Crap is the same as his Crap. That means same Crap but different Crap to other people. Hmmm, hopefully you know what I mean! Crap means something that you can watch on TV with your thumb up your bum and the brain in neutral - erm...thats how the old saying goes.
Okay, onto my Crap. Reality TV. First, I watched something on BBC3 called 'Working Girls'. A programme about getting young girls to work as they were unemployed. Jaw dropping stuff. All they wanted to do was stay in bed. Getting these young women to work was like pulling teeth. Perhaps I am lucky. My elder children both work full time and have done so throughout their 6th form/degree education. We have always had a work ethic and I expected nothing more. I brought my children up to be independent.
These young women were unbelievable. They actually had no confidence in themselves. Sorry to preach but at 18, despite growing up under the 'Forces Brat' umbrella I was delighted about starting work. The girls in question had been spoiled by their parents, waited on hand, foot and finger. The parents should have taken responsibility for themselves, not just their offspring. Back to the sofa. I ground my teeth down to nothing as I sat and watched apathetic young women resist every opportunity that was thrown their way. All was eventually sorted and the girls started to realise that work might be a good thing. Hurrah for that but why did they need such remote 'Mentors'?? Why were their parents so submissive?
Onto the hilarious 'Living With Women'. Yeah, a fairly ridiculous premis. Again the parents played a huge part in this. Young guys were sent off into the yonder by their long suffering girlfriends to learn how to 'live' with older, wiser and much more savvy women. Actually they were rather gentle with their 'victims'. The whole thing stank of very bad parenting. Not difficult is it...
I did watch one whole episode of 'Jamies Dream School'. That's a lie! I had to turn it off. Stick to the cooking you Mockney Illiterate Little Boy!...Ooo get me! Our teachers are having to deal with the lack of parental control and could do without your help. Get over it man!
Onto 'One Born Every Minute'. Channel 4's rather excellent attempt at showing what happens when women go into labour and give birth. Personally, I would rather have my Ma there than some poor man who is having to deal with the incoming concept that is Fatherhood and his girl completely losing it in front of him. Believe me, an air of mystery is far better than asking him to shave your legs for you !
This week we had Oakley and Dave. Dave is an ex-Heroin addict now turned Methodone addict. He probably had about three brain cells in his head and was so laid back that I was rather worried he would actually lay back and stick his feet in the stirrups. (Note all single guys, look up Birth and Stirrups, not to be confused with a sexual preference.) Oakley is a pretty 18 year old, middle class girl who had (in her defence) got up the duff by accident. Dave was the love of her life...aww bless she's 18! Oakley had to grow up rather fast and supervise their finances and cope with his methadone habit. Oakley was so in awe of him because he represented everything her parents abhorred.
Oakley; Quote - I want to give my baby girl everything my parents gave me. We had a lovely life with beautiful things and lovely holidays. - Unquote. God help her!
I am so distressed for her. Baby Tallulah or Tiffany or something like that was born at a whopping 9lb ish to this tiny size 8 girl. All Dave could do was grin and congratulate himself. Gruesome.
My Crap might be the same as his Crap but I think it upsets me more.
Look after you and yours.
Muse x
Tuesday 1 March 2011
Bored Little Boys.
I spent last week at the Parents Lodge in deepest Cornwall. It is about six miles from the sea, with not a lot between it and the Atlantic. The parents were in Switzerland with the Great Grandaughter, I was therefore responsible for The Git over half term. He usually buggers off to the parents for every weekend/holiday and I am left to be ill in peace. Add to this the fact that The Git had been off school for two weeks due to a bad chest infection...difficult!
I do try to be a good parent...honest. But three weeks in the company of my son was pushing my sanity to the limit. We started out quite well. I live in a three bed 60's house with virtually no heating and am used to wandering around in the evening looking like a homeless person. Scarf, check! Furry boots, check! Large cardi, check! Fingerless gloves, check! The Lodge has state of the art heating, insulation and is fecking boiling. I spent a week hanging out of a window with my face in a force nine gale blustering off the Atlantic. Seriously though the weather was horizontal rain and a force nine ALL week. Pretty awful for the poor Git.
We went to McDonalds, the Beach and the Aquarium. Tried the swimming pools but they were all closed and I was not going to wander around a very small Zoo looking at grumpy, wet and fed up animals! A further complication was that there was no landline, no mobile signal and as for Broadband...forget it! This meant we had sporadic electricity, a TV and ourselves.
The Git was really good but bored little boys are not the easiest to deal with. I suppose the whole week made me appreciate how insular we have all become. All readers of this Blog know that I did not have a TV as a child due to the many postings abroad. I did not know any better and am very grateful for that. Instead I buried my head in books. The Git has slowly grown into the age of the Internet and now knows more about 'Putes than I have forgotten. This is a reality check for me as a parent.
The Git does not spend hours on games, online. He spreads himself around, talking to friends, shopping, playing the odd game and editing his You Tube page which is all about skate boarding. I don't play games online and also spread myself about doing different things. Okay...so we are using the net in a positive way but we are not communicating. This all smacks of BAD mother. Yeah! I agree, he is my third child, perhaps I am not able to parent as I once did. I remember, as the eldest of five kids, my little sister Jax, was at one point in her teenage years, allowed to stay out until two in the morning! I actually had a row with my mother about it as I was given a curfew of 10.30.
There are two sides to the coin here. Do you realise that times change and become a more relaxed parent? Or do you understand that you must step up to the mark, embrace the change and still instill values and routine in your child?
Talking of 'Bored Little Boys' and the Internet. I have quoted this on my Blog before but this quote is so topical at the moment.
The Internet is the first thing that humanity has built that humanity doesn't understand, the largest experiment in anarchy that we have ever had.
Eric Schmidt
We have a lot of 'Bored Little Boys' in the Middle East at the moment and as this is not a political Blog, I shall just say that watching certain people smack a load of propoganda on the Net and sitting back to watch it explode is interesting to say the least.
Be careful What You Wish For.
Muse x
I do try to be a good parent...honest. But three weeks in the company of my son was pushing my sanity to the limit. We started out quite well. I live in a three bed 60's house with virtually no heating and am used to wandering around in the evening looking like a homeless person. Scarf, check! Furry boots, check! Large cardi, check! Fingerless gloves, check! The Lodge has state of the art heating, insulation and is fecking boiling. I spent a week hanging out of a window with my face in a force nine gale blustering off the Atlantic. Seriously though the weather was horizontal rain and a force nine ALL week. Pretty awful for the poor Git.
We went to McDonalds, the Beach and the Aquarium. Tried the swimming pools but they were all closed and I was not going to wander around a very small Zoo looking at grumpy, wet and fed up animals! A further complication was that there was no landline, no mobile signal and as for Broadband...forget it! This meant we had sporadic electricity, a TV and ourselves.
The Git was really good but bored little boys are not the easiest to deal with. I suppose the whole week made me appreciate how insular we have all become. All readers of this Blog know that I did not have a TV as a child due to the many postings abroad. I did not know any better and am very grateful for that. Instead I buried my head in books. The Git has slowly grown into the age of the Internet and now knows more about 'Putes than I have forgotten. This is a reality check for me as a parent.
The Git does not spend hours on games, online. He spreads himself around, talking to friends, shopping, playing the odd game and editing his You Tube page which is all about skate boarding. I don't play games online and also spread myself about doing different things. Okay...so we are using the net in a positive way but we are not communicating. This all smacks of BAD mother. Yeah! I agree, he is my third child, perhaps I am not able to parent as I once did. I remember, as the eldest of five kids, my little sister Jax, was at one point in her teenage years, allowed to stay out until two in the morning! I actually had a row with my mother about it as I was given a curfew of 10.30.
There are two sides to the coin here. Do you realise that times change and become a more relaxed parent? Or do you understand that you must step up to the mark, embrace the change and still instill values and routine in your child?
Talking of 'Bored Little Boys' and the Internet. I have quoted this on my Blog before but this quote is so topical at the moment.
The Internet is the first thing that humanity has built that humanity doesn't understand, the largest experiment in anarchy that we have ever had.
Eric Schmidt
We have a lot of 'Bored Little Boys' in the Middle East at the moment and as this is not a political Blog, I shall just say that watching certain people smack a load of propoganda on the Net and sitting back to watch it explode is interesting to say the least.
Be careful What You Wish For.
Muse x
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