Aine Ye Harm None..... Do It And Be Damned!

Advert Break

2011-11-01T10:45:00.000-07:00

These questions were held here for a TwitQuiz - see the answers and scores here!

Images & Characters from Adverts

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Logo Parts

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Questionnaire

2011-03-02T09:14:00.000-08:00

I am trying to reach lots of people from all over the world, with this questionnaire. I would be very grateful if you wouldn't mind answering it and sending it to me at the address below :-) If you also have friends who might be kind enough to take part in the small survey, feel free to point them in this direction!

Pilot Questionnaire

Please copy this page and paste it into an email. Type your answers underneath the question. Email completed questionnaires to pootlejam@hotmail.co.uk Thank you!

The information gathered in this questionnaire will not be shared or sold to any third parties. It will be treated anonymously and will be destroyed once the results are collated.

Which names sound the most 'English' to you? (please rate those which you feel sound 'English' from 1 upwards, with 1 being 'the most English sounding')

Tavistock Cowan Case Portcullis

Martin Faversham Thomas Kent

Shires Canter Nightingale Salisbury

(please feel free to make suggestions of names which sound 'English' to you which do not appear in this list)

2. Do you collect antiquities/interesting things/collectables/memorabilia? If 'Yes' please describe below

3. What, if anything, interests you about other cultures?

4. How do you spend your leisure time?

5. Given limited finances, would you rather:-

a) Save your money b) Have small, regular treats c) Have one large treat occasionally

6. What attractions do you visit in your leisure time?

7. Please name three activities or objects (or combination of) which you consider to be quintessentially British

8. If you are happy to say, which country (or part of the world) do you live in?

From object to action

2011-02-05T13:30:00.000-08:00

So the big net news seems to be that Google are not happy to 'discover' that Microsoft are stealing search results from them. In a nutshell, Google made up some fake (and non-language) searches and made up search results to go with them. Within weeks the same searches and results began appearing on Bing. In my world that's being caught with your paw in the till!! Microsoft are seriously grumpy (at being accused? At being caught?) and refute all suggestions of search result theft. Their argument basically runs, 'No we didn't. And, anyway, you set a bloody trap, you gits!' Click (BBC News) Had an article about it this morning - have a look here for proper reporting!

I have to say that I don't understand why Google feel they need to fight their (considerable) market corner when they have already become a verb from a noun! I always talk of 'Googling' something when I meant 'search for it on a Search Engine'. My Search Engine of choice always has been (and continues to be) Google. They are trusted by the techies (as much as the techies trust anyone online), they have always provided the best results in my experience and they are constantly upgrading their service. Why shop anywhere else?

So, Google, listen up. WE love you! We love you better than sneaky old Yahoo, and way better than incompetent fascistic Microsoft. You are now the noun for 'searching for something on the net' which puts you right up there with Hoover and Xerox! I know there's a concern amongst clever ad types that verbing up can dilute a company's hold on the name (See clever people talking about it here) but I think I have the answer to that problem. If Microsoft try to use your name in their ads as the verb for searching you could always counter with 'You can't microsoft something, but you can always Google it!'

I'll let you have that one for free ;-)

The First Annual Twobel Prize Award

2010-12-29T02:24:00.000-08:00

New Years Day afternoon - 2pm GMT - will see the first annual Twobel Prize Awards. All prizes are virtual, but the honour of being nominated is everlasting!

Please make your nomination suggestions via DM to @ThisStarChild (the comment box is broke or something!) and at 2pm on the 1st of January I will Tweet the winners (as judged by a panel of judges comprised of people who bring me chocolate between now and then!)

Nominations so far are:-

Twobel Prize for Medicine
@Fozziedog for defying all medical and vetinary knowledge by being a dog and holding down reasonably logical conversations through the medium of a keyboard.
@SongofTheOss nominated by @the_apostate for defying medical knowledge by existing! Naughty!!
.And the winner is........... @FozzieDog!!!

Twobel Prize for The Arts
@StephenFry for his constant distraction, amusement and loveiness in the typewritten virtual art form
#poetsday nominated by @Fizfull for being a clever micropoetry tweeting on Fridays courtesy of @JaneDeBond.
@LindseyTheFirst for being a genuine real person despite her marketable (and many) talents!
@TheDarkGlove nominated by @SongoftheOss for his spectacular muiscal talent!
And the winner is..... @theDarkGlove!!!

Twobel for Physics
@Fizfull and @Suujmac for their continuing work in the investigation of alcoholic liquid volumes.
@the_apostate nominated by @SongoftheOss for his time saving attitude to work. Bad Oss!
And the winners are.......... @Fizfull and Suujmac!!!

Twobel Prize for Chemistry
@Smoodle for having the perfect chemistry and people skills to enable general joy spreading and random happiness creation
@sarahbellafina for beingn able to change the chemistry of any group she joins, for the better.
And the joint winners are ..... @Smoodle and @Sarahbellafina!!! (too damn hard to choose between 'em!)

Twobel Peace Prize
@the_apostate for his manful efforts in not stalking down @SongOfTheOss and killing him in his sleep
@ThisStarChild nominated by @SongoftheOss for skillfully manipulating and charming many characters in order to prevent them from misbehaving to the point of injury!
And the winner is............ @the_apostate!!!

Twobel Prize for Cocktails
@JaneDeBond is our winner!! For keeping TwitQuizzers in one place with various virtual alcoholic offerings

Twobel Prize for Economic Sciences
@SongOfTheOss is the winner!! For being a gift giving machine both in the virtual (Mafia) world and keeping @ThisStarChild spoiled rotten all year

Twobel Prize in TwitQuizzing
@KatyFBrand’s Roar Intelligence for making every quiz and supporting everything we played
@suziperry’s WhoopAss for winning everything they touched
@RufusHound’s Puma for attacking every quiz with killer instinct
@ThisStarChild nominated by @Fizfull - "without her brilliant quizzes every week we would be nothing" which isn't true but is very kind (and I may have it on my headstone ;-) )
@RufusHound nominated by Team Puma for his continued support and interest in their TwitQuiz attempts and for talking like a real person!
And the winner is...... @RufusHound for being a real live person despite being famous and stuff!

The Twobel Prize for Twobelness
Twitter for bringing all the lunatics together in one place enabling creativity, gossiping and many things beginning with ‘tw’.
@paul_steele for #SingUp - bringing together and orchestrating people all over the world who, between them, creating fun and music to share!
And the winner is........... @paul-steele!! For using Twitter to make fun and friendships!

2010-09-24T02:37:00.000-07:00

Make a free digital scrapbooking design

2010-09-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

A slideshow design by Smilebox

Dolphin Holocaust

2010-04-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

I have just watched The Cove. It's a documentary about a fishing town in Japan, Taiji, and the 23,000 dolphins - old, young, male, female - that they trap and slaughter every year.

Let me give you a small taste of the event 'Once trapped inside the cove, the fishermen kill the dolphins, slashing their throats with knives or stabbing them with spears. The water turns red with their blood, and the air fills with their screams'

Anyone involved with the genocide will deny it happens; it is cruel; or that it is grounded in old fashioned greed. Let me refute those denials with a few facts:

* A dolphin trapped and sold to a 'Dolphin Show' type amusement park by the Taiji fishermen will fetch up to 150,000 US Dollars;
* The dolphins are herded behind the nets by boats which create noise by immersing metal pipes in the water and banging them with hammers, causing maximum stress and confusion for the dolphins;
* A few dolphins are picked at random and injured, as they are herded, so that the family group will not leave the area. Dolphins stay with the family and friends they love;
* The dolphins which are not chosen and sold, after trapping, are herded into a cove which cannot be seen by the public and slaughtered with knives and spears. They are hacked to death. They die slowly;
*The water exiting the cove literally runs red with the blood of the murdered dolphins;
*Mother dolphins are separated from their babies. It's a toss up which will watch the other be hacked to death first.

Angry yet? Want more facts? Have a look at the Save Japan Dolphins site here.

Watch the following clip from the documentary The Cove. It starts twice. Stay with it - but don't watch it alone. There are no special effects. It's filmed as it happened. It's going to tear you to pieces.

Ready to do something about this yet? No? Have a look at more pictures of the slaughter and information from the organisation Sea Shepherd here.

So, tell me, what will you do to stop members of our own species attacking and murdering members of another intelligent species? Sign the petition to Dr Gerald Dick, Executive Director of The World ssociation of Zoos and Aquairiums at Care2. Sign the petition to President Obama, Vice President Biden and Ichiro Fujisaki (The Japanese Ambasador to the US) here. Add a Stop Taiji Dolphin Murder twibbon to your Facebook or Twitter profiles by going here. Join the organisations whose web pages you have just visited. DM me in Twitter and ask for my email address. Help me set up a group of people who will be a part of stopping this. Send the link to this post to as many people as you can - post it on your Facebook page; Tweet it once a day in Twitter; text it to your entire address book.

Don't just be shocked and revolted. Don't just skip a meal because this has upset you. Please. Get angry and start saving lives!

Guilt games

2010-03-28T01:00:00.000-07:00

I don't approve of guilt. It's a waste of emotional energy and a waste of time. Certainly, people need to be considerate of others they have contact with. Absolutely, people need to think about the effect their actions will have on others. Yes, people need to be aware that their behaviour has consequences - for themselves and anyone in close proximity. But guilt? Forget it!

I have spent so very many years reducing myself so that others were not inconvenienced by my wishes or needs. My exes are a list of the universe's most selfish and controlling individuals, frankly. People who were more than happy to whine, bully or demand their way through life. One wanted to 'rebuild' me. Make me into something 'better' than he thought I naturally was. He used all sorts of browbeating and pseudo-supportive games to 'craft' me into the person he wanted me to be. Like a bonsai gardener, he clipped and pruned those expressions and attitudes which stood in the way of his personal comfort and public pride. I was to be cleverer. I was to be interesting; I was to have opinions (which suited him). And then I was to be shown off like a prize cow.

He was most upset when, having created his monster, a younger and more exciting man at a party asked me why I was with him. The would be poacher told me I was so pretty, so much fun, he couldn't understand why I was the sulky, unfriendly man I had arrived with. I had no answer, and at that point I started questioning it myself. I left him soon after, having looked at our life from every angle - the shouting, the growing violence, the pressure to be his vision of me. Shame. He created a monster, newly confident in her intellect and social skills, and she took herself off to grow her own way! I am not a teeny tiny tree to be shaped and forced. I am not rhubarb or cucumber to be grown to the perfect design. I am not a project.

I don't feel sorry for him.

He wasn't the only bad choice I made in partnership. One partner wanted me to shine on her arm. A trophy with no choices except to be taken out and shown off. It didn't suit me and I left after a couple of years! One partner was threatened by my intelligence. I dumbed down for eight years - to keep the peace and her ego intact. I left for another reason, but, oh, to stretch those metal muscles again was bliss!

And, to be honest, it is this stream of manipulative partners which has taught me my disgust of guilt. I refuse to 'knuckle down' because someone makes me feel bad about who I am or how I am. I am a reasonable human being. I have extremely high moral standards in respect of how I leave other people feeling. I don't ask for much more than the right to remain myself and express myself as I see fit.

I am well on my way to half century. I see no reason to suspect that I am not fully capable of executing life in a decent and considerate manner. I do not need to be corralled by negative interjections and suspect emotions.

Here's the thing. If you don't agree with my plans, decisions or actions? Negotiate. Talk to me. Put your points. Air your views. I am more than slightly skilled at negotiation. I am willing to listen. I am willing to hear. I am even willing to consider the impact of my behaviour on you. I may not change my mind, but I will listen to you as though you are speaking the truth and with full attention. Then I will make a judgement call based on my own understanding of the situation, full facts now in front of me. And, should we be in a situation where my decision still aggravates you? Well, I will take full responsibility for my actions and choices. I am a grown up. That's how it works.

So - to those who think I should change my mind because their argument is 'But you always get your own way!'; to those who think I should stop being so clever because they feel stupid around me; to those who think whining or sulking is the way towards a harmonious understanding; to those who think there is something wrong with me being strong, opinionated and decisive.

Fuck you!

Fuck you for thinking I will be manipulated in any way! I have lived under other people's yokes and needs for too damn long to do that any more.

Fuck you for thinking complaining replaces negotiation! Give me the facts as you see them and then allow me the liberty to decide for myself.

Fuck you for thinking anything about my personality needs changing! I am the only person with the right to decide that and I shall make that decision, on a continuous basis, with regard to how people react to me on a day to day and one to one basis.

Fuck you for trying to swerve my path, in any way, big or small, by making me feel wrong; bad; less than; selfish; or unfeminine.

I am opinionated by education. I am determined by experience. I am powerful by right. I am self-oriented by need. And I am not being someone or something else because you don't have the balls; intellect; argument; whatever, to deal with that!

Fuck you!

And get yourself a decent debate!

Doing Some Good.

2009-11-12T08:07:00.000-08:00

OK - here's the thing.

October was Breast Cancer Awareness month and several women advertised that fact, pimped the charity and raised awareness by exposing their underwear every Wednesday on Twitter (as you do).

A discussion arose from the bra-exposure which went something like this - "We could do more you know!" "You know, I think you're right! There are so many talented and amazing people on Twitter! We could really do something amazing" - and, as discussions like this one do, it gained a life and momentum of its own and this month we are hoping to shoot the Breast Cancer Awareness Calendars (one with female models, one with male) with photographers, web hosts, printers, business people and non-professional models who have all volunteered to be a part of raising money for something which will save lives.

People have talked to the charity and underwear companies and things are beginning to come together. People have offered to expose themselves to the netherwears. People have offered their time and abilities. People are doing the talking to and making happen in the background. For free.

I don't care whose money we're talking in - that's bloody amazing!

Now. Now I need your help. There's this cynicism which rears its head when you speak to people who do not know you and from whom you want something free. Doesn't matter what cause you are talking about, they are nagged by the belief that you might be taking them for a ride. Which is understandable. Only - when you're not and you really need their help - well, let's just say it isn't helpful!

So - this is what I'm asking you for, my Lovelies! Does anyone know of a photographic studio which might give us free studio time? We're looking for a day (probably a long day), in Birmingham, Bristol or London. It's just - with a personal introduction, they may feel less worried that we're going to shoot a porn film in their name or run away with the lino (or whatever you find in studios! I have no idea!)

And when we have found the studio which will help us make this calendar, we need volunteers to help with transport for those models and other volunteers who need to be in the studio and may not be able to get there easily. And we need you talk about it. Talk to everyone on your list. Talk to everyone you know. Ask them if they are involved (you'll be stunned how many Twitter people are involved!). If they aren't part of the creation, ask them if they'd like to be. Suggest they'd like to watch what's going on (here or on Twitter by following #BCAwareness hashtag) so they can buy a calendar (or one of each gender) when they hit the shelves. Just get it out there.

And, Lovelies? If you are one of the celeb Twitterers I've harassed to come to this post? Get talking about it to people who can have it heard on a huge scale, please? Do something wonderful because you are lucky enough to be in a position to do so!

We have started this project because it matters to us and because we felt cheeky enough to have a go at something worthwhile. And now we need everybody's help. Please.

If you think there's anything you might be able to do? If you don't know what you can do but would like to do something? Let me know. I promise we'll find you a part in this project and a way to be part of something which will raise cash to save lives. Either leave a comment here with a contact address or tweet me on Twitter (@ThisStarChild) or talk to our central guy and photographer on Twitter (@technex)

Please. We really need your help. And if you need any other reason to step up and help us make it happen? Look here

Once upon A Time............

2009-10-20T01:05:00.000-07:00

.......... far, far away, there lived a Goblin Tribe.

The Goblin Tribe had spent many generations hiding and fortifying their castle. They had built secret pathways; tunnels; rooms within rooms; and all manner of other, clever stuff. These tricks and illusions were necessary to protect the vast treasure the goblins had gathered. The treasure sat in a room, apparently on full view of anybody passing by, protected by guards and secret passages. The treasure room was almost impossible to gain entry to, unless you had an invitation. Anyone who wanted to be anyone wanted an invitation. Everyone wanted to be able to talk knowledgeably about seeing the Goblin Treasure.

The treasure, itself, was piled in the middle of a glass room. The Goblins in charge of this room had the power to issue invitations to people to come and see the treasure. And, if you came to see the treasure you could walk right up to the pile, roll around in the hoard, fling treasure about and generally cavort in the wealth of the room. It was not possible, though, to take the treasure beyond the confines of the glass room. You could see it clearly from outside; you could fill your pockets with it, once in the room; but you could not take it over the threshold of the room. Protected by strong magic, the treasure simply disappeared from your grasp and reappeared in the pile of treasure from where it had been taken. This was not the only magic protecting the hoard, but it was certainly considered the most powerful!

Now - at about the time we are talking about - there lived a Princess. Don't let this alarm you. Bloody Princesses get everywhere, but with a good insect powder and a sharp comb it is easy to root them out if they infest. However, at this time, there was less of an infestation and more of a irritation of Princess (the commonly used collective noun, by the way!). We are considering one particular Princess, which is a blessing, as trying to consider several at once can leave you feeling like you overdosed on candyfloss and vinegar! So - our Princess..............

Our Princess had not yet received her invitation to view the treasure hoard. She had often walked past the castle, peering through the glass walls, in the hope of drawing attention to herself. She had sometimes stood, with her nose pressed against the hoard wall, watching the Goblins organise and tidy. She had occasionally wandered back and forth near the castle, loudly wondering if she might be invited to view the hoard. Strangely, none of these tactics had worked!

One day, while she was doing her wandering and wondering thing she met a Lesser Prince who was just leaving for home, having viewed, touched and generally enjoyed the Goblin Treasure Room. The Princess decided to ask him how he had managed it. After all, she was a Princess of the local realm. He was a Prince of not-so-very-close. Surely, she was as entitled as he to an invitation?

The Prince explained to her that the invitations were issued by the Goblins who looked after the treasure. If you wanted an invitation, you simply had to ask. The chances were you would be invited to view. Once you had the invitation, you could approach the outer gate, where The Gatekeeper checked your paperwork and then, said The Prince, allowed access to a hall of wonders! He went on to explain that the whole system seemed to work on a principle of honesty and openness. If you wanted something you had to ask for it. The Princess knew she had much thinking to do. This 'honesty' thing was a new idea to her!

Finally, having spent many days in contemplation, she had it all worked out. She approached the gate and left a note for the Treasure Goblins, asking for an invitation. She made sure that she presented a very polite and demure front to The Gatekeeper, understanding that, if anyone could wreck her chances of seeing the treasure, it would be this Gatekeeper. It didn't even matter how hard she simpered through the glass walls of the treasure hall, if the Gatekeeper didn't think she was the sort of person who should enter the hall, she wouldn't be allowed in. The Princess was very pleased with herself. She had worked that much out.

She went from the Gatehouse to the glass walls of the Treasure Hall. There she sat and looked her most attractive. She had said, in her letter to the Treasure Goblins, that she sat in the same place every day, waiting to be invited. And now, she made sure she was always there. Simpering. Looking sweet. Being exactly what she thought would be most attractive to the Treasure Goblins.

Oh! And she was good. Inside the Hall there was agreement that The Princess should have her Invitation. Not a single Goblin could understand how she had been overlooked so far. She was a pretty, simple, sweet creature!! Look at her, out there, with her eager, angelic face! The card was written and posted that day. To ensure that nothing could cause a problem, The Princess was also schmoosing The Gatekeeper. The face she was showing there, though, was not the sweet, innocent, sickly face she had been showing the Treasure Goblins. Rather, she presented a measured, considered, pensive sort of face to The Gatekeeper. They discussed the flow of visitors. They talked about the political ramifications of the local geography. Once, they even talked about the weather, but that was from a geo-sociological perspective. The Princess had done a great job of wriggling her way into people's affections. She had, however, made one mistake. As we shall see.....

The Princess's invitation duly arrived and, on the correct day, at the correct time, she presented herself at the Gatehouse. Slowly, the queue moved forward, The Gatekeeper checking invitations against visitors. Finally, our Princess came to The Gatehouse. She said hello to her friend The Gatekeeper and handed up her invitation. There seemed to be a problem. The Gatekeeper looked from invitation to Princess and back again. Heads were shaken and ways were barred. It became very clear that The Princess was not getting into the Goblin Castle.

Having waited patiently for while, The Princess approached The Gatekeeper and asked what the problem was. It is most confusing, she was told. The face which had been regularly presented to the Gatekeeper was most certainly the face which was being presented for admission to the Castle. However, the face for which the invitation had been issued was another, completely different face. Most confusing. Most bothersome. Most irritating. Most definitely no entry!

Our story ends here - it is not recorded whether The Princess ever made it into the Treasure Hall, nor if the Goblins ever forgave her for presenting a false front. To be fair, I shouldn't think anyone cares. The point is this..........

I may not issue the invitations, Madam, but I sure as hell am The Gatekeeper. If you think, for one bloody moment, that I am taken in by a false fronted approach, you are seriously mistaken. You may well get that invitation you appear to crave, but you can be damn certain that I will have more to say about whether or not you do than you, or your presentation of yourself, will. It runs on honesty. Do not play with me. Absolutely do not try to play me. I will barr your entry, Missy, and I will thoroughly enjoy doing it.

I may not make the offer, but, By God, I have the last word! I suggest you consider that before you make any more approaches for your invitation

Calling All Show Off's, Skillsters and the Connected!

2009-10-15T09:49:00.000-07:00

It's all very exciting!

As often happens on Twitter, a silly game has become a really good idea!! We're just at the thinking about it stage right now but I thought I'd tell you and then I can direct you to the blog which is being written for it, when it is posted!

You see, it's like this..... We were playing Air Bands on Twitter a few evenings ago. As you do. Somehow that mutated into a discussion about having a Revue as a fundraising exercise for charity. Which makes perfect sense, in my head!

There is now a flurry of idea bashing and skill seeking going on. So - here's the thing - next week the blog should be operational (Real Life willing) and I will point you at it. Please follow it and check in regularly. You just might be the person we need to overcome a hurdle, or you might know the perfect person to join in and make a difference!

There's a bit of discussion about the charity at the moment, but I'm hoping we can go with our original idea. It's a great charity which makes people safe and gives them an opportunity to take control of their lives again.

If you wanna come on a Magical Beautiful Giving Mystery Tour with us, drop me a line or drop a line in the blog when it appears (I promise to make a fuss about it ;-) )

All the help we can get to give all we can gather and hand over. It's wonderful - from crazy mayhem to making things better.

My kinda game!!

And here it is - Twitfest!!

Twitter-Jailbirds - Top Secret

2009-10-08T04:16:00.000-07:00

Please find below the secret identities of the Twitter-Jailbird fraternity. These names have been carefully prised out of informers. The information is a 'Need To Know' package. Not for general release.

Twitter ................... TwitterJail

Jareed007 ................ carlingblack007
Llubyloo .................. Llubyloo2
Weeyin13 .................. Jailed_Weeyin13
ThisStarChild ............. TheGlinda
tattooed_mummy ............ TMautobot
damohopo .................. Sandy_Vagina
Bonnycross ................ BonniecrossNicci

An Open Letter To Mr Brown

2009-09-30T05:38:00.000-07:00

(I am perfectly aware this is not a popular view. I have never aimed to be popularist. I would rather be serious about the things it is necessary to be serious about than be 'one of the gang'! Enjoy!)

Sir,

I think, just now, that you face a difficulty specifically created in our society by the magic of Disney. As Politicians lay out their plans and wish lists for the country, the media shines it's best stage lights on the process. They seek James Bond professionalism and Superhero jawlines. Gone are the days when people were automatically judged on the quality, or even quantity, of their work. Now everything and everyone must have a glamorous sheen; a sparkle with which to entrance and beguile. No longer do the public appear content to watch a leader do what must be done and make decisions with which to steer a country. They want pizazz; clever words; a Hollywood make-over; a designer suit and just-cut hair. This has been apparent in other societies for some time. It became obvious in ours in recent years.

It seems to me, though, that a person becomes expert by doing a lot of something. To be skilled, one must put aside those things which don't help the trade in question and concentrate on the acts and knowledge which do. I would suggest that being a skilled television personality, or a clever publicist, is not necessarily helpful to being a great and successful leader of a country. It might woo the weak of mind. It might attract the gaze of the politically disinterested. It does not help a person know how to deal with the issues which will affect the lives of an entire nation.

I have this image of the British public understanding that, in order to find a person to lead us, we must follow the principles of Prince Charming. Seek the prettiest person and see if the glittery shoe fits! These are not qualifications for the task of Premiership. The qualities required are a calm and brilliant mind; a decent and honourable heart; a serious commitment to service; and a willingness to put the nose to the grindstone for other people's benefit. These, Sir, are qualities I believe you posses by the bucketful.

It offends me that our country seeks froth where gravitas is necessary. It confuses me that a discussion about a person's smile, partner or suit is deemed more relevant than their abilities on the global stage. It bothers me that we may elect a shiny simpleton, in political terms, because his image is more 'screen idol' than another's. It is entirely ridiculous to trust a person because they are prettier; smile more often; or are more smooth than others! These, rather, are the qualities of a conman!

I am an Old Labour voter, by nature. I believe in co-operation between state and citizens; building a strong and fair social world; kindness; neighbourliness; and good manners. I believe you work towards providing these things in a day-to-day world. You have the manner of an Old Labour politician. A Public Servant with a job to do. A job so important and consuming to him, that he does not wish to waste time on image and showmanship. I voted for Mr Blair, but was horribly disappointed when he flowered in office. His manner has never felt sincere. Sadly for him, sincerity is not something you can fake! You, on the other hand, feel like a solid, decent man. Someone who would rather get on and do, than talk about how well he will do when he actually starts working!

I hope some common sense prevails, towards the coming election, and people start considering serious topics, such as the global recession; the state of both education and social care in this country; and the withdrawal of our boys and girls from the Middle East. Perhaps, if they can discuss the things that actually need achieving in the next few years, they will start looking for the person who will be willing to work hard, even serve, in order to lead our country towards a more solid future than one of whiter-than-white smiles and empty words.

The whole thing reminds me of the song 'One God' by Beautiful South. I hope we don't make this mistake of being seduced by media friendly images instead of looking for old fashioned values of honesty, worth and decency. It could cost us our future. So, looking towards my fears, if I may end on a quote?

"The world won't end in darkness, it'll end in family fun
With Coca-Cola clouds behind a Big Mac sun"

Being Happy.

2009-08-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

I have something to tell you. In fact, what I want to do is brag, but that's terribly bad manners. So, as I am telling you this, please remember that I am doing my best to draw in my more exuberant claims and speak with a controlled and understated tone. Just colour it in a bit brighter, is what I'm trying to say.

I love Ande. There. I've said it. He is the finest, most caring, sweetest, supportive and loveliest human being I know. He is wonderful! And, amazingly, he finds qualities in me which means he loves me back. It blows my mind every time I think about it!

You have all read how he scooped me up and brought me home in a non-stop 800 mile mercy dash. It really was a mercy dash, as neither of us could bear the idea of being without the other a moment longer! Now, as I describe his nature and personality, it will become clear to you why I didn't want to spend another day away from him. I haven't worked out why it was the same for him. It may turn out to be the window into his only flaw! Whatever – let's talk about Ande.

I came back home with him with no job and no income. We were both aware that we would have to live on one income until I secured a post, but now we live with the reality of that. Does he complain that I don't bring anything into the home? No. Does he ask what I have been doing with my time? No. Does he demand a structured job seeking system and an explanation of same? No. He trusts me, one adult to another, to do what I need to do and what I say I will do, to get a job. He trusts that I am as committed to 'one goal, one partnership' as he is. He trusts that I am savvy enough to understand that me getting a job is a good thing for us.

Having said all that, he never lets me feel like I have failed, in any way, by wanting to be with him without being able to bring financial attributes to the partnership. When I start getting fed up with the lack of opportunities or interest in my (strange) CV, he tells me that we shall cope and that being together is important. He reminds me that we knew that we would have to wait to have two wages coming into our fold and that 'it will happen'. Just not today, maybe! He understands that it is important to me to work, to be part of the bread-winning team, to have financial equality in both responsibility and spending power. He does not put me down, or allow me to put myself down. Rather, he reminds me to look forward to the job I should like and to work towards gaining that in a positive and cheerful manner.

Somehow, Ande has tapped into that part of my personality which is my most positive. He relieves me of the pressures and offers up the rewards. He is cheerful in one-wage-osity and excited for me in finding a job which will stretch and engage me. He tells me not to sell myself short and encourages me to reach for the stars. Where I would have been certain I faced only humiliation and public stockades for applying for a post, Ande asks me what the worst is that can happen? Why not put in the cheeky application? They can only say 'No' and that isn't going to hurt. And I just might get it! And when someone notices me in a positive light – when I get an invitation for interview – he is supportive and positive about the fact that my skills and brilliance have brought this to me, if I choose to take it up. He refuses to allow me to take the first wage paying post in order to bring an income in. He'd rather I look for the best I can want.

I have never had a relationship where my partner has supported me and believed in me as I do in my brighter and stronger moments before. To be able to take on a task, like job seeking, which can be dreary and disappointing, and know that the most important person in my life is only going to reflect back positive ideas (or truths offered in a non-judgemental way) is so liberating. I cannot begin to tell you! To be seen as someone who deserves something more than the mundane, is a wonderful feeling. Not to have the 'lack of money' discussion leak into other areas and left for me to beat myself up with is just so refreshing.

There's this theory that you cannot know joy until you have experienced despair. Something like that, anyway. I don't know how true that is. Little children seem to cope well with happiness in families which work hard to provide the brightest, shiniest times for them. Families in which they are protected from (and, so, have not yet experienced) unhappiness. It has to be said, though, that when you have faced negative and damaging relationships you are far more aware of the joys of a healthy relationship. It almost doubles the joys, in reality. Not only do I not have to face the exhaustion of trying to keep myself positive whilst under attack, but I have more support and encouragement to be positive and happy. I feel like a ship, released from a sandbank, now floating freely on the high seas. It's an incredible experience!

So – and you shall hear more about this man, I have no doubt – I love Ande. I love him for his sweet kindnesses. I love him for his strength and protectiveness. I love him for believing in me and for reminding me that I am someone who deserves that belief. I love him for spoiling me and enjoying my childish pleasure in that spoiling. I love him for being someone who forgives my grumbling and loves my silliness. I love that he doesn't tell me off for being me. I love that he revels in my naughtiness. I love that he's clever enough to force me to think in debate. I love that he's generous enough to let me win when it's important to me (but not let it be obvious). I love that he is my equal, and I his, even though we currently have very different household roles.

He's lovely. Really. And I love him.

The Hidden Princess

2009-08-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a Princess. She knew she was a Princess. Of course she did. Things like that you just know. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't obvious to everyone else. No tiaras; no grand balls; no long frocks; no knights on chargers. She appeared to be like any other little girl. Growing up in Far, Far Away.

She did all the things young girls were supposed to do. Read books about animals; listened to music; saw ruins and historical sites. Well – maybe her life was slightly unusual. Not odd enough to include a Fairy Godmother or a basement of gold (which would have been useful) but just odd enough to make it hard to make friends with the other girls.

Our Princess lived a life on the move. Every couple of years she moved on with the King and Queen (who were successfully pretending to be normal people) and had to learn to start again. New school. New friends. New terrors. As she grew up she grew into a beautiful young woman. Of course, having the most fabulous manners, she had no idea that she was beautiful, but it is apparent when you look back at the secret state photographs (secret, because no one realised they were taking pictures of a Princess.)

Her life became as normal, externally, as it could be, and not a soul knew she was a Princess, gliding through their midst. She made friends and started to create a life just like any other woman of her age. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she knew she had always been a Princess. She knew she just needed to meet her Prince and life would become the grand gala it was always supposed to be.

She did her best to find her Prince, but (and you may not know this) they are few and far between, even in Far, Far Away. She met plenty of men who believed they were Princes. And plenty of men who believed they deserved a Princess on their arm. Even maintaining her childhood routine of moving on every couple of years, she still didn't meet any Princes (it's true, they are a dying breed)

Sometimes she would fall for someone and they would treat her as though she were stupid and needed to be taught how to behave. This was all well and good, until she had learned all they had to teach and craved more. They had nothing left to offer and the monster they had created needed feeding. These relationships failed.

Sometimes she would meet someone and they would see her as someone who could provide for them; social standing; money; cleaning service; company; entertainment; sex. All too soon, though, she would become restless and desire to be seen as an entire human being, worth something in her own, unique right. These relationships failed.

Sometimes she would meet someone and they would be simply destructive. Almost as though, seeing something beautiful and independent, they needed to enslave or smash it to feel complete in themselves. Almost as though the sight of her had to be removed to prevent them making a comparison and finding themselves wanting. This could not be her problem, and these relationships failed.

Finally, our Princess decided that she was comfortable with her own company, that she did not need another human being to make her feel complete. She decided it was actually too difficult, too painful, to try to have a relationship with another person. This being decided, she was free to have friendships with all sorts of people without running the risk of having to become vulnerable to them. People who are your friends are much easier to walk away from, if they become destructive . It is much easier to speak with them clearly and openly, as they tend not to try to use emotional manipulation to make you behave in a way which will best suit their needs. She was finally at peace with her plans. She would not seek a significant other, rather appreciate and love those friends she felt close to, and remain independent, aloof and free.

We might take a step back here, and see our Princess as a feral cat. Needing no one else to maintain her basic needs and mixing only with those she actually liked, and whom she felt liked her simply for her nature and personality. She may not have experienced the highs of deep bonding and sharing, but, by the gods, neither did she risk the lows of isolation, guilt, failure and starting again, as yet another relationship (home/life/stability) fell apart.

Life, as she will, took her own turns and presented her own interesting side routes and culs-de-sac. Our Princess spent time walking interesting paths and staying a while here and there as the whim took her. She was content. She was peaceful.

Then, one day, she and a friend had a great idea. Why didn't they meet? They had spent some time communicating: laughing at the same jokes; chatting about things which interested both of them; mixing in a similar circle; enjoying each other's company. Why not get together and spend a weekend laughing and chatting? It was a wonderful idea.

It was life changing.

I don't even need to tell you the end of this tale, do I? Our Princess realised, almost immediately she and her friend met that he was the one. Not a Prince, or even a Knight. Neither was he a blackguard or a pretender. This, she realised, was her Duke. Her War Lord. This man was the one who was content to let her be herself (after all, he reasoned, isn't that who he fell in love with?). He was the man who would allow her to defend herself unless she asked him to help, in which case no one would stand against his Lady. This was the man who had fallen for her personality, humour, intelligence and wit. This man had not taken in the packaging and thought she would make a nice ornament. He had absorbed the essence which was her and found it complimentary to his own. This was a man who loved her for simply being her, and for no other reason.

So, one day very soon after, our Duke took his Princess home with him. Racing between counties, overnight, on a 800 mile round trip, he scooped up his love and took her home. And there she has stayed ever since.

And from all this she has learned several very important facts.

No one can love someone who does not love themselves. If you are not complete in yourself you cannot expect to be made complete by another person.

Love does exist, but it is like a butterfly. You will only find it by ignoring it. It loathes the stench of desperation. Heavy boots and a large hammer do not make butterfly collecting easier.

Life can be a Fairy Tale, but all Fairy Tales are cautionary tales. Fairy Tales are not Disney, they are Grimm.

Life is surprising and will defeat all planning, sensible and level-headed or not. Do not try to over-simplify life.

Oh. Sorry......................

'Happily ever after'!

When Something Is Just Right.

2009-08-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Ok. So, those of you who know me know that I have a love/hate relationship with technology. I adore the way it has rendered everything available. The entire world is accessible from the sunshine patio in the back garden. A swift click of a key and money changes hands, things are bought, people are contacted. I adore it! However, I become swiftly infuriated when said technology fights back. I have very little technical understanding, being a 'point and press' sort of girl, so the moment I cannot access/communicate/do I have to wait until someone wiser and more experienced can come and rescue me. It drives me insane! You have seen me rant, on more than one occasion, about the muddles I have found myself in when dealing with unresponsive technology. Well, this time I shan't be ranting.

I have a technological relationship with my bank. I feared it, initially, but it has turned out to be the longest lasting and most productive of all relationships I have had through electronic means. My bank are wonderful!

I have Internet banking – which is simple, effective and glitch free. I have telephone banking – which is cheerful, professional and English (oh the joys of a Scottish accent [so trustworthy] or a lilting Norther accent [so honest] when telephoning a helpline). I have access to over the counter banking, if I want it. My bank know who I am, react to me according to my treatment of them and are always (and I mean 'always') pleased to hear from me! Bloody wonderful!

My bank is The Co-Operative Bank. I would urge anyone looking for a new bank, or fed up with rudeness, inefficiency or lack of 'get-at-a-bility' of their current bank (did ya see what I did there?!) to immediately open a
Co-Operative Bank account! Do it! You'll love me for making the introduction!

I chose The Co-Operative Bank, in the first place, because they refuse to invest in military regimes or deals. Look. They won't fund Arms deals, they won't fund terrorist regimes, they won't be part of nasty things. I loved that my money (such as it is) would never find its way to hurting another human being by political, military or violent means through my bank. How many people reading this can assure us of the same of their bank? Do you even know? I'll tell you something else, too. My bank is the only one I never heard mentioned in the recent Credit Crunch. They didn't suddenly need squillions of tax-payers pounds to float them out of poor investment slumps. They didn't start bleating on about surprising deficits. They didn't run off with anyone's pension or savings. My bank is still clean after all the counting, lending and bemoaning has been done.

They have a wonderful contact, on the Co-Operative Bank web page, with which to check any dodgy emails you may receive purporting to be from the bank. You have all probably received such emails, telling you your account has been compromised and you just need to click this link and enter all the relevant details and all will be well. Well, firstly - do not click the link. On no account do it. The only point at which your account will be compromised is after you enter your details in the page that link takes you to! Go to your bank's web page and start from there. Secondly – I forwarded this email to my bank and they replied explaining that it was a scam, I was not to give anyone my details, and they would be following it up. It left me feeling like Dad had taken a hate-letter from me and gone round to see the bully's parents. Fabulous!

Earlier in the year I needed an overdraft extension to see me over an immediate hump. I decided what I needed and spoke to my bank. The lady on the other end of the phone (Northern Accent – just lovely) quickly explained to me that what I wanted wouldn't sort out my problem but there was a much cheaper, simpler and immediate way of doing it. I followed her advice and saved time, money and worry by doing so! She didn't try to sell me anything. She didn't try to trap me into the most expensive route. She didn't let me make a simple and expensive mistake. She took care of me.

I have just been on the phone to my bank. A nice man (Tom) with a soft Northern accent just dealt with my issue and left me feeling like I had had a short conversation with an old friend. It's how I feel (in various shades of Northern British accent) every time I ring them. I was confused and concerned about something. He had a look on his computer and smoothed out my queries. I feel lovely and relaxed and safe in the knowledge that Tom has sorted my problems and I had nothing to worry about, anyway. Although he certainly didn't mind helping me reach that peace of mind. They never do at my bank.

And yesterday, just to complete my joy, I receive a letter from my bank telling me that they shall be sending me a whole new piece of technology – absolutely free – with which to do my online banking. I, Ladies and Gentlemen, shall be receiving a card reader through the post. Gratis and without charge. With which to do my online banking safely and securely. So there!

So – look – you should know. I love my bank. I know they love me, too! They speak to me nicely, they offer me choices and they look after my money (such as it is) securely, morally and honestly. Like the accents at the end of the helpline, The Co-Operative bank has something old fashioned, dependable and Northern about it. There'll be no silly messing about, no unpleasant behaviour and no dishonesty. This is a bank born of a Co-Operative Society, after all. It's very people friendly.

And their technology works. Properly!

Noises Off

2009-08-19T09:44:00.000-07:00

I am a little rattled.

Having the Awen upon me, this afternoon (sounds grand, don't it? Just means I felt like writing!) I settled down and wrote a rantlette for my blog. You would have it no other way, I am bound to guess, and neither would I. Having completed it I wanted to revel in my smug self-congratulations before I spewed further drivel on to the (electronic) page. So I took myself into the garden for a mug of something hot and beveragey.

The weather has been glorious for the last few weeks, and continues to be so. I planned to sit on the patio, with my mug of coffee, and watch the bees' industry. Maybe read a little of the book I am partway through this week. It is so soothing, watching another creature working, and the colours and scents are simply wonderful. I love an afternoon coffee in the garden. I was ready to allow my thoughts and inspirations to collect and gently percolate into patterns and stories which might be worth relating here. I was not accommodated. Apparently, it is permissible to keep gibbons and howler monkies in a person's back garden around here!

Some neighbours, a few gardens down, had also noticed the glorious weather and had placed their pre-pubescent female children into swimming costumes (one assumes), encouraging them to play outside (again, assumption). Certainly, the squeals and shrieks wafting on the breeze led me to believe that small girls were playing in the pool. How lovely! This through gritted teeth.

Not conducive, though, to thinking. Or smugging. Or any kind of cerebral activity requiring peace, or, at the very least, a white noise of low constant tone. To complete my joy, the mothers (yep – we're assuming again) had marginally lower pitched voices than the small creatures. And I really do mean 'marginally' – probably not possible to detect with electronic equipment or dogs' ears. All were joyously howling, shrieking and squealing, including a regular urging to 'eat my shorts'. Which might be funny, in context, in 2D, but is irritating when repeated constantly in a small female voice. I did consider helping said child to the underside of the water, but decided it might be less than acceptable to express myself quite that way. Anyway – I couldn't think of a way to maintain my cool whilst clambering over the walls separating the gardens.

I finished my coffee and was gathering my things to escape to the peace and quiet of the computer room when one of the adults squawked to another that she 'just cannot do it'. It occurred to me to ask her if she could 'not do it' quietly. I didn't. I'm English. I just muttered it under my breath. But I did feel better. And next time I might say it a little louder and make a passive/aggressive intrusion into their fun. Just for the hell of it.

So – just to leave no one in any kind of doubt. If you should move into the area. This is a road where we like to do thinking and being quiet. In the main. If you have small children who like to shriek, dogs who communicate through howls or wives/girlfriends who have not been through the equivalent process to testes-dropping and retain an annoying shrill voice? Don't move in to our road.

I really might have to be terribly rude to the next person who disturbs me and the bees in our important work. I might even speak up!

Technological Torment

2009-08-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

I hate my new phone! Really hate it. In a 'just don't make me use it or I might have to throw it through a window' sort of a way. Or a 'stamping my foot and pouting about the fact that other people have brilliant handsets and mine is evil and useless' thing. Even a 'I got this one because I couldn't have the one I wanted and its way worse than the one I was replacing' sort of feeling. I really, really don't like it.

In fairness I would have to point out that I am completely useless when it comes to technology. I have been known to hand my teenage daughter a new handset, still in it's box, exhorting her to 'make it work'. That said, a great many people who use mobile phones simply want them to do what they are supposed to do and look pretty whilst they are doing it. Is that so much to ask? I can do that when I am completing a task. Why can a 'cutting edge' piece of technology not do the same?

The handset under death sentence is the INQ1 It is a 3 Mobile handset, unique to them. Here is the offending article! This is a lucky fact, as many people do not have 3 contracts, and so will never have to use the awful thing. Really, it's a lucky escape! Online the picture looks nice; the spiel is convincing – multi-media communication, internet, email, push mail (which is what, exactly? Do you know?), text, phone – the list is practically endless. And the price is convincing. My contract is for twenty pounds a month with free minutes, free texts and a Gig of download (yeah – I actually have no idea how much that is – not as much as I though, we shall find out!). So I upgraded. I had been using a Sony Ericsson handset for the previous year and, whilst I loved how the phone works – icons, menus, systems, buttons – one or two buttons were dodgey and 3 Mobile in Barnstaple had made it very difficult to have it mended under warranty. Apparently replacement handsets, for use whilst yours is being mended (under warranty!) are only available when you are ten miles away with no possible opportunity of getting into Barnstaple to pick it up! And they are rude. Anyway, I really needed a new handset to prevent me going completely mad! I had wanted the iPhone. Or the Crackberry. I quite wanted to stay with 3 Mobile (their India helpline is lovely. People are very polite and perfectly sweet) I thought the INQ1 was a good compromise.

Well. It's not. Frankly. The screen is basic. Remember those old computers you see in workplaces now and again? The black screen and the green writing? Well, my handset is to the iPhone as they are to a MacBook. Useless. There are no pretty fonts, no background colours, no great icons which take you to useful menus. No apparent way to access the dictionary for predictive text (and, therefore, only slow text options if you wish to say what you actually plan to say). Basic. And that's being polite! And – which has completely infuriated me – the disc which comes with the phone is completely unintelligible and has no software for the sorting out of useless memory, visuals or menus. Certainly, you may connect with every known electronic communication service. But at what price? And if only they would explain things. Or make them pretty. Or something. Anything. Just something to delight and amuse me whilst I am trying to text (one letter at a time - slowly)

The handset, itself, feels plasticy and cheap. The buttons wobble, as though they are about to fall out of their housing at any moment and the press pad thingies are too close together to enable accurate choosing. Horrid.

The 'free' stuff is completely beyond me. I text quite a bit and phone occasionally. This month I am paying a bill of one hundred and fifty pounds. This, because that is the point at which they stop you making any more calls as it is deemed a general cut off point. I had no idea my bill had run up until I was cut off partway through a phone call! No warning. No nothing. And no real pushing of the envelope, save a few phone calls. So how have I run this bill up? And how do I make sure I don't run another huge bill up? I have come up with a plan.

Either I must go back to my previous evil handset or I am going to cry until Mr Gorgeous takes pity on me and buys me a new iPhone. It was what I wanted in the first place. I have seen a couple with my own sparkly eyes. Handled one. I love it. I crave it. Need it. And I will weep until I get it. Actually, if, in the meantime, some purveyor of iPhones is reading this and wondering where on earth they can put that extra handset they have, or who should benefit from the courtesy handset which would only need a pretty write up and grateful thanks for the handing over of. Well. You know where to find me.

And then I will burn the INQ1. And I might warm my hands over the melting plastic and cackle a bit. Because that's about the limit of its use. I bet it won't even do that properly!

Off Key

2009-06-20T12:54:00.000-07:00

I hate it when people tell me to 'take care'. I really do. It seems to be people who I believe I am in some kind of meaningful relationship/friendship/interaction - what you will - who use the phrase, too. You have a long conversation with them, spend time - important time - and then, as they go they kiss (or metaphorically kiss) you and say 'Take care'!!! Really? Take care? Uh huh?!!

For me, that is one of the meaningless phrases I would use when taking leave of someone who didn't actually mean that much to me. Not in a bad way, just in a 'want to say something pleasant and middle class' way. 'Take care'. For how long? Is it going to be so very long until we speak again that I need to be taking care of myself? And do I need to be reminded? Really? Me? Who has survived so many years & trials and grown into this cynical and hoary old bat? Really? 'Take care'? Uh!

I would rather hear something which meant something when I take my leave of someone I really care about. How about 'I'll be thinking of you'? Or something ending in an endearment? Or anything, really, which doesn't sound like they are leaving the presence of Auntie Mabel and Uncle Zac. Really! Just not 'take care'!!!

It's like 'you too' or 'me too'! Oh dear god! Really? You mean it that much that you don't even need to repeat it? How fabulous!!! You can actually hear my mind boggling over the interweb waves, can't you?!! :-s

I don't need or even want (maybe especially 'want') people to say things to me because they think that's what I want to hear. I really don't. If I say 'I love you' to you that's because that is the reaction I have to your company and personality. It's not so I can blackmail or guilt you into saying 'I love you, too'. Any expression I make towards another human being is entirely stand alone and in response to my feelings right there and then. It's not 'for' something. Is that odd? I don't know. And, frankly, I don't care! I simply express what I feel. And that's an end to it!!

And another thing! If I say 'I love you' it does not necessarily mean I want to have your babies, share a kidney and raise goats on a remote Scottish Island with you, in the next three weeks. It may - but I promise to elucidate, if that is the case! It means, for me, that I appreciate who and what you are. It makes me feel good to be in your company. I probably look forward to spending time with you. I like you. I like the way you think, talk and interact. You make me feel good in that moment. We really don't have to rush off and pick The Ring just because I like being in your company. Really - no boiling household pets here!

Yes, it's lovely when someone for whom you have soft and squelchy feelings has them back at you. It's fabulous when someone you appreciate, on whatever level, appreciates you back. It does not mean, though, that anyone has to voice or pretend anything to make me feel better about the way I feel. I feel what I feel. The moment is whatever the moment is, and the colours & tunes of emotions & reactions are mine to appreciate and voice. You have your own reactions & emotions going on and that is your business. It is your choice whether to voice them or not.

Isn't that simple? Is it not an easy flow of honest communication and inter-relation? Why do people stumble on it so often? I can't make that my problem, once I have clearly stated that I am quite happy to be responsible for my own emotions and reactions to and in a situation. If I find my colours don't match your colours I'll either discuss that with you or take a quiet walk away, depending on how far down any road we are. Easy. No?!

So - sweethearts - next time I tell you I love you? Don't feel you have to reciprocate. Unless you want to. And if you want to say it before I do, that would be lovely. Although it is not necessarily the case that you will hear it back. And when we part, having spent time talking or being or whatever. Please don't tell me to 'take care'. Please don't! Say what is on your mind. Tell me something true. Stick a pretty word in there if you want to. But please don't leave me with the false note of a social platitude!!

Now. Y'all. Take care!! :-p

Prequel!

2009-06-09T02:09:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me, the other day, that this is mildly amusing. More for the prediction and intent than anything else!

Have a look! Mis-start

The Unpalatable Truth

2009-06-02T11:19:00.000-07:00

I am not nice. Firstly, it is a wishy washy word with very little oomph (and, if I have anything going for me, it is my oomph!).

Secondly, it doesn't actually mean what people use it to mean, anyway. It means 'accurate'. Like, "Make a plumb line. Make sure it's a nice line." And, in that sense, I may well be nice. Especially when riled. I can be scathing, acidic, startlingly blunt and positively spiteful. My verbal skills make for an accurate weapon!

Thirdly, and most importantly, I am not actually nice. I have a very strong survival instinct, honed over several years of bad choices, which sometimes has an impetus of its own. Coupled with my lateral humour, that makes for someone who is easily capable of saying or doing appalling things (mostly saying, to be fair, but that has its own impact!).

I'd really like you to know, at this point, that I am a lot of fun. I have many friends who think I am worth the effort. I am witty; kind; thoughtful; persistent; inventive; amusing; clever; loyal.....the list of great things is endless - modesty aside. I am not, however, nice!

There are two sides to this. Most often my 'not nice'ness is exposed when someone takes advantage or tries to back me into a corner. Most people think that other people are like them. They assume that the things they fear are the common fears. Most people have a horror of public confrontation. I do not. I have more balls than a field of prize bulls and more brass than an Essex barmaid! I have absolutely no problem standing my ground, pushing the envelope or being real in a public space. So - if someone tries to control a situation by putting pressure on me in public, my immediate reaction is to respond "Yeah? Really? How much neck do you really have? Because I have a whoooooole lot of neck right here!". The reasoning is simple. People who will respond badly to how I behave are not people I want to mix with. So if I stand my ground and defy a manipulator, and someone feels I shouldn't be 'making a fuss'? Well - they have joined the wrong circle. I should probably not be friends with them. In this particular dance fire is met with flaming thunderbolts and rains of lava!

I will do almost anything for someone who is important to me. It makes me happy that people I care about are happy. I will seriously put myself out to play a part in creating that happiness. I will do whatever it takes, including letting them go, to allow them happiness. That makes me happier, knowing they are not bound by anything other than choice.

I will not be forced to do anything. I am likely to refuse at that fence - whether I wanted to help, initially, or not. I will give almost everything I have and I am. I will allow nothing to be taken from me.

The second, and more immediate, hue of my unpleasantness is situated in my selfishness. I like me. I think I deserve to be happy. I like simple happinesses. Interaction with people who matter. Play with friends. Attention. Quiet times. Just stuff which feeds the soul. Unfortunately, I can be so focused on my enjoyment that I overlook the consequences, or potential consequences, of my actions. Sometimes it just needs to be pointed out to me "You know? It hurts when you do that" or "It is bothersome when you..." or even "It would be easier for me if you might stop...." Sometimes I am so wrapped up in having fun that I don't think the damn thing out. It's not always nice.

Yesterday, I think I did that. I think I may have behaved in a way which was not very thoughtful. Unfortunately, for me, the person I may have mistreated is the one person I have met in the last 18 months who I like enough to want to find out if there might be something a bit more serious than 'fun' between us. Not to say we have got anywhere near considering that. Just that he is the one person I would consider taking the walk to find that out with, so far. He's pretty special and I think it's worth finding out if we could be pretty special to each other, at some point. Only, I behaved selfishly. I was so caught up in games which were giving me loads of attention and making me feel like the prettiest princess at the party, that I did not consider how those games might have impacted on him.

And now I feel pretty rubbish about that. The problem is, of course, that by the time you get to 'sorry' it's too damn late! You don't apologise for breaking a vase until it's broken.

I'm just not a very nice person, sometimes. And sometimes, I think it would all be much easier (if rather less interesting!) if I were.

Dirty Protest in Hundred Acre Wood.

2009-05-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

Recently, I met a friend who I haven't seen in a long time. Hilary and I have been friends for close on 20 years. It must be about 10 years since I last saw her. And, recently, we got together. We caught up on the lost years, we reminisced, we reminded each other how powerful and wonderful we are. Hilary does that for people - she sees the best you can be and then describes you to yourself.

One comment she made has remained with me, circling my attention, for the last week. She reinforced my belief about myself that I am a wild thing. I like to think of myself as a cat. Feral, independent, lone. She described me as a butterfly. It didn't feel like a powerful animal and I was slightly taken aback. She clarified. "You are like a butterfly. And people want the pretty thing to land on them. And you do. You're interested in them. And then they hold on to you so tight they crush you." She was right. I am still slightly fascinated by the fact that I might be a butterfly.

I woke to the world in my mid-teens. At 14, they took me off drugs and I faced a world I was unschooled in, hormones raging, in a new school with new people around me. I learned very quickly how to appear to be part of what was going on while sussing it out. Who was cruel and better avoided, or befriended? Who was cool and interesting? What exactly was expected of me? How could I maintain control? I remained aloof whilst making friends and influencing people. I had several false starts! I did learn how to comfortably interact and enjoy social situations. I made friends. I came to a very clear awareness of myself and my motivations. Unfortunately, I didn't learn about relationships.

I have been a serial monogamist for many years. I don't consider that a viable relationship option for me, now. In my younger years I did, and leaped from relationship to relationship, trying to find the One who would be my other half. It took 30 years, or so, to understand that it was not my fault, or even theirs. It was a mismatch of animal. Like trying to keep a fox,calling him Mr Cuddles and have him snooze in front of the fire, beside the cat. It was never going to work!

Let me be clear that I am not trying to claim that being a wild creature is somehow a better position than being domesticated. People who do not yearn for the open horizon, who can live within the closed gates and high fences, who are willing to be a great half rather than their own, questing, complete unit are more likely to understand and enjoy the world we live in than any wild creature. Society is domestic. To be tame within it is to fit in. I often wish I could do 'contentment'. It's just not in me.

I am not tame. I will not be what someone else requires. I will not curb my opinions and behaviour to make anyone else feel comfortable. I do not kowtow to 'expectation' 'obligation' or 'normal'. I am me. There is space for me, too, in this big old world. If you don't like it, you know where 'out' is. Many people have liked it. Often, they are fascinated by it. The wildness, free spiritedness, is attractive. For some of them, it seems, to be vicariously free is to have the best of both worlds - the benefits of playing the game and the view of forever. Of course, to possess the view you dare not approach you have to gain ownership of the eyes which see it!

My most recent failure to understand this was my marriage. The bottom line is that he wanted to own the free and wanton creature which had settled to spend time with him. I thought he understood my nature, having explained it in words of one syllable. Sadly, he did not. He did not take me at my word. He thought he knew me better than I did. And then, for whatever reason, he started caging me in. I could not 'go' or 'be' or 'do' or 'have' without his input. I could not interact with anyone else unless he made it clear that I was his wife.

The most notable occasion in which he, basically, pissed on his territory, was in Cornwall, NY. We lived in the Hudson Valley, between the Palisades and the Catskills. Relatively close to us was a town called Cornwall. Obviously, being a Cornish maid, I wanted to go and see it. It was a lovely summer's day. July 4th. We had decided to picnic in the afternoon and then look around the town until the fireworks for Independence Day. The picnic was fine. The post picnic nap was strange, but would be a whole other blog tangent. The poke around town was illuminating. I wish I had reacted to it with rather more force than I did. Leaving him would have been a good reaction.

John and I were wandering down a street, past a row of houses. I was walking slightly ahead of him. I don't remember why, now. The buildings were lovely. Large wood fronted houses, beautifully kept. The contrast with the little grey concrete and granite fronted cottages in the misty villages of my Cornwall was startling. I was absorbed. I walked past one house and a man was outside washing his car. He looked up and caught me peering down his drive. He smiled. I smiled. He said good afternoon and I said hello. as you do. John appeared at my elbow. He held out his hand, walking on ahead of me, and said, very distinctly, "Come on, Wife."

Now. The issue for me, which I explained just as distinctly, right there on the pavement, was that I am not 'wife'. I am me. Call me by my name or don't bother speaking to me. I am not anyone's anything. I am just me. Being me is quite enough - I don't need a title or a role to identify me. John was hurt and upset. Apparently, he thought that renaming me as 'Wife' was a nice thing. He felt rejected and confused. I was too angry to care how he felt. In one sentence he had claimed ownership, removed my individuality, warned the pleasant man who had greeted me, and placed me in a box - label on and underlined in red. Do not approach the wife. Move away from the possession. This wife is not for greeting. Do not feed the animal.

Suffice to say, the marriage didn't last very long. That one occasion should have warned me that I was dealing with a domesticator. It didn't, and the ensuing pain and trauma which I survived, in that marriage, is as much down to my lack of reaction to that warning as John's incompetent personality and social skills. It didn't last long and I have to say that I finally learned the lesson about allowing others the right to cage me.

Thinking about it now, the irony is inescapable. The wilderness of the Hudson Valley: the wide open spaces; uninhabited parks; bear and deer filled forests; and beautiful mountains should have been the perfect place for a feral creature to settle. It wasn't. Someone tried to recreate and disempower me. I had never felt more caged, less me, in my life.

I discovered - I'd rather be free in a crowded concrete jungle than caged in a sprawling National Park.

Alison Is My Friend.

2009-05-03T02:18:00.000-07:00

Friendship is very important to me. I value it over and above any love relationship. Any good love relationship is firmly rooted in friendship, anyway. Women have a certain closeness in friendship. Life can be hard when you grow up female - you don't always get the same breaks a man does. You don't always get the same opportunities to take control and do as you please. It's an old saw, but it's true. It is a different world for women. So we look after each other. Women friends support each other; love each other; watch out for each other. Friends are important to us.

For me, my friendships have always been far more satisfying than any previous love relationship. I suppose the expectations are different. I am certainly more honest with my friends. They know if I am angry or fed up. My friends see the warty bits more clearly than any love interest is likely to. Certainly in the past. Ask any woman. I bet she tells you the same.

Alison is my friend. She was working in the Cash Office when I came back from America. We hadn't known each other before, but the Cash Office is a locked environment and you get to know your co-workers swiftly! We were the same sort of age. We were both women who had worked hard to be happy and found previous relationships and situations less than satisfying. We were both discovering the joys of our 40s. I liked Alison as soon as I met her. We got on. She was kind to me, too. When I had nothing - having returned to the UK with two suitcases - she gave me extra bedding so that I wouldn't freeze to death in my unheated flat. She knew I had nothing, that I was struggling, and she stepped up and made a difference. That was her nature.

Alison had been through a marriage out of which she had gained three wonderful sons. The marriage was over and Alison had found a new love, having braved the dirty underbelly of second time round dating. She had met some perfectly pleasant men, one or two useless men and one who had left her flat when she needed him the most. She then met Barry. Her Prince. One of those rare men who really understand and value a woman. He adored Alison. Alison was happy.

The 'left her flat' man was priceless. A couple of years ago, soon after she met him, Alison was diagnosed with breast cancer. She thought hard about what she would need from him in order to stay strong and fight for her life. She told him that she understood this was an impossibly hard situation for him, and if he felt he could not cope with it, could not support and love her through the battle to come, she would rather not have to cope with losing him while she was unwell. He should think about whether or not he could deal with this and make a decision. She understood. It might be something he could not face and she needed to focus on getting well. He stayed. He told her he loved her and he stayed with her. And six weeks later, while she was undergoing treatment to prevent her death, he left her. There are words for men like that and none of them are polite! But Alison survived. It was one of the things I first loved about Alison. She was a survivor!

Alison died last week.

The breast cancer returned two years after she beat it off and this time it spread. Barry has been the most wonderful strength and comfort through this battle. I hardly know the man but I love him for making Alison so happy and for being her rock while she fought again. Nothing has been a problem. She needed help at home? Fine - Barry was there. She needed to hear how well she was doing and have goals to live for? Fine - Barry told her and planned adventures to aim for. She needed to be lifted to the comode and be cleaned up when she couldn't make it? Fine - Barry could easily get up and do that without making her feel like a burden. He has been wonderful. I wish it had been enough to make her live.

I miss her. I'm so angry that she had found love, found happiness, only to have her body reject her chances to enjoy it into her old age. I'm furious that she had to suffer so much. I can think of a thousand people who would have been less of a loss to the world than Alison. I don't want her to be gone.

Today I am meeting an old friend I haven't seen for 15 years. She's driving up and we are going to drink wine and laugh a lot. I am going to tell her that I have a funeral to go to on Tuesday. I am going to tell her how much I've missed her this last decade and a half. I don't want to be angry, at some point in the future, because I missed the opportunity to let her know how important she has been, and is, to me. I didn't tell Alison. I assumed she knew it. And now I can't. She's gone.

Alison is my friend. And I miss her.

In The Beginning Was The Word............

2009-04-28T16:18:00.002-07:00

.. and the word was lost in the racket of the Big Bang. Like everything, it's down to timing!

Don't you think that starting off is hard to do? Much harder than breaking up - which I am seriously profficient at now (lose interest/patience/sanity; gather all belongings which can be carried; walk in another direction. Easy!). Harder than algebra (use a different system of symbols to represent the symbols commonly used for counting. Guess what the formula is). Harder, even, than baking a damn good roast and getting everything perfect at the same time and before everyone gets fed up and goes elsewhere to be fed. Starting off. It's hard. Where, exactly, should you start? Convention would have you 'Once Upon A Time'ing or 'In The Beginning'ing. Art likes a windy twisty road, scattered with thought provoking objects and coloured in on acid. The new literary thing seems to be to begin with the end and then leap back somewhere nearer the beginning where patterns and relationships are explained. Let's dump chronology. It's giving me a headache!

Perhaps we'll start with the why and move on to the what as it becomes necessary. I am a Modern Girl, after all!! I am prepared to risk my spine and stance with the heels and handbags current fashion requires. Dammit! I insist on risking my skeletal structure, and joints therein contained, in the name of gorgeousness!! Anyway - why I am writing a blog is quite simple, really. I think I have done a lot of interesting things; met several less (more?) than conventional people; approached the whole being alive thing from a slightly different angle, maybe, to most. A bag of contradictions (I may have mentioned - it will become obvious), I could attach any of many labels to explain who or what I am.

Domme (no leather); Witch (no Coven); Shop Girl (no shit!). I have been a Dental Nurse; an RE teacher; and a Health and Beauty products saleswoman (amongst many other things). I am a mother (mostly single - don't even start me - my child is a wonderful, stable, clever, beautiful being); a daughter (my mother and her husband have just come back from living in France, my father and his wife are touring the UK in their caravan after wintering in Oxford); a sister (my brother has a wonderfully conventional family - in comparison!); and a lover (and you might be surprised with my views on how that works - we'll get to it. Expect me to cover all my relationships in some kind of detail, as relevant - straight, lesbian and transgendered). I have lived in Hong Kong; Cyprus; Germany; New York state; and most of the South West of England. I can parallel park; make up crochet patterns; cook; iron; climb trees in high heels (I think I can still do that anyway!); and talk my way out of pretty much anything.

You know that's not the end of it. Right? We can cover the details and the glossed over facts as we go along. I hope you shall come along for the ride. Otherwise I shall be talking to myself. And they lock you up for that round here!!!