It Was One Year Ago Today ...

It was one year ago today,
Sgt. Lane joined the blog to play
She's been going in and out of style!-- But Teabag's guaranteed to raise a smile - etc etc better not use too many copyrighted lyrics...
La la la la la la la la la
So may I introduce to you
The act you've known for all this year,
Peggy Flobbins' Lonely Hearts Blog Band.....
We hope you have enjoyed the show....

One year old this week.

So, one year of blogging, 158 posts and an average of 450 'unique' visitors a week (so says that old stat counter).
I wrote about how I feel about blogging back here so I won't bore you with a repeat performance. The summary was 'Blogging enhances my day, expands my outlook and feeds my innate nosiness.' It still holds true.

The very first person who left a comment was Fiona (soon to be published!) and we've since become good friends as have other people I've met along the way. I'd just like to say thank you to all of you good people for reading and commenting. I'm glad I found the blog this time last year. Very glad.
Thank you.

See how nicely Teabag (above) poses for her blog birthday photo? See how Peggy can hardly wake up? Or maybe she's throwing you a wink.

Have a good (bank holiday if you're in the UK) weekend chaps.

Finalitea

Red Mug was distraught by Pink Mug's rebuff.
He sought counsel from Blue Tea Caddy who knows that the best way to overcome rejection is to get back on the mugly scene as quickly as possible. He advised Red Mug to drop the macho Rocky Bar act and go for something a little softer. Red Mug grabbed a Custard Cream and who should come running but Luscious Lips Mug, complete with her calorie controlled snack and impressive cup size. Red Mug couldn't believe his luck. It was like all his tea breaks and coffee breaks rolled into one.

There the story ends. Things in Tea Town are now as happy as could be after enduring kettle death, addiction, grief, dating and a series of unhealthy snacks. Tea Town is now presided over by New Cheapest Kettle On The Market who will never match Red Kettle in terms of excitement but is doing a sterling job. And so we leave them there and hope that the coffee pot doesn't break down any time soon.

Trouble inTea Town .....

The union of Pink Mug and Red Mug was not to be. Discovering that he was a recovering Tannin Addict and still grieving for Red Kettle, she decided there was too much baggage. And she flinched at his Rocky Bar.
Being a somewhat narcissistic mug, she was looking for a partner to mirror her own charms and she found the perfect match in Pink Mug The Elder. They fill their days with French Fancies, the occasional Hob Nob and Darjeeling.
Red Mug is alone again. Will this cruel rebuff send him back to the tannin he's worked so hard to kick? We'll see.

Tea Goes On...

Red Mug, so stricken by the loss of Red Kettle, almost hit the tannin again. Driven wild with grief, he started hoarding old teabags but was saved by his new love interest Pink Mug.
See how he chooses the manly Rocky Bar whilst she opts for the Iced Bun. Do you think he's dressing to impress?
I think it may be a match made in heaven and just what the teapot ordered.

I was going to ...

I was going to tell you about trying to dye my hair brown after the sun had turned it white and witchy with all the texture of dried candy floss. It is now the colour of rotting straw.

I was going to tell you about The Teenager, joining in on the change of hair colour scene and managing to get dye on the bathroom rugs, walls, mirror and ceiling. I fear she succumbed to an urge to practise a few dance moves whilst applying the potion. The room looked like she'd danced around swinging roadkill.

I was going to tell you that Peggy has developed a complete addiction to her squeaky Hamburger toy. If I don't remember to hide it at night, she wakes up just give it a little squeak. Freaky in the middle of the night as it sounds as if the life is being squashed out of a large rodent. Slowly.

But as it's Friday, I won't go into detail. I will leave you with this clip I saw on Nik's blog . If you haven't already visited him, pop over. His blog is full of useful information, links and all round good bits.
For anyone who has written a book, is trying to write a book or is thinking of writing a book (ie everyone) you might like this. I did. It's a writer called Dennis Cass talking about promoting his book. And it's funny.

Have a good weekend chaps.

Seeing Red

Time of death 6.45a.m
Cause of death - Limescale Overdose.

This was a kettle who lived fast and died young. It packed more into its short year than many do in a lifetime. Often up before six, it would be on and off the boil until the early hours. Burnout was inevitable and the pressure proved to be too much. After several stints in rehab for limescale addiction, it finally succumbed to an overdose. Its circulatory system, ruined by the hard water types that it mixed with, finally collapsed. Resuscitation at the scene was futile.

Red Kettle left no immediate family but will be fondly remembered by its biggest fans, Red Mug and Red Plate. Red Mug, himself a once a victim of Tannin Abuse but now clean, spoke for everyone when he said, 'Red Kettle will be sorely missed'.

Life's a Beach and Then You Dye

Sorry about the title but I couldn't resist. Yesterday was our first hot day at the beach. The Younger One had her bucket and spade. The Teenager had her dark glasses. We all had our picnic. The sun was bright, the boats were out and the sea was brown. There's nothing remotely attractive about the colour of the North Sea. It was windy and I burnt on the places that cream forgot so now my neck looks like it has been dyed bright red. Turkey necks are not a pleasant feature. Bright red turkey necks are even worse.

Still, The Younger One had a lovely time. She's always on the look out for heart shaped stones and shells and yesterday she found two. Result.

In other news Blogger has been locking me out of the blog with its 403 Forbidden message so if I've been quiet on your blog, that's why. I can read your post in Google Reader but can't comment - obviously. Talking of Google Reader, I know I'm late to this particular party but I spent ages loading all your blogs into it last week and now I'm not certain if it's particularly useful. Sure, you can see who's updated but it's a bit overwhelming to log on and see there are 37 new posts. The temptation is to just read them and move on but that's like standing outside your house when I'd rather be invited in. It feels very removed so I retreat to my sidebar and blog hop as I've always done. Maybe once I've got through the 37 - whoops it's now 39 posts, I'll stay on top of it. Or maybe not. It's not the end of the world. It's just blogging but when 403 Forbidden strikes, it seems so much more than that.

It's an Island. And it's a Desert.

I've been tagged by Tom Foolery to spill the beans on my desert island choices. She's even let us have a favourite meal before we go, such is her generosity. For those who don't know the programme (those of you far away from the UK) Desert Island Discs is a long running weekly radio show in which a guest chooses eight pieces of music they would take to a desert island. They can also take one book and one luxury item. If you look at the archives you may note that Yoko Ono's choice was Je Ne Regrette Rien. Stephen King's favourite record was Desolation Row, and Paulo Coelho had a U2, two Beatles and a Sinead O'Connor.
As for luxury items, Edna O'Brien chose a vault of white wine and Boris Johnson (the new Mayor of London Town) chose a pot of mustard.

Ok here goes ...the meal

1. First course - Mozzarella salad

2. Main Course - Rice, dhal, curry, pickles, chutneys, the whole caboodle.

3. Pud - Tiramisu

4. Drink -Barolo
And then I would be queasy.

1. One piece of music/song - How to choose? Ok - Like a Rolling Stone because it was pivotal.

2. One book - The Biggest Book of Short Stories on the planet.

3. One luxury item.- A never-ending notebook with built-in-never-ending pen. I don't want to end up writing in the shifting sands.

What about you? Anything special you'd care to take to your island?

So, at the end of another week - a very warm week - a week in which toes made an appearance and steering wheels got hot - I wish you an extremely pleasant weekend.

Oh and I tag Babaloo

and anyone else who fancies being a castaway.

Digging, dugging, lugging, glugging

May Day! May Day!

Actually it started on Sunday when it was so warm and bright that the garden, illuminated properly for the first time this year, showed itself in all its neglected, rampant glory.

Long grass
Weed-ridden borders
Empty, stony vegetable patch
Mossy paths with sludgy leaves
Jungley scary area
Pots filled with bits of twig

Now gardening is a conundrum. I like the idea of it but the bits I like are kneeling in genteel fashion with a trowel, planting pretties or wafting around doing a bit light pruning like they do in Desperate Housewives. The reality in my garden is back-breaking clearing, digging, lugging (and of course poo scooping).

So I digged and I dug and I had intermittent little glugs because it was a holiday weekend. I filled the wheelie bin with Sticky Weed and vines. I filled the compost bin with grass and worms. I lopped little branches off the fruit trees and liberated them from brambles, scraped moss from steps and emptied pots. I rearranged the gravel where Peggy lies to play Scuff It Up and weeded the borders where Teabag likes to play Dig To Australia. I removed chewies and odd socks from the herb patch and stood for a while, wondering what each herb was supposed to be. They seem to have mutated over winter into a 'one herb fits all' giant leafy mass. The only one I could identify was the rosemary, so out of control it could season the Lamb Festival of Great Britain and still have enough to make a tussie mussie should you feel a dose of the plague coming on.

I now have beefier arms and a garden in which there is a small window of time to play at being Genteel Gardener before it all goes mad and triffid like again. I think the moral of this story is little and often. I will heed this moral. I will.

And while I was doing all this? See photo for details.

How about you? Are you a natural born gardener or are your fingers the opposite of green - which on the colour spectrum is actually pink.

Wobbly Proficiency

The Younger One is doing her Cycling Proficiency course. Every week we have to hoik her bike into the car and offload it at the school ready for her afternoon session. She learnt to ride last summer and her bike has festered in the shed all winter. Consequently, she's still quite wibbly but very determined. In her helmet and glasses, she resembles a small cartoon character about to be shot out of a cannon.

This week they went out on the road for the first time. I'm glad I wasn't there to watch cars trying to overtake a group of thirteen 10 year olds, all in their fluorescent tabards, negotiating a 1 in 100 hill. I saw them make it back to base however - a little flock of Hi-Vi fledglings, pedalling furiously home to the nest.

Their Highway Code book is called Arrive Alive and I can't help thinking some adults would benefit from reading it. The grown up version is obviously too difficult for some drivers.

So at the end of another week, one which saw the back of April, my message to you is - May balance be good, your travelling be safe and your hills be easily negotiable.
Have a good weekend chaps.

Doodles, Dozing and Prompts.

I've been trying to think of something to write for my weekly writing group. Each week we have a prompt. Sometimes the words come instantly. Sometimes they arrive during a semi-doze. Sometimes they stall. Judging by this photo, do you think they've flowed from the brain to the page this week? Actually this was a page of doodles from last week's prompt. The page this week is too dense to photograph and frankly, a little worrying.

I think I may need a big shovel to dig a story out. Or maybe a longer doze.

More random facts washed down with cake.

I've been tagged by Sueg and Nik to list six random things about yours truly. Now I've done several of these and many of you know more randomalies than my nearest and dearest. There's always a few more bits to dig up though, so...

Now I've told you about the chicken farm, the dead Tesco man, the pregnant police thing, the sackings, and the fear of wimples and love of lip balm. Looking back a good proportion of the of the blog is actually memes. There are even memes by Teabag and Peggy.

1) Once upon a time, long, long ago, I wrote a monthly column in a national magazine. When the magazine folded, I didn't push to get into other magazines. I was stupid.

2) The Younger One was born at home. I was commissioned by a parenting magazine to write about it which I did, complete with photos of the lovely midwife eating her biscuits and watching TV. Afterwards the editor offered me another commission. He suggested a subject, talked about research, straplines, bylines and deadlines and in my post-natal haze, I bailed. I was incredibly stupid.

3) Many years ago I had a weekly stall at Convent Garden and Greenwich markets selling my 'artwork'. Most days I would barely cover costs but it was fun being a market trader. I was not a natural saleswoman and was cost-effectively stupid.

4) My first ever car was a Renault 12. It was so awful that when it died, I immediately got another one. I have always been a slow learner and mechanically stupid.

5) The dullest job I ever had was working for the gas board. I had to answer the phone and say 'Change of Tenancy. May I take your meter reading please.' I lasted six months. I could have stayed longer but I was not that stupid.

6) I am not a cooker but I can make yoghurt cake perfectly (see gingham, headache-inducing photo.) When it comes to cake, I'm not in the slightest bit stupid. Help yourself to a slice or two.



I tag Moondreamer.

On Paper #2

Some of you may remember my notebook collection
Since that post, the little posse has grown. When people know you like paper, they tend to give you paper and I have no problem with that - at all.
Here are some recent and not so recent arrivals.














Just so you know, most of the books have been filled, or almost filled because *Morning Pages fills up books pretty quickly, Therefore I still maintain I am not an addict. But .....
I can't do the rewrite in notebooks or on foolscap. I also have a problem writing straight to screen although after I last blogged about that there has been an improvement. Anyway , I have a solution and it's very simple. My problem with the rewrite was that I'm easily confused. On the screen it became too disjointed. Printed out it looked too spacey and in notebooks it was a bit chaotic. The breakthrough came in the form of a simple ring binder but an A5 one. I'm now writing about 250 words per page, both sides. It feels like a book and it looks like a book and I can remove and add pages easily. The scrawling handwriting has had to be controlled and I have to write quite slowly. I like this. It makes me think. It may sound nerdy. It may not work for long but it's kick started the rewrite which has been cordoned off behind a police line. It feels like I'm actually writing (rewriting) my own little book.

I still love my notebooks. A fresh notebook holds promise. All those blank pages just waiting to be filled with rubbish new ideas, thoughts and lovely words. I've also recently become very partial to a sharp pencil. I like the sound but I don't like the constant sharpening.

So at the end of another week - a Daubationless week- a slightly late week - my message to you is - May your ideas flow, your notebooks be full and your pencil be dangerously sharp.
Have a good weekend chaps.
********************************************************
Talking of writing, earlier this week Tom Foolery asked us to create eight-word alliterative sentences as prompts for her wonderful photos. Well, once I started I couldn't stop but she's given us this nice award so all is forgiven. The '8' is loo roll you know. An original BOGOF.


*Not necessarily executed in the morning although I know that goes against the basic premise. Dogs' bladders have no regard for writing exercises.

Things you can't explain

I've been tagged by the effervescent and cogitative Bobo to list three things I can't explain to my mother. Now this is difficult because I find it hard to explain anything to my mother but in the spirit of the tag, here goes.

1) That the world is not as scary as the newspapers make out.
2) That you're never too old to try new things.
3) That ironing is a not a pastime.

In the interests of fairness and because I feel mean now, here are three things she would probably not be able to explain to me.

1) Why an early night solves everything
2) Why swearing is not clever
3) Why musicals are good entertainment.

And here are three things I can't explain to you in public.

1) Why sometimes I feel 14 and sometimes 74
2) Why the more problematic the life, the lighter the blog
3) Why I'm being cryptic. Some of you have already had to listen to my meanderings (and thank you for your kind words). It's tempting to dive into the cleansing pool of public words. But not now. Maybe one day. Or not. We'll see.

Right, after that slight brush with real life perplexities, let's return to you . Are there things you can't explain to a family member or friend? Answers on a postcard (I collect them you know) or in the comments.
Oh and I tag Debs Karen and Denise and anyone else who wants it.

Clothes Show

The Teenager is taking her exams this term. Because of this, her school has allowed them to ditch their uniforms and wear home clothes. Now this is a) time consuming and b) expensive.

After years of putting on the same thing every day (washed obviously) and needing only clothes for the weekend, suddenly her wardrobe has had to drastically expand and she is overwhelmed by deciding what to wear.

Every evening I'm treated to a fashion show and a conversation.

What do you think of this?
Very nice. You look lovely.
But will I be warm enough?
How do I know.
Can you check the weather forecast for me?
Sure. Light shower at 3pm. 10 degrees.
But I'll freeze.
Then wear your black jumper.
I can't. I wore that on Tuesday.
So?
You can't wear the same thing twice in one week.
Who says?
You just can't.
Sigh.

So precious time is spent carefully co-ordinating five different outfits that fall safely within the guidelines as set out in the Teenage Unwritten Rules of Fashion silent manifesto . Heaven forbid a classmate should be forced to gaze upon the same shirt twice in five days. When I was your age, I want to say, I barely had five items of clothing in total, and one of those was a cagoule. However I restrain myself, smile nicely and thank the heavens that at least she's well covered. Honestly the sights you see these days - hardly a cagoule in sight.

Smashing Mugkins and Washed Planets.

I've had a smashing week. Three mugs broken. Three.
It's my own fault 1) because I'm becoming more and more clumsy and 2) because they were squadged and stacked into a cupboard so overcrowded, that the Drinking Apparatus Safety Standards Officer should have taken them into care. Removal from the cupboard required a deft hand, something I obviously lacked.
I'm an unfit guardian but very fond of my mugs. Luckily the favourites were unscathed. There's something to be said for being slightly slatternly and having them scattered all over the house.
After the third breakage in as many days, it finally dawned on me that action must be taken. I took the whole lot out but found, nestling at the back, a jar of Anthony Worrell Thompson's Onion Gravy (exp. May 2007) which had leaked causing gross squelchy stickiness further denigrating these poor mugs' living conditions. (Have never to my knowledge used Mr WT's gravy and am stumped as to how the jar got there.) Much scrubbing had to be done but the mugs are now arranged in an airy, safe environment. There's even room to add a few more. Trouble is, have you found that once you have a cloth in your hand, you just keep going. I even washed this week's half finished daubation in an attempt to give it a 'scrubbed' look.
I hope you haven't broken anything this week? And doesn't tea taste so much better from a nice mug.

Painting is Daubation#8 Washed PLaneTs - Unfinished.

And so at the end of another week, my message to you is - may your mugs stay safe, your planets be clean and your gravy be celebrity chef free.

Have a good weekend chaps.

Six Little Words and Nancy.

Back on solid food after a few days of enforced abstinence, I was gripped by a sudden yen for corned beef and cream soda. This is not my usual fayre but I think it was because I was musing about the character Nancy in Thirtysomething who I clearly remember mentioning this gastro combination. Strange how random trivia from years ago stays with you. The brain is a weird thing. So is corned beef.

I've been tagged by the very focused Debs to write a six word memoir.
Pfft, piece of piddle I thought ... and then I thunk but no words would fit. So I squashed some into a Haiku instead. The Haiku bug is a direct result of the weekend germy bug when seventeen syllables was all that could be mustered between um ...hurling breaks. Haven't quite got the hang of it yet but practise makes adequate or whatever that saying is.
Anyway.....

Upsidedown watching
Solitary sociable
Write dichotomy

I'm going to tag all of you - here in the comments (or on your blog if you prefer).
So - just six words to describe yourself - or one very long one.
Go.

The Beast of Disconnecticut

A Weekend in Haiku

Disconnecticut Haiku
Attempts are futile
Internet disconnected
Eviction complete

Sick Weekend Haiku
Raw eyes fight bright light
Empty stomach still contracts
Leaden head needs rest.

Monday Haiku
Renewed from sick bed
Back in the swing though slow but
Brighter than before.

Can you guess from these Haiku how the last few days have been? Somewhere along the Information Superhighway, men in Hi-Vi's put cones around my isp purely to amuse themselves. They laugh at their cunning as they dismiss me from the World Wide Web. We don't need your sort here, they scorn, cluttering up the web waves with your daft dogs, daubations and weekly salutations. We need more room for pornsters and scammers. Be off with you back to the Real World. But this is the Real World I whimper. My friends live here but the Hi-Vi fiends smirk at my delusion and distress, issue evil laughs and flash me their trump card - Internet Disconnected.

Then I was severed. Ok 'severed' is too strong a word. Slightly sawn by something germy. It emptied my stomach, filled my legs with jelly and my head with sawdust. I don't know what it was but I blame The Beast of Disconnecticut.

***********************************************************************************

When I finally managed to sneak back into the blog I saw that a couple of awards had landed on the mat. Babaloo has passed on this one and very nice and retro it is too. Thank you Babaloo. It's all about chatting and chatting is something I like to do on the blog. I'm passing it onto Hesitant Scribe
She likes a chin wag too.


And from The Lehners in France (oh to be in France right now) here is a nice cheery award. Thanks Lehners. I'm passing onto Babaloo, Hullaballoo, Bobo, Karen, Tom Foolery and Carol of Only in Thailand - all cheery chaps.
Right that's all, I'm still poorly and have tiredy fingers.

Peggy's Day

Very, very early - Issue strong thought transference beams to Her brain whilst standing on Her chest and staring. Eventually she opens her eyes.

Very early - Have my first recce of the garden, making sure there have been no intruders, my friends the hamsters are still buried and my Frisbee is exactly where I left it. Have long and very satisfying wee.

Quite Early - As Teabag is still asleep, I breakfast alone. Eke out this pleasure by taking each piece to my bed. I used to scoff but realised the error of this. Then go and see whose bedroom door is open and do thought transference on them too.

Early - Teabag gets her lazy arse downstairs and am forced to watch her eat. Slowly. Then we have to walk. Try to hide but haven't found the perfect place yet. We are both harnessed - Teas in her red, me in my blue.

Light time - Try to tempt Teabag to a game of sockie but she goes back to bed. Amuse myself by greeting The Man cat, giving him full facial wash and watching him eat. Unlike me and Teas, he is virtually silent. Work on my chewies, check my stash, greet very nice post lady. Sometimes there are errands and I get to go in the car and smear my nose all over the windows. Sometimes I lay and stare at Her whilst she does strange tappy-tapping or tries to throw paint at me.
There is always something to watch in the garden. At the moment it seems like every bird has their mouth stuffed with twigs. I asked Teabag why and she said they're getting ready to have babies. I don't quite understand this but Teas has had babies so I believe her. I'm sorry for Teas. She doesn't talk about her past but I know Bad Stuff Happened. Have bit of a kip in sunny spot.

Later - Stomach starts to tell me it's almost time to eat but no matter how hard I try, I can't make Her understand. Sometimes she puts something nice in my Kong toy and that keeps me going. Eventually she remembers to feed us and I'm in heaven.

Bit later - The girls come home and I always get a game. If I'm lucky it's tuggy or throwing in the garden. I will fetch until the end. Teas says I have ORD (Obsessive Retrieving Disorder). I'm a terrier. What does she expect? Croquet?

Later still - We walk again and hopefully have a right old run. Teabag is much faster than me. I think she's made of wind although they say I'm full of it.

Late - Wedge myself between whoever is on the sofa. At this time of day I'm very relaxed. Apparently too relaxed and inevitably they will start waving magazines around and generally carrying on. When they start to turn the colour of peas (very nice), I realise I may have overdone it slightly and attempt a little clench. It never works though.

Dark Time - Insist on being in bed by 10.30pm and I make sure Teabag comes up with me. I'm very strict about this. Teas burrows under a quilt because she's like a fox and I lay waiting for a rub between the eyes from Her. She does this whilst she's reading and that's it. I'm gone. Apparently then I relax even more ... but if I'm asleep, I really can't be held responsible can I?

Today's post was brought to you by my guest blogger Peggy. She thought it was about time she had her say.

Mix It Up Monday Meme.

Today I am blank-brained but busy. It's the last day of the school holidays. Tomorrow we will be clamped back in the claws of routine. I reached for a meme, always useful on days like these. This one has been doing the rounds and I wasn't going to do it as I thought it may reveal me as ... well, a tad obsessive about a certain singer/songwriter. However, once the ipod was shaken and shuffled, only a few of His masterpieces made it on the list. It could so easily have gone the other way and you would think me ... strange.

If Your Life Were a Movie…What Would the Soundtrack Be?

So, here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you’re cool…because you’re not!
7. Stick the soundtrack on your mp3 player and listen away during the day.

Opening Credits - The Only Ones -'Another Girl Another Planet'
Waking Up - The Buzzcocks - 'Ever Fallen In Love'. (appropriate as this booms up ridiculously loudly)
First Day at School - Bob Dylan - 'She's Your Lover Now' (not really appropriate, is it?)
Falling in Love - Enrique Monyoya con Paco de Lucia - Guadalquivir (Flamenco, picked up from a market stall in Nerja and very contagious)
Fight Song - Bob Marley - 'Turn Your Light Down Low' (Resisting urge to reshuffle these. It would be a very slow fight)
Breaking Up -Andreas Vollenweider - 'Water Moon'
Prom/Dance/Ball Bob Dylan - 'I Shall be Free No 10'
Life's OK - Van Morrison -'And It Stoned Me'
Mental Breakdown Bob Dylan - 'It Takes A Lot to Laugh'
Flashback -Joan Baez - 'Let It Be'
Getting Back Together - Bob Dylan - 'Positively 4th Street'
Birth of Child -James Morrison -'If The Rain Must Fall'
Wedding - Bob Dylan - 'Chimes of Freedom'
Final Battle - Joan Baez - 'Gulf Winds' (10 minutes long!)
Funeral Song - Bob Dylan - 'It's All Over Now Baby Blue' (ooh spooky)
End Credits - Bob Dylan - 'Bob Dylan's 115th Dream'

See -only seven Dylan's. Out of hundreds, that's not bad.

Tell me. Who is your favourite, favourite musiciany type person? I don't want to feel freaky all on my own. If you're level-headed and eclectic, tell me who means the most to you.

Hand Painting/Hand Writing

Thanks for all your comments on the previous post. The general consensus was to keep on keeping on, so that's exactly what I'll do. I would have done so anyway but it's always nice to get some feedback - and a bit of an ego buffing always helps too.
The hugely scientific poll yielded interesting results. 42% said I should stick to bits and pieces, 4% said I should stick to writerly things, 8% (two votes) said I should stick to Peggy and Teabag (they were gutted at this low vote and needed extra chicken to raise their spirits), 29% gave nice suggestions for 'Other' and 17% said I should stick it altogether. Either they were being brutally honest, which is fine, or getting confused with the wording.
Thanks for taking the time chaps. Next step - I may be standing in the high street with a clipboard!

This week another painting was born. And the process is getting messier. Along with the banishment of the baldy heads I've also discarded paintbrushes and palette knives. In an attempt to get the heart of the painting quickly, I've been using hands (obviously mine) directly on the canvas. Finger painting for grown-ups. Tactile, messy and fun. Peggy and Teabag have learnt to stand well back when daubation is taking place. Last time Peggy was speckled with pink paint and she let it be known (through sulking) that pink really isn't her colour and if pink stuff is going to fly about the room, let it at least be ice cream or something edible. Anyway ...I start quite calmly, putting paint on, moving it around and then scraping it off again. Inevitably, I get carried away, upping the pace until something sings, to me anyway. Music must be played throughout.

With writing it's the opposite process (see, writerly bit here). I start fast and furious, wipe out large amounts, slow down, pick over the bones and hopefully glide gracefully to the end. Try as I might, I can't write straight onto the computer screen. It feels like a barrier and I need pen and paper to attack the subject first. The finesse can be worked out on the screen but for the dirty work I need to feel the pen sliding across the page and have space to doodle. Silence needed throughout.

So my question to you today is - are you a straight to screen scribbler like those straight to wok noodles or do you need to simmer in some ink first to soften up (I have got to stop these silly analogies). Do you need silence or music?

Well the sun is shining, albeit weakly, the apple blossom is er ... blossoming and the garden is still clear of crap.

The painting is Daubation#7 Spring Garden with Crap Free Grass.


So at the end of another week, my message to you is, may yours hands be creative, your buds be blooming and your noodles be perfectly cooked.
Have a good weekend chaps.

Cohesion

It occurred to me that many writers have writerly blogs. Some are a veritable sweet shop of helpful links. Some chart the progress of their writing. Some discuss the highs and lows of the journey towards publication and beyond. I take information greedily from their blogs but I give very little back as my blog hardly mentions writing. I meant it to initially - but somehow it morphed into stories about spilt wine, dog crap and other such low brow musings. Sometimes this lack of cohesion bothers me. It is neither one thing or t'other.

It is bits. Bits of things plucked from days, sucked from mangled thoughts. It lacks cohesion but then life's not always cohesive. I use the blog mainly as a form of light relief and communication and I suppose in it's way it is a journal although it's neither intensely personal nor staunchly impersonal. I'm okay with that. I hope you're ok with it too.

How do you feel about your blog? What purpose does it serve for you? Does it fulfill your initial intentions or has it mutated and evolved?

And just for the fun of it and because I've been waiting for an excuse to try out one of these polls - here's your chance to have a say about what you'd like to read on this page.

Spring Strim

Blessed with that extra hour of daylight yesterday, it was time to tackle the grass but first I needed to don protective clothing and eye wear. The reason? The rain, combined with dogs' bottoms, combined with my laziness meant that many undetected nasties lurked in the long grass. They are supposed to go in one place. My idea of one place is a secluded corner. Their idea of one place is just about anywhere and when they've nipped outside for quick relief in the pouring rain, many times I've been too lazy to follow in their wake and collect their offerings. So they've remained hidden - and mulched.

Clad head to foot in clothes meant for the charity bag, large glasses and hat, I took a deep breath, powered up the strimmer and went for it. Now what I want to know is how can so much stuff come out of two very small dogs? I'd been far lazier and they'd been far more productive than I realised. I tell you, strimmed dog poo is more potent than anything the solid variety can offer. As I steadily became covered in wet grass and dollops of guk, The Teenager and The Younger One shouted encouragement from a safe distance. The dogs took refuge inside as it was likely I may have strimmed them too. It took an hour and then there was the raking up which took just as long and was just as gross. This was followed by the painstakingly careful removal and disposal of offending clothes and at last the welcome shower.

Now the grass is very short. Bald in places. I swear I will never let it get in that state again. In fact I may well be out there with a bag, catching those blighters before they even hit the ground.

If you look at the photo it seems that Teabag no longer has a body so my problem may be solved.

Light. And Then There Was.

The clocks will going forward this weekend. About time too. At last we'll be officially out of the winter doldrums and sailing forth into longer days. l love it when the days get progressively longer and find the build up to that long day in June quite energizing. We may lose an hours sleep but we lose the S.A.D too. Mind you, it won't be so easy to hunker down, jammie-clad, in front of the fire when it's still bright outside at eight o'clock.

I have a lot of clocks to alter. From where I'm sitting there are four clocks in the kitchen alone, not including all the built in gadgety ones. I like to hear their unsyncopated ticking whilst I'm writing. It's like a minute (that's my-newt) orchestra.

So this Friday my message to you is - may your days be light, your waistband not too tight (after Easter), and your clocks be easy to alter.

Painting is Daubation #5: Storms in Four Hemispheres.

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Thanks for all your nice comments to The Teenager. She had a lovely day and I stayed away from the blog , well only a tiny peek here and there whilst she was texting or getting ready to go out. These things take soo long you know.

She's pictured here with Peggy who didn't burn her nose on what was the second cake of the day. TheTeenager has given her permission for me to use this photo as long as I make it quite clear that it was late - hence the pyjamas. She wants it to be known that unlike her mother, she doesn't think night wear is acceptable day wear. Pfft. Give her thirty years - she'll change her tune.

Sixteen

Today I must stay away from The Blog. Today is Blog Free.
Today is The Teenager's birthday and we will be doing shopping, eating and we may even be doing bowling, all without the aid of a blog.

Quite right too.

And Teenager, if you see this, I actually wrote it yesterday, so technically I haven't been here at all.

Happy Birthday Teenager. Sixteen years ago you were a pain in the arse. You're not now. Mwah x

Easter Was ...

Easter Sunday.

Fancy a bounce?







Maybe some gardening?













Or some finger painting for me

a sofa snooze for them
and some egg decorating for the girls.
Can you guess which is me? (Clue - we're in order of age). No wrinkles!

Bendy Bodies

The Teenager no longer dances in the Giant Satsuma on Sunday evenings. Now there is ballet in a proper dance studio on a civilised evening of the week. Even better, instead of waiting in the queasy sodium glow, we get to sit in the neighbouring sports all and watch gymnasts training. This is much more fun. I lean over the balcony with The Younger One and we gaze mesmerised as they practise routines that leave you giddy.

They hurtle across the floor, twist and turn in the air, land with an almighty thud and you hold your breath whilst they pause, balance and then do that lovely arched-back salute. I have no idea of the technical terms for any of these manoeuvres. I just marvel at the feats and pray they land firmly. They double back flip off beams, swing around asymmetric bars and fly off vaults. The element of danger is palpable but they remain stony-faced and focused as they move between apparatus with that slow duck-like walk, pausing only to re-dust their hands with whatever that white stuff is. I tell you, it's enough to make you want to don a leotard and practice your roly polys. Almost.

I admire their dedication. It takes phenomenal focus and strength of mind to train at that level and to push for perfection. Now if I could just apply a fraction of that to writing I might just get somewhere. So now, after I'