Not Quite a Recipe

Its been years, I mean that must be something like twenty or thirty years since I made it.  The kids would have been at school.  I am of course talking about macaroni cheese, its so long since I cooked it I wasn't sure I remembered the recipe not that a little thing like that holds me back following recipes is not something I've ever been known to do properly.

**Macaroni cheese has been on my mind for the last week or so d'ye see.  Its an easy meal to make even without a recipe and considering the cost of groceries its not very expensive at all.

This evening I decided tonight would be the night.  I hadn't bought anything particular for it but who doesn't have pasta and cheese in their house?  I put the pasta to boil, grated the cheese, strong cheddar then  I grated an onion, put some cream in a pot added garlic and stuff* and put it on to bring it to a simmer.

The pasta and sauce were done at about the same time all I had to do was layer the pasta, cheese and onion into the dish, pour the sauce over all and put it into a preheated oven for about half an hour. The thing about macaroni cheese is that by the time you put it in the oven all the major ingredients are cooked its a question of letting the cheese and in this case onion melt and blend into the sauce and the macaroni and that to me is very much up to individual taste.

I almost forgot the salad!  I always have a small salad and this one was quite ordinary so I needn't have mentioned it but if I'm going to talk about recipes I have to mention the salad I always have with a meal.  I don't often have a starter or pudding but I do always have a side salad.

I don't think I could honestly recommend macaroni cheese for every day or even week but every couple of months or so is about right.  I hope I don't forget and leave it another twenty years.  I doubt I have that many left!  Its so easy!  You can mess about with it adding whatever spices or sauce you fancy and you get this very tasty and filling meal.  Loved it!

* I shouldn't have lumped almost everything as stuff!  No, I won't give the full recipe but it occurs to me that I should give at least a proper idea.  So, I used garlic, I said that!  And a bay leaf, I always use bay leaves they add so much, but remember to take them out when you've finished cooking.  I added a little mustard, not much I'm not a fan of mustard.  And that's it.  No flour or butter and I always use cream not milk it may not make much difference to anything except the way I think of it but the way I think of it is all that counts when its all for me.

**Aaand.  I want to add although you probably know that you don't need to use macaroni to make macaroni cheese any pasta will do I used the spiral ones this time and I think they work better than skinny ole macaroni.

Relatives coming to lunch this week I think I'll make it again with salad.  Yes?

Budget Day

I missed todays budget, not that watching the damn thing like a hawk would have made any difference to my life but I would like to know how much its going to cost me and I know in advance that it is going to cost me. At a guess I'd say increases on booze, fags and paye, benefit cuts will almost certainly include jsa, medical cards and care and perhaps some other areas.  I just can't decide if I'm eager to find out the worst or if I should have a glass of wine while I still can.

Its been such a lovely day I had to go to town the gardener was due and budget or no he has to be paid.  I also had to go out for a short time earlier this evening and it was a joy! Seldom do we get such lovely clear evenings, when I got back I couldn't resist spending a minute or two in the garden with the dogs and cats.

Time now to spend what's left of the evening doing subtraction.

Olly

Olly is much better today thanks for asking but last night was very worrying.  He was sick, clearly that's not his fault but he was so ashamed!  I think his guilt made it much harder for him.  He wanted to go into the garden so I let him out, this would be between say 1 and 1.15am. After about ten minutes or so I opened the door to call him, Jezzie ran in but there was no sign of Olly.

I left the door open thinking he would try to slink in unnoticed, did I mention its quite cold in the small hours now?  He didn't.  Torch in hand I went into the garden and peered everywhere.  I couldn't see him.  I went to the back door opened it and again went out to try to see him. He was nowhere to be seen. I left the back door open and returned to the front to see if had materialised there. He had not. Now I left both doors open, it was really quite chilly, and settled to wait.

At about 3am Olly reappeared shivering even more than when he first went out.  I locked all the doors and settled for a night on the sofa watching him.  At about 5am he climbed onto the back of the sofa and let his paw dangle just above my head.This is his favourite alpha male position.

I knew he was feeling better.  He is not a young dog and cocker spaniels are not known for their longevity, but he is much better today and so therefore am I.

Cronetalk is a State of Mind

I don’t want to become suspicious of peoples emotions or their emotional motives that’s a whole other world from common or garden greed and criminality.  Psycho is one thing there are no emotions so its a kind of permanent stand alone thing even if the psycho doesn’t think so.  There may be some, probably many, who have no idea they are psychopathic they can't see it for them their behaviour is normal and that's frightening. 

Actions caused by strong emotions are very different.  As far as crime is concerned: if a crime is committed there is a case to answer which I think is separate from the emotional reason for committing it although the reason may be taken into consideration if it gets to court.

If there is no crime but there is emotional overload I don’t want to be the one who says stop being silly; you’re on your own. Some may be strong enough to deal with the sense of isolation others almost certainly won’t.

The coward in me wants to run at the mere hint of someone in emotional depths; what could I do?  But there is another part of me that says the least you could do is listen.

Yesterday a woman,  she looked about the same age as me, but even more intellectually challenged than I am approached me to tell me how much she liked my hair.

Can you imagine?  No of course you can’t.  I had left my hair down something I rarely do when I go out, its way past my shoulders now thick and wavy and half a dozen colours all of them mine.  I thought it looked like a gray hell she thought it looked lovely and actually stopped me to say so. I smiled and who wouldn't? I could have brushed her off with less than a sentence some I've no doubt at all would, but for why?  Instead I slowed we chatted for a bit, this lovely childlike woman changed my mood and my day. .

I never want to be the one who rushes by.

---

If someone lied, again, should I call him out it would be easy or should I think of my three good friends two dead one permanently grieving?  I will not take suicide less than seriously if others choose to play another of their sick little games with it that's their choice.  It says quite a lot about them.

Biddy Early 1798 - 1874

An artists impression of Biddy Early with the bottle she was said to always carry with her.  One of Irelands most famous witches although she is very unlikely to have called herself a witch.  Biddy was a healer and much respected, she worked with herbs and natural remedies.  She was also clairvoyant.  Biddy was charged with witchcraft but the trial collapsed when no witnesses would testify.  She was taught by her mother who died when she was sixteen.  Biddys world was one where most people could neither read or write, she like so many was never taught.

She was not known to belong to a coven, through her long life she continued as all witches must to teach herself.    She was charged with witchcraft but the trial collapsed when no witnesses would come forward.   Biddy married three times and had one child a son.   Biddy appears to have paid no attention to the church or any other authority.  In almost every way she was exactly the kind of witch we all strive to become.

Apart that is from the drinking, two husbands dead apparently from drinking too much alcohol, which is not as surprising as it sounds to us now,   Biddy lived at a time when barter not cash was the main means of exchange among poor people.  Hers was a world of small gifts for service and many of those gifts were whisky and poteen.....

This is not intended to be a strict analytical account that would bore me.  This is a small tribute to an amazing woman respected among her community and clearly very much of that community.

Respect

My Fault!

So okay I weakened I admit it I am not a strong individual.  I give in to weakness, to sad looks and soppy kisses particularly when they're from her.

She is elderly now, not strong, a fragile creature with teeth problems.  I swear coming and going we all get teeth problems I don't know why they were ever invented.  She is old skinny and fragile and I weakened, but however weak and soppy I may be, I told my relative when we went shopping that I was not going to cook it for them. No! I was being firm I bought ready cooked chicken in four easy to pull apart pieces.

She is currently purring into the radiator which I thought I might as well switch on this being the time of year when however clammy the days the nights can get chilly and an elderly cat feels the cold.   She is wrapped around the radiator purring like a pneumatic drill and doubtless dreaming of chicken,  Its really surprising how, considering she can only lick in a very disdainful way at her own multi vitamin proper cat food, she yet manages to chew quite large chunks of chicken, she was too greedy to wait while I chopped it into bite size pieces,

The only problem with buying her chicken is the other four insist on  having their share.  Its expensive and time consuming and Olly was so excited waiting for his turn he forgot to bark.   She has been the subject of some debate today.  I say she is eighteen I mean she's my cat I should know!   My relative says she's nearer twenty.  I don't want to think about that, twenty and chicken may not be entirely unconnected.

I'm fine with it.  I am!  I have five well fed animals and herself is happy.  Of course I still had to buy all the regular cat and dog food, they don't look upon chicken as a proper meal.  Its a snack.   I've had enough I'm finishing with this subject right here besides they're all waiting for me to go into the kitchen.

Shit Happens...

I like Bournemouth, the people there were old when I was young. Got a decent beach too, I got sunburned there once. I think if I was giving a false address I would give Sandbanks, unless of course you actually live there, but even then. Oh well perhaps its sheer coincidence. Again.  Bournemouth, its not a bad place to live, better to be on the edge of the town  rather than stuck in the middle of it.

 High on the cliffs there's an old house with a big garden. Its a relic of other times. If you look up you can see, under the eaves, tiny, airless windows where the servants used to sleep. If you go down the stairs you will see the old kitchens where the staff worked from dawn until the master said it was bedtime.

The house has other windows long, gracious, staring sightless into forever. The master bedroom, a huge room seeming to spread from one side of the house to the other has a built in closet. Sometimes if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of rustling, clothes? At other times you could swear you hear the sounds of a stifled giggle or smothered snarl...

Its midnight, a full moon rides the world and the old house appears to sway in the summer breeze. A shutter is hanging open and the sound of wood hitting stone echoes through the garden and off the cliff. The trees, a welcome shade during the day, at night become gaunt twisted arms reaching for the unknown. In the distance you hear the cry. Instinctively you turn, no, it can't be, not a banshee, not in Bournemouth...

The sound changes becomes a mournful howl in the night. Is it a dog no, surely its more like a wolf? The impossible thought is too close to the lost, sorry sound to be easily dismissed. How likely is it that one of the oldest, most feared creatures may be out in the big old garden on this clearest of moonlit nights?

The history of the werewolf is interesting, for three weeks out of four your average werewolf is the most peaceful, apologetic of creatures: urbane, sophisticated he wouldn't dream of cocking his leg on someone else's lamp post, but come the fourth week the moon rises and the howl spreads across the wolfs territory. You try to comfort yourself with the thought that when howling the werewolf is not actually killing. Unsurprisingly it doesn't help much.

The unaccustomed noise has sent icicles of apprehension dripping down your spine, and now with heightened senses, you notice there are other worrying sounds. The almost but not quite footsteps, the scraping, clawing at the door. Is it possible someone knows what a handle is but not how to turn it? You rush to close the shutter and can't fail to notice the silhouette flooding across what had once been a lawn, surely its very large for a dog? and are dogs claws so long and crooked? And, surely as hunched as it is, its standing on its hind legs? How many dogs walk upright?

You make sure all the doors are locked and barred, sure nothing's getting in here tonight. In the closet the noises are different, a shift change? Little things shiver across your mind: Can the closet be opened from the inside? Is it possible there's a passage from the closet to the garden? Or are you mistaken, did the sound change to a pathetic Baa? Perhaps its not real people, could it be an entire flock of sheep are in there? How cosy...(Werewolves are shape shifters. They can do sheep)

In the garden a black cat stares at the moon, ears twitching and tail swishing at the sounds from the house. Unperturbed by the wolf it settles under a tree to watch the deliberate approach and the unprovoked attack. If you look closely you can see a tiny mouse trapped and wriggling in the cats paws.

A werewolf, in Bournemouth? How too, too Gothic. And, WHAT?



First Posted:-  19/11/2012  Thought I'd give it a little dusting and airing today

Office Junior me

cronetalk

http://www.123rf.com/photo_12012828_this-is-an-antique-old-fashioned-black-telephone-switchboard-with-plugs-connectors-buttons-and-switc.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telephone_switchboard

http://www.britishtelephones.com/ericsson/n117.htm

I brought these here because they were a huge part of my early working life. In an office they would simply be known as switchboards often abbreviated to 'boards'. As far as I know the technical name for them was PBX (private branch exchange). The biggest multi person boards were called 1A Lamp you would find them in the GPO, later to become BT.  Large companies and local authority offices also used 1A lamp boards.. PBX  10 x 50 or double the size with say a maximum of two operators would be the usual kind of system in most small to  medium offices.

I started work as a junior, the lowliest position in office work.  It was my job to make tea, run errands, do the filing,  take the blame and operate the roneo, anyone else remember them?  A roneo was a kind of printer you typed whatever onto a prepared, kind of grease proofed plastic sheet, attached the sheet to the roneo and ran off as many copies as necessary.  As a junior I would also if I was lucky get to type anything the secretaries would let me,

Junior was a time honoured position, most secretaries even if they went to college started off shadowing more senior staff. Today the position is possibly filled by interns working for nothing and if it is its a disgrace.

I didn't mind being a junior.  I liked running errands it got me out of the office, making tea was easy and I could make mistakes in my typing, if I had done so in later years I have no doubt I would have been sacked, even I would sack me! And I loved the switchboard.

I really did love those big old beasts of machines, if you pulled the cords right there was a very satisfactory twang if you were in a bad mood, and it was amazingly easy to listen into the telephone calls if anything exciting was happening which unfortunately in my experience never was.  You know what kind of excitement would there be?   The occasional office affair, well yes, but they’d hardly need to make phone calls would they besides everyone knew the old switchboards could be leaky things with anything personal.

No one stays office junior for ever you either leave and get a senior job or you stayed and got a promotion the problem with staying was there are relatively few jobs in small to medium companies where being promoted feels any different.  I changed jobs often for a couple of years and then settled for routine.

Anyoldhow it seems looking back as though one day there were these wonderful highly polished wooden machines with long cords that sprang back and forth and made music and the next there was a much smaller plastic box with no character and the cords had been replaced by switches.

The new boards were actually not much different to the lovely old ones, they were just smaller but there was one advantage, if it could be called that, people could now make their own calls, dialing nine would get them an outside line and off they would go.

I don’t recall caring or even noticing when the old PBXs went.   I was probably too full of shit to admit missing them but looking back?  I loved those machines and I missed the humanity of them but mostly I think I missed the feel of the hub of the office

If you wanted an ‘outside line’ you asked the board.  If you wanted someone called you asked the board and if you wanted to gossip you stood at the switchboard and chatted in low voices picking up, dropping and rejoining a conversation whenever the board stayed quiet!  The switchboard was kind of where the whole office came together.   I miss them

Natural Born Witches?

I wrote this as an answer to someone on pagan discussion board.  It's what I and in a way what I hope all practitioners of the craft believe.  I brought it here, as poor as it is, because I like it.

I don't know if you're a natural born witch or not how could I?   All I can tell from this post is that you've not given a shred of evidence.  There was a time when I thought it best not to tell someone if I doubted their veracity.  Why if they didn't hurt me would I attempt to hurt them?

I have since learned that not saying something can be judged as much as anything we do say.  I can't tell if you're a natural born witch but I hope you are because its obviously a huge part of your faith in yourself and we all need to have faith in ourselves.   

What none of us should do is judge others and find them lacking if either they are not or can't prove that they are naturals, that is just a form of class or caste system.   No witch needs or should have to become expert on mythology to be a witch; its not called mythology for nothing. 

Belief in the ancient Gods and Goddesses is not proof of being a witch nor is being Wiccan or being Satanist. I have in the past read umpteen books about witchcraft and various different faiths but though they may have been part of my learning process they were not the core of it.

Obviously I do still read about the craft and what I suppose must be called polytheism but now I'm more likely to be selective choosing to research something I may have heard or read either in a book or online further, not to prove or disprove any point but out of interest and in order to gain understanding.  Imo no witch should ever claim to be an expert on the craft we are all always learning.  

I might decide to cast a spell for something and decide I actually don't like the ritual I've worked out for myself in which case I might check my books and online to see if there is something that suits me better.  If its available and a witch likes it I see no reason why s/he shouldn't make use of it and if something is made public the author/owner of the spell is making it available and therefore can have no objection.

Since it appears to mean a lot to you I hope you are a natural born witch.  It doesn't mean much to me personally I accept us all and providing there is no harm to me take a very relaxed attitude to the beliefs of others or how they came to the craft.

---

I should add that if there is one faith I do have a problem with its Satanism its a construct of Christianity the upside down cross etc based on Christian beliefs.   I suppose its not really a problem the beliefs of others are nothing to do with me, but I am sceptical of Satanism or rather I instinctively distrust and dislike it.   No obvious reason but does there need to be, hmm?

---

Another thought of mine, actually a response to some silly little upstart on another discussion site:

DeleteDeleteAccountants, are the rest of ye lawyers by any chance?  What you're saying is that some parents teach their children to add up which leads us naturally to the fact that some parents teach their children to be witches.

Its all possible.  I disagree with you about spell casting to cast a spell accurately and powerfully requires a lot of concentration, learning and practice.  I don't want to cast a spell for something and find out my family, the neighbours and the cats pajamas have got it too. I hope you are a good accountant.

I find it irritating that some of us are so dismissive of the genuinely held beliefs of others, what they're actually saying is:  "You can believe anything you want but if you believe X you're nuts and not too clever either".   Who gave them or anyone the right to judge?  Harm none is part of the Wiccan rede there is nothing wrong with it, all it does is tells us all to be pacifist in all our dealings.  I don't consider myself bound by it but nor do I consider it harmful or dictatorial, basically it pretty much mirrors my own attitude so I even at times quite like it and certainly have no problem quoting it as one of my own beliefs if I think the occasion merits it.

This idea of natural born witches does interest me and yes I do think its possible, I believe we all have magic in us, being a witch is more than magic and takes a long time to learn or understand, or at least that is my opinion, others may and some definitely do, disagree.  

Liam Adams = Guilty

Has been found guilty of sexually abusing his daughter Aine starting when she was aged five.   I've written about this case previously and I may add links but I'm not sure I should Aine is free now.  She is as she herself said beginning her life at forty and who would want to spoil that beginning by reminding her of the details she wants to forget.   I'm not suggesting for one minute that Aine or anyone of her family or friends would read this only that what I condemn in others I can't in honesty produce here.

Its not necessary to use the facts to further condemn Adams he will be sentenced on the details already known. Maybe his family will stick by him.  If I were his daughter I might not but if I were his brother I would consider it my duty, and to be fair its not possible to stop loving someone we carry on regardless I hope the Adams family do rally round.

Its been said that Liam Adams father was himself an abuser and obviously the impression is that Liam and/or other members of his family were abused, they will know and I hope if its true that will enable them to offer Liam some understanding.  Its hard not to be angry and maybe smug but Liam Adams grew up in a very strange household and we should all think on that before condemning him utterly.

Gerry Adams snr is said to have been a very unpleasant person I feel sorry for his wife and children.   I think they may have suffered in silence for years partly because its what families do, partly because their family is one of those steeped in the ugly roots of the IRA and also because as Gerry jnr rose to prominence it must have been or felt impossible to even raise the subject.

Oops

First and undeniable fact:  there are not multiple genders that is a physical impossibility we are all either one of the two genders.  It seems though that some people for physical, psychological or emotional reasons find the two genders confusing sometimes because there are problems from birth and sometimes because later influences cause them to become misaligned.  

There is nothing whatsoever wrong with individuals exploring the possibilities of their own and the opposite gender but the idea that there are more than the original two is nothing, can't be, but the wishful thinking of those suffering the insecurity of indecision, there is nothing wrong with exploration or uncertainty its likely that those who explore and/or are unsure are in a way healthier individuals than those who never question.

So nothing wrong with exploration, education or confusion at all, and these days after centuries of often self inflicted but mainly religious denial no one cares if a man longs to dress as a woman or vice versa.  No one cares if a man wants to become a woman or vice versa. No one cares if men want to have sex with men or women with women,   Marriage is still a problem but those who object to same sex marriages are declining in number and that is healthy and as it should be.

The problem, if there is one, may very likely be that those who have doubts are unsure of their identity.  Its not possible to forge an entirely new identity we are all the product of our genes, environment and upbringing and those are the ties that bind us far more securely than any ball and chain. Its a question of acceptance not the acceptance of others but of ourselves.  We are who we are and within the law we experiment and today after centuries of mostly religious hindrance no one really cares anymore, except perhaps there maybe opposition to change in some individual families, but that like so many family arguments is something that must and can only be solved within the home.

What is beginning to irritate me however is nothing to do with individuals but rather what has become the essential 'vice versa'.   We have to say it.  It shouldn't be necessary, very few members of the public, even less than those who are transgender, care, but the vociferous and continual nagging of a tiny minority have ensured that we must all repeat the same mantra.

Frankly and to use an old and unquestionably sexist colloquialism:  It gets on my tits.    

Concentrate!

Its been awhile since I studied.  I was going to start a course at Uni but found I couldn't get to quite a few of the subjects, I mean that literally, and had very reluctantly to withdraw, there are real advantages to living in a city!

I wasn't going to mention anything about this but my mind kept wandering back to ninety.  I mean its not a bad or difficult number.  If you get to ninety years most of us would consider that pretty good.  Ninety minutes is about the low average length of a film, and if its a film that interests us we usually consider it not long enough.   Being stuck in traffic ninety minutes can seem like the length of time itself and at the end when we finally escape we're often pretty explosive.

The average attention span can be as little as twelve or even eight seconds!  Can you imagine that? The Thing is I can't it seems impossibly quick to be able to absorb anything beyond the usual and oft derided first impression. I'm a great believer in first impressions.  Not for final cast in stone decisions but for that first glimpse of a character?  I wonder if we ever really change our mind I think maybe not or not entirely.

Our attention span obviously varies from the total absorption in something we enjoy and will remain fully engrossed to the end, to the stunned horror of something we totally oppose but will watch often in horrified fascination to the bitter end,  but that kind of hatred is also attention grabbing and holding so perhaps they are the same: the old 'love/hate' being the opposite sides of the same coin thing, but mostly our attention span flits like a butterfly landing than fluttering off in many and varied directions.

There are for eg. a few people who read this blog, now most of them are family and friends and whilst I think they probably take the time to read it rather than simply click and go I doubt they spend much of what might be called concentrated attention on it.  Probably all they do is skim the surface and to be fair that is probably the way I write most of the posts here to be read.  All are fairly short often remaining on top of rather than going deeply into the subject.  This is deliberate I don't like the idea that anyone would think I'm trying to sound like an expert and if I go all long winded and pontificational I'm kind of afraid I might give the very impression I want to avoid! Then again I'm actually not that much of an expert on anything.

Possibly the one subject we, including me, are all experts on is our own attention span and most of us being the kind of people who make up the 'average' person are therefore by default the kind of person who should know about attention spans in general, if not in an academic or analytical (spit) fashion then certainly in the much mocked 'I know what I like' one.

Ninety minutes is not a long time but it can seem like it.  Can you imagine sitting stone cold conscious in a dentist chair for ninety minutes?  I really can't, not without general anaesthetic anyway.   Similarly I can't imagine sitting through an entire live performance at the theatre if I dislike the subject, the performance or consider the acting, structure, or crucially the writing, to be inferior.  I may not be an expert at anything but I know what I like!

Power point is a boon to teaching, sales and entertainment but anyone who gives a power point display lasting ninety minutes, that's ninety minutes that will never be refunded out of a life by the way, is pushing his or her luck. Power point is not intended to be the kind of riveting stuff that holds our attention for a length of time in what is really in terms of education quite long most classes only last an hour or so.  Or perhaps its me I think of power point as intended to brush the surface and whet our appetite for more research or other study. Personally I think of it as a kind of advert for further research or maybe go out and buy the object, book or whatever.

In the real world people on a day trip on what is meant to be a relaxing Saturday may not want to find they've lost a whole ninety minutes!   on the for eg. ancient Greeks or whichever nationality you prefer.  Its asking a lot as is the presumption that all visitors go to a place because they are deeply fascinated most probably go out of curiosity, curiosity if not handled carefully can have the same attention grabbing advantage as the all too well known goldfish.  The other and really most important thing to keep in mind is competition, what else is going on in your field?  I write a blog and even though its deliberately mostly not advertised and private it is still and by default in competition with all the, presumably, millions of blogs out there.

Years ago a good friend of mine, really true and name withheld out of respect, would relate fascinating histories of the ancient Greeks. Whilst the audience were watching whichever opera or ballet some of us staff would be sitting in the foyer drinking coffee and listening to him.  He died of AIDs and his expertise, which is always particular to the individual, died with him.    I've probably forgotten most of the things he told us but what will always be with me is my surprise at finding a member of the catering staff, coffee bar, was such an expert.  My reaction, both patronising and snobbish became a lesson to me never to jump to conclusions about people, someone who wears an apron for a living may very well be an expert in a great deal more than coffee!  And yes, he held our attention, was a very interesting, informative and educational raconteur.

We're all the same when a subject interests us we take the time to listen but that time is rarely given in ninety minute packages.  More like a half hour here an hour there and follow ups on the bus or train to work or school.   Do take the time to think about attention span, Saturdays, and people wanting to cram as much into their 'spare time' as possible.

I could have filled this post with statistics I did check and those I give are as I read them, and as accurate as the article I read, but if I formally added them here what purpose would it serve?   I've not written this to cover the subject in either great depth or particular statistical accuracy but rather to skim it as we do most things. We acknowledge them with the glance and if sufficiently interested our glance becomes a longer look and then, perhaps, an in depth study.

How much time did you have to spare and how much of that precious time did you devote to this post.  Its taken me about three quarters of an hour to write, that's forty five minutes I won't see again!  I've a cat either side of me and both dogs at my feet they need my attention, in fact they are demanding it!  So maybe, just maybe, I've written this as a wee bit of a lesson to those who have the odd and very rare, five minutes from busy lives to spare, do others the courtesy of acknowledging in advance that they too have busy lives to lead.

Hair Raising

I think I must confess that I'm having what might be called, and indeed what I have been known to call others:  A Bad Hair Day, and believe me when I tell you every capital letter is justified.

My hair is long, its also wavy, very defiantly wavy.  In an ideal world I would have a live in hairdresser, short of winning the lottery it ain't ever gonna happen, I must tolerate my hair as best I can and I do but not often with either a smile or anything that could be described as humour.

It is long.  It can't decide if it is gray, brown, near black or white and it arrived at this lack of decision all by itself.  Once I wanted to see what my natural colour, after so many years of bleach and other expensive whatnot, looked like.   Now I know it looks as indecisive as the rest of me.

Usually now that its long I can pin it up in a not unattractive pile and go off doing my thing with hardly a care. Not so today for some reason I can't get it into its pile.  I just can't.  Its down my back, around my shoulders and were it not for strategically placed hair pins in my eyes.

Such is my distress I am seriously considering a trip to the hairdressers but not today, today I have to meet a friend in town and by the time I'm finished trying to control my hair it will almost certainly be well past closing time and getting on for chucking out time in the pubs, that's if I don't chicken out altogether and hide in here for the rest of the millennium.

Do You Ever

Do it?  Talk about money I mean, for a long time I've consciously avoided any mention of it except in the most careless and dismissive way, as if money doesn't matter, well we all know that's a lie!

I suppose it was inevitable that I would grow weary of the pretense I'm like everybody, there are things I need and can't afford, things I wish for and can't afford, people I would love to help and can't afford.   So kinda typical of everyone and I'm bored and becoming contemptuous of my cowardice, because that's what it is when we pretend our world is other than it is.

Such pretense is usually made worse because we're not pretending to ourselves we're pretending to anyone who may pass by, as if they are important.  Fuck that. You know I never swear except when I'm on the internet and that's another thing that's beginning to bother me!

Oh, I'm not saying I'm poverty stricken!  Far from it but I'm the same as all of us and there is as I grow older and slightly breathless, anxiety about those I love and can't help, and about the things I consider important and can't afford.  Once it would not have bothered me at all, which in itself was a mistake money should bother all of us, but back then there was always the availability of more, work longer hours, get another job and so on.   It was, well, I suppose it was normal.

Not any more, now I want to keep my home here and return to England.  I can always go back for holidays and stay with friends and relatives but I can't live independently there not as easily as I would like. Its not about the cost of property although that's obviously a consideration its more about running two homes, gas and electricity would have to be paid for two houses, maintenance would have to be done for both, and of course all and increasing govt charges would have to be paid for both.

So not a big deal just the difference between what a working person thinks is possible and what a retired person thinks of the same situation.   I'm not complaining but I've grown tired of what was feeling like a lie is all.  If I'm broke one month because of for eg...the piggin household charge or a household problem I want to be able to say so honestly and not pretend that such expenditure doesn't affect me.

I'm bored with pretending I don't worry about money or that I don't covet, actually I covet a lot just not my neighbours wife...And, whilst not flat broke I have all the money worries shared by many people of my age and younger here in Ireland

Antinous

Is there any evidence to suggest that Antinous didn't for eg commit suicide?   What was he but the plaything of a great man and much of  that man, Hadrians, subsequent actions could conceivably be categorized as remorse. The lad Antinous appears to have been a gentle, loving soul who lived a blameless life and died as so many of us do too soon.

Interestingly there is no evidence to say he didn't commit suicide.   All that is certain is that he drowned in the Nile on the same day, 24th October, as the local villagers were commemorating Osiris.  At the time there were rumours of murder or even that Antinous committed suicide to protect Hadrian, just plain drowning doesn't seem to have been given much credence.

I don't know but from all I've read, and I've read a fair bit, if written by what might be described as heavily biased opinion, there is no certainty around Antinous death but equally no apportioning blame, except I wonder if Hadrian maybe blamed himself.  

And then I thought what if it was a crime of passion?   Hmm what if the passionate person had this time been Vibia_Sabina?  Hadrians wife.   I can't be sure but I definitely lean toward the idea that whatever the men thought or to this day think wives and girlfriends take a somewhat different view of affairs and when that affair is with someone of the same sex?

Yep I can see a passionate response there right enough, but maybe not, maybe the marriage was one of convenience, they were cousins and such marriages would be common enough more a joining of wealth and power than lovers plighting their troth.  Perhaps extra marital affairs meant nothing to VIbia, maybe Antinous death was just an accident, they do happen.

It's possible to go to a dozen maybe a hundred sources, all of them will be more expert than I, but I chose this one they generally know what they're about:

http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/themes/leaders_and_rulers/hadrian/life_and_legacy.aspx

The signs were there from the beginning, remember?  I didn't think it necessary or advisable to say anything then you chose to open another closet door, why was that I wonder? Beltaine ring any bells...

No More!

Right!  That's it I've made a decision:  I'm not going to buy chicken again, ever.  Its not worth it and its not as if I like it that much.  This week I bought chicken for the first time in a couple of years, that doesn't include the precut pieces of chicken I buy for herself.   This is proper chicken what you cook in the oven.  I always roast chicken/turkey with butter not oil or lard so there is another reason not to buy it.

Aaanyhow, being eager for some roast chicken I cooked the first piece on Tuesday evening and I've been paying for that little mistake ever since.  Olly has decided to up sticks and camp outside the fridge door and herself has decided she won't eat the tasty, and expensive, chicken bits I buy just for her, apparently the chicken bits are not as moist, nor do they have the jelly that properly roasted chicken develops when its put in the fridge.

My life is a shambles it revolves around which tasty little morsel herself might fancy closely followed by which less favoured bit might be counted upon to pacify the rest of them.   I didn't eat much of the chicken.  The thing about cooking for five is that by the time you've fed the other four you're actually not hungry and in fact food of any description tends to look a bit, well, nauseating...I would say vomit inducing but sure we all know where that led.

Club Members Only

I recall the 'peoples peers' introduced by Tony pathological liar Blair in the early days of his premiership.  It was intended he said to bring real people into the Lords.  Yep, all us oiks were going to get the opportunity to apply to become peers and speak for the people.   I think the payment for such arduous duties was then £100 per day just for turning up plus of course expenses.

The first selection was announced and you guessed it it was packed to the beams with those who have never had their grubby little paws out of the public purse.  Yet another lie nailed.

I was reminded of this little PR success earlier today when I noticed that Jacqui Smith, former labour minister has been chosen to become Chairman of University Hospitals Birmingham NHS Trust.   Another nice little earner.....

Adorable

Adorable and, totally believable.

Game of Thrones

I like this so apt.

Always

When I was a little girl I loved beads and jewels, in those days the jewels were plastic or glass it didn't matter to me I loved them anyway and had long rows of what we used to call pop beads, they were plastic beads that clicked together.

I made daisy chains of both real and plastic daisies.  I had glass crystal pendents and fools gold necklaces and bracelets I made brooches of flowers and garlands for my hair.  

All my life if it glittered I would see it and I have discovered that age hasn't changed me a bit.  I love gemstones and as with everyone the years have taught me to be a little discerning but I still love pop beads and daisy chains too.

I Can do it if I Feel Like it

It was from another place.   It was quick, about five minutes if that.   Some might say its no good, but they would say that if I found an unpublished sonnet by Shakespeare and called it mine.

It reads young and I think that has become part of me, once it was an experiment trying new words see how they felt.  Now I notice I do it all the time on this blog and elsewhere.  I think perhaps its a form of defense keeping everyone from the real me.

It was an exercise I wanted to see if I could do it and sure it lacks the hearts and flowers of some but it doesn't need to be good it was an attempt to find out if, after reading so many written by others, I could even get close.

I think I got close enough.

Clearing Space

I've been not exactly busy, preoccupied is the right word I think.   I'm sorting through old clothes, I have wardrobes full of  clothes so its a pity I hardly ever change from my routine selection.  Or that's what I decided, time to make some changes I thought,  time to have a clear out thought I.

Time to be ruthless and get rid of some stuff.  I mean there are naked people in a desert somewhere dangerously exposed to the elements and obviously desperate for one of my old dresses.

The thing is I can talk about it, I can write about it and I can even say it out loud, but I can't do it.  Not without standing for an hour, or so it feels, clutching a not very important skirt as though it held deep emotional and psychological significance just for me.

I'm a hoarder the fact that no item of clothing I have is more or less important than anyone elses  is neither here nor there I'm certain deep in my bones that if I throw anything out I will as soon as its hanging in Oxfam have a desperate need for it.

Let me tell you about the blouse I've had since the seventies, very fine cotton, floral with bell sleeves, and those long collars you don't see anymore, its bound to be needed one day probably the same day it will fit me again.

I went to the trouble of moving the buttons on the sleeves so the cuffs were properly tight so I did.  Fuckit I'm not giving it away its obviously far too important, and only think whoever I gave it to might wear it once and throw it away.  The very idea!

Its not as if I'm not generous I give money easily, I've given a lot of my jewelry, well I had to even I couldn't ram that many rings onto my fingers as for ear rings and necklaces I don't wish to be reminded.  I miss each and every one and happy I am to know they've all gone to good homes.

So I'm doing it.  I am!  Slowly methodically and to say the least reluctantly.  I might if I work hard and maintain resolution fill a whole bag of clothes by sometime next week or maybe next year.

Found Elsewhere

Some rhymes 

Tell the truth and shame the devil,

that’s what she was taught,

little did she know or even give a thought

to the many shapes and sizes

the devil adopts as his disguises…

-----

So they were furious and two stopped by to stare

To make sure that nothing that shouldn't be was on display there

Don’t lie to her you live in fear its why she’s tolerated

She knows enough to shut you down and for that she’s hated

The answer is fuck them, fuck you and to herself be true

-----

D’ye know he must be pushing sixty and very likely more, 
and the silly old scrote was talking  as if he was seriously up for the score

Eh, the wild oats were sown decades ago all he has left is the husk, 
a cruel reminder to the vainest of fools that this one once had a tusk.

The tusk is gone, the hair is too and he hides it as best he can 
and prays no one sees him without the cap and remembers he once was a man.

-----

So you're pissed off with her
So what?
Is she supposed to care
That all you've got 
Is a twisted mind
With no one living there

-----

I wanna live in your arms, wake up to your smile.  

I wanna know that when I get home you’ll be there.

I wanna lay the rug in the garden and lie on it with you 
and watch the stars as we make lazy love all night.

I wanna watch the sky lighten and lick the dew off your shoulders
Moving down as the sun rises and the spirit moves me.
I wanna be able to write like Shakespeare 
so you can know the sonnet that is this love

-----

Witchy, witchy burning bright
In the darkness of the night
The flames do roar
The wind does howl
The cat stares up
at the witch who prowls.

-----

Sweep, sweep beat it clean

Make sure the world knows where its been

Sweep away the arrogance and the pride

Leave them with nothing and nowhere to hide

-----

Oh, my dear anonymous but you have serious form. 
I was not the first nor the last to feel your twisted scorn. 
Oh my dear anonymous, I have copies of them all
and keep them safe should  I ever need to recall. 
The daring do of  gangs swaggering to their fall.

Impregnable?

 Lednica Castle, Slovakia , EU

Love this, its so what a mountain should be and there nestling as if of the very root of rock is a castle. Ancient and slowly day by day dying.   As are we all.  Don't preserve us we're all as common as muck but try if you can to save the likes of this hewn from rock and man.

The castle is tough built in the thirteenth century right into the mountain, and all but destroyed in the seventeenth by, of course, us.  What remains has weathered the years and is now one of the most inaccessible castles in Slovakia and probably the world.   To get to inside the remaining walls you have to climb some eighty steps inside, I think, the mountain!

Well worth a visit and if you're lucky you might see the ghost of the lady who its said did believe there is a fate worse than death.  At night she haunts the castle where she preferred to die rather than be ravished.

I found this picture, or rather it came to me on Tumblr!  Via photo via by Jozef Sadecky

Trolls?

Its been suggested from somewhere on high that all commenters on blogs should use their real names and proof of real identity should be provided by giving credit card details to the blog or site.  The reason is said to be the proliferation of abusive and threatening trolls.

All or most blogs insist that commenters give their email address that means they can be tracked down and banned or blocked at the whim of the blog owner and that means any and all trolls can be banned and abusive and threatening behaviour can be reported to the police.

I have very good reason for using a pseudonym and I have been called a troll. I'm not.  The object of my attention is very specific I rarely bother to comment elsewhere and would prefer not to bother anywhere except perhaps to admire the occasional picture on sites like Tumblr.

It occurs to me that others might feel the same way I do and possibly for much the same reasons.  It seems to me that its time to show the insidious and extremely unhealthy way in which some blogs and other websites sometimes work together and the damage they can do both to the proliferation of trolls, many bloggers troll their own sites, and the harm they can inflict on ordinary commenters.

Bloggers often seem to feel invincible and ungovernable, they're neither I think its time they were shown that.

At it Again!

I was going to write about my big beautiful Trixie but yet again life and Pippa get in the way.

Pippa is a stop out slut, for her the cat door is left open til the small hours because heavens forbid she should be stuck outside all night.   She is a biter and a scratcher.  She hates closed doors and considers anything she wants is hers by right of length of claws and sharpness of teeth.

Pippa is not unaffectionate, she is the sweetest cat, who seems sometimes to think she's a dog.  She is talkative, friendly or more likely indifferent to the other cats and dogs, except Olly, she loves Olly.  He is her favourite she drapes herself around him like an extra layer of clothing.

I digress.   Pippa is also very generous she it is who brings me gifts of mice and this she has done, again. Last night a beautiful clear and very wet night she came home, put her little gift for me down and immediately started to cry in the very different and special way that is real cat conversation, not a meiow at all more feeling and more understandable, because the mouse had legged it under the radiator...There is a mouse in the house, again.

Olly is on the case  he has not stopped crying since the wretched mouse escaped from Pippa.  I can't find it I'm going to have to get the trap out, again.  I may have to resort to poison.   I cannot abide mice in the house.   

Almost

Just don’t take too long you anorexic rodent…I've seen more meat on a butchers apron

Paid it!

So I paid the damn thing and why wouldn't I I hung on for as long as I dared, but we all have to there's no doubt at all that if we don't the revenoo will make us do it the hard way.  I can't just can't face the fuss, not to mention the increased charges, of going to court.  It had to be done and done it has been.

I whined a bit, not as much as I could, its what I do best, but I kept temper in a firm grip and just got on with it.  E245.00 it cost me and the gods only know how much in telephone charges because though I tried to do it online you can only pay for the property tax that way to pay the household charge you have to phone the revenoo and wait, and wait, and.....However job done until next year and we're already more than half way toward it, when it will all start again only more expensive.

On the whole I have to say it was quite a good humoured little occasion its a classic don't blame the messenger thing.  It was unfair to blame the person at the other end of the phone, she was very nice, or seemed to be and I don't for one second grudge her her generous salary or her bullet and bomb proof pension....I paid the thing.  Its done.

Love and Murder in the Night

Playing with the idea of a love poem I slunk away to write

Had to settle for murder and wondered if that was the night

Of wind and whispers a scare when the dog barked thrice

Playing with the idea of a love poem settling for murder in the night

The Path Less Travelled

He could see them through the canopy of leaves, the circling, watchful, waiting of them.  He looked at the leaves and grasses not bad but not good enough.  He needed more, he needed to be able to both cover and distract and what he had would be no good for either.

He moved, if he was very careful he could move an inch or so, he could definitely move both arms and if he was careful one leg could move a bit, look on the bright side he told himself, if he could stand he could find a stick and hobble to the end of the road.  He had time yet, but not much, he felt drowsy and knew that sleep would be his biggest and probably his last mistake.

Why had he chosen this route?  He couldn't now work it out, had it been prettier, easier?  Had it looked for one brief second shorter?   No, he'd decided to walk the path on a whim he'd wanted to be alone, now he was, he hadn't wanted to meet any nosy, noisy neighbours, now he knew he almost certainly wouldn't.

She wouldn't come looking for him.  The thought bothered him, she'd lay there, waiting for him, or someone, but she wouldn't worry, there was always someone else in her realm.   He thought of the curtains drawn against the day, how odd would that look?   The music blaring loud, would anyone complain?  He doubted it, why should they they never had before.

He  thought of her body warm and wet of the times she had waited just so for him.  He thought of her spread across the bed in erotic disarray.   He wondered how long before her next guest and would they notice the change, bright, darkening colour.  He found he could think about that with a kind of detachment.  It was her fault after all.  He had only done what any man would do and now he had his own problems and they were getting closer.

Which would come first the vultures or the night and would it make much difference.....