Hi Hoooooo!

I have a well earned reputation for being a Lazy Shite. Given any opportunity I will assume The Position on my sofa, which is very, very comfy. I don't like mornings and will happily potter around smoking and drinking my coffee until...well...the afternoon. My Get Up and Go, got up and left years ago, slammed the door on it's way out and hasn't been seen since. Not even a postcard.

This reputation has been shaken and stirred Ladies and Gentlemen. I am once again gainfully employed with The Alternative Healthcare Practice. I have a long history with them. When I was doing my Creative Writing qualifications that led to my degree, I would be their emergency receptionist. When I wasn't working for them I was sampling the many treats of accupuncture, osteopathy and hypnotherapy. Earlier this year, I thought some accupuncture would be good for me. And it was. After a treatment, I casually dropped into the conversation that I would be available again for any work they could throw my way. The few days work then turned into a 2 day a week job. Before I had the chance to get to comfortable, I got the phone call from my brother, saying it looked like my father had lung cancer.

I went to my employer, explained the situation and then said I was going to Trinidad for 2 months. Any other sane employer would have thanked me for my time and bid me farewell. He did not. He sent me off with his blessing and said the job would be waiting for me when I got back. I did say to him if he got someone he liked, to hang on to them. It's a small business and they can't afford not to have a key member of staff. I understand the pressures that running a small business brings.

As soon as I was coherent the day after I landed, I rang to say I was back. Did they still want me? Would they mind if I had a week to get my shit together before I started (if they still wanted me back)? Yes, they wanted me back and of course I could have a week before I started. Not only that, but if I needed to take more time, I could have it. I was both suprised and pleased.

The Monday after my return, I went along to have a financial review with my financial advisor. In the course of our meeting, after he finished telling me off for going through my cash reserves like a wolf in a sheep's pen, he offered me a job. Temporary, for the other days of the week I'm not working. The temporary part is a convenience on both sides. We need to see if we like each other and to see if it's going to work.

So much for continuing my life as a bum.

Since I've come back from Trinidad, I've gradually been getting the house and garden sorted. Jobs which were piling up have now been dealt with. I've not been terribly energetic about it, less blazing and more of a gentle pottering, with Couch Time being factored in.

I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. For the moment, that's okay. I'm not in a position to make any long term decisions right now. One way or another, this year has been hard work. I've been battered and blown about. That's okay too. I've learnt a lot and I hope with the learning I am a wiser and stronger woman for it. Time will tell. Everything is as it should be.

Our Survey Says

I have been suffering from a lot of spam recently. Must get some pills for that - oh yeah, I can get cheap pharmaceuticals from viagra to panadol, a Russian doxy to mud-wrestle the Nigerian Princess who wants me to launder her inheritance, to compete for the honour to feed the pills to me, while I drink margueritas on the island I bought with that suprise prize draw millions courtesy of Microsoft.

So it was with some trepidation I opened the e-mail titled: Internet Research Project. What can I say? I walk on the wild side. I opened it up and was curious to see the contents. Not curious enough to follow the link though. Instead I sent an e-mail and asked if the sender was a real person as I had enough pills, Russian babes and money. Very quickly, I received a reply. It is indeed kosher research for a PhD thesis on the personality traits of bloggers. After I did the survey, I asked whether the PhD student would like me to put her survey out there. I've copied and pasted the contents of the first e-mail. It would be really cool if you bloggers could follow the link (sorry lurkers)and complete the survey. It would be even cooler if you would copy and paste the link on your blogs.

Go on, make this your good deed for the day.

Dear Blogger,

I am a doctoral student in the psychology department at the University of Texas at Arlington. I am completing my dissertation research on the topic of the personality characteristics of bloggers. One of my goals for this study is to contact actual bloggers and record their self-reported personality traits, and view information posted to their blogs.

I am writing to ask you to take a few minutes to participate in this study. As a participant, you will be asked to follow the link in this e-mail to the Survey Monkey website, where you will complete several personality questionnaires, and provide some information about your typical internet use. At the end of this survey, I will ask you to provide a link to your blog so that I can match the personality data that you provided with information that appears on your blog.

It is important for you to understand that no personal information will be collected in this project. You will not be asked to provide your name, address, e-mail, or any other identifying information. I will ask you to provide the URL to your blog so that I may access it after you complete the survey, and record information from your profile (such as gender, age, and location). I will also download two of your blog entries for further analysis; however, identifying names and information will be redacted. I will not specifically identify any single blogger in the reports of this research. In other words, I intend to talk about bloggers in general, but not any one individual in particular.

If you are interested in participating in this study, please follow the link below to the Survey Monkey website: http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/L7M59GV

Thank you very much for your time. If you have friends or colleagues who you believe might be interested in participating in this study, feel free to forward this information on to them. You may also contact me with any questions that you have about this research project.

Best regards,

Return Of The Mack

One of my favourite tracks at the moment.

Don't you just love a comeback?

Catching Up

Sooo....how has Norwich been while I've been away?

By the looks of it, nothing's really changed apart from the seasons. It's definitely autumnal out there. Boy, his mate and I walked into the city centre. There are more shops shut, but lots of people bustling about.

We went in to look at televisions. Ours was a hand-me-down and the time has come to bid it farewell. It's huge and while it was good to have, it's time for a change. We trooped into the electrical store that sorted out my white goods last year before we moved to the Palais. Buying stuff can be such fun. I was expecting to have to fork out a small fortune and was pleasantly suprised once I did some negotiating, how much I saved. The brand spanking new, flat screen, HD ready idiot box will be delivered and installed next Friday. I also negotiated with them to take the old tv and stand away as well. I am very pleased.

I gatecrashed coffee with Alix and her family and Gee's second son. He's off to his second year at uni and was saying goodbye. I then walked back with him to have tea with Gee. She is the sister of my heart. It was fantastic seeing her and her family again.

After the visit to the orthodontist yesterday, I'm back on soft foods. When the Great Ursus and his lovely dropped Boy back from school, Lovely and I went for a walk to do some shopping. I had an urge to make some soup. I went to the butcher and he sorted me out with some chicken bones. I made the stock from scratch and then went on to make a sweet potato soup from intuition, rather than recipe. It wasn't a bad attempt (if I say so myself). It can't have been that bad, because Boy and mate finished off the lot this morning on their return from a sleepover. Tonight it's a lentil, potato soup thang.

Comfort food is a wonderful thing and I'm really enjoying cooking in my own kitchen again. Though, I'm constantly finding Boy used the necessary ingredients and hasn't replaced them. I've been very indulgent and am having Sainsbury's deliver a mahusive shop tomorrow. The idea of pushing a trolley around a supermarket for a couple of hours fills me with dread. Just can't face it. On-line shopping is definitely the way to go.

My body clock is still on Trini time and my sleep patterns are shot. But it's early days and I'm finding great comfort in being home again.

Shaking With Rage

After 27 hours of travelling (it's another story), I've made it back to 2 months worth of post and 2171 e-mails waiting in my primary e-mail address which I've been unable to access whilst I've been away. After a poor night's sleep, a smoke and a cup of coffee I settled down in front of my laptop and ran the gauntlet. All of the posts and comments from my two blogs are directed to my primary e-mail and as a rule I always save them. I'm a hoarder by nature, it runs in the family. As I waded through the mire, mostly Facebook, spam etc, I've come across quite a few e-mails from Anonymous. A couple have been from new readers who haven't plucked up the courage to say hi in their own right and that's fine. When stepping into the blogging world it can be quite scary and I'm cool with that, we all have to start somewhere and I do my best to make everyone welcome. Most have been spam, I can't be arsed to delete them off the old posts, I've got too many to wade. I delete them when I find them. And then I found one which has my blood completely boiling.

One of the issues when blogging, especially when putting personal stuff out into Blogland, is that it's open to interpretation. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or even to like me. I'm big enough and ugly enough to take it on the chin. However, this comment was completely out of order. I believe I know the person who left the comment personally. What pisses me off (amongst the other issues) is that they chose to leave the comment anonymously. If you're going to be personal, own up to it. Say it to my face.

Many thanks to eros who did see it and did reply.

The comment was left on Confirmation. My brother, the vet tested a sputuum sample provided by my father and found small cell lung cancer present.

This is what Anonymous said:

to be fair, you haven't actually had confirmation. no offence to your brother, but he is a vet. if they were as good as regular doctors, why aren't they allowed to treat humans?your dad should speak to his doctor. yes treatment for cancer can be very draining, and can sometimes be worse than the cancer itself, but treatment for other problems can be much less invasive - like the antibiotics he is already taking for example (PLEASE don't tell me your vet brother provided them/wrote the prescription, that is illegal, not to mention potentially very dangerous).get a diagnosis from a proper, qualified doctor, and then (and ONLY then) your father can make an informed decision about any treatment that may be available to him.scarred lungs can be caused by infections or injuries/disease other than cancer, so do not presume the worst until you have no choice. after all, aren't we always told that positive thinking is instrumental when dealing with ill health?
17 July 2010 00:09

I am incadescent, but will try to take this in a logical fashion. Forgive me dear readers if I go straight into rant.

Firstly, after my father endured the trip to the medical centre to have the x-rays done, there were three doctors present: my father's lung specialist, my father's GP and my brother. My father's lung specialist had the x-ray from 2 years ago to compare. There was a mass, pretty much encompassing his left lung. The way the mass presented, my father's lung specialist was 99.9% certain it was lung cancer.

For the 100% confirmation, my father would have needed to have undergone an MRI and a lung biopsy.
My father found the whole experience exceptionally distressing and chose to stick with the 99.9% diagnosis. In days before MRIs, it would have been sufficient. A biopsy would have been painful and distressing for my father and also risky. Quite frankly, given my father's fragility it could have killed him off there and then. My father, on the basis of that consultation with his lung specialist and GP decided he would not undergo the trauma as HE didn't want to undergo either chemotherapy or radiotherapy. Surgery, given his poor lung function would not have been an option. Of the people with the diagnosis that he had, 75% die within a year of diagnosis. It is an exceptionally aggressive cancer and highly resistant to treatment.

My father felt that treatment would not buy him any more time or any quality of life. He felt at 73, he'd lived his life. He wanted to die at home, in the environment he felt safe, with the people he loved and who loved him around.

My brother, the vet has a state of the art practice. He remains at the cutting edge of medical technology, his is the practice other vets send their patients to when they want intricate blood tests, ultrasound and x-rays.

Eros is right, it is easier to become a human doctor than it is a vet. Quite frankly, I would rather see my Cat's vet than I would my own GP over here. GPs over here aren't interested in their patients, they just want to keep to time, keep the numbers up and hit the stats laid out by the government.

My brother's training enabled him to work with the specialitists and my father's GP. He understood what they were saying and when my father struggled, he was on the phone to them, able to accurately describe the symptoms, to be able to follow their advice to the letter. He absolutely did not write out prescriptions for my father.

When my father was fading fast, he begged my brother again, to let him stay home. He did not want to die in hospital, subject to a medical system's regime. He didn't even want nursing care. He wasn't in pain, he just couldn't breathe. He was on oxygen constantly in the last 10 days of his life. Oxygen, that my brother was able to source and hook up, because of his training and his practice.

Anonymous, and I believe I know who you are, you should have said this to my face. I don't know who you think you are to question my father's care; or who you think I am that I would let this slide. You are very much mistaken.

If you think we should have packed him off to a hospital to be prodded and poked and put through a whole lot of stress and pain which would not have made a difference to the outcome, against his wishes, well that's up to you.

My brother and I respected my father's wishes: to die in comfort, at home, with us.

An apology wouldn't go amiss. Let's see if you've got stones enough for that, shall we?

So Long, Farewell...

The time has come. No I'm not packed. I've got half my suitcase filled and another three quarters waiting to go in. I hate packing. So, I procrastinate. That, I do exceptionally well.

The last few days I've been saying goodbye.

I spent the weekend with my aunt and cousin. My cousin took me Down de Islands for a last trip and we had an absolute ball. We rang his partner-in-crime as we were heading down the road, he dropped everything, grabbed his stuff and came to join us. We all piled into my cousin's boat, went Down de Islands, picked up partner-in-crime's daughter and fiance and headed out to fish. Once again I was reminded it's called 'fishing' not 'catching'. Even though we only had one bite and didn't manage to land the fish, we had a fantastic time. Yes, there are pictures. When I get home I'll put them up.

Sunday, I spent with my aunt. She gave me back a piece of my childhood, when I would go and spend the afternoon with her, we talked and talked. Saying goodbye was so hard. I really, really did not want to leave them. My cousin has been such a support to me. He doesn't do emotional intelligence, he does that big, gruff, manly thing. But it was just what I needed. I could be exactly how I was and that was all that was necessary. He took me out and about. We teased each other, nagged each other and got very, very drunk together. I will never forget him standing behind my father's coffin, sweating in the heavy wool suit, trying not cry.

Today, my brother and SIL headed off to work. They can't make it to the airport. That was hard. I'm going to miss them so much. I'm going to miss Trinidad so much. But I miss my Boy, the Cat, my friends and Norwich dreadfully. I know it will be good to be home.

Day at the Races

The Grim Times led to my father's death and funeral and all of the chaos and confusion that surrounds these events. I did try to hop on a plane to get back to the UK a week earlier, but British Airways and I have a difference of opinion about the definition of 'amendable'. The travel agent and I will be having words upon my return.

In the meantime, I have been trying not to mope. My cousin to the rescue. He's just been fantastic. He's the one who has the boat and took me down the islands, where I ended up camping on a dock for the night. I will just say he's been very bad for my liver and lungs, but very, very good for my heart. While he's not on the oil rigs, he stays with his mother (my aunt) here in Trinidad. Basically, my cousin has been picking me up, taking me out, getting me (very) drunk and then I've crashed in his mother's spare room.

On Tuesday, Trinidad celebrated it's Independence Day. He decided he would by hook or crook, get us into the VIP stand at the Arima Racecourse, to watch the day's races. He told me I had to be smartly dressed: no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops. What a drag. So I dressed to impress. We had a blast.

We rocked up in time for the 3rd race. The stand was boiling hot, boy was I glad I wore a skimpy dress, any more cloth on my skin, I'd have melted. The balcony of the stand over-looked where the horses were walked before the race, and where they got the colours and jockeys. We tried to assess the horseflesh, look in the racing catalogue for the stats, the names and make our choices. I would go and place the bets and then, we'd make our way to the other side so we could watch the race. My cousin said he brought lots of cash with us, but in the end we bet $105.00 in total. We finished the day with $120.00, not bad for a couple of novices. It was fun. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we were merry.

One of my cousin's horses decided it didn't like the jockey and left him staring at the sky at the starting gates. Another spooked itself when the gate opened and threw a right girly strop, good thing neither of us parted with good cash for that one. The point is: my friend Gee used to work in a betting shop. She horrified me at the stories of men coming in with the Title Deeds to their houses. That's a mindset, I just don't get. To risk a huge amount of money, to risk your house on a four-legged temperamental creature, that might just be having a shitty day, I don't understand it. Actually, I don't want to understand it. I can cope with hard drinkin' and smokin' kind of men, but a man who could one day come home and say 'honey, pack up. We have to be out of here before 9 am tomorrow morning'. Nah. That's just a whole new level, I couldn't deal with.

I can't believe in a week's time I'll be back in the UK. The time here has gone so quickly. I'm going to miss my Trinidad adventures. Hopefully, there will be a few more before I leave next week.

Normal Service

I think it's time I take some time out from this blog. Things are tough and I think the hard times have overtaken the good.

Please don't desert me completely. I will be back, posting on here soon. I will try and pop in to see what you're all getting up to.

In the meantime, do something mushy for me: find the person you really love and give them a mahusive hug. If I've learnt anything recently, it's that Now is all the time we have; and never, ever pass up the opportunity to let the person who's really important to you, know how much you care. To the people who love you, be gentle with them, it's a precious gift; you lucky buggers you.

Adventures in the Bush - Part II

I've just had breakfast, Doubles: lightly curried chickpeas squashed between two flat, fried bakes. Yum yum. And more Eine. *sigh* I'm floating on a sea of contendedness.

Where was I? Ah yes...

We left the teak field, by continuing down the 'track'. When we'd made our way out, the Government Man rang his man at the bottom of the road. The police had arrived and were swarming around, doing police things. Rather than get caught up in that circus, because we had nothing useful to add, we kept going.

The 'track' eventually became a 'road' that led through several 'villages', I suspect hamlets are a better description. We past Moruga. We had travelled so far south we could see the sea through the coconut trees. My brother and his friend agreed to part company, his friend would drop off the two field workers and we would return the Government Man. More driving. It took about an hour to get there.

Yesterday, I saw parts of rural Trinidad I'd never seen before. Rural houses are generally constructed using the same template whatever the construction material, either wood or concrete: on stilts, with a large porch out the front. The stilts help keep the living quarters cool as it allows the wind to travel around and through the building. Underneath can be used as a car park or when the children get older and marry, bricked up for more living space. Also useful in areas subject to flooding. The porch is the hub of the house, the way kitchens in temperate climes used to be. That's the place where family members gather to chat at the end of the day, to each other and their neighbours walking on the road. Entertaining takes place on the porch. The low walls of the porch are usually decked out in pots of colourful houseplants. It's a welcoming space. Gardens varied. Some had trimmed their hedges and topiaried to be the envy of Capability Brown, others were left to the chickens and pothounds.

Pothound. (n) a dog of indeterminate breed that arrives as soon as the pots rattle in the kitchen.

We dropped off the Government Man and headed off to Mayaro, via Rio Claro. It took us a couple of hours. I'm so proud of my brother, he stopped and asks for directions without prompting or muttering. I made him laugh after yet another stop by the side of the road. I told him of all of my qualities, my ability to pee in the bush, should be most prized by any man with marriage in mind. Bless him, he never complained at the many stops. In this heat it is really important to keep hydrated and my bladder is the size of a hamster's purse. I'm not proud, I'll pee anywhere: public toilets, the bush, the sea, the side of the road. Public toilets in Trinidad are an exercise in faith in your immune system. I walk with my own toilet paper.

When we got to my brother's estate. We had a brief discussion about provisions. We stopped off and picked up lunch from the local Chinese restaurant and a crate of beer from a bar. Please understand that rural does not mean uncivillised, Mayaro might not be an urban centre, but it has the important things: a market, a gas station, bars and a couple of Chinese restaurants. My brother has a food finding instinct that is amazing. His ability to find fantastic food wherever he is can only be considered a special power worthy of a superhero. He stops in places that you look and consider the efficacy of a antacids and antibiotics to find the food delicious and the staff, friendly. He really appreciates good food.

We headed back to the estate house and I ate straight away. I then smoked and said hello to the dogs and donkeys. The donkeys always make their way towards me. I don't know why they're so fond of me, I don't feed them. I just lavish them with lots of affection. Perhaps, donkeys need love too? We then crashed for an hour. Getting up at stupid o'clock had taken it's toll.

My brother, after a cup of coffee, put on his overalls and went out to see to the estate. I grabbed a beer, swung in the hammock and listened to the parrots quarrelling in the trees. Late afternoon, they fly back to their homes in twos and threes squawking as they go, a parrot is by no means a quiet bird. I can't tell you the feeling of bliss, contentment even.

Promptly broken by my brother demanding I go with him into The Bush. So I did. He'd collected tiny teak seedlings in their little black bags, ready to be planted out in the field. He asked me to put them out on some newspaper and fluff them up, as they'd been squashed in the two buckets. I then had the joy of explaining to my prim and proper brother what a 'fluffer' was. I'm happy to say that the seedlings were fully erect when I'd finished! :-)

We packed up and headed off to the beach. I'd been looking forward to the swim for hours and hours. Bliss. Real bliss. The water was fantastic, the beer cold, the company excellent. I had a fantastic day. The kind of day that lives on. I realised after I started blogging, that yesterday we made a circuit round the island, we headed south to San Fernando, east to Mayaro, and then north and west to get home again. No wonder my brother is knackered today.

Adventures in The Bush

Long time readers will know of my well-earned reputation as a woman who loves being horizontal. Dawn comes and goes before I willingly leave the warmth and comfort of my bed. I am not an early riser.

Yesterday, I went on an Adventure with my brother to look at a teak field. Very exciting in more ways than one; except I had to be up at 3.55. That's AM, as in the morning. As in it's fucking dark outside. As I stood by the gate, waiting for my brother to reverse out his gold landrover I thought to myself: at that time of the morning, the virtuous and villans are safely tucked up in bed. I was wrong.

Firstly, let me introduce you to the trusty steed: the gold Landrover. My brother has 3 and this is the star of his fleet. It is the youngest, a sprightly 23 years old and has been modified so that the back will tip up and dump it's load at your feet. It has all modcons - a cranky airconditioning and an old car radio. It is very comfortable and as proved yesterday morning as we hurtled towards San Fernando, will do 110 km/ph.

Secondly, this island paradise I grew up in, has one major problem: the crime. Violent crime is trully apalling. Life here is incredibly cheap. There have been over 356 murders and the year isn't done yet. Unfortunately, the police have a success rate of less than 10%. The legal system is tied up in knots and it's not unknown for the accused to be in remand without trial for over 7 years. The virtuous live behind bars, high walls in gated communities when they can. They sleep uneasily and drive everywhere, not only because of the heat.

Driving around the Queen's Park Savannah, I realised I was indeed mistaken. The virtuous were walking and jogging round in the dark. Do bear in mind that it was 4.40 (am). There they were in their athletic gear, sweating their committment to fitness and good health. I found that almost as traumatic as being up that early in the morning.

At that time of the morning, everything is dark. The night chorus of frogs haven't given way to the roosters and birds. The waning moon looked over her sleeping subjects, secure that she still had at least another hour and a half before she gave way to the sun.

My brother was to meet a friend and some government workers to look at a field of teak, that he would harvest. The friend travelled separately with his right-hand man in a HiLux. Shockingly, he only managed to catch us up at the San Fernando junction. Given that Landrovers are not known for their speed, this is not surprising. But at that time of the morning, the roads were clear and it was safe for my brother to put his foot down.

We stopped and waited for the Government Man. I smoked and drank the coffee as Dawn chased the moon from the sky. Everything in nature in the tropics seems to be extreme. The sky as we approached the San Fernando junction was dark, with a bright ribbon of light. Twenty minutes later, everything is bathed in sunshine. The birds are up, as are the dogs and day begins.

The Government Man was on time. And off we went. We drove for another hour to meet the two field workers. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the jungle.

There were a group of workers milling around our turnoff. One of them flagged us down. There was a body. The police had been called. They were waiting. Did we want to see?

The poor man had been bound hand and foot, and a bullet forever silenced his thoughts. There was blood on the ground where he had been dragged and dumped. No, I didn't see and neither did any of us. I have seen the dead: my mother and stepfather, I had nothing to gain by rubbernecking. We went on.

It would be an exaggeration to call what we travelled on, a track. This is where having a Landrover comes into it's own. There's such a satisfying thunk as the diff-lock is engaged and it becomes a four-wheel drive, rover of land. And yes, we roved. The rainy season had turned parts of the track into a mud hole, a hippo would have longed to wallow in. My brother, with years of skill and trust in his vehicle, negotiated his way through the mire without incident. Though, there was always the winch to pull us out if we got really stuck. Eventually, we got to the field of teak.

Teak is a beautiful tree. It's leaves are the classic 'leaf shape' but bigger, much bigger. They are about two feet long and around eighteen inches across. Huge. And lots of them. The trunks are ramrod straight, grey and brown speckled bark. At the moment, they've just finished flowering and look like they've got frondy hats. Come the dry season, the fronds will fall and deposit the seeds around. Into the bush we went. A very hot walk. I was in jeans and my trainers, my brother's floppy hat on my head. I'd dosed up on the mosquito lotion before I'd got out of the Landrover and boy am I glad I did. The little bastards were zooming around looking for lunch.

Of course I ended up on my arse. I stepped on a tree root and gracelessly slid down a muddy bank. Ouch. Nothing but my pride hurt. My brother helped me up and we walked on. I still can't believe how many species of moth and butterfly I saw yesterday. It makes me realised how impoverished our selection has become in the UK. Moths that pretended to be fallen leaves, black butterflies that looked like they'd been dipped in mint choc-chip icecream. Butterflies with wings larger than my hands, dark on the outside, flashing royal blue as they zig-zagged through the trees. I want to learn more.

Consider this the first installment. I need to have a break and attend to my dad and yes, I need more Eine.

Mango, Mango, Mango, Mango, Mangooooo

Yesterday, my brother and SIL took us all to the Mango Festival hosted by the University of the West Indies Agriculture Field Office. I didn't have any expectations one way or another, so I was happy with the experience.

My niece was fighting off a cold and could hardly speak, so after we parked up I offered her a piggy-back. At 5, she's a heavy little thing and it's hot. But it meant she wasn't getting pushed past, or walk.

There were stalls promoting mango products: cosmetics, foods, preserves & chutneys and stationery. There wasn't very much to see in all honesty. There was also a stall promoting the benefits of wheatgrass which I avoided like an STD. As I've got older, my disbelief in 'wonder' ingredients and alternative treatments like wheatgrass, coconut oil, green tea has fallen disproportionately. Anything that promotes 'natural' products gets more than a sceptical look.

Natural is not better than man-made people. It's not automatically more healthy. Honestly, it isn't. Consider products with 'natural herbs' for instance. They particularly annoy me. Belladonna and foxglove are very natural and are very, very dangerous. Should your organic back be getting up at this point. I'm not of a mind to get into a massive debate about the massive issue. All I'm saying is that in all cases Buyer Beware. I do believe we should be using cleaning products that do the job and are gentle on mother Earth. I do believe we should scrub vegetables and fruit before consuming. Responsible consumerism should be practised at all times and a label stating 'natural' should be carefully examined and the efficacy of the product should be scrutinised.

I digress.

Mangos are my favouritest fruit ever. Especially, when my brother has picked it off his tree in the backyard. I love that if you have a bowl of mangos in the kitchen, the smell permeates. Buying mangos in the UK has ultimately been an expensive and depressing experience. In the main they just don't smell and taste as fantastic as the homegrown.

My brother's garden is beautiful and edible. He has mango trees, lime trees, a kumquat, five-fingers (which I detest), avocado trees, passion fruit vines; there are a variety of herbs, ginger lillies and chilli peppers, as well as vines for leafy salads. Tasty and beautiful. In The Bush, he also grows aubergines, several varieties of bananas, mangos, oranges, lemons, grapefruits...the list goes on. He used to grow watermelons, but that apparently, was a bit of a disaster.

As for the local cuisine. I am working hard not to return to the UK in September with an arse the size of Brazil, but they are not making it easy for me. My brother's MIL is in charge of cooking and I have yet to try something she prepared and for me to go 'bleugh'. That woman can cook!

Om nom nom.

All Change

Last weekend in the Bush, I was getting fed up of my hair. It had got quite long and swung past my shoulder blades. While I'm in Trinidad, I kept it up off my neck in various versions of pony-tails. In 38'C, the mass of hair on the top of my head was getting more than I wanted. Also, with the humidity and the lack of my usual styling routine (I didn't travel with my hair drier) it had turned into bush. My nephew and I were talking about hair cuts and I decided there and then, it would have to go.

I have been going to the same hairdresser in Norwich for the last 14 years. He must be the only straight male hairdresser in Norwich. I keep going back to him because he cuts hair fantastically well, but also because of his kindness. When I was a student and then improverished, he would cut and colour my hair for model prices. Also, when I had 'company' courtesy of my small Boy, he would check my hair without any fuss. There are some who have thrown me out of their chairs if they thought I was sporting head lice. He also is happy to recommend good hair products that he doesn't sell. I trust him implicitly and he's never let me down.

So going to another hairdresser has been an exercise in faith. My dad and nephew recommended their cutter. I was slightly dubious, given they are both blokes and quite frankly are both short, back and sides guys. But she sported a short, sexy number and I decided to go for it.

I had to wait til yesterday and I've been touching my hair ever since. It's a real weight off my mind. It's short, but sexy and fun. I'm dead chuffed with my new hair. It's a lot cooler in this hot weather and has lived up to her promise that it'll look good with minimal fuss.

I just needed a change.

Condolences

My heart goes out to Ms Boxer, who has said goodbye to her dad after a period of illness.

In many ways, I am walking the path she has trod so bravely and with good humour despite everything.

Please call in and leave her hugs, today and in the coming days. In my experience, the first few days of bereavement are always a bit weird, after the weird period things can get hard. So, keep popping by.

Sparkly Things

My mother loved jewelry. Proper jewellery. With large rocks. She could go through her jewellery box and each piece would have a story: given to her by her parents, her boyfriends, her husbands (she was married twice, to Father #1 and then to Pops). Buying her own jewellery would have been an insult to her feminine allure.

I also love sparkly things, but she and I differ quite radically.

Silver is my precious metal of choice. I am actually quite fussy about what I wear. I only wear one ring on what is technically my 'status' ring finger. It's a small silver band of leaves. I got it after a particularly messy relationship. It signifies my on-going commitment to my self-improvement, so I don't ever have to re-live that awful experience. It's my commitment to my well-being and to fulfilling relationships. By and large, I continue to live up to that. The decisions I make are generally informed and when things go south, I have only myself to blame.

Apart from that ring, I don't wear any others. My hands are quite small, which makes finding rings I like, difficult. I don't like wearing rings with stones as they tend to catch on things. I also don't wear bracelets or watches. I don't like the feeling of my wrists being enclosed. Long ago I decided that there are enough clocks and watches around me, if I ever need to find out the time: I can look at my mobile, ask or look at the clock in my car or pc.

I often tell people all my piercings are visible, especially when they spot the nose stud. I have dealt with the occasional lecherous enquiries as to navel and 'personal' piercings. Quite frankly, unless I develop a six-pack stomach, a belly ring will never be an option and as for the other...forget it. My nose stud is small, flat, round and made of surgical steel. It doesn't come out. It can, but it doesn't. When I worked in the department store and then for the cosmetics company, I lived in fear that I would be forced to remove it under their uniform codes. Thankfully, I never had a direct order to deal with, when memos went around, I just nodded and ignored. That the management felt that challenging me would open a diversity can of worms, was not my problem.

I like dangly ear-rings. But not too heavy. I don't like the stretched lobe-look. Most of my ear-rings are inexpensive, could be described as 'costume' at best, tacky at worst. I actually quite like a lot of the stuff from M&S. They do good sets.

I always have my silver new moon pendant on my chain. It is a symbol of my faith. I have had people consider me a Muslim because of it, but no, that's not my path. I do wear other necklaces with it. I quite like bold pendants and delicate pieces. It really depends on what I'm wearing at the time.

Today, I was naughty. I bought myself a cute charm anklet, it has little bells on it. Wearing it makes me feel like a dancer, with slim, pretty ankles to show off. You will note I said, it's the way it makes me feel. My mother would have been appalled. She would not be impressed. In Germany, only whores wore anklets. She told me so when I said I wanted one, just like my brother's girl friend (who she heavily disapproved of, rightly so as it turns out).

Unlike my mother, I have bought all of my jewellery (well, apart from what I inherited from her) and I quite like it that way. Having a piece which was given to me by a departed lover, would make wearing it, a painful reminder. Also, I am difficult to buy for. I like semi-precious stones, but don't tolerate diamond-esque stones. If it's not the real thing, cubic zircona just doesn't cut it. I like modern, arty pieces or flamboyant. It really depends.

You won't be surprised that I have a pair of pewter coffee bean ear-rings and they are my favourites.

Mush

Describes perfectly the state of my brain.

Had a fantastic time in The Bush. Lots of mosquitos and interesting wildlife. A praying mantis stood guard on the wall over my bed. Obviously thought my virtue needed protecting. Could have saved her the bother. My virtue is a dim and distant memory. Thank goodness.

My brother has two donkeys on his estate. Proton and Ashmini. They are so funny. Every time I went to have a smoke, they'd come and join me, snuffling my arms and fingers. I'd crouch down on the driveway and hear their gentle clop-clop and then there would be a tickle on the back of my neck. They never bit me, but did they did try to eat my dress a couple of times.

There's a beach nearby and we'd pile into the landrover and go for a swim. My arms are brown, my legs less so. I suppose that's simply because I tend to keep them covered either in a long dress or jeans. I'm not a huge fan of sea swimming, but the water was so calm and warm, it was fantastic.

On Sunday, after my brother had a morning session in The Bush, pruning, cutting down vines and picking fruit, we tidied up the house to get ready to head back into town. We started on the Carib beers and that continued at the beach, back at the house and on the journey home (though my brother switched to soft drinks). I felt decidedly toxic yesterday. My brother says I out drank him. A surprise to me, but apparently true. With the heat, a Carib is just perfect, and slips down so easily and drinking steadily through the day, I didn't even really feel tipsy, much less drunk. It's too easy, so I will be laying off the Carib for the next few days, my liver really needs a break. Poor thing.

Off to the Bush

I'm clutching my cup of coffee, trying to get my act together. I watched the rain falling on the distant hills as I had my first smoke. I can smell it in the air. Tropical rain is something different to the polite British drizzle. Because of the topography, and the fact we live in a valley. It's possible to stand outside, to hear and see the rain falling, rushing towards you, before the first drops hit your head. I love this time of year, even though it means less sunshine.

I've got to pack. We're off to my brother's little piece of Heaven. We're off to The Bush.

I've no internet, so do try and behave while I'm gone.

Rainy Season

It's interesting being back in Trinidad in a different season. From June to December is the official rainy season. After an intensely dry season which saw the hills ablaze with forest fires, the rainy season brings with it relief and more misery. Relief in that the earth and plants are crying out for rain, but without the vegetation to hold the soil, the rain washes away the precious topsoil (which tends not to be very deep in the tropics anyway) and there is the real risk of mud slides.

Small, still puddles of water are breeding grounds for mosquitos. And my goodness they are vicious. In April, I could get away with a casual slathering after each shower, now if I don't re-apply every 2 hours, I look like a dot-to-dot picture. Very unattractive and itchy to say the least. Of course there's also the risk of a nasty tropical disease called dengue.

It's still mango season and I've got my eye on several large avocados growing in my brother's garden. I'm told we're off to The Bush on Friday, which I'm really, really looking forward to. Unfortunately, the rural mosquitos are 10 times more assertive than their urban cousins and they will bite through clothes, hats and even hair. A trip into the rain forest will mean a head to foot dousing in repellant.

I've got a huge pile of reading next to my bed. Nothing lascivious this time, it's all about permaculture. My brother has approved my plans of World Domination and when I step into The Bush, I'm hoping to see his work with new eyes. I'm off to read, talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone.

Going to the Dark Side

One of the goals I set myself this summer was to become fit and strong. I wasn't particularly worried about my weight, even though it's been fluctuating, I figured if I was fitter and more active, it would settle down. Of course, once I got the phone call (last week, bloody hell), it kind of screwed my plans a bit.

Until I remembered my SIL was a yoga convert. I did ante-natal yoga and quite liked it, but my leanings tended to be more martial arts rather than yoga. But I've been putting off joining a class, procrastinating doing my exercise dvds and ignoring the olympic sized swimming pool just up the road. I bought a skipping rope which was duly packed and when I arrived I made the mistake of telling my SIL.

She took me for a walk round the neighbourhood on Thursday. Bearing in mind, Trinidad has steep hills, I'm deeply unfit and I smoke, I revelled in the fact that when we finished I did not require the attention of a paramedic, nor did I resort to Father #1's oxygen (though it was a close call).

Now you, my long term readers will know, my morning routine is fairly well fixed. Until I've had my first smoke and cup of coffee, I'm not coherent. I can't even think about getting dressed or leaving the house until I've had my second round. Forget eating. I was just thinking about my second cup of coffee when my SIL announced the yoga class started in 15 minutes. I managed to collect my brain cells and got changed into suitable gear (leggings and a big shirt) and we got there in time. Then for the next couple of hours I puffed, panted and groaned through my poses.

Apparently, I am 'awakening' my muscles.

We were doing Hatha yoga and the teacher leading the class was fantastic. The other students were supportive and helpful. I didn't feel like the new, clueless kid. I even managed a handstand! Me! Yes, you did read right. So, the idea is I'll do classes 3 times a week while I'm here, build up my strength and stamina and when I get back to the Land of Cold and Damp, I'll keep up the good work.

Yeah right.

But, I've got to start somewhere and if I don't do it now, then when?

Arrival

The Great Ursus, his lovely and Boy saw me off at Norwich Bus Station at 00:30 Wednesday morning. National Express is certainly an experience. The coach trip was as expected: endless, uncomfortable and occasionally entertaining. My advice to you, should you ever need to travel by coach is to book. Several people rocked up to the stops at stupid o'clock and got in the driver's face because they hadn't booked tickets, or enough seats for their party and decided that the fact that the coach was booked solid and he didn't have the seats for them was his fault. I don't see their logic, but what do I know? Apparently, theirs was a trip of a life-time and they wouldn't make their flight. Quite. At 3 am, he was far more professional and polite than I would have been. But given that I'd been awake since 6.30 the previous morning, I was cold and uncomfortable, perhaps it's not surprising. Gatwick was Gatwick. Filled with hurrying passengers, stressed staff and security with no sense of humour. I filled up on Eine, got to my flight and tried to sleep as much as possible.

Trinidad is in the depths of it's Rainy Season. The dry, dusty hills ravaged by bush fires are now all green. It's slightly cooler, but the humidity is high, so I'm not convinced it's more comfortable. The greenery is amazing; a month of rain and everything is in flower.

It's as if I was only here last week.

Update

I chickened out. I called for reinforcements. The Petite Ursus came, held my hand as I searched for the bits of paper. I had a long hard think and prioritised my bureacracy. I found the most important bit and have dealt with my Car Tax. The other...well, I'll deal with it when I get back. There's nothing I can do about it now. And no, Mago there's no jail time associated with that one.

Blogger seems to be eating comments at the moment. Please keep commenting. I get them on e-mail and your kind messages are wonderful for me to read as my spirit starts to flag.

Doing Today, What Should Have Been Done 3 Months Ago

If only procrastination were an Olympic sport. I'd win the gold medal.

I have to get back to Trinidad. I'm being delivered to the bus station at half past midnight tonight, by the Great Ursus and his Lovely. Blessings upon their heads for their stalwart support and love.

There are at least 3 piles of paper in my house that I've been ignoring. I have to find 2 pieces of paper. If I don't find them the British government is likely to get very, very stroppy with with me. I've been ignoring the job for some time now. But as I can't take 3 piles of paper with me to Trinidad, if I don't do the job now, it isn't going to get done until September when I get back. By which time there will be a new pile of paper to ignore.

Administration is an interesting dilema for me. If it's not mine, I can do it, no problem. Indeed, many of my monthly paychecks in the past have required me to be organised and efficient in the moving of paper around. When it comes to my own personal admin....forget it. I create piles around the house, ignore, procrastinate, I just don't do it. Thanks to the joys of direct debit, I've now avoided red letters from utilities companies going 'pay us, pay us now'. I tell everyone I can 'if it's important, e-mail me, DO NOT POST'. In the main, this works very well. Unfortunately, the British government doesn't understand this. Most bureaucracies aren't known for being understanding. Hell, if I had to push that much paper around, frankly, I wouldn't understand either.

So here I am blogging, when indeed I should be collecting the 3 piles, turn them into 1 mahusive pile and start going through the hundreds of sheets of paper just looking for 2. Well, as soon as I type the last full stop, I'm going to have a bath, get dressed, make myself another cup of coffee, have a smoke and then collect my piles of paper.

It sure as hell beats packing and it's keeping me from wondering what waits for me when I land. Perhaps there are better survival strategies, but I've just realised that maybe, this one isn't too bad after all.

The World's Most Boring Ad

This has got to be the World's Most Boring Ad. I feel my brain shutting down every time it comes on. I'm left to speculate whether this actress was directed to look as if the last time she had Earth Shattering Sex, was half way through the last century or whether she's like that normally.

Can you imagine a director saying 'No love, there's too much animation in your expression. I want you to think of your tax return as you read the autocue.'

If she's that way normally, he'll be saying 'Think of having sex with your husband.'

Also, do these people actually read the scripts? Do they understand what they're saying? "Pure gold lead finish." What does that mean? Alchemists have been trying to turn lead into gold for centuries with no success (apart from getting high on the fumes). It's either gold or lead. I suspect what they mean is some child in a developing country, getting high on the paint fumes, brushed the out dated coin with goldesque paint.

Reminds me of 'genuine faux pearls' as seen on American TV in the 80s. Nasty strings of transluscent beads for the gullible.

Not only are we being bored to death, but we have to send £2.50 (postage and packaging) for a tacky gold painted coin originally worth £0.01. Barnham was right, horrifyingly.

Summer Solstice

Blessings to you on this Summer Solstice.

May the Sun shine upon you and those you love, filling your life with warmth and light throughout the summer and coming days.

We're off to the beach to celebrate, Norwich Chant Collective stylee. There will be wine, fabulous people and song. I don't know about you, but Life seems hard going at the moment. I'm looking forward to just chilling out and being with the people I love.

I hope whatever your religious persuasion, you also feel the Sun shining on you.

Life Keeps on a-Kicking

'They' said collective action no longer works. 'They' said people are hip deep in apathy and don't care any more. 'They' were wrong. Thanks to people like Eros and Mago who organised the absolute displeasure caused by the deletion of Infomaniac, MJ is now back and rocking like the fabulous bitch she is. There are still technical difficulties, old comments have disappeared and new comments seem to be going the same way. Eros has started another thread in the Google Help forum to try and resolve this issue, so please people make some noise.

After Infomaniac was restored to us, I looked forward to Filthy Friday this morning. Normal blogging service has been resumed, I thought seeing the naked conga line. And then I saw the post had been dedicated to KAZ. Kaz as you know has been MIA for some time and we've been very worried about her. Rightly, as it turns out. She is currently battling ovarian cancer.

I won't go into my love of the blogging community, cause if you haven't picked up on it by now, well, you're in need of a brain cell or two. Kaz was one of the first people to comment on my blog, nearly 4 years ago. She's been a fabulous friend, always ready with her razor sharp wit and fine sense of humour and has stuck with me through thick and thin.

Funny thing Life. I just had a look back through my stats and then I saw that today is my fourth blogging anniversary. Good grief. 523 posts, not including this one. Fuck.

Frantic Friday

I've had a bit of a busy time. I was going to fill you in yesterday, but with the kerfuffle with Blogger kidnapping MJ's blog Infomaniac, I rolled my sleeves up and threw myself into that melee. Actually, in a way there is a theme that runs through: the blogging community.

I trooped down to Yagnub to meet Z. We'd first clapped eyes on each other at a blog I no longer visit and then we started bumping into each other at Roger's place and then over at Dave's. We met in a lovely cafe. I did my trick of writing down the instructions of how to find said cafe on a slip of paper, which I promptly left next to my lap top. Along with Z's mobile number. Muppet, me? Oh yeah.

It's odd meeting someone for the first time, when you've been privy to their everyday activity, their family and their ups and downs. I didn't know the face, but I knew the soul. After we'd eaten Dilly and the Sage dropped in. Perhaps they were worried I was a serial killer? Hah, if only they knew I'm far more warped than that. Again, I'd heard so much about them, being with them was so easy, it was the meeting of friends. Z kindly took me back to inspect the Great Wall of Norfolk. Z did not appear to think it odd that I greeted her herbs and talked to her vegetables. It was a fabulous afternoon. I would have liked to have stayed longer but I had to hot foot it back home to prepare for a Summer Ball.

Lord Noel and Lady Jacqui made the mistake of inviting me to visit their manor for a spot of dinner. Thursday night, they rang and asked if I'd like to go to the local Summer Ball. Hell yes. As you've probably guessed, I'll turn up to the opening of an envelope. Any excuse to get my glad rags on, and I'm so there.

My first Ball was fun. Yes, you read right. I was a Ball virgin. I have to say, it wasn't quite what I expected. It was held in the ballroom of the local hotel and was...interesting. We invited ourselves to sit at a table and after awhile the three of us looked at each other and said 'we've gatecrashed a wedding'. It was exactly like that. Down to a woman dressed in cream, definitely from the Monsoon bridal collection. There were a few downright fashion disasters. Ladies, please, first rule of dressing up, black dress, black undies. The white bra strap is a no-no. The live band was of a good standard though their play list was a bit...ecclectic to say the least. They played a very decent version of Muses' Knights of Cydonia, immediately followed by Tom Jones' Delilah. I danced, drank and was very merry. Fortunately, I was offered B&B, I think I crawled off to bed at about 3 am. Hence my absence from the Interweb on Saturday. Just a bit fragile. Just a bit.

It's all about community. Whether virtual or physical, it doesn't matter. Don't let the people you care about wonder about your feelings. Roll your sleeves up and participate. These are the things that make my life worthwhile. Being part of something outside of yourself, brings meaning. It's all about the meaning for me.

Censored

It seems that someone over at Blogger/Google has been eating too much moral fibre.

My day started off with the news that MJ, over at Infomaniac has been abducted. Her blog and comments are no more. Before one could read her blog, one had to click the Adult Content warning. It was clearly marked. MJ was shepherd to a remarkable bunch of people from all over the world, all walks of life and she welcomed all expressions of sexuality.

Yes, there was adult content. Filthy Friday was well named. But it was consenting adults and quite frankly in terms of sexually explicit material, it was actually quite light.

That was bad enough.

Now it seems another blog has been removed. I had just started to visit Leni Quinan. I found her through mago.

As I'm a novice reader, I scratch my head trying to think of anything offensive or even mildly irritating over at Leni's. That's not the point.

The Adult Content warning is enough. What happens when adults play, is really up to them. Yes, this material is available to all. But you know what? There is much worse out there. Much worse. MJ neither endorsed nor supported sex relating to minors or non-consensual sex.

Freedom of expression is one of the joys of the internet. The opportunity to express yourself, as much or as little as you want. To be able to explore fantasies, hang out with friends, have virtual parties, it harms none. The censorship of these blogs does not protect the vulnerable. It is an attempt to make the blogging community Magnolia. I for one will not have it. Life is a rainbow and blogging should reflect it.

An Ode to Bottoms

There's a lot of talk of bottoms in Blog Land at the Moment.

This is the Ode to all things backside. Come on people, dance!

Meme, Meme, Meeeeme

More internet thievery, this time from Z.

1. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes. Have had a few weird encounters, one of which led me to the spiritual path I currently walk upon.

2. Are you content with your life? Yes actually. I am exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be getting on with. Mr Right is obviously running a bit late, but I'm not waiting for him to have a fantastic time.

3. Have you ever been close to point blank? Yes. Twice in my life. The edge is a scary place, but not as scary as the Abyss. I'm happy that I managed to pull myself back and the sun shines in my reality.

4. Is philosophy necessary? Absolutely. I'm always interested in reading about how other people make sense of Life, the Universe and Everything. I may not agree, but food for thought helps the brain to grow.

5. Do you live with books? Totally. I've got 5 shelves of books, some of which are doubled up. My dream is to have a big enough room to call a library.

6. Have you ever been on stage? In primary school. A non-event.

7. Do you regularly read a printed newspaper? No. I tend to get my news delivered virtually. I don't know why I prefer it, I just do.

8. Are you afraid of the future? Nope. I believe the future is constructed in the present. I have plans, Plans and dreams. I'm content today, which bodes well for tomorrow. Tomorrow might be shite, Life might knock me down and deliver a good kicking, but so what? I'll just get up again.

9. Do you know yourself? It's taken me a good 40 years to sort out the impact of other people's shit. The process has been painful and illuminating. One of the things I have come to realise about myself is that I am all about Authenticity and Meaning. I recognise my many faults, but ultimately, I am learning to be compassionate with myself which has lead to a sense of deep contentment.

10. Will you play on? Oh yeah, I like spreading the joy.

I nominate Princess, Mid-Wife Crisis, Savannah, Boxer and Dave (just cause he'll hate it).

The Right Time

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about my Life. Every time I make plans they seem to turn to dust. Not that that is a bad thing. Far from it. It just means I'm scratching my head thinking 'what am I going to do now?'

So I've looked at the list of things I want to do, but haven't quite got round to yet. It's quite a long list I realised. One of the things I have wanted to do, or perhaps I should say, something I wanted to have done, is orthodontic work. I had braces in my teens and the treatment was never finished properly. This meant that my teeth slid back into crooked positions over the years. I've been mulling this over, because let's face it, nice straight, white teeth are a good thing.

I was in the garden smoking and thinking and it came to me - if not now, when? When is going to be the right time to have this done? It's going to take 18 months from start to finish, every month I delay is another month I could have been closer to finishing. If I had the treatment done when I first looked into it, I'd be finished by now. So, now is the time. On the 18th of June I'll begin my torture sessions. In two Christmases from now, I'll have a Hollywood smile. Oh yeah baby.

The other thing which is on my list is exercise. How often have I said here that I want to be fit again? Again, the same logic applies. If not now - when? What, when I'm ageing and my decrepit body starts falling apart. Bit late then isn't it? When my energy levels improve? Are they really going to improve with no effort on my part? Hmmm...let me think. It really isn't going to happen is it?

You will need to excuse me now, I'm going to huff and puff through an exercise dvd. If you don't hear from me in a few days, assume my nicotined stained lungs have given out and I'm keeled over. Send Robert Downey Jr to do CPR.

Update: Damned near killed myself working out with Davina. Dear God, I thought this exercise lark is supposed to be good for you! Send RDJ now!

Mid-Wife Crisis

Ladies, Gentlemen and other fabulous and undetermined genders and persuasions. It has come to my notice that there is a rather funky new blog on the scene. As you may remember from my NHS Direct and department store days, I'm a big fan of the general public and therefore, public service blogs. This is a blog with a difference. This blog is about life in the sharp end of UK politics. If I was going to steal some buzz words, grassroots would come to mind.

I give you: Mid-Wife Crisis.

Enjoy.

Billy Joel "She's Always A Woman" HD

This came on as the sound track for a John Lewis ad. It stayed with me. Enjoy.

Dying Swan

Right you lot, which one of you gave me this bug? Come on 'fess up.

Boy came down with it Monday as did Petite Ursus. I steered clear of both and on Thursday started coughing up a lung. Very, very unpleasant. Yesterday, I felt like Lurch and Mr T had been using me as a punching bag, as well as the coughing, spluttering and sniffing, every inch of me hurt. Bright light and loud noises just hurt. Thank the Goddess for Ibuprofen and trashy novels. I took a large dose of each and hid in bed.

I'm not up and about. I just got bored. I know full well I'm not really dying, I just don't do ill. I'm not of the Stiff Upper Lip, Only When I Laugh, school of thought. I do the pathetic, send tea and sympathy Dying Swan. Which is fine. I feel sick, I want looking after.

However, this is only a cold. Let's put this in perspective. By next weekend, I will be feeling lots better and will back to my whingy, whiny self. There are those amongst us who are not faring so well. We have lost another blogger. Although, I didn't read Mutley's Blog, I did see him occasionally round MJs. It has brought home the fact that life is nasty, brutish and short once again.

I blog because I have a fundemental need to reach out and annoy. The blogging community I am proud to be part of is based on humour, genuine affection and caring. When I blog of some disaster which has befallen me, no matter how big or small, I am surrounded by friendship. Blogging isn't a replacement for real life; just because the community is based on binary code, it doesn't make it any less real.

I have a favour to ask. If you blog anonymously and are part of this little community of ours, find someone who won't leak your identity, someone you can trust. Someone, who in case something should happen, will let everyone know how you're doing. Should I drop dead tomorrow, Boy will let you know. I just don't want to wonder if you've gone off the whole blogging thing, or whether you've been trapped in a mine shaft, if I don't see you about. Please?

The Day After

Oh man, talk about feeling fragile.

*walks downstairs*

OMG.

Dave, what on earth are you doing here? Did you go home at all?

In fact, why is there a pile of people asleep under my table?

XL?

The Big Four Ohhh...

*runs around getting the Palais ready*

Welcome my dears. As you can see, Boy and I have decorated the Palais into festive mode.

There is a good spread of munchies, please help yourself. I'll get you your first drink, after that, help yourself.

It's lovely to see you.

*pours herself a glass of Aspalls cider*

Ahhh....

It's Official

Yes, it's true. The rumour mill has it right (for once). On Monday the 17th, I officially turn 40.

Therefore, prepare yourselves for a party round here at Palais de Roses on Monday.

I am expecting you all to turn up glammed to the max, bring the tipple and floozie of your choice. Be warned, I will be asking you about your choices.

I am however, bitterly disappointed in Boy. He refuses point blank to fly over to LA to get my birthday present. He muttered something about kidnapping and federal charges and the seediness of middle aged women.

Teenagers eh?

Movie Clip Wednesday - Best Adaptation of Book to Film

Public Service Announcement

It has come to my attention that perhaps gentlemen could use some beauty advice. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to educate you in good grooming practises that will ensure your significant other will continue to want to get up close and personal with you in years to come. And strangers in the street will stop walking to the other side of the road, or stop staring at a point just behind your head.

Gentlemen find a mirror and flare your nostrils.

If you can see even a strand of nasal hair...you are in need of my help.

I once had the most unfortunate experience. I went to a meeting. A serious meeting. A meeting where I could not afford to be distracted. The gentleman next to me had nasal hair a ring-tailed lemur could have swung from. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a cold. And no tissue or hanky. It meant that the tips of the hairs hanging proudly from his nose, dangling above his shaved upper lip were glistening. Glistening I tell you. Perfectly formed drops reflecting all the colours of the rainbow. All I can say is his wife and he must have been in difficulties, for her to let him out of the house looking like that. Can you imagine what his nose would have been like when it all dried up?

Because you, my gentle readers, are not right bastards and I enjoy your company greatly, I offer this advice: pluck or trim. I'm not a fan of plucking. Makes ones eyes water and hurts like hell. Many chemists in their electrical section offer men's grooming kits. You can buy nasal trimmers that won't shred the inside of your nose, but will whisk those pesky danglies away in 5 minutes. You will probably need to do this as part of your fortnightly grooming routine, but trust me, the effort is worth it. And while you're at it, check for ear hair and trim those too.

For those of you that will argue for the au naturel look, that will say 'all you have to do is tuck them in' - NO.

It doesn't work. The pesky danglies, will quickly untangle themselves and swing free above your top lip. Nor does trying to blend them in with your moustache work either. Just because the hair at the top of your head has migrated to your nostrils, you're going to have to face up to the fact it's really not sexy. It's not like you'll ever be able to style them properly. Let them go.

It's not big, it's not clever. It's certainly not sexy. It's nasty. Go trim.

Obsession

I've been thinking about my fascination with tv adverts for some time now. I've also been thinking how I would blog about it too. It's not that I'm worried that you'll think I'm weird, because quite frankly, if you don't think I'm a little bit on the odd side, you need to get your head checked.

Most evenings I'm draped on my sofa, cat curled up next to me, channel surfing looking for something, anything that looks vaguely interesting. I have come to engage more with the ads than I do the actual tv programmes. I was slightly concerned about this. I figured since leaving education, my brain has shriveled to the size of a dessicated pea.

It was when I was in Trinidad, curled up on my brother's sofa with a vague sense of dissatisfaction that the reasons began to dawn on me. In Trinidad, most of the television is cable from the States. Readers from North America, my apologies if you are offended. But the advert fare is actually quite boring. Boring and worrying. Bearing in mind I was watching prime time tv, most of the ads (and this is not me over-exaggerating) were about processed foods, cheap restaurants, fast foods or prescription drugs (which are scary). Occasionally, I recognised the beauty product ads, L'Oreal etc.

But by in large, most of the ads are of a very straight-forward presentational format. This is our Product, how much it costs, where you can find it, why you should buy it.

Adverts in the UK generally don't adhere to this format, unless of course it's a JML product. I've had a long think about this and it occured to me that UK adverts pull heavily from conceptual art, especially installation art. There's a surreal element to them which makes them fun and engaging.

For example, I love this Aero ad. Skateboarding through balloons. How fun is that?

This Sainsbury's Homebase ad is straight out of the conceptual art textbooks. Love it for the genuine surprise on the commuters' faces.

And of course this T Mobile ad, which was obviously influenced by this Sound of Music in Antwerp Station.

Having said that, I did find this on the sofa in Trinidad. I really enjoy this ad from Snickers. It just tickled me.

None of these ads have changed my spending habits, but it makes my nightly mong in front of the tv, slightly more entertaining. I am pleased to see the links between art and every day life, even in the pursuit of dirty schekels. After all, it's no fun being a struggling artist.

Iron Man 2

Yesterday, the Great Ursus and his Lovely took me to see Iron Man 2. As you can imagine I was kicking and screaming at being dragged. Not. On the way out I disgusted Boy and his friend by saying I'll need a Tena Lady for the experience. Tee hee. I do like being vile, it keeps him on his toes.

As a pre-birthday treat I was taken to a lovely Turkish restaurant. An unassuming cafe that serves the most amazing food. Yum, yum. And then Iron Man 2.

What can I say? Robert Downey Jr was fantastic as the tortured Tony Stark. It's rare to find such a rounded portrayal of a character from a comic book. The humour is sharp and biting. His bouts of self-destruction are cringing, especially balanced against his humanitarianism. His relationship with Pepper Potts could have been more central, but it's enough. The dynamite in the mix is Scarlet Johannsen's character (who kicks some serious arse, always a pleasure to see a woman in tight black doing so). There were slow bits that probably will have die hard action movie fans yawning, but I quite liked the variations in the pace. The soundtrack was unashamedly rock. It all added to a highly entertaining few hours. And yes, I will go for a second viewing.

The trailers for this summer's viewing look more than entertaining. Amongst the offerings:

• The A-Team - a rehash of the cult 80's TV series with Liam Neeson as Hannibal.


• Robin Hood - after Kevin Costner's version, I'm ambivalent. But Russel Crowe is lookin rather good.


• Knight and Day - Tom Cruise's latest offering. I'm not a fan, but it looks fun.


• Prince of Persia - Jake Gylenhaal looking very, very scrumptious.

Looks like it's going to be a fun, movie summer.