Things can only get better.

It is not often I return to a previous rant with some good news. I feel I need to ladle high praise on the village council. They have collected aforementioned green bin. They have collected and given us assurance in writing that we will have regular collections.

Now I can roll up my sleeves and get knee deep in my next community based project. Yes you have guessed it, I am turning my attention to crap. The man of the house has already written a carefully worded letter outlining the state of our pavements and streets and the council have duly reciprocated. Their equally carefully worded letter can be paraphrased thus: Unless you the citizen of said village, spend all your time patrolling your streets, stop every dog owner and ask their name and address and whilst your at it follow them to ascertain where and when their dogs excrete; we are loathed to spend any time on doing anything about it. Even though we do spend thousands putting up do not foul signs which are not enforced.

It is an interesting attitude to take to such a public nuisance. Perhaps all crime prevention should be abolished to save a bob or two? Perhaps the next time there is a football match instead of spending any resources preventing the inevitable pint and a fight; just ignore the mess and only do something about it if someone complains complete with a name, address and a number.

It is not rocket science :'Oi dog wardens come on down to South Leeds, for your info dogs generally poo 2-3 times a day (usually after their food) most probably morning and evening. Take a walk round, I am sure if you do you will hit the jack pot. Or at least be scrapping something off your shoe. Of course I am not suggesting you've never been here, its just that after 10 years I'm feeling that I have more chance of meeting the toothfairy than encountering one of you'.

Just me, myself and I.

Don't get me wrong I enjoy writing with a hint of humour and I do enjoy hearing the complements received after making someone laugh (thank you Mamma W). However every now and again in a blogger's life one writes purely for ones self. I know what you are thinking, maybe something along the lines of 'Oi you, and your inner feelings, Go get a room!' But I am afraid my psyche and I are too lip locked to take much notice.

My plan is to close this blog in September, because by then I hope to be pursuing writing of a more academic nature. This plan has been on a low light for sometime now, and I have been plodding, behind the scenes, towards my goals. Many things have been put to one side, and sometimes comfort has been sacrificed over frugality. The proof of the pudding is in the eating and very shortly I will find out if my plan is at all viable; and that is what is giving me the emotional heebie jeebies. No one likes failure and I have the added problem of a genetic predisposition towards absolute fear of rejection.

For now, I have finished snogging with my inner psyche, and perhaps we are off for some relationship counselling. If after all that, you feel bloated and flatulent with inner angst, I do apologise but only slightly, do not fear I will be back to your favourite subjects tomorrow.

The Green Mile

Sunday is the day where I bring my ramblings closer to home and hopefully share a little of the apple pie existence that is ours. Words from our beautiful homestead nestled in a picturesque village, in the province of South Leeds. [1]

In our village it is custom to use resources carefully, for example by sharing recycling bins. Those who live in streets without, feel it is their duty to share without complaint, or failing that use the community based recycling facilities known affectionately amongst villagers as Da Street.

Our village council ensure the needs of those applying for a recycling bin are genuine by making them ask for approximately 3 years and firstly supplying applicants with a 'test bin'. This is duly uncollected and returned.

It is policy to then wait for a prolonged period and to offer applicants a second recycling bin, ensuring that collection is guaranteed. To ensure no misuse of recycling facilities it is a further requirement to fill appropriately, leave correctly and then bring back on to property, uncollected, at least twice. The village council look at each case individually and deem collection necessary based on the frequency and vehemency of further phone calls from applicant.



[1] The author of this blog will not take responsibility for any foreign travel to the province of South Leeds based on reading of this here post.

Chirpy Chirpy Tweet Tweet.

I have discovered the joys of Twitter. In my own mind I see my daily tweets to all 4 of my followers (soon to be 3 after clicking on one the tiny urls!) as a service.

To me, twitter is a wonderful source of finding out and providing information, I now follow interesting folk like Yoko ono, Stephen Fry and John Brockman

The wealth of information at my disposal! And all discovered by messing with this blogging malarkey! You see I need a purpose and if not to draw in thousands of readers (my comfort is I am scribbling for a niche demographic... of 2); it is pursuit of knowledge, a mental stretching of a flabby mind. The mental fog brought on by the thought of voting in the general election coupled with the fact I haven't read a complete book for about 5 years, is making me doubt my wee inner voice.

I like the idea of providing others with sweet morsels of knowledge, perhaps it will lead you to a thought never thunk before. By the way if you have a chance could you send those thoughts back this way, 'cos I haven't got the foggiest who I've linked and what they're on about.

Pulp Fiction

Last night a dj saved my life. Actually it was tonight and it was our good friend Jarvis Cocker, www.bbc.co.uk/6music/shows/jarviscocker he in his understated manner noted that an artist sees things in a different way. This difference was viewed positively and necessary, I do hope I caught the gist of the discussion with Laurie Anderson correctly. Sigh! A different point of view seen as a complementary aspect of society, not just an irritant.

Of course I am no artist, but I live with one so surely that allows me to make claims on platitudes. Feeling good by proxy, sounds vaguely Freudian. I'll have a piece of that.

I have been so pleased with myself, my readership appeared to be growing. I gained a rather dedicated reader from London. London that's a sophisticated bunch, they'll know about the ways of the world. It turns out that I am that sophisicated reader, my aging computer is playing tricks on me.

Micro Meditation

Firstly apologies for my tardiness, a day behind (somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear 'I told you so'). The husband and I have not been at home for a day. We have been off having fun, something the pair of us need to get used to.

The children have been busy with sleep deprivation training, in adult terms a sleepover. This training will help them with the sweet but brief 'party years', just before the fatigue of realising your dream job isn't out there and there is no romance in poverty.

It has been a week of quiet contemplation in those micro seconds between the kids demanding, whinging and being recklessly optimistic (half term again). I was lucky enough to enjoy some retail counselling from the assistant at Gap. That rare moment in modern living where you feel calmer and more valued after speaking to a company representative than before. Simple acts like exchanging damaged goods without receipts can be done in a way that uplifts one's soul. 'I like that man mummy'; high praise indeed from a child which two minutes previously had been shattering windows with her tantrum scream.

And of course I have received some feedback from 50% of my readership, thank you, that one comment will keep me going for a while.

Blogging For Dummies

I visited the library yesterday and came away with Blogging For Dummies. At the moment that speaks volumes, what began as a private therapeutic action is continuing to fall head long into uncontrollable obsession. You may be shocked that I am posting uncharacteristically during The Week ; this is mainly due to my aforementioned growing obsession and partly cos I want to check out a couple of new gadgets. I think they might be slung into the cyber bin, but I am hopeful they will work. One of the things that I have picked up through my quick squizz of blogging for dummies is the notion of a blog being interactive. In my eagerness to write and comment humorously about my everyday occurrences I've missed the point of interaction. Indeed only this morning I was providing my husband with a monologue about the onesidedness and tedium of monologues. So all two of you, feedback please. If I have held your attention for more than a couple of seconds, please tell me whatcha liked. And of course, the hard bit, the side of this I am not really built to take.... tell me what's bad.

Dem Bones. Dem Bones.

Against my better judgement I purchased the album Pop Party 7 for my 6 year old. It is really quite unsuitable. One song in particular promotes the misconception that equality of the sexes is achieved by ladies adopting a sexy but don't touch attitude. This is irksome enough, however what I really object to is the mathematical improbabilities which are being thrust at impressionable minds.

According to the song, these lovely ladies would become billionaires if they had a dime every time a 'silly' boy stopped to stare. This requires one to be stared at 10 billion times. Now, these 'babes are reportedly in a club, one which presumably flouts all health and safety recommendations on capacity or perhaps more reasonably these stares are calculated over a period of time. Further research and the assumption that a stare be approximately 2 seconds would result in an an accumulative stare of 20 billion seconds. On this recommendation those 'silly' boys have become very disturbing boys and are exclaiming 'Hey Sexy!' at some captivating skeletons, perhaps littered with a few writhing bikini clad worms. The only feasible explanation is that these women have accrued a rather large but dedicated group of stalkers, which are permitted certain liberties in order to validate their sexual equality.


For those looking for a Bank Holiday Monday project, the following from WikiAnswers may help with any calculations which may arise.

1 min = 60 seconds
1 hour = 60 min = 60 x 60 seconds = 3,600 seconds
1 day = 24 hours = 24 x 3,600 seconds = 86,400 seconds
1 year = 365 days = 365 x 86,400 seconds = 31,536,000 seconds

To get the number of years for 1,000,000,000 seconds, we just divide
1,000,000,000 by 31,536,000

It should give us : 1,000,000,000 / 31,536,000 = 31.71 years


10 billion dimes = 1 billion dollars.

The way to a Man's Heart...

The marking of calendar events is a developing interest of mine. As yet this celebratory side does not extend much beyond my very immediate family; I still have much work ahead convincing the oldest member of the flock that birthdays and holidays are to be embraced with gusto.

This year the original celebratory idea of extreme sport at Xscape, quickly turned into an exercise in extreme eating. What with birthday meals, birthday breakfasts (complete with chips!?) birthday cake and coffee, birthday Cava and more birthday food. As a result we managed to indulge in the extreme sports of breath holding, wind dodging and duvet flapping; providing more than enough adrenaline for pair of us.

My insight into what makes a good celebration for my husband is finally paying dividends, and having effect on how he sees important family and calendar events. After watching him ceremoniously 'Open' the homemade compost bin, with the ritualistic tossing of peelings and teabags accompanied with a little faux speech, I can't help but feel a little proud.

Happy Easter