3/8

It was probably a bit too much to ask, for you to stick around in the midst of the semi dramatic blog death scene. I left you with dead air and a low hum whilst I enjoyed the hum of Devon. But I am back now, crazy and wild, exploiting grammar, sticking commas any which way' starting sentences with but and flogging this dead horse with all the vehemence I can muster. Today I will provide you with a lovely , little ditty despite half of my audience, yes you, not making full use of the click and minimise function.

Today, yes husband even me, I am humbled; modest even in my address. For I have nothing of note to say, only questions to be asked.

• Why do really stupid people give so much advice?


• Why does it start raining at the beginning of summer and not rain in the midst of winter?


• Why when you have time is it not accompanied with motivation?


• Why when you are highly motivated do you not have any time?


• Why is money so difficult to keep hold of?


• Why do people spend so much time thinking they are rubbish when most of us are pretty much of a muchness and we might as well spend time our time doing something else?


• Why do really rubbish people think they are fantastic?


• Why does it ALWAYS rain in Devon and Cornwall?


• Why don't children have an off switch?


• Why don't husbands/wifes have an off switch?


• Why don't you switch off the computer and do something less boring instead?

2/8

It was the last of our bands in the park. A signal for winter weather to come and summer holidays to start. An equal mix of preschoolers, over 70's and winos attend, united in their capability of leaving behind wet patches. Winos, preschoolers and old folk got up to dance and I was left wondering which way to dive if any should fall over.

I have plans for the Summer. Even though I will be hard pushed to fit them into the uncustomary 5 weeks instead of the usual 6. I fully intend to sound track each and every one of my last few blog posts, keep the house a little tidy and finally complete my application to do a Masters. This Masters thing is quite important to me, I would like a real qualification, instead of an honours in the Art of Procrastination. However this year I have achieved a decent hair cut which for me is no small thing.

One, two, three and I'm back in the room. Pulled back from a far fetched dream of a mortar board perched over perfectly, funky hair. I'm grinning, clutching my doctorate, 'Come to me my pretties let me in to your mind, it won't hurt a bit'!

1/8

• I am sure you have all enjoyed my posts. Well perhaps you didn't but at this late stage it is too late to care. This my faithful follower is the beginning of the end. In fact it is the 8th step to the end. After wheeling by buggyless baby around for a week, inspiration struck amongst the estates of South Leeds. And so I will outline the long and slightly over egged swan song, if you have the consistancy for it perhaps you can stick around to the bitter end.
  
  It was never going to be a long term committment, this barbed, poor commentary on my South Leeds life. After all there is only so much milage in dog poo, litter and local madness. It is time to crack my knuckles and get to grips with my more serious side, but more of that later.
  
  Today I want to share with you the little things I have learnt on this journey of self discovery, stay with me, and whilst reading enjoy this
  
  *The love of pictures may be greater than the love of words.
  *I talk too much
  *dog poo is funny only once, and then it just sticks on your shoe.
  * 35 is exactly middle aged.
  * It is easier to see others good points, then too write about your own.
  * If you want to be really clever then you have to read.
  * Revel in wrong facts and pass them off as the truth.
  * Loneliness is pretty bad, but inertia can be worse
  * No one is interested in song titles, unless they have once danced to it.
  * Star Wars is not the only place of great learning, Doctor Who is.
  * Two readers is 50% more than 1, and 100% better than none.
  * The love of Twitter is fleeting.
  * Laughter is seldom, tears are rife.
  * Don't put two friends with the same name together on your mobile contact list.
  * 12 followers is the correct and biblical amount.
  * RSS feed is not for ducks.
  * Lists are not only for ticking
  * Like Friends, somethings go on too long.
  * If after 10 years you aren't remembered move on.

Dance With Me.

I had a dream last night. In it was the perfect plot and set of characters for a novel I was working on, it would revolutionise the 'teen book market (even in dreams my ideas are adolescent).

Further into my dream I was in a crowded room; instead of the usual dream like state of nakedness, I dressed ridiculously complete with pink socks and a 'Dance With Me' T shirt. I had silly shoes which would not let me stop dancing and so I whizzed endlessly on one spot on a coloured-light-checkered-dance-floor.

The dream continued, and I made 2am phone calls to taxi's, only instead I woke up hard working friends out of deep and pleasant slumbers. When friends commented politely that I looked gorgeous I replied 'I know'.

I also dreamed that I had completely run out of steam, that I was no longer relevant or funny and that all my current affairs knowledge came from reading facebook and yahoo news; that and a sinister blog mite had slipped in and started its own surrealist nonsense.

But then I woke up and discovered it was all *a dream.

*Please excuse the state of this weeks blog, I am off to detox, sing with some monks, scout around the local vicinity for something to rant about, walk around town with a babyless buggy and will be back to my old self sometime next week.

Rene and Georgette Margritte with their dog after the War

This week has felt a little surreal. In a muted real life Magritte way, as apposed to a full blown Dali episode. Spent last Sunday listening to the other half expel wastage from both ends, through no fault of his own except for getting in the way of a few vicious virus particles. I think my present wings of steel did not allow any of the buggers in, instead I have been content to whet my appetite with a little dizziness and a sense that all is not what it seems.

Somehow through it all I managed to finish reports, turn in to work and daydream about tweed and melting circular libraries. This week, amazingly the house has not fallen through, despite the cat monsoons, and I have held one or two conversations that have made sense. I blame the fact I am reading again, that and Lars Von Trier.

I have been reading a few blogs lately, unfortunately for my weary mind, from people who are well educated. And for the first time in a long time I have been feeling the necessity to reach for my dictionary, and it has made me nostalgic for a time when the dictionary was my favourite ablution companion.

I am going to get some extra sleep, and immerse myself in something wholesome. Perhaps make some soup from my homegrown lettuce. Tomorrow I am planning on making some sense.

The man with the child in his eyes

I was at some point, hopefully the appropriate point, an academically over average 7 year old. Unfortunately my academic prowess never quite progressed with my years, not to mention my curtailed span of attention. Of course I am a little disappointed that my intelligence couldn't bring me more of the lifestyle I would like to be accustomed to. I try not to push my failed ambitions on to my offspring. Although I have been known to snap 'What do you wanna do that for?', with one eye on the crumbling house as the eldest explains she would like to become a teacher.

One week I made her come home and do her homework before doing anything else, she squirmed uncomfortably and I squirmed even more uncomfortably for possibly the longest 10minutes of my life. So I will confess, despite having the perfect psychological profile to become the world's most pushy parent I fail on all accounts; well my 7 year old intellect and attention span just cannot resist those games they play. Hold on one second... What was that? Yeah! I get to be the Master of Doom!

Wordy Rappinghood

I am going to make this fast. I have a date, in bed with a ... book!

The past 7 years I have neglected the noble art of reading. I have instead dedicated time to breeding, housework and bemoaning the fact that I am poor. I have built myself up slowly. Starting with cereal packets, moving to the Guardian and making small steps up towards the second child's Doctor Who magazine. After which I finished my good friend Gunter Grass and now I am reading a book... from the beginning. I have been in the intellectual doledrums and I have missed stretching the grey matter. The thing is I am one of those opinionated types, I am sure this will have passed you by, recently I have fallen into the trap of modern folks in that I am basing my opinions on the idiot lantern. Now I have recently found a blog which bases its opinions on Star Wars, that of course is permissible.

Dance to the Music of the World.

The children have been busy with their homage to JG Ballard. Making our little home into a wonderful, magical, mystical land; thankfully one that keeps on the right side of fantasy without the horror of corpses in the freezer. Together they make an interesting team, the slight one likes to draw vampires alongside the eldest's fairies and flowers. Trying to find the beginning and the end of one of their fights is like unravelling an impossible knot, the only common denominator is that it usually starts and ends in laughter. They are best left to it I say, as long as there is no drawing of blood; they'll find their own way.

The television broke this week. Instead we saved up our watching time for the fine experience that is Hyde Park Cinema; I got all Lynchian and took photos of red drapes and asked my 6 year old if the pre screening soundtrack was from 'Lost Highway' or 'Twin Peaks'. She scanned her memory of Dad's ipod to answer, correctly I might add.

At the beginning of the week the slight child made me chuckle when she asked if she could phone dad for 'A sad song', 'Why do you want to listen to a sad song?' I asked. 'No mummy, Sad Song' she replied singing a perfect redition of Lou Reed. This is just a little time after the eldest used Tom Waits as her point of reference to describe a gruff voice.

On some occasions you just have to talk about the things that you like, and if that means a little conversation with yourself then so be it. Like plugging in your ipod and nodding along in a crowded place, sometimes a little of what you fancy is all that you need. Now excuse me whilst I read the Tin Drum to the baby.