8/8. THE END.

So this is it, the end has arrived. It has been a blast, at least for me. I feel that I have achieved something here. Perhaps achieved is a little strong. At least I have put a few words down sometimes in the right order, occasionally raising a laugh; or at least a little sigh as you ponder why you have spent 5 minutes of your precious time reading my inner bilge. I don't expect any comments, or pleading with me not to go, you're not that type, but dear reader I do thank you for your persistence. I have been made aware of late that many aspects of life should be very much about quality, and not quantity. You reader, are a fine example of quality, it could be deemed a shame that the quality of what you have read has not followed suit. And so the mundanity of this lengthy goodbye is nearly, but not quite at an end, I feel I should leave you with some pearls of wisdom:

A job done badly, is still a job done, and sometimes that is all you've got.

7/8

I have always been a little in awe of creative people. Once I thought I was one, but having gotten to know me a little better I think I am a little bit of a wrecker. I do not think there will be a Sistine Chapel from me. People who create, take a piece of crap and present it back in beauty. Or perhaps, some present it back as crap, but this time you look at it differently and you are moved.Creative people travel with humilty across the world with faith that they will find a place to perform. They make and grow and share their productivity. They fund their own books and teach themselves new skills. Through other's creativity I can empathise with situations beyond my personal experience, I can be challenged to be a better person. I am sure enjoying other's creativity at times lessens my blood pressure and stops me from indulging in practises that could cost the mental health budget dearly. Thanks to all you who inspire me and lift me out of my sandpit, where left to my own devices I am punching holes in castles. I am just wondering if a huge government cut in the arts. is money well saved?

6/8

Not with a bang but with a whimper...It makes me infinitely sad that the blog demise is watched by no one... To quote or mis quote one of my favourite films 'We all die alone'. And so it must be, we can never really drag the living to our death scenes.

5/8

Ahh, reminiscing over the sweet soulfulness of summer. Tall grass, sunburn and insect watching. Scorched toes and callouses from bare feet walking, parched grass and grazed knees, mud and sand caking your legs. The days never ending, early rising and late sleeping. Meanwhile mum and dad are chuntering and bickering; money not enough, bills unpaid, weather too hot, too rainy, too cold. Too tired, too past it, too bored, too old.

This year I am a little smug as my adult/child comparisons are directed else where, because this summer I have felt just a little bit more like a child. I have made every effort, despite the pointless adult worrying and pondering; to play in dirt, insect watch and celebrate every time the sun has parted from the perpetual cloud. I have been more than a tiny bit silly, and have had headaches and bruises to prove it.

The summer is drawing to an end and if you were to ask me what I have done, I don't think I could tell you. I haven't got many pictures and mostly it was just me and the kids. That pre-summer list came to nothing, but I am sitting here with a little sense of well being as I pick the dirt between my toes.

4/8

This is the scene where the anti hero grasps the blog by its neck in the first stages of strangulation. The blog still has a little strength left as it flaps its arms wildly, eyes popping and veins bulging as its bulk is lifted off the floor. The scene is relentless and the audience is audibly uncomfortable; it should of ended hours ago but alas we are only half way through.

I was asked today if I was still blogging to which I answered 'Yes, but not for long'. There are many reasons for rapping this thing up. It is time to move on.

At one point in my life I moved on at regular intervals, for some cosmic reason I have found myself for the last 10 years in the same place, with the same people, in the same job. My sentimental side longs for a wistful rummage over a box of discarded memorabilia and I would like to add the streets of Leeds to the archive maps of my dreams; practically this is not going to happen any time soon. So the death of my blog is a substitute, a faux beginning and a contrived end. At times when I feel a little blue I will look through and weep, fat, lonely tears, a little regret that it never entered my head to write anonomously or to pay attention in those grammar classes.

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'!