This being a day when miraculously, I have for once had a solid 6-hours sleep and am feeling, for me fairly energized, it seems somehow incumbent on me to fill the day with chores.
Is this guilt, conditioning from 'way-back', a desire to catch up before the energy runs out, or merely some type of insanity?
How is it that many of us feel that in order to justify our existence we have, not only to work to the point of exhaustion, but also to be seen to be filling our time profitably?
I have read a great deal about the concept of original sin, but original guilt - where did that come from?
Whatever the reason, I now have an empty linen-basket, loads of freshly-ironed clothes, a clean house and how do I feel? Cheated - that's how! Though what else could have been done on such a vile wet, windy, miserable day I've no idea.
Far be it from me to offer up any theories on the human psyche but what a sad old lot we are if we are unable to find a better way of utilising good energy than in sanitizing our surroundings.
Perhaps it is just me after all. What a horrible thought. Think I'll go and have a whisky or maybe drown myself in the bird bath!
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Insomnia 11
Once again at the magic machine in the all-too-early hours. Currently obsessing about the fact that while my blogs are now beginning to be read, so far none of my friends, contacts etc have been able to post a comment successfully.
Anguished phone-calls, emails keep coming my way: "What am I doing wrong, why can't I send my comments?" How on earth should I know I only write the things, what happens after that is a complete mystery to me.
Clearly there is something very basic which has been omitted from my 'education' and it could well be something I am failing to do which does not allow their remarks to appear on my posts.
While it is a sad reflection on my blogging skills that I was only able to go 'public' with the aid of a good friend, it is even more humiliating to be a failed "nerd"!
Now I will have to throw myself on the mercy of said friend once more and beg for further guidance. Deep joy!
S.. the thing, think tis time to make some tea.
Anguished phone-calls, emails keep coming my way: "What am I doing wrong, why can't I send my comments?" How on earth should I know I only write the things, what happens after that is a complete mystery to me.
Clearly there is something very basic which has been omitted from my 'education' and it could well be something I am failing to do which does not allow their remarks to appear on my posts.
While it is a sad reflection on my blogging skills that I was only able to go 'public' with the aid of a good friend, it is even more humiliating to be a failed "nerd"!
Now I will have to throw myself on the mercy of said friend once more and beg for further guidance. Deep joy!
S.. the thing, think tis time to make some tea.
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Melancholia (Glass Half-Empty Syndrome
For those of us with an introspective bent the title of this piece is a central thread which twines ( I won,t say courses) through our daily life. Negativity, in all its soul-destroying bleakness often seems the only response in a world of perplexing questions.
Knowing how destructive this force can be is no remedy for treating the disease. Think about that word dis - ease, a perfect description for the wretched state of mind it portrays.
A poor sleeper at the best of times, I have currently been having a series of nightmares when I do actually manage a few hours sleep. These in the main, consist of being lost in various locations with which I am totally unfamiliar; the latest for some obscure reason being Edinburgh.
No doubt a host of explanations could be offered for this odd state of affairs, some of which I'd rather not think about, but at present a cure appears out of reach.
This is, I realise, hardly the stuff of light entertainment, but then I'm not a court jester and have my own opinions as to what should or should not appear in a blog.
Not, in my view, merely a means of public massaging of one's ego, nor just an exercise in light-hearted "look how funny I am" efforts to amuse the wider world (should anyone actually read your stuff ) but also a way of verbalising one's own angst. Especially if like me, there is no-one in whom to confide this sort of inner dialogue.
Aware though I am, that this is only a 'dip', and that the merest touch will quite easily lift the current downward trend and put life back on course again, yet still it is perhaps a good thing for all of us to recognise that there are people with whom we are in daily contact who may be suffering from the "black dog" syndrome and to whom a smile and a friendly gesture can make all the difference to the day.
A long and miserable diatribe, and not one I would normally put in print, but just now and then it seems necessary to let life's "Pollyannas" know that there are other attitudes to life than the "every cloud has a silver lining" one and that for some of us - every silver lining has a very large very black cloud attached.
Now that I have successfully depressed half the population life suddenly looks much better!
Knowing how destructive this force can be is no remedy for treating the disease. Think about that word dis - ease, a perfect description for the wretched state of mind it portrays.
A poor sleeper at the best of times, I have currently been having a series of nightmares when I do actually manage a few hours sleep. These in the main, consist of being lost in various locations with which I am totally unfamiliar; the latest for some obscure reason being Edinburgh.
No doubt a host of explanations could be offered for this odd state of affairs, some of which I'd rather not think about, but at present a cure appears out of reach.
This is, I realise, hardly the stuff of light entertainment, but then I'm not a court jester and have my own opinions as to what should or should not appear in a blog.
Not, in my view, merely a means of public massaging of one's ego, nor just an exercise in light-hearted "look how funny I am" efforts to amuse the wider world (should anyone actually read your stuff ) but also a way of verbalising one's own angst. Especially if like me, there is no-one in whom to confide this sort of inner dialogue.
Aware though I am, that this is only a 'dip', and that the merest touch will quite easily lift the current downward trend and put life back on course again, yet still it is perhaps a good thing for all of us to recognise that there are people with whom we are in daily contact who may be suffering from the "black dog" syndrome and to whom a smile and a friendly gesture can make all the difference to the day.
A long and miserable diatribe, and not one I would normally put in print, but just now and then it seems necessary to let life's "Pollyannas" know that there are other attitudes to life than the "every cloud has a silver lining" one and that for some of us - every silver lining has a very large very black cloud attached.
Now that I have successfully depressed half the population life suddenly looks much better!
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Insomnia
It is only 3.50am but it feels like mid-day. Know the feeling? Welcome to my not very exclusive club.
The inability to sleep is something of a family curse within my tribe. It is a question then of either lying there prone with one's mind racing or getting up, making tea, watching awful all-night repeats of films which were not worth watching when new or trying to do something constructive. This is none of those, but is a way of releasing the previous day's tensions without actually killing anyone.
Yesterday was a bad day, full of angst, anxiety, anger, acrimony and not least adrenaline, about to be utilised!
Somehow, whatever problems have arisen during the previous day, whether dealt with well or ill they contrive to re-appear in the wee small hours grown to giant proportions.
Putting words on paper used to work for me, but since the world of computers became a part of my life on-screen words are in some mysterious way more theraputic. A kind of vanity no doubt, but still quite a powerful way of dealing with one's inner demons.
The people who impose their more unpleasant characteristics on you during the day, can have quite a crushing affect if you are having a vulnerable or over-sensitive 24 hours, but night-time scribbling/blogging is a good way of ridding yourself of the ego-shrinking results of verbal attacks without actually engaging with the individual concerned. A way if you will, of emerging triumphant from a battle which you have not actually fought!
Freud would have had a field day no doubt. Luckily for me, he is no longer with us.
I imagine creative people might put this time to better use, but for me it serves a purpose, even if it is only to unscrew a valve and release some steam. Which then allows space for the more pleasant events of the previous day to begin to take precedence over the others.
Walking or rather exercising the mad young collie of one of my neighbours while we had a happy catch-up in for once, a sunny evening. In the end I suppose the good trivia of each day usually manages to outweigh the bad.
4.35 am time to gather my wandering wits and face another baggy-eyed day.
The inability to sleep is something of a family curse within my tribe. It is a question then of either lying there prone with one's mind racing or getting up, making tea, watching awful all-night repeats of films which were not worth watching when new or trying to do something constructive. This is none of those, but is a way of releasing the previous day's tensions without actually killing anyone.
Yesterday was a bad day, full of angst, anxiety, anger, acrimony and not least adrenaline, about to be utilised!
Somehow, whatever problems have arisen during the previous day, whether dealt with well or ill they contrive to re-appear in the wee small hours grown to giant proportions.
Putting words on paper used to work for me, but since the world of computers became a part of my life on-screen words are in some mysterious way more theraputic. A kind of vanity no doubt, but still quite a powerful way of dealing with one's inner demons.
The people who impose their more unpleasant characteristics on you during the day, can have quite a crushing affect if you are having a vulnerable or over-sensitive 24 hours, but night-time scribbling/blogging is a good way of ridding yourself of the ego-shrinking results of verbal attacks without actually engaging with the individual concerned. A way if you will, of emerging triumphant from a battle which you have not actually fought!
Freud would have had a field day no doubt. Luckily for me, he is no longer with us.
I imagine creative people might put this time to better use, but for me it serves a purpose, even if it is only to unscrew a valve and release some steam. Which then allows space for the more pleasant events of the previous day to begin to take precedence over the others.
Walking or rather exercising the mad young collie of one of my neighbours while we had a happy catch-up in for once, a sunny evening. In the end I suppose the good trivia of each day usually manages to outweigh the bad.
4.35 am time to gather my wandering wits and face another baggy-eyed day.
Monday, 20 September 2010
Ageism and me
I have always believed and said that age has nothing to do with what is written on a birth certificate or indeed any other document. It is a state of mind and an attitude to what life throws at us and how we react to each other and the challenges of each day which is the true measure of age.
This has nothing to do with the dyed blonde/brunette/redhead, Botox treated, artificially enhanced inhabitants of the planet and their (usually pointless) attempts to avoid the ageing process.
Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with that approach, just that it is a separate issue.
On the bus this morning I noticed that the front two or three seats labled "these seats are for the elderly, disabled etc" were all empty, and all the passengers, myself included, mainly well over sixty-five, scrupulously avoided sitting in them. The result being that when we reached town all the front seats were occupied by those in their teens and twenties.
"Hang on" I thought, "there's surely something wrong here". As the youngsters skipped happily off the bus and we edged our slower way forward it seemed to me that we are possibly cutting off our noses to spite our faces. Perhaps in failing to recognise that we are indeed old, or at least older than many we are perhaps depriving ourselves of some of the all too few benefits of having reached seniority.
Not accepting what we feel we do not need , is maybe an attempt to push the clock back, in much the same way as the determinedly youthful both male and female insist on wearing too short skirts , tight shorts, ultra low-necked sleeveless tops etc., perhaps we are all in denial of the dreaded "old-age" tag we all hate.
I think what I'm trying to say is all these external manifestations of age-defying antics have little if anything to do with real old age which often is, but need not be a sort of acceptance that life is no longer there to be lived, avenues no longer to be explored, new ideas, interests, relationships all suddenly no longer available to us.
For what it's worth, in my opinion, that is a kind of slow suicide and is totally unacceptable as a recipe for any kind of life.
Take risks! Fall flat on your face! Look a total prat, but above all don't die untill you have to.
This has nothing to do with the dyed blonde/brunette/redhead, Botox treated, artificially enhanced inhabitants of the planet and their (usually pointless) attempts to avoid the ageing process.
Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with that approach, just that it is a separate issue.
On the bus this morning I noticed that the front two or three seats labled "these seats are for the elderly, disabled etc" were all empty, and all the passengers, myself included, mainly well over sixty-five, scrupulously avoided sitting in them. The result being that when we reached town all the front seats were occupied by those in their teens and twenties.
"Hang on" I thought, "there's surely something wrong here". As the youngsters skipped happily off the bus and we edged our slower way forward it seemed to me that we are possibly cutting off our noses to spite our faces. Perhaps in failing to recognise that we are indeed old, or at least older than many we are perhaps depriving ourselves of some of the all too few benefits of having reached seniority.
Not accepting what we feel we do not need , is maybe an attempt to push the clock back, in much the same way as the determinedly youthful both male and female insist on wearing too short skirts , tight shorts, ultra low-necked sleeveless tops etc., perhaps we are all in denial of the dreaded "old-age" tag we all hate.
I think what I'm trying to say is all these external manifestations of age-defying antics have little if anything to do with real old age which often is, but need not be a sort of acceptance that life is no longer there to be lived, avenues no longer to be explored, new ideas, interests, relationships all suddenly no longer available to us.
For what it's worth, in my opinion, that is a kind of slow suicide and is totally unacceptable as a recipe for any kind of life.
Take risks! Fall flat on your face! Look a total prat, but above all don't die untill you have to.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Inpsiration Perspiration Exasperation
Whew! Made it on to the right page. What an achievement. Yeah I know, pathetic isn't it?
Ideas come and go but by the time I've got to the page I've long since lost the plot!
Perhaps in a parallel universe there might be a place for waffling of this calibre but if so, I would
hate to be an inhabitant.
The first four blogs I created (I think that's the word) and of which I was rather proud disappeared into cyberspace at the speed of light and though I can read them on my screen,
sadly the world has been denied that privilege.
Dry your tears, there will be endless replacements.
Trying to type using an index finger swollen with two wasp stings is not my idea of a pleasant
day at the desk. The little ....... stung me once and while I was flailing wildy in a vain attempt
to dislodge the beast, it did it again...........D'ye think it was trying to tell me something?
More than enough methinks for my second effort, just off to listen to a recording of Vaughan
Williams "The Wasps".
More anon.
Ideas come and go but by the time I've got to the page I've long since lost the plot!
Perhaps in a parallel universe there might be a place for waffling of this calibre but if so, I would
hate to be an inhabitant.
The first four blogs I created (I think that's the word) and of which I was rather proud disappeared into cyberspace at the speed of light and though I can read them on my screen,
sadly the world has been denied that privilege.
Dry your tears, there will be endless replacements.
Trying to type using an index finger swollen with two wasp stings is not my idea of a pleasant
day at the desk. The little ....... stung me once and while I was flailing wildy in a vain attempt
to dislodge the beast, it did it again...........D'ye think it was trying to tell me something?
More than enough methinks for my second effort, just off to listen to a recording of Vaughan
Williams "The Wasps".
More anon.
Technophobe
As the total disappearance of my four previous blogs will confirm, I am a total technophobe. If
any person knows of any good reason why I should be let loose on a computer they must state it now.
Never having met one before this must make me unique in my neighbourhood. How does someone with the digital competance of a dead bat learn to use this fascinating, terrifying machine ?
By trial and error that's how!
Since declaring my intention to get aquainted with technology many people have made offers of
help, however very few have lived up to their promised help and I am floundering in a mud¬bath of instructions advice and long¬distance verbal assistance.
Since on¬line information appears to be in Serbo Croat or something similar, and in any case
requires the ability to actually get on¬line in the first place progress is agonisingly slow.
If anyone out there has any real advice I'd be glad to hear it (assuming of course that this
actually gets "out there" this time.
Help.........
Daydreamer.
any person knows of any good reason why I should be let loose on a computer they must state it now.
Never having met one before this must make me unique in my neighbourhood. How does someone with the digital competance of a dead bat learn to use this fascinating, terrifying machine ?
By trial and error that's how!
Since declaring my intention to get aquainted with technology many people have made offers of
help, however very few have lived up to their promised help and I am floundering in a mud¬bath of instructions advice and long¬distance verbal assistance.
Since on¬line information appears to be in Serbo Croat or something similar, and in any case
requires the ability to actually get on¬line in the first place progress is agonisingly slow.
If anyone out there has any real advice I'd be glad to hear it (assuming of course that this
actually gets "out there" this time.
Help.........
Daydreamer.
Helpless, Hopeless, Useless
It seems that no matter what I do none of my posts can be accessed byanyone other than yours truly. What I am doing wrong or failing to do is a total mystery and looks like staying that way. Only one of the people who have offered me help has a blogspot and is therefore the only one likely to have a clue about my problem. Unfortunately, he is also the least likely to ever supply the offered help, quick to promise slow to deliver!
Sadly for me at least, since no-one else is ever going to set eyes on my illiterate outpourings, this would appear to be the end of the line.
Alas the world has been deprived of a latter-day Shakespeare.
Heartbroken Hannah!
Sadly for me at least, since no-one else is ever going to set eyes on my illiterate outpourings, this would appear to be the end of the line.
Alas the world has been deprived of a latter-day Shakespeare.
Heartbroken Hannah!
Ringing The Changes
A year yesterday since my husband died. Seems centuries ago, so much has changed
in my life.
For the past 12 months I have continued to wear my wedding ring. Don't really know
why, perhaps habit, perhaps as a sort of amulet. Whatever the real reason have now decided
to remove it for good.
This time I do know why. For me the wedding ring is a badge of office, a statement of
status to the rest of the world. It says 'I'm married'. As this is no longer true it is time to go-
it-alone.
Does this sound like bravado: is it whistling in the dark: who knows?
One of my friends is slightly shocked by the decision, perhaps she's right. It will be
interesting to see if anyone notices. As for me, I feel somewhat naked.
Not my usual light-hearted style but then, not really a light-hearted subject.
More anon.
in my life.
For the past 12 months I have continued to wear my wedding ring. Don't really know
why, perhaps habit, perhaps as a sort of amulet. Whatever the real reason have now decided
to remove it for good.
This time I do know why. For me the wedding ring is a badge of office, a statement of
status to the rest of the world. It says 'I'm married'. As this is no longer true it is time to go-
it-alone.
Does this sound like bravado: is it whistling in the dark: who knows?
One of my friends is slightly shocked by the decision, perhaps she's right. It will be
interesting to see if anyone notices. As for me, I feel somewhat naked.
Not my usual light-hearted style but then, not really a light-hearted subject.
More anon.
Pavlovian Repsonses
An experience this morning left me initially angry, then disappointed, hurt and somewhat
surprised at my reactions. Without going into any detail let me first say that anyone who
knows me at all well would readily confirm that what is on the lid is not necessarily what is
in the box.
We all have a public face and with just a very few that is all there is, but most of us I contend
wear masks quite a lot of the time.
Whether this is a good thing is another matter. Clearly we cannot always say just what we'd
like to say and often for very good reasons we choose to modify our reactions to situations
and people who affect us emotionally. The conventions of a so-called civilised society demands
certain responses from us and rather than start World-War 3 we fall into line.
As you can see I am still wrestling with my technical inadequacies too!
What I think I am trying to say is that sometimes something other than the usual
response is necessary both for our own well-being and that of our peers.
surprised at my reactions. Without going into any detail let me first say that anyone who
knows me at all well would readily confirm that what is on the lid is not necessarily what is
in the box.
We all have a public face and with just a very few that is all there is, but most of us I contend
wear masks quite a lot of the time.
Whether this is a good thing is another matter. Clearly we cannot always say just what we'd
like to say and often for very good reasons we choose to modify our reactions to situations
and people who affect us emotionally. The conventions of a so-called civilised society demands
certain responses from us and rather than start World-War 3 we fall into line.
As you can see I am still wrestling with my technical inadequacies too!
What I think I am trying to say is that sometimes something other than the usual
response is necessary both for our own well-being and that of our peers.
Having let down my guard and briefly removed the customary face mask I now
feel embarassed at having made a mountain out of a molehill. Odd creatures
aren't we?
Oh well, back into my shell till the next person ruffles my feathers - how's that
for a mixed metaphor?
The Power of the Inanimate over the Inadequate
In many ways there is a horrible fascination in banging your head repeatedly against the brick
wall created by total incompetance and fear of all things technical.
There is the lure of the unknown which encourages the foolhardy to imagine they have the key
to an unfamiliar technique, quickly followed by humiliation, rage, sometimes a hissy-fit but
ultimately total frustration.
Why are some people able to leap ahead of others with the agility of a mountain goat while others never quite get the hang of it?
Sadly I am one of the latter and my new love affair with the computer is rapidly losing its
attraction. I shall get me to a nunnery, assuming there's one that will take me, there to
intercede with the god of inanimate objects on behalf of the victims of Machiavellian
machines.
This may well be my last excusion into the world of blog.
wall created by total incompetance and fear of all things technical.
There is the lure of the unknown which encourages the foolhardy to imagine they have the key
to an unfamiliar technique, quickly followed by humiliation, rage, sometimes a hissy-fit but
ultimately total frustration.
Why are some people able to leap ahead of others with the agility of a mountain goat while others never quite get the hang of it?
Sadly I am one of the latter and my new love affair with the computer is rapidly losing its
attraction. I shall get me to a nunnery, assuming there's one that will take me, there to
intercede with the god of inanimate objects on behalf of the victims of Machiavellian
machines.
This may well be my last excusion into the world of blog.
Unsolicited Gifts
This is the third attempt to reach my blog spot. Heaven help me if I ever have anything
important to say!
This morning I was disturbed by a ring at the doorbell which proved to be the postman with
a parcel from a charity I support from time to time. This is not the first time I have been
bombarded with totally unsolicited and unwanted gifts by a charity hoping to squeeze an extra
donation out of me.
My objection to this form of moral blackmail is two-fold. Firstly, I need no persuasion to
donate to causes I already support and secondly and much more importantly, the money
spent on the gift in question could have gone directly to the beneficiaries . Am I alone in
thinking there is something inherantly wrong with an organisation which purports to be in
dire need of funds yet spends hard-won cash on useless trash?
Perhaps it was just getting out of bed on the wrong side, but as the steam poured out of my
ears and the cooling-down process began I still felt there was some validity to my argument.
Has anyone any suggestions for a suitable reply to this organisation?
important to say!
This morning I was disturbed by a ring at the doorbell which proved to be the postman with
a parcel from a charity I support from time to time. This is not the first time I have been
bombarded with totally unsolicited and unwanted gifts by a charity hoping to squeeze an extra
donation out of me.
My objection to this form of moral blackmail is two-fold. Firstly, I need no persuasion to
donate to causes I already support and secondly and much more importantly, the money
spent on the gift in question could have gone directly to the beneficiaries . Am I alone in
thinking there is something inherantly wrong with an organisation which purports to be in
dire need of funds yet spends hard-won cash on useless trash?
Perhaps it was just getting out of bed on the wrong side, but as the steam poured out of my
ears and the cooling-down process began I still felt there was some validity to my argument.
Has anyone any suggestions for a suitable reply to this organisation?
More Wasted Funds ...
Difficult to believe but yet another unwanted item has just landed through my letterbox from the same demented charity as my previous post.
The first item was a small cup and saucer with cats and kittens in various "cute" positions and colours all round the rim: this time there is a tea-spoon with a small porcelain bead set in the handle, also with a kitten picture.
This is enough not only to turn me off cats for life, but also to make me write a long angry letter to the said charity about the huge waste of time, money and resources entailed (no pun intended) in this irritating enterprise. Am I really the only person in the world who considers this type of appeal offensive in the extreme.
However cheaply these goods are produced, they must involve some cost, to which has to be added the price of post and packaging. Why is this money, donated by soft-hearted/headed idiots like me not going directly to the cause?
I'm rapidly turning into Misery of the Month. Someone please save my sanity and suggest a remedy.
The first item was a small cup and saucer with cats and kittens in various "cute" positions and colours all round the rim: this time there is a tea-spoon with a small porcelain bead set in the handle, also with a kitten picture.
This is enough not only to turn me off cats for life, but also to make me write a long angry letter to the said charity about the huge waste of time, money and resources entailed (no pun intended) in this irritating enterprise. Am I really the only person in the world who considers this type of appeal offensive in the extreme.
However cheaply these goods are produced, they must involve some cost, to which has to be added the price of post and packaging. Why is this money, donated by soft-hearted/headed idiots like me not going directly to the cause?
I'm rapidly turning into Misery of the Month. Someone please save my sanity and suggest a remedy.
Saint Swithun
Is it just me , or are there others 'out there' who sometimes wonder why those created Saints for apparently good reasons at the time, are only remembered for rather unpleasant reasons. In my beleagured thinking this list includes the late (and by me at least, unlamented) Saint Swithin.
This August would I think cause almost anyone other than a duck, to wish the aforementioned Saint to pack his bags and leave his place in Heaven and take up residence somewhere more appropriate - the Lake District or a Rain-forest perhaps.
Are we never to see the sun again or am I just a tad overwrought?
Seriously though. Does anyone know anything good about the above-named ? If so, please enclose answers in a water-proof envelope.
This August would I think cause almost anyone other than a duck, to wish the aforementioned Saint to pack his bags and leave his place in Heaven and take up residence somewhere more appropriate - the Lake District or a Rain-forest perhaps.
Are we never to see the sun again or am I just a tad overwrought?
Seriously though. Does anyone know anything good about the above-named ? If so, please enclose answers in a water-proof envelope.
Sunday, 12 September 2010
English and Media-Speak
Having just returned from a very good but extremely long church service this morning (I sing in the choir), exhausted and in need of a long, feet-up sit down I switched on the "box". Nothing much of interest so started flicking round the channels.
Shopping channel on jewellery had not one, but two experts talking about their subject which was described as "joollery" by both of them.
Fed up with this after the fifteenth or so time switched to Eastenders in time to hear the offer of their favourite panacea for all ills "a nice cup o tea", quickly followed by "I'm tellin yer de troof". If they would just stop and fink abaht it fer a mo, they might realise that a good percentage of the population is now from other parts of the world and they don't all speak such good English as wot we does.
Having said that I realise that in fact many non-native English speakers speak much better English than most of us.
Having lived in Wales, Birmingham, Wiltshire, Kent, London and Buckinghamshire and spent
a lot of time in the Netherlands I now realise that almost the only people who speak good standard English these days are the Dutch, closely followed by the Germans.
Accents are interesting, dialect words even more so, but horrible dropped-aitch ungrammatical English is not.
Here endeth today's diatribe. Any takers?
Shopping channel on jewellery had not one, but two experts talking about their subject which was described as "joollery" by both of them.
Fed up with this after the fifteenth or so time switched to Eastenders in time to hear the offer of their favourite panacea for all ills "a nice cup o tea", quickly followed by "I'm tellin yer de troof". If they would just stop and fink abaht it fer a mo, they might realise that a good percentage of the population is now from other parts of the world and they don't all speak such good English as wot we does.
Having said that I realise that in fact many non-native English speakers speak much better English than most of us.
Having lived in Wales, Birmingham, Wiltshire, Kent, London and Buckinghamshire and spent
a lot of time in the Netherlands I now realise that almost the only people who speak good standard English these days are the Dutch, closely followed by the Germans.
Accents are interesting, dialect words even more so, but horrible dropped-aitch ungrammatical English is not.
Here endeth today's diatribe. Any takers?
Friday, 10 September 2010
Elixir of Youth (Life)
Have just returned from a pleasant couple of "volunteer" hours in the local church and ran into a casual acquaintance who I haven't seen for a month or so. "You really do look well, how do you manage to look so young?" was the greeting.
Since it is at least a third of a century since I was even remotely young this took me by surprise. "I'm glad you think so" I said, "but since I am on the inside looking out I have no idea whether it is true".
After the usual catch-up chat we parted and the conversation set me thinking. Assuming the remark was actually meant and not just a passing pleasantry, it seems to me that the answer is just one word - curiosity!
When we cease to be interested in people, ideas, what goes on around us every day we shrivel, failing to respond to outside stimuli leads to atrophy and losing that most valuable of all asset, a sense of humour is tantamount to throwing in the towel.
Laugh and live, grumble and crumble.
Is this really the answer, who knows? but at least have fun finding out.
Since it is at least a third of a century since I was even remotely young this took me by surprise. "I'm glad you think so" I said, "but since I am on the inside looking out I have no idea whether it is true".
After the usual catch-up chat we parted and the conversation set me thinking. Assuming the remark was actually meant and not just a passing pleasantry, it seems to me that the answer is just one word - curiosity!
When we cease to be interested in people, ideas, what goes on around us every day we shrivel, failing to respond to outside stimuli leads to atrophy and losing that most valuable of all asset, a sense of humour is tantamount to throwing in the towel.
Laugh and live, grumble and crumble.
Is this really the answer, who knows? but at least have fun finding out.
Monday, 6 September 2010
And there was light!
At last the longed-for help with my would-be blogger life has been generously rendered.
A good friend (on whose head be blessings), has just spent two hours of his valuable time acquainting me with the basic rules which will I hope, finally get my literary outpourings (effluent) in the public domain. Look out world you won't know what's hit you.
This patient and good-tempered individual has finally drilled the rudiments of the world of blog into my thick skull where hopefully they have taken up residence for all time.
Now all that remains is to find something of interest to say. Where to start?
All my previous ramblings/rantings have made no impact whatsoever on the rest of the world possibly because no-one could access them. We'll see whether this reaches "breathers" or whether like the rest it winds up in cyberspace.
A good friend (on whose head be blessings), has just spent two hours of his valuable time acquainting me with the basic rules which will I hope, finally get my literary outpourings (effluent) in the public domain. Look out world you won't know what's hit you.
This patient and good-tempered individual has finally drilled the rudiments of the world of blog into my thick skull where hopefully they have taken up residence for all time.
Now all that remains is to find something of interest to say. Where to start?
All my previous ramblings/rantings have made no impact whatsoever on the rest of the world possibly because no-one could access them. We'll see whether this reaches "breathers" or whether like the rest it winds up in cyberspace.
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