Just a quick note of thanks to everyone who responded to my two recent posts: I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to respond to your individual comments yet.
As I said before I don’t currently have regular access to the internet and what little time I do have needs to be mostly spent looking for work at least until I find out what’s happening with my current job. I’m actually writing this from the local library, where you get one hour free use per day (woo, and indeed, hoo!)
Thanks also to everyone who suggested a title for my NaNoWriMo – however, I had a very vivid dream after posting and was able to come up with my own title “The Benefit”. Still, once I’m back on line properly I’ll pick a winner from the suggested titles and let them know.
Thanks also to Argent, who very kindly offered to let me post the next instalment of Maggie’s adventure.
Words this week for the major:
Cute, come with me to the casba, bloodhound, respiration, facebook, Canada Geese, modern, gravity, spiders web, sea shells
Mini:
Curiosity killed the cat, charming, Victorian, railroad tracks, tower, salt and pepper
Week Four
Ballachulish – Dumbarton (73 miles)
Dear Spud
Can you believe it? Four weeks on the road and barely out of Scotland. Of course, this bloody mobility scooter doesn’t help. Supposed to come with a five year guarantee, but I keep having to get people to push me up hills. Norman never did trust this modern rubbish, and I guess he were right after all.
Anyways, it were lovely to hear your voice on Tuesday, but I have to admit I didn’t really know what the bloody hell you were on about. What were all that nonsense about a Facebook group dedicated to finding me? Bloody rude looking into my affairs if you know what I mean – after all, curiosity killed the cat, and besides: why the hell would you have a book on your face?
Still, I guess it keeps them off the streets.
Honestly Spud, you should see the state of some of these hotels. The first one I stayed at this week had a spider’s web in every corner and the manager wouldn’t even move me. Said I should consider myself bloody lucky to even be alive. Well, I showed him I did – left without bloody paying and have no intention of going back neither.
Going on the second day were much easier, what with gravity giving me a hand down all those hills. Stopped at a pond in Altnafeadh and nearly got savaged by some Canada Geese, but a few waves of me collapsing zimmer frame shooed them off in a hurry.
Then Wednesday night I stayed in this B&B what had a bloodhound for a pet. They must have been just letting it loose and peeing in all the rooms, coz I had troubles with me respiration all night and you know how the smell of dog piss affects my breathing. Still the manager’s son were quite cute: and if I’d been sixty years younger I’m sure his charming ways would have won me over.
Still, I had to carry on with me journey, or else what would Norman have said? He were always a tower of strength were Norman. So I sets off on Thursday to Adochlay, which is on the banks of Loch Lomond, only my mobility scooter got stuck on the railroad tracks and I had to be pulled out by this bloke who had one of those Victorian moustaches – you know: the ones that look like they would still be perfect under fifty foot of water and covered in sea shells?
Oh well, I arrived safe and sound here in Dumbarton this morning and have no intention of moving until Monday. Right proper B&B this is and the food is lovely – they don’t even make a fuss when you ask for the salt and pepper.
Take care
Maggie
TEXT FROM BERNARD “SPUD” MARIS TO MARGARET MILLS
Mags
Poliz cum round again
Wantd 2 no abt that nite wot you come with me to the casba club
Sed u took package from Tosser? Sumthin abt him givin u sum powder inna jar?
Mags – wot u got urself into?
Spud
Friday, 6 November 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
This Is The Last Time
For anyone looking for this week’s wordzzle click HERE. The below is a fact-based piece of writing. Please watch the first video first.
Friday morning. Today.
It’s 5:30am and I’m wide awake, my body not having adjusted to the clocks going back on Sunday for the winter.
Furry is sitting in the gap between my body and my arm, his head resting on my bare skin. He offers a confused purr as I give up any attempt at sleep and get up.
Once in the bathroom I open the window and check the sky – perfectly clear. I get dressed and pack a towel and a change of T-shirt.
At ten past six I head out of the door with a slight headache from not having slept properly and Peter Davidson’s last scene as Dr Who plying for space in my brain. The Dr Who scene has been playing in my head for some days now. I think about Davidson’s last words as the Doctor “Might regenerate…I don’t know…feels different this time” and Colin Baker’s infamous “Change my dear, and it seems not a moment too soon”
When they first showed it I was mostly thinking what a great view Davidson had when he was performing that scene – right up and into the mountains that were Nicola Bryant’s cleavage, but today I am thinking about the wider meaning of those words.
Feels different this time.
I walk down the street and past the bus stop. It’s lighter this morning than it has been for some weeks, the change of the clock pushing back the darkness for just a while. Ever since the dark mornings have arrived I’ve been travelling on busses, feeling the familiar claustrophobia of public transport enshroud me like a tomb as I’ve shuffled from place to place, squeezing myself in to allow for other passengers, running from stop to stop to make that connection.
Today is different, today is not the same. Today I make the action (and points for anyone who recognises the lyric)
I walk under the main road, taking the subway and past the small factories. I’m trying hard to think about the fact that this is my last day at work, that after this my future lies uncertain before me, that everybody’s changing and I don’t feel the same…
Over the train bridge taking the steps one at a time and despite all my attempts to think about something else the thought that comes into my brain is Jimmy Osmond.
Yeah, that’s right – 6:30am on a Friday morning on the dawn of the last day I will ever take this route for this purpose and I’m thinking about Jimmy Osmond on Celebrity Come Dine With Me. For those of you who don’t know it CDWM is a program where people spend a week hosting dinner parties for strangers and they get marked on how well they do – the celebrity version of this gives the money to charity.
On the episode with Jimmy Osmond there was some size zero super model, a pop starlet and Nicky Clarke (hairdresser to the stars). Each and every one of them was “fashionably late” with Clarke arriving 1 ½ hours after he was due – causing the food to be ruined.
Osmond, being a Mormon and a generally all-round-nice-guy smiled it off and forgave him.
Personally – if it had been me – I’d have given him a mouthful of abuse, asked him who the hell did he think he was trying to score style points off me, ruining all my hard effort and finished by asking if he was too fecking busy to text me and let me know before slamming the door in his face.
As I walk down past the park where the circus comes and pitches up I realise that I’ve been taking it a bit too slowly and will have to speed up if I am to arrive in time to shower. I pick up the pace as I pass the supermarket. There was a factory here once, and when it went a lot of people thought that this is the end, my only friend, the end…but of course the world continued to turn and new opportunities came along and replaced the old.
I think about this as, covered in sweat, I pop into an early opening shop and buy a drink. I’ve been walking an hour now and, at just after 7am, it is light. The sun has risen as far as it is likely to and a new day has begun.
As I start up the Big Long Hill I think about the people I will never see again. The security guards who have to put up with a lot of shit for very little reward, the characters in the call centre who made me smile and made my dead-end job that bit easier to bear. I think about the people who have already gone and all the promises to keep in touch that never come to fruition. It’s sad, but perhaps inevitable and I know that I will always carry a bit of them with me in my heart.
At 7:20am I reach the 2nd factory at the top of Big Long Hill and start the descent again. The shops are still closed and there is no sign of the life that will inhabit them in the next few hours.
Bang on time I arrive to meet Argent and collect my guitar. I sent out an email to a few of the managers that played a few weeks ago saying that we should all bring our guitars the last day, not really expecting him to say yes…then yesterday he asked me if I was still bringing it in.
Argent feeds her cats and we walk the rest of the way together, guitars in hand. We talk about the end of an era, we talk about set-lists, we talk about the difficult second album, forever, ever, delayed…
And then we arrive - and I’m beaten to the ground floor shower by the Incredible Cycling Lady. She’s barely tall enough to look in the eye of Gimli the Dwarf, yet she cycles 32 miles each day to work and back, come rain or snow. I used to joke that she was six foot tall when she started and simply wore her legs away – but I guess I won’t be telling that one again.
I take the lift to the second floor and enter the shower. I think about all the times I have showered here and been afraid that I have forgotten to lock it, or that I will go into routine mode and start wondering around in the nude. For a second of wild abandon I am tempted to fling the door wide open and waggle my privates in front of the security camera. Fortunately I decide against it.
This is the last time.
I started this blog to relieve the tedium of a boring job that I found myself in necessity of having to do to keep a roof over my head and by doing so I met some fantastic people and finally felt there was somewhere I could belong. It is very much my intention to continue it, but with no internet activity at home I cannot guarantee how often this will be.
The only thing I do know for sure is that on Tuesday next week I have a meeting with my new employer to see where, or if, I sit within the New Order. It is likely to be at least two weeks before I know if I even have a job, let alone where that might be.
I want to thank you all for reading and commenting, for posting such interesting thoughts and for helping me to stay sane(ish)
As they always say – finish on a song.
Take it away Eric…
Friday morning. Today.
It’s 5:30am and I’m wide awake, my body not having adjusted to the clocks going back on Sunday for the winter.
Furry is sitting in the gap between my body and my arm, his head resting on my bare skin. He offers a confused purr as I give up any attempt at sleep and get up.
Once in the bathroom I open the window and check the sky – perfectly clear. I get dressed and pack a towel and a change of T-shirt.
At ten past six I head out of the door with a slight headache from not having slept properly and Peter Davidson’s last scene as Dr Who plying for space in my brain. The Dr Who scene has been playing in my head for some days now. I think about Davidson’s last words as the Doctor “Might regenerate…I don’t know…feels different this time” and Colin Baker’s infamous “Change my dear, and it seems not a moment too soon”
When they first showed it I was mostly thinking what a great view Davidson had when he was performing that scene – right up and into the mountains that were Nicola Bryant’s cleavage, but today I am thinking about the wider meaning of those words.
Feels different this time.
I walk down the street and past the bus stop. It’s lighter this morning than it has been for some weeks, the change of the clock pushing back the darkness for just a while. Ever since the dark mornings have arrived I’ve been travelling on busses, feeling the familiar claustrophobia of public transport enshroud me like a tomb as I’ve shuffled from place to place, squeezing myself in to allow for other passengers, running from stop to stop to make that connection.
Today is different, today is not the same. Today I make the action (and points for anyone who recognises the lyric)
I walk under the main road, taking the subway and past the small factories. I’m trying hard to think about the fact that this is my last day at work, that after this my future lies uncertain before me, that everybody’s changing and I don’t feel the same…
Over the train bridge taking the steps one at a time and despite all my attempts to think about something else the thought that comes into my brain is Jimmy Osmond.
Yeah, that’s right – 6:30am on a Friday morning on the dawn of the last day I will ever take this route for this purpose and I’m thinking about Jimmy Osmond on Celebrity Come Dine With Me. For those of you who don’t know it CDWM is a program where people spend a week hosting dinner parties for strangers and they get marked on how well they do – the celebrity version of this gives the money to charity.
On the episode with Jimmy Osmond there was some size zero super model, a pop starlet and Nicky Clarke (hairdresser to the stars). Each and every one of them was “fashionably late” with Clarke arriving 1 ½ hours after he was due – causing the food to be ruined.
Osmond, being a Mormon and a generally all-round-nice-guy smiled it off and forgave him.
Personally – if it had been me – I’d have given him a mouthful of abuse, asked him who the hell did he think he was trying to score style points off me, ruining all my hard effort and finished by asking if he was too fecking busy to text me and let me know before slamming the door in his face.
As I walk down past the park where the circus comes and pitches up I realise that I’ve been taking it a bit too slowly and will have to speed up if I am to arrive in time to shower. I pick up the pace as I pass the supermarket. There was a factory here once, and when it went a lot of people thought that this is the end, my only friend, the end…but of course the world continued to turn and new opportunities came along and replaced the old.
I think about this as, covered in sweat, I pop into an early opening shop and buy a drink. I’ve been walking an hour now and, at just after 7am, it is light. The sun has risen as far as it is likely to and a new day has begun.
As I start up the Big Long Hill I think about the people I will never see again. The security guards who have to put up with a lot of shit for very little reward, the characters in the call centre who made me smile and made my dead-end job that bit easier to bear. I think about the people who have already gone and all the promises to keep in touch that never come to fruition. It’s sad, but perhaps inevitable and I know that I will always carry a bit of them with me in my heart.
At 7:20am I reach the 2nd factory at the top of Big Long Hill and start the descent again. The shops are still closed and there is no sign of the life that will inhabit them in the next few hours.
Bang on time I arrive to meet Argent and collect my guitar. I sent out an email to a few of the managers that played a few weeks ago saying that we should all bring our guitars the last day, not really expecting him to say yes…then yesterday he asked me if I was still bringing it in.
Argent feeds her cats and we walk the rest of the way together, guitars in hand. We talk about the end of an era, we talk about set-lists, we talk about the difficult second album, forever, ever, delayed…
And then we arrive - and I’m beaten to the ground floor shower by the Incredible Cycling Lady. She’s barely tall enough to look in the eye of Gimli the Dwarf, yet she cycles 32 miles each day to work and back, come rain or snow. I used to joke that she was six foot tall when she started and simply wore her legs away – but I guess I won’t be telling that one again.
I take the lift to the second floor and enter the shower. I think about all the times I have showered here and been afraid that I have forgotten to lock it, or that I will go into routine mode and start wondering around in the nude. For a second of wild abandon I am tempted to fling the door wide open and waggle my privates in front of the security camera. Fortunately I decide against it.
This is the last time.
I started this blog to relieve the tedium of a boring job that I found myself in necessity of having to do to keep a roof over my head and by doing so I met some fantastic people and finally felt there was somewhere I could belong. It is very much my intention to continue it, but with no internet activity at home I cannot guarantee how often this will be.
The only thing I do know for sure is that on Tuesday next week I have a meeting with my new employer to see where, or if, I sit within the New Order. It is likely to be at least two weeks before I know if I even have a job, let alone where that might be.
I want to thank you all for reading and commenting, for posting such interesting thoughts and for helping me to stay sane(ish)
As they always say – finish on a song.
Take it away Eric…
Wordzzle 87
OK – before we start: thanks to everyone who’s ever read one of my creative efforts on this page – your feedback certainly knocks the “Great, great, great…sorry, what was it about?” comments I am used to into a sealed box with a radioactive isotope for boffins to talk endlessly about quantum physics until their heads explode
Anyone not interested in reading fiction blogs can find a related factual blog HERE or simply chose to read both by the efficacious means of scrolling up and down the screen
Secondly – and perhaps rather foolishly – I have just signed up to National Novel Writing Month with the intention of writing a 50,000 novel from scratch by the end of November
http://www.nanowrimo.org/
HOWEVER: I will only actively write this novel if one of you reading this blog is able to provide me with a title for my novel by 1st November
Titles should be sufficient to grab my attention and spark my imagination. The winning entry will get a dedication at the start of the book, an electronic copy of any resulting entry (should they wish it) and a free autographed copy should it ever come to publication
Finally – although my circumstances are changing due to the events stated in my related post “This Is The Last Time” I very much hope to continue the story of Maggie on Wordzzle day if sufficient people are interested? I’m afraid I don’t currently have regular internet connectivity, so updates may not always be exactly on time.
Yet again those of you who don’t know how a Wordzzle works the rules can be found here http://ravensviews.blogspot.com/2008/02/wordzzles.html along with a whole host of other players to enjoy
This weeks’ selection of words were:
MAIN:
plumber, autograph, Florence Nightingale, a chill wind’s a blowing, watering hole, sleek, triplets, backwards, surface tension, parrot
MINI:
Free estimates, French fries, carpet, Braille, silver-tongued bandit
This week I need to say a quick thank you to the people at http://www.pewseys.eclipse.co.uk/ who were mad enough to make the journey for real and to Wikipedia – the font of all pointless knowledge.
And an apology to anyone of a young or nervous disposition, or from another country, who has never heard of (UK children’s wildlife presenter & naturalist) Terry Nutkins – as soon as I saw his name on Wikipedia I knew he was the one…
Oh, and yeah: French Fries – Chips: same thing.
Week Three - Inverness – Fort William – Ballachulish (79 miles)
Exhibit 12c: Text sent from mobile no ********, Mr Bernard “Spud” Maris to ******** Margaret Mills, Monday 26th Oct 2009, 1257:
Mags
Funny thin ap’nd 2day. Bloke cum round, sed he wuz givin free estimates coz he wuz a plumber – only I knowed im, c? He woz that copper wot got Tosser sent down, bangd to rites last yr.
Wot do poliz want Mags, is it true wot they’re sayin abt u on telly? Cum ‘ome, ur 2 old 2b out like wot u r now.
Dear Spud
I got your text on Monday and tried to phone you the next day, only you weren’t there. I spoke to Tosser though about the Police and he said not to worry, he’s got it all under control. I’ll try to call you again next week, but my credit’s a bit low and the signal keeps cutting out what with all these mountains getting in the way.
Anyway, you know how much of a fan of Terry Nutkins our Norman was? Well you’ll never believe who was signin’ copies of his autobiography in Fort Augustus on Tuesday?
There he was, little old Terry, still fondling his squirrels and showing them off – the owner of the Lovat Hotel told me as how Terry used to own the Fort, and the Hotel as it happens – so I guess that explains why he was here. I can only hope that he ran the hotel better than the new bloke – but somehow the persistent smell of parrot droppings from the carpet suggests he didn’t
Anyways I knew Norman would like it if I was to get Terry’s autograph, so in I went and stood behind some twelve year old trying to control her triplets for half an hour. At my age I shouldn’t really be standing for as long, so I guess it’s no wonder as how I fell backwards into the Harry Potters. I think the security guard thought I was about to throw me knickers at Terry or something, so I had to try and explain about me dodgy hip. I don’t think he was impressed. He even threatened to get the police on me. Vandalism, he said! Imagine that, me a senile delinquent!
Anyway, Terry was lovely and gave me a few tips on places to visit, like the Caledonian Canal. Sadly I had to get back to the hotel, so as I could put me scooter on charge.
Next night I made it as far as Spean Bridge before the battery ran down on the side of the road. I must have been there for half-an-hour before this salesman came and offered me a lift to the garage. The mechanic who looked at the battery was very nice, but I could tell he were nowt but a silver-tongued bandit trying to fleece me. Never trust a man with hair so sleek you could ski down it, that’s what Norman would say.
There weren’t no hotels, not what I would call a hotel at any rate – so I managed to find a room at the local watering hole, the Florence Nightingale.
There wasn’t much on the menu and I spent a happy half an hour arguing that I just wanted a nice plate of chips and none of those fancy French Fries – if I wanted to eat French food I’d go to France, I said – but the manager just looked at me like I were mental. Eventually they brought me what he laughingly called soup, though the surface tension were such that I had to cut it with a knife before I could get me spoon in
Finally the mechanic came back with a new battery fitted and I were able to carry on to Fort William the next day and then to Ballachulish today. I can’t say I’m very impressed with the area, though the bridge is very posh. It’s taken me so long as to get here that I were very tempted to get on the train, but I don’t think Norman would ever forgive me if I gave up now.
Anyways, I’d best leave it there, as a chill wind’s a blowing through the hotel window and its going straight up me nightie.
Maggie
PS: Don’t forget Mr Smith in room 12. He’s due for his rent, so feel free to kick the miserable bugger out if he don’t pay on time.
POLICE REPORT CS/FA/271009.
OFFICER HAIG:
I was called to an incident at the local bookshop where a Mr Terrance Nutkins, formerly of Lovat Hotel, Fort Augustus, was signing his new book “Nutkins To See Here”. It was alleged by a member of staff that an elderly woman had deliberately destroyed a display of Braille books and attempted to thrust herself physically upon Mr Nutkins.
Upon enquiry I was informed the CCTV has been out of action for some time and that the lady had already departed the building by the time I arrived and was nowhere to be seen. The branch manager, Mr Spole, was unable to provide a description as the store was busy and Mr Nutkins was not interested in prosecuting. I have arranged to return to the shop at a quieter time to obtain a description of the suspect.
Anyone not interested in reading fiction blogs can find a related factual blog HERE or simply chose to read both by the efficacious means of scrolling up and down the screen
Secondly – and perhaps rather foolishly – I have just signed up to National Novel Writing Month with the intention of writing a 50,000 novel from scratch by the end of November
http://www.nanowrimo.org/
HOWEVER: I will only actively write this novel if one of you reading this blog is able to provide me with a title for my novel by 1st November
Titles should be sufficient to grab my attention and spark my imagination. The winning entry will get a dedication at the start of the book, an electronic copy of any resulting entry (should they wish it) and a free autographed copy should it ever come to publication
Finally – although my circumstances are changing due to the events stated in my related post “This Is The Last Time” I very much hope to continue the story of Maggie on Wordzzle day if sufficient people are interested? I’m afraid I don’t currently have regular internet connectivity, so updates may not always be exactly on time.
Yet again those of you who don’t know how a Wordzzle works the rules can be found here http://ravensviews.blogspot.com/2008/02/wordzzles.html along with a whole host of other players to enjoy
This weeks’ selection of words were:
MAIN:
plumber, autograph, Florence Nightingale, a chill wind’s a blowing, watering hole, sleek, triplets, backwards, surface tension, parrot
MINI:
Free estimates, French fries, carpet, Braille, silver-tongued bandit
This week I need to say a quick thank you to the people at http://www.pewseys.eclipse.co.uk/ who were mad enough to make the journey for real and to Wikipedia – the font of all pointless knowledge.
And an apology to anyone of a young or nervous disposition, or from another country, who has never heard of (UK children’s wildlife presenter & naturalist) Terry Nutkins – as soon as I saw his name on Wikipedia I knew he was the one…
Oh, and yeah: French Fries – Chips: same thing.
Week Three - Inverness – Fort William – Ballachulish (79 miles)
Exhibit 12c: Text sent from mobile no ********, Mr Bernard “Spud” Maris to ******** Margaret Mills, Monday 26th Oct 2009, 1257:
Mags
Funny thin ap’nd 2day. Bloke cum round, sed he wuz givin free estimates coz he wuz a plumber – only I knowed im, c? He woz that copper wot got Tosser sent down, bangd to rites last yr.
Wot do poliz want Mags, is it true wot they’re sayin abt u on telly? Cum ‘ome, ur 2 old 2b out like wot u r now.
Dear Spud
I got your text on Monday and tried to phone you the next day, only you weren’t there. I spoke to Tosser though about the Police and he said not to worry, he’s got it all under control. I’ll try to call you again next week, but my credit’s a bit low and the signal keeps cutting out what with all these mountains getting in the way.
Anyway, you know how much of a fan of Terry Nutkins our Norman was? Well you’ll never believe who was signin’ copies of his autobiography in Fort Augustus on Tuesday?
There he was, little old Terry, still fondling his squirrels and showing them off – the owner of the Lovat Hotel told me as how Terry used to own the Fort, and the Hotel as it happens – so I guess that explains why he was here. I can only hope that he ran the hotel better than the new bloke – but somehow the persistent smell of parrot droppings from the carpet suggests he didn’t
Anyways I knew Norman would like it if I was to get Terry’s autograph, so in I went and stood behind some twelve year old trying to control her triplets for half an hour. At my age I shouldn’t really be standing for as long, so I guess it’s no wonder as how I fell backwards into the Harry Potters. I think the security guard thought I was about to throw me knickers at Terry or something, so I had to try and explain about me dodgy hip. I don’t think he was impressed. He even threatened to get the police on me. Vandalism, he said! Imagine that, me a senile delinquent!
Anyway, Terry was lovely and gave me a few tips on places to visit, like the Caledonian Canal. Sadly I had to get back to the hotel, so as I could put me scooter on charge.
Next night I made it as far as Spean Bridge before the battery ran down on the side of the road. I must have been there for half-an-hour before this salesman came and offered me a lift to the garage. The mechanic who looked at the battery was very nice, but I could tell he were nowt but a silver-tongued bandit trying to fleece me. Never trust a man with hair so sleek you could ski down it, that’s what Norman would say.
There weren’t no hotels, not what I would call a hotel at any rate – so I managed to find a room at the local watering hole, the Florence Nightingale.
There wasn’t much on the menu and I spent a happy half an hour arguing that I just wanted a nice plate of chips and none of those fancy French Fries – if I wanted to eat French food I’d go to France, I said – but the manager just looked at me like I were mental. Eventually they brought me what he laughingly called soup, though the surface tension were such that I had to cut it with a knife before I could get me spoon in
Finally the mechanic came back with a new battery fitted and I were able to carry on to Fort William the next day and then to Ballachulish today. I can’t say I’m very impressed with the area, though the bridge is very posh. It’s taken me so long as to get here that I were very tempted to get on the train, but I don’t think Norman would ever forgive me if I gave up now.
Anyways, I’d best leave it there, as a chill wind’s a blowing through the hotel window and its going straight up me nightie.
Maggie
PS: Don’t forget Mr Smith in room 12. He’s due for his rent, so feel free to kick the miserable bugger out if he don’t pay on time.
POLICE REPORT CS/FA/271009.
OFFICER HAIG:
I was called to an incident at the local bookshop where a Mr Terrance Nutkins, formerly of Lovat Hotel, Fort Augustus, was signing his new book “Nutkins To See Here”. It was alleged by a member of staff that an elderly woman had deliberately destroyed a display of Braille books and attempted to thrust herself physically upon Mr Nutkins.
Upon enquiry I was informed the CCTV has been out of action for some time and that the lady had already departed the building by the time I arrived and was nowhere to be seen. The branch manager, Mr Spole, was unable to provide a description as the store was busy and Mr Nutkins was not interested in prosecuting. I have arranged to return to the shop at a quieter time to obtain a description of the suspect.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Deconstruction Of Love
Being of a nervous disposition when it comes to all this new-fangled gadgetry they keep inventing (and remember, anything invented when you are a kid is in The Natural Order Of Things, anything invented after about 35 is Against God And Must Be Stopped) i'm still slightly bemused at the idea that one can find actual footage from a concert you've been to just floating about on the interweb
Anyway - here's the tour diary from the Indigo Girls concert i went to - the first four minutes are just Emily Saliers wondering about in the style of Spinal Tap, but at 4:30 you get some rehearsal footage and an actual live song at 6:30 (ish): bear in mind the sound you're hearing is mostly from the on stage monitors.
Just a quick note ahead of Friday because there will be two posts: a wordzzle and, for those of you who prefer them, a factual story. Read either or both - but in the meantime enjoy the girls on stage
Friday, 23 October 2009
Wordzzle 86
I’m back again – and thanks to Argent for promising to post me onto Mr Linky, as i am likely to be unable to get onto the interweb at the weekend
Since so few of you clenched your fists and shook them at the sky shouting “Curse you pixie for your story of an elderly lady” Maggie returns this week for a second episode
For those of you who don’t know how a Wordzzle works the rules can be found here http://ravensviews.blogspot.com/2008/02/wordzzles.html
Each week we are given a set of ten words for the main bout, five for the “mini” or support act and all fifteen for the mega. The words of choice are:
Incensed, sidewinder (rattlesnake), bogus, conniption (a fit of excitement), Haz-mat (hazardous material), conniving, customize, perforated, zeal, rolling off a log
And for the mini: abstemious, chlorophyll, origami, cheerleader, dung beetle
This week’s Wordzzle gave me a few problems, because there were a number of words that neither of my two characters to date would know, let alone use. However, it did give me the opportunity to bring in another story element…slightly earlier than originally planned, but hey-ho!
And apologies for the slight moment of cheating: no doubt Michael Stipe is being called and informed that someone is trying to wake someone else as we speak...
____________________________________
Week Two – Helmsdale to Inverness (71 miles)
From “CNN Live, Tuesday 20th October”
“Well Tony, there’s been a high degree of conniption here today in Salt Lake City as we wait for the result from the Scientists, but there’s still no news on whether the Haz-mat was disposed of safely. We’ll bring you an update as and when we know something more”
“Thank you Kelly. Good evening I’m Tony Flowers and you’re watching CNN Live. News from around the world now: British police are refusing to confirm if the elderly woman who stopped a Bank Robbery in Scotland yesterday evening is Margaret Mills, the retired Hotel Manager who went missing from her home early last week. Mrs Mills, 74, is wanted by the Police for questioning in connection with…”
----------
Dear Spud
There was a bit of excitement on Monday when I was in Dornoch. You know what Bank’s are like on a Monday: everyone who didn’t cash in on Saturday is there with all their pennies. I had to leave my scooter outside and use the zimmer frame. Talking of which, please do thank Tosser for helping customize mine to be collapsible – it fits so much easier onto the scooter.
Anyway – I had my paying in book and my pension slip ready and this bloke comes in dressed same as a Policeman…only I could tell he was bogus, due to the fact that Police on the beat don’t usually have Velcro strips on the side of their trousers.
And he pushed his way to the front of the queue! Straight up to the cashier and handed over a piece of paper. Well I was incensed! Who the bloody hell did he think he was pushing past me as had stood there for half an hour?
So I let him have it, my zimmer frame that is. Don’t think he knew what hit him till he was crawling on the ground like a wounded dung beetle.
The manager of the bank was all over me, wanting to give me an award or some such nonsense, so of course I told him to sod off and just let me cash me pension cheque in peace.
All a load of fuss over nothing if you ask me, so I got meself out of there sharpish before the conniving git of a manager managed to work out a way of getting himself promoted thanks to me
Anyways, you don’t want to hear a lot of nonsense about some bank – so back to me journey. I caught the Merkle Ferry from Dornoch. Lovely ride that were – water as calm as if someone had applied chlorophyll to the waves. I bought meself a camera, not one of the new-fangled digital gizmos, but one of those disposable types, with a side-winder to move the film on.
Took some pictures of Foulis Castle, which were in very good condition I have to say. I was tempted to buy some of the shortbread, save meself the price of developing the film on account of the fact the picture of the Castle was on the tin, but the tin had one of those perforated edges that always cuts me fingers and besides, “I’m trying to be abstemious” as Reverend Johns would say, whatever the bloody hell abstemious means…must have swallowed a dictionary as a kid that’s all I can say – all those long words coming out of his mouth easy as rolling off a log.
Anyways, I stopped for the night in Dingwall, then again in Craigton where I got another ferry to North Kessock and finally ended up in Inverness early this morning. The hotel manager is certainly full of zeal for the place, but I have to say it’s a bit grim for my tastes.
Oh – just to finish lad – I got your text, but I couldn’t figure out how to respond. I tried the people in Tourist Information, but they were no bloody help at all
Maggie
----------
Exhibit 12b: Text sent from mobile no ********, Mr Bernard “Spud” Maris to ******** Margaret Mills, Thursday 22nd Oct 2009, 1700:
Mags
U were rite, Debs sed Yes. Can’t beleve am d8ing cheerleeder.
Tosser says wot do u want doin w ur copy of Origami Munthly – I sez leave on dining table. Hope that ok?
Spud
BTW: woz that u on telly?
Since so few of you clenched your fists and shook them at the sky shouting “Curse you pixie for your story of an elderly lady” Maggie returns this week for a second episode
For those of you who don’t know how a Wordzzle works the rules can be found here http://ravensviews.blogspot.com/2008/02/wordzzles.html
Each week we are given a set of ten words for the main bout, five for the “mini” or support act and all fifteen for the mega. The words of choice are:
Incensed, sidewinder (rattlesnake), bogus, conniption (a fit of excitement), Haz-mat (hazardous material), conniving, customize, perforated, zeal, rolling off a log
And for the mini: abstemious, chlorophyll, origami, cheerleader, dung beetle
This week’s Wordzzle gave me a few problems, because there were a number of words that neither of my two characters to date would know, let alone use. However, it did give me the opportunity to bring in another story element…slightly earlier than originally planned, but hey-ho!
And apologies for the slight moment of cheating: no doubt Michael Stipe is being called and informed that someone is trying to wake someone else as we speak...
____________________________________
Week Two – Helmsdale to Inverness (71 miles)
From “CNN Live, Tuesday 20th October”
“Well Tony, there’s been a high degree of conniption here today in Salt Lake City as we wait for the result from the Scientists, but there’s still no news on whether the Haz-mat was disposed of safely. We’ll bring you an update as and when we know something more”
“Thank you Kelly. Good evening I’m Tony Flowers and you’re watching CNN Live. News from around the world now: British police are refusing to confirm if the elderly woman who stopped a Bank Robbery in Scotland yesterday evening is Margaret Mills, the retired Hotel Manager who went missing from her home early last week. Mrs Mills, 74, is wanted by the Police for questioning in connection with…”
----------
Dear Spud
There was a bit of excitement on Monday when I was in Dornoch. You know what Bank’s are like on a Monday: everyone who didn’t cash in on Saturday is there with all their pennies. I had to leave my scooter outside and use the zimmer frame. Talking of which, please do thank Tosser for helping customize mine to be collapsible – it fits so much easier onto the scooter.
Anyway – I had my paying in book and my pension slip ready and this bloke comes in dressed same as a Policeman…only I could tell he was bogus, due to the fact that Police on the beat don’t usually have Velcro strips on the side of their trousers.
And he pushed his way to the front of the queue! Straight up to the cashier and handed over a piece of paper. Well I was incensed! Who the bloody hell did he think he was pushing past me as had stood there for half an hour?
So I let him have it, my zimmer frame that is. Don’t think he knew what hit him till he was crawling on the ground like a wounded dung beetle.
The manager of the bank was all over me, wanting to give me an award or some such nonsense, so of course I told him to sod off and just let me cash me pension cheque in peace.
All a load of fuss over nothing if you ask me, so I got meself out of there sharpish before the conniving git of a manager managed to work out a way of getting himself promoted thanks to me
Anyways, you don’t want to hear a lot of nonsense about some bank – so back to me journey. I caught the Merkle Ferry from Dornoch. Lovely ride that were – water as calm as if someone had applied chlorophyll to the waves. I bought meself a camera, not one of the new-fangled digital gizmos, but one of those disposable types, with a side-winder to move the film on.
Took some pictures of Foulis Castle, which were in very good condition I have to say. I was tempted to buy some of the shortbread, save meself the price of developing the film on account of the fact the picture of the Castle was on the tin, but the tin had one of those perforated edges that always cuts me fingers and besides, “I’m trying to be abstemious” as Reverend Johns would say, whatever the bloody hell abstemious means…must have swallowed a dictionary as a kid that’s all I can say – all those long words coming out of his mouth easy as rolling off a log.
Anyways, I stopped for the night in Dingwall, then again in Craigton where I got another ferry to North Kessock and finally ended up in Inverness early this morning. The hotel manager is certainly full of zeal for the place, but I have to say it’s a bit grim for my tastes.
Oh – just to finish lad – I got your text, but I couldn’t figure out how to respond. I tried the people in Tourist Information, but they were no bloody help at all
Maggie
----------
Exhibit 12b: Text sent from mobile no ********, Mr Bernard “Spud” Maris to ******** Margaret Mills, Thursday 22nd Oct 2009, 1700:
Mags
U were rite, Debs sed Yes. Can’t beleve am d8ing cheerleeder.
Tosser says wot do u want doin w ur copy of Origami Munthly – I sez leave on dining table. Hope that ok?
Spud
BTW: woz that u on telly?
Something for the weekend
Whilst i'm waiting for Raven to publish the Wordzzle so i can put mine up - please enjoy some music
Indigo Girls "Land Of Caanan" - so excited: going to see them live this sunday in the UK!!! They were fantastic last time i saw them
Bjork "I've Seen It All" - from the film Dancer In The Dark (not one for the faint hearted, or for people looking for a happy feel-good movie). I love the transitions from the real world to the songs.
Indigo Girls "Land Of Caanan" - so excited: going to see them live this sunday in the UK!!! They were fantastic last time i saw them
Bjork "I've Seen It All" - from the film Dancer In The Dark (not one for the faint hearted, or for people looking for a happy feel-good movie). I love the transitions from the real world to the songs.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Think For A Minute
So we start today’s post with a bit of good news, ne verging on exciting.
A couple of months ago I sent two short stories off for consideration in a competition and consequently heard nothing for ages.
Then, around the end of September/start of October I received news that both had been accepted for publication – for which I would receive the princely combined sum of $40 (about £25)
There were, of course, slight catches to this – firstly there will be no free author’s copy to tout around and try and sell to family and friends, secondly the only place it is being published is in Canada and on demand – so when I do buy copies (admittedly at a discount) I will have to pay a transaction fee to my bank.
So not quite vanity publishing, but close.
But then my friend Argent was telling me that back in the beginning of publishing everything was vanity published – it was the only way to get things out there.
For anyone wondering I won’t be naming the stories, nor the location of printing here because I’m still keen to keep my name and face off the internet as much as possible – but if any of you actually feel like putting up £10 for 2,000 of my well chosen words (along with the words of about 13 other people) please let me know and I will email you details.
To be honest though, I don’t expect you to buy it – I’m happy that you come and read my thoughts in the first place.
And I know that some of you prefer my factual writing to my fictional (I enjoy the process of both), but today I wanted to talk about what we each get out of blogging.
I always remember what Douglas Adams said about writing – which was that it can be very lonely and like staring at a blank piece of paper until your head bleeds.
For me I have written stories and poems and songs for as long as I can remember and became terribly down heartened at the response from family and friends. Some just wouldn’t be interested in reading them at all, whilst others would look at my 50,000 word Magnificent Octopus (as I call Magnus Oppus – or great work) and pick out all the punctuation mistakes and fail to say anything positive.
Even worse would be the “great….great…sorry, what was it about?” that some people would give to something I had spent three or four years writing. Eventually I came to doubt my ability to write: which has (and continues to have) given me a certain degree of writer’s block – sometimes its difficult to continue writing something when you know that the end result will sit in a drawer, or on a computer file, unloved and unread by all other than a few non-committal family members.
On one occasion at work I tried to explain that I had woken at 4am with a really good idea and had to get up, switch on my computer and work on it there and then or lose it forever – the response from the person involved was that I was “sad” (IE a loser).
It’s something I continue to be frustrated by – this bizarre need to be creative and to express myself in some way and yet my personal feeling that I am never able to get what I mean on paper, or that the people in my own community wont “get” it.
And so when I discovered blogging it became a chance for me to talk to people that DID understand – people like myself that woke at 4am with ideas, people who were prepared to look at the world from a different point of view.
Since I started blogging I’ve done some of the best writing I’ve ever done and I have to thank each and every one for your continued support and feedback. People always surprise me as to what they pick out of something I’ve written.
Finally – I wanted to discuss an idea for my next Toastmasters speech, which will touch on the subject of genius and where creativity comes from.
Take William Shakespeare: the bane of school children reading in bored voices across the land, but universally accepted as a genius.
Most of us can quote some of his works – like “To be or not to be – that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of oppressors”
However – I saw a production of Hamlet recently and it said in the booklet that an early version of the play showed a much shorter version of the speech: “To be or not to be – aye, that’s the rub”
Why was this? Because back then plays were constantly written and re-written according to public response, actors might add lines that would be kept and writers would openly steal bits of plays from other writers that they liked and add them to their plays…
So if all this was happening to Shakespeare’s works – was he really a genius??
Perhaps true genius exists in the coming together of minds??
Discuss.
A couple of months ago I sent two short stories off for consideration in a competition and consequently heard nothing for ages.
Then, around the end of September/start of October I received news that both had been accepted for publication – for which I would receive the princely combined sum of $40 (about £25)
There were, of course, slight catches to this – firstly there will be no free author’s copy to tout around and try and sell to family and friends, secondly the only place it is being published is in Canada and on demand – so when I do buy copies (admittedly at a discount) I will have to pay a transaction fee to my bank.
So not quite vanity publishing, but close.
But then my friend Argent was telling me that back in the beginning of publishing everything was vanity published – it was the only way to get things out there.
For anyone wondering I won’t be naming the stories, nor the location of printing here because I’m still keen to keep my name and face off the internet as much as possible – but if any of you actually feel like putting up £10 for 2,000 of my well chosen words (along with the words of about 13 other people) please let me know and I will email you details.
To be honest though, I don’t expect you to buy it – I’m happy that you come and read my thoughts in the first place.
And I know that some of you prefer my factual writing to my fictional (I enjoy the process of both), but today I wanted to talk about what we each get out of blogging.
I always remember what Douglas Adams said about writing – which was that it can be very lonely and like staring at a blank piece of paper until your head bleeds.
For me I have written stories and poems and songs for as long as I can remember and became terribly down heartened at the response from family and friends. Some just wouldn’t be interested in reading them at all, whilst others would look at my 50,000 word Magnificent Octopus (as I call Magnus Oppus – or great work) and pick out all the punctuation mistakes and fail to say anything positive.
Even worse would be the “great….great…sorry, what was it about?” that some people would give to something I had spent three or four years writing. Eventually I came to doubt my ability to write: which has (and continues to have) given me a certain degree of writer’s block – sometimes its difficult to continue writing something when you know that the end result will sit in a drawer, or on a computer file, unloved and unread by all other than a few non-committal family members.
On one occasion at work I tried to explain that I had woken at 4am with a really good idea and had to get up, switch on my computer and work on it there and then or lose it forever – the response from the person involved was that I was “sad” (IE a loser).
It’s something I continue to be frustrated by – this bizarre need to be creative and to express myself in some way and yet my personal feeling that I am never able to get what I mean on paper, or that the people in my own community wont “get” it.
And so when I discovered blogging it became a chance for me to talk to people that DID understand – people like myself that woke at 4am with ideas, people who were prepared to look at the world from a different point of view.
Since I started blogging I’ve done some of the best writing I’ve ever done and I have to thank each and every one for your continued support and feedback. People always surprise me as to what they pick out of something I’ve written.
Finally – I wanted to discuss an idea for my next Toastmasters speech, which will touch on the subject of genius and where creativity comes from.
Take William Shakespeare: the bane of school children reading in bored voices across the land, but universally accepted as a genius.
Most of us can quote some of his works – like “To be or not to be – that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of oppressors”
However – I saw a production of Hamlet recently and it said in the booklet that an early version of the play showed a much shorter version of the speech: “To be or not to be – aye, that’s the rub”
Why was this? Because back then plays were constantly written and re-written according to public response, actors might add lines that would be kept and writers would openly steal bits of plays from other writers that they liked and add them to their plays…
So if all this was happening to Shakespeare’s works – was he really a genius??
Perhaps true genius exists in the coming together of minds??
Discuss.
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