tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51293344734484177062023-11-16T08:01:54.719+00:00Intertextual BeingAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-47544931688518408302014-01-29T13:42:00.000+00:002014-01-29T13:46:00.115+00:00<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am sat in the room, on the sofa where someone didn’t know that no means no. Having just been for a cigarette in the garden where things have been thrown at me, including scissors. Fag ends or other people’s rubbish has been dumped over our fences. A garden which fills with the toxic smoke of constant bonfires during the summer as the neighbours burn whatever wood, plastic or other rubbish they can find. A garden which does not get used by the children that much because it isn’t safe or secure enough to just leave the back door open when the weather is fine.</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-48736a26-de2d-bece-2820-042a2febe0dc" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In this room, the curtains are always drawn. The dog and my son are told no if they open them enough for people to see in. They are left drawn so we don’t sit here and look up from what we are doing to see people peering in or hanging around. Our windows left shut so the swearing is at least muted and the stench of weed isn’t filling the room on hot summer days. Our front door leads out to the street where there is always rubbish, broken glass, and if we’re lucky, a used needle left behind by a heroin addict.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turn right and you come to the street where the girls and I witnessed a guy get quite badly beaten up. Go to the local park and you have another unsafe place where my youngest must be constantly watched in case he finds a used needle, empty beer can, decides to go say hello to the local drunks and drug addicts… where my dog and I were threatened.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We moved here because we had to. We had to get out of that tiny little flat. But the time to have moved has passed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: ; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God knows there have been an enormous amount of good times in this house too. New friendships made. Friendships proven without a doubt. This place has been a home to more than just us, or the mice, or the bees. Or the rescued crow.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: ; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My husband and I have reached an impasse. </span><span style="line-height: 17.940000534057617px;">I need to make changes in our lives, but he is not willing to take this journey with me. I can't imagine taking the man he has become, so willing to settle with his lot, with me. I need to get out of this house, for me and the kids. Somewhere where I can just leave the back door open during nice days and let the kids run in and out. At the very least, somewhere where the events of last year did not happen.</span><span style="line-height: 17.940000534057617px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: ;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.940000534057617px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.940000534057617px;">It's emotional right now. Not in the way the post-traumatic stress was last year. A combination of normal emotions as a relationship comes to an end. I had hoped it wouldn't be the absolute end of us, yet it looks like it will be. </span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-1008466868331702572013-02-05T13:04:00.001+00:002013-02-05T13:04:04.070+00:00Tonight You Belong to Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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They sang Tonight You Belong To Me in Bunheads. <br /><br />It was a lovely scene, very touching. No mention of the argument, just sitting in each other's company, allowing the anger dissipate.<br /></div>
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I couldn't help but go off to find my favourite cover of it. These guys were amazing.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-65450733708023130502013-02-05T12:33:00.001+00:002014-01-29T13:47:31.336+00:00Last night we did haibuns...<span style="background-color: #a9c054; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: ; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">A painted blue sky with perfectly white clouds, the edges of which are whipped into such shapes as to appear like painted waves. The kind they would use on stage during a whimsical musical about life on the sea. Low in the sky, there are but the beginnings of clouds. As if we are being pulled forward by a steam engine.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">My spring is like this:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: ; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Pink blossom gently falling,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: ; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Flourishing landscape</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-81364756224992280472013-01-30T16:48:00.002+00:002013-01-30T16:48:57.032+00:00Random stuff<b>Sam</b><br />Sam shovelled the last of the dirt of to the grave. Falling to his knees, he cried. Not just for this one, but for all those he had to murder. Each killing left a new scar on his soul. He had been chosen for this task. Had accepted it.<br /><br />His humour was dark. He made each killing a pleasure, a joke, entertaining... just to get through it. Sometimes creating Damien Hurst style artwork with body parts of his victims. It was the only way he could deal with the task itself. Yet once the job was complete, the mourning period began.<br /><br /><b>Short writing exercise</b><br /><br />"Get out the fridge, fatty. You're so much like your dad."<br /><br />"But I'm hungry," I tell Marcus.<br /><br />He stands there all skinny. Just like <i>his</i> dad. I realise my t-shirt has ridden up a bit as I leant over. I'm too late to pull it down. Marcus starts poking my belly.<br /><br />"Fat. Fat and lazy. Fat, lazy, stupid and now you're stealing our food."<br /><br />He tells me to eff off to my room. Only he doesn't say eff. He's told me loads of times he wished Mum never effing had me. That she's never met effing John. My Dad's horrid, but not as bad as his. I really wish Mum wasn't so ill.<br /><br />I go off to my room, well, Marcus and Chelle's spare room. There's this big wardrobe in there. Like that one in the Narnia books. Only there are no fur coats. No wondrous escape from this world. There are sometimes mice, and spiders in there. But no fawns or lions. And it still smells of pee.<br /><br />
He locked me in there once. Marcus. I could just hear his stupid laugh. Telling his mates I believed in fairies and witches. They put a chair in front of the door so I couldn't get out.<br /><br />By morning I was still there, my jeans soaked in my own pee. I try to shut up now, shut the eff up now,<br />
whenever I'm around Marcus. But just in case, I push the chair under the door handle.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-85505384208588935252013-01-30T16:19:00.000+00:002013-01-30T16:19:07.661+00:00Old diary entries - 3. I have my music, my pen, and a notebook. Often these are all I need to maintain my sanity.<br /><br />I would say this is another relationship over where I leave with less than I had before it. Yet that would be a lie. Whilst I may have given up material goods, whilst my heart may be a little worse for wear, everything I wrote in my diary at the start of this is true. He has indeed taught me not to settle.<br /><br />As chance would have it, our song played in the newsagents I visited just after saying goodbye to him. I nearly looked for the cameras.<br /><br />He made it easy to go in the end. Although, there is the dread of explaining it to my family.<br /><br />
My daughter pulled a sicky today. She is unbelievably strong and kept trying to hide the tears. In the end I found out why. She has reached the time where she wonders why Mummy and Daddy don't live together. I think I explained it okay. Difficult to tell enough of the truth whilst not telling any of it. How to make it sound like Mummy had a good reason to leave Daddy without damaging the image she has of her father.<br /><br />She'd also picked up on X and I splitting up. She told me twice she missed him today. She also said she wanted to be here instead of her dad's more often.<br /><br />Personally, I have some saviors to help me through this. Not just that one person who keeps checking I'm okay, they're an absolute star. But all my friends. I've never been so lucky. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you know there are people who care how you are.<br /><br />Monday I was pissed off, because I wish he hadn't done that just before I met up with people. Because I knew it would end up being me breaking the news to some of them and it wasn't my place. X shouldn't have been in so much denial, especially when it was his call to end it now. I didn't want his family to find out via Facebook... and I totally saw the 'you're crap' attitude from certain people and someone else getting over-friendly.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-41889855918007584022013-01-30T15:52:00.001+00:002013-01-30T15:52:24.563+00:00Diary entries - 2. Train journeyStrawberry things never smell like strawberry. The faux strawberry of lip balm and children's sweets. Not too sure of where the smell is coming from, unless the gentleman behind me has a penchant for smooth, strawberry flavoured lips.<br /><br />On the whole, train journeys excite me. Watching the scenery change, spying on my fellow passengers. The journey to and from Norwich has to be one of the worst. Whilst the landscape is moderately interesting at this point, soon it will become nothing but flat, endless fields, stretching out far beyond the horizon. Of course there's the occasional pylon, bush, tree, or even the odd building. This journey is far too long to endure scenery of that standard.<br /><br />I can only hope that more people will need to visit Norwich today. So far this journey, few people seem inclined. Whilst most people would thing me fortunate to be on a train with four seats and a table to myself, I take little pleasure in the extra luggage and leg room. Partucularly as no one is sat in the seats adjacent to this, and now no longer behind me, although the faux strawberry smell lingers.<br /><br />I should write about the clouds, they are quite interesting for the sky itself appears as if it has been painted blue. The edges of the perfectly white clouds are whipped into such shapes that some appear like painted waves. The kind they would use on stage during Peter Pan or some whimsical musical about life on the sea. Then below, quite low down, there are but the beginnings of clouds. Almost as if a steam train is a little way in front of us.<br /><br />The faux strawberry smell is beginning to drive me insane. To the point I keep surreptitiously sniffing items of my own in case it is me. It's a little confusing as to why I'm doing this in such a manner, with only one other person being on the carriage. He has his back to me, all I can see of him is a patch of scalp surrounded by thin mousy hair.<br /><br />Is it just me or are there others out there who think trains would be much more interesting if they left the graffiti on? I don't mean the rushed tags. I mean the artwork, a few carriages with that on would make trainspotting a little interesting. Particularly those ones thirty plus years old which still trawl back and forth between lesser known destinations. The type with incredibly uncomfortable seating and windows next to them which actually open.<br /><br />Peterborough, and I now share a carriage with five others. Death sits opposite me. No, not opposite me, adjacent to me. Opposite just sounds better than Death sits adjacent to me.<br /><br />It must have been love. The kind you see in films, or had the good fortune to have felt. There is no other reason you'd make this journey as often as my brother did.<br /><br />The balding guy, who turns out can't be more than twenty-five, appears to be departing. Or taking all his luggage to the toilet with him. We have a while until the next station.<br /><br />Out of the newbies who have boarded at Peterborough, we now have the token talks-too-loud-on-their-mobile. Repeating, 'Hello... hello?' at regular intervals, reassuring the person on the other end of the line that she is indeed on the train.<br /><br />The adjacent seat, occupied by Death. Sadly, this isn't Death, despite his claims during his phone call. Instead, he is a boy, slightly past pubescence, still with the inability to grown decent facial hair, even if he had wanted. The final signs of teenage acne dot his face. Engrossed in today's copy of the Sun newspaper, he bears little resemblance to Death.<br /><br />The others are but imprints. I know they are here merely because I took the time to look for people taking their seats on this carriage.<br /><br />Ely and Sun-Reading-Boy-Man has gone. I may stop off here myself tomorrow. Explore the cathedral. The pale-bricked station, there are bins. Albeit a see-through affair, a clear poly bag hung from a hoop. Still, a rarity indeed. There are two people working on laptops as they wait on the platform. A gift shop called English Rose Gifts promises all their items are made in the UK.<br /><br />A train station with a gift shop. Not a Smith's, nor a chain cafe, but a little gift shop with locally made gifts.<br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-59785535629777804622013-01-30T15:21:00.001+00:002013-01-30T15:21:25.359+00:00Old diary entries - 1I have some old notepads that have the occasional diary entry or piece of writing in. Most of the notepad is rubbish, and I want a clear out of them. So in the mean time, I'm going to copy some out here. Mixture of fiction and non-fiction entries.<br /><br /><br />I gave my love to someone I made a promise to. A friend who felt lost, alone and unloved. I promised him he would find love, not knowing that would be me. We helped each other trust again. Gave ourselves to each other completely.<br /><br />As time has passed, I have gone from caring for a best friend, to being in love, to finding that the love I thought only existed in poetry was real.<br /><br />The years have bought ups and downs, though our love has only grown more concrete.<br /><br />I found out last month. What can I do? Allow him to care for me? Watch as I slowly rot away? Which is better: A broken heart filled with sorrow or a broken heart filled with hatred?<br /><br />If he hates me maybe he will move on one day.<br /><br />I don't want his memory of me to be a shadow of who I once was. Nor do I want his memory of our relationship to be of him cleaning me. Having the smell of impending death upon the air, of machines and pills, injections and incontinence pads. Dying doesn't scare me. What's waiting between now and then does.<br /><br />They delivered the diamorphine today. Ready for the pain. Cancer doesn't hurt so much, it's the things cancer does to your body that causes the pain. As things are eaten away and calcified.<br /><br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-15530252868733454652011-07-24T19:31:00.001+01:002011-07-24T19:32:14.034+01:00A Cooking YearA few weeks ago I had a yearning to make peanut butter biscuits. The ones like my mother used to make. I tried a couple from the Internet, yet the couple I tried just weren't right.<br />
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I went after the original recipe from Mam. She searched around for her old <i>Dairy Book of Home Cookery</i>, as purchased from the milk man a few years back that she'd written down her recipes in. Alas, it had been thrown away due to too many spillages from cooking. Mam doesn't do the cooking in the household any more, that's become my dad's job, and, since all the kids left home, there is little point to our old Sunday routine of full roast followed by an afternoon making various cakes, puddings and pastries to gorge ourselves on.<br />
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I managed to inherit an old <i>Reader's Digest </i>book called <i>The Cookery Year.</i> My dad warned that it wasn't an every day cookbook and wasn't sure how much use it would be to me. Its cover is falling off and it has scribbles in it from when I was a toddler and didn't know better than to grab books when there was no paper to be found.<br />
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I wouldn't say it isn't every day cookery nowadays, although some dishes should stay back in the 70s/80s such as the version of kedgeree that was forced upon us all too frequently. Nor can I imagine myself pulling all of the inside of a crusty loaf of bread just to fill it with leftovers from the roast, some sherry, onions and mushrooms and then cutting into slices for P's packed lunches. But looking at this month's recipes there are none that would be considered posh with expensive, hard to find ingredients. <br />
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There are a few things in there I do make on a regular occasion, and some I am starting to make more often now I'm growing my own veg. It also includes, as the title would suggest, a lot of recipes for veggies that are in season, which should mean it comes in useful for the few things I'm growing that I don't normally buy and the few where I'm growing too many. It has a very nice section on how to preserve vegetables, as well as jams, pickles, sauces, wines from the recipes themselves to how-to diagrams on removing bones, using water baths and so on. <br />
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All in all, it is now my second favourite cookbook - my first being Google.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-58731476939158305322011-02-23T13:16:00.000+00:002011-02-23T13:16:32.223+00:00Superheroes and recyclingWe live less than 5 minutes from our local library. This, I feel, is an amazing bonus to our new home. Especially as yesterday they held a Superheroes and Villains day for the kids.<br />
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Adeline, our 7 year old, is a real bookworm. She read 5 books last weekend. While we try and instill the geek in her by suggesting fantasy books such as Cornelia Funke, Tanith Lee and Susan Cooper, she happily picks out anything girly to devour. Currently she is reading <i>Cookie</i> by Jacqueline Wilson, 2 <i>Rules for Girls</i> books, some other thing about fairies and <i>Going Solo</i> by Roald Dahl.<br />
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Some of the more "throwaway book" choices she makes do have me sighing and I am guilty of trying to suggest books when we're in the library. I always let her make her own decisions in the end. Aren't we all guilty of reading some fairly rubbish books when we were young? I read anything and everything. I wasn't a big fan of <i>Nancy Drew</i>, but I read a fair few of the <i>Babysitters' Club</i> Series and adored the Point Horror books. Yet I'd also read a few of the classics and a few books I still love by the time I was in Secondary school.<br />
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I guess whatever gets her reading is something to be pleased about. Plus all the girly stuff isn't making my geeklings too girly themselves.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4UMXgoV_yaOmFWKdLQcDMCu0IiIk2Hgxw6mmJcYgJKvh7hyphenhyphenQC6crZrE9BGLbo_CANXwF6V7kTzRgxogy5bFzuLa81LHOYCKKfuX6RjvBJj5aOUKeYDP6dIOaXeEZ9qO7UCWUXZhyN-Y8/s1600/DSCF2445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4UMXgoV_yaOmFWKdLQcDMCu0IiIk2Hgxw6mmJcYgJKvh7hyphenhyphenQC6crZrE9BGLbo_CANXwF6V7kTzRgxogy5bFzuLa81LHOYCKKfuX6RjvBJj5aOUKeYDP6dIOaXeEZ9qO7UCWUXZhyN-Y8/s320/DSCF2445.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I've also found something to do with all the plastic bags we have in the cupboard. Knitting! Not too hard to prepare the bags, all you need to do is either cut it into strips or spiral so you have one long bit. Twist slightly as you make it into a ball and then just knit as normal. That bits not too hard. The tricky bit came with the actually knitting, the plastic sticks to the knitting needles in a way wool does not so knitting becomes a little more laborious. By the end of it I had a blister on my finger, so although I want to do more, I might experiment with different needles and types of plastic. <a href="http://blog.craftzine.com/archive/2007/08/plastic_bag_crafts.html">Plastic Bag Crafts</a><br />
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I know the photo is rubbish, tried so many different settings on it but just couldn't get it right so here is one blurry Yoda.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIgh5F0SJSpEjj2Ynl06r2nHMqcA1miMYLqA5H1-EWi_bJjJEJslwQnxW14sn97TFba-VfiTpB1w6OQ6BKOwmTkxsUJneut04jp7rCOxwGMfmssKIvpIq1BRDdAITTaS2LwC61E5jnuU/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIgh5F0SJSpEjj2Ynl06r2nHMqcA1miMYLqA5H1-EWi_bJjJEJslwQnxW14sn97TFba-VfiTpB1w6OQ6BKOwmTkxsUJneut04jp7rCOxwGMfmssKIvpIq1BRDdAITTaS2LwC61E5jnuU/s320/013.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-38833616877363975182011-01-17T22:59:00.001+00:002011-01-17T23:00:12.930+00:00Writing Challenge 2 courtesy of SH"Two people who know each other bump into each other out of the blue. They haven't seen each other in over ten years. What happens next?"<br />
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Unfortunately I have no idea at the moment. I fear this may be an off-blog thing until it's finished. Yay for the edit function.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-34246002185950401742011-01-17T21:30:00.001+00:002011-01-17T22:56:30.873+00:00100 years... 100 films... 100 days?We have a new blog especially for this challenge - <a href="http://dextersfilms.blogspot.com/">Dexter's films</a><br />
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The challenge? To watch all of the films listed in AFI's 10th anniversary 100 years... 100 films list. Which can be found <a href="http://www.afi.com/100years/movies10.aspx">here</a>. It was just a general desire at first. Then it became a case of watching them all in order and taking a picture of our son with the DVD. Then Dex should be dressed or positioned to reflect the DVD. Then we should watch them all in a year. Now, as we're watching them all so quickly, I think the challenge should be in 100 days. As we have no working TV this becomes quite easy at weekends.<br />
<br />
However, we have had to cheat already. The postal service have let us down and we have yet to receive number 4 on the list, so we've been watching a few we own further down it. We're still determined to post them to the blog in order though so there's only 3 of them on there. Keeping my fingers crossed for Raging Bull arriving tomorrow so we can get back on track. Already know what costume D is going to wear too!<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UA1Zq2Q1YU1zgMHJZN2pV-v5RQgpVva3N6iLBcm8KgMO20burmYGKElEVUsvp8v2vE5purGSfVEpE4L6nJ4KECkXd9CqwYPgRwKy4wElAPiWvtEXPGRG_F-Mnrh4kyx9nsI4HJRTkPE/s1600/DSCF2207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UA1Zq2Q1YU1zgMHJZN2pV-v5RQgpVva3N6iLBcm8KgMO20burmYGKElEVUsvp8v2vE5purGSfVEpE4L6nJ4KECkXd9CqwYPgRwKy4wElAPiWvtEXPGRG_F-Mnrh4kyx9nsI4HJRTkPE/s320/DSCF2207.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-34935836178085621032011-01-17T21:17:00.003+00:002011-01-17T22:55:40.048+00:00Kitchen failure AKA Lego brick or underside of a female pig?Complete kitchen fail! I've been looking for geek food to serve at our party on Saturday. So far we have on the menu a Starship Meaterprise (which may turn out to be veggie), burnt Lemmings and some rice characters, as well as the obligatory Mr Potato Head.<br />
<br />
But I saw this and wanted to make it: <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/Kc_11rRzSy0/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kc_11rRzSy0?f=videos&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kc_11rRzSy0?f=videos&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><br />
How cool is that?<br />
<br />
My practice effort... well, I decided to not go for dyed icing for the practice run which probably didn't help matters. The pink marshmallows I used weren't fully covered by the icing either. So when my eighter was complete it looked like it should have little baby pig cakes alongside it happily suckling from their mother's teats. <br />
<br />
I think I'm going to have to go with marzipan and ready to roll icing instead.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-66983751804274368372011-01-17T20:50:00.002+00:002011-01-17T22:54:52.071+00:00So my blog now has a nameI <i>love</i> <a href="http://www.geekmom.com/">Geek Mom</a>. It's a site made by geek mums for geek mums, full of interesting articles, great craft ideas and so much more.<br />
<br />
There's just one <i>huge</i> problem with it - it's American. I'm not anti-America in any way, but obviously the site is geared towards residents of the US not of Britain. That's not going to stop me from devouring each post that is published on there either. I've become used to seeing cool things on there and checking how much postage would be to the UK or if it's available over here. I can work in metric or imperial, so it's not that either.<br />
<br />
Why can't I find a UK version?<br />
<br />
<i>That's</i> my problem. Maybe there is one out there that just isn't showing up on my searches. Where are my fellow Brit geek mums?<br />
<br />
Forums? That could be where they're all hanging out. I can't say I'm a fan of them generally. There have been more than a few occasions where I've found an interesting thread and <i>then</i> noticed it's from a couple of years ago. Then there's the obvious problem of, how can I put it nicely... people who can't see past the end of their own noses, trolls and that kind of thing. Now don't get me wrong, I love a good online debate. I had a huge ongoing one on a forum a few years ago about smacking (I'm anti, she was pro) which got very heated. Now, myself and this other woman, we argued and argued, then another debate was started. One which I happened to agree with her over, and we'd discussed other things during the smacking debate we'd both agreed on. To me, that shows we have some things in common, everyone is different and we can all have a good debate without resorting to name calling or hissing at each other. She was the same, we got on brilliantly as long as neither of us mentioned the s word.<br />
<br />
*sigh* There aren't that many on these things like that though. They just decide you're an idiot for not agreeing with you over x and bring it up at every opportunity they can. The other main anti-smacking mum on the board seemed aghast (as far as I could tell this side of the computer screen) that I would exchange pleasantries with the pro-smacker. There was much *headdesk*ing.<br />
<br />
Though there is a curious little part of me that wonders what my reason for being wrong about stuff would be if I went back on those ones. At the time, it was because I was too young to understand. Yet my opinions have changed very little over the past ten years.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-54346739831275033492011-01-10T09:06:00.002+00:002011-01-17T22:54:08.455+00:00The Count Down to the HousewarmingIt's all very exciting. For the first time since I moved out of my parental home at the tender age of 17 (I've since moved back in and out again, but that's another story) I get to invite lots of people round and call it a party.<br />
<br />
When I was with my ex-husband, this never would have happened. He was quite the unsociable creature, having gradually dismissed his friends one by one after we got together. Partly it was because they lived elsewhere, mostly it was because, in his eyes, he had me and no need for anyone else. Unfortunately, this attitude from him included anyone I was friends with. The few times during our relationship that I did have someone round, he made them feel uncomfortable enough that it was unlikely they'd come round again. If I went out, I was made to feel guilty about it and would have dresses vetoed because they were too revealing, which they really weren't. So I didn't go out and I didn't invite people round and didn't have anyone I would consider a close friend. This all became too much after we had the girls, I began to need the adult company and conversation that wasn't all about the kids. Even though I love them completely, any parent should understand that you can feel like you're going a little mad when you only have the company of a babe. So I sought out a writing group. Which, although he said he was okay with, I would have to text him when I got there, leave at 9.30 on the dot and text him when I had. Some meetings would see me get several texts from him during the two hours that would all require a reply. And so, with that, and many other things, I left him.<br />
<br />
And since then, I haven't lived anywhere that's really allowed for a decent gathering of people. Which makes this all the better.<br />
<br />
Hosting the party also means I have a deadline for getting a few key things achieved within the house that might otherwise have been put off. The table and 6 chairs I bought for the bargain price of £35 was £35 for a reason. Three of the chairs have been restored (fortunately not much work needed on any of the six) and table has been sanded, part restoration attempted and failed, top stripped completely and awaits sanding and dying. The little area at the bottom of the stairs has had most of the painting done; just a bit of woodwork left. The stairs need doing and I'd be happier if the kitchen got a coat of paint but most people know how much work we need to do to the house so I doubt they'll judge us on the current condition. Painting has been tricky. Not only is there a huge amount to do, the previous tenants, maybe the ones before them too, have done a really bad job of it all. Which means we're painting over chips and old, old areas of excess paint, bits that look like someone has painted over a chunk of paper... really the whole thing could do with stripping back, sanding and holes filling in before we even start painting. That could take years though and we want to get it looking liveable.<br />
<br />
So, over the next 10 days we need to:<br />
<br />
<ol><li><strike>Sand table</strike></li>
<li><strike>Dye table</strike></li>
<li>Apply finish to table</li>
<li><strike>Finish woodwork in hall/stairs</strike></li>
<li>Paint any annoying bits of wall that have been missed in hall</li>
<li>Sand and dye steps</li>
<li>Decorate stairs </li>
<li><strike>Repair floor tiles in front room</strike></li>
<li><strike>Clean hall floor and lay tiles</strike></li>
<li>Buy plates and stuff for party</li>
<li>Borrow some sort of seating as the number of guests exceeds the number of chairs.</li>
<li>Clean lots! </li>
</ol>Then, on day 11, I need to cook lots. I should rephrase that. I get to cook lots. Which is one of the best bits for me as I love cooking. I will be making a nice big pot of Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon, a lasagne for the veggies and I kind of want one more hot dish but I've not picked that one yet. Probably be a Spanish chicken thing though as most of the nibbles are Mediterranean - a torta di riso and wrapped dates and other nommy things.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-21219223142567586152011-01-10T07:52:00.000+00:002011-01-10T07:52:24.480+00:00Writing Challenge 1 ('You're just mad 'cause you can't knit.')'You're just mad 'cause you can't knit.'<br />
<br />
'Knitting's stupid anyway. I keep dropping stitches, this has got massive holes in and this... it's just crap. Plus, k7, p7, b.. o.. what the hell?' Pip pulled the half finished scarf off the needle and threw it across the room. It was supposed to be dramatic but, as it was still attached to the ball of wool, it didn't go as far as she intended.<br />
<br />
'Yet another thing you can do better than me. Just one more thing that makes <i>you</i> the girl in this relationship.'<br />
<br />
'You throw like a girl.'<br />
<br />
'Not helping.'<br />
<br />
'Sorry.' Sam tried his best sad puppy-dog eye face. It didn't work. Nothing had worked over the past few days.<br />
<br />
'Okay, you're not going to like this,' Sam started. 'Just remember, I am totally on your side on this. She was <i>completely</i> in the wrong. But.... You could just try saying sorry. Even if you don't mean it. Maybe if you're nice she'll end up in some sort of shame spiral and apologise to you.' <i>Evil eye. Abort. Abort. </i>'Or you could just... punch me in the arm?'<br />
<br />
'And what, exactly, would that achieve, Sam?'<br />
<br />
'I'd have a bruise and you'd feel better?'<br />
<br />
Pip eyed Sam's arm. 'Tempting though it is, you know I didn't mean that. Even if I took a tub of Ben and Jerry's over and we both apologised. We might chat and laugh and have a brilliant afternoon but it doesn't make things better. She's still with that prick.'<br />
<br />
'Honey, she loves him. Nothing you can do can change that.'<br />
<br />
'He's still a prick.'<br />
<br />
'Yes, he is. But what would you do if she'd stopped coming round here and hardly spoken to you when we got together?'<br />
<br />
'You're not a prick.'<br />
<br />
Sam sighed and pushed a strand of Pip's hair back behind her ear.<br />
<br />
'You love her, she loves him. You <i>have</i> to try and get on with the guy<i>. </i>You can't just avoid her and hope to get the, "I told you so," moment. That might never come. You either lose her friendship or suck it up.'<br />
<br />
'I hate you.'<br />
<br />
'No, you don't.' Sam pulled her in close for a hug. "See, you throw like a girl <i>and </i>you sulk like one.'Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129334473448417706.post-27791036375736993782011-01-10T06:28:00.002+00:002011-01-17T22:53:29.067+00:00Challenge(s) accepted2010 was a rubbish year for my writing. I think I managed half a short story in total and NaNoWriMo was a complete non-starter. The latter wasn't really surprising though as we'd moved just before November started and D was born a week into the month. I barely wrote on here or in my journal though; which, considering how much happened last year, is very strange.<br />
<br />
The letter writing is fab for making me want to write again. Each time I sit at my bureau to write, I want to carry on. I don't want to stop after just one letter. So I've been pondering how to go about get myself back into writing fiction. I have, on long-term loan from a friend, two excellent books with writing exercises I could make my way through. I have a novel planner from NaNoWriMo. And, of course, there are a million and one sites on the Internet where I could find inspiration and writing exercises. I know me. I know that I have access to all these things yet I could easily still put it off. Let's face it, despite the urge to carry on writing after I've wrote a letter, that urge hasn't got me to hunt down either of those books and begin working through the exercises, nor has it made me pull open the top drawer of the bureau open to grab more paper to get writing.<br />
<br />
What I need is pressure. What I need is National Novel Writing Month to be happening right now. I need other people to know what I am attempting and prod me. So... one missive sent to writers I've met through my writing group saying HELP!<br />
<br />
<br />
So far, three of those lovely people have sent challenges to me. Which are as follows:<br />
<br />
Begin a story with - 'You're just mad 'cause you can't knit.'<br />
<br />
Two people who know each other bump into each other out of the blue. They haven't seen each other in over ten years. What happens next?<br />
<br />
Words to use in a story: skiing, rubber dinghy, splurge (which is a cool word), saucy, chaffing and chaffinch.<br />
<br />
And from the same person who sent the words -<br />
<br />
<i>"For a plot idea why not borrow from possibly the worst film I've ever seen which was one I watched last week. I think you should rework these plot points into a good story."</i><br />
<br />
Japanese kids find spaceship<br />
Kids fly spaceship to a planet<br />
Kids notice whilst they are flying they also see their favourite monster flying through space next to them<br />
Kids get to planet<br />
Kids meet two women who want to eat their brains<br />
Kids try to escape and a giant monster tries to get them<br />
The monster fights the other monster they saw on the way there <br />
Kids go home<br />
<br />
Think that'll be enough to get started with :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289321025724135406noreply@blogger.com0