Some months ago, when I was still employed by the Specious Sycophantic Crows Ltd, I had a private health check. As part of this check-up I was given an ECG which showed a borderline error.
Gvien our family history; dad had a massive stroke when at the age I am now (not scary in the slightest) and sister had a thrombosis in one eye, I was advised to get this ECG followed up.
To this end I recently had what's called a Tape test. This involves having a few electrodes stuck to oneself and a monitor attached to those. I had to wear this for 24 hours and then go back to have it removed.
I am just back from the hospital to get the results of the tests; it seems they were borderline. Borderline arryhthmia (irregular heartbeat basically). So now I'm wired for sound yet again. This time for 72 hours. So no shower for me until Thursday evening. Pooh eh? Just what you want in the middle of summer! Deep joy.
So that's another department at the hospital that I, a single-handed drain on the NHS, have been to. Over the years, in no particular order, there's been medical, surgical, eye clinic, gynaecology, obstetrics, peadiatrics, Mental health, Casualty and now Cardiology! Not to mention various minor surgical procedures at NHS outposts in the depths of darkest Park North and the like.
There can't be much left apart from Geriatrics. YET. A few more years and I can add that notch to my belt too. And all with genuine ailments! I'm not one of these people - there's a name for them - that makes up ailments just so they can be seen by doctors and go to hospital. I don't need to!
And my foot still hurts too. But that's another story of another accident - there's a bit of a list of those too. Suffice it to say, I'm one of the few, maybe the ONLY, people to fall INTO a pub. And I know what you are thinking and you can stop it now. I wasn't already dreadfully inebriated. I hadn't been in the place before and so wasn't aware of the treacherous steps down into the place. So down I flew and landed on my arse with my hat askew. Oh how everyone laughed. Oh what a jolly jape it was! Until we saw the blood. 'Nuff said. It was awful and took months to heal and I now bear a lovely big scar right on the front of my left shin. Utterly delightful it is.
Monday 26 July 2010
Punning forwards
Since a rather prolific start to this blog I've hit a bit of a brick wall. Gosh, if I've got writer's block that nust mean I'm a writer! Ha!! I wish.
Today I received the following puns in an e-mail from a friend. Sadly I can't claim credit for them but they are just so good I wanted to share them.
I think they are all wonderful and very clever. Hats off to whoever it was that penned them. Or should that be punned them...
I've highlighted my favourites.
Acupuncture is a jab well done.
I hope you enjoyed them. :-)
Today I received the following puns in an e-mail from a friend. Sadly I can't claim credit for them but they are just so good I wanted to share them.
I think they are all wonderful and very clever. Hats off to whoever it was that penned them. Or should that be punned them...
I've highlighted my favourites.
Puns for those with a higher IQ
Those who jump off a bridge in Paris are in Seine.
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
Dijon vu - the same mustard as before.
Practice safe eating - always use condiments.
Shotgun wedding - A case of wife or death.
A man needs a mistress just to break the monogamy.
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
Dancing cheek-to-cheek is really a form of floor play.
Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?
Condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion.
Reading while sunbathing makes you well red.
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two tired.
What's the definition of a will? (It's a dead give away.)
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism your count votes.
She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off.
A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed
With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
Local Area Network in Australia - the LAN down under.
Every calendar's days are numbered.
A lot of money is tainted - Taint yours and taint mine.
A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
He had a photographic memory that was never developed.
A midget fortune-teller who escapes from prison is a small medium at large.
Once you've seen one shopping centre, you've seen a mall.
Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.
Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
I hope you enjoyed them. :-)
Tuesday 20 July 2010
Shopping in a (relatively speaking) bygone era
In my last post - Unidentified item in the bagging area - I touched upon how shopping has changed from being a personalized, pleasurable service to the misery it is today before it turned into a rant against Tesco. Incidentally, soda water is another casualty, as I noticed today. I used to be able to get Tesco branded soda water at 40p a bottle. Now there's only Schweppes at £1 a bottle! Just a bit of difference there then. It's just as well I'm not a gin drinker or I'd be even more miserable than I already am.
So there was nothing for it; I had to grit my teeth and gird my loins and venture into the personification of Hades that is Asda. Actually at 11am on a Tuesday morning, if not what we'd call heavenly, it's at least just about bearable.
Anyway, as ever, I digress. What I wanted to talk about was shopping and how much it has changed since I was a child back in the early sixties.
On Bakestone Moor, where I lived there was a large Co-operative grocery store with a separate butchers. Or Corp as it was usually referred to. As in "I'm just going t'corp for some milk tokens". We tend not to use the definite article in Derbyshire as you can see. It was many years later that I discovered it was actually 'Co-operative'. A bit like Dr Arra - but that's another story.
Anyway; This 'Corp' had no self-service. Oh no. There was a long counter with most of the stock on shelves ranging from floor to ceiling. I remember a long pole with a hook on it being used to access boxes of cornflakes from the top shelves. Frequently by a very thin woman with peroxide hair in some sort of beehive hairdo.
Cheese and ham and bacon and so on were not platicised and plumped out with water and ready sliced in vacuum packs. They were in blocks and were cut to one's requirements and wrapped in greasproof paper. As in did was bread! (Cling film - nasty stuff - hadn't been invented then) The wrappings from which were used to grease the slide in the play park top make it slidier! :-) But apart from the novel form of these products and the very useful wrappings they came in, the most exciting thing about them was that they actually tasted of something! Like cheese; or ham; or bacon...
Dried fruit for cake making was in large tubs and weighed out as required. You get the idea. The amount you spent was totted up and recorded in your 'divvy' book. At the end of each year, Co-operative members, received their dividend.
I have no recollection of there being any other way to get milk than to have it delivered from the Co-op milkman. We bought milk tokens from the Co-op. They came in different colours to represent what type of milk you wanted. I think there was a choice of two. Silver top and gold top. Silver top being the regular kind with the cream on top and gold top being full cream. If there were others I don't recall them. So then every night one put out the empty milk bottles and the tokens for how many pints you wanted. Simples!
So that was on Bakestone Moor. The moor is an adjunct of the village Whitwell which is down the hill. Whitwell had a Co-op drapers which was all 'Are you being served' in that it was glass counters and everything in those little drawers under the counter and behind it.
In Worksop, the nearest town, there was a large Co-op department store. I remember the lifts with a lift operator and the metal gate things that pulled across first. I have too a vivid memory of the best Father Christmas (as he was in those days. None of this Santa stuff.) grotto ever.
So yeah, all a bit different from self-service checkouts and being told off by a computerized check-out bitch.
So there was nothing for it; I had to grit my teeth and gird my loins and venture into the personification of Hades that is Asda. Actually at 11am on a Tuesday morning, if not what we'd call heavenly, it's at least just about bearable.
Anyway, as ever, I digress. What I wanted to talk about was shopping and how much it has changed since I was a child back in the early sixties.
On Bakestone Moor, where I lived there was a large Co-operative grocery store with a separate butchers. Or Corp as it was usually referred to. As in "I'm just going t'corp for some milk tokens". We tend not to use the definite article in Derbyshire as you can see. It was many years later that I discovered it was actually 'Co-operative'. A bit like Dr Arra - but that's another story.
Anyway; This 'Corp' had no self-service. Oh no. There was a long counter with most of the stock on shelves ranging from floor to ceiling. I remember a long pole with a hook on it being used to access boxes of cornflakes from the top shelves. Frequently by a very thin woman with peroxide hair in some sort of beehive hairdo.
Cheese and ham and bacon and so on were not platicised and plumped out with water and ready sliced in vacuum packs. They were in blocks and were cut to one's requirements and wrapped in greasproof paper. As in did was bread! (Cling film - nasty stuff - hadn't been invented then) The wrappings from which were used to grease the slide in the play park top make it slidier! :-) But apart from the novel form of these products and the very useful wrappings they came in, the most exciting thing about them was that they actually tasted of something! Like cheese; or ham; or bacon...
Dried fruit for cake making was in large tubs and weighed out as required. You get the idea. The amount you spent was totted up and recorded in your 'divvy' book. At the end of each year, Co-operative members, received their dividend.
I have no recollection of there being any other way to get milk than to have it delivered from the Co-op milkman. We bought milk tokens from the Co-op. They came in different colours to represent what type of milk you wanted. I think there was a choice of two. Silver top and gold top. Silver top being the regular kind with the cream on top and gold top being full cream. If there were others I don't recall them. So then every night one put out the empty milk bottles and the tokens for how many pints you wanted. Simples!
So that was on Bakestone Moor. The moor is an adjunct of the village Whitwell which is down the hill. Whitwell had a Co-op drapers which was all 'Are you being served' in that it was glass counters and everything in those little drawers under the counter and behind it.
In Worksop, the nearest town, there was a large Co-op department store. I remember the lifts with a lift operator and the metal gate things that pulled across first. I have too a vivid memory of the best Father Christmas (as he was in those days. None of this Santa stuff.) grotto ever.
So yeah, all a bit different from self-service checkouts and being told off by a computerized check-out bitch.
Monday 19 July 2010
Unidentified item in the bagging area
I was listening to Radio 4 this morning, as I do, being a devotee of R4's output, and there was an item on Woman's Hour about shopping. More to the point about the rise and fall of the privately owned department store and how the nearest we get nowadays to a personal shopping experience is that blasted computerised voice on those ghastly self-service checkouts (and why isn't it cheaper if we are doing all the work ourselves huh?) telling us off for having an unidentified item in the bagging area. Aaargh!! All of which got me thinking about how cross I'm becoming with Tesco these days and how impotent it makes me feel becuase I don't actually have anywhere else much to go. Well apart from Asda and that's just another conglomeration - just an American one instead of a British one.
There is a Tesco Express at my nearest 'village' centre about ten minutes walk from my home. . Being a non-driver and living alone this has been very handy for me. I pootle off with my bright pink floral shopping trolley to get my bits and pieces. But over recent weeks and months I've noticed that they are slowly removing all their own brand products (the ones I always bought) and replacing them with premium brands. So no more Tesco olives - only Crespo ones. Now I love Crespo olives but being as how I get through an olive grove a week, own brand olives it had to be.
The same has now happened with breakfast cereals; no longer is there a Tesco own-line cereal to be seen. And so it goes on.
This is obviously a deliberate policy by Tesco and it's deplorable! I'm furious about it but what can I do? I could write to Tesco yes, but that will have what effect exactly? As I said, without a car it's not so easy to go anywhere else except to another conglom.
Even the medium sized Sainsbury's in the town centre is getting in on the act. Since the Tesco Metro stopped stocking chilli flavoured olive oil (to which I'm addicted) I've been happily buying a Sainsbury's own brand one from their store in the town centre for many months now. Off I trot there last week to replensish stocks and what do I find? Do I find the Sainsbury's own brand at £1.99? NO I DO NOT! I find a premium brand in its place at twice the price. I have to buy this because there is nowhere else to go!!
You are all making billions. It's hard enough for the rest of us. Please pack it in!
Or there will be something unidentified in the baggage area and it won't be a customer's own shopping bag. It'll be an irate me having finally lost the plot!
As an aside, I can't help thinking that 'Unidentified item in the bagging area' would be a great title for a story or a short play. It only needs a plot to go with it!
I seem to be developing a knack for coming with titles/bare bones of stories but with bugger all else to go with them. Not so much a mojo as a mo perhaps? :-(
There is a Tesco Express at my nearest 'village' centre about ten minutes walk from my home. . Being a non-driver and living alone this has been very handy for me. I pootle off with my bright pink floral shopping trolley to get my bits and pieces. But over recent weeks and months I've noticed that they are slowly removing all their own brand products (the ones I always bought) and replacing them with premium brands. So no more Tesco olives - only Crespo ones. Now I love Crespo olives but being as how I get through an olive grove a week, own brand olives it had to be.
The same has now happened with breakfast cereals; no longer is there a Tesco own-line cereal to be seen. And so it goes on.
This is obviously a deliberate policy by Tesco and it's deplorable! I'm furious about it but what can I do? I could write to Tesco yes, but that will have what effect exactly? As I said, without a car it's not so easy to go anywhere else except to another conglom.
Even the medium sized Sainsbury's in the town centre is getting in on the act. Since the Tesco Metro stopped stocking chilli flavoured olive oil (to which I'm addicted) I've been happily buying a Sainsbury's own brand one from their store in the town centre for many months now. Off I trot there last week to replensish stocks and what do I find? Do I find the Sainsbury's own brand at £1.99? NO I DO NOT! I find a premium brand in its place at twice the price. I have to buy this because there is nowhere else to go!!
You are all making billions. It's hard enough for the rest of us. Please pack it in!
Or there will be something unidentified in the baggage area and it won't be a customer's own shopping bag. It'll be an irate me having finally lost the plot!
As an aside, I can't help thinking that 'Unidentified item in the bagging area' would be a great title for a story or a short play. It only needs a plot to go with it!
I seem to be developing a knack for coming with titles/bare bones of stories but with bugger all else to go with them. Not so much a mojo as a mo perhaps? :-(
Sunday 18 July 2010
Red hats and purple clothes
The other day I was in Heelis*1 and there were a group of ladies in there of a certain age and beyond all wearing purple clothes and red headgear and having a seemingly riotous time on their Ginger Beer brewed at National Trust properties.
The headgear varied from full on wide brimmed hats to those dinky fascinator*2 things with the common denominator of them all being red. Since then I've been wondering what on earth that/they were all about.
So, in manner of a modern-day Sherlock Holmes, I've done a deer-stalker free Google search on red hats and discovered that there is an international Red Hat Society no less!
http://www.redhatsociety.com/membership/memberupdateMay.html
What is the Red Hat Society? The Red Hat Society is the largest international social organization for women, dedicated to making the world a better place for our members by actively promoting and supporting fun, friendship, freedom, fulfillment and fitness for each individual, as well as demonstrating the value and contributions of women to society at large. Together Red Hat Society (RHS) Members are reshaping the way women are viewed in today's culture. RHS is a place where women are royalty every day, a place where women open their hearts to share, support and care for one another and a place where fun reigns supreme.
The headgear varied from full on wide brimmed hats to those dinky fascinator*2 things with the common denominator of them all being red. Since then I've been wondering what on earth that/they were all about.
So, in manner of a modern-day Sherlock Holmes, I've done a deer-stalker free Google search on red hats and discovered that there is an international Red Hat Society no less!
http://www.redhatsociety.com/membership/memberupdateMay.html
What is the Red Hat Society? The Red Hat Society is the largest international social organization for women, dedicated to making the world a better place for our members by actively promoting and supporting fun, friendship, freedom, fulfillment and fitness for each individual, as well as demonstrating the value and contributions of women to society at large. Together Red Hat Society (RHS) Members are reshaping the way women are viewed in today's culture. RHS is a place where women are royalty every day, a place where women open their hearts to share, support and care for one another and a place where fun reigns supreme.
So now we know. Phew! I might consider joining but purple is so not my colour...
*1 - Heelis - is the HQ of the National Trust. It's named after Mrs Heelis - aka Beatrix Potter.
*2 - Fascinators. Why? Why are they called that and what's the point of them? They aren't remotely fascinating. They aren't even a little bit interesting...
Maybe I'd be more well disposed towards them if they suited me - which they don't.I look ridiculous in them.
Maybe I'd be more well disposed towards them if they suited me - which they don't.I look ridiculous in them.
I can't help but think there must be a good story around the Red Hat Society if I could just but think of one!
Hats off to them anyway.
'Proper writer'
Okay, so I don't have congealed fried egg in my chest hair (which, according to my creative writing tutor, is a pre-requisite of being a writer) , mainly because I haven't eaten an egg (none in the house) and I don't have any chest hair. Well not much anyway. But I am still in my nightgown, sat in loggia slurping coffee in order to clear my head, from consuming rather too much Dao ( Portugeuse red wine - it was very lovely. Hic!) last night, while typing this. So does that mean, I wonder, if I might at least be a bit of a writer? :-) Or at least on the way? Well it was just a thought.
Now, about that Dao..last night I went out with my sister and her partner to a Portuguese eatery in Swindon town centre. The place is rough and ready but the food is just great. Lots of lovely tapas and main courses too. And it's all very reasonable. Apparently they are going to change the menu a bit. This would be good cos I've been through the existing one several times over now. Along with one or two favoured Indian eateries and a couple of Italian restaurants this Portuguese place is a great favourite of mine.
I've realised that this post is sounding a bit like an advertisement for the place. Now there's an idea!!! :-)
Now, about that Dao..last night I went out with my sister and her partner to a Portuguese eatery in Swindon town centre. The place is rough and ready but the food is just great. Lots of lovely tapas and main courses too. And it's all very reasonable. Apparently they are going to change the menu a bit. This would be good cos I've been through the existing one several times over now. Along with one or two favoured Indian eateries and a couple of Italian restaurants this Portuguese place is a great favourite of mine.
I've realised that this post is sounding a bit like an advertisement for the place. Now there's an idea!!! :-)
Saturday 17 July 2010
Small Pleasures
Saturday 17th July, 6.30pm:
Reluctantly I drag myself off my sunlounger and back into my loggia; the sun is now dipping behind the roof of a house that sits diagonally to my sun spot at the end of my garden by my loggia*. It's bloody irritating. I wish I could level that house or at least bring it down to bunglaow level - then I'd have the sun until it finally went down. Grrrrr!!! I had a brother-in-law worked for NATO. I was rather hoping he could sort it out but he let me down. Harrumph!
After a week of changeable weather this afternoon finally came warm and bright. So I've just enjoyed a lovely couple of hours or so on my sun lounger with my book and Radio 4. Aaaah!
I get enourmous amounts of pleasure from small pleasures such as these. This is probably just as well given that I'm now semi-retired (for that read unemployed) and so a tad short on the cash to splash!
One of the things I love best in the world is the feeling of the sun on my body. Not when it's really hot and burny but when it's gently warm and caressing. It's especially lovely when it's the first sun of the spring; the one that has chased away the dull, dark, grey, chill of winter and it's warm enough to potter around unfettered by layers of clothing. When it's warm enough to lay down in a sheltered spot and feel the sun's fingers, aided by a gentle loving breeze; the kind that strokes and caresses. It's soothing, relaxing, and sensual - like the touch of a lover. But probably better in that one doesn't get those annoying curly hairs all over the bathroom floor and someone snoring in bed. Other than one's self that is. However, I digress. Let's return to the purple prose!
Then, before the last of the rays are lost, I just love to have a glass of chilled white wine and a bowl of olives and feta; ambrosia, manna from heaven are these things.
My daughter loves to say that my favourite thing to do is 'dragging'. By that she means re-arranging the garden and my loggia. And she's right. I do. I don't know why it should be but I do get the most in-ordinate amount of pleasure from it. It's much more fun than housework! :-) I'd have to say, if I'm feeling down, a couple of hours of concerted dragging will usually do the trick. If it doesn't then there's something seriously wrong for sure!
My *'loggia' is a room on the back of my house. It's not quite a conservatory but it's more than a lean-to having sides and screens across it. What it really is is an 'indoor-outdoor room' so I call it my loggia. And I love it.
It's completely different to the rest of the house. It has a wooden floor made from palletts and is full of kitsch fairy lights, metal signs and souvenirs from holidays. There's a vibrant coloured metal gecko from Spain, pictures from Hawaii and all sorts of stuff. It's not everyone's taste but it's mine and I get so much pleasure from it.
When it's not quite warm enough to be in the garden I sit in here, where I can see it and listen to the radio or read, or dine or do what I'm doing now which is to mess about on my netbook. The netbook is a recent acquisition and is something else that I love - along with the wireless network. I mean, how much better can it get than to be able to sit in the garden with the sun on my bod, typing and surfing with a nice cold beer? Surely wi-fi has to be up there with the microwave oven, dishwashers and the contraceptive pill as being amongst man's finest achievements?
The garden is little bit Mediterranean in style. It's evolved over the years I've been in this house into a low-maintenance garden with Palms and Phormiums and Cordylines etc with gravel and slabs and decking. And I love this too! I love the Med but can't be there as much as I'd like so, in my garden and my loggia I can pretend. :-)
Time to go and get changed to go out for Tapas. Now, on the subject of pleasures...food is one of the biggest - as anyone that knows me can testify. Food and the worship of Bacchus.
Cheers!!
Reluctantly I drag myself off my sunlounger and back into my loggia; the sun is now dipping behind the roof of a house that sits diagonally to my sun spot at the end of my garden by my loggia*. It's bloody irritating. I wish I could level that house or at least bring it down to bunglaow level - then I'd have the sun until it finally went down. Grrrrr!!! I had a brother-in-law worked for NATO. I was rather hoping he could sort it out but he let me down. Harrumph!
After a week of changeable weather this afternoon finally came warm and bright. So I've just enjoyed a lovely couple of hours or so on my sun lounger with my book and Radio 4. Aaaah!
I get enourmous amounts of pleasure from small pleasures such as these. This is probably just as well given that I'm now semi-retired (for that read unemployed) and so a tad short on the cash to splash!
One of the things I love best in the world is the feeling of the sun on my body. Not when it's really hot and burny but when it's gently warm and caressing. It's especially lovely when it's the first sun of the spring; the one that has chased away the dull, dark, grey, chill of winter and it's warm enough to potter around unfettered by layers of clothing. When it's warm enough to lay down in a sheltered spot and feel the sun's fingers, aided by a gentle loving breeze; the kind that strokes and caresses. It's soothing, relaxing, and sensual - like the touch of a lover. But probably better in that one doesn't get those annoying curly hairs all over the bathroom floor and someone snoring in bed. Other than one's self that is. However, I digress. Let's return to the purple prose!
Then, before the last of the rays are lost, I just love to have a glass of chilled white wine and a bowl of olives and feta; ambrosia, manna from heaven are these things.
My daughter loves to say that my favourite thing to do is 'dragging'. By that she means re-arranging the garden and my loggia. And she's right. I do. I don't know why it should be but I do get the most in-ordinate amount of pleasure from it. It's much more fun than housework! :-) I'd have to say, if I'm feeling down, a couple of hours of concerted dragging will usually do the trick. If it doesn't then there's something seriously wrong for sure!
My *'loggia' is a room on the back of my house. It's not quite a conservatory but it's more than a lean-to having sides and screens across it. What it really is is an 'indoor-outdoor room' so I call it my loggia. And I love it.
It's completely different to the rest of the house. It has a wooden floor made from palletts and is full of kitsch fairy lights, metal signs and souvenirs from holidays. There's a vibrant coloured metal gecko from Spain, pictures from Hawaii and all sorts of stuff. It's not everyone's taste but it's mine and I get so much pleasure from it.
When it's not quite warm enough to be in the garden I sit in here, where I can see it and listen to the radio or read, or dine or do what I'm doing now which is to mess about on my netbook. The netbook is a recent acquisition and is something else that I love - along with the wireless network. I mean, how much better can it get than to be able to sit in the garden with the sun on my bod, typing and surfing with a nice cold beer? Surely wi-fi has to be up there with the microwave oven, dishwashers and the contraceptive pill as being amongst man's finest achievements?
The garden is little bit Mediterranean in style. It's evolved over the years I've been in this house into a low-maintenance garden with Palms and Phormiums and Cordylines etc with gravel and slabs and decking. And I love this too! I love the Med but can't be there as much as I'd like so, in my garden and my loggia I can pretend. :-)
Time to go and get changed to go out for Tapas. Now, on the subject of pleasures...food is one of the biggest - as anyone that knows me can testify. Food and the worship of Bacchus.
Cheers!!
First Jottings
Well, I'm not at all sure what I'm going to do with this. I think I'm hoping it might make me write down notes, thoughts, ideas, observations etc, anything that might be useful for creative writing. Or even just writing!
I did a creative writing course over the summer at New College in Swindon with a great bunch of people and a great tutor, Steve Tuffin. Despite not being sure that I am a creative writer (I'm rather better at editing I think than having original ideas) I've signed up for another course in September to have another go at it. If nowt else it keeps me using English - which I love - and keeps me thinking instead of stagnating, and over the winter months, hibernating.
Some of what appears on here will really be just for me - I think - random, rabid, ramblings and so on.
It would be good to hear from other wanna be creative writers or people just interested in the English language generally.
I did a creative writing course over the summer at New College in Swindon with a great bunch of people and a great tutor, Steve Tuffin. Despite not being sure that I am a creative writer (I'm rather better at editing I think than having original ideas) I've signed up for another course in September to have another go at it. If nowt else it keeps me using English - which I love - and keeps me thinking instead of stagnating, and over the winter months, hibernating.
Some of what appears on here will really be just for me - I think - random, rabid, ramblings and so on.
It would be good to hear from other wanna be creative writers or people just interested in the English language generally.
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