Waiting for what, an appointment, a date?
I’m always there early, so why are THEY late
It’s not very hard to plan well ahead
‘Cause life is so short, and a long time you’re dead!
BUT I’M ALREADY HERE!
What, awful punctuation there is upon, the screen?
Its’ often very difficult to know just, what they mean
They must; have been to school and: such
If not they Broke the law
Hang on, a bit the screens’ just changed
And now ther’es even more
Apparently my colons in danger of disease.
I thought I only had the one, but anything to please.
There’s hypo this, and hyper that, yet their and there are mixed,
and they’re convinced that all my ills can very soon be fixed.
Forget my moans, my name’s been called, enunciated strongly.
Computer generated speech was used, pronouncing my name wrongly!
I feel unwell!
Not enough good policies
Too many choices
Read this fantastic story of Scouting of yesteryear told by John. He is now retired, both from stealing from the Tuck Shop, and from his legal duties. He can still sing the old scouting songs though!
It must have been the summer of 1961. Certainly before the Beatles. The music that year was all Dean Martin and the Drifters, or itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini.* And I recall being in love with a girl in the 4th form at Queens’s school in Rheindalen, Carol, and constantly singing a song to her called “Oh Carol”.** And there was Elvis of course. Anyway, I was in the boy scouts then. Moved on I had from the cubs, left behind all that Akela and dib dib, dib, dob, dob, dob stuff. Cubs had sixers in charge. I had been a sixer when a cub. Born to command I was. Now, in that summer of ’61, I had graduated to the scouts and I was quickly made a Patrol leader. Sometimes I even wore long trousers.
They would meet once a week, Wednesday evening…
View original post 1,632 more words
Kirsty, one of the few blogging friends that I know IRL, has a few views about politics. She gave up soaps some time ago. Now she plans to give up politics……..well, almost!
Several years ago I remember waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare about EastEnders. I think it was about Sonia Fowler – that sweet brainy trumpet-playing girl who fell in love with bad boy Martin after he’d accidentally killed her lovely previous boyfriend, then didn’t realise she was pregnant until she went into labour, gave the baby up for adoption but then had a breakdown and kidnapped the child back.
View original post 760 more words
A powerful piece of writing from a young lady who is worth far more than all the misogynist, childish, and ignorant bullies who hide their own insecurities behind group bravado. Please do like, and comment, on the original post.
I’ve never wished that I wasn’t a woman. Not once. I’ve never envied a man or wanted to be anyone else. I’ve always felt valued and equal to my male friends, never an object or something insignificant or worthless. I’ve never felt scared to walk down a street, as a woman. I’ve never felt like my gender defined who I am or what I’ve done. I like to break the mould, the stereotype; be different and be myself. As a woman, I’ve always stood tall. I’ve always felt proud and strong.
I’ve never wished that I wasn’t a woman, until recently. Until I was jeered at by a group of men, as I walked past them. Until two men stood in front of me and my friend and wanted to tell us (and probably show us) “all the things I’d do to you”. Until I was made to feel like…
View original post 746 more words
Today I was working in the front garden. I was digging out Grape Hyacinths and Bluebells that are always threatening to overtake every other plant.
A lady stopped to pass the time of day. She lives fairly close by and I see her often, and wave. Occasionally we have a brief chat.
Today, she greeted me with, “Oh, I didn’t realise that you lived there, so close to me!” She told me that she was Secretary of the local Allotment Society, and how busy that kept her. She also informed me that she had a pacemaker fitted, and how it had given her a new lease of life.
The conversation progressed along traditional lines and then she set off to continue her journey home.
I did not let on that we had had an identical conversation last time she passed by when I was gardening at the front, almost at the same spot.
As she left I said, “I’m Peter by the way!”
She reminded me of her name.
For the life of me, I cannot remember what it is!!
Just open your eyes:
See, feel, and know your own strengths.
You will be amazed!
For any parent whose children have yet to reach 10 years old you NEED to read this, and commit it to memory for later use.
Each of my children, during their teenage angst years, once told me they hated me. There was a five year age gap between them. It was two separate occasions with years dividing the incidents. So it wasn’t as if I was bombarded. And each time I could see it approaching.
They didn’t mean it.
Though they were pretty vehement in their expression at the time, I knew better.
I knew they felt like they had no control.
I knew they felt like I had all of the control.
And I knew what to do. I was ready. Prepared. I had this one.
I had read a story, long before this point in my life, about a parent who’s child had constantly said “I hate you”. So when it was my turn, I borrowed from that wise parent.
When it happened I reacted with great calm.
When each child in their own…
View original post 192 more words