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While We’re On The Subject

19 Apr

Keats House Poets Forum's photo.

 

At the moment, I have no words.  It made me smile, then, as one of life’s little ironies, when I received an email announcing the launch of a new poetry ezine containing one of my poems – a poem about censorship, in which most of the words have been removed.

I may not be writing much but I do know how to make a short story long, so here goes.

My poem In The Tradition of ‘The Star’ appeared in the anthology In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights last year.

Earlier this year, one of the anthology’s editors contacted me, asking for permission to use it in a new ezine she and another editor were starting; and inviting me to read at the magazine’s launch in London at the end of March.

I gladly gave permission but had to refuse the invitation, commenting that I wouldn’t know how to read it aloud anyway.

She replied that she quite understood: her employer (a charity fighting female genital mutilation) had held a memorial meeting for Nelson Mandela and my poem had been read out at the meeting – with difficulty.

I sent a garbled reply about poems being like children and taking on a life of their own without you, once you’ve sent them out into the world.

I didn’t hear from her again, but that’s hardly surprising.  If you’ve read this far you’ll be in the same dazed state.

Anyway, to get to the point, here is a link to the new magazine, Writing in the Blackout.

Here’s a bit of the blurb, for the political amongst you:

‘Writing in the Blackout’ is an anthology of poetry and art work that explores the theme of arts censorship and freedom of speech:http://www.ideastap.com/Partners/keatshousepoets

It features newly commissioned poetry and art work from Keats House Poets and IdeasTap members, an interview with English PEN and much more! We hope you enjoy reading our anthology, and would be delighted to hear hear your thoughts on it and do forward it to any of your networks who would be interested in reading it. This project is a snapshot of some of the complex issues connected to censorship, and we are interested in continuing investigating this theme- do let us know if you know organisations who might support a ‘Writing in the Blackout’ workshop or performance. 
We will be hosting a poetry performance and discussion of ‘Writing in the Blackout’ on June 14th, 4:30-6pm at the Keats House Festival in Hampstead. Do follow @KHPoetsor check our blog for more event details http://khpoets.wordpress.com/  
You will find me on page 39 but the whole thing is well worth a read.

 

A Dry Write Season

17 Apr

I haven’t written a post in thirteen days; and if you haven’t noticed, then I haven’t written a decent recent post.

I don’t believe in Writer’s Block, preferring to call the occasional arid periods in which my fingers take on all the attributes of blank paper with none of its promise – rather like a British tabloid newspaper – ‘dry spells’.  I know I could write something if I neck a bottle of wine in one sitting; but you might not like what I’ve written.  Or understand it, come to that.  Rather like a British tabloid newspaper.

Fortunately, WordPress has been watching me (I knew it!) and sent me a prompt post entitled Five Posts to Write Right Now:

Mired in bloggers’ block? Pshaw — we’ll give you a push! Here are five posts you can publish right now, no matter what topics you usually blog about.

Thank you, WordPress; that’s really thoughtful of you.

1. The last thing that made you mad.

I can’t believe WordPress is spying on me!  What business is it of theirs if I don’t write for two weeks or two years?  Pshaw!

2. Your typical childhood lunch.

Large.

3. An ode to an object.

An Ode To WordPress, The Object Of My Affliction

When I don’t write
You prompt me to
Bloggers not blogging
don’t reflect well on you

When I do write
You spy on me
I must object
Tremendously

But let’s be fair
This ode is crap
Are you really sure
You want me back?

4. Self-psychoanalysis via your bookshelf or Spotify playlists.

Spotify?

I’ve seen it on Facebook as in Suchabody Withnolifetospeakof is listening to Songs For Those Too Lazy To Share The Dull Minutiae Of Their Lives Via Blogs Like I Do on Spotify.

Take the five books on your nightstand, the last five songs you listened to, the last five movies you watched or the last five blog posts you liked — what do they say about you? 

Three Brenda Jagger novels, Siegfried Sassoon’s War Poems and the Bible:

  • Lives in the past; hopes for the future.

Prepare Ye, Beautiful City, Day By Day, All For The Best, By My Side:

  • Lives in the recent past; hopes for the son’s future.

The Terminator, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, Terminator Salvation, Dumb & Dumber.

  • Loves a good romance.

Posts I Like – I have to be discreet here so as not to offend anyone by not including them, so I’ll go for generic subjects instead of specific posts:

  • Hairless cats (funny)
  • Doctor Who (essential)
  • The return of old bloggers (old as in been around a long time, not old as in been around a long time)
  • Boobs with belly buttons (we’re back to the future again)
  • Jolly good news (even more essential than fictional doctors)

5. A mad lib.

I know mad libs are (is?) some weird American traditional game played at Thanksgiving and when the internet is down, but that’s all I know, so we’re back to dry spotify again.

Thanks for nothing, WordPress.

 

 

 

 

 

In Which I Eat Elephant Ears

4 Apr

You may recall my post about elephant ears and what a disappointment (of sorts) it was to discover that they were not, in fact, mammoth trophies but were…well, if you don’t know, you’ll have to read the post for yourself.

Now I discover there is another kind of elephant ears: the kind you can eat! The best kind.

Don’t worry, I might not be vegetarian (shudder) but even I would balk at a pachyderm pot roast.

No, my lovely American friend Laurie, who blogs at laurieanichols, sent a surprise parcel in the post – a tin of elephant ears: homemade biscuits, so-called because of their shape.

DSCN2833

Sadly, the Hub has just been diagnosed as diabetic, so he couldn’t have any; Spud doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so he had a taste, approved of them, but declined to eat any more; Tory Boy lives elsewhere; and I watch my weight these days.  

I value my friendships more than my figure, however, so I manfully swallowed as many elephant ears as I could.

DSCN2836

At the risk of offending all of my other friends who have fed me homemade biscuits before, I have to apologise and say: these were the best biscuits I have ever tasted.

I will always remember them fondly.  And so will my waist.  Thank you, Laurie!

Googling Myself

12 Mar

It’s not that I’m vain, or anything, but I do occasionally Google my name (okay, I am vain; but can you blame me with this hair?).  At least I don’t check to see if I’ve got a Wikipedia page – no, really, I don’t, honest…

I have to Goggle myself when I’m submitting poems, because so many editors exclude poems already published online, even if it was on my now defunct poetry blogs which can no longer be accessed.

I Gaggled four poems and my name this morning and I was disappointed to find one of them in the 2010 comments section of a poetry blog, which means I can’t use it.  

The Haggle brought up a pleasant surprise, however – which isn’t always a given when you Giggle yourself; all I’m going to say is tea bags/washing line/shame…. Fortunately, I’m such a prolific blogger that the embarrassing photo is hidden way down in my Boggle listing.  

I discovered that a poem published by English Pen last year in their Dictionary of Made-Up Words was featured on their website earlier this year, as part of an ongoing promotion of the book.  I didn’t know it was there.  I’m chuffed!

Even better – it was retweeted!  It’s nice to be twit.

You may say it was coincidence, but I think it’s strange that I didn’t come across this poem until I had my hair cut.  I’m like an anti-Samson: all of my power was consumed by my long hair; now it’s short, I’m discovering my work in the ether and being invited to take part in poetry events which may or may not come off so I can’t say anything at the moment…except that the invites were issued after the haircut…

So, do you Wriggle yourself?  Or are you afraid to discover dirty little secrets of yours hiding out there in the ether?  Are there photos of you drunk at a party? Taking an illicit beach day from work?  Wearing flares?

I’ll find out, you know, when I Ogle you.

Prompts About Prompts

19 Feb

Tell us about the time you threw down the gauntlet and drew the proverbial line in the sand by giving someone an ultimatum. If you’ve never handed out an ultimatum but secretly wanted to, describe the scene and what you would say to put an end (one way or another) to an untenable situation.

Really, WordPress!  Enough is enough!  Stop mixing your metaphors and going on for three pages to get to the point (that’s my job).  Give me better prompts or I stop blogging!

*

Imagine yourself at the end of your life. What sort of legacy will you leave? Describe the lasting effect you want to have on the world, after you’re gone.

She was the sort of woman who never followed through on an ultimatum. Consequently, WordPress walked all over her.  However, she knew when her time was up, so she played The Last Post on her last post.  She might have been weak but she went out in style.

*

Describe the one decision in your life where you wish you could get a “do-over.” Tell us about the decision, and why you’d choose to take a different path this time around.

I don’t believe in regrets.  If we like who we are, we can’t regret how we got this way.

However, I am sorry I have a weakness for the WordPress Prompts.

Not.

*

If you were involved in a movie, would you rather be the director, the producer, or the lead performer? (Note: you can’t be the writer!).

None of the above.  I’d like to be the person just off set, with the script.  You know…the prompter.

*

We all know how to do something well — write a post that teaches readers how to do something you know and/or love to do.

  1. Sign up to The Daily Post.
  2. Check your email inbox each day.
  3. Start a new post.
  4. Choose a prompt from your Daily Post emails.
  5. Make fun of it.
  6. Thank your lucky stars that you have never been Freshly Pressed because flying under the radar means you can scoff at the prompts until the cows come home to mock your mixed metaphors.
  7. Bask in the adulation.

*

Look in the mirror. Does the person you see match the person you feel like on the inside?

No.  Without slicing myself from that funny little triangular bit at the base of the throat to the unmentionable in a family blog bit at the top of my legs, I can’t get my hands inside my body to rummage around feeling what I feel like.  I’d have to be a particularly skilled surgeon to do that.  And insane.

How much stock do you put in appearances?

A lot.  I have to wear a disguise because the WordPress Prompters have put out a hit on me.  Something about ‘norespectforourhardworkcomingupwithideas-
every
dayjustsoyoucanmakefunofus.’

*

Cooking The Prompts

13 Feb

You’re at the beach, lounging on your towel, when a glistening object at the water’s edge catches your eye. It’s a bottle — and yes, it contains a message. What does it say?

Drink Me.  Oh, wait…you’re not Alice.  Damn rabbit!

*

Tell us about something you’ve tried to quit.

Blogging.

Did you go cold turkey, or for gradual change?

Cold turkey.  It was Christmas.

Did it stick?

What do you think?

What’s the one item in your kitchen you can’t possibly cook without? A spice, your grandma’s measuring cup, instant ramen — what’s your magic ingredient, and why?

The Hub.  If he’s not there, cheering me on and hugging me through my failures, I go to pieces.  I once incinerated a pack of chippolata sausages because he was in another country instead of my kitchen.  I have to burn food so I know when it’s cooked (I was one of the few people to take notice of all those safety adverts as a child).  I need the Hub there to tell me when ‘burnt to a cinder’ is too much.

What’s instant ramen?

*

You’ve been granted magical engineering skills, but you can only use them to build one gadget or machine. What do you build?

Star Trek TNG‘s food replicator.  

But then I wouldn’t need the Hub…what to do, what to do?

*

What’s the household task you most dislike doing? Why do you think that is — is it the task itself, or something more?

Previous answers refer.

*

Write a post that includes dialogue between two people — other than you. 

A True Story, almost

The Hub: Where’s your Mum?

Tory Boy: In bed.

The Hub: Where are the boiled eggs?

Tory Boy: On the ceiling.

The Hub: She cooked?

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned from the person you’re the closest to?

To leave the cooking to him.

Actually, not any more; his M.E. means that he can’t cook these days.

So I guess the lesson is, marry someone rich enough to afford takeaways.

*

It’s January 26. Write a post in which the number 26 plays a role.

Hello?  I’d like to order a Number 26, two 14s and a 32, please.

*

Tell us about the nicest thing you’ve ever done.

Stopped cooking for my family.

*

If you could fast forward to a specific date in the future, when would it be?

The day the replicator is finally invented.

*

I Do Love You, Spud, Honest

11 Feb

Wednesday 15 January, 2014

Where’s my birthday post?

I’m not blogging at the moment!

You don’t love me.

Spud turned eighteen while I was on a break.  I didn’t write a happy birthday post – because I was on a break.  I did take him tea in an eighteenth birthday mug, buy him banners and balloons and not say a word about the girl in his bed on a school day; but, no, all he can see is no birthday post.

Apparently, I didn’t write him a birthday post last year when he turned seventeen.  I wrote one for his brother and his father, a hundred readers and even myself – but not one for him.  My argument, ‘But you don’t read my blog!’ didn’t cut it, because, apparently, he does.

I have been ordered to write a make-up post and not to make this make-up post all about his brother, which is what I appeared to have done in last year’s make-up post, saying how great his brother was and how he spoiled Spud on his birthday blah blah blah.

I’m a terrible mother.

But I can’t say that, because this post is all about Spud.

Spud was the biggest baby in the hospital, the week he was born – about ten pounds.  I have mentioned before that he looked like the V alien baby when he came out all blue and crinkly.  And absolutely gorgeous – which is how he’s stayed:

DSCN1860_IGP5708DSCN1770

Spud is now a man, and he has a learner’s driving licence to prove it.  He has done a lot of thinking this past year about what he wants to do with his life; but the decision was really made in the summer, the moment a sweaty Macbeth spat on him during the performance at the Globe: Spud wants to act.

This past year he has played Greek tragedy, Shakespeare and farce.  At the moment he’s rehearsing Judas in Godspell.  He doesn’t want to be rich and famous; he wants to work in theatre.  He is deadly serious: he wants to pretend to be other people for the rest of his life.  I couldn’t be prouder; or more scared.

Happy birthday, my darling boy.  Whatever you do in life, I know you’ll obsess about it until it’s right.

I love you.

Breaking My Own Rules

8 Feb

From clangnuts.blogspot.com

Remember how I was only going to blog three times a week?

So far, you’ve had posts on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Thursday and Friday – six out of eight days.

This is Seven of Nine*.

*If you’d like to read an amusing post about Seven of Nine**, go here (ignore the first bit about blogging).  If you get there and you don’t find it amusing, complain to the management.***

**Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!  I just realised where the Beckhams found Harper’s silly second name – they are Star Trek fans!

It’s not sounding so silly now, is it?

***Management will not be available until Monday.  Maybe.

This seventh post comes to you courtesy of Edwina Currie, who riled me so much, I had to write about it.  My rant didn’t suit this blog’s theme of sharing the laughter, however, so I had to start a new blog.  Go and take a quick look, if you don’t mind.

It’s called Edwina Currie Made Me Start This Blog.

New Year, New Rules

3 Feb

Image from integral-optionsblogspot

A Little Housekeeping

As you know, several minor health issues last year left me with no appetite for blogging.  The break has helped but, if I’m going to keep it up, I need to change my habits.

My intention is to try to post at least three times a week from Monday to Friday; and to visit your blogs on Saturdays.

Apologies

I won’t be commenting on my or your blogs as often I used to.  If last year taught me anything, it’s that I just can’t sustain it.  I’m sure you understand.  And if you don’t, feel free to leave a comment.

But don’t expect a reply…

The Kindness Of Stockport Strangers

31 Jan

Image from Wikipedia
What happened to Zemanta?  I’m away for one short month and WordPress has changed everything.
I feel a prompt post coming on…

Yo, readers!  I’m back!  Did you miss me?  I told you I’d be back.  Thank you for your patience.

I had a lovely blogging break and feel refreshed and ready to write again…or I did, until yesterday.

Back With A Bang…Literally

I had intended to write my first post-break post tomorrow, on the first (you will note that my break didn’t wash away my propensity for mangled sentences; there’s no break in the world long enough to make that happen), but I had such a day yesterday, I wanted to tell you all about it; and to boast about how kind the people of Stockport are.

The day began in the ordinary way: at 08:35, my Yorkshire Terriers Toby and Molly, my friend Pam and I left my house for our weekly walk along the river Mersey, on the Pennine Way.  It takes us into the heart of Stockport, under the M60 motorway, but away from roads, so it’s safe to let the dogs off the lead.

We’d been out about fifteen minutes and Toby was a little way off, investigating smells.  Have you ever walked Yorkshire Terriers? They were bred as ratters. Try throwing a ball – they’ll get halfway to where it lands and be distracted by a smell, à la Doug and squirrel in Up, and that will be that for the game of Fetch as far as a Yorkie is concerned.

Toby was nose-deep (probably in something disgusting), when his body language changed and he realised he was being stared at intensely by a large dog which had come up behind us, a husky-type dog.  The husky charged, scenting prey. Toby legged it.  He ran up the path, under the subway and followed the path until it turned left.

I acted instinctively, forgot I was fifty and charged after him, yelling his name in what was intended as a command but which came out as a whiny beg.  Fortunately, Pam had the presence of mind to grab Molly before she ran after me running after the husky running after Toby.  We must have been quite a sight, with the husky owner running after me running after the husky running after Toby…who ran into rush hour traffic.

I rounded the corner as he dashed across the far four lanes.  The traffic in the two lanes closest to me had stopped so I belted over to the other pavement and suddenly realised I was running downhill, faster than I’ve ever run before, and I would very shortly be crashing face-first to the ground.

And lo, it came to pass.  My left hand must have taken the impact because it hurt-hurt-hurts today, up my arm to my shoulder.  I thought at first I had sprained it and I’m lucky not to have broken it, such was my momentum.  It is worth the pain because my face merely bounced off the pavement, leaving no scratches or bumps, just temporary indentations where my glasses had tried to give me eyes in the back of my head.

A car pulled up, and another, I think.  Someone helped me stand, a cyclist chased off after Toby, who was running the wrong way through the cars on a busy intersection.

Image from webaviation.co.uk 

See the triangle of grass above the .co.uk?  I had crossed the diagonal red path above it and was now prostrate on the path to its left.  Toby was running down the slip road in front of the Pyramid, which has a large white truck going one way and a yellow van going the other.

And I will stop there for today, for two reasons:

1. Always leave them wanting more and

2. My arm hurts. Which leads to three:

3. Always leave them feeling sorry for you: it may result in chocolate.

Season Break

22 Dec
prozac

prozac (Photo credit: Life Mental Health)

I’m what doctors technically refer to as ‘knackered’, so I’m taking a break from blogging and other stuff.  I won’t be posting, reading or commenting.

Please don’t be offended if I unsubscribe from your blogs – spending my break deleting emails is not what I have in mind to do over the next month.

Thanks for all the support.

I’ll see you in February!

 

Tag, You’re It

5 Nov
funny tag

funny tag (Photo credit: Phil Denton)

My tag line is There’s Always A Silver Lining.

On another blog just now, I wrote in the comments, focus on the silver lining, not the cloud.  

I’ve been thinking of changing my tag line for a while, if I can only find the time between Bomp Bomp games; this is what I was thinking of: Sharing the laughter.

So, dear readers, which of them shall it be?  

I will abide by the majority vote.*

*And then change it to something else when you’re not looking, if I don’t like it.

Bored With Myself Now

19 Oct
doctor_doctor_joke29

doctor_doctor_joke29 (Photo credit: Alan O’Rourke)

I’m feeling a little weary today

I wrote this post earlier but decided to let it stew for a bit because it is
so full of self-pity and poor-meism.  I had decided not to post it at
all when it occurred to me that sometimes I present a false image of
myself (fancy someone doing that on the internet…); that if you take
this blog at its word, everything in the Tilly garden is rosy and that I
face problems with stoicism and humour.  

Which I do, of course, but not until I’ve had a large, private dose of
self-pity and poor-meism.  Then I joke about it and move on.

That false image is unfair to you, I think.  Like the supermodels I so
closely resemble, I show you the airbrushed version of my life – and
my personality, if I’m honest.  In reality, I’m as grumpy and self-pitying
as the rest of you.  So here’s an honest piece of writing.

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

[I have decided not to link this post with Six Word Saturday.  My
regular readers will get when I'm joking; my irregular readers might not.]

Sick Puppy - Sick As A Dog

Sick Puppy – Sick As A Dog (Photo credit: Anirudh Koul) What I am in my head; but not in my bod.

Because I’ve had one thing after another, I haven’t participated in Six Word Saturday for a couple of months.  I was determined to participate today and in my head, I wrote a particularly funny post for you about visiting the doctor.  However, my brain doesn’t have a sense of humour today, being too taken up with self-pity, so you get this instead. Sorry.

The painful lump in my neck turned out to be one of two swollen lymph nodes.  The on-call doctor did a thorough examination, history, etc., and concluded it was an infection of indeterminate origin.  She checked all areas where swollen lymph nodes might appear (there were no others).  She took blood there and then, so the results will be back in time for my scheduled appointment with my regular doctor next week.  She recommended a dental check up in case it was my teeth causing the infection – a distinct possibility: despite regular check ups, careful oral hygiene and lots of wishing it don’t be so, I do have a lot of teeth problems, as you know.

Swollen lymph nodes termed "buboes" ...

Swollen lymph nodes termed “buboes” caused by plague bacteria (bubonic plague). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)  What I’m hoping mine are NOT

I went straight into the dentist’s, a couple of doors down, as soon as I came out of the doctor’s.  I explained the situation and that the doctor wanted me to see the dentist before next Thursday’s appointment, so it could be ruled out (or in).   This is where it got awkward: not knowing I was going to be unwell, I have a full diary next week; I could do Monday morning or all-day Tuesday, and that was it.  The wonderful receptionist, Alison, laughingly tut-tutted at my lack of prophetic skills and squeezed in a twenty-minute appointment on Tuesday afternoon.  I have had so many emergency appointments over the years, it wouldn’t surprise me if Alison pencilled them in in advance, to be on the safe side.

The doc prescribed a course of amoxicillin and I started it immediately.  Within 24 hours I was feeling a lot better; today, there’s no pain and I can move my neck normally again.  That’s when I noticed the nausea.  It has lasted all day and reminds me of being pregnant (not a possibility – I had an ultrasound last week over an unrelated matter and there was no waving baby in sight).  I checked the amoxicillin’s contraindications – 1 in 1000 people experience nausea as a side-effect.  I have never had that problem before with penicillin; but that’s the sort of year I’m having.

"When you run with the Doctor, it feels l...

“When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it’ll never end. But however hard you try you can’t run forever…” (Photo credit: fengschwing)  I have to say, that was a problem for me even before I started feeling unwell.  No stamina, you see.  None at all, ever.

So, yes, I am a little fed up today.  I’m sick of feeling sick and run down and not being in the mood to blog, supposing I had the energy, which I hardly have had lately (though it doesn’t appear to have affected my ability to write long-winded, meandering sentences).

I’m off to count my blessings, however, beginning with:

  1. A free healthcare system which ensures I get good treatment despite having no money.  
  2. It’s not serious (thanks to modern medicine); it’s just a little wearisome because it’s the latest in a long line of small ailments.
  3. The Hub.  As some of you may have guessed, he’s rather nice, especially when I don’t feel well and despite his own long-term condition.*
  4. My blog.  It means I can feel sorry for myself in front of a worldwide audience.
  5. My readers, many of whom have real problems, not least of which is no access to decent health care; and some of whom are dealing with dreadful illnesses and conditions and only wish they felt just a little weary; and all of whom will rush to leave supportive comments. 

 If I didn’t feel so guilty, I’d feel better already.

*

*Good grief!  I must be sick!  I said something nice about the Hub.  I’m scared.

SorrySorrySorry

8 Oct

Apologies for the post desert.  I’m fighting an allergy attack.  My eyes are swollen, the skin is puffy, itchy and a little burny, and it’s difficult to see the screen properly.  Normal service may eventually be resumed, assuming I can remove the Hub’s cucumber slices from my face while being held down: “Lie still, dammit!  You will relax or I’ll ram the rest of this cucumber where the sun don’t shine!”

He takes such good care of me.

Surprise, Surprise!

23 Sep

A parcel arrived in the post from Australia:

DSCN2145

The parcel was expected; the contents were not.  

That’s not as daft as it sounds – the lovely Blubee read my South African poetry collection via email; and was kind enough to print it out and send it back to me in the UK, with her annotations.  She also sent Maltesers, poetry, dogs, pens, napkins, Earl Grey, notebooks…she is clearly an avid reader/stalker.  She knows me well.  

I confess, I wouldn’t have opened the parcel until next week if I had known it was for my birthday; but I’m not sorry.

If you would like to learn more about Blubee, you can find her here.

As delighted as I was with everything, however (especially the book of poems written by dogs; so close to the truth, I suspect my own dogs may have submitted to publishers and not told me because they have greater success than I do), as lovely as it all was, what really touched me was the beautiful note Blubee wrote about my poetry and how it affected her.

Thank you so much, Blubee; you made my year.

Quickly's

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