Helping the family Hammond shift a few Christmas Trees was a very pleasant way to spend the weekend. With the glass-house all decked out in Christmas lights, mince pies from Granny and hundreds of trees suspended from the roof, I'd expected a warm, friendly weekend with family and complete strangers. However, I didn't expect it to lead to yet another visit to A&E.
Ordinarily I am not one to engage in Christmas until after my birthday on December 11th. However The Ranch is a fantastic place to visit and I was quite up for some manual labour. I've never seen so many Christmas Trees strung-up looking to lure a new owner, only to perish in a few weeks time. It's a strange thing to get picky about but people were very much concerned that the trees didn't lose their needles before Christmas. I assume Boxing Day they can drop away because no one is sober enough to care then but the panic people had about needle dropage was strange. I felt it improper, seeing as we were trying to sell these trees, to inform them that they were dead. Having been severed from their roots a few days ago, no amount of watering would preserve them further. They were dying and people were prepared to pay £65 to watch them die, slowly, over the next three weeks.
People have absurd requests when it comes to trees. They are all looking for their perfect tree and for most people, sadly, that means a tree which is symmetrical throughout. Something that nature is yet to produce and surely never will. If you want a symmetrical tree, you need to buy a fake one from Argos. Real trees are...were living entities and like humans come in all sorts of annoying shapes and sizes. Just ask any woman who's been dress shopping. No dress in any shop, anywhere in the world fits a woman perfectly. Every woman's shape is different, every tree shape is different. You purchase the one that's close enough. It's a compromise. Now buying a Christmas Tree is the same adventure. We don't grow trees with the corner of a two bed semi-detached bungalow's front room in mind. You need to pick one that you're quite happy to watch die and have got a plan on where to put it on January 1st.
I understand that choosing the right tree is a very personal thing. It has to be, as every home is different. Every bauble placement will be controversial and every set of lights will have a bulb broken and some people have the same dislike for tinsel as they do the Nazi's . There are however some things that are not personal and to spend over an hour deciding them when they are already decided for you is a waste of your weekend. For instance. Unless your tree is going to stand in the middle of your room, you only need three good sides. The amount of people who turned down a tree because one side had less branches, or too many branches, or was not bushy enough or too long, too short...the list goes on. What difference is it going to make? You're going to cover the tree in loud, sparkly tinsel, lights and baubles and then shove it next to the radiator, TV, sofa, table, wall...delete as appropriate. No one is going to see the "crap" side! This all stems from people wanted to impress their family and friends with their tree but these people have failed to notice the true icon of the living room during Christmas...the television. When anyone comes to your house to stay at Christmas they will politely say the tree looks wonderful and will always enjoy your food but in reality they are judging you on your television not your Norway Spruce. You could have a gold plated Christmas Tree with Kelly Brooke as the fairy on top but unless you've got a 52" flat-screen plasma surround sound with SKY plus you won't be getting a reciprocal invite next year.
One strange couple wanted their tree washed. Apparently they had found a tiny amount of mud on one of the branches and had decided they wanted to wash it off. This of course was to protect their beige lounge carpet. What was astonishing was that they couldn't understand that this was a bit weird. Of course the tree has mud on it. When it was chopped down it fell to one side and landed in the undergrowth then presumably was dragged from the Forest to the selling point. During this process I am sure a bit of mud accumulated on the branches somewhere. So we made them wash their own tree, to much amusement of the other customers. Of course what they didn't seem to understand is when it comes to packing the tree in the netting I would be dropping it on the floor. A floor that was covered in soil, sawdust and parts of previously packed trees. Being wet, this new debris would attach itself to the tree in greater quantities than the "mud" and give the tree a bread crumbed affect. Hey-ho they paid £65, they're the mugs.
I must admit that I have never been too fussed about the style of tree that I would cover in baubles. For this reason it amazed me when people would spend over an hour discussing and choosing their tree. In a way it is because they had too much choice. There were over 200 trees in the glass-house with another 50 still growing in the field outside should people want to chop one down or dig one up and put it in a pot. Also none of them were wrapped. So you could look at them in all their beauty. Perhaps though it was part of the fun of choosing. I know that those who came to Spithandle Nursery quite enjoyed the welcome, the tea, the music, the decorations, the lucky dip and the vast choice of trees but it didn't half make them picky. Imagine going to Homebase or B&Q for your tree. Yes, they would be cheaper but that's because they are rubbish. Plus you wouldn't actually know what your tree looked like because it was already wrapped. No, I didn't like the "choosy" people. I liked the people who embraced the weird shapes and sizes of the trees and understood that although a little decision making was required, in the end it didn't really matter.
At Spithandle there is more on offer than just choosing a tree. For children there is a lucky dip (sweets) and pony rides and for adults there were hot drinks and mince pies & biscuits. These were free and all we asked is that you kindly donate to the charity Action for Children which is the charity that Amy is running for in the London Marathon. Considering what people got from the experience I think many of them were rather tight on their charitable giving. They had something to drink, to eat, to keep the children happy. They had over 200 trees to choose from and we wrapped them and carried them to their cars. There was music, good cheer and on the Saturday Father Christmas turned up (I had brought my Father Christmas costume and throughout the afternoon I amused shoppers and scared children with a slightly underweight Saint Nick who for some reason spoke like Roger Moore. Apparently it was very funny so I kept it up for four hours.). For all this, I think in general they gave poorly for the experience. You'd get none of that at Homebase. Of course some people were very polite friendly and happy to give and we thank them for that but for those who just took a tea, mince pie, allowed their children to take a few too many sweets from the lucky dip and thought they were riding a donkey instead of a horse...you're not welcome back next year. For those people and to be fair there weren't that many, next year come buy your tree and then fuck off.
Buying a Christmas Tree is rarely an impulse buy. You know when you're off to get one. So if that's the case why don't people clear out their cars to allow room for the tree they plan to take home. When buying a tree there are two size constraints. The first is whether it will fit in the living room. The second is whether it will fit in the car. I believe these should be the other way around as most people clearly only thought about the house and forgot the car.
After the drama of selecting a tree comes the trauma of getting it home. The tree is constantly shedding needles. Carrying it home delicately is vital to ensuring that there are more needles on the tree than in the car boot. So with that in mind I was amazed to find people turning in up in hatchbacks and coupes hoping to take home a seven footer. I must have carried over a hundred trees back to peoples cars and every time I was greeted with a new challenge. I'm can't believe that christmas-tree-car-shoving didn't appear on The Crystal Maze and should the Generation Game make a timely re-appearance on BBC One the "art" may actually replace the sausage making machine game. It wasn't just that people had brought small cars. It's that the cars they brought were full of other stuff. Recycling boxes, bikes, pushchairs, grocery shopping, rubbish for the tip. One guy opened the boot of his Mazda two-door sports car to reveal golf clubs! It wasn't just "stuff" either. Selecting a tree was a family experience, although I'm not sure you need to bring your dog. Most came in couples so the back-seat and boot option was on. Those with kids, the dog and the shopping struggled a little but we managed to get every tree in, on or sticking out of every car. I couldn't understand why most people hadn't thought this through. It's not as if it was an impulse buy. The nursery was two miles from anything. There's no way you would have been driving past and thought "you know what, lets get a real tree". My favourite challenge was that of a two door sports car with soft-top. The roof retracts into the boot. The boot hasn't been cleaned out so there's rubbish, de-icer cans and random magazines taking up valuable room. The back seats fold down but there is only a 6 inch gap to slide things between the boot and the small back-seat area. It's raining...hard so we've ruled out putting the roof down. Oh did I mention she'd brought her dog which was sitting in the back and her elderly father in the front passenger seat. After recommending that she didn't try to shove it through the gap...she probably did but I don't know how she did it as after ten minutes and through her embarrassment she shoo-ed me away, so I left her to it. I can only assume she tied her father to the roof.
I am by no means an expert on Christmas trees. However within an hour of selling them, I was. The public assumed I knew something about them because I was selling them. I was pleased to continue this charade. I knew my non-drop from my spruces and jokingly informed people that there was a tree out there for everyone. Of course when I say "out there" I mean at this nursery and not at some rivals.
To keep with tradition I couldn't let 2009 go by without a visit to casualty. Those of you who know me best will be able to list all the broken bones and stitches I have required over the years. I have certainly got my monies worth from the NHS. This injury was new to me though. I managed to scratch my eye on one of the pine needles. The discomfort was instant but I was able to soldier on. However my eye kept wanting to close. It was if I had something in there but on inspection I could find anything. Waking up the next day my eye was watering and my vision blurred. I continued to work but staring at the computer and TV screens on my desk with my one good eye became tiresome and gave me a headache. So I left work and went to Kingston Hospital's Eye unit. The place was packed with patients. Clearly a lot of people had shoved a Christmas Tree in their eye over the weekend. The receptionist, who seemed to be behind two inch thick bullet proof glass, informed me that there would be a long wait, about three hours. I kind of guessed that was going to be the case but I was pleased that it was on works time and not my own. So I set off around reception reading all the posters, pondering which newspaper I would read and had a chat with the coffee lady to see if she was staying. She was dispensing drinks from a coffee cart and looked poised to move on to another part of the hospital at any time. I didn't want a coffee right now but I knew the buying and drinking process would kill some time after I'd read all the posters on eye diseases.
I was only there twenty minutes when the nurse called me in for a check-up to see how bad I was and decide where to put me in the three hour queue for the doctor. She squirted anesthesia into my eye which meant I couldn't feel it. It was strange. I don't knowingly feel my eye, it's just there. When I was supposed not to be able to feel it because of the anesthesia I actually felt the loss. Confusing I know, but I don't consciously breath. My body just makes it happen but as soon as I think about breathing it becomes all erratic. So a numbed eye is like that. You shouldn't feel it anymore but you do.
Anyway the nurse then looked in my eye and discovered that I'd scratched my cornea. The bodies natural defense for this is to close the eye to start repairs. The nurse also discovered a small amount of debris which she took out with a cotton bud. I have to admit at this stage that I was feeling a little unwell. I'm not a fan of anything in my eye. I didn't faint but I did feel sick. Then an eye test and thankfully I am still 20/20 in both eyes. This discovery coupled with the removal of tree from my eye meant that there was no meed for me to see or be seen by, the doctor. Excellent. All I had to do was squirt some gel type stuff in my eye every four hours and the eye would be fine in a week. I was quite relived it wasn't worse but not looking forward to putting stuff in my eye all week.
Next year I think the visit to casualty will be back to familiar territory with a broken bone or two and when I'm selling trees I plan to wear goggles.
HDM
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Comedy Improv
Comedy Improv. Yet another adventure that I'm on, that is difficult to explain to people.
It is literally making-up comedy sketches from nothing, in front of a live audience. Sometimes it fails but 89%* of the time it's hilarious. Six or so Improvisers take suggestions from the audience or pluck inspiration from the air, to create fasinating characters and platforms. It's like performing a theatrical farce but you have no script. You don't know how it will start or end.
One term, that is flying about, is "throw-away" theatre. Where what is performed on stage can be viewed only once, in that exact moment and often never re-created and so is "thrown-away". That part is true but I don't like the term as it may also suggest that Improv is rubbish which it certainly is NOT.
Improv is the most free act of performing I have ever seen. There is no script or lyrics or rhythm to stick to. It is un-planned and un-rehearsed. You need a quick & open mind, confidence, commitment, imagination, comedy timing and balls-of-steal. Attempting to perform an hour long show, to a paying audience isn't easy but it is immensely rewarding.
When some people think of Comedy Improv they think of "Whose line is it anyway?" and for a quick explanation that may be fine. However that program mainly deals in quick games that provide quick laughs usually surrounding bodily functions or embarrassment. That's OK for that programme but there's a reason it's only 24mins long. For live Comedy Improv you need to create characters and scenes that the audience can believe in and care about so they can join you on your adventure. You can also chuck-in a few of the "games" as you go along...anything is an offer on stage, in Improv.
In the last 12 months I have performed in London and at The Edinburgh Festival and enjoy it far more than when I did stand-up comedy. You can still catch me performing once or twice a month in London. It is a nice little hobby. Something to stretch the mind. I have been lucky/talented enough to have been asked to perform in other troupes and look forward to meeting and playing with new Improvisers. Currently you can catch me with the Spontaneity Shop's "Dance Monkey Dance" troupe and "Improbubble".
Wow, what a time I've had getting-up on stage in front of complete strangers and making-up characters and scenes that have people in tears of laughter. The greatest compliments I've received, regarding my performance, is that people just can't believe we've made it up. They say to us after the show "you must have scripted that, it was too good" but we don't. We don't script anything, we're just great Improvisers.
I like not knowing what is going to happen, before, during and generally after a show. It is an exciting hobby. It is as dangerous mentally, as Cheese-Roll-chasing is physically but with the same hilarious consequences.
Catch me where you can.
HDM
* 89% a statistic plucked from the air, made-up...Improvised.
It is literally making-up comedy sketches from nothing, in front of a live audience. Sometimes it fails but 89%* of the time it's hilarious. Six or so Improvisers take suggestions from the audience or pluck inspiration from the air, to create fasinating characters and platforms. It's like performing a theatrical farce but you have no script. You don't know how it will start or end.
One term, that is flying about, is "throw-away" theatre. Where what is performed on stage can be viewed only once, in that exact moment and often never re-created and so is "thrown-away". That part is true but I don't like the term as it may also suggest that Improv is rubbish which it certainly is NOT.
 |
| From Comedy Improv |
Improv is the most free act of performing I have ever seen. There is no script or lyrics or rhythm to stick to. It is un-planned and un-rehearsed. You need a quick & open mind, confidence, commitment, imagination, comedy timing and balls-of-steal. Attempting to perform an hour long show, to a paying audience isn't easy but it is immensely rewarding.
When some people think of Comedy Improv they think of "Whose line is it anyway?" and for a quick explanation that may be fine. However that program mainly deals in quick games that provide quick laughs usually surrounding bodily functions or embarrassment. That's OK for that programme but there's a reason it's only 24mins long. For live Comedy Improv you need to create characters and scenes that the audience can believe in and care about so they can join you on your adventure. You can also chuck-in a few of the "games" as you go along...anything is an offer on stage, in Improv.
In the last 12 months I have performed in London and at The Edinburgh Festival and enjoy it far more than when I did stand-up comedy. You can still catch me performing once or twice a month in London. It is a nice little hobby. Something to stretch the mind. I have been lucky/talented enough to have been asked to perform in other troupes and look forward to meeting and playing with new Improvisers. Currently you can catch me with the Spontaneity Shop's "Dance Monkey Dance" troupe and "Improbubble".
 |
| From Comedy Improv |
Wow, what a time I've had getting-up on stage in front of complete strangers and making-up characters and scenes that have people in tears of laughter. The greatest compliments I've received, regarding my performance, is that people just can't believe we've made it up. They say to us after the show "you must have scripted that, it was too good" but we don't. We don't script anything, we're just great Improvisers.
I like not knowing what is going to happen, before, during and generally after a show. It is an exciting hobby. It is as dangerous mentally, as Cheese-Roll-chasing is physically but with the same hilarious consequences.
Catch me where you can.
HDM
* 89% a statistic plucked from the air, made-up...Improvised.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Too much to mention
I will be updating very shortly the events of the Hercules DeMontford. It has all been too much with my new job and moving in with my girlfriend.
Tinkering away at the computer has had to take a back seat. The tales will flow shortly. Sign up for updates.
HDM
Tinkering away at the computer has had to take a back seat. The tales will flow shortly. Sign up for updates.
HDM
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Dad buys stuff in his retirement
In his well earned retirement my father has decided to surround himself with gadgets and toys that at best he may only tinker with at least once a week.
He has long been an accomplished drummer and photographer. These I would say are his main hobbies. Owning three drumkits already and with drums changing little in the 2million years that they have been around means his pension hasn't gone on new kits. Photography however just keeps on developing and the tech companies out there just keep producing new shiny kit that a man in his retirement doesn't really need to save up for anymore.
So three SLR's have come and gone. One of which I have received with much gratatued. He has now settled on a 12 mega-pixal SLR costing a stupid amount of money but it doesn't stop there. No as he constantly informs me it's the lenses that make a camera. You wouldn't believe the money you could blow on a lens. His latest aquastition is two foot long. From his back garden in Wales he can now take photos of the birds, in France.
The pictures from it are amazing. His collection of lions after a kill in Africa, would rival any professional nature photographer. While on safari he actually had to encourage the Zebras to "go back a bit" because they were too close. My father's eyesight is not at it's best but you can't miss when the lens is longer than your arm.
With camera advancements slowing down my father has now decided to branch out musically. A professional drummer (as in he's done paid gigs) he also plays the guitar and harmonica. Onm the face of it I have been a huge dissapointment to him as I can play no musical instruments. Although I am a good strong singer. For last Christmas my father bought me a bass guitar, a fantastic present but perhaps twenty years too late. I still plan to learn how to play the bass and to perform a few times in a real band or at least in a band, on stage at some point. My Dad's recent instrument can be tuned 67 different ways...he's bought a Banjo and starngley he can actually play it. With no lessons whatsoever.
So expect some Banjo action next time you see DeMontford senior.
HDM
He has long been an accomplished drummer and photographer. These I would say are his main hobbies. Owning three drumkits already and with drums changing little in the 2million years that they have been around means his pension hasn't gone on new kits. Photography however just keeps on developing and the tech companies out there just keep producing new shiny kit that a man in his retirement doesn't really need to save up for anymore.
So three SLR's have come and gone. One of which I have received with much gratatued. He has now settled on a 12 mega-pixal SLR costing a stupid amount of money but it doesn't stop there. No as he constantly informs me it's the lenses that make a camera. You wouldn't believe the money you could blow on a lens. His latest aquastition is two foot long. From his back garden in Wales he can now take photos of the birds, in France.
The pictures from it are amazing. His collection of lions after a kill in Africa, would rival any professional nature photographer. While on safari he actually had to encourage the Zebras to "go back a bit" because they were too close. My father's eyesight is not at it's best but you can't miss when the lens is longer than your arm.
With camera advancements slowing down my father has now decided to branch out musically. A professional drummer (as in he's done paid gigs) he also plays the guitar and harmonica. Onm the face of it I have been a huge dissapointment to him as I can play no musical instruments. Although I am a good strong singer. For last Christmas my father bought me a bass guitar, a fantastic present but perhaps twenty years too late. I still plan to learn how to play the bass and to perform a few times in a real band or at least in a band, on stage at some point. My Dad's recent instrument can be tuned 67 different ways...he's bought a Banjo and starngley he can actually play it. With no lessons whatsoever.
 |
| From Dad buys a Banjo |
So expect some Banjo action next time you see DeMontford senior.
HDM
Saturday, 30 May 2009
Go Ape...a safe climbing thrill
I love jumping off things. I like the thrill of falling. I don't so much like the landing. Heights aren't a problem for me. I like climbing trees and rocks, jumping out of planes and off cliffs into the sea.
Of course the greatest problem with this love is that you have to jump off something and land on something else. The greater the height, the more the landing is going to hurt. Even jumping into water can be dangerous. For instance if you were to jump from the Sydney Harbour bridge you would hit the water at such a speed that it would be like hitting concrete. I am not sure if it was the devil inside me but while on the Sydney Bridge climb some years ago, I did quite like the idea of giving it a try.
The UK is blessed with some fantastic climbing centres and outdoor mountainous spaces but is not blessed with good weather. This has made falling out of a plane very difficult this summer. One rule they have here, is that skydiving is a "no-go" if it's cloudy. Apparently you need to be able to see the ground before you jump, boo. I know what it's like to jump on a clear day and it is brilliant but I'd also like to experience falling through some clouds. With being grounded twice this summer I have sort other thrills.
This search has led to Go-Ape a purpose built tree climbing assault course type centre. There are several around the country. Even if you are scared of heights you should definitely give it a go. Unless you're a complete mong you shouldn't fall from the 50 to 100ft heights. There is a three part safety system so you should always remain connected to the safety wire. For me I found this a little tame but they wouldn't let me on without the harness. There are a couple of different routes that you can take with varying degrees of difficulty and for the chickens there are plenty of opportunities to get down.
Each section ends with a death (may be a poor choice of word) slide or commando line. For anyone old enough to remember the Krypton Factor with Gordon Burns the commando slide at the end was always the best bit. Seeing Barbara, a Geography teacher from Norwich, face-plant into the muddy field at the bottom of the commando slide, was great TV. Especially after being given a head start on the assault course because she was a girl. The 80's were sooooo sexist. Well you too can experience the face-plant but thankfully with less mud and sexual discrimination.
Go-Ape was a great experience. We were monkey-ing around for over three hours in the tree tops. If you need a strange place to hold a team meeting or fancy facing your fear of heights give Go-ape a crack.
HDM
Of course the greatest problem with this love is that you have to jump off something and land on something else. The greater the height, the more the landing is going to hurt. Even jumping into water can be dangerous. For instance if you were to jump from the Sydney Harbour bridge you would hit the water at such a speed that it would be like hitting concrete. I am not sure if it was the devil inside me but while on the Sydney Bridge climb some years ago, I did quite like the idea of giving it a try.
The UK is blessed with some fantastic climbing centres and outdoor mountainous spaces but is not blessed with good weather. This has made falling out of a plane very difficult this summer. One rule they have here, is that skydiving is a "no-go" if it's cloudy. Apparently you need to be able to see the ground before you jump, boo. I know what it's like to jump on a clear day and it is brilliant but I'd also like to experience falling through some clouds. With being grounded twice this summer I have sort other thrills.
This search has led to Go-Ape a purpose built tree climbing assault course type centre. There are several around the country. Even if you are scared of heights you should definitely give it a go. Unless you're a complete mong you shouldn't fall from the 50 to 100ft heights. There is a three part safety system so you should always remain connected to the safety wire. For me I found this a little tame but they wouldn't let me on without the harness. There are a couple of different routes that you can take with varying degrees of difficulty and for the chickens there are plenty of opportunities to get down.
 |
| From Go Ape & Camping |
Each section ends with a death (may be a poor choice of word) slide or commando line. For anyone old enough to remember the Krypton Factor with Gordon Burns the commando slide at the end was always the best bit. Seeing Barbara, a Geography teacher from Norwich, face-plant into the muddy field at the bottom of the commando slide, was great TV. Especially after being given a head start on the assault course because she was a girl. The 80's were sooooo sexist. Well you too can experience the face-plant but thankfully with less mud and sexual discrimination.
 |
| From Go Ape & Camping |
Go-Ape was a great experience. We were monkey-ing around for over three hours in the tree tops. If you need a strange place to hold a team meeting or fancy facing your fear of heights give Go-ape a crack.
HDM
Monday, 11 May 2009
My dear Mr Flange
Hello Mr Flange,
I feel compelled to write to you today as I believe you hold the greatest surname of all time. I wish to congratulate you on your moniker. It has long been my favourite word. A word that holds little sway in modern life and rarely comes up in diction or conversation. However, it always brings a titter to my lips.
As I am sure you are aware Mr Flange (titter) your name is based solely in heavy industry and construction. It's a rim for strength. For me and my childish, neh playful mind it holds sexual connotations that make little to no sense.
There is no easy way to tell you but your name to me reminds me of a ladies...garden. Wait I was wrong. That was an easy way to describe it and much nicer than saying twat, minge or cunt.
It's strange how words can cause such offence. The word itself is not to blame but the semiotics we attach to its meaning. If you say the word cunt, with no ill meaning and pronounce it out loud. Projecting with a big smile so as to eradicate any negativity. Does it make the word seem less powerful? I think yes.
The word will lose its aggression with time...like the word "fuck". It still remains a swear word but one that is less offensive than when it once was.
This softening of the effectiveness or power of words worries me slightly. For the opposite affect could also occur. Once happy or amusing words could become boring or offensive. The word "gay", once a playful term has been attached to homosexuality which in itself is not a bad thing but now the "youth" appear to be using the word "gay" in a derogatory way. It now can be used in sentences where the meaning is used to inflict pain or offence. This is not right.
So Mr Flange it has occurred to me that one day I may not get the same titter I once did on hearing your name. With that worrying thought I write to you today to ask that you embrace your name fully. To pronounce loudly and positively your name. You must make sure that Mr Flange always remains...entertaining.
My future children may bare your name.
Thank you
HDM
I feel compelled to write to you today as I believe you hold the greatest surname of all time. I wish to congratulate you on your moniker. It has long been my favourite word. A word that holds little sway in modern life and rarely comes up in diction or conversation. However, it always brings a titter to my lips.
As I am sure you are aware Mr Flange (titter) your name is based solely in heavy industry and construction. It's a rim for strength. For me and my childish, neh playful mind it holds sexual connotations that make little to no sense.
There is no easy way to tell you but your name to me reminds me of a ladies...garden. Wait I was wrong. That was an easy way to describe it and much nicer than saying twat, minge or cunt.
It's strange how words can cause such offence. The word itself is not to blame but the semiotics we attach to its meaning. If you say the word cunt, with no ill meaning and pronounce it out loud. Projecting with a big smile so as to eradicate any negativity. Does it make the word seem less powerful? I think yes.
The word will lose its aggression with time...like the word "fuck". It still remains a swear word but one that is less offensive than when it once was.
This softening of the effectiveness or power of words worries me slightly. For the opposite affect could also occur. Once happy or amusing words could become boring or offensive. The word "gay", once a playful term has been attached to homosexuality which in itself is not a bad thing but now the "youth" appear to be using the word "gay" in a derogatory way. It now can be used in sentences where the meaning is used to inflict pain or offence. This is not right.
So Mr Flange it has occurred to me that one day I may not get the same titter I once did on hearing your name. With that worrying thought I write to you today to ask that you embrace your name fully. To pronounce loudly and positively your name. You must make sure that Mr Flange always remains...entertaining.
My future children may bare your name.
Thank you
HDM
Saturday, 2 May 2009
Horse Riding
I have to admit that I have never been a big fan of learning to ride a horse. My sister was always very keen and would take-up every opportunity to get on a horse even the clothes horse over the bath, much to annoyance of mother.
I recall a time my sister actually went to a riding school for a while on Caerphilly Mountain. At great expense, she would disappear up the mountain for lessons and return covered in mud. It came to nothing.
Through my new partner I have been able to experience horses and horse riding on a more regular basis. Amy has four horses of varying age and condition and her family look after another two. Whether it was a joke or an attempt to test the size of my balls; Amy's mother Mandy, decided I should start out on Ned...the biggest, strongest and cheekiest of the Hammond's herd/harass.
You can't just get-on a horse and ride though. There is the whole ritual to go through first, of grooming and preparing your horse. An opportunity to bond with the horse I'm told. Or at least a chance to see how inadequate man is "downstairs", compared to his four, or is that five, legged friend.
I had to stand on a barrel just to get on him! Neither Amy or Mandy would stray too far away. I could see the fear in their eyes. They obviously knew Ned was prone to giving a novice rider a rough ride. Sure enough he didn't want to go in the direction I wanted him to go IE: not through the hedge but around it. You see horses only think about their own height. If they think they can make it through a gap in the tree lined hedge they will go for it. Regardless of the rider on top. Unless the rider can prevent such a bolt, you should expect a face full of tree. I could not stop the bolt.
This little event, along with the un-planned cantering through a field, has not stopped me wanting to learn more. I look forward to my next ride especially as I look fantastic in chaps.
HDM
I recall a time my sister actually went to a riding school for a while on Caerphilly Mountain. At great expense, she would disappear up the mountain for lessons and return covered in mud. It came to nothing.
Through my new partner I have been able to experience horses and horse riding on a more regular basis. Amy has four horses of varying age and condition and her family look after another two. Whether it was a joke or an attempt to test the size of my balls; Amy's mother Mandy, decided I should start out on Ned...the biggest, strongest and cheekiest of the Hammond's herd/harass.
You can't just get-on a horse and ride though. There is the whole ritual to go through first, of grooming and preparing your horse. An opportunity to bond with the horse I'm told. Or at least a chance to see how inadequate man is "downstairs", compared to his four, or is that five, legged friend.
 |
| From The Ranch |
I had to stand on a barrel just to get on him! Neither Amy or Mandy would stray too far away. I could see the fear in their eyes. They obviously knew Ned was prone to giving a novice rider a rough ride. Sure enough he didn't want to go in the direction I wanted him to go IE: not through the hedge but around it. You see horses only think about their own height. If they think they can make it through a gap in the tree lined hedge they will go for it. Regardless of the rider on top. Unless the rider can prevent such a bolt, you should expect a face full of tree. I could not stop the bolt.
This little event, along with the un-planned cantering through a field, has not stopped me wanting to learn more. I look forward to my next ride especially as I look fantastic in chaps.
HDM
Sunday, 26 April 2009
The London Marathon
So Amy decided to be anti-social for four months while she prepared for the London Marathon. Training four days a week after work and running increasingly longer runs at weekends sure did make her boring. However watching her run the marathon was brilliant. The crowd were so positive and every single runner had a story.
It was a scorching day in London as I packed Amy off on the train to Greenwich. I was to meet-up with her mother and sister later and we'd attempt to catch sight of Amy along the route. There were four places I'd planned to try and spot her. Miles 9, 12, 15 & 22. We managed three of them. Which was better than I'd expected. Of course as long as we saw her once I would be happy. It was difficult trying to spot her sweaty face out of thousands of runners as they slogged past. Not being the tallest of girls makes it even harder to see her in a crowd.
We had banners with her name and a picture of her vest on so she could spot us from the crowd. Amy also had her name printed in massive letters across her chest, so we could spot her. This was great fun shouting the names of complete strangers and encouraging them on another 100yards or so. I'd also worked out Amy's average times and where she should be along the route but still the first 25mins of waiting to see her at mile 9 was a bit of a worry. If we missed her there we'd miss her at the other attempts.
At the next two spots Amy obviously looked more exhausted but didn't stop running all the way round. As she past us at mile 12 she shouted "I've just had a pee in the bush!" much to the amusement of the cheering crowd. Amy came home in just under five hours. The organisers said that the heat had added on at least 20mins to everyones time so Amy was well pleased with her effort. She has also managed to raise over £2000 for Action for Children (you can still give although it may be best to hold on until next years marathon). In fact she's done so well for them that she's already guaranteed a place for next year.
This leaves me with a dilemma. Do I become a runners widow over the winter again or do I put some trainers on myself and attempt the 26.2 miles. Well I have applied. I now await the result of the ballot to see if I have a place.
HDM
It was a scorching day in London as I packed Amy off on the train to Greenwich. I was to meet-up with her mother and sister later and we'd attempt to catch sight of Amy along the route. There were four places I'd planned to try and spot her. Miles 9, 12, 15 & 22. We managed three of them. Which was better than I'd expected. Of course as long as we saw her once I would be happy. It was difficult trying to spot her sweaty face out of thousands of runners as they slogged past. Not being the tallest of girls makes it even harder to see her in a crowd.
We had banners with her name and a picture of her vest on so she could spot us from the crowd. Amy also had her name printed in massive letters across her chest, so we could spot her. This was great fun shouting the names of complete strangers and encouraging them on another 100yards or so. I'd also worked out Amy's average times and where she should be along the route but still the first 25mins of waiting to see her at mile 9 was a bit of a worry. If we missed her there we'd miss her at the other attempts.
At the next two spots Amy obviously looked more exhausted but didn't stop running all the way round. As she past us at mile 12 she shouted "I've just had a pee in the bush!" much to the amusement of the cheering crowd. Amy came home in just under five hours. The organisers said that the heat had added on at least 20mins to everyones time so Amy was well pleased with her effort. She has also managed to raise over £2000 for Action for Children (you can still give although it may be best to hold on until next years marathon). In fact she's done so well for them that she's already guaranteed a place for next year.
 |
| From London Marathon 2009 |
This leaves me with a dilemma. Do I become a runners widow over the winter again or do I put some trainers on myself and attempt the 26.2 miles. Well I have applied. I now await the result of the ballot to see if I have a place.
HDM
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Seven-year-olds hit hard by credit crunch
For the past two days there has been a temporary market stall at the end of my road. This would perhaps be normal in a busier street but I live on a solely residential road where there is only a small chance of catching someone walking by. It's a bold move in harsh times to start-up a new business. I thought I'd go along to support this new local venture and see what was on sale.
A couple of seven-year-olds have caught the entrepreneurial bug and set-up a stall by which they can sell their wares. Possibly the CBBC version of Alan Sugars yawn-fest of a TV show. The first two series were ok but now it's just the same problems/arguments, just different dicks involved. Move along there's nothing to see here.
Anyways....
Mainly toy based, most of which appear to be broken, the boys are aiming at the 5-10year-old demographic. Of course they've picked a good time for selling, Easter Holidays. Plenty of extra money flying around the market seeing as Granny has come to stay for two weeks. She's able to inject some money at a time of recession that the under tens haven't seen before, mainly because they're under ten.
The brothers have seen fit to invest that money in a commercial venture that could see them double or treble their outlay. We are talking in the region of ten to fifteen pounds. With the recent explosion of mind-blowing figures that we've seen in the news lately these projections probably won't shock you. It's big money for the boys.
They are certainly putting in the hours. They have been out there all day shouting "roll-up, roll-up". Only a short break was taken when their Mum called them in for lunch. Jam sandwiches and milk, I suspect. As any market stall holder will tell you, that is the lunch of kings when you're trying to flog crap all day.
Having not seen any He-Man related figures or old-style Transformers, I wasn't able to make a purchase. The prices they were offering for the "latest", they claim, Power-Ranger was out of my price bracket. I am of course stunned, that Power-Rangers are still going.
I suspect their business may fold by the end of the week. Particularly after Granny pulls the plug on their funding.
HDM
A couple of seven-year-olds have caught the entrepreneurial bug and set-up a stall by which they can sell their wares. Possibly the CBBC version of Alan Sugars yawn-fest of a TV show. The first two series were ok but now it's just the same problems/arguments, just different dicks involved. Move along there's nothing to see here.
Anyways....
Mainly toy based, most of which appear to be broken, the boys are aiming at the 5-10year-old demographic. Of course they've picked a good time for selling, Easter Holidays. Plenty of extra money flying around the market seeing as Granny has come to stay for two weeks. She's able to inject some money at a time of recession that the under tens haven't seen before, mainly because they're under ten.
The brothers have seen fit to invest that money in a commercial venture that could see them double or treble their outlay. We are talking in the region of ten to fifteen pounds. With the recent explosion of mind-blowing figures that we've seen in the news lately these projections probably won't shock you. It's big money for the boys.
They are certainly putting in the hours. They have been out there all day shouting "roll-up, roll-up". Only a short break was taken when their Mum called them in for lunch. Jam sandwiches and milk, I suspect. As any market stall holder will tell you, that is the lunch of kings when you're trying to flog crap all day.
Having not seen any He-Man related figures or old-style Transformers, I wasn't able to make a purchase. The prices they were offering for the "latest", they claim, Power-Ranger was out of my price bracket. I am of course stunned, that Power-Rangers are still going.
I suspect their business may fold by the end of the week. Particularly after Granny pulls the plug on their funding.
HDM
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Mr Fox is playing havoc with my spuds.
Sly old Mr Fox is cruising around Kingston like he owns the place. The other day he rocked-up to my front door, KFC bucket under one leg, accusing me of trying to prevent him from getting into my garden. Damn right I'm trying to keep me out of there. He's fiddling with my spuds!
After my mushroom crop failed (not special ones) I had hoped for a bumper spud-fest this coming summer. I should be looking at over a hundred spuds popping-up in my back garden but Mr Fox has other ideas. He's in there, digging away, causing a right kafufle.
I never thought I would be typing "fox deterrents" into Google in a bid to rid the shit. I like the urban fox. He's got a certain swagger. He knows how the town works. I once saw a fox standing patiently at the pedestrian crossing waiting for the green man to allow him to cross. I hadn't seen him do it but I bet he pushed the button.
He likes a bit of KFC, who doesn't? It's wrong for your body in so many ways but it's finger-licking-good. Mr Fox knows it's full of carbs to help him get through a night of street cruising. He's not so fussed on the wraps.
That's why he's after my spuds, the carbs!
If you know of some humane fox deterrents, I would love to hear from you. There's a box of potatoes for the most successful/entertaining suggestion.
HDM
After my mushroom crop failed (not special ones) I had hoped for a bumper spud-fest this coming summer. I should be looking at over a hundred spuds popping-up in my back garden but Mr Fox has other ideas. He's in there, digging away, causing a right kafufle.
I never thought I would be typing "fox deterrents" into Google in a bid to rid the shit. I like the urban fox. He's got a certain swagger. He knows how the town works. I once saw a fox standing patiently at the pedestrian crossing waiting for the green man to allow him to cross. I hadn't seen him do it but I bet he pushed the button.
He likes a bit of KFC, who doesn't? It's wrong for your body in so many ways but it's finger-licking-good. Mr Fox knows it's full of carbs to help him get through a night of street cruising. He's not so fussed on the wraps.
That's why he's after my spuds, the carbs!
If you know of some humane fox deterrents, I would love to hear from you. There's a box of potatoes for the most successful/entertaining suggestion.
HDM
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Plaques and smells
Hundreds of times. We do mundane things hundreds, thousands of times. Like this evening I scaled the BBC staff car-park to my usual space only to notice a brass plaque on one of the up ramps. So many times have I passed this, I find it hard to believe I have not noticed it until now.
The plaque itself said something about Blue Peter and a date, 1980. I am not sure what is stranger. The fact that I've not noticed it before or that a plaque has been erected on the concrete wall of a multi-storey car-park up ramp. A place where nobody could stand safely for long enough to read its inscription.
When there's a safe window of non motor traffic I will investigate further what the plaque is for. It bothers me that I don't know and I worry that I will forget that it is there and not find out. That is why I write this blog entry now, in the hope that it will remind me.
Of course now it occurs to me, that I may have had these thoughts before. I may have seen this plaque and promised myself that I would learn more. Only to forget. The brain letting go of this information only for me to rediscover it "as new" in the future. Is this old age attacking my memory? Twenty-four is our optimum brain age. It is when we are at our brightest, quickest, sharpest. After that it is down hill. I will find out. That plaque was important once and in my mind, it will be again.
Puzzled by my moderately boring car-park adventure, I went to Westfield to pick up some dinner. Westfield shopping centre, the biggest inner city complex in Europe, has its own unique smell. A scent that I have never experienced anywhere else in the world. It is not a bad, nor potent smell and not one that offers pleasure. It is there, in the air and it interests me enough to bore you with it here. I don't think it's that "new shopping complex" smell. Is it the smell of capitalism? More investigations are needed.
I realise there are more questions than answers here today. I never said I would have all the answers...
HDM
The plaque itself said something about Blue Peter and a date, 1980. I am not sure what is stranger. The fact that I've not noticed it before or that a plaque has been erected on the concrete wall of a multi-storey car-park up ramp. A place where nobody could stand safely for long enough to read its inscription.
When there's a safe window of non motor traffic I will investigate further what the plaque is for. It bothers me that I don't know and I worry that I will forget that it is there and not find out. That is why I write this blog entry now, in the hope that it will remind me.
Of course now it occurs to me, that I may have had these thoughts before. I may have seen this plaque and promised myself that I would learn more. Only to forget. The brain letting go of this information only for me to rediscover it "as new" in the future. Is this old age attacking my memory? Twenty-four is our optimum brain age. It is when we are at our brightest, quickest, sharpest. After that it is down hill. I will find out. That plaque was important once and in my mind, it will be again.
Puzzled by my moderately boring car-park adventure, I went to Westfield to pick up some dinner. Westfield shopping centre, the biggest inner city complex in Europe, has its own unique smell. A scent that I have never experienced anywhere else in the world. It is not a bad, nor potent smell and not one that offers pleasure. It is there, in the air and it interests me enough to bore you with it here. I don't think it's that "new shopping complex" smell. Is it the smell of capitalism? More investigations are needed.
I realise there are more questions than answers here today. I never said I would have all the answers...
HDM
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Apologies to Natalie Casey
Last week I mentioned that I met Natalie Cassidy (Eastenders fame) at TV Centre when she held a door open for me, twice. I've since realised that I meant to say Natalie Casey (Two Pints of Lager... fame).
I need to clarify that Natalie Cassidy has NEVER met me, although I am sure that one day that dream, for her, will come true.
I now wish to apologise to Natalie Casey for calling her Natalie Cassidy. I realise now that calling you Natalie Cassidy twice, as you held open the door for me just before you went on to film another episode of Two Pints of Lager..., may have put you off your performance a little. So I am sorry.
However, in retrospect Two Pints of Lager... should have been put to bed a few series ago now. May be being accidentally referred to as the fat one, then thin one, then fat one again, from Eastenders would have given your performance a new...glow.
Good Luck with the door holding.
HDM
I need to clarify that Natalie Cassidy has NEVER met me, although I am sure that one day that dream, for her, will come true.
I now wish to apologise to Natalie Casey for calling her Natalie Cassidy. I realise now that calling you Natalie Cassidy twice, as you held open the door for me just before you went on to film another episode of Two Pints of Lager..., may have put you off your performance a little. So I am sorry.
However, in retrospect Two Pints of Lager... should have been put to bed a few series ago now. May be being accidentally referred to as the fat one, then thin one, then fat one again, from Eastenders would have given your performance a new...glow.
Good Luck with the door holding.
HDM
Yorkie chunks and things...
Five chunks. You would think that that wouldn't be enough to satisfy a man with a hot tea to drink. I am three chunks in and I fear the last two may just be left to melt in the Spring sunshine.
I am looking forward to an afternoon of sporting results to get me through this weekend shift at work. So far it has been the usual "news" weekend, we're only missing a house fire or dog attack.
Calcutta Cup time at Twickenham and as the two teams line-up I see neither side being worthy of lifting the trophy. Both English & Scotish rugby is in crisis and nobody is prepared to shoulder the blame or shine a light onto how to solve the problems. Thankfully Welsh rugby can only benefit and hopefully in a few hours time will play Ireland off the park to claim the Six Nations title.
COME ON WALES
HDM
I am looking forward to an afternoon of sporting results to get me through this weekend shift at work. So far it has been the usual "news" weekend, we're only missing a house fire or dog attack.
Calcutta Cup time at Twickenham and as the two teams line-up I see neither side being worthy of lifting the trophy. Both English & Scotish rugby is in crisis and nobody is prepared to shoulder the blame or shine a light onto how to solve the problems. Thankfully Welsh rugby can only benefit and hopefully in a few hours time will play Ireland off the park to claim the Six Nations title.
COME ON WALES
HDM
Saturday, 7 March 2009
terminal velocity
I estimate that the desk fan rotates 734 times a minute to provide me with a chilling breeze apon my face. This will not however freshen-up the stale room air of this workspace.
Today I met Natalie Cassidy. She doesn't know it though. We weren't formally introduced. She just held the door for me, twice.
HDM
Today I met Natalie Cassidy. She doesn't know it though. We weren't formally introduced. She just held the door for me, twice.
HDM
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Your thoughts mean something...
Hello readers,
Thank you for joining me here while I fight away my writers block. I hope to add more "thoughts" here soon. Please feel free to add comments to my blog, feedback would be very helpful and much appreciated. Tell me what you think of my stories, what parts you like and what you didn't.Don't be shy. I need to learn and can only do so by posting my thoughts and then receiving your thoughts back.
Thank you.
HDM
Thank you for joining me here while I fight away my writers block. I hope to add more "thoughts" here soon. Please feel free to add comments to my blog, feedback would be very helpful and much appreciated. Tell me what you think of my stories, what parts you like and what you didn't.Don't be shy. I need to learn and can only do so by posting my thoughts and then receiving your thoughts back.
Thank you.
HDM
Occurrences that make you smile...
Today I saw simple social-cultural occurrences that usually pass un-noticed and without merit but today as I sang along to The Pigeon Detectives in my car they all seemed to make me smile. None of the protagonists new I was watching. Here I make a note of them.
I saw...
A builders bum.
A lady struggling with an umbrella in the wind, it was eventually blown inside-out.
A car driver wearing driving gloves.
A man blowing into a tissue then looking at its contents.
A fat lady running across the road to avoid the oncoming traffic. I suspect in a collision, the car would come off worst.
A crane operator climbing to his office.
An old women on a mobile phone.
A lady using the Temporary Traffic Light delay to apply some make-up.
A plastic bag stuck in a tree, it's shredded. It's been there a while I suspect.
HDM
I saw...
A builders bum.
A lady struggling with an umbrella in the wind, it was eventually blown inside-out.
A car driver wearing driving gloves.
A man blowing into a tissue then looking at its contents.
A fat lady running across the road to avoid the oncoming traffic. I suspect in a collision, the car would come off worst.
A crane operator climbing to his office.
An old women on a mobile phone.
A lady using the Temporary Traffic Light delay to apply some make-up.
A plastic bag stuck in a tree, it's shredded. It's been there a while I suspect.
HDM
life is a set of temporary traffic lights...
Driving to work today along the winding roads of South West London my journey was annoyingly interrupted by a series of temporary traffic lights.
They appear un-announced and un-wanted along our highways & byways. Sometimes they stretch round a corner or junction deceiving us drivers from their full extent. Other times they are just set-up to usher traffic past the generator that powers them that has been carelessly left in the carriageway by the work-men. The lights themselves becoming the obstruction for which they must now control the traffic.
Ah yes the workmen. No one sees them set-up or remove these temples of gridlock. They get plonked haphazardly on the road with no discernible thought, except for that one traffic cone that is carefully placed on its side to create a mini chicane. Workmen stand just yards away refusing to righten this essentially British piece of highway furniture.
Regardless of which direction you approach them they are set to the position of red.
NO GO HERE! THIS IS A TEMPOPARY TRAFFIC LIGHT...YOU SHALL NOT PASS! SIT THERE AND WATCH THE OTHER ROAD USERS GET PRIORITY OVER YOU! GUESS IF THERE IS ANYONE COMING THE OTHER WAY...MAYBE WE'RE BROKEN...MAYBE WE'RE RED AT BOTH ENDS OR THERE'S A SNEAKY THIRD SET OFF A SIDE-ROAD THAT WE'VE NOT TOLD YOU ABOUT.
Was it a dream or an urban myth but I'm sure as you approach the TTL's if you flash your headlights at them the sensor on top will be confused into thinking there's a large queue of traffic forming and change to GREEN. I'm sure I've made this happen on occasion but it doesn't always work. Perhaps it's just timing. Like when you cross the road at a pedestrian crossing, just before the Red-man leaves and the happy Green-man appears, because you know the phasing of the lights. You get that little head-start over the other pedestrians that makes you feel smug and for a second. You hope they've noticed and think to themselves "maybe he can control them". Of course that operation is all down to timing and concentration. You take your eye off the lights facing the other way and you'll step out onto the road just as the cars start to pull away. You'll have to beat a quick retreat or a brisk mini run to the other side. Either way you'll look a twat.
So to life and this tenuous link. I have often appeared like the Temporary Traffic Light, no one seeing my actual arrival but then coming across me all of a sudden armed with a furrowed brow. Stages in my life feel like Temporary Traffic Lights appearing and remaining for what seems like an endless time. Then once removed the road seems untouched. No residue of the work that has gone on. The Temporary Traffic Lights move to somewhere else and continue their invisible work, like me.
HDM
They appear un-announced and un-wanted along our highways & byways. Sometimes they stretch round a corner or junction deceiving us drivers from their full extent. Other times they are just set-up to usher traffic past the generator that powers them that has been carelessly left in the carriageway by the work-men. The lights themselves becoming the obstruction for which they must now control the traffic.
Ah yes the workmen. No one sees them set-up or remove these temples of gridlock. They get plonked haphazardly on the road with no discernible thought, except for that one traffic cone that is carefully placed on its side to create a mini chicane. Workmen stand just yards away refusing to righten this essentially British piece of highway furniture.
Regardless of which direction you approach them they are set to the position of red.
NO GO HERE! THIS IS A TEMPOPARY TRAFFIC LIGHT...YOU SHALL NOT PASS! SIT THERE AND WATCH THE OTHER ROAD USERS GET PRIORITY OVER YOU! GUESS IF THERE IS ANYONE COMING THE OTHER WAY...MAYBE WE'RE BROKEN...MAYBE WE'RE RED AT BOTH ENDS OR THERE'S A SNEAKY THIRD SET OFF A SIDE-ROAD THAT WE'VE NOT TOLD YOU ABOUT.
Was it a dream or an urban myth but I'm sure as you approach the TTL's if you flash your headlights at them the sensor on top will be confused into thinking there's a large queue of traffic forming and change to GREEN. I'm sure I've made this happen on occasion but it doesn't always work. Perhaps it's just timing. Like when you cross the road at a pedestrian crossing, just before the Red-man leaves and the happy Green-man appears, because you know the phasing of the lights. You get that little head-start over the other pedestrians that makes you feel smug and for a second. You hope they've noticed and think to themselves "maybe he can control them". Of course that operation is all down to timing and concentration. You take your eye off the lights facing the other way and you'll step out onto the road just as the cars start to pull away. You'll have to beat a quick retreat or a brisk mini run to the other side. Either way you'll look a twat.
So to life and this tenuous link. I have often appeared like the Temporary Traffic Light, no one seeing my actual arrival but then coming across me all of a sudden armed with a furrowed brow. Stages in my life feel like Temporary Traffic Lights appearing and remaining for what seems like an endless time. Then once removed the road seems untouched. No residue of the work that has gone on. The Temporary Traffic Lights move to somewhere else and continue their invisible work, like me.
HDM
it starts...the dribble
The words I ate earlier are bubbling in my stomach. Tummy tussling their way towards my butt crack. I hope today they will spill out in a sensible order and not just pepper my desk in an explosion of syllables.
I struggle to control their power. Sometimes they leak without warning. Sometimes they announce their arrival with a flurry of verbs which ricochet of the paper walls.
So far a tasteless start but one that allows my brain to tick over at 1am. No need for explaination or tortuous thoughts this morning. Just a complition of my Twitter page.
HDM
I struggle to control their power. Sometimes they leak without warning. Sometimes they announce their arrival with a flurry of verbs which ricochet of the paper walls.
So far a tasteless start but one that allows my brain to tick over at 1am. No need for explaination or tortuous thoughts this morning. Just a complition of my Twitter page.
HDM
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