Oh the poetry!

Just you can grasp just the quality of the stuff I type, I offer up this classic sentence beginning:

Well I would assume, not making assumptions, you shouldn’t make assumptions, but I would assume…

Sheer poetry.

Some thought thingies

This is superb. A cover with heart and soul. It just leaves me with questions.

Like, why don’t I hear protest songs like this any more?
Just answered that with Pink. She has turned out at least two thoughtful, protesting songs that I can think of, off the top of my head.

Whoa! Maybe I should be listening to more Pearl Jam. That guy has pipes. Surely he cannot sing pap?

What is the guy in the suit playing? It’s not a banjo, it’s a mini guitar. Is that a thing?

Whoa. 1992. Maybe that’s why he’s wearing a v-neck sweater thing over a tee, with really bad pants.

1992? That was Dylan’s 30th Anniversary tribute concert. Shit. That means Dylan’s been around for 52 years. I feel bloody OLD now.

QotD: Your Answers, Please…

I’m a transcriptionist. I sit at home, headphones on, listening to and inputting the spoken word. It can be boring – once I transcribed a whole talk about Food Quality Plastics – but generally it’s intriguing.

Just what do you think I was working on, when I transcribed the following:

And I’ll have to have her, whether she is friendly or hostile or whatever. I don’t know

Just doing a read through, and came across this little gem:

I’m just hitting on them as I see them.


We’re Moving!

Not quite sure when, yet. But the house is on the market, and the Open Day is on Saturday. That’s also our 28th Wedding Anniversary, and Husband is away diving.

Here’s the details:


If it doesn’t work, and you are interested in seeing where I live, and what we are happily leaving behind, go to Rightmove.co.uk, and put in the postcode HA2 9DS. There’s only us…

We took out the chimney breasts, arranged for the study and downstairs cloakroom to be added, and added the loft master bedroom with en suite, upgraded the central heating, paid for the dropped kerb and drive, and fitted the brand new (2010, anyway) kitchen.

In some respects I will miss it. In most others, I won’t.

Looking forward to Christmas in Dorset…



Goodbye bow tie, hello mud pit: a seismic shift in nursery care


Two very differing ways of running a nursery.

Originally posted on Expat Lingo:

In Hong Kong, this is how my son dressed to attend nursery:

Bow tie nursery _ expatlingo.com

On chilly days, Mr. Big Shot layered a on a lemon yellow sweater vest.

This was his mandatory uniform for non-gym days. On gym days he wore shorts that reached his arm pits, paired with a white polo shirt and white sports shoes. Yes, he was part of a tiny army of three-year-old Hongkongers dressed as retired Floridians.

The school, in ultra-dense Hong Kong, didn’t have a scrap of outdoor space, so the children did coordinated exercises beneath artificial trees and air-con vents.

Other than serving cake for snack every other day, the school was strict about health. Each morning I was required to take my son’s temperature and note it in a log book. Because of the ongoing fear of SARS-like contagious diseases, as an additional precaution, a staff member also took his temperature at the school door…

View original 565 more words

Colin Furze and His Fart Machine

Just remember, most British people hold the French in disdain. They came over in 1066, killed our rightful king, Harold, and gave us new words for pig and cow. There’s also the delightful dichotomy of the French Surrender Monkeys and the fabulous and brave French Resistance.

Plus they look down on our cheese.

So, ambivalent much?

Not Colin Furze

He built a machine specifically to Fart at France. Across the English Channel (or la Manche, the sleeve, which is what the French call it) which is where only 22 miles of water separate us from the French. 

And his machine is wonderful!



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