Cessation of hostilities


, , , , , ,

I have a blocked drain, a slow brain and a fast train to take on Sunday. I’ve been hobnobbing and Smorresbroding in København and setting up websites and all that…

And I have a guest staying for a few weeks and Festival stuff to do, so don’t expect much if anything for the next few Wednesdays.

But you can do me a favour by taking a look at my chum’s questionnaire (work in progress, so criticisms as well as answers welcome), if you like. Especially if you live or was eddercated in the UK or Europe.  Ta.  See ya!

Click here. Go on, you know you want to … http://www.lucidity.ltd.uk/jing/

Writer’s Block


, ,

Aaaaggh! My sink is blocked. How can I blog when my sink is blocked?

It drains but only into the washing machine, which I can then pump out … back into the sink.

I’m typing this with rubber gloves on, goddamit. And I have to get ready to fly to a wonderful, wonderful, salty old maid of the sea early on Friday …

Life does keep getting in the way, doesn’t it?

Laters, dudes

Holding Pattern: Top of the Form

Must to my club just now. Picture on display in the new group show. May be back late. This post just a placeholder. Something may replace it soon.

Or not. Can’t show the picture for rather silly personal reasons.


Addendumb: I’m trying to set up a form at my website to do a questionnaire for a chum. It’s quite a learning curve. What you see there is not yet in the form of a form. The answers are dummies (as I think is rather obvious from the content). It’s taking up my spare time so blogging is on hold.

Waiting for the Rug


, , ,

I’m waitin’ for my rug
Is someone takin’ me for a mug?
Bought it on ebay, four days ago
Startin’ to wonder if it’s ever gonna show
I’m waitin’ for my rug

Hey, white van, what you doin’ up West?
Hey, white van, you got my rug in that chest?
“No, pardon me sir, I ain’t got no rugs
I’m only down this way to buy me some drugs”
I’m still waiting for my rug

Got me a desk, got me an office chair
Put in my bedroom, so I can write in there
Those wheels are hard, those wheels are crude
I need a runner so the floorboards don’t get screwed
I’m waitin’ for my rug

Went on the web page, looked up carpets and stuff
Cheap and cheerful, hard-wearin’ and tough
Check the expected delivery date
But the thing with online shoppin’ is you always gotta wait
I’m waitin’ for my rug

Went on the web, looked on the trackin’ site
Said it’s dispatched, said it’s been out all night
It’s on its way, it’ll be fine
Comin’ tomorrow but that’s just another time
I’m waitin for my rug, my feet are cold

Oh yeah


, , ,

I was gonna write summat wuzn’t I?

Maybe I should just copy and paste some of the bonehead spam mail I get on here, but any wordpresser will no doubt get the same.

I still smile when a post congratulates me on the ‘useful info’ in my posts on ‘this subject’, when the post is a pome, a pic or a short story with about as much info as a Microsoft User Guide.

I don’t even care what the ones in Japanese say.

But it’s been a busy ol’ day, still cataloguing the SPA portrait entries and I’ve bought a wee desk to turn my bedroom into an office/sleeping quarters for my wee Chinese houseguest in August.

And that, said John, for now, is that.

Time Out

Your humble bloggist is going to take a break.

My foot hurts. That’s nothing to do with it. Nor is what I’m told is a 20% chance of a stroke or heart attack in the next five years.

No, there are a few things on the old plate at the moment. Not that one is in much risk of getting what is sometimes called ‘a life’, but administering a short story and a portrait competition, one in the throes of judging, the other rapidly approaching its closing date, with concomitant rush of entries. Also helping a small Chinese schoolmistress negotiate her way around Europe, vicarious tourism and an emotionally trying experience, as daily pics of blue-sky locations and exotic foods can be viewed under cloudy grey Scottish skies.

Arranging other activities, helping an elderly friend move to a new computer, medical attention and other minor things that impinge on all our lives from time to time, mean that there is precious little of that time to devote to the novel in hand, so this luxury, this all-but-unread blog, should really fall by the wayside for a wee while.

I might pop by and post the fruits of my novelising labours, I suppose. But if not, let’s make a date for some sort of post after the UK’s general election, which is shaping up to be slightly less depressing than at first seemed likely. Say June 22. Or 15.

Watch, as they say, this space.


Apart from expressing my sorrow and sympathy for the folks affected by the attack in my old university town this week, I have little to add to the general outpourings.
Well, I have a lot to say, but don’t feel like saying it here.

Political Songpost


, , , ,

I wanna be green
(after Ian Dury, I Wanna be Straight)


I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I wanna hug trees and save all the bees,
If you know what I mean
I wanna protect, I wanna protest
Eat organic Quorn on an organic lawn
in an organic vest

I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I want the sky and the water supply
to be lovely and clean
Yeah, gonna be hip, yeah gonna be true
While I’m saving the whale and saving the Earth
from the twats who vote blue

I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
Give drivers hard looks and read Monbiot’s books
on my Kindle screen
Don’t tell me I’m soft, don’t tell me I’m cracked
You won’t be so cool if we use all the fuel
and we’re totally fracked!

Does meditation
Aid conservation?
Is your elevation
The only chance that we’ll survive — eh?

Yeah! Green, green, green, green
Green, green, green, green
Green, green, green, green, green!

I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I know that I’m right and I know that you’re wrong
and there’s nowt inbetween
But it isn’t for me, with a capital G
Perhaps I’m an arse, but I’m not middle clarse
so I’ll vote SNP

I wanna be green
I wanna be green etc



… and another thing …


Some pearls of wisdom

Stop saying, ‘life’s to short’ to do annoying or boring stuff.

Life’s not too short, it’s too long. If it was short, it wouldn’t really matter if the odd bit was dull or annoying, cos it’ll all be over either way before you know it. But if it’s long, then it’s worth trying to minimise the proportion spent doing tedious stuff like reading this blog.

As Clement Freud said, if you give up smoking, drinking and sex, you don’t live any longer: it just seems longer.

So stop using that annoying cliché, because the next person I hear say it will suddenly find out just how short life can be, capiche?




There’s no such thing as ‘too much information’. Just too much sensitivity.

OK, maybe the finer details of my bowel movements are not something you want to hear at the dinner table, but apart from that, I can simply ignore you if you choose to tell me about your sexual activities, abd who knows how interesting somone might find it.

If that someone happens to be a journalist or a blackmailer, storing up info for a future date, that’s your problem, not mine.

Until then, tell me everything you know and I promise to at least pretend to be fascinated.


See you next Wednesday…