30 Days Movie Challenge Day 7

Yes I know I've lapsed for a few days.  In an attempt to return to some form of regular, disciplined writing (and yes I will count this towards it so there!) real life can sometimes get in the way.


Yesterday I attended an interview for a new position in the wage paying work I do.  This interview turned in to something of an endurance test, at one point I was thinking that even prisoners get a glass of water and a toilet break.  By the time I was released I felt like

and headed for the nearest golden arches for the kind of rush only fast food can give.  I tucked in heartily without a moment of guilt.


(Actually I feel less and less guilty about these things, there are more important issues to stress over and the occasional slip into unhealthy eating is a minor challenge.  Let's face it, the way things are going who would want to live forever!)


Anywhydon'tyoushutupandgetonwithit - on with the show!


Day 7: Favourite animated feature

Thankfully my term of watching films at the cinema PG and under has come in an era of decent kiddie fare. This is one I don't mind being watched on continual loop. Unlike 
Cars...there is a sequel to Cars...I have to think of an excuse quickly not to go!

I love the style of The Incredibles, I love the characters and I love the story.  It is perfect and I am so glad they have never bowed to making a sequel...yet.  It just wouldn't feel right.  This is a stand alone film, it doesn't need any fluff or nonsense.  The boys spent a good few months with this on their rainy day dvd list.  I would stop and watch with them.

30 Days Movie Challenge Day 6

Day 6: Favourite horror


Here we come to a point.


I do not find films that are traditionally classed as "horror" to be anywhere near horrifying.  Surely that is the whole reason for the genre, to scare, to frighten, to unsettle.  But what is known as horror (and I do admit to talking about mostly American horror) is more the slice and dice and murderously adept yet nimble individual who fell in the dressing up box.


This film, The Vanishing/Spoorloos/The Golden Egg depending on what country you hail from, was turned in to a thriller by a totally unnecessary American remake.  They totally missed the whole dynamic of the film.  Or in my opinion anyway.


I first saw this late one night and completely by chance.  Flicking through the few channels we had in the early nineties I saw this, stopped, and stayed up until the wee small hours completely hooked.


The American remake changes the ending.  Without spoiling this for anyone who may read this at any point (and I doubt anyone is) the ending is what makes the film, what establishes it firmly in the genre of horror.  


No sudden boo got-ya, no overzealous murders shown in graphic technicolour.  Instead this works in the mind.  If someone you loved vanished one day,  just completely vanished, how far would you go to try and find out what happened?  And say someone, who to family and colleagues is someone worthy of respect, held the answers.  I find the whole mental anguish to be so unsettling that this to me is what is horror.  Real life, because this kind of thing occurs to people every day, the kind of things that can suddenly turn you from normal every day to a world you cannot escape, ever.


I have only seen this once more, I can remember it all clearly though.  I can remember the end clearly and that is the scariest thing of all.

30 Days Movie Challenge Day 5

Day 5: Favourite action




Don't know why I like this, not my usual fare but it is damn good rollicking fun!
Plus Matt Damon, as Sarah Silverman once noted...

The Possibilities Are Endless

Last week I voted with heavy heart.


Heavy because I was under the impression that most people would do the whole "I vote this party because I've always voted them/my father voted for them/I'm deluded into believing they stand for the 'working class'" gig.


But no.


Not only was Black Bitch* Alec Salmond returned as First Minister but this time with a majority that shows perhaps people have actually thought about their vote. 


And now the opposition leaders topple, showing a complete lack of backbone and belief in their own party.  The only one I'm sorry to see go is Tory Annabel Goldie.  She was the only one to offer debate with Salmond beyond the petty, childish, playground insults of Labour and the Lib Dems.


I feel a new found respect for my countrymen/women.  Independence may still happen in my lifetime and that is a good thing!


*No I'm not being incredibly racist - here is the story...

Linlithgow's coat of arms features a black bitch dog against an oak tree, and townsfolk are known as "black bitches". In his account of a 1677 tour of Scotland, a Thomas Kirk described the arms of the town as "a black bitch tied to a tree, in a floating island. We enquired for a story about it, but could meet with none: their schoolmaster told us it proceeded from the name of the place. Linlithgow, in Erst, is thus explained: Lin signifies Lough; Lith, black; and Gow, a hound." 

A more recently recorded legend holds that this was a black greyhound whose master was sentenced to starve to death on an island in Linlithgow loch. She used to swim from the town every day with food for him, and managed to save his life. The townspeople took the symbol of the dog's loyalty and bravery as their own. The local pub named "The Black Bitch" is reputed to be one of Scotland's oldest pubs.

FYI I was told when I moved here that you can only be a Black Bitch if you are born in the town.  Not at the nearby hospital but in the town.  Must be the only place on Earth where being called such a thing is a badge of honour!

30 Days Movie Challenge Day 4

Day 4: Favourite drama



Wonderfully told tale, set in Scotland and starring a then unknown Gerard Butler. Original enough that you will not know where the story will go next but will leave you wanting more.

‎30 Day Movie Challenge

Day 3: Favourite comedy

Anchorman...


'nuff said.

Bark twice if you're in Milwaukee...

30 Days Movie Challenge

Day 2: Least favourite film

So many to choose from but this pretty much sums up a genre which is the cinematic equivalent 
of drinking Fruit Shoots and eating Greggs sausage rolls constantly.

You Remember The World Hide and Seek Champion

Well, he will be one or the other.

Yeah, I know, this is old news.

Certainly trumped the Royal Wedding.  So well done on that front America.

30 Days Again

For want of something to do or perhaps a slightly simple need for lists.


Either way this is fun...


Let 30 Day Movie Challenge commence...




Day 1: Favourite film

Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain


I love everything about this film, could watch it endlessly and be left feeling a warm happy glow like the blind man Amelie describes the world to.  This is instant cheer in the shape of an ultimately uplifting film with a wonderful dose of eccentricity Parisian style.


I have never been to Paris and after watching this I don't think I could.  It is not so much that I would be looking for the man in red shoes at every photo booth or that I would be looking for Nino (as adorable as he is.)  Reality is always a disappointment and I would prefer my Paris Amelie style.


Amelie I can understand, I can relate to and I can envy that she maintains her naivety long after those of us who were lonely, only children on the outskirts of society have been turned.  We should all be left to become the people we are meant to be.


The fool looks at a finger that points at the sky. 

For the record.  I had two goldfish and they never felt suicidal, Dano the budgie however...

That Big Round Thing In The Sky

Oh sphere of plasma and magnetic fields we are not usually on speaking terms.  But how nice of you to visit for so long.  It puts smiles on the faces of people who are getting worn down by life.  The flowers are nodding approval.  Cats are sleeping in languid bliss.
We could get used to this think all.
Perhaps we could make this a regular event, perhaps you could see your way to coming back in the summer too?

Kind regards,
Scotland

Isn't it a lovely day

Let's get this straight from the start.  I'm not a Royalist.  I do think there are quite a few of them who would do best to get out and get themselves a proper job to earn their money.

But Friday's wedding was lovely.  I covet Kate's luxurious hair (how does she get it so shiny?)  I covet that dress.  I covet her happiness, her calm, her composure, her love that is returned.  I do not covet the life she will be leading with the paparazzi who, on seeing their behaviour as the lens is turned on them, are not in anyway human or humane.  I remember seeing her once being hounded to her car with one saying "you'll never marry him" just to get a photo of her looking upset (this was a few years ago.)

One of life's hardest lessons is just how cruel and callous people can be.  

Speaking of which and without a touch of irony it was nice to see that the ugly stepsisters turned up without their mother.

Either mummy dearest did this as an act of revenge over not getting an invite or they need to put their (not-at-all-earned) money towards getting a personal shopper and stylist asap.  Someone, somewhere sold this to them and didn't snigger once as they trotted out the door.

Back on to the important couple.  They at least have had enough years together to know what love is and I hope they can modernise the whole crowd.  But as an ex-commoner, if their first child is a son, will he be the Half-Blood Prince?

Luck O' The Irish To Ye

And if you know how to obtain some then won't you tell me please?

For I fear I have very little luck despite my recent attempts to surround myself with positive thinking.  It would seem that I am destined to be forever down at heel and, well, a reoccurring theme here - forever alone.

I think I have ticked the person who dishes out the Andrex puppies off.  Although there is a shortage of puppy walkers at the moment for some reason I am being cold-shouldered.  To be honest I felt she never really liked me anyway, in fact I think most of them tolerated me a little else.  I've always thought that, no matter what situation I am like.

My ex-sister-in-law has given the bidey-in the position of "sister" even though she is well aware of the way this "sister" got her man.  I cannot understand anyone who can be friends with a snake in the grass, someone who thinks only of their own gain and not of those they could hurt.

My boys still don't know if they have a new brother or sister yet as he didn't reply to my text asking and I'm too humiliated to go any further.

There doesn't seem to be much justice in the world.  For those who do wrong.  I try to do as much good as I can but feel I am forever on the outside and cannot figure out what steps will get me included in the warmth.

The Rule of "What If" in Parenting...

I have noted of late that there seems to be a certain rule that parents are expected to follow now. It is the rule of "what if..."

Instead of common sense and the ability to understand your own child's limitations we are expected, and most comply, with this rule.

It dictates that no matter how you may see a situation you must be over-cautious and say "what if?"

When I was 12 I began babysitting for neighbourhood families. But...what if something had happened while I was alone? What if something had happened to the children? What if there had been a fire? A bear attack in deepest, darkest Scotland? An airplane crashing on the house? Actually six years on that did happen - who would have thought it? Why the "what if" people.

I earned my pocket-money and really enjoyed the experience and responsibility. But now, you can be severely punished for leaving a child under 16 in charge of a tot. Makes one wonder if the 13 year olds having babies then are not allowed to care for their own children? Out comes the cotton wool because in the land of "what if" children must be molly-coddled until the age where they are old enough to marry and fight for the country. We will throw them out into this world having never experienced time alone in the family house, life as a latch-key kid and the little thrill having your own key and entering an empty house gives a teenager.

Perhaps I am mistaken, I doubt it though. This can only lead to adults unable to care for themselves, unaware of their own aptitude for daily tasks as they hadn't learned from mistakes made earlier.

I was left alone a few times when I was young. The first time was around the age my Hobbits are at now - 9. Was it an act of cruelty by my parents? (My father was walking up to the hospital where my mother worked and I was busy drawing as usual and didn't want to go. I was left in the house, in a quiet village while he walked the mile or so - must have been about 30-40 minutes I was alone. I didn't think anything of it.)

I had friends and family members who would be left alone in the house while their parents went out of a Friday evening to the local worker's clubs. Was that cruelty, neglect?

It is something I believe strongly about as I dislike being told how to raise my own children. They aren't left alone but there will come a time where that is necessary and I do think they are more than aware of the dangerous that may or may not happen. They go out to play in the area, should I shackle them to the back step so they go no further? I don't hover over them at every opportunity yet I am perfectly attuned to where they are and who they are with and most of all I trust them. Children need a certain amount of freedom in order to grow.

If we lived our lives constantly on "what if" the stress would kill us. We wouldn't leave our beds in the morning, in fact we wouldn't go into our beds just in case, you know, all the things that can happen to you when you are asleep.

It can be a wicked world we raise our children in but even Red Riding Hood's mother allowed her to traverse the forest full of wolves...oh wait, maybe that isn't such a good example. Or maybe it is.

The greatest achievements are the ones you have fought for

I was going to add photographic proof until I realised my name was printed in very big letters and I do not have photo-shop on this computer to erase that evidence. Plus if I did who is to say that the certificate was mine?

Anywouldyougetothepointway, today I had a boost to lift my illness-weary spirits, worn down indeed by a week of sniffing and coughing in the most miserable fashion.

My certificate arrived. And on this certificate it states that on the 31st December 2010 I was conferred "The Degree of - Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Humanities with Creative Writing and History"

and here is the important, boast about part...

"Upper Second-class Honours"

See that. DO YOU SEE THAT? I have finally done something of which I can be utterly proud of. Of course I am proud of my boys but their achievements are gained through their own efforts with only help from me. This is mine, all mine, I did it, all those years, all that crap I had to deal with...and if I can be churlish for a moment, this is also a big up-yours to everyone who wished me bad luck.

My whole life has been about pleasing other people, about not wishing to cause offence or hurt others. I never noticed that no one was concerned with my well-being until some opportunities had passed me by, but that will make me a better mother as I understand the importance of my position in ensuring my boys are encouraged to believe it is possible. This has proved to me, it is possible.

(And if I win the money from work then I'll venture further into the arts - perhaps start painting or I could tell them I'd use it to write the book I want to...?)

As I won't show the degree certificate I'll just post a photograph depicting how I feel inside...(this is our boy, all grown up, happy dog indeed!)

Cabbage Roses

My Aunt owned a little flat in a one street town on a medium sized Scottish island. This was a home handed down by her husband's mother and as a result family enjoyed the use of such an easy to reach weekend holiday place.

The windows looked out onto the sea at one side and a dark forest on the other and the close smelled of shellfish and sand. The lady who lived upstairs was

We visited rarely, although other family members took full advantage my own preferred the island next door and honestly I did too. Bike rides and sandy beaches.

I remember, as a young child, no more than five or six, tracing the patterns of the blue cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Fingertips sliding over the shiny surface in the morning light.

Of Late It Has Been Pouring Down

If life is meant to test a person then I have truly been tested above and beyond what most would be able to cope with.

That sounds perhaps egotistic. To think I could deal with things that would fell others. I am not egotistic, in fact I am more probably the polar opposite. Instead I look back on events of the past three and a half years for evidence. I look back and wonder how long this path goes on for and at what point this will ease enough for me to be able to feel safe and secure.

I look at all the mistakes I made, all the problems people have given me on the understanding that I do this alone. The biggest mistake has been letting mother stay with us. She reverted so quickly back to the bitter, childish woman that plagued my childhood that it caught me completely by surprise.

Yet here we are, this life I have created we have to live with. This is a challenge my sons should not have to live with however I have no choice. Here is the point, I have no choice. If I could then I would ship her off to the old people's home she continually insinuates would be better than life with me. Having a maid obviously isn't enough.

Ever since Dad died I have single-handed all of the arrangement. The funeral, the selling of one house, the buying of another, all of life's little incidents that happen in between and on top of that I've raised my sons and worked my little job. Meanwhile not only did I lose a father but I really lost her at that point as well.

Now my position would easily be construed as cruel. Not knowing the history, not knowing her, they would look on this as the evil daughter not caring for her mother. In a way they would be true. I no longer care. She has done enough in the past, nearly two years, to ensure that if I had never to see her again I would not cry with the loss. There is only so much a person can take and seeing how she could suddenly change from the façade she put up to all the old neighbours and friends where we used to live. See now she doesn't know people so there is no need to pretend. She can go back to how she really was.

Once she explained that her ice-cold method of mothering was down to suffering an extra long menopause. This menopause must have returned.

The truth I can see now, after all of the crap I've walked through, doesn't hurt. I have hardened somewhat. I am not the emotionally charged firebrand. The truth is that I was an inconvenience. Had I not existed her life would have been so much better but I got in the way. I was a daddy's girl and she managed to put a wedge in that. I can see what my dad went through and wonder how long he would have lived had he not had her in his life.

My Granny was right. She did not deserve such a gentle soul as a husband. She has too much of her family in her as it is almost a carbon copy of Gran, this person she is now. I listened to years of moaning about how she had to do this for Gran and had to do that and what a nightmare she was. I listened and now I'm seeing that for all that talk she is content to be just like her.

I wish for an easier life, in this little house of ours, I want to have peace.

Perturbed

Sometimes Facebook can throw a whole pint of ice cold water over any semblance of confidence one has in friends and the constant human wish to be liked.

And, without going into any further detail so this post may remain as infuriatingly obtuse as I am, all I will say is that although my creative streak has lain dormant for a few weeks now I would have hoped that my ability to make pretty things would have at least intrigued a few to sign up!

Bah.

In Truth

I am Søren Lørenson and nobody sees me at all.

The Crime Of Neglect

Ah bloggie, how I have neglected you. Of all the promises and best of intentions I fail to maintain the momentum.

However I have new vigour. No, that is a horrid word that brings connotations of old men for some reason.

I have neglected everything. In fact for the past few weeks, along with the hustle and bustle of the "festive" season everything has had an air of fug over it. I no longer create, I vegetate. Yes, that is an apt description. I really should put more effort into things but instead I feel so tired I have barely the energy to keep up - and even in that I'm not successful.

I worry sometimes that the illness will come back, just as we are getting on our way. But the tiredness can be explain by lack of sleep and the truth that I simply have too much to do and no one to share the burden with.

Too late I realised that some people do not change and that living with someone who seemed to have changed to the point of being likeable throws light on to that character. And shadows can't hide in the light. That is what I am most disappointed with and it weighs heavily. Especially when you cannot openly talk about it. This is not a healthy way to live.

So, choices - bitch about it or do something about it.

It's that time of year again...

...and sh*t - I'm 39...

Currently Agreeing With

Good girl version -



Naughty girl version -

Tip me a wink in the morning Mr. Sunshine won't you?

There is a definite autumnal snap in the air and in twenty-one days we'll be jetting off for a much (desperately) needed holiday.  So at this moment everything else seems to reek a little of poo;  I've just had yet another blow from the ex that lets me know there are many people out there who believe I am a monster bitch of an ex-wife thanks to the lies he feeds them and at the moment I have to take it as I can't retaliate until the final piece of the jigsaw goes in and then he'll get his; house buying has hit more trouble and if it ever happens I'll die of shock; job at the moment isn't so much meh as "do I have to go?" and I'm getting more than a little pissed off at how my sons seem to miss out on every opportunity at school in favour of certain children who are always top pick.  Everything is on a low and there doesn't appear to be any easy answers ready for me to snatch up.  In fact there are never any easy answers so we'll mark that one down as a myth.

The hurdles I have to jump get higher.

Still, I carry on.  I have to.  I could really just lie down and sleep for eternity but I am made of sterner stuff, like the bloody Titanic I am and there are no icebergs around here I thank you.

I wouldn't say I'm keeping upbeat.  No reasonably sane person could if they had to deal with the amount of utter snash that I have to.  But I am keeping up.  Just.  When it gets like this I downsize.  I don't look to the future especially when it looks as bleak as it currently does.  Instead I take what pleasure I can from simplicity.  That little cross-stitch I'm working on, the little drawing I'm doing, walking our boy (dog not either of the human ones), watching the Hobbits build their Lego or train models, reading together, watching films even if I have to sit through Star Trek...again..., that article in a magazine that resonates with me, that song I hear that brings a wry smile as I acknowledge the words that chime with me.

It is what you do to survive.  At some point things will pick up, if not for me then I'll make it through to when the Hobbits are up and running and I'll ensure they don't end up with this kind of existence. That will be my reason to go on.

And That Is The End Of That

Last year I began what newspeak would describe as a journey.

This wasn't a journey related (completely) to what happened three Summers ago.  This wasn't a journey related (completely) to my father dying last Spring.

I began the process, and it is a process, of trying to get what is called an open market shared equity doo-dah from the government.  The process was long and hard and frustrating.  I watched as wonderful houses came and went while the organisation dithered and dallied.

Then, this year, success.  Not only success but a sign - two signs in fact - and all the pieces began to fall in to place.  The perfect house, the perfect price, everybody in agreement and all is merry and bright.

Until last week.  Last week when the bank (rhymes with...) decided that due to the detritus left on my credit report by my ex then the "criteria" had changed and they closed the door.  All this time, I have done my very best to repair the damage left when he decided to spend without paying back and when I was too ill to notice.  I have saved, I have paid all my bills, I have been a good girl.  But it is not enough.  It is never enough.

And now it ends.

That is that, there is nowhere to turn.  No one listens.  No one looks at the evidence there in my own bank accounts.  No one cares.

If there was a magic wand to wave I could skip the whole shared equity thing and suddenly there would be the £45,000 I need (and which ironically I can pay back but who cares right?)  Without a mortgage there is no shared equity, without either of those there is no house.

Once again I have let everyone down.  Those few years when I didn't pay attention, when I didn't look to see why he was so eager to take the bill paying duty from me - I will pay for them emotionally forever it would seem.  But what pains me the most, like a dagger through the ribs, is the disappointment I am to my boys.  Oh they don't say it, they say never mind mummy we'll be right.  But I've let them down, I have failed completely in one of the "criteria" of being a parent - a stable, secure, safe environment, basically a home of their own.

I wonder just how long this goes on.  While he swans about in BMWs, living in converted churches, not paying a single penny in maintenance.  The injustice of it all is choking.

So here I am.  Lost again.  Loser once more.  I keep telling myself that all is fine, we are still healthy, we still have this place but it doesn't work.  I can feel it twist and turn inside my stomach ready to burst free and let it be known that the truth is...no matter what I do there is no hope.  Failure.

August is the "Month of Hope"

No it's not.

It's like that...and that's the way it is

I'm your only friend I'm not your only friend but I'm a little glowing friend But really I'm not actually your friend But I am Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch Who watches over you Make a little birdhouse in your soul Not to put too fine a point on it Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e My story's infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest
There's a picture opposite me Of my primitive ancestry Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free Though I respect that a lot I'd be fired if that were my job After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts Bluebird of friendliness Like guardian angels its always near

Day 26 — Your week, in great detail

 times this by four evenings

Some of it anyway.

Day 25 — Your day, in great detail

Where to start, where to start.  Beginning is always best.

Woke up, on time, just, hate that feeling in the morning - I am a night owl.  Boys up already and watching Spongebob (gah!) so breakfast made, bath run and boys persuaded to wash, dress and then have their breakfast.  Just boring cereal this morning.

Off to Zumba class.  First of all, wash on, the whirly gig is bent in an alarming fashion so I don't know how long it will last and as I want out of here then I'll be damned if I replace the damn thing.  Zip about the hoover and then off I go.  Zumba class is the best part of the day.  Despite my hum-dinging quality after class I go shopping afterwards for necessities.

Back home, shopping put away, boys are in garden building skateboard ramps, warning given about broken limbs etc.  Clean up house, washing done so begin to put on whirly gig - there we go, whirly gig snaps half way through.  Fan-bloody-tastic.  Take washing off and bring down clothes horse, one way or another these clothes will dry!

That done, time for much needed bath, put yesterdays wash away, nice bath, relax for five whole minutes.  Up again, clean bathroom while I'm at it.  Downstairs and time for lunch.  Make lunch times four.  Play Swing-ball with eldest Hobbit.  Do a little bit of a cross-stitch design I'm working on.  Fill in tax credit forms.  Uh-oh look at the time.

Ready for work, ask mother to give boys pasta for dinner and off I go.  Work is...meh.  Busy but that is not the issue, see that once again all my effort seems to be for nothing as I'm not graded that well.  Ah fuck it all to hell.  Plow through the night, call after call, who cares about stats anyway (I do).

Time for home.  Empty bins.  Despite the time boys are still up and Mother is in bed.  Hayfever stuff given and warning about bedtimes added on top.  Bin outside.  Online, first call as always the property search sites. Nothing there as usual.  Consider my next step.  Wish I could talk to someone about this and get more than just an agreement and "whatever you think is best" attitude.  On here now.  End of day.

Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy

Despite his best efforts this summer holiday is most definitely not being ruined by the man child halfwit.

Having said that today, what tickles my fancy, is an IT Crowd marathon.

"If you type Google, into Google, then you can break the internet."

Peter File.

Classic.

Day 23 — A YouTube video

I know people like this. Why do I even bother - because I want my boys to have a decent education. Will remind them to kick me if I ever become so pretentious though.

Day 22 — A website

There are a few website I enjoy trawling through while I'm meant to be doing other things.  I am sad enough to have organised little folders for the different types of bookmarked favourites I have.  There are the functional sites, such as bank, house search sites (God help me but I am fed up of looking at them!) and reference points.  There are those for fun, some to browse and perhaps shop (either fantasy shop or real shop - go Amazon!)  And there are those sites to which I look for inspiration.

At the moment I am watching and enjoying reruns of Project Runway season 6.  For that - why didn't we get season 5 and where is season 7?  Annoyed.  So as many of the sites I use are the equivalent of flicking through a magazine (really good magazines where the subject matter is always involving and a delight for the eye) then I choose the website of one of the finalist.  (To be honest she should have won, she has a gift of which I am entirely envious, oh to be able to whip up a beautiful gown in a day - what am I saying, would I wear it around the house?  Get a grip.)

Carol Hannah

Day 21 — A recipe

I cannot vouch for this recipe as I only found out such things existed tonight. While I can take or leave donuts, I love nutella.


Italian Donuts


Makes 3 dozen donuts.


2 teaspoons dry active yeast
1/2 cup warm water (about 100 degrees F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 cups pastry flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup warm milk
Pinch of salt
2-3 cups Nutella
Sugar for dusting


Place the yeast and water in a small bowl and whisk together let stand until creamy.

Place the sugar and flour in a bowl of a mixer and add the butter and mix just to incorporate the butter. Add the dissolved yeast warm milk and salt and mix just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very soft.

Grease a bowl well with butter and place the dough in the bowl and let rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until doubled in volume.

Spread the dough on a lightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut the puffs into rounds and let rise on a lightly flour board loosely covered for about 1 hour.

Heat the oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Fry the puffs and drain on paper towels, then quickly sprinkle with sugar. Cook the remaining puffs. When cool enough to handle, fill with Nutella using a pastry bag fitted with a small straight tip. Serve.


Something else that is delicious is this:

Iker Casillas
Espana por favor!


Note to self - you obviously didn't look close enough during all that time you spent in Spain.  Silly girl.

Day 20 — A hobby of yours

Ah, this is the longest 30 days in the history of these meme things, of that I am quite sure.  Still with the dogged determination that has hindered more than helped me over the years I continue regardless.

Hobbies, if only I had time for all the hobbies I'd like to do.  This is where my arty crafty side comes out.  Nothing calms the spirit more than ploughing through a design or turning a doodle into something that matters only to myself.  I care not that people think cross-stitch and the type is twee or that some might look at what I do and sneer.

Okay, I'm not in a happy place today.  That is clear from the focussing on the negative side of hobbies compared to just rabbiting on about why I enjoy things.  Some days are just crappier than others.

Day 19 — A talent of yours

I really, really, *really* wish I could say at this point that I can play the piano and it doesn't sound as though the cats were running across it.  There is a talent I wish I had but for the patience of practising.  When you are a child there is always much more interesting things to do than sit doing plinky plonky scales on the piano.  Having said that then I am sorry that the piano my grandfather gave to my mother was sold.

On to the subject at hand though.  What talent do I possess?

I'm quite good at arty things, I'm slowly getting back into the habit of sketching and painting.  There is always the crafty side of sewing things, my cross-stitch.  I also write, but not very well, although the Open University course I did showed that I wasn't all that bad at poetry - who'd a thunk it!

What I'm really trying to get here is that I have a distinct lack of talent.  I can do things, I can do things well but nothing stands out.  Like everything else I am running on mediocre here.  It's just the way I was brought up: don't shine, don't show-off, don't think you are better than anything.  I love that the Hobbits aren't like that though and they have talent by the bucket-load!

Day 18 — Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)

One of the Hobbits little friends asked me the other day if I was an artist.  I have no idea where he got such an idea from as I don't do anything big that neighbours might notice, I don't look arty - or at least I don't think I do. But he was quite certain, maybe the Hobbits said it, who knows.  Children tend to say the most inspirational things at times.

So I have pieces I like, pieces I admire, I go through stages of liking one style over another and then not.  I dislike intensely any snobbery over artists, all this guff about Jack Vettriano for example.  Heaven forbid an artist actually sells his paintings en masse.  Although not my favourites there is a sense of dark foreboding in his work and each painting, you could write a story about the characters within very easily. One of my art teachers in school was very dismissive of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.  A particular favourite of mine at the time as it met my Gothic tendencies.  You see apparently I knew nothing as the background to the Mona Lisa is squinty for a reason plebs such as myself couldn't possibly comprehend.

Therefore I totally dismiss what art choices say about a person in a way.  They may give an idea of personality but in no way should that cloud judgement of the person as a whole.  Some people like the chocolate box paintings, some people adore abstracts, if there was no variety in tastes what a bland little world this would be.

Wait, what was this post about...oh yes, my choice for this...

I could be entirely predictable and choose something by Mary Cassett but I feel more like this today...

Childish, magical yes, but tomorrow I may lean towards something else.  That is how it goes.

(Midsummer Eve by Edward Robert Hughes)

Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)

This song was written about Agnetha's regret at missing so much of her daughter's life and how quickly a child grows.

Now I am a mother I totally understand it.  So although it doesn't make me cry it comes very close!  It just passes by, I look at the Hobbits and they are no longer those squidgy little babies, their limbs are all gangly, their faces changing and for a moment I'll wish I could go back.  There is so much I would do differently and to start with I would do it alone, on my own terms.  I would take more baby photos.  So many things.

But now it is too late, and here we are.  I am glad of how I've raised my boys and even at their hissy fitting worse they are not that bad at all.  In fact I'm rather proud of how smart they are, that they enjoy things, have their own interests.  Who would have thought I'd have children who loved kayaking.  Kayaking I tell you!

(I always wanted to be Agnetha when I was little but because I had brown hair I got to play Frida.  Which isn't bad, but it isn't Agnetha!)

Day 15 — A fanfic

Something I don't normally read although I like the concept in parts.  Taking your favourite characters and using them in ways that perhaps the author didn't think of (sometimes for good reason as they can skim close to pornographic at times.)

I had read a Doctor Who one once and while a pleasant to read it wasn't enough to make me a fan of fanfic.

However I did read one recently that was almost better than the original source material from whence it came.  Called Wide Awake it takes the characters from Twilight (yes, I know but it made Meyers a multi-millionaire for some unfathomable, addictive reason and yes, I did read all of them - in one week no less) and twists them for grown ups.

Don't think Meyers would approve.  Lots of her followers do though.

Day 14 — A non-fictional book

At first I was going to mention a book I am wanting to read at the moment but then I thought to a book I read and reread time and time again.  Each time I never fail to find the humour in the description of the book's theme - Australia.

In Down Under, Bill Bryson touches on some reasons that have puzzled me about the antipodes - namely the amount of things, both animal and plants that, if not actually able to kill you, can certainly maim you for life.  It is a reason I turned down a job there many years ago and when sometimes I question just how smart (or not) a move that was then I can read this and know I'm not alone in being a bit of a silly fearty about little crawly, creepy poisonous killing beasties.

See, see I wasn't completely mad to say no.  I mean, it wasn't like the job was in a city (fearsome spiders live there too) but in the country where one wrong step can be very, very painful if not life ending.

Day 13 — A fictional book

My god but the thought just crossed my mind -what if I had to write about every book I own.  It would take all week.  I hoard my books, in an ideal world I'd have an unlimited account with Amazon but it was ever thus - my favourite books are ones I've owned for decades but there is always room for more.  Come on in, plenty of space on the shelves, here I'll even dust it for you.

I've mentioned a favourite book previously so do I go obscure or mainstream?  Do I mention the fact that I have read and *deep breath* actually own all of the Twilight books? And the other one she wrote?  Do I mention the fact that if it wasn't for the stupidness that holds me back I'd venture to try and get some of my own scribblings published and on my shelves.

I'm digressing like crazy here.

A made up book as the Hobbits call it.  Currently I'm reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Huffinpuff - sorry I meant this one:

Unlike The Time Traveller's Wife which was enjoyable in some parts and just sheer frustrating in others this story is unfolding nicely although as the mother of twins it does get tiresome reading about freaky ones.  If anyone is the parent of twins they will know that reality would have her writing about fights and arguments and the impossibility of sharing.

Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy

For this I have thought about the frivolity of the phrase and decided that maybe I should go a little more indepth than just a frivolous comment.

So, what has been "tickling" my fancy of late.

The Carry-On quality of that very phrase is just screaming out for me to say something smutty again but I digress.

I'll just say that I am very sad that "The Pacific" the HBO series shown on Sky Movies Premiere has finished.  It made me ashamed, as someone who enjoys studying history, that I knew nothing of the extreme circumstances of that particular theatre of war.  And on that subject, why a theatre of war?  Where did that phrase come from?  It suggests that those who went through such hardships were mere actors playing a role rather than servicemen suffering horrendous situations.

These actors, in the mini-series, served to remind us, the greedy selfish generation, that once there were warriors of such a fine calibre.  These men, young men, spent years in what must have seemed to be an utter hellish existence.  And that came through.  I would say the series was wonderful but that is a very glib statement.  It was thought-provoking, challenging, heart-stopping, incredibly sad and utterly involving joourney.

Now, ten-weeks later, it is all over.  I think, in some places, the story felt a little rushed.  Maybe they could have eked it out to 13 weeks?  You know, for sad sacks like me who have no life.

Interesting point.  My dad was in the RAF, served some time in Burma where he was shot in the back of the leg by a Japanese sniper.  I only found that out when I was 15 because, like most of his generation, he never spoke in great length of what he went through.  We have little snippets of that large slice of his life spent serving in World War II, some photos and mementos but now he is gone there will be nothing to colour in the missing spaces.

I'm here because that Japanese sniper was a lousy shot.

Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently

No, I have to say I hate the captured image of myself.  I do have photos, less than ten, of myself taken over the past 10 years.  In most of them I am trying to hide behind Hobbits.  What can I say.  I wasn't blessed with beauty, or confidence, or an appreciation of who I am.  Honesty only goes up to a certain point.

Here is something else instead:

Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago

I think a new scanner is in order here... will edit this post when I get one.

Normal Service Will Resume...

...as soon as I have more than a minute to do so.

Just had one of those days.  You know, when everything kind of falls apart and you're left standing there in the middle wondering what the hell just happened.  Yeah, one of *those* days.

Actually was going quite well right up until the point where I came home from work.  I had forgotten, no, I was in denial over how much some people can be attention seekers.  If the world doesn't revolve around them....you get the idea.  So it is typical now that, at this time in the morning, when I really should be asleep so I can be ready and fresh for the next day, that I am here - trying to catch up.

I've let myself down most of all.  I had taken a break over the weekend, no computer at all, but I had done some regular old fashioned writing - pen and paper.  So the idea worked.  Pity life and all that crap keeps getting in the way.

Day 09 — A photo you took

At one point I thought of taking on photography as a hobby, but in reality it has remained just a way of capturing the moment.  And in truth, there is nothing wrong with that.  Enjoying something doesn't necessarily mean having to break it down into each little component and then building it all up again.  Instead, I prefer to just point and click and hope it turns out okay...or even more than okay would be better.

I like where my crafting is going.  Cross-stitching is so easy, taking it to the next step of embroidery is turning out some great results.  These are the kind of things I wish I had tried earlier.  I want to do more, my whole love of art is coming back after so long of doing nothing with it and it is so heart-warmingly wonderful.  Sketching is an old friend I am happy to welcome back.  The photography will act as inspiration and I will take it from there and on to other medium.

Wouldn't this photo of Linlithgow Loch look amazing with fabric and stitching?

Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad

I don't have a copy to put on here, I don't have any of them left.

Because, of course and considering the nature of the other blog it should be no surprise that the photo that could make me both angry and sad would be one from my wedding day.  Gosh, I can barely even type it without feeling a shot in my stomach.

What can I say that I haven't already torn a strip off the internet from saying?

I know I shouldn't say it was the biggest mistake of my life because I have the boys from that train wreck of a marriage but I can't help it.

The deluded fool in the blue dress (light blue because if you "wear blue your love with be true", perhaps making him wear it as well might have been an idea.)   Smiles that were nothing more than a farce when all was said and done.  If I could go back, a la Doctor Who, then I'd head back, tell that idiot to do what she had originally planned and to take the consequences.  I would have still had the boys, some things are tattooed onto your future, mine and their lives have always been set.

Like the guy on the t'internet who is blogging about his 101 uses for his ex-wife's wedding dress I took great pleasure in destroying the evidence of that day.  Because it was all based on lies, and I hate that I was too damn stupid to see it.  So both angry and sad, and I've had enough of feeling either way.

Signs

I really thought I had understood the sign, but it turned out to be another false promise.  I could build a house out of the amount of those I've had of late.

Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy

Remembering times gone by, back when the Hobbits were learning to feed themselves with varying results.

Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy

Well I can honestly say that, considering my current circumstances, that there's nothing tickling my fancy these days.

Day 05 — A favourite quote

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.

Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene 2

Says it all really doesn't it.

Beware the person, male or female who bears ambition or envy like a weapon, skulking like a wolf at the edge of the forest.

Day 04 — A favourite book

Another choice from many. It is ever thus for the indecisive.

Before the film came out (and to be honest even after I had seen it) I adored Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow by Peter Høeg. Here was a female protagonist unlike any I had read about before. She was tough, straightforward, socially inadequate and knowledgeable about every type of snow. Presumably as a reader I am one of many who could see something of themselves in a character. I wished I could be like that however the only aspect that rang completely true was the socially awkward part.

I lost myself in reading, the only truth I have ever had was in books. Delving in to the story as the reality of what my life was about vanished for those few chapters. To get such a heroine as Smilla Jasperson was a gift. I haven't read it in some time so perhaps it is time, while the weather is so hot, to once again experience my own feeling for snow.

Wait, was that last line too cheesy?

Day 03 — A favourite television program

That should really be spelled as programme however it is now evident where this thing originated then!

I presume people who live in cold climates are more prone to watching TV than those who have sunshine in which to enjoy life outdoors. Strangely, although I cannot remember much of what I learned at school I can recall, with amazing clarity, things that happened on shows that were on when I was very young.

Not to dwell on the past again, as I am wont to do, there are plenty of programmes around now and all I can say is thank god for Sky+ because I do get to watch things in my own time. At the moment two programmes that I make time for are The Pacific and Wallander. As it is *a* favourite programme and not *a few* favourite programmes (see I'm pointing out the obvious again) then I'll choose the Swedish series of Wallander - series two is on just now. It may be an idea to think on the suicide of the original Linda but not yet.

I've always been fascinated by my fellow Europeans, I adored any programme that showed life in another European country whether it was factual or fiction. The 1970s German version of Heidi was wonderful. Actually on thinking on it, I wish I had gone ahead and worked my way around Europe but I got married instead - wasn't that such a great swap as well.

Crime stories are fair enough, I don't watch any of the UK ones, haven't seen Taggart since the early 90s. Wallander though has caught my attention and part of it is this obsession with European based programmes. What can I say? I'm a fairly boring person. But I like Wallander's saggy Bagpuss face, the taciturn Swedes and yes, a good old nosey inside the houses. IKEA is the mother-ship calling me home.

Day 02 - A Favourite Movie

Now this one is harder, but strangely the first one that came to mind was An American In Paris. There are so many films I love, so many I can watch time and time and time again, but this film made me wish so very hard that I could dance.

As a story in itself it works fine, boy meets girl, girl has weird relationship with other boy, girl decides first boy is much better option.

But then, at the very end of the film, there is 17 minutes of sheer bliss. Their story, the whole ideal of their relationship, is told in one long, delicious ballet. And my god, for the most clumsy, lump of a girl watching it, it was sheer heaven. (The Red Shoes almost had the same effect, almost but not quite.)

Sure I did the childhood thing of dance. Attended ballet but in its most basic form. I left when it became apparent that I just was absolutely no good at all, although as a hobby I would have liked to continue it was the shows that were excruciating. I am someone who needed everyone in the room to shut their eyes before I could comfortably play a tune on the piano (the Laurel and Hardy theme as well, it isn't even ironic.)

I wanted to be Leslie Caron though. I wanted, ached to be able to do that dance, to have such a talent that it looked almost effortless (but it took a month to film, you know there were some serious blisters going on there.)

So, for today at least, this is my choice of a favourite movie.