I'm Busy. Want To Make Something Of it?

Stop making a fuss.
I have just been quiet.

And watching several series of Lost at one sitting.
When it started, I didn't think much of it (see here), but am now a full-on addict.
It's compulsive viewing.

I love the fact that you can get DVDs out of the library. And download TV programmes off t'internet.

Right, what else?

Started my first 100 day practice placement in one of the county's fostering teams. Enjoying it a lot so far.

Bought a powerkite, and took it out last week for the first time with him, and him, and the wee feller.
Brilliant.

And I have been concentrating on my mental health.

That's a good idea, isn't it?

PS - I have shaved my beard off. On a whim. It feels like part of my face is missing. Urgh.

I Think This is Funny

I don't know where it's from (Private Eye, perhaps?), because my sister found it.
I thought I'd share it, but it may only be amusing to those who did Latin at school (e.g. me).
Just think - 5 years of classical education, and all it achieves is to allow me to chortle at satirical jokes.
Quality....

* * * * * * *

NEW-LOOK GCSE LATIN PRIMER

How to decline:

Asbo: I terrorise my neighbours.

Asbas: You complain to a policeman.

Asbat: He does nothing.

Asbamus: We come round and set fire to your car.

Asbatis: You (plural) move to another neighbourhood.

Asbant: They say the situation is under control thanks to the new Anti-Social Behaviour Orders.




To be honest, the funniest part is that there might actually be a GCSE in Latin.

Festive Cheer

Every year, near Christmas, this lot play a gig here.

Tonight's the night, and I'm excited.
It's not my first time seeing them.
But each time I see them, I feel the same.

I don't gig much. and often when I do, it's a repeat.
Bob Mould (in various guises).
Mudhoney.
Therapy?.
Rocket From The Crypt.
Martyn Joseph.
All people I like to watch again and again.

And these guys.
Unfashionable? Oh yes.
Partisan audience? Oh yes.
Slightly religious fever at gigs? Oh yes.
Know all the songs? Oh yes.
(Though I can never remember all the words, which makes me feel inferior because everyone else seems to know every word, every note, every reference.)

Last year I hurt my ankle really badly about fourth song in and had to spend the rest of the gig sitting in a corner feeling nauseous.
This year I shall be a bit more circumspect.
The entire dancefloor becomes a moshpit so I shall stay near the back....

And this year I have an iPod, so I have 8 and a half hours of their music loaded into it to fire me up.
Reminds me of wandering about the Gloucestershire countryside on rainy windswept nights in a big overcoat listening to "No Rest" and "The Ghost of Cain" twenty years ago.
Great days.

I really haven't grown up, have I?

* * * * * * * * * * *

Behind all the rusting cranes, in the lengthening shadows of the Empire days
there's a world that waits, but it's not needed.
In the teeming rows behind the goal - yelling for blood on the pitch below;
where does all the passion go when it's not needed?
Over the wire, and into the darkness . . .
Come evangelists of the Grand New Age proclaiming the future that they stole,
condemning the things they can't control - just like the priests before;
and now I can hear them call - the ghosts of the 1914-18 war
Where do all the innocents go when they're not needed?
Over the wire and into the darkness . . .

And the dawn it will come like blood across the sky,
Not the way that you think, not the way that you dream
In the silence of God, in the fullness of time,
like blood across the sky - the dawn it will come - the dawn it will come.

All still, like the pitshafts and the two-mile-down where they buried their hearts;
where does all the loyalty go when it's not needed?
In the plastic seats behind the goal yelling for blood on the pitch below;
where does all the passion go when it's not needed?
Over the wire and into the darkness . . .

Meece

The mice have caused an explosion in the garage.



I am currently living with my mum, who - like the rest of my family - finds it incredibly difficult to throw things away because it "might come in useful".

She has kept several bin bags full of polystyrene blobs to aid her in potting plants (you put them at the bottom in place of stones. It works. Try it.). Not that she does much plant-potting, you understand.

Anyway.

There is clearly a posse of mice residing in the garage (and elsewhere, but they need not concern us today).
Every time I go in they have been nibbling at something else inedible, the loons.

This time they nibbled away at those bin bags, presumably in the hope that they might find digestible goodies.

I can imagine their consternation when they released an avalanche of polystyrene.

There they stand, hands on hips, whiskers twitching, crossly discussing why some idiot would keep all this useless stuff.......

Personally, I'm with the mice on this one.

Is this weird?

.......or is it just me?

We are coming to the end of the wee feller's first term at school.
(First week - "School! YAY!"
Third week onwards - "I don't want to go to school.")

Of course, as we have all been informed incessantly by the industrial-military complex within which we consume, it's nearly Christmas, and has been since sometime in the 19th century.

Anyway, he got his first Christmas card from a classmate today.
Well, I say it is from his classmate.
But she has quite a severe case of cerebral palsy, and the handwriting all looked suspiciously neat and adult to me.

Which suggests that he has actually received a card from his classmate's mother.
On behalf of her daughter, who may or may not actually want to send him a card, despite appearing to be a very nice girl from the little I know.
And I suspect it won't be the last.

Why do I think this?
Because as loving, friendly and generous as my son is, he is also 4 years old and has not the slightest bit of interest in sending cards himself.
And so I assume that all the other kids are the same.

To be perfectly frank, he isn't particularly interested in receiving cards either.
They aren't Hot Wheels, are they?
Or Power Rangers.
So what's the point?
Fair enough.

So -

Do I purchase 27 small cards, write in them myself, and then bully him into scribbling disinterestedly at the bottom of 2 or 3 of them, while he stares longingly at Buzz Lightyear?

Or do I just say, "Mate. Is there anyone you want to send Christmas cards to? No? Ok then. Want to play pirates?"

Of course, I could just write and sign 27 cards myself.
But then I would be sending 27 infants Christmas cards on behalf of someone else, who isn't interested.
Which is just weird.

No, I am not going to buy into the Christmas that all these other people want me to celebrate.
Fuck them.


(I feel a bit guilty about that as those parents I have met are very pleasant, and all the kids in his class - who all now know me by name, and vice versa - are a lovely bunch.)