Monthly Archives: November 2012

On the way home from the library

before the winter virus strikes

but you can feel it’s in the air


The winter virus visits

and has reduced me to ordering food from a well-known purveyor of pizzas. To me, this is the pits, although in my twenties such supplies formed the basis of many a meal (usually a late night supper, usually after skipping dinner, usually because I was drinking in the pub).

The children think this dereliction of maternal duty in the dietary stakes is quite marvellous because the pizza came with ice-cream and a fizzy drink. I am too ill to care, other than that they are fed in some fashion. The youngest remarked that the winter virus can visit her again if this is how she will dine. I said it is not because she is ill that we are reduced to eating this rubbish, but because I am.

In other illness ramifications: the dog was disgusted with his lack of walk for the last 24 hours, until I supplied him with rather more than the remains of an accompanying pasta dish the delivery driver enclosed in the pizza box. It seems the way to everyone’s heart is to become too ill to care anymore and feed them all crap.

And now we are watching Matilda for about the zillionth time in the last decade. After the children’s own unwholesome meal they are obviously in the mood for watching Bruce Bogtrotter eat the ‘entire confection’…

Bruce Bogtrotter with a chocolate confection

Bruce Bogtrotter with a chocolate confection

I’ve lost a few days (and a blog post)

Regular readers might have wondered what an earth I was talking about in my last post. I’ve realised why. I wrote a post at the weekend called ‘On Anger’ and thought I’d published it, but I hadn’t and I only noticed just now.

If you are just dropping by this once, none of the above, or what may follow, will make the least bit of sense so I’d advise you evacuate the blog now to be on the safe side.

For the rest of you: I am thinking. I may be a while…

Rodin: The Thinker

A brief interlude whilst I fume

Too cross to continue my meditation on managing anger…

No doubt I will have recovered myself shortly and then I will compose Part II. In the meantime you can rest assured that at least I am not bullshitting away on here day in day and day out; or, in other words, I do know a little about whereof I write.

On anger

Me and anger have been on first name terms for a long time. I used to find it an all-encompassing vehicle for emotional expression. 

Feel sad? Be angry

Feel hurt? Be angry

Feel rejected? Be angry

Of course this kind of high octane living was unsustainable.  You can’t resolve everything by shouting and shaking your fist; or indeed throwing things and smashing crockery, however good it might feel to release some of the emotional energy in the moment. 

What the person who gets angry has to accept is that other people find such voluble acts of emotion frightening.  So you may get the thing off your own chest in some fashion,  but at the same time you damage not just property but your relationships with others.

By the way this is not a lecture.  I know well the feelings of anger that bubble up in one’s gut  as a physical response to a challenging situation. What I have learnt over the years is that those physical feelings do not have to drive my behaviour.  I have found out the hard way admittedly,  but as I see my eldest daughter struggle to manage her quick temper in much the same way I have,  I hope that a little of what I have picked up can benefit her, sooner rather than later.

Three styles incorporated in a picture (aged nine)

The blog sometimes feels its raison d’être is to produce a digital record of the children’s work. This was from last year’s exercise book and apparently incorporates pointillism, blending and something I can’t remember. I will ask the artist to comment. I was rather moved by the colour of the three mountains and the river. Some parts of the scene seem unresolved, but ain’t life just like that?

I had a desperate mother moment yesterday, looking at another picture up on the fridge.
One day, I thought, there will be no pictures on the fridge.
So I made the youngest promise me to send me a doodle a week forever…

Autumn leaves… at last

The final act

Like a faulty tap.

And single leaves

Painful from trees

Drip, drip, drip…

Trying the patience

Of the saints, and me.

Yesterday, a whirlygig

Blows up

And kicks their

Ragged arses

to the ground

At last.


Confucius say

It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop

Working on that; think I have been inclined to do the big full stop before now – am trying slowly, slowly. In the meantime, and far more interesting than my incessant navel-gazing is that my god-daughter and cousin has recently become engaged to a talented cinematographer called Abraham Joffe from down under. Click through to visit their website Untitled Film Works with some fantastic images of Namibia, baby elephants and South Africa, plus some Australian weddings (something for everyone there then 🙂 )

This is a film taken from the website, about a photographic safari company called Iconic Images. Watch for some amazing footage. My favourites are a little coloured bird at about 90 seconds in and some abandoned buildings where the sand has blown in and taken over. To return to what Confucius say: I bet those sand-wedged doors still open, just slowly…

‘Nothing will work unless you do’

I was busy thinking, ‘back to the drawing board’ and also tangentially wondering what a drawing board actually is, when I came across the title quote by Maya Angelou.

So then I quit wondering about the drawing board and starting thinking, ‘Which work?’

Then I realised, it doesn’t really matter, the thing is to just Get On.


Blurs the view

& makes me want to live abroad

A building and me struggling to breathe