31 March 2005

I Say I Say

Whats the difference between Florida and Afghanistan?

In Afghanistan they stop the women from seeing the doctors..............

I Say I Say I Say

What's the difference between Florida and Stepford?

30 March 2005

Another Giggle

Badaunt left this in the comments yesterday, but its just too lovely and I have to share.

I challenge you to turn your speakers on, click the link below, and stay there for at least 30 seconds without smiling!

Terri Schiavo: some dumb questions

Edited, see end of blog.

I admit I came across Terri's situation by following a banner through to TerrisFight.

So here I am mercifully NOWHERE near America, just reading everything I can find. It has been really interesting to get rude or fervent feedback on some of my observations because it has opened my eyes to the varying statements taken as fact by different people.

OK so there are loonies on both sides, people who havent got time to look at the woman and imagine she is their sister because they are too busy seeing political posturing, or twisting the situation for their own purposes. Some want to kill Terri even if she isnt a vegetable, others want to kill her husband, or his new partner, Felos or Greer. Others, on both sides, care very deeply.

There are people calling us hypocrites, saying if you care about Terri, why dont you care about X,Y or Z. Well from here, let me tell you I do care and every new atrocity that you highlight, going on quietly and undefended in suburban USA just makes me more and more horrified at the state of your so-called 'glorious nation'.

It seems, from here, that most of those shouting 'hypocrite' seem to be advocating caring for nobody as a viable alternative.

Anyhow, I have a great many questions left unanswered, based entirely on the information presented as fact on other sites. Here they are. Maybe some of the evidence I am looking for really does exist, maybe you feel I have been misled, in which case please post the URL in a comment. Don't just rant at me, educate me. Call me what you like but give me proof of your reasoning.

  1. If Terri was supposed to be bulimic, why is there no medical record of that, why wasnt it established by doctors when she first went into hospital?
  2. Ditto heart attack - there is apparently NO evidence that she ever suffered a heart attack more than say-so; why?
  3. Were there really bruises reported around her throat consistent with strangulation on the night that she was first rushed to hospital?
  4. Did her first CT scan in hospital really show less damage than the second scan? Who did what to her, to increase the damage in the interim?
  5. What made Michael Schiavo remember she wanted to die, if he spent the two years prior to that recollection saying he was going to stay by her side, see her have therapy and live for a long time, even in the court case for compensation and medical costs?
  6. Why was she allowed to be moved into a hospice for so many years when hospices are supposed to be for people who will die naturally inside six months or so?
  7. Why was she allowed to stay in a hospice (a place to be made comfortable, not better), for the first two years without the legal certificate?
  8. Why was she allowed to go there at all if George Felos, Michael Schiavo's attorney, was at the time the Chairman of the Board of Directors there? (see also 24)
  9. Why did Judge Greer help Michael Schiavo get Medicaid for Terri so she could 'legally' stay in the hospice instead of going back to a proper hospital or therapy unit?
  10. How do you get Medicaid in the first place if you have a million dollars available for care already?
  11. Why did the judge accept the diagnosis of PVS when the doctor whose name was typed on the report (by whoever typed it) NEVER SIGNED the paper?
  12. Why did Judge greer dismiss the personal testimony of that same doctor, that Terri was NOT in a PVS?
  13. When that report was created, why was it acceptable to the court without an MRI or PET scan or any of a number of tests to confirm or deny the diagnosis?
  14. If the Schindlers feel that the judge has overlooked vital information, either accidentally or deliberately, does the system really require them to petition against the findings to the SAME judge?
  15. Doesnt that sound like:
    Petitioner: We petition that Judge X is incompetent or corrupt. Judge X: Oh no I'm not, petition dismissed.
  16. When you complain that evidence has been overlooked and finally get your case to a higher court, will the new lot really only make their minds up based on Judge X's version?
  17. WHY If Terri really is a vegetable, would Felos or Schiavo notice ANY difference in her now - how can a vegetable look more or less peaceful?
  18. If Terri is in a PVS why are Schiavo and Felos making a big hoo-ha about music and flowers in her room - what blind bit of difference would they make to a braindead carcass?
  19. Why would Michael Schiavo give his wife (quote) a "stuffed cat" to cuddle? I hope to hell that means a cuddly toy.
  20. If she is braindead, why would she need that?
  21. If she isn't brain dead, but aware, would she realise the reference to him having her pet cats put down and a sinister implication in the gift?
  22. There is no law allowing a judge or carer to forcibly withhold food and water taken naturally by mouth - why has Judge Greer forbidden efforts to feed Terri naturally and how has he been allowed to do that?
  23. Why would he need to forbid that if she is a vegetable? You can lead a horse to water.....
  24. Doesnt Judge Lenderman's own sister being a Board member at the hospice constitute a conflict of interest?
  25. Why would the Pinellas County Sheriff (who left in 2004 to take up position in the House of Representatives) take time, four days before he left, in the middle of the Schiavo case, to EMPLOY Michael Schiavo, knowing that he had refused to investigate allegations of abuse against Schiavo?
Like I said, just a few questions, I'm sure I have more.

From here, it stinks. It stinks to High Heaven.

What stinks worse is the concept that people don't suddenly turn into bad guys, or conceited double-dealers for just one case. Nor do they do it if they stand alone. If all these apparent breaches of law, conduct, propriety etc etc are true, then they would be habitual, comfortable, the 'way things are', and in that case it may take years to unearth the other examples.

Terri may just turn out to be the standard bearer, the light, hope and vindication for a myriad other ordinary people whose deaths were quicker and quieter.

Going to Florida this summer? My personal advice - DON'T.
If however you feel you must set foot in the place, please, make a living will before you go. You wouldn't want to hit your head............

Edit: Assume Michael Schiavo does really love his wife. Assume Terri Schiavo really didn't want to live like this. Now refer to question 13.
  • Wouldn't a loving husband, who has all the money he needs, have every test under the sun performed on his dear wife before giving up hope?
  • Wouldn't he automatically explore every single avenue to see whether or not she could improve, before coming to the conclusion that she could never get any better?
  • Does Michael Schiavo giving up on tests at the stage recorded, particularly when money was no object, make him look like anything BUT a man who loved his wife?

28 March 2005

I Like You!

Okay so the world is (or bits of it are) seemingly going to Hell in a hand cart, but I challenge you to click this link with your speakers on, and not raise a smile:

27 March 2005

Terri Schiavo: Near the end

As our children wake up to chocolate, as Churches celebrate Easter, Terri Schiavo's breathing has finally become shallow and laboured.

Get this straight - she was breathing just fine before.

Her skin has dehydrated and cracked, her lips and nose will have open sores, apparently she is or was also bleeding from her eyeballs; her hands and feet will be going icy cold as blood withdraws from the extremities in a desperate attempt to keep the vital organs functioning. Her liver, with nothing to process, will throw her electrolytes off balance causing her to twitch and spasm in extreme pain, in some cases without heavy doses of sedatives this can be so violent as to break the victim's back. If there is any truth in Michael Schiavo's statement that she looks peaceful, then what that really means is that she is drugged up to the eyeballs.

This is not the reaction of a body waiting to die, ready to pass across peacefully but kept in this life by unwanted nourishment - its the reaction of a healthy body forced into panic.

See HERE for the exit protocol as written for Terri last time her 'husband' tried to have her starved to death. (And anyone who resents those inverted commas can tell me which of his marriage vows he hasn't broken.)

This woman may be retarded, but she can laugh, she can cry and she can try to speak, she can recognise and express her pain to others.

By the way, 'judge' Greer has already approved Michael Schiavo's application to have her cremated as soon as she's dead.

Why? Is it possibly because she is staunch Catholic and was brought up to be totally against cremation - just another last way for him to snub and hurt her parents, after already denying her Easter Communion or even Last Rites? More likely that's just a bonus in the rush to destroy evidence.

Get one thing straight. If Terri Schiavo dies, if there is not one hero in the whole stinking legal and political system who can and will save her, then the entire set-up is just too dangerous and corrupt to risk visiting the country of America, ever.

If I took my children to Beirut and something happened it would make it to the newspapers. If I took them to Florida, I'm not so sure. Hidden evil is so much more dangerous than any other type.

If Terri Schiavo dies I would sooner spit on all I hold dear than ever set foot in America. Wild horses could not drag me kicking and screaming into the state of Florida, which to my mind is a hell-pit of corruption that sanctifies slow and evil murder.

I don't suppose anyone cares; not Disney nor anyone else with a vested interest in that God forsaken place, but just for the record I'm telling you anyway.

The US Government has the nerve to depict itself as the police of the world, the peace bringers? PAH.

Thats the mark of the antichrist, isnt it? Falsely claiming to bring 'peace'?

Not at that cost, thanks.

Judge Greer and Michael Schiavo, I am praying for God to make an example of you before some poor soul does it. Its not for me to judge, just to bring the petition, but the back of my mind says that choking to death on your Easter Sunday Roast might be quite fitting. No, maybe just choke long enough for brain damage................

26 March 2005

What I love about Talents

I love that in the parable, a talent was a coin.
I love that this equates talents, gifts, to currency.
I love the concept that your true value, your spiritual bank balance, if you like, takes account of talents.
Do you have a talent for making people feel comfortable, making them smile, helping them to see beauty, helping them to feel hope, or love?
Do you have a talent for finding the soft chink in the scars of a hardened heart and reaching the long buried hope?
Happy Easter! You are rich.
Use your talents, its multiplies them.

Can you tell I've gone all Easterish? :-)

The Elevator

I am stuck for a post, so in good and traditional blogger style am falling back on egotisitical self-promotion. Below is a short story I wrote. I can't say its good, but it would be fair to say it was well received, at least on Fanstory it got very good reviews from my peers.
I dont mind if you disagree, at all.

The Elevator
A cautionary tale

The Reverend Willard Hogarth Johnson woke gently from his reverie to find that he was standing in a luxury elevator. As his mind absorbed and accepted first impressions of the space, he noticed with a sense of reassurance that, from somewhere, strains of lift music were quietly taking the edge off the void.

The Girl From Ipanema, that was it. He felt more grounded now. Clasping his hands together, he took a deep breath to lengthen his spine and looked gently downward toward the plush, carpeted floor. This was his favourite 'benign and thoughtful' pose, giving him privacy to think whilst creating the right impression of pious sincerity, should anyone happen to be looking. It always helped to remember who you were in a public space.

After a little too long in this stance, he realised that the lift did not appear to be moving. If it was actually going anywhere then there was no sensation of it, no way to judge speed, direction, or impending destination. This information did not sit comfortably with Willard at all as he couldn't actually recall whether the journey was beginning or ending, more importantly, whether he was supposed to be aware of anyone, or free to relax again for a moment longer.

He stared intently at the carpet before deciding that his eyes must be strained, because the colour, whether it was cream or gold or possibly white, was hard to make out. He blinked hard before deciding that either he was incredibly tired, or the fluorescent light was probably on its last legs.

Rev Johnson hated that; not just the way that colours and shapes distorted under a failing light tube, but the way that so many seemingly grand hotels, with all the trimmings and elegant design, never appeared to be run by someone who cared enough to keep the electrics up to standard. There would probably be scuffs on the skirting board somewhere, if he looked hard enough, but with the light flickering, he did not relish the idea of looking up at what might be aluminium walls, or anything reflective.

He hated to be cynical about tarnished grandeur but he had seen it too often; life was never 'just so' and the hidden society, the underclass of cleaners and cooks, waitresses and hall staff could never just leave their issues behind and concentrate on their jobs, on making a little haven for those, like himself, that had shelled out more than an employee earned in a month, for heaven's sake, for a little bit of pampering.

It angered him that the majority of people had no respect, for themselves or their work, and so many of his sermons had become heavily dosed with messages of loving one's neighbour, putting oneself last, trusting God to provide and just shutting up with the whining. It was water off a duck's back in some cases, people were all 'me, me, me' these days, particularly if they felt hard done by, but heck, he tried. If they couldn't change their attitudes, God Almighty sure as hell wasn't going to change their luck and he had learned to cast a glassy eye across such people where he could; avoid engaging them at all, and concentrate on dishing out his wisdom to those more ready to hear it.

'Pearls before swine' he thought to himself. The day had gone on too long, and he was tired, all preached out and looking forward to some rest. The meal this evening had better be a good one, they'd better have got the right port in the room and had the table laid according to the instructions his secretary always forwarded; the right spring water at the right temperature, no Spanish wine at all, particularly if decanted so he couldn't tell. The damn stuff gave him such a headache in the mornings and he'd been forced to cut some otherwise pleasant hotels out of his tour stops because of that in the past. It was hard enough living a public life, working for God all day, without the pressures of taking brief respite and rest only to find the bed improperly turned, or the salmon overdone.

A sound, he wasn't sure quite what, perhaps a breath, alerted Willard to another presence in the lift. Oh no, he would have to acknowledge them. The tiniest scowl crossed his brow before he drew another deep breath and purposefully set his warm VIP demeanour in place, ready to look up and give the benefit of his presence to this other. Still, not long to suffer, he was sure. A brief ride and then he would be, where?

For the life of him he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do next, but was certain that, as many times in the past, his entourage or at least a group of smiling event organisers would be there to usher him through.

The other person in the lift turned out to be a bellboy, or no, good grief what an error of judgement, perhaps the concierge. He was so tired. It was more normally someone with a bit of clout, in recognition of the Reverend's name and status, but Willard found it incredibly hard to focus and be sure. Something really would have to be said about this blasted lighting, perhaps he would ring the reception for maintenance once he got to his room; give the front desk one or two kindly, scripture-laden pointers on maintaining image and reputation.

Everything just looked too bright, he decided, his companion included, but the outfit or uniform that for one brief moment had seemed to be based on a glittering box jacket appeared now to incorporate a silky, shimmering cream tail coat. In fact, as the person it enclosed turned to look in his direction, even the face seemed to swim between types; age, race, length. Only the eyes were constant and they were.............terrifying and elating, at once. The penny dropped.

Counting to five, then putting on his best bluffer's smile, feeling suddenly very excited and animated, Rev Johnson tried to give his companion a conspiratorial wink.

"It's all coming back now! You had me going for a minute or so there, but yes, yes I'm back with the plot now. Jolly good, yes." The companion may have blinked in acknowledgement but, even as his features ebbed and flowed, there was no discernible movement, no returned smile or polite chuckle, and the Rev WHJ found this to be rather unnerving.

"Willard, you must call me Willard." Nothing, no response. Okay this was going to be difficult, perhaps a test of some sort, or no, perhaps this personage was merely an assistant, a courier, not supposed to give the game away or make first introductions.

'No matter Willard my boy,' he thought to himself. 'Best foot forward.'

"I'm looking forward to meeting the Big Guy. He knows I'm arriving I take it? Yes, yes of course He would, He knows everything eh? Eh?"

"Well this is exciting and no mistake! Indeed. The jolly old race is run, what? And this, this opulent carriage, this is I take it, a taste of things to come?" Bingo, he had hit the mark, he knew, as the companion had acknowledged that last remark with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Willard was chuckling to himself now. Oh, he could hardly wait to meet the Man Himself, shake Him by the hand and let Him in on one or two home truths about the state of the planet. Perhaps he, Willard Hogarth Johnson, would be invited to sit with the apostles and whoever else, to discuss what was to come next, when and if to schedule Armageddon. Once he'd freshened up of course, had a bit to eat; gosh but he was hungry. One thing was certain, he was going to settle in very well indeed.

Yes, the apocalypse; it was sad but overdue, he mused; might as well blow everything up and start fresh really, call in the souls like himself that had some understanding and begin the rapture or start again, as necessary. Yes definitely. People were so, so damned self involved as it was. Too much woe, too many demands for attention, a God damned queue of ugly time-wasting souls, too busy looking for a free ride to help themselves or each other. Small fry. He'd have a word, and common sense would prevail, he was sure.

The lighting was still exceptionally tiring, but as the strains of lift music entered his consciousness once more and he found himself beginning to hum along, the Reverend felt very, very smug; satisfied with his achievements. All done in the name of God, of course, albeit with one or two perks and executive decisions thrown in, but that's what his God given brains were for, weren't they? Haha.

Funny, it felt as though they had been here for quite some time now, maybe twenty minutes, and yet 'The Girl From Ipanema' was still cheerfully strumming its way from the hidden speakers. It seemed to be stuck in a loop, or perhaps he'd not been listening when the track had changed last time.

"Gosh this is quite a long trip, isn't it?" he said to the courier, with as much joviality as he could muster. It was hard to definitely make out, but there seemed to be a tinge of sadness in his silent companion's eyes.

"Couldn't, ahem, couldn't tell me when we're going to stop, could you?"

25 March 2005

Book Stick

The world has gone quiet on Terri Schiavo, God Bless her soul. Whatever was planned or took place before Thursday, it would seem that nothing surmounts the vacuum that is the Easter Break.


SO,.............. I have had time to consider the book stick passed to me by Badaunt. She got it from Melinama, just about the most prolific writer that I know of, who's blog seems to update four times a day, so good luck finding the link on there. Oh that's a point, Badaunt refers to it, alongside her own answers, here.

In the spirit of the thing, I have to arbitrarily select two people to pass the book stick to, who then have to come up with their own answers. I choose Sheweevil and Duncan Bamberg.

Here, then, are my answers:

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Depends what you mean by a crush. If you include wanting to adopt them, hug them (strangely I never want to be them), take them out for a drink, then yes. A good novel is one where you want to pull the main character's photo out of your wallet and tell people you are related, where you root for them, worry for them and want to know what happens next. If you dont relate to their hopes and aspirations, its a boring read.

The last book you bought is:
For me: The Skilled Helper, A Problem-Management and Opportunity-Development Approach to Helping (7th edition), by Gerard Egan. It was a college course text book, what can I say.
For someone else: Gene, by Stel Pavlou.

The last book you read:
This is a hard one to answer. I belong to FanStory and there are a lot of wonderful unfinished books in my bookcase there. They haven't been published yet so do they count? If yes, then Wind Age, Wolf Age by RazberryBullet. A good, intelligent, old fashioned sci-fi action story that, to my mind, rates alongside the first book of the Amtrak Wars by Patrick Tilley.

If thats not a good answer then the last book I referred to was a 1931 copy of The Woman's Own Book of The Home. I love all the outrageous remedies they used to recommend, the etiquette of the period, but most of all all the recipes for polishes and making repairs.

If that doesnt count either, then I am 90% certain that my last cover-to-cover read of a new book was one of the Discworld novels by Terry Pratchett. Theres nothing like his adorably knowledgeable and witty parodies of all things new age or political, and his characters are brilliant. His books make me laugh out loud, honestly, so I try to resist the urge to read them in public.

Five books you would take to a deserted island:
Oh dear. I hoard so many books; vacuous, informative, escapist, humorous, factual etc and I rarely read a third time because I'd sooner be learning something new. Today that means they would be:
  1. The Eight, by Katherine Neville because its a romping good read, very big and full of so many intricate historical facts that you can let disbelief slide.
  2. An Anthology of Dan Brown's works. It doesnt exist and might involve me physically glueing Angels and Demons to The DaVinci Code and Digital Fortress
  3. Something about Yoga, Pilates or the fashionable bastardisation, Yogalates, I mean with all that time on my hands I might as well learn how to kiss my own butt goodbye, or at least how to climb a tree without straining something. I wouldn't mind being a little more streamlined in case of rescue, either.
  4. An Army Survival Manual. I would prefer a British one if it exists, but anything I can read that stops me getting contact dermatitis from finding a big leaf, to wipe........
  5. Last one is a cheat. It would have to be my photo album, with parents, grandparents, children, my childhood, old houses etc.

24 March 2005

50 Dumb Things About Me

A change of tack.

  1. I am an oldest child, only daughter, Aquarian Metal Rat and a 22.
  2. My first name on a psychic website was Mousey Pendragon and I picked it because I am quite nervous about my own abilities to flame roast other people, so it seemed to fit.
  3. My second name was gifted and it was Raven and it made me laugh
  4. My current name is Idano, because I don't.
  5. On the Homeworking Forum I am Millysoo, a Spoonerism
  6. My second job was at the BBC in Chiswick, West London
  7. Wednesdays we used to go to Television House and blag our way in with the ticket holders to be on Top of The Pops
  8. I met The Jam (all 4' nothing) in the BBC Club bar on the same night as BA Robertson (7' something). The little ones had bigger egos, aint that the way.
  9. My best friend at the time taught me how to give the wrong phone number when drunk
  10. Her name was Karen Pratt, but she pronounced it Karin and I used to call her drive-in-fanny, but never to her face.
  11. MY first husband kept calling me a stupid F-ing (select farm animal), so I took the Mensa test. I passed
  12. He left 6 months later, so being good at stupid puzzles has its perks after all.
  13. My nose is broken
  14. I had to do ballet when I was only 2 1/2 because the docs said I was going to end up with one leg longer than the other
  15. I thought I had gone to see the fairies
  16. I reacted badly to the scarlet fever jab and mum had to tell me I had to stay indoors or I would go to see the angels. Tell a two year old the angels are outside and see how hard it is to keep her indoors.
  17. The jelly was nice, it was all I could eat for a while, but it was the special fancy glass moulds - the individual ones. I was special.
  18. My youngest memory is sitting up in my pram and cutting the top off my bottle teat with a pair of scissors, I can even describe the room and where I was parked
  19. My old Welsh Nan tried really hard to teach me some old Welsh poetry, but she died when I was seven. I used to hear her when no-one else could, and go downstairs to tell mum that Nan wanted her. We were all in the same house.
  20. Nans biggest message to me was that the point of having green fingers is not to make them greener, but to get on with the gardening.
  21. My daddy's an orphan from Willesden and one day I'll turn that into a joke C&W song.
  22. We think his heritage was Russian Jewish, via North Wales.
  23. When I was little, Southall park was full of lions, in my head. I liked them.
  24. I used to wake up feeling like my bed had just landed on the floor wonky, it felt like the last leg was hitting ground and the bed shook (or I jumped).
  25. I loved going to sleep because of the dream tunnel. It was just like the tunnel on The Time Tunnel, except the stuff that flew past me in the walls sort of got there on its own. (We're still talking childhood here, people.)
  26. I got scared of demons at about 11, gave my cross to my teddy bear and performed an exorcism on him. I still kept him locked in the airing cupboard at night, just in case.
  27. I would feel too guilty to sleep if I could see all my dolls eyes and they were sitting up when I was tucked under blankets. I regularly used to fall out of bed because the dolls had got 98% of the space.
  28. That was good practice for marriage.
  29. The best way to walk on grass or indoors is barefoot.
  30. I love old buildings and the vibes off the walls and furniture.
  31. Lewes College has giggle walls - the whole atmosphere changes at the precise point that the new corridor walls attach to the ones that were part of a nunnery in the 14th and 15th century, but I didnt know that, I only got told when I remarked on the clearer, happier air.
  32. I took up and gave up astrology and tarot in my late teenage. I gave up because people have these invisible rings through their noses and its too easy to pull them along, and to get power crazy.
  33. My dad and I would play ESP games (Uri Geller was the craze then), we would predict playing cards and draw copies of each others pictures. It always worked so it was 'just one of those things'.
  34. Dad could stare at this one little thermometer and make it read a higher temperature.
  35. He used to take nearly empty marmalade jars, top them up with hot water , and put them outside the kitchen window to attract wasps away from the house.
  36. I used to sneak outside with a lolly stick and help them climb back out.
  37. My worst childhood nightmare was being in scary war games, and realising it was safe, that I could walk between front lines and not get hurt. Nobody would talk to me because they wanted it to be dangerous, so they refused to believe me.
  38. My best childhood dream was flying, low and fast from a running start, skimming the pavements, twisting, looping. Maybe it was more like swimming in air.
  39. I have spent precisely 50% of my life so far as a parent.
  40. The thing I miss most about being single is being able to chuck all my cards in the air and see where they land, just for the hell of it. I dont believe in stereotypes or half the invisible social walls that others believe in.
  41. The thing I miss most about living in London #1: City streets in the pre dawn, no cars on the road, peace. Concrete by dawn light is beautiful and so is silence in a city.
  42. The thing I miss most about living in London #2: being able to dye my hair on a regular basis without looking like a cross between Wurzel Gummidge and horsehair sofa stuffing, the sea air is too salty and squeaky clean; maybe I just need a layer of pollution.
  43. I would hug a tree cheerfully, but only if I didnt think anyone could see me.
  44. I would climb a tree, but only if I thought I could get back down again.
  45. Teenage angst led me to time how long it took for wads of cotton wool dipped in TCP to numb my wrists. Once I knew opting out wasnt impossible, I was back in control.
  46. I have never learned to drive.
  47. I have never been to Wales even though all my family comes from there.
  48. I just won 'sort of second place' in a poetry comp, with a free style piece, but that was by accident and I prefer to rhyme.
  49. I live very near to two major leyline crossings.
  50. I read stones, keys etc and sometimes crystal shops have such piggish vibes I get dead arm and have to go earth to a lamppost.
50 Dumb things. I could just as easily have come up with 50 amazing things, but thats just anal and boring. Maybe another time ;-)

Terri Schiavo: Just a Thought

This was a thought. It was a valid one, I thought, and one worthy of going on the bottom of someone's list, somewhere, for a later time.
Friends are right though, it was a fairly emotive subject and I wouldnt want to detract from the current focus.
Thanks Ano & Shane.
Courtesy of life lessons I do have a knack for anaesthetising myself to certain issues; dropping my grasp on emotional and social context to go into deep analysis of things. I see too many possibilities and threads. Not sure if I turn into a chess computer or a slightly autistic lawyer / nutty professor type.
Hey ho.

Terri Schiavo: Its All Coming Out Now

Finally, Florida Governor Jeb Bush has accepted findings that Terri Schiavo is NOT in a permanent vegetative state (PVS).

There is no news yet, whether he has, or will exercise his legal right to take Terri into protective custody.


This is now either euthenasia or murder of an alert human being - even euthenasia is illegal in Florida.

If you do me one favour, PLEASE see this video.

CREDIT for this info to various contributors at bloggsforterri, and for the video link to Jackson's Junction.

22 March 2005

Books and desert islands

Yesterday Badaunt over at Present Simple passed me the Book Stick, a list of questions about books to take to a desert island. Sorry, for one day, under extreme pressure, I fumbled.

The lists so far have been interesting and witty and clever, and I am unable, today, to even try to be any of those things. Perhaps if I allow my blood pressure to shoot right up and have a heart attack over the Terry Schiavo fiasco, someone could take note that I want my nearest and dearest to sue Florida Judge Greer, and possibly the entire Florida legal system as the cause.

Anyhoo right now my five books would involve American law, explosives, how to murder a very tall very weighty man with two fingers and no trace, and industrial strength colonic irrigation because some people are FULL of it.

Will try and put my less demonic head on and answer sensibly tomorrow.

Terri Schiavo: Solicitors Fees

A dear friend has just phoned me with this news, so I havent checked it out yet.

Apparently, If you go to TerrisFight, and go to the section called Myths about Terri, you will find a complete breakdown of her 'husband's expenditure.

It seems he has spent HALF A MILLION DOLLARS on legal representation, in an effort to get his wife killed off.

Now, where would he get that kind of money? Oh, oops a daisy, Terri herself was granted a million dollars for her ongoing therapy - you know, the therapy she never got. She was awarded that because her dearest darling husband apparently spoke under oath in court saying he would do everything to help his wife get better, that he was in for the long haul and was going to stay by her side. And he's her guardian and has control of that cash. How convenient.

It really pisses me off that nobody will pick up on this, that there appears to be solid evidence that he was recorded spouting about her long term care and recuperation and his deep love for his wife while he was after the cash and only decided to tell any medical people that she wanted to die really, three months AFTER the payout and a good year and a half after her extremely suspicious collapse at home. I wonder how closely his sudden change of memory coincided with shacking up with his live in lover and mother of his kids?

No. sod it, I went and looked. Heres a direct snip:

MYTH: This is just a family battle over money.
FACT: In 1992, Terri was awarded nearly one million dollars by a malpractice jury and an out-of-court malpractice settlement which was designated for future medical expenses. Of these funds, less than $50,000 remains today. The financial records revealing how Terri’s medical fund money is managed are SEALED from inspection. Court records, however, show that Judge Greer has approved the spending down of Terri’s medical fund on Schiavo’s attorney’s fees - though it was expressly awarded to Terri for her medical care. Schiavo’s primary attorney, George Felos, has received upwards of $400,000 dollars since Schiavo hired him. This same attorney, at the expense of Terri’s medical fund, publicly likened Terri to a “houseplant” and has used Terri’s case on national television to promote his newly published book.

ROFL @ SheWeevil

SheWeevil has just created an hysterically funny post about our shared interest, the Blog supposedly maintained by 'the' Alastair Campbell. She lists several good reasons (and several rather dubious ones actually) why it is worth blogging about his site and generally spreading the word.

The blog in question does seem to follow the real man's movements very closely, then again the joyous abandon and recklessness of his personal opinions (which I confess inspired my own confidence to swear in print) do make me wonder whether it isnt one almightly set up.

I mean would the REAL Alastair Campbell, just before an election, start calling this or that person a twat? OK yes, perhaps he would, but in public and in print?

I may start a Twattometer and keep a tally of the number of times the word appears on 'his' blog.

This may amuse, terrify, or bore you - so please comment to let me know if I should even bother!

Terri Schiavo: Are you in Florida? How SAFE do you feel?

PLEASE read and sign the petition to impeach judge Greer. The list of laws he has broken to make sure Terri Schiavo dies is absolutely appalling.

I dont think it matters where you live, even if you are in the US at all. I just signed and am petitioner number 14053.


Thank you

Update - in two and a half hours we have increased the numbers by almost 300 - in fact it looks like the petition is receiving roughly one signature every forty seconds, even with it being first thing in the morning / mid morning in the US. PLEASE keep it coming irrespective of your feelings about Terri Schiavo. This is about a judge ignoring the law as suits himself, apparently, and I cannot believe he makes less than a habit of it.

Terri Schiavo: NO!!!!!

I am in bloody tears, I tell you.

This is why.

Given the evidence available online here and elsewhere, I BELIEVE:

  1. That Terri Schiavo was scared of her husband and wanted a divorce from him; that she had told him this only a day or so before she was 'discovered' in a collapsed state in her own home
  2. That her husband went to court for compensation for misdiagnosis, to pay for her care, on the basis of the great number of years she was expected to live, and that this was recorded by the court.
  3. That he promised the court under oath that he was attached to his wife, in love, through sickness and health and would do everything to help her recuperate, also recorded, obviously.
  4. That he only declared her wish to die three months after he won the bloody money
  5. That ex girlfriends of his can attest to his violent mood swings and physical aggression toward women
  6. That Terri's friends can testify that she wanted a divorce
  7. That he dropped his sick wife, took up with another woman and produced children, yet refused to divorce his cash-cow wife and return her to parental care
  8. That the testament that Terri is 'vegetative' is a load of old crap purchased from doctors who saw her at her weakest and not since.
  9. That judge Greer is complicit, refusing time and again to look at new and reliable professional proof that Terri is aware
  10. That Terri COULD even now, swallow food and water, naturally, yet Greer will not even let her be fed naturally, which is against the law and reprehensible
  11. That there is every likelihood that Terri's condition came about due to violence on the part of her husband
  12. That there is every likelihood that he is a lying, cheating, swindling, violent bastard who has spent ten years trying to turn a greivous assault into a murder, to cover his tracks AND pocket the cash.
And now the federal Review has failed, DENIED the application to re-insert Terri's feeding tubes, on the basis of the original, shaky evidence that she is in a 'vegetative state'. Look at her smiling at her family here, and tell me that calling the evidence 'shaky' isnt an extreme example of understatement and self restraint.


See HERE for the awful news. We are watching a murder.

Terri Schiavo: You HAVE to help after this.....

Exerpts from an article in BP News
Mar 21 2005

"The important thing for people to understand is that she can eat and swallow right now,” said William Hammesfahr, a neurologist who has examined Schiavo. He is in many of the videos circulated through the news media showing that Schiavo is at times responsive and aware.

"They are truly withholding food from a person who is awake, alert, and can eat and swallow,” Hammesfahr said. After spending at least 10 hours with Schiavo several years ago, he told Florida Judge George W. Greer that she can improve with therapy.
Standing with a handful of supporters outside of the hospice late in the evening Mar. 19, Hammesfahr told the Witness Schiavo previously has swallowed pudding and daily swallows almost two liters of water by virtue of being able to process her own saliva and sinus drainage.

"That’s liquid and that’s the most difficult thing to swallow," Hammesfahr said of her saliva. "If she can swallow that she can swallow food or pudding."
"She’s the embodiment of a living will,” Watson said. "She is a living will. He’s tried to kill her twice and she has the will to live.

"What more [evidence] could you possibly want?"
See also BlogsforTerri and TerrisFight.org

21 March 2005

Terri Schiavo: Yay Hurray for Terri!!!!

(Miserable, depressing update to this. Terri is still being starved. The law has been passed but it allows for a federal court to review the case. We wait for the review and we're not out of the woods yet..............)

So, so, so pleased that the torture-murder of Terri Schiavo has been halted, and double triple pleased that her care responsibilities have been handed over to her parents.

Step two, I hope, will be to tot up the cost of her care so far, deduct that from the money awarded for her care and sue the pants off Mr husband and his common law thingy for the balance. The money was for Terri's care, not for taking his illegitimate kids on holiday, although, to be fair it could be all sitting in a bank account, accruing interest. I hope they get the interest back, too.

I LOST THE LINK to her site, so I did have one truly nasty experience surfing google to look for it.

Before I link to the monstrosity I found, I want to share a couple of definitions found on Wikipedia.

  1. Of, characterized by, or advocating democracy: democratic government; a democratic union.
  2. Of or for the people in general; popular: a democratic movement; democratic art forms.
  3. Believing in or practicing social equality: “a proper democratic scorn for bloated dukes and lords” (George du Maurier).
n., pl. -cies.
  1. Government by the people, exercised either directly or through elected representatives.
  2. A political or social unit that has such a government.
  3. The common people, considered as the primary source of political power.
  4. Majority rule.
  5. The principles of social equality and respect for the individual within a community.
That last definition is in bold for a reason.

Now read this page and see if a single bloody word on there shows any respect for the individual. Some $%^&*£$ as much as said a woman was the property of her husband, to be disposed of as he sees fit. I am sure that's extreme Christianity speaking, but it sounds awfully like extreme Eastern religion, also. Sounds like the sort of person who would like to see an increase in exploding stoves.

People can be so insensitive and thick and speaking as a British citizen I can only pray that this absolutely offensive and crass rubbish isn't a fair representation of 'Democrats' in the US.

Still, on a happier note: Yay Terri! You had my prayers for your rescue; you have them JUST AS LOUD for your recuperation xxxxx

Farting in the Bath!

Dear Andrea

I feel better now, I threw my wobbly and it's done. Thank's for the link!

Yes, farting in the bath is fun, unless you happen to be roughly sitting up, in which case the less-than-fun part is having the whole, huge, noxious bubble of fumes explode from the water right under your nose.

Too much information, I think, in one of those, even about the state of your own colon! I'd sooner not know.

Farting in the bath is not strictly an adult luxury. The Bill and Ben stories were invented by their older sister Hilda, as tales to keep the twin boys amused whilst they had their bath.

Guess what flobadobadob (or was it just flobadob?) their 'language' was named after................ I dread to imagine what inspired the name Little Weed for their baby sister Phyllis.

P.S. Anyone who can think of any other ways to gross out, pig out or slob out that are intrinsic to adulthood (or at least don't get you into trouble when you're grown up), pop over to Andrea's because the comments on yesterdays question are still running :-)

20 March 2005

Hitchhikers Guide

The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy comes out on April 29.

Can't wait!

What makes it even better is that this time round they have been faithful to the main characters, allowing Trillian to be a likeable heroine, a mousy haired intellectual and not the busty blonde barmaid the TV and theatre guys thought would be more attractive back in the seventies. Boy did they piss off the female officionados; well, me, anyhow.

BRILLIANT casting - every actor I recognised had me yelling "YES!" and punching the air. You would have had to have fallen in love with the original radio series to get that.

I am saving up and preparing to blackmail children and babysitters alike, already. If I only get out of the loony bin once this year, it has GOT to be to go and see this.

Funny how one may become so fondly attached to one's first lesson in sarcasm, satire and sci-fi.

Severely pissed off

Over at Andrea's blog, her most recent post, "The good thing about being a grown up is....." got me stuck for words. I mean I wanted to play, I am just so frazzled and annoyed and humiliated and let down by my darling teenage son, that I really honestly couldnt think of three things to add to her growing list of comments.

Today, for me, there is F all good about being a grown up, at least not when that's combined with having children. Heres my list of why not:

  1. When you're ill, no other bugger does the laundry for four, or the school run.
  2. When you're ill, the kids dont tiptoe into a corner and behave, or miraculously learn how to feed themselves, in fact they see their window of opportunity and get worse.
  3. 20 year olds with no ties, no bills and no responsibilities will live on fast food and treat thenselves to new clothes and then tell you they are broke, and want/need your money
  4. You get to eat cheap food like mince, a lot.
  5. You get used to generic supermarket tomato sauce and five-minute pasta.
  6. Even going out for a drink is an indulgence that taxes the planning skills of a military tactician and means egg and chips for a fortnight to cover the cost.
  7. You have to time your escapes around the baby-sitter's home time.
  8. You give up and spend all day 'on call' to family, in front of the computer or the TV, getting fat.
  9. Older, better off parents roll their eyes and smile benignly about being tapped for money by their 20- something child, for inane stuff like skiing trips, and you want to smack them in the teeth.
  10. Everyone expects you to have your act together and to actually know what you're doing.
And that's just for starters. Helping yourself to the contents of the fridge might be a nice indulgence, if it wasnt stocked with cheap money-stretching crap in the first place and if the teenagers hadn't already stripped it out inside two minutes of you heaving the shopping home.

Bahh bloody humbug.

Oh, the let down by the son?
We borrowed to the hilt to get him home from his last fishing job, as he ended up stranded in Wales. He owes us for that and we need it.
He got paid last weekend and spent the money on swanking about in a hotel with his girlfriend, showing her the high life. He spent all of it, every penny, so he was living off us all this week and even had to tap me for fares back to work.
He got extra money this weekend and instead of coming home or even phoning to let us know we could give his dinner to the cat, he went out drinking. I phoned him and he was in the middle of a pub or nightclub.
"Spending your money, Andrew?"
"No, what money, I got next to nothing this week"
"Well you sound a little drunk"
"I'm not drunk, I'm just tired, ooh, my battery's going.... brrrrrrrrrr"


18 March 2005

Lewis again

Found out today that my ten year old son had an 'incident' at school yesterday.

This is to be expected.

He has Aspergers syndrome, but owing to some confusion over the evidences provided to East Sussex County Council, instead of being statemented in time for the start of this school year, he got a note in lieu, something which does not provide extra funding.

His favourite classroom assistant, Zoe, (at one point the only person in the school who understood him, according to Lewis) was the casualty of that, her hours were reduced from full time to two days a week.

Bless her, she hung on in hope for as long as possible, but had to quit this Tuesday gone.

This, according to Lewis, has changed everything, although he wont verbalise it. He feels his (lovely) teacher doesn't properly understand him without Zoe to translate and things are on a downhill slide, blatantly obvious in less than two days.

So, Thursday, another child starts picking on Lewis during a break time. This is fairly normal, or it used to be without an interpreter hovering in the background to give him essential tips on social interaction, if needed, before it got to 'smack in the teeth' time. His reaction, given that he feels isolated, misunderstood, picked on etc was probably not that outrageous, but he apparently gave as good as he got.

Upshot: both kids get detention, in separate rooms.

Lewis, as you can imagine, thought this was unfair, and on a matter of principle, refused point blank to go to his detention. He demanded that someone go to fetch, in his words "One of the Morrow-Nobles" (thats Zoe, or her sister who is a full time teacher there for another year group). He just wasnt going to budge until told to by someone he could accept the instruction from.

Eventually the Special Educational Needs Coordinator (SENCo) told him she was just going to stand in the corridor with him until he calmed down and went to start his detention.

His dead-pan answer? "Well you'd better go and get your sandwiches then, you've got a long wait."

I repeat, the kid is ten.

She knew enough to walk away. Without someone to lobby, he gave up and walked to detention after all, but if anyone expected a normal child, this reaction of his would have only piled on the pressure, maybe resulted in a restraint hold and a forcible march to an increased detention. He would have been kicking and screaming about his human rights for the rest of the day, complete with irate language. Heck I wouldn't put it past him to phone Amnesty International.

Thank God, when the SENCo told me about this she was laughing at it all. I was so relieved that he hadn't alienated himself from yet another adult, that I forgot to be angry until half way home; angry that, with the proper support, he wouldn't have been thumped in the first place, nor, with his gigantic social blinkers, pushed into a position where he thought that extreme measures were the only way out. Angry that he then had to go through all that stress and upset for the sake of a five minute detention.

Easter holidays start today. The SENCo will be at work next week, trying to sort out all the paperwork surrounding Lewis, either to re-present the evidences for the current statement application, in April, or for a new application, in May.

Good 'ere, innit.

16 March 2005


A friend of mine over at Homeworking.com is having trouble with Wanadoo Broadband. This is the story, as she told it to me.

She cancelled her contract ages ago, in fact her original contract was with Surfanytime, a company later taken over by Wanadoo. She retired to SPAIN in 2002 and apart from selling the house, closing down the phone account etc etc, she of course sent notification to cancel the broadband. Hell, she sent notification to cancel everything.

Anyhow, come the beginning of this year, 2005, she spots a tiny amount of money trickling out of her account on a regular basis, traces it back to Wanadoo and totals it up to £380 (about $800) - pretty hefty all told, when its coming out of a pension.
(Actually, I want to get back to her on that because their current rates are £17.99 a month and £380/24 months = £15 something - it could be that the cheeky erm gentlemen actually reinstated the contract)

So, she wrote to them and got two identical and dismissive letters from the same 'person' (probably a computer program) sent in separate envelopes on the same day - which certainly set my alarm bells ringing about levels of customer service and personal attention. I mean, do what?

The letters both said they had no record of her cancellation, didnt give a rats fart that the telephone line the broadband had been connected to had been disconnected, nor that she could prove when she moved. Or words to that effect.

So she wrote personally to the Managing Director, explaining everything, saying she was prepared to believe that they or Surfanytime could have lost the cancellation details in the handover, and asking very nicely for her money back.

Long wait. FIVE WEEKS wait.

What does she get? ANOTHER snooty letter from the same signatory as the first two. Even the MD, faced with a direct request for help from a member of the public, shoves it to one side for the minions or the number cruncher to deal with.

All that hassle, all that money gone through their oversight and bad administration and she gets not a flicker of understanding from them.

Wanadoo? Wanabloodydont.

So THAT explains why they target their current adverts at teenage headbangers...................Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

The Ides of March

The Ides of March was/were (?) yesterday. We survived. Like full moons, for me its one of those things that just happens, then I realise afterward and the penny drops that for one day it had really seemed that the world was mad, or at least more mad than usual. Its a bit like waking up from a thrall.

So, who were you tempted to murder, yesterday, and why? Who tried to stab you in the back?
Name and shame time LOL, so please comment.

P.S. Maybe this is lunacy, or tempting fate, but it seems its all over now and today is going to be a truly lovely day..............................

15 March 2005

Beautiful Girl

My 20 year old son is home. He rolled in at eight this morning having rolled out almost exactly 48 hours earlier. His girlfriend had driven half way across the country to meet him, and picked him up while we were all still asleep on Sunday morning.

They spent the day in Eastbourne and the night in a hotel he had paid for (or you could argue that any one of a number of people had paid for - the kid has his own National debt), before discovering that she was allowed to go out fishing with him when he went to work on Monday. She spent the day on the boat and while he worked she was either throwing up or having panic attacks about throwing up some more; all day. The whole crew went home at the end of the shift, leaving the two lovebirds alone on a smelly crabbing vessel, how sweet.

This morning there were too many crew so he took the day off. His poor beloved drove him the ten miles home and dropped him, unexpected, on our doorstep, before starting off on her own 200 mile journey back to reality. Apparently she was crying, but I'm not too certain why, whatever he says. Could be relief.

Anyhow I got the two younger ones dressed and out to school almost on time, in spite of the 6' plus frame of their older brother seeming to be lounged across every inch of sofa and stood looming in every doorway, all at once; even in spite of him channel hopping the TV from the news to something more to his taste, which is always guaranteed to have the kids more interested in that than their breakfast and destroys any limited appreciation that they have of time passing.

So, I'm back home and trying to do some work, or at least gear my brain up to a state where it can think, long enough to work out which work to do. Andrew, of course, 'keeps out of my way' by channel hopping the TV, loudly, until he settles on something that has him laughing hard.

I gave up and ended up laughing with him and have wasted the entire morning on........ the 2003 'Made for the bin' movie: Beautiful Girl (see title for clip), about a cute little tubthumper who goes up against a load of varyingly anorexic broomsticks in a beauty pageant.

Its not the cast that got to us, not the premise, nor the slapstick and so-called comedy hooks like the mother's laugh, no it was the serious bits, the 'hearts and flowers' underlying messages of the whole movie as displayed in the pageant. We were wetting ourselves.

First there was the green goddess swimming costume. How they squeezed that poor girl into it was beyond me, if she'd farted she would have ripped stitches and given her bum cheeks friction burns. You could have taken an electric drill to one of those buttocks and got nowhere, so tightly were they packed. I hope she sued for the pain of nappy rash / bed sores / whatever you would call that sort of torture.

How in hells name can anyone make a 'big is beautiful' movie and then dress the girl like she's been through a trash compacter to shave off a few inches? Hypocritical, you think?

Then there was the song 'I am beautiful' and the end speech about how everyone is beautiful and being individual is what makes us special. Fine, I'm all for the truth of that, but it was done with so much syrupy sentiment, so over the top and gushy that we were wetting ourselves laughing, whilst trying not to puke at the same time. We were also waiting for a flase eyelash to take off and flap round the auditorium, or for the four inches of red lipstick to crack and start an avalanche - yeah plenty of natural individual beauty showing through that job.

Behind all of that was the outrageously conceited concept that you can base half of a movie on the 'message' that fat girls and thin girls can be friends. Doh, no, really, can they? Gosh mister, you have saved my life, I never knew. Revelation.

I was going to say they overdid the saccharine, but hey, I suspect it was aspartame.

Back to work now, I guess, as soon as I can figure out which work, where..........

12 March 2005

Would you Adam & Eve it?

Thats cockney for believe, for those not in the know.

Got this by email from a friend (thanks Robin) and its worth a chuckle:

One day in the Garden of Eden, Eve calls out to God, "Lord, I have a problem!" "What's the problem, Eve?" "Lord, I know you've created me and have provided this beautiful garden and all of these wonderful animals, and that hilarious comedy snake, but I'm just not happy." "Why is that, Eve?" came the reply from above. "Lord, I am lonely. And I'm sick to death of apples." "Well, Eve, in that case, I have a solution. I shall create a man for you." "What's a 'man', Lord?" "This man will be a flawed creature, with aggressive tendencies, an enormous ego and an inability to empathize or listen to you properly. All in all, he'll give you a hard time. But, he'll be bigger and faster and more muscular than you. He'll be really good at fighting and kicking a ball about and hunting fleet-footed ruminants, and not altogether bad in the sack." "Sounds great," says Eve, with an ironically raised eyebrow. "Yeah, well. He's better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick. But, you can have him on one condition." "What's that, Lord?" "You'll have to let him believe that I made him first."

11 March 2005


I am watching the Red Nose Day television.

McFly are doing their single, and accompanying, rather sheepishly, is a silver haired Chris Evans!

He looks just like John Major! ROFL

Ooh all the crap of the past few days has faded to insignificance, that is just so much like DIVINE JUSTICE.
My brain is full off loads of real life rubbish that you don't want to know about, trust me. Hence the lack of input on here for a couple of days. Maybe the only question I could share is: Where has Bloglines gone today?

So here is something amusing thats not on my brain at all, but was sitting at Yahoo begging to be shared:

How Gay Are You? (Courtesy of Channel 4), found with loads of other funnies at Yahoo UK


09 March 2005

Will the real ALASTAIR CAMPBELL please stand up?

Sharp, Smart SheWeevil pointed out a blog (where does she find them?) claiming to be written by Alastair Campbell; not any old AC but Tony Blair's 'Media Chief' described in this BBC profile.

We did discuss this, albeit at very little length, because an obvious element of doubt was immediately injected for three reasons:

  1. Neither of us seems to be very sure just how safe blogs are as statements of personal opinion, whether they rate as a public diary or as a written statement of fact. People have lost their jobs over derogatory remarks made in blogs, but can you be sued for libel or defamation?
  2. Would someone charged with the defence of a public image publicly refer to disparate individuals or groups as, respectively, Manc twat or bunch of wankers, even if it was very funny?
  3. When this blog began the posts were being made under the initials NMW, not AC as they are now. A polite query in the comments resulted not in a direct answer, but in the change.
So, 'Alastair', if you are reading this, I find your blog extremely relevant, hysterically funny and surprisingly interesting. I also suspect the author to be a very likeable and intelligent person with a wickedly dry sense of humour. In fact I would love to drag you into a discrete local pub, get rat faced with you and take the piss out of the world and his dog. My only stipulations would be clean floors against the possibility of falling over laughing and a very convenient convenience.
As to whether you are who you say you are, well you don't appear to be linked to any traffic generators, nor to receive many comments as yet, but as your blog is public I really hope this will direct a few more people over for a shufti.

P.S. To those who read the early version of this, yes its true I can hardly think nor spell today. The poll site also failed to mention they can screw up blog entries and are best used, by idiots like me, in a sidebar. Sometimes life sucks - deal with it! ;-)

08 March 2005

Thanks, Caroline

Thanks to Caroline for tipping me off to a truly bizarre site, nobodyhere.com .
Is it a blog or isnt it? I dont know.

Anyhow, Seriously freaky is the toe dream, you have to see this. Very clever and just yuck.

If, after that, you are feeling a little sadistic try this: Bear. Bear is pink but somehow very masculine, and I like the way he cringes slightly. You'll see.

My contact at the County Council sent me out copies of everything to do with the statementing process, yesterday. It all arrived today. Bless him, its nice to know theres one good apple in the barrel, even if this is still one huge, hellish mess.

07 March 2005


A joke from my resilient, ebullient eldest son, who has gone from end-of-the-world-get-me-out-of-here to life's a beach, in two short days:

Did you hear about the circumcisionist who slipped?
He got the sack.

A joke from East Sussex County Council, who were weeks late sending me a letter announcing intent to issue a note in lieu for my younger son, in which letter was a list of intended provisions and a note on how to appeal etc:

'Oh no Mrs White, the Note in Lieu was sent out to you in December with the letter announcing it'.

Yeah right, I am rolling on the floor, my sides are splitting, not. Thats why, 9th January, even the Educational Psychologist hadnt seen a copy.


05 March 2005

Happy Daze

I never wanted this to be a 'personal' blog, but a heroic gas man turned up at 4.30 yesterday and fitted a new fan on the boiler. We have heat and hot water.

The most bizarre thing is that when I was having to boil pans of water for the washing up, everything was done, carefully scraped and rinsed under the cold tap first to make the least mess in the precious bowl of suds which, given the recent awful weather, started going cold as soon as it was filled. This morning there isnt an inch of space in the kitchen because we all breathed out and caught 'it-doesn't-matter-itis'. The sink is blocked with stuff that wasnt scraped from the stacked plates before my darling husband landed them in the bowl to make space and all in all its time to get back down to business - rediscover tops grunged with the spills from five days of constant hot drinks. No more excuses that I cant face using cleaning fluids with cold water or worse, neat, with nothing but a cold hand-wash afterward.

Not only did the boiler man come and rescue us, there was a long, helpful and reassuring phone chat with someone who is helping me sort out the mess and confusion around my youngest son's special needs statement.

His older brother upset me, thoroughly, for two days solid, but that has a happy ending too so today I am in an incongruous puddle of peace. The little issues, which will probably matter tomorrow, are insignificant today, my internal warning system has shut down. It over heated with the last few days of big issues and it needs a reboot.

It feels strange, like treading water, but I know my life well enough to make the most of it.

The older son thing requires its own space, so the telling will be separate, if it happens.

04 March 2005

Bleugh, Grrr, Arg, Haha

Day five with no heating and hot water. After Monday's fun and games with Blob the builder, finally got sent a real gas engineer yesterday, who had to order a new fan for the boiler because the motor has burned out. Chances are there will be knock-on problems, so on next Monday, please God, we will have a new fan in the boiler and be over half way to having it fixed.

We had the coldest night so far, last night, minus 12. Gosh what a jolly jape that was. Ahahaha.

Until then, I get moments of lucidity and enthusiasm, but not many. I now know where every single sinus runs around my head, because on one side, for the full five days, I have been able to feel and sometimes see each and every one, throbbing and complaining and in spite of pain killers probably hot enough to fry an egg. Am almost at the stage where it becomes essential to press your forehead onto a door frame and hold the back of your head in tight, whilst asking a.n.other to poke you in the eyes and stop them exploding from the sockets, just to manage a whimpering little half cough. So sodding annoying and degrading, and wearing a woolly hat indoors all day helps, but is itchy and, oh bugger it, the whole world is at fault, its that sort of day - kill first, ask questions later, so ignore me.

Both the kids are off sick, one more sick than the other, so the livelier one is bored and the poorlier one is constantly wailing to be left alone. I could tell you that I love my children dearly, but to get the words out it would involve a glazed, wide-eyed look, a fixed smile and a slight rocking motion. If my hands weren't at the keyboard its quite possible there would be an involuntary twitch to the fingers also.

Cathartic whining over, (Look, children, see the burning martyr!) here is the so-called bloggy bit, which is a straight steal from Silverbird. Don't follow that link for her version, she posted it at Homeworking.com, specifically here.

Thanks Sharon/Silver.

OK all those people outside the UK can go now, LOL, this is for Brit car drivers with guilty consciences.

Did you know that recent Government legislation changing the Freedom of Information Acts gives you access to speed camera offences registered within the last twelve months and placed on a freely accessible website?
Did you know that every time your car goes even over a mile or so over the speed limit, it is registered and placed on the database?
They only send a ticket if you are way over, OR if you receive over 20 near misses. You can now check how many you have against your car's registered number. Check this page: http://www.e-database.co.uk
It will ask you for a password - but just click on the 'need a password/' link and you'll be given one in a pop-up window. In the top right hand corner there is a "click-on" window and it even shows the picture taken by the camera.

Have fun.

03 March 2005

And the Chain Goes On

Thanks to BadAunt and No-one for agreeing to be interviewed. The chain goes on.

I struggled over the questions for BadAunt and worried that they were a bit lame, so now I will have a HUGE SMILE on my face because they were good enough to get some brilliant, funny and informative answers - I laughed out loud - check it out.

What can I say about No-one? I could be cruel (yet again) by saying that although he likes to promote himself as Mr been-there-done-that, all that and a bag of chips, he is actually a gentleman and the sort you would want on your side if the shit hit the fan. But hey, I wont say it, it would spoil all his self promotion to the contrary.

I consciously set out to embarrass him with my questions (see entry below, I owed him!) and I read his entire blog, archives et al, to avoid duplication and try and find stuff he had glossed over. Okay, one or two of those would have been taking it way too far so I side stepped, but still think I did a pretty good stitch-up job.

All credit to anyone who can take it as well as they can dish it out. Game over, I concede a draw.
Sorry Andrea and Kim, but the whole dominatrix thing isnt gonna happen. He's off the hook.

02 March 2005

And the rude version.....

Not to be left out, George/Yanni/No-one was in a challenging mood last night, and probably after a few bevvies, decided that when I asked Andrea to interview me I was actually asking anybody to interview me.

He lolled into sight, briefly, before skulking off to try and find naughty pictures, rather unsuccessfully this time, I feel. Poor lad.

So, George, now that you have skittered into my domain like a devilish schoolboy, dropped your list and run away again (its alright, that was a wise move), here are your questions and my answers.

Q. What is sexier, elf boxers or a tuxedo?

A. You looked adorable in your elf boxers. Nonetheless, if we assume the average adult male looks something like, lets say, Homer Simpson, I would have to say tuxedo. I guess it depends on what (who) is or isnt showing when you get down to the boxers.

Q. Oral........ give or take?

A. Ooh, wet knickers, or a mouthful of something very like Ajax/Cif kitchen cleaner - mmm yummy, I'm stuck for choice. Not.
Seriously, if I hadnt been a Christian I would have been a call girl, in fact by now I think I would own a string of high class establishments with well equipped dungeons, and would dress up once in a while to do the Royal tour. It would cost extra of course, if you wanted your controller to hold you down with your nose on the concrete floor to get a glimpse of my stilettos strolling past your face. There would be no punishment other than exclusion, for disobedience, because to some guys the idea of an extra hour in the isolation tank or public humiliation is just a come-on. Hey, ho, it takes all sorts. Like I said, toooooo easy.

Q. Sandwich or pizza when sober

A. I get the feeling that in your world, this too has sexual connotations. Pizza , very hot and very spicy. Unless its the sexiest, creamiest, widest sandwich full of eye-rolling flavours. That do you?

Q. Curry or fast food when drunk

A. Are you joking? I wouldn't touch fast food under normal circumstances, and if it tastes like fatty, salty cardboard when I am sober, God alone knows how bland, pappy and nauseating it would be when I'm drunk. Curry, definitely, although if the choice was there I would opt for a large doner kebab, with extra chillies, but only if its from one of the proper shops that puts lemon juice on the salad.

Q. TV or Movies and why?

A. Movies. Because it involves my husband being clean, attentive and dressed, not taking up 80% of the sofa nor channel hopping in the breaks to see the footie results, and talking to me on the way home.

Q. George or Andrea? (You can only choose one)

A. Hmmm. You've got a good'un there, and although Andrea would be brilliantly funny company and probably a right laugh, I'd choose George. Just to remind him that Andrea is an individual and not so lovely just because she is 'British'. By the time I'd done with you, you would know for life that she's one of a kind. Gosh, how altruistic of me, must be all this talk of dungeons, or maybe just your cheek!

Q. Union Jack or Cross of St George.

A. I'm Welsh. Next.

Q. Soccer or Football

A. Oh haha lets all giggle at how the British call soccer football! Erm, Rugby football - got ya. Real men, with muscles, lots of physical contact and basically its American football with better rules and no armour. Your guys wear helmets and shoulder padding, ours wear headbands. They keep your ears flat so they don't get torn off.

Poor boy. Was I mean to him? Hey ho, I'll live it down, I'm sure, and if Andrea likes him, he must be lovely really. Maybe for future reference I shouldn't answer questions like that before breakfast.


01 March 2005

Paying it forward (victims required)

Andrea over at A day In the life of.... was interviewed on her blog a few days ago, and offered to similarly interrogate the first five people to comment, so now it’s my turn. Here are the (jolly awkward) questions she came up with, for me, plus my answers.

Andrea: You say on your profile that Howard the Duck is one of your fave movies. Tell me something about the film that makes it your fave.

Me: The music, the silly dance that goes with the title song at the end of the movie, the idea that you don’t need perfect hair, a square smile and no nose (like the usual US film stars) to be cute; the transdimensional armchair ride and most of all scaring my kids witless, rolling my eyes and saying “I’m not Jennings, I’m somebody else”. That’s fun.

Andrea: Tell me something about Seaford that I didn't know and that would make me want to visit!

Me: Something you didn’t know? There are two places in America called Seaford, that don’t appear to ford a sea or river and were therefore probably named after this, the original, so somebody must have liked it here once. Warmington on Sea (the location for Dad’s Army) was based on this town and I suspect half of the characters were based on its residents, who haven’t changed much. Something to make you want to visit? No, sorry, pass. Oh, worth a day trip; the seagulls laugh. No they do, honestly. You see one lone gull, circling you as you walk along. He poops, he hits, he scores, and all of a sudden, there are twenty of them up there, all squawking their heads off. It’s a favourite game because, unlike most of the residents, the gulls have a sense of humour.

Andrea: Have you ever done something you were ashamed of and if so, what?

Me: Yeah, I married my first husband, and stayed put out of misplaced Christian principles for eight long years, until he left me. That was the biggest (only) favour he ever did me. I did also do things like get my kid brother to hold a broom handle that was keeping a bucket of water stuck to the ceiling, then walk off and leave him until his arms gave out and he soaked himself – but hey, you asked for things I was ashamed of, so that doesn’t count.

Andrea: In 6 words tell me about your best friend.

Me: Erm, nope, sorry, haven’t got one. That’s six. Seriously I am not that girly and if you were to line up my closest, funniest girlfriends, my mum, my husband and my four kids, I couldn’t pick one out above the rest.

Andrea: What was the best time you had at school.

Me: Good grief, that’s eons ago. I think it was the day, at seniors, when we had a sit down strike in the schoolyard. I forget what for, but the teachers were kind of on our side or at least enjoying the disruption, because they would carefully heave the front line up on to their feet and escort them, one by one, to the entrance doors and back into school, at which point we would walk straight through, out the other side, and go rejoin the protest at the back. It all sort of petered out as lunchtime approached. Sad, isn't it, my best bit was an entire morning wasted, sitting cross-legged on bottom-numbing concrete.

And that’s me done.
As agreed, if five people comment using the words ‘interview me’ I will gladly do the honours.

Hello? Anybody there? Please?

Hormones - They know where you live!

Thanks to 'Anonymous', a friend that I strongly suspect of being involved in this site, for

Hahahahahahaha! So true. Every man should get a copy at age eleven, heck I think there should be a Boy Scout badge for the subject, preparation for manhood etc etc.

(P.S. Make sure your speakers are on).