My mother always told me never trust a man wearing a Liquorice Allsorts shirt … I can’t believe that I was too tired to tune in to Question Time last night and missed all the drama.
Question Time heckler and boorish twat, Steve German, who loves the sound of his own voice, was ejected from last night’s BBC’s Question Time in Plymouth by the show’s long-term presenter and my hero David Dimbleby.
Blogging is a tough job … whatever your niche … and especially when you don’t have one.
My Lost Blogs were always intended to be a snapshots of life sprinkled with a little gentle humour, but it is very hard to motivate yourself on a daily basis to mock what is going on the world around you when, right now, there is very little to laugh about.
I can’t believe that the first anniversary of Jo Cox’s brutal and cowardly murder has come and gone. I still can’t believe that this bright star, whose own life was centred around making the lives of others better, is no longer with us.
“Hate doesn’t have a creed, race or religion, it is poisonous.”
Since Jo’s death, more warped minds have crawled out of the woodwork fuelled by this poison, wantonly causing death and destruction, to innocent, defenceless men, women and children going about their everyday lives. Victims from all walks of life and ethnic backgrounds. Where or more importantly, when will it end?
We experience love from the moment we leave the womb. Hate is taught, a drip fed poison, polluting young, sponge like minds. As a matter of urgency, we all need to pull together and find an antidote.
It is almost the second anniversary of the two events that significantly changed and probably … saved my life.
I was bumbling along, apathetic and disillusioned, so I asked the Universe for help. And to my surprise, it was listening.
I booked myself on a Writer’s Weekend Workshop, a significant first step because as soon as it was over, things started falling into place. I knew I should be concentrating on writing, the passion I first discovered when I was 7-years-old and won a Blue Peter badge for writing an ingenious piece about one of their dogs.
Writing saw me through a troubled childhood and I was fortunate to have an Irish saint for an English teacher at secondary school. He not only nurtured and encouraged my enthusiasm, but he was responsible for making sure my teenage wit and wisdom was read by a wider audience.
At 17, I undertook a journalistic course, then freelanced for a while until I was engulfed by my adult life which pulled me in too many different directions. I co-wrote two books, but the freelancing work became less and less, as I dipped in an out of my creative passion, until I rekindled the embers of the fire inside me during that Writer’s Workshop two years ago. I had never really lost it, but needed a reminder that writing is the passion that fuels my everyday life.
The Universe had started to work its magic and whilst still bathed in the euphoria of the Writer’s Weekend, I was made redundant. No notice period, no warning. I turned up for work one morning to be told to leave. I couldn’t even collect personal belongings from my desk. Out, gone, with a calculating coldness, after 14 years.
I was incensed. Numb. I shed tears on the way back to my car. Why me? Why now? I drove unsteadily home, then rang my nearest and dearest seeking sympathy and consolation. Then I did what I have always done in times of trouble. When life seems incomprehensible and the weight of the world seems to be bearing down on me, I wrote. I wrote with a passion and for the first time ever, there was nothing or no-one to distract me or stand in my way.
Two years on, I have just started the fourth re-write of my novel. I have tapped years worth of trapped emotion on to the hard drive of my laptop and I am calm. I practice Qi Gong. I feel liberated and alive. Writing, for me, is food for the soul and I am replete.
There is no question that I have over politicked myself over the last few weeks and have an overwhelming desire to get back to some sort of normality. And where best to rest my sore, square TV eyes than to launch myself the auditory delights of Audible.
Alexa has arrived in my life and although we initially had some communication problems, her arrival has heralded the start of my addiction to Audible.
Listening to the works of some of our literary greats can never feel quite the same as holding their revered book in our hands, but Audible allows you the hands free opportunity to multitask with Alexa, on your phone or other portable device. The constant demands in our lives, such as deadheading and digging in the garden, ironing, walking the dog, the Audible possibilities are endless
To pop my Audible cherry, the first volume that has arrived in my Audible library is Gloomsbury by one of my favour authors, Sue Limb. I have loved Sue Limb ever since I fell in love with her character, Dulcie Domun.
The Radio Four Sit Com Gloomsbury had passed me by as I confess tuning into Radio Four is not something I have availed myself to over the years, but Gloomsbury is a wonderful parody about the love, lives and works of the Bloomsbury Group. Featuring Miriam Margolyes as Vera Sackcloth-Vest (Vita Sackville-West) and other delightful characters bought alive by the brilliance of Alison Steadman as Ginny Fox (Virginia Woolf), this Rhapsody about Bohemians is brilliant. What could possibly go wrong?
Perhaps someone, maybe even me, should parody the antics goings on at Number 10? But for now, my tired eyes and I are sticking with Gloomsbury listening the events unfold at Vera’s family pile, Sizzlinghurst.
I have been an enthusiastic part of this weekend for the last couple of years and have been counting down the 365 days until their return this year. If anybody can unleash the storyteller in me, it is Adrienne Dines and Barbara Large.
I’m exhausted. I have been up all night. I have square eyes and know the names of almost every constituency in the UK.
As the drama unfolded, 208 women were elected as MP’s, compared to 195 in 2015. Particularly inspiring as yesterday marked the 104th anniversary of the death of the militant suffragette Emily Davison.
Emily Davison would have been so proud to know that 104 years on women are not only voting but, for the second time in the history of Britannica, the country is being run by one. The first, the Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher, I actually cried when she stepped down and now another bloody difficult woman, Theresa May. You need to be tough, because it’s a bloody awful job trying to please 65 million people.
Ardent young campaigners like Ruth Davidson who is so passionate about what she does, is one of the many women holding their own in the male driven world of politics. I didn’t know anything about Ruth Davidson until last year’s Referendum, her debating skills are second to none. Shame she wants to stay in Scotland, we could do with a bit more of her exuberance down south.
Today is the UK’s General Election Day. Tucked away in Jersey, Channel Islands, I still consider myself 100% British, despite my true blue British blood having been diluted with a little of my feisty Greek grandmother’s. Although born in Yorkshire, I don’t get to vote in the UK Elections, because I have been domiciled in Jersey for so long, but it doesn’t stop me taking an avid interest in what is going on a mere 165 miles across the English Channel.
I Tweeted this morning that I was ashamed to be British. I didn’t entirely mean it. I was in a rage. Like the rest of the world, my mind has been focused on the UK recently, it would be impossible for anybody with a heart not to be. I had picked up a Tweet by the Co-Founder of the Women’s Equality Party, Catherine Mayer, with a link to an article written by Alexandra Topping and published in the Guardian yesterday.
I couldn’t believe what I read and was so incensed and outraged I dashed off the Tweet before I even realised it had gone.
It is clear that there is a minority in our sceptred isle have no scruples. Their callousness knows no bounds. We may never stop reeling over the senseless and cowardly killing of Jo Cox, someone who worked so tirelessly to make the lives of many better, including campaigning for a solution to the Syrian War and creating Civilian Safe Havens. Her murderer, inspired by white supremacism.
To read Alexandria Topping’s piece today so soon after the negative and vitriolic press against Diane Abbott tipped my Tweeting balance. Why do people constantly feel the need to home in on all the negativity when they should be applauding the good work Diane has done since 1982? In 2008, her speech on civil liberties in the counterterrorism debate won Parliamentary Speech Of The Year in the Spectator awards.
She (Diane Abbott) has spoken on Leveson, terrorism, education, poverty, welfare, illness, disability, refugees, child sexual abuse, pro-choice abortion. Her campaigns include legal aid, civil liberties, fighting crime, sickle cell thallasemia, public transport, improving education. She has given speeches at Harvard University, for Christ’s sake. Have you? She has travelled to Kenya, China, Uganda, all over the world, representing the Government. Representing Britain. HAVE YOU?
Sadly the run up to this General Election has been one of back-biting, name-calling and bad mouthing aimed at those who constantly strive to make the lives of others better.
There is no place in our United Kingdom for those who sink so low, pointing fingers and using character defamation and wanton nastiness in an pathetic attempt to demean and discredit. What did you ever do to help make our country great?
I could take my earlier Tweet down, but I won’t. I will always love and be proud of the country I was born in and hate, in all it’s hideous guises, will never win.
As a habitual surfer, I am really not sure how I have managed to miss this little ray of sunshine. (Mental note to self. You need to sort your browser out).
A friend ‘introduced’ me to him this morning, just when I needed an injection of humour to lift my spirits and as alternative medicines go, he is very effective.
So, if you’re looking for an instant ‘cheer me up’ remedy today, I can highly recommend a dose of Randy Rainbow.
Randy is a comedian, actor, writer, host and Internet sensation best known for his viral comedy videos … like this one … and, although I don’t want to go all covfefe on you again quite so soon … I just couldn’t resist it.
50,000 people attended the One Love Manchester benefit concert tonight at Old Trafford. Organised by 23-year-old Ariana Grande to raise funds for those affected by the bombing inside Manchester Arena on 22nd May 2017, which killed 22 people and injured more than 100 others.
Those who died will never be forgotten as we all pull together in our fight against terror.
Ariana, with a little help from her friends, some of the biggest performers in the world including Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber, Coldplay, Niall Horan, Little Mix, Take That and Robbie Williams did Manchester proud.
It was an emotional evening, but one filled with a strong sense of love and unity.
Defiant in the aftermath of the London atrocity last night.
Love will always win.
According to The Associated Press, the British Red Cross raised nearly $9 million before the concert drew to a close.
“I believe in clean air. In immaculate air…. but I don’t believe in climate change.” – Donald J. Trump
How can anybody not believe Climate Change? It is happening. You cannot escape from it. You cannot ignore it. It is not about making the best business deal, it is about making plans for the long-term preservation of our precious planet and every single one of us has a part to play. Nobody should be exempt. For someone who boasts about making his country great again, President Trump’s extraordinary decision to pull out of the Paris Climate Agreement is beyond belief.
“…. Massachusetts Institute of Technology officials said U.S. President Donald Trump badly misunderstood their research when he cited it on Thursday to justify withdrawing the United States from the Paris Climate Agreement.”
Just not good enough! As a so-called world leader he should educate himself better.
I have learned two new words this week. I was unsure about blowhard, the word Jeremy Paxman used to describe Theresa May, so I looked it up. Once I had, I thought its usage would be more appropriately applied when describing Paxman.
Today we have a new and exciting Presidential word … covfefe. Everybody’s saying it … or doing it or feeling it. COVFEFE! Yay! Can’t find it in my trusty Oxford English Dictionary but the urbandictionary.com think they know.
I have just come back from Qi Gong and am feeling the Chi. Maybe Presidents feel the covfefe?
I suppose it could be a covert message of some kind? Hopefully not.
Are you feeling your covfefe today? The word is spreading fast.