tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70209204552575692082024-03-13T03:12:17.978+00:00Words From A RoomIan McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-25901921526383405512014-06-16T14:45:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:22.827+01:00Che Faro ?*<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good Afternoon Dear Friends! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>This is a writing hut; I do not have one - yet!</i></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Well what a surprise this is; it must be nearly six months or so since last we spoke and I have to say what a joy it is to be able to natter with you again - and with such consummate ease! The old study at Myrtle House has been having a bit of a revolution technology-wise and so now, instead of battling with the vagaries of dear Blogger via the touchy-feely-lovliness of iPad, I can now communicate more directly via a proper keyboard and an operating system that a) I adore even more than iOS and b) this program feels comfortable with . . . I'm so glad that you've managed to trudge across the virtual fields to find me here; the kettle is, as always, singing on the stove; pull up a chair and tea and cake shall ensue ! </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So what has occurred in the intervening period? Well, aside from the continued - and some would say <i>positively fevered</i> - production of a range of short stories, not to mention yet another longer piece that is proving equally as elusive as the one I began some time ago, the greatest step forward is the aforementioned technological leap which should allow for the phoenix that is Myrtle House Creative Publishing to arise and dust itself down from the ashes . . . which means that somewhere, probably in a </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">parallel and more zen-like universe, people (like your good selves, for example) would, when the whim took them, download for a very small, almost insignificant fee, a story or two of mine to while away the lonely, tortured hours of their existence. A huge problem I have with the process of becoming rich and famous is that the main marketplace for this kind of thing is the Devil known as Nile or Limpopo - or some huge river, anyway - whose marketing and workplace practices I very strongly disagree with and so I am looking around for alternatives . . . in the meantime Twitter continues to present me with some lovely friends, including several in the publishing business, and so <i>you just never know</i> as a dear Great Aunt used to say once upon a time; she was of course quite mad but totally correct in her assertion! Interestingly enough, if each of my Twitter followers were to buy a book from me for 99p I would be a very happy writer indeed - what price happiness? Well, just under a quid evidently! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another project I've been mulling over for about three years now - and which received an unexpected and most - welcome boost from Twitter, is the concept of a one-woman play with music based on the life of Kathleen Ferrier. I've always been a huge fan of this unique lady whose career and life were so tragically foreshortened by cancer and have been spending the said three years or so trying to find the correct way - and, of course, person - to present it. I mentioned this on Twitter and was contacted by The Kathleen Ferrier Society (<a href="http://twitter.com/KFSoc" target="_blank">@KFSoc</a>) who kindly offered their help and expertise in my researches - a lovely gesture and one I hope to be able to utilise fully very soon . . . as for the right person, well I know a very lovely <a href="http://twitter.com/helengregory" target="_blank">Mezzo Soprano</a> who I believe would fit the bill perfectly !</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our May - The Old Duchess 7.9.23 - 17.6.11</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another amazing lady I have spent a not inconsiderable amount of time writing about and to whom I owe everything - quite literally - is, of course the Old Duchess who departed this life three years ago tomorrow; time is a very strange beastie and, w</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">hen I get together with The Uglies (my two older and, it has to be said, quite beautiful sisters!) for our weekly tea and cake sessions, we often remark that </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">it seems only yesterday that she was with us but equally forever since she's been gone. She of course lives on in our memories and there isn't a moment when she isn't in our thoughts ! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so the afternoon drifts on and I am lost in the consideration of the lives of all the wonderful people I have known and who have made - and continue to make - life worthwhile; you all know who you are ! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As Our Kaff sings (and can be heard doing so in the tiny link below):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"What is Life? What is life without thee? What is life if thou art dead? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">well, I suppose the answer is - for me at least - a life made richer by your presence and your understanding and your love - and for that I thank you all! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope your week is wonderful and full to the brim with Love and sunshine</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'til next time</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You ! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">*What is Life? An aria from Orfeo ed Euridice by Gluck and sung most beautifully by <a href="http://youtu.be/O7h_LuVVoyg" target="_blank">Our Kaff</a></span></div>
Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-77174220883218387392014-02-03T10:20:00.000+00:002023-05-30T22:20:25.621+01:00On Returning With The Promised Spring ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Q7hUR8IK74KH1EwjB5eY85NfG3EpSQDDsS2RrIsQ9fZx9OBBocrTRZbkrHSAeOaknCLzSE-x8APnWhyXhj0XBtOCxdqMI4-vAtsb4HkmGGm3Fb2H_x0vBpf-4I8HIptC3gZOHYzkUJWR/s1600/DSCF9914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Q7hUR8IK74KH1EwjB5eY85NfG3EpSQDDsS2RrIsQ9fZx9OBBocrTRZbkrHSAeOaknCLzSE-x8APnWhyXhj0XBtOCxdqMI4-vAtsb4HkmGGm3Fb2H_x0vBpf-4I8HIptC3gZOHYzkUJWR/s1600/DSCF9914.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has been so long since I've put pen to paper - or, in this instance, finger to touch screen - that I suspect that I've lost all my ever-so faithful followers; if this is the case I know full well that the blame lies squarely on the joint shoulders of indolence and a certain lack of spirit on my part and for that I can only apologise and hope that, as surely as Spring will arrive, so the words will once more blossom forth from this particular room ... Such poetry, eh!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxujcoE_AZSx-l-Lvu7_xW2Zejr2kUzHrA7qacB6CkfhxpHMCuZ57afvXYiRtVue0FEYEWUGADOwEf5ctrWpzhO5NKU8mrs2q6Z0QvuTk0GgZujp4Fr1nZk0JFFGsxItJ7SbbqmnAHh1B/s1600/DSCF9896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxujcoE_AZSx-l-Lvu7_xW2Zejr2kUzHrA7qacB6CkfhxpHMCuZ57afvXYiRtVue0FEYEWUGADOwEf5ctrWpzhO5NKU8mrs2q6Z0QvuTk0GgZujp4Fr1nZk0JFFGsxItJ7SbbqmnAHh1B/s1600/DSCF9896.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many things have happened and occurred over the past two years and a half years that have dulled my creative edge to a point where it was practically pointless and the whole process of writing this blog - a process that once filled me with deep joy - became first a chore and then something of a ghastly, recurring daymare; hopefully, however, I'm in a much better frame of mind and, although there are still a number of clouds remaining, the beautiful blue is not quite as tarnished as it was. Anyhow, that was then and this is now and here you are visiting me for the first time in a veritable age and I haven't even offered you the slightest sustenance - you must forgive my manners; they have been, like the rooms here in Myrtle House, shuttered and unused for many a month but now pull up a virtual chair and I shall spirit up a beverage of your choosing and we'll see if we can't have a good old chinwag.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, in terms of creativity, I haven't been totally idle, with three or four short stories a month being produced. I must confess, however, that in terms actually doing anything with them I have been most remiss; the poor old <a href="http://myrtle-house.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Myrtle House blog</a> which I originally set up to promote my work, hasn't seen a posting since August 2011 and so that's another matter that needs attending to ... but, back to the stories, I am looking at ways of trying to get some income from them; there are opportunities via Amazon of course, though it has to be said, I'm hardly at one with their company ethos and working practices - the curse of a conscience I'm afraid - and there are also things worth investigating over at a Project Gutenberg which, of course, is one of my favourite repositories for old writing on the web. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In any case, it's time I put my shoulder to the wheel of fortune and got it rolling ! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've recently spent quite a large amount of time working with some very fine musicians and revisiting the world of my youth; I should point out that I haven't been forcing my music upon these people but merely helping out with a word or two for newsletters and the like ... On that front it looks like I have to venture into the world of website building too which is something of a novelty for me; "<i>it's just like doing a blog</i>" they said - I can report that it isn't and, although not exactly a slouch when it comes to things technological, I have been left feeling quite stupid and clumsy ... still, with good friend Percy Verence, I hope to have at least conquered the basics soon ... another technological thrill is writing this blog on iPad - poor old Blogger doesn't seem to like it very much and I'm having the devil's own job actually seeing what I'm writing - a blessing in disguise as I'm sure you will agree and one I'm expect you wish were heaped upon your head. If I may add here a small techno postscript as it were: the blog was written on iPad but had to viewed on my ancient iMac in order to format it; it seems Blogger doesn't like iOS, OSX or Safari very much at all - I have spent a good hour now trying to get it to a vaguely recognisable appearance . . . hmmm, not very good at all; I have been considering a move to Wordpress - mind you, will that like my system any better? Oh hum . . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah well, the day calls and I must about my business ... No, there's no need for you to stir yourself if you're comfy; why not have a look back through the dusty old archives and see if anything tickles your fancy - or at least irritates your mucous membrane to the point of a sneeze! It's been lovely chatting to you again; I hope we meet again very soon and, as always, you are more than welcome - nay, encouraged even - to leave comments below, just so that I don't feel too much of a Miss Haversham, left in my decaying finery and talking to myself !</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Until next time - which I hope will be very soon - I wish you a simply wonderful week</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">PS: If you though that the somewhat bizarre photographs appear to have very little connection to the writing you would be almost exactly right; they are in fact odd little items from my time at the Writers Lodge on Jura where if you recall, I spent a week in 2011</span></div>
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Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-28981194914524134362013-07-11T21:30:00.001+01:002023-05-30T22:20:22.917+01:00The Full Moon and The White Evening Star *Good Evening Dear Friends!<br />
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Welcome to the still-warm, still, warm rooms of Myrtle House where, although the heat of the day has dissipated somewhat it's still too hot to think of doing a very great deal except perhaps indulging in a few moments pleasant chat with dear friends; it's so good of you to tramp your way here, especially given the what other less charitable folk might refer to as 'unseasonable' weather; pull up a chair, sip a lemonade and let's see what's been occurring whilst you've been elsewhere . . .</div>
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Lots of bits and bobs happening, notably my involvement with a couple of dedicated friends whose ambition is to bring some world-class acoustic music to our sleepy backwater and, in fact, have been managing to do so on a monthly basis for nearly five years so far; they go by the collective name of Acoustic Roots and all of the concerts use All Saints Parish Church just around the bend from here as a venue because not only is it a beautiful setting but has the loveliest of acoustics. In August they are hosting a wonderful group from Atlanta, Georgia named Larkin Poe (after the grandfather of the two girls who front the band!) and tickets are still available . . . I've been asked to become involved in publishing a monthly e-newsletter on their behalf which, if you'd like a copy, you can get by dropping your name and email address <a href="mailto:info.acousticroots@gmail.com" target="_blank">here</a> and one will be winging it's way to you immediately!</div>
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For quite a number of months now I've spent a couple of hours each Wednesday evening in the very delicious and pleasant company of some fellow scribes; we meet and each week pull a topic randomly out of a 'hat' - in this case a musical biscuit tin which plays 'Silent Night" - and the following week we present our offerings for comment and appreciation. This has meant that yours truly has finally got his finger out and begun to format the fruits of his labours in a form ready for publishing and, because I don't feel you've suffered enough simply by reading this blog, I've decided to include a few links should you wish to download an example or two of my works; they are, of course, completely free of both charge and viruses and are in PDF format so it shouldn't matter which particular implement you use to access them. So here, for your delectation, are <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/9txbibprp4jba5p/Choices.pdf" target="_blank">Choices</a>; <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/j4mbxhfz13rf9j0/The%20Lookout.pdf" target="_blank">The Lookout</a>; <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/kxb4gxybfedxzzg/The%20Unopened%20Present.pdf" target="_blank">The Unopened Present</a> and the one pictured above <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/4acqfeurcq152qj/Family%20Photograph.pdf" target="_blank">Family Photograph</a> - I do hope you enjoy; please feel free to let me know, whatever your opinion !</div>
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The gloaming has begun to seep into the brickwork of the old homestead and here, in my sequestered grange as dear old Matthew Arnold would say, it feels as though it's nearly time to seek my straw . . . I think of all the words I have written and what they mean; and all the words of people gone before and wonder what will happen to mine, lost in the maelstrom of all the others - for example, does anybody read Matthew Arnold these days? I know but a few scant verses of The Scholar Gypsy and Thyrsis and find it so emotive, even given its age, but does anyone under fifty even know who he was? Ah well, us poor scribblers have no choice it seems but to write and let our words drip into the vast ocean and hope that someone, somewhere,</div>
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sometime feels a glimmer of recognition; just like Matthew, I sit and wait for the spark from heaven to fall . . .</div>
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And look, the curfew tolls the knell of parting day, and it is already nearly time for you to plod your weary way homeward and leave the world to darkness and to me; its been lovely to see you once again and I do hope you've enjoyed your brief sojourn. As you walk perhaps you could mull over these last few words from Thyrsis; I've quoted them before often I know but I find them so beautiful that I steadfastly refuse to make an excuse for doing so again:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Why fainstest thou! I wander'd till I died.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Our tree yet crowns the hill,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Our Scholar travels yet the loved hill-side</i>.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so there we have it; I hope the weekend ahead fills you with love and joy and all that you truly desire becomes yours. I'm off to roam a hillside!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">* from Thyrsis by Matthew Arnold</span></div>
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Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-40086675089450112352013-05-27T21:20:00.001+01:002023-05-30T22:20:23.803+01:00All the World's A Stage . . . * Good Afternoon My Dear Friends!<br />
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Welcome to yet another posting - it's becoming quite a habit isn't it! - and, as the photograph to the left tries to demonstrate albeit in a rather typically understated manner, you find me amid the showery splendours of yet another Bank Holiday Monday; this month really does seem to have a surfeit of these double-Sundays and, of course this being England and the merry month of May this tends to preclude any kind of <i>hey - nonny - noe-</i>ing due to a preponderance of precipitation . . . oh hum! Still, how can one be downhearted with stout fellows such as you willing to trudge across the sodden meadows to join me for tea in the study? Pull up a chair and butter yourself a crumpet and we shall begin; shall I be Mother?</div>
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So what has occurred since last we met? Well, I'm involved in a somewhat exciting, precarious and, as some doubters would probably say, foolhardy attempt to hold back the veritable tsunami of austerity and depression sweeping the land by struggling to keep a little lifeboat of art and culture upright in treacherous seas . . . if it works it will be by dint of the sheer willpower and courage of Cap'n Jayne, my good friend and collaborator who is much nicer to have in the boat than a tiger for example, but is probably just as fierce in fighting for what she believes in! It's all at a rather delicate phase at the moment so I shall say no more on the subject but please watch this space for how you may help, should the desire arise . . .</div>
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Other than that the year speeds by at an unconscionable rate and I find to my surprise that in a few days time it will be the eighth birthday of The Famous Sally Dog and, a few days after that, the second anniversary of the Old Duchess' death . . . "<i>time is an illusion; teatime doubly so</i>" as I read in my first book all those years and tears ago and the verisimilitude of that statement has become more so down the days since . . . and now, today, as the Bank Hol winds down - if such a energy-less day could become more so that is - like a forgotten grandfather clock and the light dims and the gloaming is upon us once again, I find myself wondering whether there was ever a plan to all this madness, or did it just sort of happen? . . . I can only give thanks to the great goddess iCal for keeping me on track and providing me with some sort of structure to my life; sometimes it seems to me that my life is not dissimilar to a drunk at a cocktail party, stumbling around and bumping into situations and conversations, politely and randomly experiencing things which appear to make little or no sense before going home to sleep it off; perhaps that's how it was meant to be? </div>
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Oh, but look how rude I am; rambling on with my inner dialogue whilst you sit there, pretending not to be bored, a look upon your face that suggests mental and metaphorical thumb-twiddling if ever I saw it! And who can blame you? It is the curse of double Sundays I'm afraid and for that I can only beg and crave your pardon.</div>
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I hope the rest of this foreshortened week can be dragged into a positive perspective for you all and that the miserable drizzle which has been the year thus far becomes something more akin to Spring - just in time for the midsummer solstice! I do hope you have a wonderful time; please call back and visit me soon; I notice that my answer to the last quiz still remains to be conjured up, you could always have a go and drop me a line? In the meantime, have a marvellous time and may your best bib and tucker be permanently splattered with love and best wishes.</div>
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'til next time</div>
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Be Seeing You !</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* . . . which could have ended " ... that I'm going though" ... but was, in fact:</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> "All the world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.” ― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11582.Se_n_O_Casey" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Seán O'Casey</a></span></span></div>
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Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-86816701734986197532013-05-21T21:12:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:26.247+01:00The Words, So Beautiful And Sad, Like Music *Good Evening My Dear Friends !<br />
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Welcome to this which is, I am ashamed to say, the very first blog of 2013 ! The last time I saw you was on the 19th of December last year and much has happened in between and betwixt as the old tautology goes, far too much to go into in this brief but, one hopes, enchanting encounter; suffice it to say it has not been the easiest of times - then again I'm pretty sure the same could be said for us all! Allons! and let us get on with the scribble which is surely why you are here in the first place! </div>
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It is Tuesday evening and the sun is still slowly dripping, albeit in a somewhat desultory fashion, through the windows of the study at Myrtle House. Spring, according to experts and hedge-pigs alike, seems to be about a month adrift this year and everything, not unlike Yours Truly, seems to be on something of a go-slow; even the positively feral Rose Campion (a lovely girl deep down!) is somewhat reluctant in her occupation of the courtyard this year so far; snails are few and far between and there is only a poor showing in the nettle department too . . . now whilst this is undoubtedly good news for those of us hardly to be regarded as sons of the soil, I'm sure it holds more trouble in store for us down the line. In conversations with friends deep in the heart of Costa today, where Sister Cate and I held court, the subject of the weather was, of course, briefly touched upon and they had heard tell that Flaming June was more likely to be flaming awful with nothing much but rain to look forward to - bad news indeed for masses of wildlife and pollinators who have but a short span as the assuredly wise saying goes . . . Like most things in life it seems we can do little but wait and see, oh hum!</div>
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Of course it would be positively churlish to go any further without mention of that doggy doyen and star of stage, screen and supermarket dog-food aisle The Famous Sally Dog; the large contingent of readers of this blog who count themselves as avid followers of her antics - well, alright, everyone who reads this blog and numbers themselves in that category - will be pleased to hear that, as she approaches her 8th birthday at the end of the month very little has changed . . . arguably the difference in size between either end of this canine cutiepie is increasing somewhat and it is a race to see which one will come out on top, as it were ! As her nether regions extend due to the numbers of treats she purloins from friends, relatives and absolute stranger, so too her does her bonce from the masses of compliments and adoring cuddles she receives every day . . . me? Jealous? The very thought . . . Anyhow, here she is depicted doing her best to persuade those lovely people at Taylor Guitars to donate one of their lovely 414s to her beloved pack-leader as he so obviously and desperately needs one to join the family of ukuleles and the gorgeous GS Mini in the Music Room at Myrtle House . . . if you are unfamiliar with the wonderfulness that is a Taylor guitar I can only suggest you rectify this gaping hole in your existence by popping into a reputable music store - such as the superb <a href="http://www.symphonymusic.co.uk/" target="_blank">Symphony Music</a> located not too far from the old homestead in Wigan - and try one out; it will change your life ...and deplete your bank balance somewhat but hey-ho!</div>
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And on that note (geddit?) I fear our brief sojourn must end for today at least; it has been lovely to have you here again and I hope very much that the gap between now and our next visit is considerably shorter than the last . . . I do hope you also enjoy the picture just above these words; I think I could be justified in offering a small prizette to the first responder who is able to accurately identify the dapper chappie enjoying what is probably a chord of A Major on a rather curvaceous creation from, I would guess, the 1920s possibly . . . a clue? well ... a: it isn't me b: you will have heard of him and c: he is (was) a writer!</div>
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So now that your enthusiasm is fired up and a whole evening of febrile searching Google awaits you, I shall bid you a fond farewell for the time being. I am aware that this posting is a bit of a Parson's Egg of a blog; in my defense I would ask you to consider the amount of time and water that has flowed under a number of bridges since your last visit - one does get out of practice and, of course, I would be only too happy to respond to any comments you would like to leave . . . hint, hint!</div>
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So may the time 'til we meet again be awash with sunshine and love</div>
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Be Seeing You ! </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">ॐ</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.</i>" A Portrait of The Artist As A Young Man - James Joyce</span></div>
Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-81320418530718028412012-12-19T14:52:00.000+00:002023-05-30T22:20:25.800+01:00A Butterfly In The Winter Woods *<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good Morning Dear Friends<span style="font-size: small;">! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">First and foremostly, let me <span style="font-size: small;">begin this verbal onslaught with a dollop of the seasons finest greetings;</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and, as that season happens to be winter and<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>also because Saturnalia is approaching with almost indecent rapidity, I thought I'd illustrate my salutation with a charming portrait<span style="font-size: small;"> by the Swedish artist Carl Larsson <span style="font-size: small;">of his daughter Britta as the goddess<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Iðunn.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you're up to speed with your Norsk mythology - and who <span style="font-size: small;">isn't</span>? - you'll recall that </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Iðunn (<span style="font-size: small;">pronounced</span> like Eedun) is associated with apples and youth; it is told how th<span style="font-size: small;">e <span style="font-size: small;">mischievous</span> god Loki</span> is forced by the giant <span style="font-size: small;">(</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">or jötunn) </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Þjazi<span style="font-size: small;"> (<span style="font-size: small;">a bit like Thiazi) </span></span>to lure<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>her<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>into leaving Asgard her home and into a wood by promising her interesting apples. The <span style="font-size: small;">said </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Þjazi changes into an eagle<span style="font-size: small;">,</span> snatches her from the wood and takes her hom<span style="font-size: small;">e. Her absence - and that of her apples - causes the gods to grow old and so Loki promises to return her which he duly does . . . so I suppose at this time of <span style="font-size: small;">the <span style="font-size: small;">ageing</span> </span>year, we need her and her eternal youth to remind us that<span style="font-size: small;">, although i<span style="font-size: small;">t may seem dark and gloomy<span style="font-size: small;">, Spring <span style="font-size: small;">is not too far away. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's also worth considering that<span style="font-size: small;"> this beautiful illustration has given Britta a<span style="font-size: small;"> form of enduring presence; we look and see a portrait <span style="font-size: small;">of a </span>delightful child who was born some 120 years a<span style="font-size: small;">go; <span style="font-size: small;">that's <span style="font-size: small;">one of the reasons </span>why<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>I love paintings and photographs but </span></span>I als<span style="font-size: small;">o</span> feel that the same result can be <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">achieved</span> by writing down <span style="font-size: small;">and recording </span>the story of peoples lives; we make them immortal and keep their memories safe beyond the touch of time<span style="font-size: small;"> . . . which is my new project for next year - I shall keep you <span style="font-size: small;">informed</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In other news, yesterday - as well as being the <span style="font-size: small;">birthday</span> of my oldest and dearest friend and<span style="font-size: small;"> archi<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">tect</span> extr<span style="font-size: small;">a</span>o<span style="font-size: small;">rdinaire Mr DC<span style="font-size: small;">R H. </span>who, instead of sunning himself on Marco island as is <span style="font-size: small;">his wont a<span style="font-size: small;">t this time of year</span></span>, is sadly laid up in hospital and<span style="font-size: small;">, it must be said<span style="font-size: small;">, being missed ferociously</span></span> - was the day in which dear old Myrtle House became Myrtle House Creative Publishing Ltd! This means that, along with a <span style="font-size: small;">resurrection</span> of the blog for that side of things in the very near future, some of the short stories and whatnot concocted by Yours Truly will slowly begin to filter into a wider <span style="font-size: small;">sphere</span> than before . . . be afraid; be very afraid! I will also be looking at other material and am happy to hear from anyone who feels they might like to see their name blazoned for all to see via digital means<span style="font-size: small;"> as well as, it is hoped in the nearest of futures, as a 'real<span style="font-size: small;">' printed book too !</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">O<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">utput</span> on the writing front has been steady but not overly prolific due to the amount of time <span style="font-size: small;">I'm</span> spending having tremendous fun with a varied bunch of <span style="font-size: small;">displaced persons masquerading as professionals<span style="font-size: small;">. In between the giggles <span style="font-size: small;">w</span>e are <span style="font-size: small;">actually working <span style="font-size: small;">on a fantastic and world-changing proposition which has me tingling with excitement; I am tremendously l<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">ucky</span> to meet and work with the people I do;<span style="font-size: small;"> they are are, to</span> a man<span style="font-size: small;">/</span>woman<span style="font-size: small;">/</span>upright<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>h<span style="font-size: small;">oover, <span style="font-size: small;">immensely</span> talented and <span style="font-size: small;">dedicated but more importantly have not lost the ability to dream and<span style="font-size: small;">, what is more<span style="font-size: small;">,</span></span> to believe in those dreams<span style="font-size: small;"> with a passion</span>! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKGBI9M3Hcb-8_9UEd6YY-7J_IzmmhlQBXjZi2uDedRxOocUY0SWgSQNAkmBoM7UVg4PVlt2B9TH7HunrRRbMn4kiEKnJ82gqcFJmOopSqUF_wQjVRhSRvtYC_slK9RsTlU7MXQPVyigP5/s1600/Carl+Larsson+-+Kersti_s+Sleigh+Ride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKGBI9M3Hcb-8_9UEd6YY-7J_IzmmhlQBXjZi2uDedRxOocUY0SWgSQNAkmBoM7UVg4PVlt2B9TH7HunrRRbMn4kiEKnJ82gqcFJmOopSqUF_wQjVRhSRvtYC_slK9RsTlU7MXQPVyigP5/s320/Carl+Larsson+-+Kersti_s+Sleigh+Ride.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">forgot to mention that all this tip-tapping <span style="font-size: small;">is</span> taking place down in the The Barn in deepest Ch<span style="font-size: small;">eshire where, beyond the arched window, the day (which has never really got its act together in terms of being properly light)<span style="font-size: small;"> is growing darker and <span style="font-size: small;">the rain more insistent; I fe<span style="font-size: small;">ar I shall be in for a dowsing on my way to the station . . . ah well<span style="font-size: small;">, never mind; I shall perch on my <span style="font-size: small;">eyrie-seat in the buffet on platform 6 at Crewe and ind<span style="font-size: small;">ulge in some comestibles and a large green tea . . .<span style="font-size: small;"> its all about trying to remain positive and seek the sweetness in everything.</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I shal<span style="font-size: small;">l</span> end where I began<span style="font-size: small;">; <span style="font-size: small;">with </span>another of Carl Larsson<span style="font-size: small;">'s lovely illustrations - this time of another of his daughters, Kersti in her sleigh . . . Hmmm, it would be so good to have snow <span style="font-size: small;">instead</span> of rain - then again, I don't suppose there would be any trains <span style="font-size: small;">running<span style="font-size: small;"> if that were the case</span>! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So until next time, which<span style="font-size: small;"> I'm sure will be sometime <span style="font-size: small;">around the cusp of </span>the n<span style="font-size: small;">ew year<span style="font-size: small;">, I shall say <span style="font-size: small;">toodle-pip and wish you all the very merriest and most peaceful of Yuletides<span style="font-size: small;"> and, with the sound once again of The Incredible String Band ringing in my head I ask</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_81">May the long time sun shine upon you</span>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_82">All love surround you</span>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_83">And the pure light within you</span>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_84">Guide you<span style="font-size: small;">r</span> way on</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">'til next time</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Be Seeing You ! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="maintext"><span class="firstword">*They</span> seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods - Edith Wharton</span></span></div>
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Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-61611537243328973672012-12-07T12:14:00.001+00:002023-05-30T22:20:25.000+01:00Winter Is The Time For Comfort ... *<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Good Morning Dear Friends!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Welcome once again to the wintery blast that is December - with a somewhat tardy trio of Snow Hares to usher in the first of the month of course - and today finds Yours Truly viewing the world via the study window in the barn in Deer Crossing, a tad further south than normal, in deepest Cheshire . . . I'm here housesitting as artisans splash paint and ensure boilers keep the home fires burning as, beyond the Velux, the day crisps nicely !</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, what's been occurring since last you popped by? Well, work has been progressing on a number of short stories, though not as many as originally planned due to other fun-filled tasks connected with some lovely folk I've met in the Wigwam who - as well as sharing a vision about just how nice the world could be if we were all just that bit more connected and friendlier to each other - have elected to share their time and talents with moi-même in order that together we can create a nouvelle vogue that will, tsunami like, wash away the old order . . . and, what is more, we're going to have fun doing it! I'll also be showing these people these meanderings for the first time too in this post so a huge hello to you all - you know who you are!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm also working with groups of fledgling writers alongside some not-so-recently out of the nest and enjoying the process immensely; it's really rewarding to see people who perhaps haven't written very much since leaving school suddenly find the courage and the will to commit their thoughts and emotions to paper. I'm also very fortunate that the groups contain others with much more skill and experience than this poor scribbler who inspire and encourage their peers more than I could ever hope to do. Anyhow, we meet and drink tea and eat cakes and chocolate and gossip and counsel and cajole . . . we even sometimes write!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Meanwhile the day drifts on and I have a list of jobs to do before the light fades; I am being entrusted with the de-tangling and subsequent arrangement of over 1200 lights ready for the seasonal festivities about to befall us all in a mere 18 days or so; they are, I have to say, very subtle and small lights and I do have some experience of the task in hand . . . still, I'm sure I will be unable to complete it without some personal injury or affront to my dignity; not to mention a probable appearance of a few degrees of frost bite around my extremities! Still, I suppose its all part of the great and glorious festival we all call Saturnalia . . . don't we? Oh! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I hope I manage to get a least one more post out to you good people before the festivities begin; you are more than welcome to drop in here for a cup of something warming and cheery and an assuredly warm welcome. In the meantime. please try not to get too stressed about the business of buying presents and what to wear etc; I'm happy to reassure you that were you to come empty-handed and dressed in rags there would always be room in this particular virtual inn</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I hope you have a truly wonderful week and that there is enough warmth and cheer in your soul to keep your toes and hearts from freezing; if the snow arrives please use both it and the time it affords wisely and with love . . . perhaps by sitting by the fire and reading what I think is my favourite book of 2012 . . . there is a lot to be said for surrendering to solitude and peace and quiet and an equal amount to gained by offering your company to those who need perhaps just a little more love in their lives</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Thank you for popping by; I hope you have a super time and enjoy yourself in the coming days . . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Whoops - I must away; The gas man commeth!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">'til next time</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span><br />
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<br />* <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"<i>Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch
of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for
home</i>" Edith Sitwell</span></span><br />
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<br />Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-22292634742022498582012-11-19T16:14:00.000+00:002023-05-30T22:20:22.384+01:00What's Gone, and What's Past Help, Should Be Past Grief*<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good Afternoon Dear Friends! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First of all, I must completely, totally and unreservedly apologise for the recent dearth of posts here; whilst it true there have been momentous difficulties and problems to deal with and still more to overcome, I have to say that I have been a tad neglectful of you, my dear readers and loyal visitors to this verdant plot that is forever Myrtle House ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">... where, interestingly enough, were you to pop your ever-welcome phizzog around the door jamb you would find me not at my desk, head bowed in the waves of creative productivity but rather as an altogether more dishevelled creature, fleeced and somewhat forlorn on my bed as I seem to have succumbed to some viral visitation or other. Anyhow, the lack of movement such infestations afford mean that I can attempt a tippytaptoe version of said blog on the lovely iPad whist attempting to focus and stop shivering long enough to compose a line of text!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Talking of which, and whilst we wait for the kettle to thrub and sing in order to allow us the excellence of a warming tisane, I can take the opportunity to tell you about a number of new works which have seen the light of day since last we spoke:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Choosing" was written for and submitted to the Salt Short Story Prize and concerns two women and their lives as viewed on a rainy Wednesday evening in the car park of a local sports and leisure centre. It examines the choices - or lack of such - that they each feel they have and must make and I really rather like it! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been doing some preliminary work on a community- memory project; I want to do a bit of a Cecil Sharp and collect the memories of local residents and weave them into a collection portraying the lives of people seventy plus years ago ... I feel one important aspect of this work is to persuade the contributors that their lives, their stories, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> are as important and as worthwhile as anyone else's and deserve to be written down </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> In an attempt to introduce this concept, I quickly wrote a very short yet I feel timely piece entitled "Remembrance Day" which uses one tiny, momentary fragment of my life which I recall happening one Remembrance Day Sunday when I was nine or ten years old ... And since that day so many moons in silence, have swum across the sky and gone below - as dear old Bertie Brecht said when remembering Maria A but it is the tiny things that make such memories fascinating and vital. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another such fragment of my memory was the starting point for a submission to the Book Week Scotland 2012 Flash Fiction competition; in less than five hundred words one was asked to consider one of four images from the special collections department from The University of Aberdeen and be thus inspired; the one I choose was entitled " On Thin Ice" which also became my story title. It showed a Victorian couple skating and was rather a bland image but for me the immediate feeling caused by memory was of blueness; that special blue of a midnight sky with snow; of frozen Norwegian landscapes from thirty years ago and of the colour of an illustration in an Andy Pandy annual I possessed as a child. The story is a brief, psychological insight into the female skaters thoughts and she follows the man silently across the thin ice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I do believe I can hear the kettle whistling to attract my attention; not to mention the grumblings and rumblings surfacing from beneath my bed as The Famous Sally Dog tries to decide just what to do with a raw hide bone nearly half the length of her good self - simply eating it is not an option, of course, it must be carried around, hidden under cushions and behind tables, rediscovered and exhumed and carried about once more - along with the more amusing aspects such as leaving it in my bleary-eyed path whenever possible in order to watch me express myself in the terpsichorean mode whilst howling and holding my foot aloft ... Such are the joys of canine companionship!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which reminds me, if you think you are beginning to see double and that images are repeating themselves on this bloggage, fear not! You are correct; it seems that Google who operate Blogger the software I use for blogging want me to download their atrocious Google+ software in order to upload pics from my iPhone or iPad; naturally this is not going to occur and so, for the time being at least, you may have to suffer a monotonous round of very familiar pictures, for which I can only apologise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ah well, the light is fading in direct relation to my energy and so I shall take my leave of you; if you'd like to help yourself to tea on the way out please feel free, I won't join you just at the moment as I'm aching rather more than I want to and can feel the lure of a swift kip of the serene in the offing!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope you've enjoyed this brief sojourn at my bedside; and I hope not to have to do the same for you - may you be in rude and ruddy health, both hale and hearty and have a week simply overflowing with all possible love and sunshine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'Til next time</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-40036699040199353762012-10-08T15:19:00.001+01:002023-05-30T22:20:23.715+01:00I Saw Old Autumn . . . *<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good Afternoon Dear Friends!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And with a liberal sprinkling of the customary White Rabbits which were due as usual on the very first day of October, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I welcome you, somewhat tardily, to the blog on this second Monday in the month!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As per the last time I wrote, you have tumbled upon my personage once again ensconced in the cosy environs of Sunshine House where plans are forging ahead to provide the good folk of Wigan with the opportunity to learn how to blog as badly as I do. Along with other vastly secret plans - which are thrilling beyond this poor writers imaginings - these are some of the many ways of providing yours truly with the chance to earn a modest crust whilst having massively good fun with the collection of characters who gather around and share their experiences and good humour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The stories are flying off the presses of my imagination thick and fast; some speeding off immediately to find their fame and fortune </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">whilst others sit and wait their turn impatiently in the waiting room of my memory</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">; one such Dick Whittington of a new short-short one is entitled "The Strand" and is set to appear in a forthcoming publication namely "The Wee Seaside Book" which should be available just in time for Christmas - what better gift with which to please your loved ones? What do you mean - you have a list? Hmmm ... Anyhow, I shall certainly furnish you with more details of that as they become available as they say and I look forward to your lavish praise as well as the royalties!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whilst a this wonderful house of sunshine last week, I took the opportunity of reading three of my pieces - the above mentioned Strand, Miss Powell's Chair and Cutting The Mustard - to the Friday morning reading group. It was such a marvelous feeling to be 'performing' again and to see peoples instant reactions to the twists and the turns in the narrative. We spent two hours in reading, chatting and discussing writing in general with the very positive outcome that the members of the group began to believe that their lives were as important as any one else's and should be written down for posterity which surely is a massively important part of the writer's role of providing inspiration as well as hopefully entertainment .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Life has become very full and busy over the past weeks with masses of opportunities and links being forged, meetings to attend, plans to hatch so hence the scarcity of postings here; I shall endeavour to make sure the frequency of these ramblings increases as I get more settled into some kind of a rhythm and that you are kept up to date with events as they unravel. You may have noticed that I have deleted and deactivated my Facebook account which may mean that you're not getting notifications of postings etc. I am sorry about that but from now on I shall only be using Twitter to inform of such things; a new Myrtle house Facebook page may appear in the not too distant but, to be honest, the less I have to do with FB the better in my humble opinion. If you are on Twitter <i>and</i> FB and would like to post when a blog is published on my behalf I would be more than happy and grateful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The afternoon is drawing to a close and my time here is nearly at an end for today; I hope you are enjoying the Autumnal weather and are basking in the warmth of friendship and love despite the nippy eves!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'til next time</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: #fff9ee; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">ॐ</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*</span><span style="background-color: #fffbf0; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I saw old Autumn in the misty morn</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fffbf0; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-left;"><i>Stand, shadowless like Silence, listening<br />To Silence.</i></span><span style="background-color: #fffbf0; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thomas Hood</span></span></span></div>
Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-11043057433328215912012-09-05T16:44:00.001+01:002023-05-30T22:20:22.116+01:00And These Days Dwindle Down To A Precious Few . . . *<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good Afternoon My Dear Friends!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is indeed a goodly while since I last put pen to paper - or cursor to screen in this case - in fact, as I look at the dates it seems that I owe you two sets of three white rabbits at the very least!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This lack of communication is not because of any lack of impetus on my part but to severe technical difficulties which have afflicted me for fast approaching a year now but which will, I hope, soon be sorted and </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">finally </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">laid to rest .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Circumstances are changing rapidly and I'm now able to put more time and energy into my writing and also in the formation of the old e-publishing business which has the vaguest chance of becoming a reality in the near future . . . so there will be, at some point, a resurrection of sorts and Myrtle House will appear not only here but on its own website and blog - but you'll have to bear with me a tad longer for the details.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm actually writing this not too far away from the said House of Myrtle, in a rather swish room in the gorgeously named Sunshine House, across the river and into the trees near my old abode; this is one of the places where I hope to be flogging my wares shortly and bringing writing and blogging to a wider audience - well, one can but hope! Sunshine House has the distinction of being a veritable hotbed of creative activities as well as a thriving source of inspiration for yours truly and I am here under the auspices of the energetic Barbara who refuses to let anyone with an iota of any kind of talent pass by her doors without dragging them in and bombarding them with tea, cake and kindness . . . so stand by for more juicy details of my activities as they emerge!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Talking of creativity, as I am wont to do, I have been positively bursting with it recently; a new (very) short story entitled "Miss Powell's Chair" popped into my head from a dream and another is currently in progress whilst the novel - which is the main Work in Progress - is up to chapter five . . . so you see, I haven't been lazing on my laurels whilst I've been away, have !?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yet so soon it is September and with it comes not only the season of mist and mellow fruitfulness but also a round of birthdays. Today is the celebration of the birth my wonderful Japanese 'daughter' Mana Takeshita whose email today to her rather crusty old English 'Dad' brought even more sunshine into this house; on Sunday the lovely and ever-tranquil Akashadevi celebrates her coming into being and I suddenly realise it is nearly thirty years since we used to walk together on the strand in Aberdeen . . . and of course this Friday would have been the eighty-ninth birthday of the Old Duchess... it's strange how time slips by without us hardly even noticing; perhaps, because these people never leave our hearts we forget that they are not around in our everyday life . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But enough of such musings; like the crocodile in Peter Pan the clock in my tum tells me it is time for tea and, in the best traditions of Alice, I shall hare home to prepare some for myself and, of course, the Famous Sally Dog who is still as waggy and 'fragrant' as ever . . . I think I need to employ her services in my writing projects to distract the poor folk attending and make them believe that they have had a good time - this is, along with biscuit location, something she is uniquely talented in doing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I shall leave to to your evening; I hope you have a lovely one and that the weather fills you with the urge to spread a little sunshine and love to those around you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'til next time</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">* September Song by Kurt Weill</span></div>
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Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-5268939660956488792012-07-01T17:27:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:21.759+01:00The Flashing Bars of July*<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good Morning Dear Friends!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, as it is the first day of July allow me once again to fill your bleary Sunday Morning eyes and ears with visions - in triplicate - of those members of the Leporidae clan, with particular reference to those devoid of pigmentation; to say nothing of mild fisticuffs of the order of pinching and punching ... where have the previous six months fled to? Anyhow, this is to be the very shortest of blogs, just to wish you a wonderful month ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beyond the study windows a steady sheet of rain drapes over the day making it seem like an unwanted and forgotten piece of furniture, in a locked and unremembered room; it is said that we see what we feel and hence my dismal imagery, for it has been a trying and troublesome time and, between you, me and the gate post, I've had more than enough of the stuff that life throws at one ... Oh hum!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Any old how, on a brighter note, I've just heard from friends taking part in the Sun Walk at Battersea Park in the great wen that is Lungdung that the weather is lovely and that a joyous carnival atmosphere pervades all which is, of course, brilliant news! The walk - which is just over thirteen miles- is in aid of Breast Cancer research and so the vast majority of walkers are parading around in undergarments decorated appropriately which must add to the party spirit ... Sadly, Rigby and Peller failed to have mine delivered on time and so I must content myself with cheering from the sidelines - these lines being drawn somewhere in the vicinity of the newly refurbished Costa where, very shortly, I shall be partaking of breakfast tea and cake with Sam and Andrew, aka Mr and Mrs Gecko... talking of which I had better begin the long dance of transformation in order not to shock the waiting world too much . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And now it is later and, thanks to a flying visit to the shire of cheese, I too can see the shining face of Pheobus and very nice it is too! I'm spending a few hours here and taking the opportunity to continue this scribblage in the quiet and peaceful hamlet of Deer Crossing, where the only sound to break the mirror surface of the day is birdsong and the tip tapping of Yours Truly as the words fall like the rain and pain I've left behind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I hope the new month fills you with joy and the promise of much more to come; sorry this is so brief but time is short and I need to recharge my jaded old soul somewhat in the few hours left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">'til next time</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Be Seeing You !</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">*"The Summer looks out from her brazen tower,<br />Through the flashing bars of
July."<br />- Francis Thompson, </span><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A Corymbus for Autumn</span> </i></div>
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</div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-88560885846822466552012-06-17T13:08:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:26.423+01:00Don’t Be Dismayed At Good-Byes*Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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Welcome to the study at Myrtle House where, after over five hours delay due to technical problems, today's blog is finally taking shape. It is, of course Father's Day and one can suppose that everywhere dads have been somewhat reluctantly tucking into burnt offerings and cold cups from their offspring, whilst looking faux-appreciatively at the inevitable ties and socks and cheesy Hallmark products festooned in vintage cars, cricket bats or below-the-belt remarks regarding bodily functions; let no-one ever tell you that being a man is easy! Such events, of course, do not take precedent here in the heart of the Victorian Quarter; Sal assures me that a lack of funds and opposable thumbs, alongside the inability of shopkeepers to understand her requirements, have resulted in the lack of appropriate cardage but personally I think she simply forgot!</div>
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More to the forefront of my mind today however, is the fleetingness of time. Mad and impossible though it seems, today is the first anniversary of the death of the Old Duchess; several times, over the past few weeks and cups of tea and cake with Sister Cate, the realisation has struck us quite forcibly that time seems to be increasing in momentum and that we barely have time to grasp today before it is gone; and certainly never with such impact as when considering the fact that it is a full year since May died. In many ways it seems as though she has been gone forever; her house is now lived in by someone else; her belongings which she had collected over a lifetime are scattered - as are her ashes - to the four winds and the seven seas yet, at one and the same time, it seems only yesterday that we last spoke to her. </div>
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The fact that she lives on in our memories, as vital and vibrant as ever, helps to blur the distinction between what was and what is. She was a remarkably resilient woman and one I was incredibly proud of and I, personally, find myself reminded of her at the oddest moments. I was re-watching "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0090570/" target="_blank">84 Charring Cross Rd</a>" the other day and remembered sitting watching it for the first time together with her one afternoon and her remarking how much she enjoyed it; like "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0037558/" target="_blank">Brief Encounter</a>" it was the perfect film for May; no violence or suspense, nothing to worry her and perfect for a good weep on your own when no-one else was around. She wasn't a great believer in worrying other people with her troubles, though it has to be said her life wasn't exactly free from such worries and I'm sure I was quite a significant cause of many of them. </div>
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It seems almost facile to say I miss her; I had known her every moment of my life and when that presence is suddenly taken away it isn't easy to come to terms with but, in many ways, I am glad she had the death she did, the death she wanted; independent and without being a burden (her greatest fear) and after the shortest of illnesses. She was alone when she died but, then again, we all are; it is the one thing we can guarantee no-one else can share with us. So I hope you'll excuse me taking up so much of our time talking about this; I wanted to mark her anniversary in this way and I know she would be very pleased, though probably not a little embarrassed, to know we were all thinking of her.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time is up to its old tricks again and I see, with some sense of shock, that it is already past lunchtime, that I have been up and about some seven hours and am quite incredibly hungry; mumbles and grumbles from herself inform me that I am not the only one and surely a walk is in the offing on a quite remarkably dry day? I suppose it is, and with that I shall leave you for this afternoon.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope the rest of your weekend astounds you with its sheer wonderfulness and that the week ahead stretches golden-like and full of promise.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">*<i>Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends</i>. Illusions, p132, Richard Bach</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-9262355557977948632012-06-01T10:21:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:21.938+01:00There Shall Be Eternal Summer in the Grateful Heart*Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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Unbelievably, it is time again to bestow upon you a trio of albino Leporidae in order to usher in the first of the month, so in an incredibly loose rhyming manner, I shall say pinch punch first of the month and white rabbits x 3 to you all! I do hope you like the accompanying photograph, by the way; I snapped it on an evening walk through Mesnes Park in Wigan with Sal the birthday girl and it summoned up for me those long lost summer days of childhood, an idyll if you like which, as I grow older, sometimes seem more unlikely to have ever existed but which also appear to be pinned to the cork-board of my memory . . . ah me!</div>
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So it is the first of Flaming June and, being in the North West of England, we are greeted with leaden grey cloud and temperatures low enough to cause a penguin some disgruntlement. Surely it wasn't always this way, was it? Are all those baking hot summer days - and subsequently painful nights with bright red glowing limbs as this was before the advent of sunblock for the masses - an illusion? I think not! I recall many days on the beach at Weston-Super-Mare - that wonderful seaside town of my conception - with my skin blistering like a suckling pig on a spit and equally suffocatingly hot days throughout my childhood travelling around Somerset in a Ford Anglia with seats (of leatherette probably!) too hot to sit on . . . Perhaps it is all an illusion and, like now, Summer was confined to a few glorious days but it really doesn't seem to be the case, not in my memory. The wonderful garden designer Gertrude Jekyll said:</div>
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"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade"</i></span></span></div>
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Beautiful words that bring to mind and recall how we feel at our youthful best when we don't fully realise what joys and sorrow life contains and still believe that everything is possible . . . and yet now I look back and realise that age has a certain power and benefit.</div>
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Albert Camus wrote:</div>
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"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><i>In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer"</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I believe that it is that invincibility and belief that drives my words and work; the memories and images of those golden afternoons that populate my writing and which I try, however unsuccessfully, to recapture and relive once again. There are so many words written about summer which I'd love to share with you but I shall restrain myself and end these musings by quoting another of my favourite authors, Violette Leduc:</span></div>
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Yesterday I attended a lovely World Food Day hosted by the simply scrumptious Shirley at <a href="http://www.foodpositive.co.uk/" target="_blank">Food Positive</a>, our neighbour at <a href="http://www.empathynorthwest.com/" target="_blank">Ashland House</a>, and encountered some lovely folk including the very passionate and Obsessive Chicken Disordered <a href="http://luckyhensrescuewigan.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Alison</a> and her hen Peggy; the outrageously mustachioed Mustard Man Georg proprietor of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/OTTOs-Mustards-and-Pickles/147754381931829" target="_blank">Otto's Mustards and Pickles</a> and the extremely inspirational <a href="http://www.wiganallotmentnetwork.org.uk/" target="_blank">Kathy</a> who brought along her bicycle-powered smoothie maker and selflessly spent time nattering to me about all things green and growing . . . There were much and many foodstuffs to partake of from all corners of the world made by lovely people who I didn't have time to chat to properly but whose work I appreciated greatly! The only disappointment was, of course, the weather which was exceptionally wet and kept a large proportion of the public away . . . following hot on the heels of this gastronomic delight was the almost royal progress of the Olympic Torch past our place . . . alas, there was little to see except many police officers on motorcycles and a couple of coaches which was less than thrilling, especially for the people dutifully lining the route. I believe in the centres of the local towns actual runners were to be seen but I feel it did sort of detract somewhat from the grandeur and historic quality of the event.</div>
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And so to today and the promise of an extended Bank Holiday; the excitement in Myrtle House is almost palpable as I look forward to having the time to do some serious writing that doesn't involve grant applications and bids for funding . . . I do feel as though the creative side of my life has been sadly neglected and so I've decided upon a week of culture and relaxation in order to get some more of my thoughts down on paper . . . the prospect of perhaps sitting atop local hills to write or soaking up the atmosphere in <a href="http://www.haworth-village.co.uk/haworth.html" target="_blank">Haworth</a> (though in this particular shot it looks rather unwelcoming!) and such places fills me with a very deep joy and excitement. </div>
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Today I think more mundane tasks are on the bill of fare - although a sneaky tea and cake with Sister Cate may rear its sugar-laden head once more; I am deeply in love with the Lemon Tart and Green Tea supplied by the lovely <a href="http://www.costa.co.uk/" target="_blank">Sharon and Co</a> who always minister to my needs with such care and attention - I think Costa should recognise them for their stirling efforts!</div>
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Talking of tea I can feel keenly the call of a cup and so I shall finish this verbiage and away to my day; I hope yours is flaming wonderful and filled with wonder and that the long jubilant weekend is just what you need to put a smile on your phisog and contentment in your heart!</div>
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'til next time</div>
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Be Seeing You !</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">* </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Celia Laighton Thaxter (June 29, 1835 – August 25, 1894)</span></span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-2241679813005234562012-05-31T09:23:00.002+01:002023-05-30T22:20:21.640+01:00Happy Birthday Sally Dog !Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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And what an absolutely special morning it is; for it was a mere seven years ago today, in amongst a litter of big burly chaps that the small bundle of weeness who was to become The Famous Sally Dog saw the world for the very first time; five short weeks later she came to live with Yours Truly and has hardly left my side for a single day since! In terms of birthday celebrations - and in line with her mature and sedate years - plans are mainly based around lying on the sofa, snoozing and eating treats, especially since the weather which has been so beautifully hot of late has taken a turn to the damp ready for the diamond weekend ahead . . . oh hum! Anyhow, I hope you all have got your birthday cards in the post for Sal to rip up as the postman delivers them, if not I will happily accept financial donations on her behalf . . . no? Oh well, it was worth a try!</div>
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Today being a Thursday should be tea and cake with Sister Cate but I am involved in a wonderful World Food Day hosted by Shirley from Food Positive, a simply scrumptious organisation based just underneath us in Ashland House; I am evidently due to be overseeing the production of fried rice - outside - in a car park - in the rain . . . Hmmm . . . wonder what kind of cake Cate wants today? No, I shall be brave and don my waterproof Cheffing outfit and shortly, courtesy of the lovely reflexes and aromas of Vikki - not to mention her vehicle - be on my way rain-wokking, hence the brevity of today's post. I shall hopefully manage to scribble more upon my return but need now to go and beautify.</div>
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Hope you have a wonderful day wherever you may be; please telethink you birthday wishes to my most lovely canine companion and spare at least one thought for me as I attempt to become a sort of Jacques Cous-Cousteau </div>
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'til next time</div>
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Be Seeing You!</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">ॐ</span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-53119299370273938642012-05-17T10:22:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:24.068+01:00Loving The QuestionsGood Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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I'm so glad you popped in; please do help yourself to tea and toast (there's even a splodge of Orange and Ginger marmalade if you so desire) and we'll pass a wee while in conversation . . . </div>
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It was while wondering around the Parish Church Gardens photographically represented here - but sadly, for this morning at least, bathed in a veil of low cloud and drizzle - and listening to some music-based quantum physics - for such things do exist - that I came up with the idea for today's conversation piece.<br />
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I better elaborate: There's a project of which I am very fond and which I have mentioned here before. It's called <a href="http://www.symphonyofscience.com/videos.html" target="_blank">The Symphony of Science</a> and is basically a fantastically innovative way of spreading scientific ideas to members of the non-scientific community via music. Clips from programs and films are taken and edited together to make lyrics and the voices treated with synthesis so that the people appearing in the clips - from Stephen Hawking and Brian Cox to Alice Roberts and Carl Sagan - appear to sing.<br />
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Anyhow, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">there I was, strolling and pondering about life, death and the Universe </span>with Sal Dog (though, to be fair, I think she was more interested in sniffing actually) and listening to a song called <i>Onward To The Edge</i> which is ostensibly about space travel, the chorus of which is:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Onward to the edge<br />We're moving onward to the edge<br />Here we are together;<br />This fragile little world"</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and it occurred to me that, like a lot of the concepts about the universe, it could be taken as a metaphor for our journey through life here on Earth . . . after all we are all made of the universe, the elements that make up our bodies come from the Big Bang and the particles that make up our bodies are a sort of universe; one might even fantasise that the universe we catch the tiniest glimpse of in the night sky could simply be the particles of some other body! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The overarching feeling I got from the song though was one that occurs to me a lot; the story of the Universe, how it was formed, how it will die is the same story as the story of our life and death. As Richard Dawkins says in one of the songs <i>Our Place In The Cosmos</i>:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Matter flows from place to place<br />And momentarily comes together to be you<br />Some people find that thought disturbing<br />I find the reality thrilling</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So all this matter and energy comes together and for a short period of time we exist; it then changes and we cease to exist, we die; but as energy cannot be created or destroyed only transformed, we never really die which I too find, thrilling! At the end of Onward To The Edge, astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson says:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i>When I reach to the edge of the universe<br />I do so knowing that along some paths of cosmic discovery<br />There are times when, at least for now,<br />One must be content to love the questions themselves</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">and that is exactly my view of our journey though life; it is the journey itself that is the reward and no matter how many answers you seek maybe sometimes we just have to be content with loving the questions.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I suppose such questions concerning our mortality have been brought even more to the forefront than usual by a series of meetings with the lovely folk at the <a href="http://www.me2youbereavement.org.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Me2You Bereavement and Loss Charity</a> this week. It seems that they are keen to work with our organisation and we are truly madly deeply wishing to be involved with the stunning work they do and so a passionate partnership has been formed. Should you want to find out more about their work or even pass on a few hard-earned pennies you can click on their name and be whisked magically away to their website - please do visit; they are totally self-funded and the work they do is remarkable and so desperately needed.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">But look, how remiss of me! I haven't wished you a <b>Happy 17th May</b>! Now why, I hear you ask, would he wish to do that? Well, because today is Norwegian Independence Day and an occasion for much frolicking and fun . . . at least it should be, though with the shadow of the </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="pp-place-title" style="cursor: pointer; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Utøya massacre in July last year and the current trial of the perpetrator hanging over the whole country, it's hard to imagine there will be much celebration. However, I have been very proud of the people of Norway's attitude; they were intent that life should carry on and that security paranoia be kept to a minimum which, to me, seems very typically Norwegian. I remember when I lived there in the 1980s it was rumoured that the old king Olav Vth could often be found pottering about in the supermarkets and shops in KarlJohansgate, just down the road from the Royal Palace - lovely!</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="pp-place-title" style="cursor: pointer; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="pp-place-title" style="cursor: pointer; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's also time for me to be about my business and, as a meeting with Sister Cate looms, that business is with cake! I hope this lot of blather made some kind of sense and that your day is filled with love and swamped with memories of those who have touched and continue to touch your life.</span></span></span></div>
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</div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-23104735053481059752012-05-04T01:58:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:22.562+01:00Alice Pleasance Liddell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4 May 1852 – 16 November 1934</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A</b> boat beneath a sunny sky,<br /><b>L</b>ingering onward dreamily<br /><b>I</b>n an evening of July--<br /><br /><b>C</b>hildren three that nestle near,<br /><b>E</b>ager eye and willing ear,<br /><b>P</b>leased a simple tale to hear--<br /><br /><b>L</b>ong has paled that sunny sky:<br /><b>E</b>choes fade and memories die.<br /><b>A</b>utumn frosts have slain July.<br /><br /><b>S</b>till she haunts me, phantomwise,<br /><b>A</b>lice moving under skies<br /><b>N</b>ever seen by waking eyes.<br /><br /><b>C</b>hildren yet, the tale to hear,<br /><b>E</b>ager eye and willing ear,<br /><b>L</b>ovingly shall nestle near.<br /><br /><b>I</b>n a Wonderland they lie,<br /><b>D</b>reaming as the days go by,<br /><b>D</b>reaming as the summers die:<br /><br /><b>E</b>ver drifting down the stream--<br /><b>L</b>ingering in the golden gleam--<br /><b>L</b>ife, what is it but a dream?</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">ॐ</span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-54207755651284206422012-05-03T21:53:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:24.157+01:00Everything's Got A Moral, If Only You Can Find It!Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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Welcome, once again, to a somewhat sun-bedecked study on this Thursday morning. Although marginally later than originally planned, I am up and about in order to cast my vote at the local elections - I always feel it behoves one to do so especially when people in other cultures and countries risk their lives in order to be able to do so freely . . . anyhow, this somewhat mundane and very much taken for granted task will also encompass Sal's matutinal micturating meander and a quick call in to see my two favourite purveyors of Tea and Retail Therapy in order to pick up the second five volume load of Arthur Mees's Children's Encyclopedia; I somehow managed the first five yesterday with only a light dusting of damage to my skeleto-muscular system and the Famous Sally Dog is, as you can imagine, always mysteriously busily engaged in tree-sniffing when called upon to help . . . </div>
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So what is the connection - you may ask, and I'm sure you do - between Arthur Mee's ancient, weighty and paper-based version of the internet and the somewhat faded but nonetheless beautiful collodion print above? Well, for one thing, they both featured quite strikingly in my childhood but it has to be said that the major reason for the inclusion of this photograph is that tomorrow, Friday 4th May 2012, will be the 160th birthday of this rather fragile creature . . . it is, of course, the wee girl who would become Mrs Reginald Hargreaves in later years but who began her life - and was in mine from practically the start - as Alice Pleasance Liddell. Those of you poor souls who have suffered my scribblings for a time or two will know the enormous impact this little ghost has had (and continues to have) on my life and will, I'm sure, join with me in wishing her a very Happiest of Birthdays - wherever she may be.<br />
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Apologies are due for my absence at the start of the month; I'm not sure how you managed to get through this event without my usual cheery greeting of "White Rabbits x 3" but hopefully you did - otherwise I am talking to myself; a practice not without merits as often the listener does understand, for a change, what the orator is blathering on about but sadly one frowned upon in polite society - unless one takes the precaution of wearing headphones (which need not be connected to any device) when it seems it is permissible to speak loudly and gesticulate wildly wherever one may be . . . anyhow, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish you a somewhat belated but heart-felt May Day and, to my pagan friends, a blessed Beltain . . . Oh fie! Tempus Fugit and I must away . . . I shall see you after a short chronistic corridor otherwise known as a passage of time . . .<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">And, indeed, at the end of that particular ginnel is where you find me now! Some ten hours later and the day is descending into gloaming and I am back in the study finishing off todays mantlepiece. Things today went more or less according to plan; the voting was accomplished sadly without passion as it is always a case of the lesser of evils - why <i>are</i> there no Green candidates in the Wigwam? - Sal Dog walked, wagged and widdled to her hearts content and Sister Cate was met and, following hugs and chats with the lovely Sharon, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #612e00; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.viewmanchester.co.uk/restaurants/costa-coffee-info-32244.html" target="_blank">Maîtresse D at Costa</a>, </span>cake was indeed consumed. So, all in all, quite a satisfactory day - not that one would be able to ascertain such facts by viewing the above mug shot of Yours Truly; it is a sort of Serious Author shot ( or deserves to be!) and - if the phisog is ignored - quite pleasing artistically!<br />
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So as curfew tolls the knell of parting day I shall leave you to enjoy your evening in peace; please try to remember that tomorrow is dear Alice's anniversary as well as being Star Wars Day - a wee <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ʞǝǝƃ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">Ô </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">reference there* - and I hope that the ensuing Bank Holiday finds you relaxed and well, with sunshine and love flooding your hours!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'til next time</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">* </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">wee <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ʞǝǝƃ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">Ô</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A trademark for very trendy things I've just invented! </span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-10386395323554175312012-04-24T22:11:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:22.027+01:00The Most Beautiful Thing Is ...Good Evening Dear Friends!<br />
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Here we are in the study at Myrtle House once more as day slips into eve and I thought I'd share this picture of my new friend with you; her name is, appropriately enough, Joy and she is the embodiment, I hope, of an upward swing in my emotional state in comparison to the last few weeks . . . Our meeting coincided with yet more not-very-good news which was the final event in a whole series of if anything <i>could</i> go wrongs and after clapping eyes on her I thought rather than simply give up, it was time to maybe fight back a little!</div>
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It's been a funny old day really; one thing has lead to another and some surprisingly lovely outcomes have occurred. The day began with an unexpected text from a sweet neighbour asking me to please put her bin out as she had lost the key to the gate which protects our somewhat overgrown communal cobblestone area from the strife of everyday life. It was a little after six-thirty and I was, as is usual at this hour, a little befuddled; surely it wasn't Wednesday already? It wasn't and my apologetic neighbour conceded as much but, after discharging my bin laden duties, I decided to take the bull by the horns (sorry Joy!) and start work on the dreaded website design for the new practice . . . this went surprisingly well and a little work in progress now graces the ether for all to see.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIt5c_bAjJAHkCv7OxZd4WieS6V9BRBfFM0kfpB1KXqkWg05KZX-SUaoDmagbdK3VFUvUwaV_HlYhFmEtTfeD0Kr8tLR6r3uCwMh9FUiWpmb6aoelCyiQkO2hmhuXmwiQ9Bm5EFZZYU0Ui/s1600/tmbtcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIt5c_bAjJAHkCv7OxZd4WieS6V9BRBfFM0kfpB1KXqkWg05KZX-SUaoDmagbdK3VFUvUwaV_HlYhFmEtTfeD0Kr8tLR6r3uCwMh9FUiWpmb6aoelCyiQkO2hmhuXmwiQ9Bm5EFZZYU0Ui/s320/tmbtcover.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
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In between such technicalities I was, of course, keeping a weather-eye on my twitter and saw the offer of a free download of an e-book and, not being one to refuse anything for free, I went and clicked the link which, unfortunately didn't appear to work. I tried it three times without success and then sent a tweet to the author <a href="http://www.writingourwayhome.com/p/most-beautiful-thing.html" target="_blank">Fiona Robyn</a> who very sweetly explained it was an issue with the release time and I should try again later. I did and got it - along with an invoice from Amazon for the three times I'd tried to downloaded it but that was quickly sorted. Anyhow, the point I'm trying to get around to in my bumbling way is that Fiona shares a certain commonality with Yours Truly in that she is a writer and a psychotherapist and succeeds in doing what I am trying to set up in the new venture . . . and so I have joined her community which is aptly named Writing Our Way Home, and hope that this leads onto a sharing of many good and beautiful things. By the way, the free offer ends at some point tomorrow I believe - you can check it out by clicking on Fiona's name above. The only down side of all this positivity is that I've been so fired up and keen to create I haven't had time to but skim the book; I intend to give it serious consideration later this eve.</div>
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I can feel the call of a cup of tea tugging at my heartstrings, if such a thing is anatomically possible or merely a mixing of metaphors in response to that muse of Morpheus, so in any case I shall finish up here and hie my way down the Eiger face of the staircase to the kitchen where, I suspect, a cup of the steamy stuff may be had with even, perchance, a chocolate biscuit or three; the diet will begin . . . soonishly.</div>
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I hope the rest of your evening is a joy to behold - especially if you too have a gaudily painted bovine - and that tomorrow is bursting with happiness from the moment your eyes open. I know that in the Wigwam the weather is supposed to be dreadful tomorrow and, I suspect, the same is to be said for most of the country, so please ensure you take my love with you to act as an umbrella.</div>
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'til next time</div>
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Be Seeing You! </div>
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<br /></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-75251072314259072262012-04-14T11:12:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:25.533+01:00The Beauty of the World has Two Edges *Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jdg4o5gvpqb1PAgPOBPjz9JF-jT7J3Qy-ekZEgbMuCTSrJZLCAhYOduV9r0nzC-QejpzSrYcn9z6wB_B2kBhjDtOgf3NNutqZYi3j76Rb1BoRXZ4gH4ZyeDclubJ3R3LSsEoUMlOdiR8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jdg4o5gvpqb1PAgPOBPjz9JF-jT7J3Qy-ekZEgbMuCTSrJZLCAhYOduV9r0nzC-QejpzSrYcn9z6wB_B2kBhjDtOgf3NNutqZYi3j76Rb1BoRXZ4gH4ZyeDclubJ3R3LSsEoUMlOdiR8/s320/1.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to a sunny Saturday morning with a so far cloudless blue sky painted on the windows of the study at Myrtle House and Yours Truly in a somewhat wistful mood . . . I woke this morning and thought "Why is everything so complicated?" that was it - my very first thought. Now, I must admit that I have spent many nights recently trekking in the dark, midnight woods, looking for that evasive and elusive shade called sleep; and a flare up of old physical issues means I'm walking quite a lot like a question mark which isn't exactly helping my state of mind but I was a little perturbed that my first conscious thought should be that . . .</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, after some consideration and deliberation, I asked myself the question again; why <i>does</i> everything have to be so complicated? And the answer is, of course, that it doesn't . . . as Thoreau wrote in <i>Walden</i> which first saw the light of day in 1854: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Our life is frittered away by detail... Simplify, simplify, simplify! ... Simplicity of life and elevation of purpose</i>". </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I suppose it would be easy to say glibly "<i>Ah well, that was then, this is now - life was a lot simpler then</i>" and I expect that, to a degree, it is true; and you have to take into account that the book is an account of two years he spent living in a cabin by Walden Pond in woodland near Concord, Massachusetts experimenting with self-sufficiency and he was only able to do that because his friend and mentor Emerson footed the bill, as it were but, nonetheless (how I love that word) I think we could do worse than consider his advice when weighing up the direction our life is taking.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">By 'our' life I do, of course, really mean mine. I think it is a modern day myth and cause of much sadness to me personally that, in order to live the simple life, it seems one must wade through a sea of complicatedness first - any one who has tried to set up a 'simple' wireless network in their home knows this first hand - but I think it is because we all of us </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">see the world as a complicated place and so </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">make our lives more complicated than strictly necessary in order to fit in. We are so aware of, and so able to respond to, the many connections that exist that we feel somehow bound and obliged to do so; I am never further than a foot away from my iPhone and its stunning array of apps to help me organise my life and communicate with people and consider their connections and . . . well, it all gets so complicated, doesn't it!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgaOM_wp5Y2gBvhPp0IO4dnPrTNl28ywjyx3m72wBY6rtIq3SCRQ_2EpHGzXb_mDuGITXgyNpGOcMixV5Wt8c-C-NmyNOikrlOrKImLdKrQRbI_eXSi-RNNJ_9KWRvpGg1nA5N5zrdVMv/s1600/maggie+smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgaOM_wp5Y2gBvhPp0IO4dnPrTNl28ywjyx3m72wBY6rtIq3SCRQ_2EpHGzXb_mDuGITXgyNpGOcMixV5Wt8c-C-NmyNOikrlOrKImLdKrQRbI_eXSi-RNNJ_9KWRvpGg1nA5N5zrdVMv/s320/maggie+smith.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And so the morning slips on and I contemplate such concepts as, among others, the delayed gratification that seemed so prevalent in my childhood but which now no longer seems to exist; having said that I recognise that I am just as guilty of wanting things now rather than later although I could excuse this as an example of my buddhist (with a very small b) lifestyle where I live purely in the now, but I feel that would be cheating ever so slightly, especially as I know that the things in themselves aren't the answer. We do use them to fill the gaps and chasms that exist in our lives; the gratification doesn't last however and the hunger returns with a vengeance . . . </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I recall a fantastic line from the wonderfully charming and feel-good film <i>The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel</i> - a film which I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone, by the way, despite some shoddy reviews - in which a very curmudgeonly Maggie Smith is told that she may have to wait six months for a medical procedure and responds with "<i>Six months? I can't wait six months! At my time of life I don't even buy green bananas!</i>" which resonates so deeply with Yours Truly that it could almost be mistaken for ultrasound! </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, given that a level of complicatedness has to exist at least momentarily, what does the week ahead hold in store? Well, on the professional side of things, furniture has been moved into the new premises and titivation needs now to occur - along with the procurement of stuff like desks and chairs as we have tripled our space but not our furniture - and then, once all that's been done, and bids written, and surveys undertaken, and workshops designed and fun events co-ordinated . . . Hmmm; maybe I should just sit here in my study and write? Ah, but were it possible! Sadly, unless some money rolls in this particular "Room of One's Own" won't be one's own for much longer and so the necessary evils once again take precedent and with noses to the grindstone and shoulders to the wheel it's no wonder my back is so bad . . . why <i>is</i> life so complicated?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I hope your weekend is simply wonderful and wonderfully simple; like me, the youthful morning's blue sky is slowly greying and so I'd take an umbrella just in case but have fun whatever you do and - since April showers bring forth May flowers - I think we can all look forward to a blooming lovely Spring! </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">'til next time</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Be Seeing You !</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder ~ Virginia Woolf</span></span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-56561276318795241622012-04-08T12:26:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:24.334+01:00Let Us Always Meet Each Other With Smiles *Good Morning My Dear Friends!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHJkT4IrmtF-_K7AJS1IeN9eT2A40jIsKiLLxTTLSbH4qicuqs6ZRFI8iQwQAxUsszgJOzjVkicXfMpzXcV9skUBWf9EjxX5YZYUCrbVn9TcsHPPWzg3y3EU4a50fN9_VrvAX0mKLhlPH/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHJkT4IrmtF-_K7AJS1IeN9eT2A40jIsKiLLxTTLSbH4qicuqs6ZRFI8iQwQAxUsszgJOzjVkicXfMpzXcV9skUBWf9EjxX5YZYUCrbVn9TcsHPPWzg3y3EU4a50fN9_VrvAX0mKLhlPH/s400/005.JPG" width="186" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so, it seems, it is Easter Sunday; all over the country people are celebrating the major event in the religious calendar of the most popular faith by eating chocolate for breakfast . . . being of buddhist (with a small b) leaning I am doing no such thing, although a bar of organic plain may get a bashing later on in the proceedings . . . So welcome, friends; make yourself at home and I'll see about rustling a spot of tea and toast for breakfast . . .</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hope you like the pic on todays offering; it is a print made by the very talented <a href="http://www.sebwestgallery.co.uk/" target="_blank">Seb West</a> who is based at Towednack, on the outskirts of St Ives. Seb is one of the artists whose work I used to lust after when I visited the town I considered to be my spiritual second home; to my eternal shame and regret I never got to buy any of his work although, should Dame Fortune ever give me a second glance - much less smile on me - that is a situation I would gladly rectify. By the way, I hope you will have noticed that I have recently started linking the people I mention in this blog to their websites by hyperlinks; this is a way of giving you a chance to learn more about them and also paying them back for their kindnesses to me whether known or unknown . . . so if you could click on the link - as in Seb's above - I would appreciate it. Talking of spiritual homes, another place that always felt that way to me and is similarly different is <a href="http://www.deyamallorca.com/" target="_blank">Deya</a>, a wonderful village in the north of Mallorca that I visited once and with which I fell in love; my friend the poet and musician <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daevid_Allen" target="_blank">Daevid Allen</a> lived there, next door to author <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Graves" target="_blank">Robert Graves</a> and other authors and painters of note . . . an amazing collection of talents in that one small place.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoyg97ddvOylB2u3MDpKeo7mM7IeO-w-KT7zPruaKYlp8hSUWa6RxM-8DKlRnRRHlx17A5YjWY2SUtD2ZQiYdyB57ltuo-U0ZTnca8gOiHHHfqmL3DBohkTkC_YAEsGb0s63iQOzKslaI/s1600/REBECA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoyg97ddvOylB2u3MDpKeo7mM7IeO-w-KT7zPruaKYlp8hSUWa6RxM-8DKlRnRRHlx17A5YjWY2SUtD2ZQiYdyB57ltuo-U0ZTnca8gOiHHHfqmL3DBohkTkC_YAEsGb0s63iQOzKslaI/s320/REBECA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what plans are afoot today? Hmmm, a very good question; I should do some writing and possibly some reading - Virginia is tugging at my conscience and I have a book of short stories by <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/ian+rankin/a+good+hanging/6262946/" target="_blank">Ian Rankin</a> to review - not to mention my dear old K9 DomQuad currently snoring at the side of the desk who will at some point wish to venture afield despite the predictably awful weather . . . but I have an urge simply to curl up and watch an old film, maybe <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebecca_(1940_film)" target="_blank">Rebecca</a>, with the lovely Joan Fontaine (see above) . . . she is in the film btw, not curled upon the sofa with Yours Truly! </div><div style="text-align: justify;">One aspect of the film that intrigues me is the fact that we never learn her character's name; we know that her husband is the wealthy and eligible Max De Winter, played with icy disdain by Laurence Olivier; and the name of his first wife, the eponymous Rebecca (who remains unseen) and even the exceptionally creepy housekeeper Mrs Danvers - played superbly by the fabulous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mrs._Danvers" target="_blank">Dame Judith Anderson</a> - but Joan's character is only ever referred to as Mrs DeWinter, my dear etc. She and Max meet when she is acting as companion to an annoying american woman named Edythe Van Hopper (Florence Bates) and accompanying her around the Riviera. Mrs Van Hopper - a social climber - fauns to Max saying that "Most girls would give their eyes for a chance to See Monte <i>[Carlo]</i>" to which Max replies "Wouldn't that <i>rather</i> defeat the object?" Lovely stuff! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyhow, we shall see; plans are, like the dominant weather system, mainly fluid and subject to change without advanced warning! I can't see me being whisked away for unknown treats and delights which would, of course, be rather fun; so a quiet and secluded day seems on the books . . . which is fine because, after all, you can always pop in and visit whenever you choose. I suppose I could even get around to updating the long-neglected <a href="http://myrtle-house.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Myrtle House</a> blog although that does seem a rather energetic and somewhat radical move - we shall see how the day progresses.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And with that thought I shall leave you to your Easter; I hope you enjoy the day and the Bank Holiday to follow and that love hops after you and multiplies like bunnies do</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'til next time</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Be Seeing You !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* Let us always meet each other with smiles; for the smile is the beginning of love ~ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Mother Theresa</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-56633741016684738372012-04-03T21:09:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:24.423+01:00Summoned By BellsGood Evening Dear Friends!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBEkUXwiBRQgNU-h4OW1HNe9qr6v56QXxl6GqnBLCzQBcBsgP3uSU-n93DgtivCdRBrxtLKsrYaeRKuedjYNBQHBHD2tcbWi0tw43eMSaWlwV3MzHufkCwSB1xZRILFoxEiYeKfnxOsmz/s1600/all+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBEkUXwiBRQgNU-h4OW1HNe9qr6v56QXxl6GqnBLCzQBcBsgP3uSU-n93DgtivCdRBrxtLKsrYaeRKuedjYNBQHBHD2tcbWi0tw43eMSaWlwV3MzHufkCwSB1xZRILFoxEiYeKfnxOsmz/s320/all+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And what a bizarre kind of evening it is weather-wise with Aberdeenshire - where I used to spend many a happy hour in the mid '80s - shivering under a traditionally imperial 6 inches (rather than the modern metric 15 cm) of snow whilst other parts bask in Spring sunshine . . . here in the Wigwam it is somewhat grey and darkling with the ever present possibility of brighter later seemingly more probably a wetter sooner !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what has Yours Truly been up to since last we met? Well, I went along to the Stephen Armstrong event (see picture above) and met not only the very charming man himself but another author named <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/advancedSearch.do?buttonClicked=1&author=Danny+Dorling&searchType=2" target="_blank">Danny Dorling</a> with whom I chatted statistics - and yes, it was very interesting thank you, oh doubting ones! - along with the very lovely and talented soprano <a href="http://www.musicteachers.co.uk/teacher/890070d94b4cae4fab28" target="_blank">Jane Collier</a> . . . I have a copy of Stephen's book <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/stephen+armstrong/the+road+to+wigan+pier+revisited/8843167/" target="_blank">"The Road to Wigan Pier Revisited"</a> which I will be reviewing and of which I shall say more later. The event, which took place at Sunshine House in Scholes a mere stone's throw from where Dear Old George stayed when he came to Wigan in the '30s, was very well attended and there were so many familiar faces there that I could have spent an entire evening shaking hands and kissing proffered cheeks; especially those of my dear friend and artist extraordinaire Poppy Fields with whom such social collisions are always so pleasurable!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today was spent on a variety of tasks involved in the process of trying to be grown up and professional - which, as fellow 11 year olds will vouch, is a tad difficult not to say boring - and a more pleasurable set of activities involving not one but both of my sisters. First and foremost it was off to Costa for the initial visit where Vicky, Sally and Shoana (hope that's the correct spelling) went out of their way as always to make us feel welcome. The Sisters sat scoffing - cake, not in derision - whilst I tried once again to explain to Cate the theory behind the correct fitting of a toilet seat; this included demonstrating the eccentric nature of the seat and lid fastening which allows for adjustment along the length of the toilet by use of the also-eccentric Costa saucers . . . fuelled thus we set off into the less than pleasant climes and popped over to the <a href="http://www.wiganparishchurch.org/" target="_blank">Parish Church of All Saints</a> which, this being Holy Week, was open for visitors other than on a Saturday.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7Tovw6hF5idPUJpNOW79z6Iq7tzdmwLdb4odQpZfnXAYbES4Y1cMqCNcIe5d4xAWhyRMmszBNVJ9LSMvO0Iqwlbvmt7ElScf7ERbW5D7Z454tBF2JTp2qAaKdZxMPl3U1uyJMGxPFFx6/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7Tovw6hF5idPUJpNOW79z6Iq7tzdmwLdb4odQpZfnXAYbES4Y1cMqCNcIe5d4xAWhyRMmszBNVJ9LSMvO0Iqwlbvmt7ElScf7ERbW5D7Z454tBF2JTp2qAaKdZxMPl3U1uyJMGxPFFx6/s320/005.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It really is an amazingly beautiful and often over-looked church, the present building dating for the most part from around 1840 but the first mention of the church being in the Doomsday Survey of 1086. As well as enjoying the beautiful peace and tranquility and gorgeous architectural features, it was also good to revisit the scene of the Sisters' baptism (many years ago!) and to remember the Old Duchess who 'belonged' to the church as she would have said; a real pity she couldn't be there in person to enjoy today. It was fascinating to chat to the very friendly helpers who were there to meet and greet visitors and, in the ensuing conversation, I learned that the Church has been successful in bidding for Heritage Lottery funding to allow the restoration of 15th century altar pieces and the Chancel reredos; the project will also provide an opportunity to learn about the importance of the church in the history of Wigan. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you're free this week I would urge you to pop along and have a look and, if possible, to add your name to the visitors book; the funding body always wants to see that the community visits the building at times other than for services. It is also a venue for all types of musical events and deserves perhaps more support from the community of Wigan than it receives. The picture, by the way, is of a window I particularly liked; it is set in the south wall and depicts angels representing Mercy, Truth, Righteousness and Peace.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I thought for a brief moment I could hear thunder but I realise that it is, in fact, the rumbling of my intestines as they cry pity and long for the Chicken Dopiaza I obtained from the "It may look a funny colour but it's still nearly edible!" section at Morrisons; and so with thoughts of you all still reverberating like a ring of bells in my head I shall end this mercifully short tragical history tour of my mind and say toodle pip with hopes that your love keeps you warm in the snow!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'til next time</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Be Seeing You !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">ॐ</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-85629958128323083622012-03-28T18:32:00.000+01:002023-05-30T22:20:26.159+01:00That Great Cathedral Space which was Childhood*Good Morning Dear Friends!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WcgkMzQ7c9wWba4Vbx2XWbhjIhKHTa4bIClQlifq3wRE30PXqZEWtS6fc56awjfJ9bm3ZtgVq9A_f45-55sJ5nW_DlOBvQUzrNN1gOQgYbjYoLrS3P4nhVfolttAJnPbL1MGKAST3WIv/s1600/031a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WcgkMzQ7c9wWba4Vbx2XWbhjIhKHTa4bIClQlifq3wRE30PXqZEWtS6fc56awjfJ9bm3ZtgVq9A_f45-55sJ5nW_DlOBvQUzrNN1gOQgYbjYoLrS3P4nhVfolttAJnPbL1MGKAST3WIv/s400/031a.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I do hope the grinning fool opposite doesn't ruin what, looking out of the windows of the study at Myrtle house, appears to be another fine and blue sky day; the photograph of Yours Truly gurning like a local cat was taken in another study, part of the lovely retreat in Cheese-shire where I spent my birthday . . . I also went for a walk around the environs of the river Weaver and saw for the first time in the flesh - or feather more like - a nuthatch, amazing! I still get a huge thrill when something like that occurs; it all goes back to when I was a child and would read about British wildlife in the Observer or Ladybird books but, growing up as I did on a 1960's new build local authority estate, these wonderful creatures seemed destined to remain just illustrations and live examples were rarer than rocking horse droppings! The only garden birds I saw were sparrows, thrushes, blackbirds and starlings; no blue tits ever pecked my gold tops . . . which isn't that surprising as we used to have sterilised rather than Pasteurised milk delivered . . . ah me, the good old days, eh!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What products of our childhood we are! I still find myself drawn to and seeking out those images which populated my early mind; if someone were to offer me a study with a piano and french windows looking out to an herbaceous border I would probably die with joy on the spot! Sadly, given the precarious state of authordom these days, even the far more humble splendours of Myrtle House seem tantalisingly difficult enough to hang on to; it's true I think that people always need stories but even more pertinent that, when given the choice of paying even the smallest amount for them or spending their hard-earned lining the already obscenely bulging pockets of the utility companies, will always have to choose the latter. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">One of my favourite authors once said - and, despite the obvious gender difference, it is one quote I hold close to my heart - "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction" and a 'room of one's own' is, to my mind, an absolute necessity. Peace and quiet and the time to reflect without the tedious business of worrying about paying bills is something everyone should consider an essential given and part and parcel of being human, not merely a luxury to be enjoyed by the few. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">As an aside, in that vein I am considering squandering a few of my pennies on an evening with Stephen Armstrong which takes place this Friday the subject of which is his book "The Road to Wigan Pier Revisited", a revisitation of Orwell's journey some seventy-five years later . . . are we any better off, I wonder . . . </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtv6ai6n2zPEf0JI8RTdRiAzlCUsGqv8vLXBnbQWesU9tBRSf1IZIF-loyBhqeqlBLqibQ4ZH7V135oO3RLdUlbh5rzKhTKinxvRoCH2WpNSSootwDbKVPNBE6HNwr28Yt9nerff39s0Ci/s1600/Woolf-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtv6ai6n2zPEf0JI8RTdRiAzlCUsGqv8vLXBnbQWesU9tBRSf1IZIF-loyBhqeqlBLqibQ4ZH7V135oO3RLdUlbh5rzKhTKinxvRoCH2WpNSSootwDbKVPNBE6HNwr28Yt9nerff39s0Ci/s320/Woolf-1.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyhow, back to the quote and, more importantly its author . . . it is 71 years ago today that Virginia Woolf set off from her home and walked down to the banks of the River Ouse, filled her overcoat pockets with stones and stepped under the surface; she was 59 and was, once again, drowning in life as her depression worsened and was afraid she was going mad. She wrote in her last note to her husband, Leonard: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been. V"</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mgXK36tLZaNoo_7i0HS7_gsx1sNdNJMzNQVANPaEH18GtSFxRfkjKQ-tKdyk-2ap6pxeLu55v862zvpHS7WIckZfb6cmKmCLggRgUvvZQe2u1XR_R52Kkj_bCKgkamniCLn2PpJx047R/s1600/note.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mgXK36tLZaNoo_7i0HS7_gsx1sNdNJMzNQVANPaEH18GtSFxRfkjKQ-tKdyk-2ap6pxeLu55v862zvpHS7WIckZfb6cmKmCLggRgUvvZQe2u1XR_R52Kkj_bCKgkamniCLn2PpJx047R/s200/note.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">One wonders if, had she been born later and had access to the various therapies and medications available, she would have lived to write more or if, as seems so often to be the case, in exorcising devils we lose the angels too . . . In any case this is pure conjecture and the fact of the matter remains that we lost one of our finest writers on that day and I for one treasure her remaining words. The last note to Leonard is such an incredibly sad letter; bizarrely it has become the inspiration for a new short piece entitled "The Note" which is not at all sad but illustrates I hope, our preconceptions of people and the way in which we each view our fellow man - deep, eh! Anyhow, it is written and sits with my lovely literary editor awaiting yay or nayness! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It is now some hours later and the day has made me weary with lists of unenviable tasks to complete and sheer maddeningly annoying mindless drivel to deal with . . . ah me! Where is my own room? Well, of course it is here and, here being the study, I am surrounded by my books with the words of a thousand voices falling like a light summer rain which do much to soothe my savage breast! </div><div style="text-align: justify;">In amongst the negativity of the day there have been some nice surprises: I met with Sister Cate a day earlier than usual and we had cake and tea and a lovely chat with Mine Host Sharon with whom we discussed diabolical plans to reinstate my favourite cake . . . plotting is such fun! Then I popped into Waterstones to see if they knew anything of the Stephen Armstrong event - which they didn't - but I left bearing both gifts and the pleasure of chatting with Sam and Rachel which is always nice; I then managed to get through to the event organiser and was told the event was free and I would also get a free signed copy of the book - most excellent! So I have a social engagement on Friday evening - which will be quite literally a turn up for a book !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So now I should think of satisfying the inner man - or at least making a sandwich - and leave you good people to your evenings. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the moderately unseasonal climes which I believe may leave us in time for Easter (of course!) and that your week is stress free and love soaked!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'til next time</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Be Seeing You !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* Virginia Woolf</span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-35807846123098139912012-03-23T13:42:00.002+00:002023-05-30T22:20:23.273+01:00There is Still no Cure for the Common Birthday*Good afternoon Dear Friends!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqndpuMs9qtWl5pEPEfHTcGgPd-YzUD8nCKu7_S_IX6ht479ed1Gy085IWIzVywVQFWkc_t98wDQ4j48uL1NvzkYNWObUD-iuPkyUju5uXntGVOI5PIPRhVedxv2xA4r3h-wuotjUvAKJu/s1600/snufkins+hat+bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqndpuMs9qtWl5pEPEfHTcGgPd-YzUD8nCKu7_S_IX6ht479ed1Gy085IWIzVywVQFWkc_t98wDQ4j48uL1NvzkYNWObUD-iuPkyUju5uXntGVOI5PIPRhVedxv2xA4r3h-wuotjUvAKJu/s400/snufkins+hat+bag.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Welcome once again to the study at Myrtle House which is in a bit of a flutter today as I prepare to disappear until tomorrow and am trying to get the old homestead in a suitable condition for Sister Cate who has very kindly once again agreed to dog-sit . . . </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm off once again on a flying visit via the vagaries of various rail networks to the rolling green and distinctly ovoid basket-of-eggs-topography of rural Cheese-shire for the miniest of breaks where I shall spend a delicious few hours at The Barn in Deer Crossing, my favourite retreat, and where I shall celebrate the fifty-second anniversary of my coming into being.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The photograph above is of a Snufkin's Hat bag full of goodies - presented to me earlier in the week by the ever lovely and loving Sizzle Sisters Sandra and Sam - which was choc - olate full of scrumptiousnesses designed to tempt even the jaded palette of one such as yours truly; it was received with gratefulness and glee, and a lovely sit down amongst the fripperies of their tres chic etablissement with tissane and biscuits dutifully ensued.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This morning I managed to squeeze in a quick Costa Call In with Sam Gecko who presented me with a most delightful little ornament for my wrist and had a lovely chat as always with Sharon and Vicky, long suffering purveyors of tea, cake and giggles . . . just as I was writing that I had a visit from my postman (Hello Gareth!) who popped a fistful of cards in through the door; a mad dash downstairs meant that I managed to retrieve them from the jaws of death - or Sal as she is also known - and was suitably impressed and overwhelmed by people's thoughtfulness - of which more in the next post.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Time really is of the essence now and I must away and turn down beds, sweep chimneys and get the gardener to rake the gravel for the arrival of my beloved sister shortly - not to mention that beastly business of packing, how do I manage without a valet? Anyhow, soon I shall be on my way and enjoying, I hope, the journey as much as the destination. There is definitely something about sitting on railway stations in weather like this; the sunshine flooding in the now almost desolate halls that were the celebration of dreams in cast iron from the industrial revolution, the breeze teasing the weeds in the tracks and the prospect of sleepy miles ahead with a warm welcome at the end of it . . . ah me! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Right! To work! I hope you have a wonderful weekend whatever you are up to and that the sun shines into every corner of your life and illuminates it with love</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'til next time</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Be Seeing You !</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">ॐ</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*John Glenn, Astronaut, who was a friend's neighbour, and once sent me a postcard when I was about 10 which amazed and astounded me !</span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-24851195615496218412012-03-17T09:26:00.000+00:002023-05-30T22:20:22.651+01:00Time is a Great Storyteller<div style="text-align: justify;">Good Morning Dear Friends!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNxr4BaUTcJa1cZAHAwzpCzakKUZVSH00qjYQzt4ncddTCp99Gj1SuZ4OVTR-dyVUsJq4fTMxjyVuA1ZXTgpss7G9gYtJunjLtGkDSMF4GD3RyAc9TkyqJRr-xOm49RIm8LGe1dcgWW48/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNxr4BaUTcJa1cZAHAwzpCzakKUZVSH00qjYQzt4ncddTCp99Gj1SuZ4OVTR-dyVUsJq4fTMxjyVuA1ZXTgpss7G9gYtJunjLtGkDSMF4GD3RyAc9TkyqJRr-xOm49RIm8LGe1dcgWW48/s400/005.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A quite exceptionally hearty<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i>sláinte mhaith</i> to you all on this, St Patrick's Day and also the very first anniversary of my move into Myrtle House . . . and quite a tempestuous year it has been too as you, my dearest companions on this journey, are only too well aware! Yet, we are still here; the kettle is boiling, there are some celebratory and sinful dark chocolate hobnobs for breakfast and the study - albeit a little more crowded with volumes and possessing a genteel shabbiness that only comes about with a passage of time - awaits; the sun peeping in at the windows with a promise of a blue sky day on its lips and the whispered prospect of Spring being nearly upon us on its slightly damp and still chilly breath.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I think one of the most abiding memories I have of that day which, after all is only one short year ago, - besides stepping out of my front door for the first time and falling flat on my face - was the joy and excitement of the Old Duchess when I told her I was moving into Myrtle House; the house itself is no more than 50 yards from where her mother was brought up in stepped cottages in a courtyard behind the Old Pear Tree pub, and not much more to where she was born and brought up, surrounded by family as it always seemed to be in those days. Whilst researching the family tree, I followed their trek from the rural landscape of Parbold in the 1600s, along the Douglas Valley and into the bustling metropolis where, of course, the work was and, with it, a prospect of a better life. Family groups set off and in their wake came other brothers and sisters and their families, all making the journey into the urban industrial environment in search of a few pennies more a week to feed their burgeoning brood. The Old Duchess never forgot this area; it where she was born, grew up and went to school and a part of her always wanted to return so, when I took over Myrtle House it was, in a way, her chance to come home, at least for a little while. I think she thought that at last her wayward son had settled somewhere nice and she could, after fifty plus years, stop worrying about him. Sadly, she died three months later to the day, but in those few weeks managed quite a few visits and a couple of trips down her own particular memory lane. Ah me, time . . . I think it is so very true that it is a great storyteller and that, regardless of age, you have to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxSICfc1N56wcm5GdxuXy7nVm9WQJwK0DV7ExRiSpYEVLR_8fLMaI8fKZzrfG9GxQli_wnYuP6Zv_m0ebAtzWTbbSMRRNyts5N8Br1LkzQU7QBNj2hchYUYRZasSrvxgfQ-KFRaqyWE4d/s1600/193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxSICfc1N56wcm5GdxuXy7nVm9WQJwK0DV7ExRiSpYEVLR_8fLMaI8fKZzrfG9GxQli_wnYuP6Zv_m0ebAtzWTbbSMRRNyts5N8Br1LkzQU7QBNj2hchYUYRZasSrvxgfQ-KFRaqyWE4d/s320/193.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">And so what's on the books for today? How will I be toasting the memory of my loved ones present and past, here and departed? Well, there's a better than average chance that today will see me, at some juncture, seated in my favourite repository of cakiness, watching the retail antics of the crowd below and, one hopes, as far removed as possible from the beer-swilling crowds who, I imagine, will be much in evidence, clad every man jack of them in large green felt top hats and ginger wigs in an effort to be considered "Oirish" and generally being uproarious . . . I must admit to having guzzled a fair amount of Jamesons and quaffed innumerable pints of Ales and Scrumpies in my previous life but have <i>never</i> worn a top hat with the moniker <i>Guinness</i> scrawled upon it, or a curly orange wig in an effort to emphasise my Gaelic roots . . . that smacks rather of having fun, don't you think? And, after all, drinking is a rather serious business!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I'd like to also take this day and this blogging opportunity to thank all of my lovely and adorable friends, both seen and unseen, who read my scribbles on a regular basis and remark just how much they enjoy it; their kindness knows no bounds although their taste is to be considered somewhat questionable. I do derive a great deal of pleasure from having this chance to spew my wordage 'pon a waiting and innocent world and your comments, when they arrive, bring cheer and warmth to the cockles of my heart! It's interesting that both counselling and writing are essentially communicative professions yet intrinsically lonely ones; I recall reading a book many years ago about lighthouse keepers - I always imagined it would be an ideal way of life - and discovering that all of the ones in the book were considered loners and outcasts, difficult to communicate with and unhappy in the company of others . . . I hope that my willingness to communicate and urge to spread my thoughts before you like the hand at Belshazzar's Feast, goes someway to proving that I am not quite like that; although solitude, like honey, is a beautiful taste, too much of it leaves one feeling ill at ease and with nothing but memories of the summer on the tongue.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">And so the morning wends on and I must be about my tasks; a small canine domestic quadruped is eyeing up the sunshine and imagining the number of unsuspecting squirrels she can - quite unsuccessfully - chase; a goodly amount of domesticity requires my attention and, unless I want to terrify the population of the Wigwam, I had better try and do something with my phisog before venturing forth into the world!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I hope you have a wonderful day and a fantastic weekend; thank you for popping by this morning and sharing my celebrations with me; May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">'til next time</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
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</span></span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7020920455257569208.post-82297829394796857052012-03-13T10:05:00.000+00:002023-05-30T22:20:25.980+01:00A Perpetual Astonishment *<div style="text-align: justify;">Good Morning Dear Friends!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWT_PMFMjoBGnfVgxDTJzzwdsLPS9Q2I1H8fFAGArXzN4KHHc0f4Rqbd9B1e13obYlT58J1GMoRrnKrJ6ZpQ3Baj-x36N3VC5QvA1IR88gW-Iud8BoDwmot2bjk7O1AqqnsCeXxlToheUL/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWT_PMFMjoBGnfVgxDTJzzwdsLPS9Q2I1H8fFAGArXzN4KHHc0f4Rqbd9B1e13obYlT58J1GMoRrnKrJ6ZpQ3Baj-x36N3VC5QvA1IR88gW-Iud8BoDwmot2bjk7O1AqqnsCeXxlToheUL/s400/001.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to the study at Myrtle House once again; it's Tuesday morning, fast approaching mid March and Spring is thrubbing and throbbing in rootstocks and wee small creatures alike - although the sky without looks grey and overcast, still you can't have everything, can you . . .</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So another week lurches slowly into being and with it the interminable round of paperwork and forms that seem to bedevil every attempt at creating a slightly better world for us all; grant applications, corporation tax (ha!) and the like sit on my desk, vague memories of the beautiful trees they once were and hooded spectres representing the land-fill they surely will become - unless I use them as bedding for the chickens first, that is!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what does this week ahead offer us? Well, today would have been my father's 89th birthday had he not shuffled off this particular mortal coil half-way through his 56th year; I was a mere stripling of 19 years at the time, very strange to think that relatively soon I will catch up with his allotted span and hopefully pass it with flying colours . . . and with the foremost colour in my mind being green I intend to ensure that our new business venture is firmly in that camp; to this end I am researching the world of folding bicycles . . . </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As one grows older one tends to presume that the world holds little in the form of surprises; well, my friends, may I suggest that, if you are not already familiar with this particular form of transport, you spend an idle moment or two trawling through the world of compact velocipedes; it is undoubtedly one of the most confusing and bewildering I have yet to happen upon. Not least is the wild variation in price - from as little as £89 to (so far) £6,500 - can you imagine how any bike could ever cost that much? Anyhow, the seed is sown and I shall let you know how it transpires . . . the reason for folding by the by is that since my dear Claud Butler was filched with the subsequent loss in faith in human nature, I intend to ensure it never leaves my side! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSiLNklv0KTD8ZlVPdcMJGE0MZ46fj54kpdpqHLSqW12t_uzviLo1fyTzXii6t2WR_g8SB9TemTh_QZHA1lM4p0BVHtbsVfNGXA2M8G9ItAxg4-33e66abbVyv0y-dVD2tgSJVap-5Psj/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSiLNklv0KTD8ZlVPdcMJGE0MZ46fj54kpdpqHLSqW12t_uzviLo1fyTzXii6t2WR_g8SB9TemTh_QZHA1lM4p0BVHtbsVfNGXA2M8G9ItAxg4-33e66abbVyv0y-dVD2tgSJVap-5Psj/s320/017.JPG" width="238" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">So what has occurred since last we met? Friday evening was spent in the company of a certain Mr Derren Brown and an amazing time was had by all; sadly the said gentleman asks that details of his show are kept secret so I am unable to reveal the marvels I witnessed - besides, it would spoil an amazing experience should you ever go to see it. The tickets for the show formed a goodly percentage of my Birthday Treat for, as those of you with little else to trouble the millpond of your life will recall, my 52nd one is fast approaching and it had long been an ambition to see himself in person. The rest of the weekend was spent in a somewhat somnambulant posture, with much relaxing evident and needed although, as today has already shown, pettifogging bureaucracy is always waiting to ensnare the unaware . . . oh hum! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">On Tuesday I met with the Sisters as planned and a cake-fest did indeed ensue; I did my very best to enjoy the Carrot Cake but it was not at all to my liking - I shall have to have words ! We were once again looked after wonderfully in Sharon's absence by the very giddy-kipper Vicky and long-suffering Liam who both ensured that we were treated magnificently... </div><div style="text-align: justify;">The rest of the week went by in its usual usualness - another meet up with Sister Cate on Thursday and another cake-related incident, this time a much more palatable Lemon which I preceded with a goats cheese and onion chutney panini - delicious! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then came Friday and the weekend and, whilst travelling back from Deer Crossing on Saturday evening, I decided to actually do some work and sketched out the opening paragraphs of a new story which I have now completed. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSN3mPXticAHF0rbv9gkzwG8saOl0nxFLPXPK6eHPfRbnrPXj2FInLLtoYzZKvt8iLxJa-uBPTDcsDNYa5Nk03i68N2oHXyshT_I_8196-kgpdRoReLm40yqi9GZ4zDI4rRQDKfhyphenhyphen99w2-/s1600/Trilogy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSN3mPXticAHF0rbv9gkzwG8saOl0nxFLPXPK6eHPfRbnrPXj2FInLLtoYzZKvt8iLxJa-uBPTDcsDNYa5Nk03i68N2oHXyshT_I_8196-kgpdRoReLm40yqi9GZ4zDI4rRQDKfhyphenhyphen99w2-/s400/Trilogy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I intend to submit a trilogy of these short stories for the "<a href="http://www.dyingmatters.org/" target="_blank">Dying Matters</a>" competition; this is aimed at raising awareness of dying which is not as bizarre as it may at first seem. I had already written one called <i>The Empress</i> which I thought I had already told you about - although scrolling quickly through past posts it seems that this may be not the case ! - and this one, which came to me rather quickly and was finished yesterday, called <i>Shippea Hill</i>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">Then, in a burst of creativity yesterday I did indeed finish the trilogy with a piece entitled <i>Albert and I</i> of which I am rather proud . . . </span>They all deal with " ... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>the author’s feelings and thoughts about the end of life </i><i>" </i>and, I think, deal with it in an unusual and thought provoking way . . . hmmm, we shall see ! As I continually say <i>ad nauseam</i> in these pages, all these stories will be available on the <a href="http://myrtle-house.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Myrtle House</a> website (which I see to my shame hasn't been updated since August last year!) as soon as it becomes humanly possible for me to do so. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a rather bizarre quirk and turn of fate I have also submitted a few of my stories to an organsiation in the USA called Sips; the idea being that when you order a coffee in a store participating in the scheme you get a card which contains a QR-code, you then use your smartphone to read the code and, hey presto, the story is there for you to read whilst you sip your coffee - rather neat, eh! You can read more about the scheme <a href="http://beqrious.com/qr-codes-bring-stories-to-readers-in-coffee-shops/" target="_blank">here</a> should you so desire and, if you are planning a trip to the colonies this summer, please keep an eye out for work by yours truly.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that, dear friends, appears to be that; I must away and begin the day in earnest (a lovely chap, I know) which later on consists of more business-like behaviour and web-site creation, in the meantime Sal and I are off to see the Sizzle Sisters to partake of treats and tea amid the splendours of their boutique de temps perdu . . . I hope your week is Springy and Blossomy and all in all rather lovely!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'til next time</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be Seeing You !</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">*</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Every spring is the only spring - a perpetual astonishment.</i> Ellis Peters</span></span></div>Ian McLoughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09765480317354713316noreply@blogger.com0