Friday 27 February 2009
Names a codicil
As a codicil to the previous piece I remembered too that Fanny was a much used name for women at one point before it developed connotations regarding sexuality and I was also thinking about the old film ‘Fanny by Gas light’ I am sure it is a film but it must be perhaps before many of my readers times because I do know it is before mine, so if any of you find a copy I would be interested to know.
A Brief Thought about Names
Back in Regency times, that was at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century, when the Prince Regent took over from his father George the third. (You may have seen the film ‘The Madness of King George’) A ladies maid was known as an Abigail. However the cant (slang) terminology of the times, called a female brothel keeper an Abbess and obviously the ladies of the night were known as ‘nuns’. I was struck by how similar the two names are and also how close Abbess and Abyss are whilst being widely divergent in meaning. The Abyss in the bible being the pit from which the demons issued forth under the command of Satan or Lucifer, and also where souls were cast into who had forfeited the right to heaven. I believe that this is also where the word abysmal comes from. I do have a dictionary of word derivation (real fun subject to read folks!), however this is not reposing on my shelves but buried under the workstation piles that the aforementioned cats have managed to create chaos amongst.
There was a film called the Abyss, if I remember correctly, but it was more linked to man’s need to grow spiritually and emotionally, which is in its way a surging out of the depths to reach the light. It was based around a deep-sea vessel that encountered a space ship and the beings within who ultimately saved them from certain death.
Retreating to the point of cant terminology it did occur also that slang terms come into usage through historic reference or their equivalent in modern patois and the usage of the term Abbess could be derived from the ‘Hell Fire Club’, which was organized by Sir Francis Dashwood and flourished just prior to the regency firstly in London but also at his country home in West Wycombe, where you can visit the tunnels and caves that he had built to accommodate his friends and the ladies of pleasure that served them. It was largely a club for drinking and general debauchery and it also has a television reference in the modern day (or not so far back that it is unmemorable), where the Avengers team (second series) with the fabulous actress Diane Rigg playing ‘The Queen of the Night’ in a modern day revival of the club. I mention this largely because in my far distant skinny youth I looked remarkably like her. (Down Ego! Down!) Its link to Abbess is that the members changed into monk’s habits on arrival and the damsels into nun’s outfits.
Apart from the odd historical reference I also collect myths and legends on a worldwide scale. Many of you must be thinking, “Why does she not get a life?” and yes I do need one as I have worn this one out. So………Another interesting thought that occurred to me was concerning the Sun god (or rather one of many names give to the Sun) According to one history of witchcraft the Sun, Apollo, was seduced by his sister, the Moon goddess who crept into his bed disguised as his favourite cat. I make no assumptions regarding his normal behaviour with his pets but only state the nature of the myth. From this union was born a daughter who came to Earth to teach the daughter’s of men witchcraft. Her name was Tanith.
There was a film called the Abyss, if I remember correctly, but it was more linked to man’s need to grow spiritually and emotionally, which is in its way a surging out of the depths to reach the light. It was based around a deep-sea vessel that encountered a space ship and the beings within who ultimately saved them from certain death.
Retreating to the point of cant terminology it did occur also that slang terms come into usage through historic reference or their equivalent in modern patois and the usage of the term Abbess could be derived from the ‘Hell Fire Club’, which was organized by Sir Francis Dashwood and flourished just prior to the regency firstly in London but also at his country home in West Wycombe, where you can visit the tunnels and caves that he had built to accommodate his friends and the ladies of pleasure that served them. It was largely a club for drinking and general debauchery and it also has a television reference in the modern day (or not so far back that it is unmemorable), where the Avengers team (second series) with the fabulous actress Diane Rigg playing ‘The Queen of the Night’ in a modern day revival of the club. I mention this largely because in my far distant skinny youth I looked remarkably like her. (Down Ego! Down!) Its link to Abbess is that the members changed into monk’s habits on arrival and the damsels into nun’s outfits.
Apart from the odd historical reference I also collect myths and legends on a worldwide scale. Many of you must be thinking, “Why does she not get a life?” and yes I do need one as I have worn this one out. So………Another interesting thought that occurred to me was concerning the Sun god (or rather one of many names give to the Sun) According to one history of witchcraft the Sun, Apollo, was seduced by his sister, the Moon goddess who crept into his bed disguised as his favourite cat. I make no assumptions regarding his normal behaviour with his pets but only state the nature of the myth. From this union was born a daughter who came to Earth to teach the daughter’s of men witchcraft. Her name was Tanith.
Catastrophes and thoughts on naming them
Over the years there have been many cats in my life and at one point I worked as a cat rescue resource in that I could take in seemingly feral kittens and tame them. It was mostly a matter of psychology. (Well that is what the cats said anyway.) You just had to appreciate whether the cat in question liked to be in four walls or out in the elements fighting off other cats, dogs, rabid humans and foxes. Most decided no they preferred comfort and the attention of human slaves. My now ex was not totally happy with this state of affairs as it meant that some of the rather large and often amorous ladies from cat rescue descended to coo at him and also he did not like to put himself out to take me and various felines to the vets for neutering. (I have to also add that no vet has in fact neutered me but I was hopeful that they might neuter my now ex.)
I also have always felt that cats deserve names that add distinction to their lives and perhaps reflect on their status. We therefore had one cat named ‘Frankly Six Cats are too Many’, a further stray and pregnant female who could hear you open a packet of crisp from half a mile, named ’ Gizza-a-bit’, and one still with us originally called ‘that cat’, then renamed ‘Fatso’ but now largely referred to as ‘Alzheimer’s’. (He keeps forgetting where he is and sometimes we think he forgets that he is a cat). We also have cats named wrongly as ‘Genghis’ who is a female and ‘Boudicca’ who we later discovered was a male. She has retained her title; as she is small and aggressive, whilst he is now referred to as Bobo, mind he now thinks that he is a reincarnated Egyptian god. (Photos on request from his agent).
My daughters have added cat personages to our entourage and we now have Middle daughters ‘baby’, which I named ‘Demon’. He bites. He bites her regularly but he is a thoughtful cat who likes to be involved and as many of them do he also likes to follow me as I go out to shop or generally walk about. He also likes to lurk in the bathroom and sit on the computer consol, most mornings will find him being spoon fed yogurt. He has the distinction of biting a lady who came for a reading of one hour and overstayed for three whilst still paying for one. On this occasion (no blood was drawn and as she had expensive nail extensions and tales of round the world holidays) I actually congratulated him on his taste. Also he does not bite me anymore, which is I find, useful as Bobo has to have a mad half hour at around four thirty, with his favourite toys. These consist of a catnip cushion shaped as a vet, a long piece of a la boa feather on a string and his ribbons. It also consists of play fighting with my feet, a strangely painful experience for me.
One of the oddest things about Demon is the way he reacts to being told off. Most cats in general and mine definitely in particular will ignore a mild rebuke saving the escape clause for a full frontal rage onslaught, as they obviously prefer to conserve energy, and anyway you could not be addressing them as they are obviously innocent of all wrong doing. Demon, even at a change of voice tone, will run and hide behind the sofa, in the shopping trolley or since Christmas in his very own Budweiser box. In fact you can say box to him in a stern manner and he races to hide in it. On the plus side if he is hidden it allows him the advantage of ambushing his fellows. This theory works brilliantly unless it is Genghis as she merely sits on top of the box and swipes at him when he tries to come out.
Middle daughter has also thoughtfully provided them with a cat play station that has three platforms, a walkway a swing tunnel and a pyramid nesting box. This occupies a large portion of the living room. Most of their toys are stored in the nesting box and swing and only one cat uses the station as the platforms get him just a micron closer to the heater. Sometimes I look at it and say a silent prayer that it will be stolen or disintegrate, or maybe teleport to another planet.
Cats have a strange relationship with bathrooms. I have noted many writers remark on this and also the need for them to escort their humans, or even just visitors, into the bathroom. One of our many cats played race you to the toilet. If he saw me approaching the staircase he would try and rush ahead of me to claim the toilet seat. One day I piped him to the post and as I lifted the seat he jumped for his goal and yes he landed in the toilet. It was funnily enough the last time that he played that game. Bobo, who hates me to be clean, sits outside the bathroom and huffs when I take a shower. One day he came in as I was running a bath and to show his disapproval jumped into the bath turned miraculously in mid-flight at the sight of bubbles and water and exited. He was not even damp.
I also have always felt that cats deserve names that add distinction to their lives and perhaps reflect on their status. We therefore had one cat named ‘Frankly Six Cats are too Many’, a further stray and pregnant female who could hear you open a packet of crisp from half a mile, named ’ Gizza-a-bit’, and one still with us originally called ‘that cat’, then renamed ‘Fatso’ but now largely referred to as ‘Alzheimer’s’. (He keeps forgetting where he is and sometimes we think he forgets that he is a cat). We also have cats named wrongly as ‘Genghis’ who is a female and ‘Boudicca’ who we later discovered was a male. She has retained her title; as she is small and aggressive, whilst he is now referred to as Bobo, mind he now thinks that he is a reincarnated Egyptian god. (Photos on request from his agent).
My daughters have added cat personages to our entourage and we now have Middle daughters ‘baby’, which I named ‘Demon’. He bites. He bites her regularly but he is a thoughtful cat who likes to be involved and as many of them do he also likes to follow me as I go out to shop or generally walk about. He also likes to lurk in the bathroom and sit on the computer consol, most mornings will find him being spoon fed yogurt. He has the distinction of biting a lady who came for a reading of one hour and overstayed for three whilst still paying for one. On this occasion (no blood was drawn and as she had expensive nail extensions and tales of round the world holidays) I actually congratulated him on his taste. Also he does not bite me anymore, which is I find, useful as Bobo has to have a mad half hour at around four thirty, with his favourite toys. These consist of a catnip cushion shaped as a vet, a long piece of a la boa feather on a string and his ribbons. It also consists of play fighting with my feet, a strangely painful experience for me.
One of the oddest things about Demon is the way he reacts to being told off. Most cats in general and mine definitely in particular will ignore a mild rebuke saving the escape clause for a full frontal rage onslaught, as they obviously prefer to conserve energy, and anyway you could not be addressing them as they are obviously innocent of all wrong doing. Demon, even at a change of voice tone, will run and hide behind the sofa, in the shopping trolley or since Christmas in his very own Budweiser box. In fact you can say box to him in a stern manner and he races to hide in it. On the plus side if he is hidden it allows him the advantage of ambushing his fellows. This theory works brilliantly unless it is Genghis as she merely sits on top of the box and swipes at him when he tries to come out.
Middle daughter has also thoughtfully provided them with a cat play station that has three platforms, a walkway a swing tunnel and a pyramid nesting box. This occupies a large portion of the living room. Most of their toys are stored in the nesting box and swing and only one cat uses the station as the platforms get him just a micron closer to the heater. Sometimes I look at it and say a silent prayer that it will be stolen or disintegrate, or maybe teleport to another planet.
Cats have a strange relationship with bathrooms. I have noted many writers remark on this and also the need for them to escort their humans, or even just visitors, into the bathroom. One of our many cats played race you to the toilet. If he saw me approaching the staircase he would try and rush ahead of me to claim the toilet seat. One day I piped him to the post and as I lifted the seat he jumped for his goal and yes he landed in the toilet. It was funnily enough the last time that he played that game. Bobo, who hates me to be clean, sits outside the bathroom and huffs when I take a shower. One day he came in as I was running a bath and to show his disapproval jumped into the bath turned miraculously in mid-flight at the sight of bubbles and water and exited. He was not even damp.
Tuesday 24 February 2009
Frogs in Spring
This was the year that I injured my back. I remember it was early March as I dreaded spending my birthday flat out on the floor. I tend to get various muscular injuries but then I do have a compulsion to over exercise. So here I was flat on the floor and sleeping in the living room wrapped in a king size quilt.
Meanwhile out in the back garden. When we moved back here after my marriage disintegrated like a nuclear bomb blast, my youngest daughter helped me cut down some ten odd trees and dig a small pond. We had to keep the rather silly and slightly damaged half a birdbath that my mother had bought and allowed to disintegrate slightly so that only the cherub remained with his hands permanently raised. This was because youngest regarded it as a treasure from times past and to this day it inhabits the no mans land beyond the washing drying area, next to the pond.
I bought a pond liner from B & Q and this was installed in the newly dug pond together with some pondweed and numerous gallons of water. I did not put in fish, as I knew that the cats would have a field day. From nowhere appeared water boatmen, which I am very fond of. The summer progressed and suddenly we had native residents of an amphibious nature. My mother hated frogs as one precipitated the premature birth of my elder brother who did not survive, but I am very fond of them. Dragonflies appeared as well and the cats hung crazily over the surface unsure what to try for. (Eventually they went to fish elsewhere, which is a story I may not tell.) Winter came and everything died down, which is where we return to my back injury.
I cannot now remember how I did it but I am prone to injure myself. I actually managed to put my back out whilst swimming quietly and that is no mean feat. So however, and whatever there I was on bed rest or rather floor rest.
It was a cold night and I could barely move from the prone position. The cats had been in and out of their private cat flap much of the night. Most people think that they are silent and graceful creatures, which indicates that they do not live with them, as I know they are noisy and born to cause havoc. I suppose they might have thought that I was lonely, or possibly they considered I needed something to play with because one of them kindly deposited a frog next to my head. I could have ignored it but unfortunately it was croaking rather loudly. (Being Spring the probability of it looking for a mate did enter my head briefly.)
Slowly I turned towards the croaking sound and then I hauled myself onto my knees and grasping the frog in one hand inched upright, using the sofa as a support. I then proceeded towards the back door in a shuffling motion. The cats finding this an interesting action on my part decided to follow. I had no recourse other than take the frog to the safety of the pond. To allow it freedom prior to this would have precipitated action from my companions of a kind not in keeping with its welfare. Slowly and stepping deliberately in a manner unlikely to jar my back and cause further pain I made my way out beyond the concrete and into the grass lands. I then had to sink onto my knees to get the frog close enough to the water’s edge. Stretching forth I released the frog, over balanced, and promptly fell on my face in the grass. It was dark. It was cold. I was stuck. I swear that cherub was smirking. It took nearly an hour to get myself upright and then with gritted teeth and thoughts of a major cat massacre I shuffled back indoors.
Meanwhile out in the back garden. When we moved back here after my marriage disintegrated like a nuclear bomb blast, my youngest daughter helped me cut down some ten odd trees and dig a small pond. We had to keep the rather silly and slightly damaged half a birdbath that my mother had bought and allowed to disintegrate slightly so that only the cherub remained with his hands permanently raised. This was because youngest regarded it as a treasure from times past and to this day it inhabits the no mans land beyond the washing drying area, next to the pond.
I bought a pond liner from B & Q and this was installed in the newly dug pond together with some pondweed and numerous gallons of water. I did not put in fish, as I knew that the cats would have a field day. From nowhere appeared water boatmen, which I am very fond of. The summer progressed and suddenly we had native residents of an amphibious nature. My mother hated frogs as one precipitated the premature birth of my elder brother who did not survive, but I am very fond of them. Dragonflies appeared as well and the cats hung crazily over the surface unsure what to try for. (Eventually they went to fish elsewhere, which is a story I may not tell.) Winter came and everything died down, which is where we return to my back injury.
I cannot now remember how I did it but I am prone to injure myself. I actually managed to put my back out whilst swimming quietly and that is no mean feat. So however, and whatever there I was on bed rest or rather floor rest.
It was a cold night and I could barely move from the prone position. The cats had been in and out of their private cat flap much of the night. Most people think that they are silent and graceful creatures, which indicates that they do not live with them, as I know they are noisy and born to cause havoc. I suppose they might have thought that I was lonely, or possibly they considered I needed something to play with because one of them kindly deposited a frog next to my head. I could have ignored it but unfortunately it was croaking rather loudly. (Being Spring the probability of it looking for a mate did enter my head briefly.)
Slowly I turned towards the croaking sound and then I hauled myself onto my knees and grasping the frog in one hand inched upright, using the sofa as a support. I then proceeded towards the back door in a shuffling motion. The cats finding this an interesting action on my part decided to follow. I had no recourse other than take the frog to the safety of the pond. To allow it freedom prior to this would have precipitated action from my companions of a kind not in keeping with its welfare. Slowly and stepping deliberately in a manner unlikely to jar my back and cause further pain I made my way out beyond the concrete and into the grass lands. I then had to sink onto my knees to get the frog close enough to the water’s edge. Stretching forth I released the frog, over balanced, and promptly fell on my face in the grass. It was dark. It was cold. I was stuck. I swear that cherub was smirking. It took nearly an hour to get myself upright and then with gritted teeth and thoughts of a major cat massacre I shuffled back indoors.
Sleep Walking: or Why One Should Avoid Wearing a Negligee
Sometimes when we are children we have stages of development that are eventually grown out of and in my case this was sleep walking. My second son also tried this a few times and I can remember being very concerned when we went to live briefly in a high block of flats. For myself I was known to tumble down the stairs and this without any damage, but also I did tread the back garden some times in the small hours and once in a new baby doll nightdress, when I was only thirteen, during a storm. No the rain did not stop me but I was rather upset to find that I was soaking wet when I did wake up.
My brother used to take advantage of my pastime when he came home late and my mother had locked up the house. (The theory being that if you did not get back in time then being outside was your punishment and the chicken house the only place of warmth.) He would climb a ladder to my bedroom window and tap on the glass. This caused me to get out of bed and go downstairs to unlock the back door. I did not realize what I was doing at the time but he had great pleasure in telling me when I was older. Perhaps I should mention here that at least seventeen years separated us and in many ways he was more like a father than a brother, but immense fun to be around.
As I started off we do seem to grow out of this odd practices, or so I had thought. (Which reminds me that I must ask number two son if he has!) A few years back in the wonderful dark ages after my marriage blew apart but I was still reasonably svelte. (And yes I can remember that far) I had some beautiful nightwear. Some I had made myself in silk and one particular negligee in heavy cream satin and lace, which was slit up to the bust on one side and held together with ties. Definitely a to die for bedtime statement! (A trifle wasted on the cats though thinking about it).
Perhaps at this point I should tell you about my house. It was my family home and where I ended up after the disaster marriage. There is an old garage at the back of the house and when I moved back in people had been dumping rubbish in it so I had it cleared and boarded up the doors. The local druggies then came along and kicked the doors in as they had been using it to take their drugs. I told the police. They were not interested unless the druggies were in situ, (As if they would stay there once they heard police sirens.) Anyway I boarded, they kicked in until I gave up. Shouting seemed to scare them off more than the threat of policemen anyway.
So here I am living in a house with a broken into garage filled yet again with other people’s unwanted furniture. Meanwhile on the outside heavy brambles and nettles are forging strategic pathways in an attempt to annihilate the more civilized aspects of the garden. The garden is some 125 feet in length and has taken me much time and effort to clear most of it. The far end with the garage we left partly to bushes and trees in an effort to stop the infiltration of burglars and other parasites. To gain access from the road to the garage it is necessary to drive around the corner bend of our road and into an un tarmaced area of alleyway that runs for some one hundred yards over mud, glass, stones, etc.
To set the scene further middle daughter was working for the BBC and as some of you must realize they do work reasonably late at times to accommodate the programme schedules. She was on a late shift and not due in until around 2am.
It is early spring and still frosty. I wake up to find myself in my full negligee, (Thank god I stopped to put on the robe) without slippers upon my feet, and facing the front door, which is definitely shut. I froze (in more ways than one) against the door and took stock of my surroundings. The world seemed to be peacefully asleep. I could not ascertain the time, as I had not applied a wristwatch before existing my house. (Not that it would have worked, as clocks tend to stop if in close contact with me.) My neighbour is elderly and will not wake up if I ring her doorbell. Other neighbours are foreign and may not understand what is happening. I have two choices. Stand where I am and freeze in the hope of middle daughter’s possible, imminent return or brave the rest of the street and the alley way. I just realized that this is the perfect point to interject a cliffhanger but no it would just mean more work.
I ran wrapping my flimsy coverings around me and ran down the street and past the bend. Then I entered the darkened alleyway and raced over the stones et al towards the brambles and home. Yes I made it though the chaotic debris and broken glass down to the house where I attempted break and entering with gusto. (Obviously a tendency I was born with as well as I made it back in doors). My feet took sometime to recover. I also took a few days before appearing in public (Mostly in black, just in case).
As a codicil, I took all my finery and put it away in plastic storage bags. Then I had a trip into Ethel Austin and bought many cotton nightdresses that were definitely not see through. No one locally has suggested that they saw me but I still ponder if they did. To my knowledge I have not tried sleep walking again but these days I have chains on the door!
My brother used to take advantage of my pastime when he came home late and my mother had locked up the house. (The theory being that if you did not get back in time then being outside was your punishment and the chicken house the only place of warmth.) He would climb a ladder to my bedroom window and tap on the glass. This caused me to get out of bed and go downstairs to unlock the back door. I did not realize what I was doing at the time but he had great pleasure in telling me when I was older. Perhaps I should mention here that at least seventeen years separated us and in many ways he was more like a father than a brother, but immense fun to be around.
As I started off we do seem to grow out of this odd practices, or so I had thought. (Which reminds me that I must ask number two son if he has!) A few years back in the wonderful dark ages after my marriage blew apart but I was still reasonably svelte. (And yes I can remember that far) I had some beautiful nightwear. Some I had made myself in silk and one particular negligee in heavy cream satin and lace, which was slit up to the bust on one side and held together with ties. Definitely a to die for bedtime statement! (A trifle wasted on the cats though thinking about it).
Perhaps at this point I should tell you about my house. It was my family home and where I ended up after the disaster marriage. There is an old garage at the back of the house and when I moved back in people had been dumping rubbish in it so I had it cleared and boarded up the doors. The local druggies then came along and kicked the doors in as they had been using it to take their drugs. I told the police. They were not interested unless the druggies were in situ, (As if they would stay there once they heard police sirens.) Anyway I boarded, they kicked in until I gave up. Shouting seemed to scare them off more than the threat of policemen anyway.
So here I am living in a house with a broken into garage filled yet again with other people’s unwanted furniture. Meanwhile on the outside heavy brambles and nettles are forging strategic pathways in an attempt to annihilate the more civilized aspects of the garden. The garden is some 125 feet in length and has taken me much time and effort to clear most of it. The far end with the garage we left partly to bushes and trees in an effort to stop the infiltration of burglars and other parasites. To gain access from the road to the garage it is necessary to drive around the corner bend of our road and into an un tarmaced area of alleyway that runs for some one hundred yards over mud, glass, stones, etc.
To set the scene further middle daughter was working for the BBC and as some of you must realize they do work reasonably late at times to accommodate the programme schedules. She was on a late shift and not due in until around 2am.
It is early spring and still frosty. I wake up to find myself in my full negligee, (Thank god I stopped to put on the robe) without slippers upon my feet, and facing the front door, which is definitely shut. I froze (in more ways than one) against the door and took stock of my surroundings. The world seemed to be peacefully asleep. I could not ascertain the time, as I had not applied a wristwatch before existing my house. (Not that it would have worked, as clocks tend to stop if in close contact with me.) My neighbour is elderly and will not wake up if I ring her doorbell. Other neighbours are foreign and may not understand what is happening. I have two choices. Stand where I am and freeze in the hope of middle daughter’s possible, imminent return or brave the rest of the street and the alley way. I just realized that this is the perfect point to interject a cliffhanger but no it would just mean more work.
I ran wrapping my flimsy coverings around me and ran down the street and past the bend. Then I entered the darkened alleyway and raced over the stones et al towards the brambles and home. Yes I made it though the chaotic debris and broken glass down to the house where I attempted break and entering with gusto. (Obviously a tendency I was born with as well as I made it back in doors). My feet took sometime to recover. I also took a few days before appearing in public (Mostly in black, just in case).
As a codicil, I took all my finery and put it away in plastic storage bags. Then I had a trip into Ethel Austin and bought many cotton nightdresses that were definitely not see through. No one locally has suggested that they saw me but I still ponder if they did. To my knowledge I have not tried sleep walking again but these days I have chains on the door!
Sunday 22 February 2009
The Liverpool Chronicles
My friend Nickianne proposed a series of gatherings on the supernatural these to run three times with a final two-day event in November. I was very enthusiastic about this and put forward proposals for each. Unfortunately the first one was cancelled, which was a good thing in that I did not have as much work to do preparing. This is the account of my journey to the third of these.
Normally when I travel to Liverpool I take the coach and this involves traveling over night to arrive for the usual 10:30 am start. My health has not been at its best and knowing this Nickianne arranged for me to have rail tickets. I would have gone for the advanced booked train type but her travel agent must have been psychic as he sent me expensive ones that permitted me to travel on any train to my destination.
As I was leaving early in the morning, I had to get to a main rail station and luckily I live close to the direct night bus route that runs through to Heathrow.
I left the house at 5:15 to catch this bus to Southall station. The train was on time and I made it through to Paddington Station where I took the circle line to Euston square and walked the four minutes further to the terminus. The boards said the Liverpool train would leave from platform 11. I had time to buy a breakfast roll and a coffee before I proceeded to the platform, which I did.
Clutching my spoils (I am supposed not to eat bacon and eggs because of the cholesterol content, according to my middle daughter), I made my way to the platform. The board at the platform said that a different train was leaving from there so I went back to the main boards. My train was now showing as delayed. I waited. Eventually I went and sat down to drink the coffee. They announced that my train was now cancelled but the next train was only fifteen minutes away so I waited. They announced that it was delayed and then it was cancelled.
A Norwegian gentleman sat down next to me. He was traveling with his two teenage children to just beyond Manchester. We chatted about travel in general and the situation in particular. I suggested that he speak to the station personnel, as they would probably know of a different route that he could take. He thanked me and went off to do this.
Finally it was announced that all the Virgin trains were cancelled to the North West due to a problem at Rugby. They advised us to go to another station. In my case this was Marylebone. I could not get there directly via their underground network so I had to go out to Kings Cross change lines and come back to Baker Street, change lines and then arrive at Marylebone. This involved an awful lot of stairs, some of which were twice the normal height and endless tunnels. There were no lifts or escalators. I had a suitcase with me as I was going on to Preston after Liverpool and I also had my trusty backpack.
Chilton trains run Marylebone and they go to Birmingham. Unfortunately they go via all the stations in the Chilterns.
Being now in unknown territory, I turned on my mobile and phoned home. Luckily middle daughter deigned to pick the telephone up. As I rarely use the mobile I had not included Nickianne’s number on it so she telephoned Liverpool for me and explained the situation. The she telephoned me back and started to trace a route via the computer. I must point out here that she is not our family whiz kid when it comes to computers but she really tried. It seemed that there were three main terminuses in Birmingham and it was hard to decipher which train from where went to one that would have a suitable train leaving for Liverpool. I turned off the mobile to conserve batteries. When I turned it back on I found that Nickianne had left me voice mail. She recommended I go to Leamington Spa and catch another Birmingham train from there. I got off at Leamington Spa and changed trains.
A miracle they had a train going to Liverpool. It was on platform 3B. I went down two flights to the platform. They then announced no it had been cancelled and another would leave from 4A. I went up the stairs and down again. No they announced it is now from 5 A. This particular station appeared to have been built on the same lines as the infamous spaghetti junction, it seemed to be on three or four floors with some disparity in the numbering system. I also swear that I heard giggling from the announcement system. I met people I had been on other trains with as I went back up and then back down the stairs. On the final flight down, we were now running and I tripped and almost fell half the flight. I got on the train, it was packed solid but a lady insisted that I take a seat. I suspected that I must look as if I was about to expire, I certainly felt like I was! The train stopped everywhere so by the time I got to Liverpool I was exhausted.
Normally at this point I would have walked but considering the time and the fact that I had aged at least one hundred years, I fell into a taxi, only to discover that he was not certain where I was going. It seemed that he called it something different. I directed him. He seemed genuinely pleased that he now knew that it was the Dean Walters Building and not that art gallery place. As I finally walked into the lecture room they applauded and said ‘your up next’. It was almost 3pm.
No they were joking. I was up next but Nickianne called tea at this point and they allowed me to eat! I had missed most of the papers that I was interested in and only got to hear two apart from my own. We had a strong discussion going and it was fascinating. People promised to send me DVD’s of programmes I could not access and we exchanged tips on books and places to find further information. I then went to the station to catch the train to Preston.
Yes you have guessed it, unfortunately it was the day that the tall ships were in at the docks and many people had come to see them. This also meant that too many others wanted the same train and I could not get on board. I waited for the next train and this meant that I had to change at Wigan. People were packed on like cattle. Most of them left the train before Wigan, which did make me annoyed as the previous train must have been similar and I could not contact youngest daughter as my mobile was now out of credit thanks to my phoning back and forth to middle daughter for directions on journeys out. On the plus side I had some interesting conversations and met new and fascinating people, which does not normally occur on the train.
The journey back from Preston dawned. The train was delayed. I started to worry. It was seven minutes late. It arrived. Somehow it speeded up and took only two and a half hours to get to Euston. However, it took another one and a half hours to get across London and home.
In November I am heading back to Liverpool. I may be rested enough to attempt it by then.
Normally when I travel to Liverpool I take the coach and this involves traveling over night to arrive for the usual 10:30 am start. My health has not been at its best and knowing this Nickianne arranged for me to have rail tickets. I would have gone for the advanced booked train type but her travel agent must have been psychic as he sent me expensive ones that permitted me to travel on any train to my destination.
As I was leaving early in the morning, I had to get to a main rail station and luckily I live close to the direct night bus route that runs through to Heathrow.
I left the house at 5:15 to catch this bus to Southall station. The train was on time and I made it through to Paddington Station where I took the circle line to Euston square and walked the four minutes further to the terminus. The boards said the Liverpool train would leave from platform 11. I had time to buy a breakfast roll and a coffee before I proceeded to the platform, which I did.
Clutching my spoils (I am supposed not to eat bacon and eggs because of the cholesterol content, according to my middle daughter), I made my way to the platform. The board at the platform said that a different train was leaving from there so I went back to the main boards. My train was now showing as delayed. I waited. Eventually I went and sat down to drink the coffee. They announced that my train was now cancelled but the next train was only fifteen minutes away so I waited. They announced that it was delayed and then it was cancelled.
A Norwegian gentleman sat down next to me. He was traveling with his two teenage children to just beyond Manchester. We chatted about travel in general and the situation in particular. I suggested that he speak to the station personnel, as they would probably know of a different route that he could take. He thanked me and went off to do this.
Finally it was announced that all the Virgin trains were cancelled to the North West due to a problem at Rugby. They advised us to go to another station. In my case this was Marylebone. I could not get there directly via their underground network so I had to go out to Kings Cross change lines and come back to Baker Street, change lines and then arrive at Marylebone. This involved an awful lot of stairs, some of which were twice the normal height and endless tunnels. There were no lifts or escalators. I had a suitcase with me as I was going on to Preston after Liverpool and I also had my trusty backpack.
Chilton trains run Marylebone and they go to Birmingham. Unfortunately they go via all the stations in the Chilterns.
Being now in unknown territory, I turned on my mobile and phoned home. Luckily middle daughter deigned to pick the telephone up. As I rarely use the mobile I had not included Nickianne’s number on it so she telephoned Liverpool for me and explained the situation. The she telephoned me back and started to trace a route via the computer. I must point out here that she is not our family whiz kid when it comes to computers but she really tried. It seemed that there were three main terminuses in Birmingham and it was hard to decipher which train from where went to one that would have a suitable train leaving for Liverpool. I turned off the mobile to conserve batteries. When I turned it back on I found that Nickianne had left me voice mail. She recommended I go to Leamington Spa and catch another Birmingham train from there. I got off at Leamington Spa and changed trains.
A miracle they had a train going to Liverpool. It was on platform 3B. I went down two flights to the platform. They then announced no it had been cancelled and another would leave from 4A. I went up the stairs and down again. No they announced it is now from 5 A. This particular station appeared to have been built on the same lines as the infamous spaghetti junction, it seemed to be on three or four floors with some disparity in the numbering system. I also swear that I heard giggling from the announcement system. I met people I had been on other trains with as I went back up and then back down the stairs. On the final flight down, we were now running and I tripped and almost fell half the flight. I got on the train, it was packed solid but a lady insisted that I take a seat. I suspected that I must look as if I was about to expire, I certainly felt like I was! The train stopped everywhere so by the time I got to Liverpool I was exhausted.
Normally at this point I would have walked but considering the time and the fact that I had aged at least one hundred years, I fell into a taxi, only to discover that he was not certain where I was going. It seemed that he called it something different. I directed him. He seemed genuinely pleased that he now knew that it was the Dean Walters Building and not that art gallery place. As I finally walked into the lecture room they applauded and said ‘your up next’. It was almost 3pm.
No they were joking. I was up next but Nickianne called tea at this point and they allowed me to eat! I had missed most of the papers that I was interested in and only got to hear two apart from my own. We had a strong discussion going and it was fascinating. People promised to send me DVD’s of programmes I could not access and we exchanged tips on books and places to find further information. I then went to the station to catch the train to Preston.
Yes you have guessed it, unfortunately it was the day that the tall ships were in at the docks and many people had come to see them. This also meant that too many others wanted the same train and I could not get on board. I waited for the next train and this meant that I had to change at Wigan. People were packed on like cattle. Most of them left the train before Wigan, which did make me annoyed as the previous train must have been similar and I could not contact youngest daughter as my mobile was now out of credit thanks to my phoning back and forth to middle daughter for directions on journeys out. On the plus side I had some interesting conversations and met new and fascinating people, which does not normally occur on the train.
The journey back from Preston dawned. The train was delayed. I started to worry. It was seven minutes late. It arrived. Somehow it speeded up and took only two and a half hours to get to Euston. However, it took another one and a half hours to get across London and home.
In November I am heading back to Liverpool. I may be rested enough to attempt it by then.
Saturday 21 February 2009
It's the Little Things that send You over the ........
I belong to a development circle at our local church. Originally this was started by a medium called John but now he has left and the other male medium called Trevor has taken over. Trevor is very good as a medium even if he does not entirely believe this himself and he does attend Tony Stockwell courses to improve his abilities. He is also kind enough to give ancient ladies, such as myself, a lift home after our circle finishes. Within the past year he has changed his type of mundane work and retrained to run his own business. This is roughly the point that this particular blog begins.
Meanwhile back in the land that time is rapidly trying to forget, my friend Trevor came to survey my house as he was working towards his HIPs qualification and in so doing discovered I had rising damp. This necessitated removal of plaster to a meter height and the purchase of a dehumidifier. The area in question was behind and to one side of my workspace. I removed the files, boxes, computer table and shelving and piled the aforementioned up at a safe distance from the work. I then spent many a happy hour chiseling to remove the plaster and spent some further interesting hours with the dehumidifier. I discovered that part of the brickwork was in need of repointing and Lidl thankfully had a recent delivery of ready mixed quick drying cement. I purchased a large pot and this was sitting in my hallway as I was hoping to repoint and plaster board before I went to Liverpool. (Yet another saga)
My computer was having problems earlier in the year and as my youngest and her fiancé, were visiting for the Easter break, they took it apart and replaced my RAM and DVD rewriter for me. I was intending to get her to take a photograph for my site when she came home for Christmas last year but I forgot in the general melee. I then thought I could ask her in March but again time flew past and the deed was undone. Finally I thought I would just take it myself so I took my camera out and then found the cable was not in the box. Eureka my brain said, “you left it in the computer usb port”. Indeed I had. However, when they took it apart they had thoughtfully removed the cable.
I sit here and before me is a vast pile of office equipment all gradually toppling into each other thanks to the kindness of my cat friends. (They consider my room to be their very own playground and sleeping area) Somewhere in there lies my cable. I contemplated the teetering mess and considered a trip to PC World.
Eventually I went in search of an old photograph taken when I was fairly tired after a heavy day at work. This I showed to my middle daughter and she agreed that I had not really changed in the past eight years except for slight excess on the chin. Therefore that is what I have scanned into the computer and cropped carefully before converting it to a jpeg. I cannot however, tell what size the result is, but I am hopeful that I reduced it enough for it to be small and even more hopefully, unrecognizable.
Meanwhile back in the land that time is rapidly trying to forget, my friend Trevor came to survey my house as he was working towards his HIPs qualification and in so doing discovered I had rising damp. This necessitated removal of plaster to a meter height and the purchase of a dehumidifier. The area in question was behind and to one side of my workspace. I removed the files, boxes, computer table and shelving and piled the aforementioned up at a safe distance from the work. I then spent many a happy hour chiseling to remove the plaster and spent some further interesting hours with the dehumidifier. I discovered that part of the brickwork was in need of repointing and Lidl thankfully had a recent delivery of ready mixed quick drying cement. I purchased a large pot and this was sitting in my hallway as I was hoping to repoint and plaster board before I went to Liverpool. (Yet another saga)
My computer was having problems earlier in the year and as my youngest and her fiancé, were visiting for the Easter break, they took it apart and replaced my RAM and DVD rewriter for me. I was intending to get her to take a photograph for my site when she came home for Christmas last year but I forgot in the general melee. I then thought I could ask her in March but again time flew past and the deed was undone. Finally I thought I would just take it myself so I took my camera out and then found the cable was not in the box. Eureka my brain said, “you left it in the computer usb port”. Indeed I had. However, when they took it apart they had thoughtfully removed the cable.
I sit here and before me is a vast pile of office equipment all gradually toppling into each other thanks to the kindness of my cat friends. (They consider my room to be their very own playground and sleeping area) Somewhere in there lies my cable. I contemplated the teetering mess and considered a trip to PC World.
Eventually I went in search of an old photograph taken when I was fairly tired after a heavy day at work. This I showed to my middle daughter and she agreed that I had not really changed in the past eight years except for slight excess on the chin. Therefore that is what I have scanned into the computer and cropped carefully before converting it to a jpeg. I cannot however, tell what size the result is, but I am hopeful that I reduced it enough for it to be small and even more hopefully, unrecognizable.
Thursday 19 February 2009
Thank You All
To all those that have supported me through the last two months and to all those new friends that have come to read my blog, many thanks for your interest. I will not be placing a new blog each day for a while. I did spend the first week after surgery on bed rest but this last week I have become slightly more active and in so doing have had a flare up of the original symptom. I still do not have the biopsy report from the hospital but I am told that this can take up to three weeks. Therefore I have fingers and toes crossed and lots of wood surrounding me. I do need to take some extra bed rest and then begin to exercise lightly again as I am going to have to undergo even more tests. I am hoping that the outcome is not as sad and awful as that which Jade Goody is now facing but I do have to confront this potential aspect. I will hopefully return with further blogs and I do hope that at least some of you will greet them with the enthusiasm and pleasure that my email account has been showing me from you this past week. May you all truly walk in the Light rather than the Darkness.
Wednesday 18 February 2009
Delusions of Grandeur
Norwich is a fine city. It tells you so on the billboard as you enter it, and it really is a fine city. The original medieval city is circular and there are still remnants of the city defense walls around it. Developing from this the main roads fan out like a wheel with two major circular thoroughfares. Much that is interesting about the city is contained in the old section although much of this has been modernized and there are new shopping malls resplendent in glass and chrome that strangely meld with the older, gray, stone buildings. It boasts a castle, which to my shame I have never visited. There is a covered market area in the center and a myriad of small alleys and strangely named roads branch out interspersed with numerous churches. There are so many churches that not all of them are in use for their ordained purpose, having metamorphosised into restaurants and antiques showrooms or even art galleries.
Art and crafts are important in Norfolk and there are ample shops that either sell the components or display the finished products. There has also been an invasion of small elephants in the city center, these being brightly coloured and, in some cases, intricately patterned.
Leading off from the market through to the road running past the castle is a selection of shops known as the Arcade and it is a beautiful example of late Art Nouveau/early Art Deco. For collectors of television trivia it has been used in a few of the Agatha Christie’s “Poirot” series. I used to visit it frequently as it housed a shop called Innana’s Festival. This sold some amazing spiritual, new age, wiccan etc goods. The lady that owns it studied at the University of East Anglia, which is also in Norwich. She had a dream one night and saw the name of her to be shop. (Innana is a Mesopotamian Goddess much like Aphrodite.) Things change and the shop has moved to new premises in Lower Goat Lane. This is quite close to the cathedral, which I have also seen used in the television series “Rosemary and Thyme”. The shops still carries some amazing artist made jewelry and ornaments many of which can be viewed on Facebook as she has an account on there where she uploads examples of her newer stock. I particularly recommend her ‘Green Man’ plaques and also the ‘Hare’ pendants, not forgetting the Hare Krishna made incense in Sandalwood and Lavender. She is also responsible for the Norwich Mind, Body and Spirit Festival that is held in one of the cities churches every year usually in the spring.
You may wonder as to why I am so enthusiastic about Norwich but that is easy to explain as my son lives just outside the city with his partner and my two granddaughters, and a very dear friend of mine, (who happens to be the other proud grandmother) lives in Norfolk as well. Over the years I have had amply time to appreciate the counties finer points and take an occasional wherry ride. (These are the original broads boats and my friend’s husband occasionally captain’s one of the better known ones, namely ‘the Hathor’, the interior of which is decorated in Egyptian style.)
I often play spot the landmark when watching my favourite television programmes and have often identified our local Hoover building (now a Tesco but with a protected Art Deco frontage) playing different parts in Poirot that have ranged from a factory to a film studio. I do watch detective fiction a great deal but also enjoy the occasional sitcom such as “Absolutely Fabulous” and of course “Keeping up Appearances”. One of the things that I like about the latter series is that it is filmed in and around Norwich. This means that I get the chance to spot the buildings that I am familiar with and sometimes the roads too. I understand that it is also a popular series in the United States but for the benefit of others I will give a brief explanation of it. Patricia Routledge plays a lady called Hyacinth Bucket who insists that her name is pronounced Bouquet. She likes to hold ‘soirees’ and invite influential people. Her next-door neighbour is terrified of being invited in for coffee as she always contrives to make the woman spill some or in other ways embarrass herself. Her family are happy go lucky souls who are definitely not interested in climbing the social ladder apart from one sister who is married to a rich man and this she likes to introduce into conversations to impress people.
You may now be wondering what all this has to do with mythic beasts. (Well apart from the ones on display in Innana’s Festival) People are prone to give nicknames to those that they know well and this is true in the case of some of Dragon’s relatives. They call her Hyacinth
Art and crafts are important in Norfolk and there are ample shops that either sell the components or display the finished products. There has also been an invasion of small elephants in the city center, these being brightly coloured and, in some cases, intricately patterned.
Leading off from the market through to the road running past the castle is a selection of shops known as the Arcade and it is a beautiful example of late Art Nouveau/early Art Deco. For collectors of television trivia it has been used in a few of the Agatha Christie’s “Poirot” series. I used to visit it frequently as it housed a shop called Innana’s Festival. This sold some amazing spiritual, new age, wiccan etc goods. The lady that owns it studied at the University of East Anglia, which is also in Norwich. She had a dream one night and saw the name of her to be shop. (Innana is a Mesopotamian Goddess much like Aphrodite.) Things change and the shop has moved to new premises in Lower Goat Lane. This is quite close to the cathedral, which I have also seen used in the television series “Rosemary and Thyme”. The shops still carries some amazing artist made jewelry and ornaments many of which can be viewed on Facebook as she has an account on there where she uploads examples of her newer stock. I particularly recommend her ‘Green Man’ plaques and also the ‘Hare’ pendants, not forgetting the Hare Krishna made incense in Sandalwood and Lavender. She is also responsible for the Norwich Mind, Body and Spirit Festival that is held in one of the cities churches every year usually in the spring.
You may wonder as to why I am so enthusiastic about Norwich but that is easy to explain as my son lives just outside the city with his partner and my two granddaughters, and a very dear friend of mine, (who happens to be the other proud grandmother) lives in Norfolk as well. Over the years I have had amply time to appreciate the counties finer points and take an occasional wherry ride. (These are the original broads boats and my friend’s husband occasionally captain’s one of the better known ones, namely ‘the Hathor’, the interior of which is decorated in Egyptian style.)
I often play spot the landmark when watching my favourite television programmes and have often identified our local Hoover building (now a Tesco but with a protected Art Deco frontage) playing different parts in Poirot that have ranged from a factory to a film studio. I do watch detective fiction a great deal but also enjoy the occasional sitcom such as “Absolutely Fabulous” and of course “Keeping up Appearances”. One of the things that I like about the latter series is that it is filmed in and around Norwich. This means that I get the chance to spot the buildings that I am familiar with and sometimes the roads too. I understand that it is also a popular series in the United States but for the benefit of others I will give a brief explanation of it. Patricia Routledge plays a lady called Hyacinth Bucket who insists that her name is pronounced Bouquet. She likes to hold ‘soirees’ and invite influential people. Her next-door neighbour is terrified of being invited in for coffee as she always contrives to make the woman spill some or in other ways embarrass herself. Her family are happy go lucky souls who are definitely not interested in climbing the social ladder apart from one sister who is married to a rich man and this she likes to introduce into conversations to impress people.
You may now be wondering what all this has to do with mythic beasts. (Well apart from the ones on display in Innana’s Festival) People are prone to give nicknames to those that they know well and this is true in the case of some of Dragon’s relatives. They call her Hyacinth
Tuesday 17 February 2009
No Don’t Stop the Carnival or The Curious Incident concerning religion at Greenford Carnival.
I wrote this piece, which does not include any Dragons as on Monday I received the paperwork for yet another Carnival stall. I am really not certain if I can handle what this year might throw at me!
We had a brilliant idea to raise money for the church. Greenford Carnival had been resurrected and they were selling stall space at a very reasonable rate, if you were a registered charity. I could sit and do readings for people and my girls could sell some of the table sale goods that had been donated to the church. Wonderful idea, after all it is always a sunny day when they hold the carnival.
So at the appointed hour we arrived armed with Gazebo et al and set up our plot. Shortly after another church arrived. They had a huge gazebo and obviously the site allocated to them was not going to contain it. They wanted us to move down the line and we did. However they had miscalculated on their other items so once again the asked us to move. We had to restrain the president at this point from telling them in an unchristian manner to take a hike. My older daughter was ready to join her in this outburst of aggression as we were being forced to move fairly heavy boxes as well as the gazebo.
Peace settled. Eventually their cohorts arrived and one set up as close too our gazebo as she could manage. Her customers, for some form of hair treatment, started to push their chairs into our gazebo. We pushed them back. Other members of the group on seeing that I was reading blocked our sign. One of our church members who came, later in the day, to help out could not find us for the number of good other denomination, Christians trying to obscure us. They tripped over our guy ropes and then acted surprised when we asked them politely to not do so. It was all in all a terrible day, but nevertheless we made some money for the church.
The next year the carnival organizer telephoned me and asked why we had not signed up for a pitch. My middle daughter and I discussed this with some trepidation and we decided to have yet another try but this time taking art works as well as the readings, as they were lighter. (My middle daughter is a talented artist.) In case of any mishaps this year we decided to attach the signs regarding readings to the sides and front of the gazebo. We were also pleased to see that the other church was there but some five pitches away from us. Up went their giant gazebo and this time they added a healing tent. I am a Reiki Master and I had this fact displayed next to the price for readings and also the fact that I am a qualified Astrologer. I did not mention Tarot cards as I was reading the Triangle of Life cards. I did mention that I was well known on Ebay.
Their people started to arrive. They had leaflets to give out. The terms of the hire stated that we must not leaflet away from our sites. Obviously this did not apply to them as they started to wander towards us. One of the middle aged males read my signs and scuttled back from whence he came as if the hounds of hell had shown themselves to him. My daughter and I had a brilliant view of the rugby pitch where heavily muscled men (her favourite) were displaying their skills.
A queue began to form for readings and with it a flourishing of Christian souls with leaflets attempting to save others from the cardinal sin of entering my gazebo. We did not mind, they were merely misinformed individuals anyway. I suppose up to this point I had believed that all Christians worshipped the same God. Obviously I had been wrong in this assumption. I did not as yet fear for my own safety, as it had never been the practice to burn witches or clairvoyants in England but mind that did not stop them from hanging midwives and healers in the name of a fast buck. However, as other psychic will understand there is a point of trancelike detachment that we achieve during readings and this can be dangerous to disturb.
The advanced publicity had mentioned some Brazilian Carnival Dancers and I was regretting that we would not be able to see the stages from our position and we were far too busy to take a break. Some of the clients had terrible sadness with them and I did my best to raise their spirits. It is odd but not everyone that attends a carnival is actually happy and I took some seven names for my healing circle group. (I have contacts with circles throughout the world and I email details to them so there are many of us praying for the sick at similar times)
My poor daughter had to bring me endless cups of tea as my voice had started cracking from the number of clients I was processing, when I suddenly became aware of a female voice going on about the dangers of Tarot. I had already spoken to two women on the same subject as they had told me that they had bad experiences with Tarot packs. The Tarot can be a wonderful tool but it also needs to be mastered and worked on before setting out to read others and I would certainly not use it on church business or even within our churches.
My next client, a lady arrived accompanied by another rather large young woman in a striped gaudy jumper. It appeared that she was the person complaining about Tarot. I turned to the new client and asked if the other woman was with her, as this did not seem quite likely to me. “No”. She said and laughed. I then turned to the big lady and asked her to leave us so the client had privacy. She turned on me her eyes flashing sparks and I realized I was dealing with a schizophrenic. I have had to deal with many over the years and they have a glazed expression about them due to the medication. She began to rant about Tarot. I tried to tell her we were not using it. She claimed it had driven her over the edge. From her state I assumed that she had already been there before she took up cards. Her backing group, a collection of some five elderly and middle aged men, had gathered to the right hand side of our gazebo and were moaning. It had become bizarre. I told her to leave she turned on me and I felt certain that I was in danger. Such people are not to be trifled with even medicated and I was aware that maybe she was on more medication than necessary and definitely dangerous. I instructed my daughter to fetch the security as they were just passing. She ran out past the group of ‘true’ believers. Meanwhile out front the queue was becoming almost hysterical. I again ordered the woman and she came towards me like one possessed but she also stopped short and I raised my hand and said to her “Out demons out”, she shrieked and backed up. The security arrived and she started to turn on my daughter saying she was in league with devils and proclaiming that she had insulted Jesus. My daughter was taken aback. The strange group of supporters came through at this point anxious to collect her before the security could run her off site. She contorted her neck and began to make strange noise like a strangulated turkey. Her Greek chorus sighed that she was speaking in tongues. My queue collapsed into howls of laughter. The security joined them. The main security officer said that they were totally in support of us and asked the price of one of my daughter’s painting. The woman was lead away.
Soon after the man in charge of the opposition church group stormed towards us across the grass. He stopped short and tried to look aggressive. He was about as intimidating as a five year old. My daughter asked him if we could be of assistance and he stomped off obviously aware that he might be provoking a more serious situation that he had first thought.
I was very upset that a sick woman had been goaded into making this type of spectacle. My queue were busy making jokes and although I know that this reflected a lessening of their anxiety it was also sad that these were aimed at another Christian church.
The wind whipped up and I mentioned that my water glass had flooded my table but it was not of biblical proportions. This did accord appreciative laughter and then from nowhere the Brazilian dance group, tall, slender, beautiful young women dressed in skimpy bikini tops, tassels and the smallest of jeweled thongs and rhinestone danced into view. I was heard to muter oh no Sodom and Gomorrah are here. The other church ran and hid from the spectacle of healthy and half clad young women. I was left to ponder why they had attacked me and not the Beer tent further down the park. Perhaps a psychic is an easier target than a heavy drinker? Who can fully understand the nature of the beast!
As a codicil I pondered the affair and decided that although God has an amazing sense of humour he did not want the apostles to go forth and make noises like a half mad turkeys. The gift of tongues is indeed the gift of foreign languages but how does one sell this concept to some of the stranger cults that have sprung up in his name. Also my family still giggles when I suggest turkey for Christmas dinner and this should be no reflection on the noble sacrifice of turkeys.
We had a brilliant idea to raise money for the church. Greenford Carnival had been resurrected and they were selling stall space at a very reasonable rate, if you were a registered charity. I could sit and do readings for people and my girls could sell some of the table sale goods that had been donated to the church. Wonderful idea, after all it is always a sunny day when they hold the carnival.
So at the appointed hour we arrived armed with Gazebo et al and set up our plot. Shortly after another church arrived. They had a huge gazebo and obviously the site allocated to them was not going to contain it. They wanted us to move down the line and we did. However they had miscalculated on their other items so once again the asked us to move. We had to restrain the president at this point from telling them in an unchristian manner to take a hike. My older daughter was ready to join her in this outburst of aggression as we were being forced to move fairly heavy boxes as well as the gazebo.
Peace settled. Eventually their cohorts arrived and one set up as close too our gazebo as she could manage. Her customers, for some form of hair treatment, started to push their chairs into our gazebo. We pushed them back. Other members of the group on seeing that I was reading blocked our sign. One of our church members who came, later in the day, to help out could not find us for the number of good other denomination, Christians trying to obscure us. They tripped over our guy ropes and then acted surprised when we asked them politely to not do so. It was all in all a terrible day, but nevertheless we made some money for the church.
The next year the carnival organizer telephoned me and asked why we had not signed up for a pitch. My middle daughter and I discussed this with some trepidation and we decided to have yet another try but this time taking art works as well as the readings, as they were lighter. (My middle daughter is a talented artist.) In case of any mishaps this year we decided to attach the signs regarding readings to the sides and front of the gazebo. We were also pleased to see that the other church was there but some five pitches away from us. Up went their giant gazebo and this time they added a healing tent. I am a Reiki Master and I had this fact displayed next to the price for readings and also the fact that I am a qualified Astrologer. I did not mention Tarot cards as I was reading the Triangle of Life cards. I did mention that I was well known on Ebay.
Their people started to arrive. They had leaflets to give out. The terms of the hire stated that we must not leaflet away from our sites. Obviously this did not apply to them as they started to wander towards us. One of the middle aged males read my signs and scuttled back from whence he came as if the hounds of hell had shown themselves to him. My daughter and I had a brilliant view of the rugby pitch where heavily muscled men (her favourite) were displaying their skills.
A queue began to form for readings and with it a flourishing of Christian souls with leaflets attempting to save others from the cardinal sin of entering my gazebo. We did not mind, they were merely misinformed individuals anyway. I suppose up to this point I had believed that all Christians worshipped the same God. Obviously I had been wrong in this assumption. I did not as yet fear for my own safety, as it had never been the practice to burn witches or clairvoyants in England but mind that did not stop them from hanging midwives and healers in the name of a fast buck. However, as other psychic will understand there is a point of trancelike detachment that we achieve during readings and this can be dangerous to disturb.
The advanced publicity had mentioned some Brazilian Carnival Dancers and I was regretting that we would not be able to see the stages from our position and we were far too busy to take a break. Some of the clients had terrible sadness with them and I did my best to raise their spirits. It is odd but not everyone that attends a carnival is actually happy and I took some seven names for my healing circle group. (I have contacts with circles throughout the world and I email details to them so there are many of us praying for the sick at similar times)
My poor daughter had to bring me endless cups of tea as my voice had started cracking from the number of clients I was processing, when I suddenly became aware of a female voice going on about the dangers of Tarot. I had already spoken to two women on the same subject as they had told me that they had bad experiences with Tarot packs. The Tarot can be a wonderful tool but it also needs to be mastered and worked on before setting out to read others and I would certainly not use it on church business or even within our churches.
My next client, a lady arrived accompanied by another rather large young woman in a striped gaudy jumper. It appeared that she was the person complaining about Tarot. I turned to the new client and asked if the other woman was with her, as this did not seem quite likely to me. “No”. She said and laughed. I then turned to the big lady and asked her to leave us so the client had privacy. She turned on me her eyes flashing sparks and I realized I was dealing with a schizophrenic. I have had to deal with many over the years and they have a glazed expression about them due to the medication. She began to rant about Tarot. I tried to tell her we were not using it. She claimed it had driven her over the edge. From her state I assumed that she had already been there before she took up cards. Her backing group, a collection of some five elderly and middle aged men, had gathered to the right hand side of our gazebo and were moaning. It had become bizarre. I told her to leave she turned on me and I felt certain that I was in danger. Such people are not to be trifled with even medicated and I was aware that maybe she was on more medication than necessary and definitely dangerous. I instructed my daughter to fetch the security as they were just passing. She ran out past the group of ‘true’ believers. Meanwhile out front the queue was becoming almost hysterical. I again ordered the woman and she came towards me like one possessed but she also stopped short and I raised my hand and said to her “Out demons out”, she shrieked and backed up. The security arrived and she started to turn on my daughter saying she was in league with devils and proclaiming that she had insulted Jesus. My daughter was taken aback. The strange group of supporters came through at this point anxious to collect her before the security could run her off site. She contorted her neck and began to make strange noise like a strangulated turkey. Her Greek chorus sighed that she was speaking in tongues. My queue collapsed into howls of laughter. The security joined them. The main security officer said that they were totally in support of us and asked the price of one of my daughter’s painting. The woman was lead away.
Soon after the man in charge of the opposition church group stormed towards us across the grass. He stopped short and tried to look aggressive. He was about as intimidating as a five year old. My daughter asked him if we could be of assistance and he stomped off obviously aware that he might be provoking a more serious situation that he had first thought.
I was very upset that a sick woman had been goaded into making this type of spectacle. My queue were busy making jokes and although I know that this reflected a lessening of their anxiety it was also sad that these were aimed at another Christian church.
The wind whipped up and I mentioned that my water glass had flooded my table but it was not of biblical proportions. This did accord appreciative laughter and then from nowhere the Brazilian dance group, tall, slender, beautiful young women dressed in skimpy bikini tops, tassels and the smallest of jeweled thongs and rhinestone danced into view. I was heard to muter oh no Sodom and Gomorrah are here. The other church ran and hid from the spectacle of healthy and half clad young women. I was left to ponder why they had attacked me and not the Beer tent further down the park. Perhaps a psychic is an easier target than a heavy drinker? Who can fully understand the nature of the beast!
As a codicil I pondered the affair and decided that although God has an amazing sense of humour he did not want the apostles to go forth and make noises like a half mad turkeys. The gift of tongues is indeed the gift of foreign languages but how does one sell this concept to some of the stranger cults that have sprung up in his name. Also my family still giggles when I suggest turkey for Christmas dinner and this should be no reflection on the noble sacrifice of turkeys.
Monday 16 February 2009
A Brief History
I have not always been a person of vast years and even vaster proportions. Once upon a time back some thirty or more years ago I was slim and considered by many to be attractive. I had drawn my second daughter’s birth chart whilst still in the maternity hospital so I knew she had potential as a dancer. A friend of mine had enrolled her daughter in a local dance school and I thought this might prove a useful thing for myself to do. My daughter stayed and progressed, my friend’s dropped out preferring gymnastics. I joined a class for mothers that taught us modern dance and also one of the stretch classes. There was quite a strong clique of ladies who did not make newcomers welcome but I made friends with three who were also on the outskirts of the group. Times changed, people came and went. Eventually along came Dragon and her younger sister with their daughters. At this time I was established as the scenery designer for the dance school and I also collaborated on special effects and scenery for the theatre group. We had a male choreographer named Jerry and as he sang in a band and my then husband also ran a band we were good friends, supporting each other at gigs and working on committees together. I suppose I should add here that he was definitely a hunk and the ladies did lust after him to some extent.
Local factory owners originally built our local community center, for the benefit of their large number of employees, and it is a huge building. During the hay day of ballroom dancing it housed the world semi finals and people flew in from around the world to compete in the ballroom. The stage area was in size as large as many theatre stages. I was frequently the only person moving scenery and setting up backdrops so it was tiring and I also never got to see the shows from the audiences’ perspective.
I was more than happy to have help from some of the other parents but mostly they wanted to sit and gossip whilst they waited for lessons to finish. I must have seemed privileged to have a closer relationship with the Dance School head although it was in truth a business one more than a friendship. I knew that there was a certain set that seemed antagonistic towards me for what ever their reasons were and I also knew that many who sought me out were doing so because I was good at predicting future events. To be honest I had little in common with anyone there and it was no great discomfort to me that I was not invited to Tupperware style parties or similar social gatherings. I worked, I had my family to take care off and I also had an allotment that took up a fair amount of my free time. If they wished to talk about me behind my back it was certainly nothing for me to become upset about. My daughter became firm friends with Dragon’s daughter and in time I discovered two things in common with Dragon. She had worked as a reader and she also liked opera.
I must point out to anyone who is reading this and is not psychic that years ago it was difficult to find other psychics, and being psychic can be a hard lonely place. We tended to frighten people as if they suspected us of knowing everything about them and there were others who wanted to use our ability without respecting our humanity.
Through our daughters’ friendship I was invited to occasional family parties and social gatherings. We used to gather for an Indian style meal in the spring when we would all cut back the gardens for Dragon. I did not have any other friend’s in common with her and to be honest our interactions were sporadic. Some of the set that she was close to had no qualms in allowing their husband’s to touch other women in an intimate manner and this was a style of behaviour that I personally found offensive.
I had another daughter and this gradually caused me to back away from the Dance School and the committee work. Other interests came into my life and the older girls had a falling out that took me out of regular contact with Dragon for a few years. My marriage ended and I eventually retired so that there was more free time on my hands and I again resumed my visits to her home, although more often than not I would see her in the chat rooms that we were now working in. We collaborated on the Triangle of Life project and I did put a lot of effort into the CD book, largely as it brought my daughter’s artistic ability to a wider audience. Yes I have been her chief confidante and yes there are things that I will not tell here or anywhere else. In her diatribe of accusations she tells how she shielded me from other people’s nastiness. I can translate that from Dragon speak and what it means is her friends said nasty things about me and she kept quiet because to defend me would have put her on the outside of the group and she cannot abide that.
Local factory owners originally built our local community center, for the benefit of their large number of employees, and it is a huge building. During the hay day of ballroom dancing it housed the world semi finals and people flew in from around the world to compete in the ballroom. The stage area was in size as large as many theatre stages. I was frequently the only person moving scenery and setting up backdrops so it was tiring and I also never got to see the shows from the audiences’ perspective.
I was more than happy to have help from some of the other parents but mostly they wanted to sit and gossip whilst they waited for lessons to finish. I must have seemed privileged to have a closer relationship with the Dance School head although it was in truth a business one more than a friendship. I knew that there was a certain set that seemed antagonistic towards me for what ever their reasons were and I also knew that many who sought me out were doing so because I was good at predicting future events. To be honest I had little in common with anyone there and it was no great discomfort to me that I was not invited to Tupperware style parties or similar social gatherings. I worked, I had my family to take care off and I also had an allotment that took up a fair amount of my free time. If they wished to talk about me behind my back it was certainly nothing for me to become upset about. My daughter became firm friends with Dragon’s daughter and in time I discovered two things in common with Dragon. She had worked as a reader and she also liked opera.
I must point out to anyone who is reading this and is not psychic that years ago it was difficult to find other psychics, and being psychic can be a hard lonely place. We tended to frighten people as if they suspected us of knowing everything about them and there were others who wanted to use our ability without respecting our humanity.
Through our daughters’ friendship I was invited to occasional family parties and social gatherings. We used to gather for an Indian style meal in the spring when we would all cut back the gardens for Dragon. I did not have any other friend’s in common with her and to be honest our interactions were sporadic. Some of the set that she was close to had no qualms in allowing their husband’s to touch other women in an intimate manner and this was a style of behaviour that I personally found offensive.
I had another daughter and this gradually caused me to back away from the Dance School and the committee work. Other interests came into my life and the older girls had a falling out that took me out of regular contact with Dragon for a few years. My marriage ended and I eventually retired so that there was more free time on my hands and I again resumed my visits to her home, although more often than not I would see her in the chat rooms that we were now working in. We collaborated on the Triangle of Life project and I did put a lot of effort into the CD book, largely as it brought my daughter’s artistic ability to a wider audience. Yes I have been her chief confidante and yes there are things that I will not tell here or anywhere else. In her diatribe of accusations she tells how she shielded me from other people’s nastiness. I can translate that from Dragon speak and what it means is her friends said nasty things about me and she kept quiet because to defend me would have put her on the outside of the group and she cannot abide that.
Sunday 15 February 2009
Spelling Mistakes
The education system in this country has seen massive changes over the past sixty odd years. At one point children took an examination called the eleven-plus and from the results of this either went to Secondary schools or grammar schools. The resulting exams again reflected difference in that Grammar school children sat GCEs and Secondary pupils sat CSEs. This inequality of education provision has largely been corrected and children are now expected to stay in the school system until they are sixteen. English is not the easiest of languages and it has a complex grammatical system that even degree-educated people sometimes find difficult to master. It would appear obvious then to make allowances for the written work of those who did not benefit from the earlier education systems and were not able to stay in education until at least their sixteenth birthdays.
However we do have devices such as spell check and it should be easy enough to correct spelling mistakes even though we are dealing with an American based form of the language. I was therefore disappointed to note that Dragon had created not only a new word but also a new spelling for it and used it in a context that would make it inapplicable. I refer to paraletically, as in her reference to myself being paraletically drunk and insulting her daughter and fellow officers et al. The correct usage of this word would be paralytic drunk. However this too cannot stand in the context used as to be paralytic drunk requires being supine and immobile. Unless one removed ones clothing and wrote insults on ones body prior to attaining paralysis it would seem impossible for one to achieve the act of insulting others.
However we do have devices such as spell check and it should be easy enough to correct spelling mistakes even though we are dealing with an American based form of the language. I was therefore disappointed to note that Dragon had created not only a new word but also a new spelling for it and used it in a context that would make it inapplicable. I refer to paraletically, as in her reference to myself being paraletically drunk and insulting her daughter and fellow officers et al. The correct usage of this word would be paralytic drunk. However this too cannot stand in the context used as to be paralytic drunk requires being supine and immobile. Unless one removed ones clothing and wrote insults on ones body prior to attaining paralysis it would seem impossible for one to achieve the act of insulting others.
Saturday 14 February 2009
Road Trip
Sometime back I was one of the people instrumental in creating the Triangle of Life cards. We demonstrated these at the Body Mind and Spirit Festivals and sold them to outlets in the U.S.A. and Canada as well as selling them from the web site. At one point even the college at Stanstead stocked the cards and they were used by some of the SNU churches in circle development. We never sold readings at the venues we attended but gave one free to anyone that bought a pack of cards, mostly to demonstrate how they were used.
I work on and off as a psychic since retiring and I do like to use these cards more than just my tarot pack as they have the ability to get to the heart of the client’s queries. To this end I will sometimes use them when reading for people on Ebay, although I also rely on Astrology as well as spirit guidance.
Dragon’s son used to set up and run clubs and still has a friend in the business. When he heard about the cards this friend had the bright idea of creating a traveling holistic night for club venues and as part of this Dragon and I were invited to do reading on the launch night in Cardiff. It was bitter cold and also if I remember correctly, close to the Chinese New Year that this venture was set on, as they were also giving away fortune cookies. We were traveling to the club by car and some of the cards were going too so that the Dragon’s son could sell them from a stall. It was a very well set out venue and there were healers and masseurs in one section as well as people giving talks on holistic subjects and of course dance music in between. It was fairly dark in the booths that they had allotted to us but we had candles to make it all look a little more ‘psychic’.
There was a steady stream of people wanting to have readings that night and we were kept very busy. It was not the most sensible of seating arrangements however as we had to compete with the music and by the end of the evening we all had headaches.
On the way home we stopped at one of the motorway service stations for coffee as the Dragon’s son has difficulty staying awake whilst driving. We had already taken a wrong turning at the spaghetti junction just outside of Bristol and had to retrace our steps from there to the M40. We were paid in little brown envelopes so we split the money whilst we drank coffee. Obviously there were the petrol expenses to pay for and then we all received just over one hundred pounds each. All in all a decent sum considering the work and inconvenience of traveling back in the early hours just before dawn.
The one pity was that no cards were sold during the adventure.
I work on and off as a psychic since retiring and I do like to use these cards more than just my tarot pack as they have the ability to get to the heart of the client’s queries. To this end I will sometimes use them when reading for people on Ebay, although I also rely on Astrology as well as spirit guidance.
Dragon’s son used to set up and run clubs and still has a friend in the business. When he heard about the cards this friend had the bright idea of creating a traveling holistic night for club venues and as part of this Dragon and I were invited to do reading on the launch night in Cardiff. It was bitter cold and also if I remember correctly, close to the Chinese New Year that this venture was set on, as they were also giving away fortune cookies. We were traveling to the club by car and some of the cards were going too so that the Dragon’s son could sell them from a stall. It was a very well set out venue and there were healers and masseurs in one section as well as people giving talks on holistic subjects and of course dance music in between. It was fairly dark in the booths that they had allotted to us but we had candles to make it all look a little more ‘psychic’.
There was a steady stream of people wanting to have readings that night and we were kept very busy. It was not the most sensible of seating arrangements however as we had to compete with the music and by the end of the evening we all had headaches.
On the way home we stopped at one of the motorway service stations for coffee as the Dragon’s son has difficulty staying awake whilst driving. We had already taken a wrong turning at the spaghetti junction just outside of Bristol and had to retrace our steps from there to the M40. We were paid in little brown envelopes so we split the money whilst we drank coffee. Obviously there were the petrol expenses to pay for and then we all received just over one hundred pounds each. All in all a decent sum considering the work and inconvenience of traveling back in the early hours just before dawn.
The one pity was that no cards were sold during the adventure.
Friday 13 February 2009
The Psychic Wars
How did I end up in the middle of what I have named ‘The Psychic Wars’? It is a little confusing at first but once you review all that has happened from both perspectives and sift through for the rationale behind the somewhat twisted thoughts of the Dragon, then you reach the conclusion that her favoured roost must contain no real psychics.
It would seem that in the beginning was Tweetie, a staff member who under an assumed name for her own safety, felt justified to confront the bullying actions that they saw from others in power. The hen house then erupted in a confusion of accusations that centered upon an ex staff member who had not been near the site in some two years.
The connotation of this action and the absurdity of those who took part in what was little more than an organized witch-hunt, resulted in the innocent lady taking space to supply proof that they were in the wrong. Ohhhhhh dear, another mistake from the infallible psychics. Where to turn next? Well if it was not she than it must be ………yes you have guessed it. Yet another ex member from around two years prior. Rather odd that they waited so long but then where is logic when the villagers are trying to burn down the supposed monster’s castle.
Somewhere in the middle of this chaos, a bright idea must have entered the Dragon’s head. Why not kill two birds with one stone. Throw in an ex staff member from six or so years back who is now also an ex friend. Why not leave a dubious message on her answer phone telling her that people are bandying her name about on the Internet and that it is all the fault of a lady that she has met through her church. Then even better why not find by fair means or foul the number of the church president first by pretending to be an ‘old friend of hers’ and then by scouring Southall to find someone that might know her. Once this is accomplished then one can tell the president that both women are working together and that they have bought the church into disrepute. Good thinking batman oops Dragon person.
Unfortunately for this notable psychic the president and various other people worked their way through the morass of hate and disgust that had been spread until they discover that it was indeed Dragon who had mentioned the church and Dragon who had slandered two of its members.
Also a point against any conspiracy theory is the fact that the paths of the supposed confederates has not crossed in some eighteen months and they met only briefly at that time in circumstances that Dragon had engineered to make it appear that she was getting information from her ex friend about the other church member and when confronted for this laughed openly at the discomfort she had caused.
Now you may be asking yourself how such a clever psychic managed to add two and two together and come up with ten. I personally think that she took the words of the first protagonist regarding knowing someone in Southall who had known Dragon for twenty years and decided that this must apply to the ex friend. This is thinking with blinkers firmly in place, as I have to admit much of her thinking does appear to be. The truth of the matter is that the council estate where Dragon was born and still lives is an old established conglomerate of families that went to school together, that have intermarried, whose children have dated other estate children and who know much of each others business. I admit that this makes it very hard for someone living in their own fantasy world to shine when many know the truth of their past. I too have heard things that I find strange and almost bizarre in connection with Dragon but then perhaps some people embellish, where they have only a minority of fact, with a lot of supposition.
Anyway it was rather inconvenient being dropped into the hell pit as I was in the middle of extensive tests at the local hospital and my blood pressure and cholesterol took a turn for the worst. It is hard enough waiting for surgical admittance, but when you fear the anaesthetic may precipitate a stroke courtesy of one woman’s vicious mind, it does concentrate one on wills, funeral arrangements, etc. (I would prefer chrysanthemums). I am slowly recovering from the procedure and hopefully the results will prove negative. I did take three days of bed rest to lower my blood pressure prior but after two such scares in the past nine months I am fairly fragile. The Dragon must have been aware I was not in good health as her sister saw me at the hospital out patients just before Christmas, but then who else matters apart from her.
It would seem that in the beginning was Tweetie, a staff member who under an assumed name for her own safety, felt justified to confront the bullying actions that they saw from others in power. The hen house then erupted in a confusion of accusations that centered upon an ex staff member who had not been near the site in some two years.
The connotation of this action and the absurdity of those who took part in what was little more than an organized witch-hunt, resulted in the innocent lady taking space to supply proof that they were in the wrong. Ohhhhhh dear, another mistake from the infallible psychics. Where to turn next? Well if it was not she than it must be ………yes you have guessed it. Yet another ex member from around two years prior. Rather odd that they waited so long but then where is logic when the villagers are trying to burn down the supposed monster’s castle.
Somewhere in the middle of this chaos, a bright idea must have entered the Dragon’s head. Why not kill two birds with one stone. Throw in an ex staff member from six or so years back who is now also an ex friend. Why not leave a dubious message on her answer phone telling her that people are bandying her name about on the Internet and that it is all the fault of a lady that she has met through her church. Then even better why not find by fair means or foul the number of the church president first by pretending to be an ‘old friend of hers’ and then by scouring Southall to find someone that might know her. Once this is accomplished then one can tell the president that both women are working together and that they have bought the church into disrepute. Good thinking batman oops Dragon person.
Unfortunately for this notable psychic the president and various other people worked their way through the morass of hate and disgust that had been spread until they discover that it was indeed Dragon who had mentioned the church and Dragon who had slandered two of its members.
Also a point against any conspiracy theory is the fact that the paths of the supposed confederates has not crossed in some eighteen months and they met only briefly at that time in circumstances that Dragon had engineered to make it appear that she was getting information from her ex friend about the other church member and when confronted for this laughed openly at the discomfort she had caused.
Now you may be asking yourself how such a clever psychic managed to add two and two together and come up with ten. I personally think that she took the words of the first protagonist regarding knowing someone in Southall who had known Dragon for twenty years and decided that this must apply to the ex friend. This is thinking with blinkers firmly in place, as I have to admit much of her thinking does appear to be. The truth of the matter is that the council estate where Dragon was born and still lives is an old established conglomerate of families that went to school together, that have intermarried, whose children have dated other estate children and who know much of each others business. I admit that this makes it very hard for someone living in their own fantasy world to shine when many know the truth of their past. I too have heard things that I find strange and almost bizarre in connection with Dragon but then perhaps some people embellish, where they have only a minority of fact, with a lot of supposition.
Anyway it was rather inconvenient being dropped into the hell pit as I was in the middle of extensive tests at the local hospital and my blood pressure and cholesterol took a turn for the worst. It is hard enough waiting for surgical admittance, but when you fear the anaesthetic may precipitate a stroke courtesy of one woman’s vicious mind, it does concentrate one on wills, funeral arrangements, etc. (I would prefer chrysanthemums). I am slowly recovering from the procedure and hopefully the results will prove negative. I did take three days of bed rest to lower my blood pressure prior but after two such scares in the past nine months I am fairly fragile. The Dragon must have been aware I was not in good health as her sister saw me at the hospital out patients just before Christmas, but then who else matters apart from her.
Thursday 12 February 2009
Dragon Tails
Normally Dragons hang precariously to the pages of fantasy fiction and art, rarely setting claw in the so called real world, but at times the portal does open and glimpses are accorded to mere mortals. Many who prefer an escape from reality invest themselves with the designation and hopefully the grandeur of these supernatural beasts. This is one tale of many regarding such an individual who for her own reasons, ones that do not enter into this particular story, sees herself as a Dragon.
The Birthday Barbecue
This is as much the end of a relationship as the beginning of these stories. I was seated, as I frequently did at least once a week in the Dragon’s Lair when the telephone rang. It was her daughter who is at present doing well as an army redcap. It was an invitation for the Dragon to attend a barbecue on the 7th of April. Dragon simpered, “ohhhh a surprise birthday party for me how nice”. (She has a habit of putting on special voices particularly when on the telephone). Can I bring Pauline and of course her daughters so that they can see your beautiful home?
I do admit my heart sank. I do not like being transported to the wilds of nowhere for a party as there is no chance of leaving when I want to and as I grow older my own space has become increasingly important. But I also hate to throw proverbial spanners in the works of others and there was always the hope of a nice soldier or two (I have a difficult to please daughter in need of a new boyfriend). So the day dawned and dressed in our back garden finery we trouped into the Dragon’s sister’s car clutching our token bottles of wine.
Dragon enthused, ”It will be wonderful, she has nothing but the best. She will have the best meats there and probably steaks for the barbecue all from M & S.”
It’s a reasonable trip just out of London to the army base and when we arrived the son in law and his brother were trying to put a large barbecue together. As with most men this was proving difficult as they both thought they knew the best way to do this. Lined up along part of the fence were open beer bottles so I gathered they were also a little ‘happy’ in their work.
Inside the house the Dragon’s daughter was in the kitchen but burst out to greet us and show us around. Suitable noises were made concerning the colour schemes and decorations in the bedrooms and living areas. The television in particular came in for much admiration as it was of vast proportions. We admired the optics all loaded with spirits in the recess under the stairs and my youngest actually agreed to a shot of Malibu. (Just the one as she does not normally drink anything beyond cola) Dragon’s daughter retired back into her kitchen where she was gossiping with her ‘sister in law’ and her cousin. They were also I discovered on trotting in to see if I could help. Knocking back champagne. (I would like to state here that I do like the Dragon’s daughter and I fully appreciate her strong sense of independence).
Dragon, who gave up drinking a long time ago, and her sister who does not drink anyway, sat at the table in the dining alcove. I had a glass of white wine and went into the garden to sit with my older daughter who was watching the construction work. At this point the next-door neighbour, who turned out to be an ordinary squadie, came in from his back garden followed by a toddler. We watched him trip the child up deliberately and then shout at his wife to take the now screaming infant back indoors and take better care of her. He repeated this performance once more by leaving the gate open and berating her for letting the child wander almost to the road. In between he ran women down in a loud voice. I did not like him very much and we soon retired into the house. I went back into the kitchen but despite my efforts to help was not included in the conversations there. Slowly but surely as the day lengthened and the alcohol flowed, with little sign of anything more than pitta bread and salad, those that were drinking became drunker. A few burgers appeared and vanished. Some chicken shaped quorn was turned to cardboard on the barbecue. There were no thick, choice cut steaks from M & S, but I suspect there were some from Iceland, which is no hardship and perfectly acceptable at a party. There were no further soldiers.
Sometime around 9pm one of the Harry Potter films came on television. Another Dragon sister arrived together with Dragon’s son who had been playing tennis all day. They all went in to watch Harry Potter. The next-door neighbour’s wife joined me in the kitchen and we discussed photography as she had just started and was doing very well at it. Her lovely husband came in to join us and began throwing in snide remarks.
Dragon’s daughter wandered past filled up my glass and promptly passed out in the living room. Her husband, his brother and partner, all did much the same.
Meanwhile in the dining area I was trying very hard not to lose my temper with the awful neighbour. He got ruder and ruder as the time ticked by. His wife tried to drown him out but he was on a roll getting his own back for whatever reason his mother had dumped him on the steps of the maternity hospital (Perhaps it was his cloven hooves?) Eventually I cracked and I told him where he could go in no uncertain terms. His wife then flew at him and started batting him. The Dragon’s son in law leapt to his feet not certain what was happening. The Dragon’s son (always one to stir things up for a laugh) shouted out that I was a troublemaker. The son in law spat in my face and said he did not want me near his home again. I replied that I had not intention of traveling fifty miles to be insulted by the likes of him. At this he jumped back as if stricken and began shrieking for everyone to get out of his house. He then threw his mother in law and her relatives together with my daughters out. I apologized to Dragon but unfortunately when one lives in a fantasyland there can be no place for recognizing the truth. I was actually glad that I did not have to make those weekly journeys or listen to her putting down people from the Internet or the endless prattle about Big Brother and how psychological it all was. However on the down side I earned a place on her hit list, which I have noted over the years, has relentlessly expanded rather than diminished.
I forgot to mention the birthday cake. Well, actually it was difficult to work out which was more humiliating for Dragon, being ejected unceremoniously by her son in law, having me cause a commotion or receiving the cake. You see her daughter had spared no expense in presenting her with an un-iced, Tesco Value Victoria sponge with a candle thrust into it.
The Birthday Barbecue
This is as much the end of a relationship as the beginning of these stories. I was seated, as I frequently did at least once a week in the Dragon’s Lair when the telephone rang. It was her daughter who is at present doing well as an army redcap. It was an invitation for the Dragon to attend a barbecue on the 7th of April. Dragon simpered, “ohhhh a surprise birthday party for me how nice”. (She has a habit of putting on special voices particularly when on the telephone). Can I bring Pauline and of course her daughters so that they can see your beautiful home?
I do admit my heart sank. I do not like being transported to the wilds of nowhere for a party as there is no chance of leaving when I want to and as I grow older my own space has become increasingly important. But I also hate to throw proverbial spanners in the works of others and there was always the hope of a nice soldier or two (I have a difficult to please daughter in need of a new boyfriend). So the day dawned and dressed in our back garden finery we trouped into the Dragon’s sister’s car clutching our token bottles of wine.
Dragon enthused, ”It will be wonderful, she has nothing but the best. She will have the best meats there and probably steaks for the barbecue all from M & S.”
It’s a reasonable trip just out of London to the army base and when we arrived the son in law and his brother were trying to put a large barbecue together. As with most men this was proving difficult as they both thought they knew the best way to do this. Lined up along part of the fence were open beer bottles so I gathered they were also a little ‘happy’ in their work.
Inside the house the Dragon’s daughter was in the kitchen but burst out to greet us and show us around. Suitable noises were made concerning the colour schemes and decorations in the bedrooms and living areas. The television in particular came in for much admiration as it was of vast proportions. We admired the optics all loaded with spirits in the recess under the stairs and my youngest actually agreed to a shot of Malibu. (Just the one as she does not normally drink anything beyond cola) Dragon’s daughter retired back into her kitchen where she was gossiping with her ‘sister in law’ and her cousin. They were also I discovered on trotting in to see if I could help. Knocking back champagne. (I would like to state here that I do like the Dragon’s daughter and I fully appreciate her strong sense of independence).
Dragon, who gave up drinking a long time ago, and her sister who does not drink anyway, sat at the table in the dining alcove. I had a glass of white wine and went into the garden to sit with my older daughter who was watching the construction work. At this point the next-door neighbour, who turned out to be an ordinary squadie, came in from his back garden followed by a toddler. We watched him trip the child up deliberately and then shout at his wife to take the now screaming infant back indoors and take better care of her. He repeated this performance once more by leaving the gate open and berating her for letting the child wander almost to the road. In between he ran women down in a loud voice. I did not like him very much and we soon retired into the house. I went back into the kitchen but despite my efforts to help was not included in the conversations there. Slowly but surely as the day lengthened and the alcohol flowed, with little sign of anything more than pitta bread and salad, those that were drinking became drunker. A few burgers appeared and vanished. Some chicken shaped quorn was turned to cardboard on the barbecue. There were no thick, choice cut steaks from M & S, but I suspect there were some from Iceland, which is no hardship and perfectly acceptable at a party. There were no further soldiers.
Sometime around 9pm one of the Harry Potter films came on television. Another Dragon sister arrived together with Dragon’s son who had been playing tennis all day. They all went in to watch Harry Potter. The next-door neighbour’s wife joined me in the kitchen and we discussed photography as she had just started and was doing very well at it. Her lovely husband came in to join us and began throwing in snide remarks.
Dragon’s daughter wandered past filled up my glass and promptly passed out in the living room. Her husband, his brother and partner, all did much the same.
Meanwhile in the dining area I was trying very hard not to lose my temper with the awful neighbour. He got ruder and ruder as the time ticked by. His wife tried to drown him out but he was on a roll getting his own back for whatever reason his mother had dumped him on the steps of the maternity hospital (Perhaps it was his cloven hooves?) Eventually I cracked and I told him where he could go in no uncertain terms. His wife then flew at him and started batting him. The Dragon’s son in law leapt to his feet not certain what was happening. The Dragon’s son (always one to stir things up for a laugh) shouted out that I was a troublemaker. The son in law spat in my face and said he did not want me near his home again. I replied that I had not intention of traveling fifty miles to be insulted by the likes of him. At this he jumped back as if stricken and began shrieking for everyone to get out of his house. He then threw his mother in law and her relatives together with my daughters out. I apologized to Dragon but unfortunately when one lives in a fantasyland there can be no place for recognizing the truth. I was actually glad that I did not have to make those weekly journeys or listen to her putting down people from the Internet or the endless prattle about Big Brother and how psychological it all was. However on the down side I earned a place on her hit list, which I have noted over the years, has relentlessly expanded rather than diminished.
I forgot to mention the birthday cake. Well, actually it was difficult to work out which was more humiliating for Dragon, being ejected unceremoniously by her son in law, having me cause a commotion or receiving the cake. You see her daughter had spared no expense in presenting her with an un-iced, Tesco Value Victoria sponge with a candle thrust into it.
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