Lip service?

One wonders if some people just pay lip service to things they think you like just to get a ticket to ride.  One wonders if some people are mostly filled with bullshit.  I would say that it's disappointing but it isn't.  Because that would imply lack of expectation.  There is expectation aplenty here.  To all those who pretend in order to get what they want - the only person you are lying to is yourself.  Falsehoods create bad karma.  If you can't be kind, at least be real.

I tend to be kind.  I tend to be real.  I tend to see the good in people.  I'll try to hold onto all that in the midst of any shit tide that happens to come my way.  Most of all, I shall remember that shit tides are temporal disturbances to the beautiful ocean of life.  Whilst shit tides try and fail to pull me down, I shall crank up the volume on Arcane Roots and swim forwards with determination.

xx 

  

Sleater-Kinney - A New Wave [OFFICIAL VIDEO]

Sea Change - Let's Dance - Music Video

A rain dance

It's surprisingly difficult to snooze when a child is doing a rain dance (jumping on the bed), just inches from your head.  This applies even more so, if said child actually jumps on your head.  This said, I enjoyed a few moments of peace this morning, whilst said child 'read' her book.  These moments never last for long. It's interesting that the only days that my child wants to get up early, are the days when we have longer in bed or don't have anywhere to go. Interesting but not amusing. 

xx

A plaster obsession

My daughter has a bit of an obsession with plasters.  She wants a plaster for all minor and non-existent injuries.  Apparently plasters are actually magic.  They can heal all wounds - real and unreal.  With this in mind and because I'm obsessed with lyrics, if she says "I hurt myself" but it's pretty clear that she hasn't.  I respond by singing a line of Johnny Cash's Hurt to her.  It goes a little something like this:

Daughter: *no evidence of accident, proffering invisible wound*  "I hurt myself......"
Mummy: *musically*  ".........today, to see if I still feel".
Daughter: *looks ambivalent, goes off to do something else*.
Mummy: *looks 'comedic', goes off to find plasters*.

PS. Daughter is wrapping a sticker around her thumb as I type.  It's not a sticker mummy, it's a plaster.  The obsession continues.........

Singing for myself

For the first time in the history of my romantic awareness I've sung love songs without a specific person mind.  Since about age 14, I've either been in unrequited love or one half of shared love. 

At this moment I can say with honesty that I only have love for my daughter, myself, my family, my friends and for humanity.  I am not in love.  I am happy.  I am single.  Life isn't perfect.  Life never will be.  But I'm settled with all that I have.   

When I sing, I sing for myself and I listen to the words my soul speaks.

xx 

Don't Mug Yourself - The Streets

I had a hankering for Sharp Darts by The Streets

Not-groovy: Tax Credit Anti-helpline

Can I strongly suggest that the new government employ about 200 more Tax Credit Helpline workers because I really feel like perpetual hold, being cut off after being on hold for an hour and not getting through in the first place doesn't constitute an actual service fronted by a helpline.  Offer a Chat Room Helpline, like Ebay does.  It's still fucking annoying but at least it doesn't cost millions of pounds in a phone bill.   

The Tax Credit Anti-Helpline hold button music is playing as I type this blog.  It has a jazz feel to it.  Thus, I sometimes pretend that I'm in a funky jazz club.  Hi, and welcome to Jazz Club.  This is the Tax Credit Anti-helpline Total Twonk Face Band.

On drums: a repetitive beat, barely perceptible above the bad line crackle.
On bass: totally addicted to bass but after 30 minutes of holding, slowly going off it.
On keyboards: crazy freestyle melody, trying to distract caller from perpetual hold and failing dramatically.
On lead guitar: guitarist has got fed up of the perpetual hold button and has fallen into a crack in the stage, guitarist thinks she's in a alternate utopian dimension filled with pink unicorns.

Cue cutaway shot. *Points then presents a Jazz face*. Total twonks. Not groovy.

    

Damn tories

God damn tories.  Go the fook away.  Boooooooooooo. 

The benefits of being married to Benedict Cumberbatch

The benefits of being married to Benedict Cumberbatch are clearly myriad.  Yet, essentially the key benefit is indicated with the words 'Benedict Cumberbatch'.  Married to Benedict Cumberbatch!  MARRIED TO BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH.  Can you imagine?!  Ye gods, Sophie Hunter - you wonderfully lucky lady. Every day must be a dream.  

xx

Damn hawt

I recently received a message from someone who began said message with the word 'damn'.  In fact, the message came in two parts.  So initially I just received the word 'damn'.  I thought, yikes, a message that starts with a damn, this cannot be good.  Then I got the message "you're so hawt".  For some time I stared at the words.  I recognised the first two, 'you're' and 'so'.  The word 'hawt' was a major stumbling block for me.  It sounded like it probably wasn't a good word.  Never-the-less, I asked my admirer what it meant.  Impatient as I am, in the meantime, I consulted Google.  Happily the urban dictionary enlightened me.  My knowledge of street talk is rather limited.  This likely has something to do with my age.  Apparently, hawt means hot.  And hot means very attractive.  (Obviously I am familiar with the word hot in its' sexual guise). 

Thus I recently received a message which said, for the purposes of the lesser street enlightened few "Goodness, you're very attractive".

On balance, I think I rather like the urban version. 

Nb. I'm happy to receive messages from admirers who wish to bestow an array of complimentary words upon me. Street or otherwise.

xx