Ah yes, I remember it well

It’s Not Unusual (how many song titles can I cram into one blog?) to remember the first time you did something, saw something or felt something. Recently, I’ve been reminiscing about the first time I didn’t do, see or feel things. Not, as in, didn’t do this but instead did that; no, I mean didn’t do / see / feel anything at all.

Philosophers, and maybe psychologists, would have fun with the idea of doing / seeing / feeling / reminiscing about nothing. Nothing is nothing. Nothing is a strange concept ‘personified’ by, if I can anthropomorphise it, the time before the Big-Bang, which is an oxymoron because time didn’t exist before the Big Bang. Pre-Big-Bang itself didn’t exist. No existence, no time (almost rhymes with No Woman, No Cry).

Bonfire of the Profanities

You know when someone writes something outrageously horrid, and you start to fire off a stern riposte. Or maybe you’ve never done that – you’ve probably got a life – so you’ll just have to take my word for it. 

Where was I? Oh, yes, you’ve read something outrageously, stupidly horrid, and are typing away like fury when, suddenly, you think that what you’ve just read is too outrageously, stupidly, can’t-believe-anyone-would-think-like-that horrid, and they must be joking. You delete what you’ve just written, stand up to go make a cuppa but immediately sit back down and read it all again, just to be sure they weren’t being serious, because, well they couldn’t be, could they?

Arson and Ashes

The business is finished. The deed is done. The curtain has closed. 

Almost.

Mum is back home with Dad and her parents, not without a couple of rants from me of which they would have approved.

The Bud Jet

I was going to title this one The Budget, but then I decided I wanted ‘The’ to be read ‘Thu’ as in Thud but with a silent ‘d’, and all three syllables to have equal weight, i.e. Thu Bud Jet. That’s because it sounds heavy and clumsy and odd and unbelievable, like Kwarteng’s debut (deh bew?) budget à la Trussonomics and the reactions to it.

My War on Woke

My phone rang recently. It was one of my many gentlemen-friends (don’t tell Hubby) to whom I shall refer as ‘G’.

I really enjoy our phone conversations. They follow a familiar pattern. G asks if I have anything to add to the agenda of a forthcoming meeting, or if I can help him with the minutes of the previous meeting because he can’t read his handwriting, that sort of thing. After these committee-niceties, he changes the dynamic with a searching question, along the lines of:
• Can you see a way out of the cladding crisis?
• Do you think we should have another lockdown?
• Sunak or Truss?

Regarding the last one (yes, I know it was more topical a while ago but my blog-brain works in mysterious ways) I explained that I wasn’t wild about either of them but at least Truss was loyal to our democratically elected PM to the end, while Fishy Rishi Sunak was busy planning his own coronation (Ha!) when he should have been steering the economy through choppy waters.