I know that title is , well, rubbish. But I couldn't think of any other way to approach the fact that my blog is once again sadly neglected and vulnerable to another overload of commas if I'm not careful. It is in good company with my tweets which have remained untweeted these last couple of months, although currently enjoying a resurgence due to my impending participation in a Midnight Pyjama walk amongst other things. E mail and facebook interaction remains buoyant ( and it took me years and the encouragment of the school mummies to get me into the latter). As for texts it's been years since I had so many thanks once again to the school mummies and the school texting service.Although as my good friend Jay informs me I'm crap at replying because you are meant to check your phone at least once an hour if not more and not once every three days....
So how come I don't set myself the goal of one tweet and one blog a day, especially when I'm ploughing through work and personal e mail, compiling a growing watch list on e bay of things I will inevitably forget to bid on , attempting and failing to secure other people's tat ( my treasure) on Freecycle and trawling bay crazy for local bargains? Well ? I will. Why not? It's just a question of remembering it's there to be done really. Like my short story competition entry ( 2 lines in ) and my unfinished novel ( 60,000 words in) and the next novel ( I'm not even going there ). Today is radio show day 2-4 at the hospital so I have to prepare my playlist and my list of topics for the show. So I'm just going to throw in a couple of lovely Welsh men for you to think about and I promise to return to discuss further .
Anthony Hopkins ( Sir) , Richard Burton ( Mr). Do they need discussion? Are the reasons not obvious? Am I too preoccupied with actors and voices? Later.
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Thursday, 1 March 2012
New Year - Never Too Late To Try
Well I know it's already the 1st March and my sadly neglected blog has been, well, sadly neglected. Not to mention my two sadly neglected novels and various short stories in need of honing, polishing and all round ripping to shreds in some cases. However I have not been all idle in these last 3 months. The hospital radio show is going well. I even have a protege to mentor( I am trying so hard not to mislead her) and I have been drafted onto the committee as the new secretary. Although I have a feeling it may be because no one else wanted to do it....... I now have a two hour show playing a wide range of latin music and I'm loving it. Next month I am lining up some authors to interview. Sadly my regular writing class has finished until September but I have found a lovely little group in my town led by a published author and artist, which I am enjoying and it presents new challenges. Oh I also had a holiday away from the business with our little one, where we had great fun listening to friends old and new singing and playing, splashing in the sea, eating out and doing lots of reading and some writing.
My resolutions for the New Year remained unmade which means I don't have to make excuses and I can still make some without naming them to anyone but myself. I think this could be called copping out, except no one beats me up like I do.
In terms of TWC (guess what Bill Nighy has a new film out!) It has to be two nameless chaps on my flight home from holiday. Having missed the news that our plane boarded early we were virtually the last ones on board. Needless to say there were numerous seats of three taken up by twos, leaving a spare seat in the middle, who all steadfastly ignored us. Faced with not being able to sit next to either of her parents our already distressed four year old was strapped into an aisle seat across from me and promptly had hysterics( and I should point out that she is not an overly dramatic child). I was unable to calm her and it was only when her screams for me grew louder that the stewardess decided to ask if anyone would move .
Two young chaps with three seats between them who had been amongst the first to board offered to move so that all three of us could sit together. True gentleman in every sense of the word and we were incredibly grateful to them. Shame on the woman who my four year old was sat next to who not only completely ignored her, but couldn't wait to unbuckle her seat belt. Even before I had my daughter ( and thought I didn't have the maternal instinct) I could not have sat there in the face of an upset child and not offered to move.
So these chaps, whoever they were, definitely make my list for being so thoughtful and caring.
My resolutions for the New Year remained unmade which means I don't have to make excuses and I can still make some without naming them to anyone but myself. I think this could be called copping out, except no one beats me up like I do.
In terms of TWC (guess what Bill Nighy has a new film out!) It has to be two nameless chaps on my flight home from holiday. Having missed the news that our plane boarded early we were virtually the last ones on board. Needless to say there were numerous seats of three taken up by twos, leaving a spare seat in the middle, who all steadfastly ignored us. Faced with not being able to sit next to either of her parents our already distressed four year old was strapped into an aisle seat across from me and promptly had hysterics( and I should point out that she is not an overly dramatic child). I was unable to calm her and it was only when her screams for me grew louder that the stewardess decided to ask if anyone would move .
Two young chaps with three seats between them who had been amongst the first to board offered to move so that all three of us could sit together. True gentleman in every sense of the word and we were incredibly grateful to them. Shame on the woman who my four year old was sat next to who not only completely ignored her, but couldn't wait to unbuckle her seat belt. Even before I had my daughter ( and thought I didn't have the maternal instinct) I could not have sat there in the face of an upset child and not offered to move.
So these chaps, whoever they were, definitely make my list for being so thoughtful and caring.
Thursday, 24 November 2011
Too Long No Blog
I know I really need to get the hang of this blogging thing, not to mention 'tweeting'. Although it made me feel better when I had a conversation with an eighteen year old who was having difficulty getting her head around it too.Yay!There is hope for me yet. I picked up The Times at the weekend and read the supplement with thirty great poems everyone should know. I was familiar with the majority yet the one that stood out for me was'Invictus'by W.E. Henley.Then I read that Bill Nighy ( yes my TWC Bill Nighy) was recording a reading of it. I've listened: it's lovely, so is he.For me the last two lines resonate and represent what I need to remember if I am going to push myself to achieve my goals in 2012 :
'I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.'
So onwards and upwards as they ( whoever 'they' are) say.
I'm wondering what my critical writing friend Cath is up to.Rumour has it she has just been on a road trip , by way of a coach, with another writing friend, freeing me up to make merry with my commas( sorry I went to a medieval banquet last night and indulged in a lot of 'wassailing').
I am so looking forward to hearing tales of no doubt mass destruction of the itinerary, not to mention caricatures based on fellow travellers .Little do the latter know what they were letting themselves in for when they assembled at the crack of dawn outside some dark and brooding religious edifice, cold fingers clutching coach boot battered cases.These people may never set foot on a coach again for the rest of their lives. Then again they will be a lot richer for having the experience of meeting my mad writing friends and may well become lifelong buddies. We'll see. The writing class await their return to the fold on Monday with baited breath ; I may even be early for a change.
Thinking Woman's Crumpet Time......
Hmm.I have pondered a long while on my next subject. It's the mouth you see. Again. What is it about mouths?I guess you focus on them a lot when the subject is an actor. This man came into my life when I was a teenager and like so many of my contemporaries I possessed several iconic shots of James Dean, mainly, if not all in black and white. Of course I loved Rebel Without a Cause, yet it was Giant that really drew me in: watching his performance and how he aged on screen.The irony being that we never saw him age in real life of course.
James Dean is such an obvious one that I mention him merely in passing to my real subject:
Stephen Mc Hattie, born in Nova Scotia in 1947.He is a film and tv actor with many performances under his belt including some of the most popular tv series.In 1976 McHattie played James Dean in the film James Dean: Portrait of a Friend, a tv adaptation of the biography written by James Dean's friend and writer Bill Bast. At some point I came across this film and it has stayed in my memory all these years, Stephen McHattie has stayed in my memory as he was then : the sculpted cheekbones, the thin lipped curve of the mouth which verges on the edge of a snarl, yet teases you with the smallest hint of a smile, the piercing eyes. Check him out on wikipedia/google. He may be in his sixties now, but I say the man still has it: in spades.
'I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.'
So onwards and upwards as they ( whoever 'they' are) say.
I'm wondering what my critical writing friend Cath is up to.Rumour has it she has just been on a road trip , by way of a coach, with another writing friend, freeing me up to make merry with my commas( sorry I went to a medieval banquet last night and indulged in a lot of 'wassailing').
I am so looking forward to hearing tales of no doubt mass destruction of the itinerary, not to mention caricatures based on fellow travellers .Little do the latter know what they were letting themselves in for when they assembled at the crack of dawn outside some dark and brooding religious edifice, cold fingers clutching coach boot battered cases.These people may never set foot on a coach again for the rest of their lives. Then again they will be a lot richer for having the experience of meeting my mad writing friends and may well become lifelong buddies. We'll see. The writing class await their return to the fold on Monday with baited breath ; I may even be early for a change.
Thinking Woman's Crumpet Time......
Hmm.I have pondered a long while on my next subject. It's the mouth you see. Again. What is it about mouths?I guess you focus on them a lot when the subject is an actor. This man came into my life when I was a teenager and like so many of my contemporaries I possessed several iconic shots of James Dean, mainly, if not all in black and white. Of course I loved Rebel Without a Cause, yet it was Giant that really drew me in: watching his performance and how he aged on screen.The irony being that we never saw him age in real life of course.
James Dean is such an obvious one that I mention him merely in passing to my real subject:
Stephen Mc Hattie, born in Nova Scotia in 1947.He is a film and tv actor with many performances under his belt including some of the most popular tv series.In 1976 McHattie played James Dean in the film James Dean: Portrait of a Friend, a tv adaptation of the biography written by James Dean's friend and writer Bill Bast. At some point I came across this film and it has stayed in my memory all these years, Stephen McHattie has stayed in my memory as he was then : the sculpted cheekbones, the thin lipped curve of the mouth which verges on the edge of a snarl, yet teases you with the smallest hint of a smile, the piercing eyes. Check him out on wikipedia/google. He may be in his sixties now, but I say the man still has it: in spades.
Monday, 3 October 2011
Bill Nighy
Disclaimer : No commas were harmed in the writing of this blog
So I googled Joan Bakewell who many years ago to her dismay was christened the' thinking man's crumpet' by Frank Muir. I then spent half an hour looking at Cheryl Cole's new hairdo nestling atop a Victoria Beckham frock( I do love that word), celebrities in a variety of little black dresses and oversized shoes ( four year olds clunking around in mama's high heels anyone?) and an assortment of strangely shaped and wrinkled knees, not to mention Pippa Middleton's scorching red halter neck dress and a quick peek at the X factor - yes I know but at least I'm honest. It's no wonder I never finish anything......My critical friend( as in the one I am sharing my writing with) Cath says I'm like a butterfly oh and that I use too many commas,oops there goes another one, make that two. So sorry if you get short of breath but I'm trying to economise on them in case there's a world shortage.....ok Cath?
I did eventually return to Joan Bakewell in case you were wondering how far my talent for being distracted extends,(comma alert Cath) the irony of this distraction being all too apparent to me.In my quest to discover what made JB the 'thinking man's crumpet' I have been insidiously drawn into celebrityville in all its A to Z list glory .How did that just happen? Focus girl!.
Now back to Bill .Mr Nighy. A contender in my quest for the ultimate TWC. I don't normally 'do' blonde. Well except for and maybe because of one long legged bass player with a boyish grin who turned out to be bottle blonde and that's another story( how are the commas doing Cath?).But Bill. Mr Nighy. It's not just the voice, although that helps, or his acting ability or the way his hair flops in a certain way or the gentle gleam of his eyes through heavy rimmed black spectacle frames.It's in the curl of his lip.It's so subtle but when he speaks the words hover on that curl and when the rich tone spills from those lips its mesmerising.
Great pair of legs too.....
So I googled Joan Bakewell who many years ago to her dismay was christened the' thinking man's crumpet' by Frank Muir. I then spent half an hour looking at Cheryl Cole's new hairdo nestling atop a Victoria Beckham frock( I do love that word), celebrities in a variety of little black dresses and oversized shoes ( four year olds clunking around in mama's high heels anyone?) and an assortment of strangely shaped and wrinkled knees, not to mention Pippa Middleton's scorching red halter neck dress and a quick peek at the X factor - yes I know but at least I'm honest. It's no wonder I never finish anything......My critical friend( as in the one I am sharing my writing with) Cath says I'm like a butterfly oh and that I use too many commas,oops there goes another one, make that two. So sorry if you get short of breath but I'm trying to economise on them in case there's a world shortage.....ok Cath?
I did eventually return to Joan Bakewell in case you were wondering how far my talent for being distracted extends,(comma alert Cath) the irony of this distraction being all too apparent to me.In my quest to discover what made JB the 'thinking man's crumpet' I have been insidiously drawn into celebrityville in all its A to Z list glory .How did that just happen? Focus girl!.
Now back to Bill .Mr Nighy. A contender in my quest for the ultimate TWC. I don't normally 'do' blonde. Well except for and maybe because of one long legged bass player with a boyish grin who turned out to be bottle blonde and that's another story( how are the commas doing Cath?).But Bill. Mr Nighy. It's not just the voice, although that helps, or his acting ability or the way his hair flops in a certain way or the gentle gleam of his eyes through heavy rimmed black spectacle frames.It's in the curl of his lip.It's so subtle but when he speaks the words hover on that curl and when the rich tone spills from those lips its mesmerising.
Great pair of legs too.....
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