Just Life

On Being Afraid I can honestly say that I am not a scardery cat, it isn't in my nature. In life there are the careful people who, if a large fire breathing Dragon pitched up in their garden, breathing fire, would stay indoors, get the water buckets out and ring for the Police, Fire Brigade and Ambulance just incase. They would be very quiet and probably hide under the table.  I am the opposite, I am the Dragon Slayer, I would in all probability, march out and demand to know what the Dragon was doing in my garden, lecture it on the dangers of fire breathing near houses and tell it, very assertively to F Off.  I would have no plan A or Plan B for that matter, but I would have an underlying and absolute faith in my ability to succeed. I have no fail factor built into my psyche.  It has landed me in trouble more than a few times and I have, at times, said to myself, walk away from the drama.  But, I also have that little voice in my ear that says, go on, take it on, you know

This is The Mister cat, he woke me this morning by doing a four footed splat onto my chest, when he does this I am never sure if I am either having a heart attack or Mr T has pounced on me while I sleep. The first is possible, the latter not so much, he sleeps like no one else I know. I get up, take my tablets which are growing in number by the week. I look like I have gone into the medication sweetie shop and ordered a quarter of mixed meds please.  They are all so pretty, no wonder kids take them instead of sweets. I have pills for inflammation, pills for blood pressure, for keeping my heart beat regular, pills for pain relief, deep shit pain relief pains that rip the shit out of my stomach lining, pills to help stop them doing that, pills for diabetes, pills for my bone pain, pills to dampen my immune system and the mega pills that are slowly swiping my autoimmune system out until even a sneeze could cause me to become infected and end up in A&E. Oh and the insulin pen th

The little voice in my head that is my conscience, even when I would like it to be quiet. I have this little voice in my head a bit like Jimmany Cricket and Pinnochio, the one that when I am going to do something or decide something says, hang on, wait a minute if you do that, then all you have said about the other is hypocritical, can you live with that Missy? (the voice calls me Missy at these times). In this instance it is the General Election quandary I am in at the moment. I belong to our local Labour Party, I have joined every local Party when I moved house, I have been an active member, not just a supporter on elections, but always, the lobbying, the not so popular times, the leaflet drops, even when I would rather stay at home.  I don't support my Party's Leader, I love the manifesto in much the same way I love all good news and wish lists. It almost feels like the Party has sat down with a catalogue of good things we all want and need and has gone, I&

This is a photo of me, taken in Aberavon Beach Bier Keller, back when no one had cameras, other than our parents who only used it on holidays, if you were lucky enough to go on one.  This was taken the night before I left to join the RAF, I was 17, a hippy type, but needed to see more of the world and was unlikely to do that staying in Aberavon. I loved and love where I come from. It is industrial, a steel town, but has the most wonderful beach, miles and miles of sand and sea, mountains and forests all peopled by the funniest, kindest, modest people I have ever met. It was full of eccentrics and characters as we called the drunks and don't give a toss people. The area has produced many, many famous people, actors and singers and politicians and artists. Why this small town has produced so many I have no idea, but maybe it is because there was a can do attitude. Burton, Anthony Hopkins, Michael Sheen are just a few. I was and still am a bit of an oddball, I don't need

Daddy Woodpecker fetching baby for his dinner on my feeders. It's April, already, where did the past few months go? I had forgotten this blog and started another, I have so many blogs I have forgotten the password to, I reckon they all sit in a holding area, bit like a Lost Blog Office, all waiting for their owners to pick them up and add to again.  Poor forlorn blogs, I hope to not lose this one. We have been busy, I haven't been crafting as much as i like, mainly my illness, a lot of sloth and I have been distracted by my Harp. Mr. T, wonderful man that he is, bought me a harp for my 60th birthday. I have a violin and a saxophone, but as my illness weakens my neck muscles and lungs, my wrists and fingers get still, making music on these becomes more and more painful and difficult. I love making music, it isn't perfect, I am no maestro, but there is something so very relaxing about making tunes. So, he went out and got me a Celtic Lap Harp, to be honest you would ne

This was my experience of 1970's Britain, well the early 70's. We tuned in, turned on, dropped out and partied until our heads spun. We believed we had the World in the palm of our hands and Friday Night was the night to Party. In my town of Port Talbot, Friday Night was usually pay day, we didn't earn much, but   a  loaf of bread cost 9p and the average weekly wage was around £32. Today, a loaf costs 53p and weekly wages are about £475. Property prices have also risen. In 1970, homebuyers could expect to pay £4,975 for a house. Today, their children would not get much change from £140,000. A glance at Britain's social life in 1970 is equally intriguing. A trip for two to the cinema cost less than 90p, compared with at least £9 today, while a bottle of plonk was about £1. Today it is £4.55. A  bottle of whisky cost £2.69 back then, compared with £12 now. Pub prices, too, seem foreign. A pint of lager in your local was 20p, a far cry from today's average of