Skip to main content

Floods

Remember that Warholian line about everyone having fifteen minutes of fame? Well, in this age of supposed equality, this seems to have been extended to spiders - the one living in our bird house, to be exact.

Yup, dear ol' Incey Wincey made page two of the Wirral Globe this week.

On the TV news, there was a brief piece which announced that British fruit growers have lost up to two-thirds of their crops due to the wet weather. Apparently this has been the wettest June since records began. (This in itself doesn’t mean much, as the records only go back around 150 years which, in the life of this planet, is like a blink to you and me.)

The bulk of my raspberry crop has been ruined. The fruits are rotting on the canes, which renders them absolutely useless. But that’s nothing compared to the problems other people are having right now.

Read this:- http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-23402936-details/'We've+all+been+forgotten'+say+30,000+UK+flood+victims/article.do

So many people have lost their homes! It might take up to a year before they can return to them, or so it has been reported. And no wonder, considering the scale of the problem. Some places are still flooded, and more rain has been forecast.

Soooooo, apart from mailing out oodles of invitations (pleas?!!) for people to buy A Wirral Otherkin Trilogy, and giggling at the dogs happily playing tug-o-war with their new toy zebra, I’ve been working on character charts in preparation for starting the first draft of Rowan. Yes, we have a title! And it’s about a bloke called Rowan. Rather like how Tamsin was about a girl called Tamsin.

Ok, enough of being silly.

Back to work.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Cure for Aging?

"All that we profess to do is but this, - to find out the secrets of the human frame; to know why the parts ossify and the blood stagnates, and to apply continual preventatives to the effort of time.  This is not magic; it is the art of medicine rightly understood.  In our order we hold most noble -, first, that knowledge which elevates the intellect; secondly, that which preserves the body.  But the mere art (extracted from the juices and simples) which recruits the animal vigour and arrests the progress of decay, or that more noble secret which I will only hint to thee at present, by which heat or calorific, as ye call it, being, as Heraclitus wisely taught, the primordial principle of life, can be made its perpectual renovator...." Zanoni, book IV, chapter II, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, first published in 1842. Oroboros keyring - Spooky Cute Designs The idea of being able to achieve an immortal life is probably as old as human life itself.  Folklore and myt...
15 comments
Read more

Remembering Richie Tattoo Artist's Studio

Richard in the street entrance to his tattoo studio in Liverpool. The vertical sign next to Richard is now in the Liverpool Tattoo Museum. Yesterday, my sister Evelyn, Richard and myself stood outside Richard's old tattoo studio and looked up at the few remaining signs, whose paint has now mostly flacked away to reveal bare wood. On the studio's window are stick-on letters which read, "Art", where once it boldly announced his presence as the city's only "Tattoo Artist".  I can remember him buying that simple plastic lettering from an old-fashioned printer's shop. This was in 1993, not long after he'd opened the studio and before he could afford better signs. After he'd patiently stuck them onto the glass we realised that from the outside the sign read "Artist Tattoo", so we had to carefully peel the letters off the window and have another go, laughing over having made such an obvious error yet worried in case we spoiled the letteri...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dear Diary...

Do you keep a diary? Why did you start it, and, if you started one then stopped, why was that? What sort of things do (or did) you write about? I ask as, as a long-time diarist myself, there is an interesting piece in The Guardian today which talks about one woman's diary habit, which she began at the age of fourteen. I started a diary around that age too, but destroyed it after my mother accused me of using cocaine.  A stern scene followed, with both parents perched ram-rod straight in their armchairs, while I was subjected to a heated inquisition. Where had I bought it, and who from? Didn't I know such things led to death and doom? I struggled to decipher their bewildering accusations, until Mum blurted out, "I read it in your diary!" To find my diary, Mum would first have had to rummage through my dressing table, obviously when I wasn't around to protest. Her intrusion on my privacy was assumed by both parents to be acceptable, and now, with this handwritten c...
Post a Comment
Read more