Summer Scoop

I have been working on my papergirl project. This is just a first draft so it might get revised a time or two before I submit it. I use Yankee candles to make my flat smell nice and my favourite flavour* at the minute is called 'summer scoop'. It made me think of K and so I wrote this to get a bit of sadness worked out of my system. I've also included some photos of Ziggy to balance it all out and make this a bittersweet blog post. Thank dog for gods!



I was submerged in my skin, feeling myself rot and decay and peel away, ‘til my core was exposed, all swollen and tender, all soft and raw. And in this fragile state he came to charm and disarm me, possibly harm me, but my heart was exposed, all swollen and tender, all soft and raw. He built me this gorgeous house in the trees, with heart shaped leaves and the bees who could see, I was stung before, I was swollen and tender, all soft and raw. So I jumped through his hoop, got caught in the loop, fell in love with a summer scoop. And my core was exposed, my heart and soul juxtaposed thought this was gold, I thought this was treasure, thought this was forever. So I said goodbye to my summer scoop, danced to the beat of my own distant drum, my freedom was gold, my thoughts were my own, this was my treasure. This is forever.

The New Seating Arrangement

Just at the minute I have an inability to write. I don't know why. I think it's because I'm holding myself back from what I really want to say. Despite my attempts to always be open and honest there's just some things best left. So I hand my blog over to Ziggy to see if he's got much so say for himself:

Oh boys, oh boys, I just don't know what to be at with myself. Y'see, Hannah and her flatmate got rid of that big stupid TV, which was ok, I didn't mind because sometimes I saw things on the TV that annoyed me and I could never get at them, but Hannah didn't like the big empty space it left so she put my favourite armchair their in it's place. She seemed to know that this would upset me but she didn't care. I used to love sitting on that armchair looking out the window. I especially liked to bark at all the other dogs I seen. So life's been tough this past few days. I can stand at the top of the stairs and look out that window but all I ever see are a few birds. So I bark at them. Then Hannah tells me not to. And now I can't get in behind the sofa and hide and scratch and carry on. The whole living room's changed and I don't like it. I asked Meka what she thought and she said she didn't give a flying f**k. So I did a whole pile of naughty things just to get back at Hannah. Nothing really bad, I've just generally been a bit more pesky than usual. I hoped that she might reconsider the seating arrangement so I could just go back to looking out the window and barking. Think I'll just keep being naughty until she does

Well, looks like Ziggy did have something he wanted to get off his chest. I do feel very guilty about taking his chair by the window away but I was glad to get rid of the big stupid TV.

How Were We Made?

Not so long ago I wrote a post on the number 216. It was a very light hearted post because I was feeling so shitty at the time I had to be jovial whenever I could. But it seems the number won't leave me alone and there's a whole lot of "significance" behind it. When this number started to crop up in my life 5 years ago I thought it was odd but never gave it any real serious thought. A lot of people have numbers that keep figuring in their lives so that part is not unusual. Now, I find it hard to write with a hundred per cent enthusiasm about a subject that has always seemed airy fairy and wishy washy to me. In the past year, through events in my life and learning that I've done I've come to appreciate all kinds of theories and philosophies about life. The event of seeing numbers repeatedly in life are said to be the result of angels communicating with us. It seems to be their message is a simple one, just to let us know they are there. I have my struggles with religion and the concepts of heavenly creatures and so, five years ago, I would have called this utter pish posh. But, like I said, life is teaching me not to scoff at things just because they don't fit into my idea of what is right. When I was younger I felt it was more important to place my faith in myself and the people around me. The 'concrete' beings that I could physically know and touch. As I get older I realise that as concrete as we might be nothing lasts forever. So I looked beyond the physical and delved into the spiritual.

I didn't explain the number 216 very well in the last post. The reason being is that I don't know how to explain it. My brain understands what I'm reading about it but I can't express it in my own words because a lot of it boils down to maths and I just don't get maths. What I can do is provide links. The first one is good old wikipedia. This one's for the real maths buffs. The second one shows that the number 216 is, in fact, well known. Clearly someone has had the same thought as myself and queried if the number 216 has any significance. Of course, everything I read about it has to do with maths or religion, two of my most hated subjects. I wasn't going to even mention it again except that I was looking through a magazine, a strange magazine that my flatmate got, and there was an advert at the back for a book by William Neil called How We Were Made: A book of revelations. The illustration shows the number 666 and a hand pointing downwards to the number 216 in a circle with wings. I thought this required further investigation.

This dude William Neil seems to have devoted an awful lot of time to the number 216. It's actually kind of boring and I guess you have to be really into numbers to be interested in such stuff. All the same, I'll have to check the book out just to see what it's all about. I am kinda worried though as I think he might be one of these David Icke types. At least his name was mentioned on this site. I wish I was being haunted by a far less notorious number. In all seriousness though, it is just a number, though, according to google the world's going to end in 2016. Hmmmm, like we haven't heard that one before. Still, better make sure this next couple of years are extra special good ones. Just in case ;)

Papergirl Belfast

Today I had one of those 'senior' moments like when someone is looking for their glasses and they're already wearing them. I was walking Ziggy down the street and I momentarily panicked that I'd forgot his lead, which was, of course, attached to his collar and in my hand.

Ziggy gets called a whole lot of names. The list is extensive and includes; Ziggers, Chief Ziggum, Sir Zigalot, Zigalo, Ziglet, Ziglerthene (my mum's name for him), Zigstar, Wee Man, Wee Dude and Wee Shit. Basically, I'll call him anything, anything but The Zig. The way I see it he has to earn that title and he is far too young and cocky to appreciate it yet. Like Paulo and his sword, Ziggy needs to know what to do with a title like that before he can own it with honour and pride. It has been noted by fellow dog walkers that Ziggy walks around like he is King of the River Path Walk. I encourage all their dogs to put Ziggy in his place.

A few days ago I felt like all my energy had been zapped from me. I guess I was only just getting over the Whisky Flu and I'd been out gallivanting most nights so a bit of exhaustion was inevitable. It felt more than that though, like I'd surrendered something of myself that I was't quite ready to surrender. My body told me everything that I needed to know. It was just a matter of listening to it. I rested for an hour on Friday night before heading round to see Sunshine and Moonshine. It was the most satisfying rest in which I hung out somewhere in between reality and dreams. It was very peaceful and when I came to I was re-energised and feeling good (like Nina Simone good).

The lovely Shiny girls told me about an interesting creative project called Papergirl Belfast. People are encouraged to write, draw or create something that can be rolled up and put in a tube for people on bikes to randomly distribute to the members of the public. Such a brilliant idea I have to be a part of it!

The Pilgrimage

There are a few Arts I'm trying to master at the minute like how to make my life a little less like a sopa opera. I have attracted drama for years now. I don't want it but it finds me as soon as I decide to go out and be sociable with people. it's nothing major and nothing I can't handle but it's certainly made me question what the hell I'm doing to avoid a somewhat, normal, peaceful life. I think I've figured it out this time round. I feel for people too much. I care about them too much. I want everyone to be free and happy. I can't detach myself from other people's pain and it's something I need to learn how to do if I want to become a counsellor.

I am a sponge and I soak everything up. Having learnt a major lesson this year in how to take control of my life, I now have to learn what to do with that control. I don't want to care so much for people that when their world get's rocked mine does too. I don't want to be afraid of other people's feelings. I can't be. It doesn't help me. Yesterday I made myself finish The Pigrimage by Paulo Coelho. It was less enjoyable to read than many of his books and just as I'd got to the last 40 pages I gave up. It's been sitting in my room gathering dust for a while now. I began to wonder if there was significance in me being unable to finish it at that particular time. Maybe I would only be able to finish the book when I was ready for the lesson. I decided that yesterday I needed to finsih it. The wisdom that I was waiting for was in the first paragraph.

The story is about Paulo doing a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in search of his sword. He does not know where he will find it and his guide, Petrus, tries to teach him exercises and meditations as a way to look within himself for the answers. It is not until Paulo realises that he has been so obsessed with the end result he has failed to even think about what he will do with his sword when he gets it. He suddenly realises he will not be able to find his sword until he, first, knows what to do with it.

I still have a way to go on my journey, not that it will ever end, but I'm getting closer and closer to that feeling of authenticity. Perhaps, one day, I will go on my own pilgrimage.

The Art Of Procrastination

I am fixated on playng Rounders at the minute. I like it because it's neither a girl's game nor a boy's game. For those of you that don't know, Rounders is like the British version of Baseball, only much smaller and without the acclaim. A better game, by far, I would say. Millions of Americans may beg to differ though. I was never overly sporty at school. I was more spotty than sporty. I also went to the kind of school where sport was glorified. If you were the very best hockey or rugby player you could securely claim your place amongst the Jocks. If you didn't have brains to applaud at least you had brawn. I had brains but not the kind of malleable ones a school like that wanted you to have. I challenged my R.E. teacher on all kinds of controversial subjects like suicide and gay rights. He would become flustered and, while I had him engaged in such debates, there would be no learning from the Bible as outlined in the curriculum. It's really no wonder I failed the exam.

Today I'm indulging in a spot of procrastination. I'm off work and should be getting stuck into the housework but I am choosing to painfully squeeze out a blog post when I really have nothing to write about. That's how a true procrastinator operates. The thing that they choose to do instead of the thing that they should be doing is quite often pointless and irrelevant. But I'm trying to understand the Art of Procrastination. I am convinced there has to be some evolutionary reason as to why humans do it. Spiritual teachers tell us that procrastination is the enemy and, so far, I have been unable to disprove this. But I will continue on my quest to master the Art of Procrastination and when I figure it all out I will let you know. Eventually.

Sitting On The Wall

Last night I went out for a feed of food and a feed of whisky. It was, I guess, a date, sort of. I went to bed much later than I'm used to and much wobblier than I'm used to and then I felt like I was coming down with some kind of lurgi. I woke this morning feeling much like one feels after a feed of whisky and managed to convince myself that it was the effects of alcohol making me feel lurgied. I left the house at half twelve, bought a sandwich to eat and then headed up to meet my class mates before our exam. When I say exam it wasn't a difficult exam. Our tutor told us it wasn't rocket science and there was no need to revise. She was right. We all felt confident enough about it and afterwards I realised that I was most definitely coming down with a lurgi. I am the girl who never gets sick except for occasional bouts of pear picking porky flu and donkey flu. I believe this may be some kind of whisky flu.

When I was a child I rarely got sick. I had never experienced a flu until I was 20. And, to be fair, I don't think I've had proper flu since. Adults seem to think that because having a cold feels ten times worse than it did when they were a kid that it's flu. I just think adults are wusses.

Ziggy is back from an overnight stay at mum's. He's wrecked. Just how I like him to be. My friend N called round for us the other day and we took a walk in Broughshane. I walked out the door and N was sitting on the Twit's wall. So were the Twits. They weren't too pleased and glared at us. As soon as N stood up they stood up and walked down the street. I looked back to find Mr Twit standing watching us getting into the car. Glaring. I said to N, "You probably shouldn't sit on their wall."

Some Postmen Are Not Awesome

From this:

To this:

Hooray for my new camera lense. I am slowly but surely ticking everything off the list that I needed to sort out. New sofa and bathroom lino - check, new flatmate - check, new lense - check, working tax credits - check, counselling course application - check. There's still the driving test and illustrations for Freddy and the Fox but, other than that I'm keeping on top of everything. Work's going well these days too. There's a woman that works the night shift and she calls me "wee smiley face". But why wouldn't I have a smiley face? I have these two wonderful girls to run through the fields with.

Oh, and they must have changed my postman and the new one is not so awesome. He posted a letter from the TV licensing people. I never wanted a TV and did very well without one for a year. The last flatmate brought with him a (I've just measured it) 41" TV and left it here because it was obviously too heavy for him to take with him when he moved out. It's horrendous. But I do watch it (less so since I got that letter). So, if anyone wants a ridiculously large TV with glass stand they are perfectly welcome to it.

Postmen Are Awesome

Today I got a letter to say that I am entitiled to working tax credits. I have probably been entitiled to them for years but never really knew about them. This is the way they want it. This means I can get Ziggy booked in for his ball chopping because it will be considerably cheaper. Of course, now that it's a reality I feel a bit sorry for him. He will know the vet has taken something away from him. He won't know why and he will probably blame me.

I took him to Granny Nelly's on Monday. I got a taxi out and as we drove into Cullybackey I saw Judy and Jess's GodParent's, the Mc Sprollies, driving in the opposite direction. Jess was stood with her two front paws on the dashboard, skellying out the window. I felt bad for Ziggy as he adores Judy and Jess and when they go out with Mc Sprollies they are often gone for a few hours. I took Ziggy a walk down the back lane, through the field and back up through the woods. He loved it. When we returned back at the yard Jess' sister's Pip and Tiegan were there with there owner. Hurrah, thought Ziggy, two fine young bitchers to play with, but no, for Pip and Tiegan are dirty devil scunging dogs and their owner must have one of them on a leash at all times otherwise they'd be off through the woods.

Shortly after, another of Jess' siblings turned up with his owner. Rex was much more fun for Ziggy and they spent a happy afternoon taking it in turns to hump each other. Rex's owner Swisser noticed some trees missing from the hen run. She asked Bert had he cut them down. He had. Swisser was not amused. Why had he cut down the lovely trees? Bert scrunched his face up. he knew there was a reason why but he just couldn't quite remember it. Bert's memory eludes him when under pressure. He says it lets more light in to the run. I explain to Swisser that the hens needed more vitamin D. Swisser would not be appeased. Pip and Tiegan's owner offers a very valid point about how it was a good thing to cut down the trees to enable more things to grow. Pippy pap, says Swisser. Mum tells her Pip and Tiegan's owner used to work in forest conservation and he is, in fact, quite knowledgable about such things. "I don't care" Swisser huffs.

I have just had a phonecall from mum to say that my camera lens has arrived. That's two good things the postman has brought me today. I don't know why dogs hate them so much. I think they're awesome.

Ziggy The Counsellor

During December, January and February I was depressed. No beating around the bush there. I was miserable. And not without reason too. During this same time Ziggy was a young,excitable pup. The combination didn't really work. Ziggy needed disciplined. I could barely muster the energy to discipline myself let alone a wild, unruly dog. When I did try to be stern with him he would sometimes look at me as much to say "Look ma, if you want me to do what I'm told you're gonna have to grow a set of balls! Say what you mean and mean what you say, isn't that what you're counselling tutor always tells you?" How on earth he knew what my tutor says is beyond me though I guess he could have been reading over my notes.

He was right though. Ziggy couldn't be disciplined by a meek and timid meercat. He needed a howling wolf to put him in his box. Having said that, I have grown more confident at disciplining him but this still doesn't make him a particularly obedient dog. It's the Lhasa Apso in him. They're determined, stubborn wee fuckers. The irony is, in order for Ziggy and I to have an harmonious relationship I will have to grow a set of balls while he will have to have his removed. Don't feel too sorry for him though because the flatmate was feeding him prawn crackers last night.

The Big issue

In the early days of my blog I chatted about a fellow called Pirate John. He was a longstanding friend of Salt Face's and I'd only met him once before when he invited us up to stay with him in Manchester. Salt Face, knowing I was a fan of treasure hunts, texted Pirate John to tell him he had to set one up for us. Pirate John went above and beyond the call of duty and we were treated to a hunt round the city for our treasure.

We received the first clue by text message when we were on the train from Stoke. We got off the train and wandered around trying to figure the clue out. Pirate John must have known there was a possibility we would struggle and so he sent us a treasure hunt fairy in the form of Hank who passed us on the street yelling at us and pointing at a billboard. behind the billboard was our first envelope and inside was our second clue along with a compass. We then followed the clues and used the compass until we came to the final clue which said "What's the Big Issue". We looked around us and spotted a guy selling the Big Issue. When we asked him what the big issue was he smiled and told us he'd been waiting for us but he wouldn't tell us the clue unless we bought a copy of his magazine. Then he told us our treasure was waiting in the pub down the road. When we arrived Pirate John and Hank the treasure hunt fairy were waiting for us with pints of beer.

I love impromptu happenings. Like the time a walk along the canal ended up at a hippy party on a rare breeds farm with ostriches and llamas and the time we jumped on a random bus and jumped off when we saw a funfair and we thought we were going to die on the waltzer. I'm so glad we didn't die on the waltzer.

Sunshine and Moonshine I Salute You

This post is dedicated to the lovely girls V and B. Sunshine and Moonshine. V is Sunshine because she's fair and golden and she radiates warmth. B is Moonshine because she's dark and mysterious and illuminates beauty. In truth, they both radiate warmth and illuminate beauty but, for the purpose of my blog they are Sunshine and Moonshine. I have only known these girls for a few months and on Saturday I realised how much in common I have with both of them. Sunshine loves JGL and hates numbers. Moonshine loves photography and salutes people. They are both writers. They love climbing trees and animals. They are children of the universe and they inspire me.

They also came into my life at a crucial point because I was feeling so jaded and let down. They reminded me that my kindred spirits are out there, and not so very far away. They restored my faith in the belief that everything is happening for a reason and happening the way that it is meant to. Not that I believe my whole life is mapped out in front of me and I am powerless to change it but, like Paulo Coelho says, all the signs are there, we just have to know how to look out for them.

I feel a strength in myself I have only felt once before in life. That was this time last year. But the strength that I had was new to me. I was a fledgling. The year's experience has made me complete a cycle. A cycle of learning what I want from my life and having the wisdom to achieve it. I don't know what K gained from being in my life the short time he was in it but I learnt how to stay with myself. Because it's easy to lose yourself and get caught up in what other people think is best. K came into my life just as I was figuring myself out. His domineering personality tried to take me over but, little did I know, the groundwork I had already done was enough for me to stick to the path I was on. I felt broken and bruised the whole time we were together. Outside influences were trying to smite my life. I am free now.

But that was then and this is now and one bad person has walked out of my life to make room for many, many more worthy souls. Sunshine and Moonshine are just the beginning of this. My quest continues to find as many of these heavenly creatures as I can find, build an ark, and set sail for a better life.

'Tis The Season To Be Jolly.....

....fa la la la la-la, la-la la la la! After naming my last post "Ziggy The Good Boy" he had to let me down a bagful by huffing the other night when I went out. I had V and B round for pre pub (lic bar) drinks. The NF got home from work before we headed out and I skipped out the door without so much as a hint of guilt as Ziggy had company. I was informed on Sunday afternoon that Ziggy was not pleased by my departure and sulked behind the sofa and wouldn't let the NF console him. Aw well, he was good for a while.

Last week when I had the nieces over I kept asking the youngest did she need her nappy changed as it smelt suspiciously like she did. She told me she was just doing farts. I asked a couple of more times to be sure but every time she insisted she was just doing farts. It was time to take them home and I told Z about my suspicions and, lo and behold, my suspicions were correct. We were then informed that the particular kind of farts se had been doing were brown farts. A week or so later and their mummy had taken the girls out for a pleasant walk and some fresh air when she bumped into someone she sort of knew. At this precise moment in time the youngest was running around and squatting, pretending to do brown farts and the eldest was yelling "BROWN FARTS" repeatedly at the top of her voice. I think this just proves that toilet humour will never go out of fashion.

Tomorrow is my 32nd birthday. I have finally reached the age where celebration just doesn't seem important. I saw my unsurprising birthday party for my 30th as my last real hoo ha before I turn 50. I love parties but they take so much effort to organise. Impromptu gatherings are the way forward. I am looking forward to something though and that's my birthday present from my mum, which will be a lens for my DSLR. I can't wait to get trigger happy. Ziggy will be the most photographed dog in Ireland.

Ziggy The Good Boy

It's been a very productive couple of weeks. I've applied for the next stage of the counselling course and I know exactly where I want to go. There were times during the winter that I had really given up hope. There were also times when I knew I just had to wade through the mire and wait for the good times to roll. There were snatches of happiness when my dog filled my heart with joy just by watching him run through the grass and my nieces squeezed out smiles from me with kisses and hugs. And those things, along with the love and support of my wee mammy, helped me to wade through the mire. 'Cause otherwise I really would have given up. Last year just happened to me. I had no control over where my life was going. I hadn't learnt how to take control. They say everyone comes into your life for a reason and I believe that. I can get frustrated when I know there's a lesson to be learned and I don't know what it is. Then it's like a weight off my shoulders when I finally see it.

Oh I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow. It's one of those pleasant sunny evenings and I would just love to crack open a few ciders, play guitar and wake up tomorrow with nothing to do but spend some money. It's pay day tomorrow and it'll be the first time in months that I can afford to spend it on doing nice things for myself. That's the whole reason why we work after all. Now that my finances are in order I am less stressed and more able to focus on the joys of life. The simple pleasures. Like getting my ipod filled with loads of bouncy songs for the summer. This whole time I thought that I didn't have a lead to charge my Nikon Coolpix but looking through my drawers with a clear head made me realise I had a lead to charge it on the laptop. It's been there this whole time but i haven't had the wit to see it.

We had a very pleasant night in the tree house. I forgot the marshmallows to toast on the fire but we were warm, drunk and happy. Judy and Jess seemed a bit unsettled, like they were suffering from altitude sickness. Ziggy, who is well used to living on the top level of a flat, lay in the sofa and slept like a baby. Ziigy has welcomed the new flatmate with open paws. That devil dog I had to contend with for several months has now settled into a fine beast of a dog. I always knew he'd come good. He is by no means perfect but he is a lot less rascally and he's learning what his boundaries are. He is obsessed with a baby calf that's been born at Nellybert's. It keeps him from scunging the roads I suppose.

Traybaking

Peaks and troughs. That's what my life is like. Feast or famine. Too much time or too little. Lots of sunshine or complete darkness. And cycles. Bicycles and flycycles. A month ago I couldn't get enough hours at work. Now, everyday, I want to finsih early and it never happens. Since money isn't as big a worry I want to enjoy some of my free time.

Today I had two lovely girls over to help me make fifteens. I'd probably be a domestic goddess if I ever followed a recipe. I just look at it once and by the time I get round to cooking I have forgotten that I should be weighing and measuring things out. I also failed to take into consideration that if something goes wrong in the baking process I only have two small children to assist me. Between supervising the eldest while she cut up marshmallows and the youngest while she tried to lick marshmallows I fell into the trap of using too much condensed milk and, having four sticky hands covered in mixture and two very small clean hands of no use atall because they were preoccupied with marshmallows, I had to really ponder how I was going to rectify the situation. All was well, mostly because the fifteen's didn't have to be perfect it was more important to enjoy the company of my nieces.

What I didn't tell the girls was that there was another packet of marshmallows sneaked away. The Lovely Mel is home for a visit and we'll be lighting the stove in the tree house and toasting a few marshmallows tonight.

Isolation

The Mighty Boosh is one them comedy shows that takes a while to grow on you but once it does you're sucked in. It's silly. Very silly, which is why I like it. I've chosen to share this song because I'm out of isolation now. I wasn't contagious, just hibernating through winter.

I've been seeing folk aplenty and it's great. Jakers the Joker came round last Wednesday night. I fed him and he gave me cider. It was mutually beneficial. On Saturday night I went out for drinks with the NF (new flatmate). I left Ziggy at home and only suffered mild separation anxiety. I caught up with a lot of mates I hadn't seen since the last time I was out (which was February so I'm not quite the hermit I thought I was) and Ziggy had managed not to destroy anything in my absence. On Tuesday I met up with MM for coffee and felt all the better for seeing him. On Tuesday night I went to a wrok mate's wedding party. On Wednesday night N came round and I chatted the hind legs off him and, last night, I had a visit from V and B who are are cool chicks who share my enthusiasm for adventures and treasure hunts, and trees.

So it's been a busy week of both work and play. Just the way I like it to be, despite work being very annoying. I have worked in shops for a number of years now and I've grown sick of parents using me as a way to make their children behave. They say things like, "If you don't be good that lady will tell the police". I don't like to be used as an accessory in their attempts to control their children. It's only a minor irritation though. One day I will say, "Don't worry, I won't tell the police. Children are allowed to have fun in shops"

Oh (No) Balls

I learned that going to a supermarket passes as a school trip these days. It's called "From Farm To Fork". I imagine they take them to a farm to show them the animals, eggs, milk, wheat, corn, etc and then they take them to the supermarket to see the food being sold. They probably leave out the visit to the abottoir where the animals get slaughtered and the visit to the factories where they process the food so much they have a cheek to actually call it food. Which is a shame, if you ask me, 'cause that's where the real education lies.

Last week I came home from my course to learn that Ziggy had visited my sister in work. I was a little perplexed as to how he managed this considering he'd been four miles away from Z's workplace. At first I thought he'd walked it. And I guess I might have been guilty of thinking that he, somehow, magically knew where Z worked and had purposely gone to visit her. I know he's clever but I think that was a stretch too far. No, he'd taken a dander down the busy road and some kind person picked him up and took him to the dog warden. I have the Twits next door to thank for putting in that noise complaint about him and prompting me to get him micro-chipped and licenced. The dog warden put two and two together and let my sister know that Ziggy was there. Apparently he could have been re-homed 10 times over. Not if they knew the rascality that lay behind that fluffy face. My poor mum was frantic with worry but he'd never strayed before so it was unexpected.

He's cost himself his balls though. Getting him neutred should, hopefully, put the scunging out of him. We've lost enough beloved pets on that busy road. We have an extensive pet cemetry. And a tree house. And a back lane that leads to woods. I am starting to get one of my fanciful notions. Nellybert's would make a perfect set for a horror movie, or a haunted house tour. The real thrill of the night, of course, would be getting a peek up into the attic to catch a glimpse of the dreaded Squashy Face Tomato Man.

The Twits, My Bin And The Coal Shed

About a month ago I realised my bin was missing. When my bin goes missing, or gets moved to strange places, I quite often suspect it has something to do with the Twits who live next door. They are well into their 60's yet they partake in childish antics like leaving empty coke cans and milk containers on the door step. Their feud with me started not long after K moved in and ended, coincidentally, when he left. But I still suspected they had something to do with my missing bin and so I peered over the wall into their backyard. They had two bins and one of them did, in fact, have my number on it. I knew it wasn't my bin though as it was only half the size although I did think it gave me an excuse to knock on their door and quiz them about the whereabouts of my bin. I could see Mr. Twit sitting in his living room watching tv.

Despite knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell I received no answer. I returned to the back of the house and looked over the wall again. I was in luck, Mrs. Twit was sweeping out the coal shed. I shouted out to her,

Hello Mrs. Twit

She shuffled behind the open door of the coal shed. I tried again.

Excuse Mrs. Twit, I was just wondering about my bin

Still no answer. I laughed out loud

Mrs. Twit I know you're there, I can see you

But still she refused to crawl out from behind the coal shed door. I sighed. I waited another few seconds. I hit jackpot. Mr. Twit was on his way out to the backyard, unaware of me sitting on the wall, and shouted out something to Mrs. Twit, who was still hiding and probably would have stayed hiding until dusk. I asked him if he knew anything about my missing bin and I asked him why he had a bin with my door number on it.

Well let me tell you....

And he proceeded to tell me that if he so happened to want to leave two bins, on occasion, the bin men would refuse to lift two bins with the same number. He then went on to tell me that my missing bin had something to do with the foreigners and that they'd been burning bins out down alleyway. He'd, of course, seen this with his own eyes. By this stage Mrs Twit had come out of hiding and continued to sweep the coal shed. Mr. Twit told me it was all to do with...well, then he done this strange gesture with his fingers and his arm and I said,

What? Drugs?

Ssssshhh! Exactly.....great weather we're having

So what was I to do about my missing bin? Take another one Mr. Twit said. He said it was a regular occurrence. So I took someone elses bin and have been feeling guilty ever since.

The Second Time Round

I'm nearly sure there's some kind of blogger loop hole which makes it ok to recycle a blog post if it's more than 5 years old. I've had this blog for 9 years now. Wow! In those 9 years I have had 3 different boyfriends, 7 different different jobs, and 4 different homes. I've been to Thailand, Holland, New York, Mexico, Ecuador, Peru and Madrid. I've lost 3 pet rats. I went to the zoo as much as I could. I made buns. I had weird dreams. I ate a lot of sweets. I experienced a lot of love. Here's the recycled blog post from way back when:

A Wee Story

There was a young lass called Eliza. She decided she would make some special butter and with that special butter she would make some buns. She asked her stepfather Barnardo how to make the special butter. He told her, a wee bit o' this and a wee bit o' that and boil it all together. Eliza followed his instructions closely but what Barnardo had failed to tell her was that if she used a plastic spatula to stir the butter the spatula would melt. Whoops! But it was only a little bit and Eliza decided to continue making her special butter. And very well it turned out too.

When the butter was ready Eliza started to make the buns. She had made sure she had all the ingredients she needed. Barnardo had advised her, when making the buns, to use half of the special butter and half normal butter. But when it came to it Eliza had realised she'd used all the butter to make special butter. Oh dear!

She carried on regardless. The mixture was made, the buns were baking and Barnardo took to licking the bowl with great relish. They all agreed that the buns would be very tasty. When they were ready Barnardo didn't want any as he was already sat in a special bun stupour. Eliza's mum had one and Eliza had one and some crumbs and some more crumbs. Then Eliza wrote this wee story about her special butter.

Hyena Hannah Heina

I did six days in total with no sugar. Then I binged like a mo fo on ice cream and chocolate. Sugar really is a drug. Not even a particularly good one but a very addictive one. I did have cider on Wednesday night so my body never really got a full week's detox. Oh well, I'm back on the wagon now so we'll see how it goes.

My reasons for quitting sugar are aplenty. I consume far too much and then don't feel like eating proper food. I struggle to maintain a healthy weight and so I need to make a conscious effort to improve my diet. Quitting sugar is also a form of transferrance. It is probably easier for me to think about giving up sugar at the minute than it is to think about giving up smoking. But I need to feel that I have some form of control over my life so I choose to exercise my will power in this way.

I had been feeling much more positive and hopeful about things but my mood took a nose dive and I'm struggling to keep the black dog at bay. Things in general are definitely better. I acknowledge that. I have a prospective flat mate and more things to occupy my mind but there's still a bit of sadness to be worked through yet. I just wish it was all out my system already. Because I'm really starting to remember what it's like to have fun and I think I'd like to experience some of that again. I feel my sense of humour kicking in and I just want to hang out and laugh with folk. Speaking of folk, there's nowt as queer as them and a work colleague was telling me today about his mother in law who re-papered her living room but couldn't be bothered to remove the paintings from the wall and so she just papered over them. And, when painting the bedroom she didn't bother moving the bed from the wall she just painted around it, sure who'll see it anyway?, she said. I just love stories like these.

I'm inspired to write a list of my top ten most favouritist things EVER. This ain't gonna be easy:

1. Laughing
2. Trees
3. Nuzzling
4. Animals
5. Climbing
6. Photography
7. Writing
8. Music/Singing/Dancing
9. Agape
10. Parties

This wasn't in any particular order and it was tough because I have so many favourite things but everything else kind of branches off from these main things. I have to say though, laughing is definitely top of the list. A world without laughter would be very bleak indeed.

Dog Blog

Oh dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs, DOGS! I love them. There is no doubt about it, they make life worth living. I will tell you who all these fine beasts are. Danny was our first family dog. He's the handsome black and white fellow getting a playful nip from Polly. Bert was Danny's main man. They went everywhere together. Bert was quite the social butterfly and Danny followed suit. I have met people who have recognised Danny from parties that he attended. Polly arrived a few years after Danny. They were friendly. Too friendly. They had a litter of pups. Polly, unfortunately, got run over and died in her prime. Danny lived to the ripe old age of 15.

Rosie was a resuce dog. We got her when we still had Danny. Rose was a mongrel but she had the features of a collie. She was as odd as tea when she came to us but she was a sweet, sweet dog. She took fits during thunder storms and she liked to play the social outcast but she adored her family. She was Queen of the scunger dogs. She started to run the fields and she took Danny wirh her even though he was too old and done for it. When Danny died we had a vacancy for another dog that needed rescuing. Along came Paddy, a dead ringer for Danny. Paddy was not very bright and easily led. He took to the fields along with Rosie and the two of them caused Mum and Bert manny a fretful evening. At the time, Salt Face and I lived in Ballymena and we'd take Rosie and Paddy for walks all over the country so they wouldn't have energy for scunging. Paddy was a dote. He wasn't the cleverest of dogs but he made up for it in a lot of ways.

Bonnie the german shepherd came to us by chance. It was lucky for her that she did. Bonnie, to me, was always a background dog but over the years I couldn't help but grow fond of her. She was mum's dog for sure. She wasn't a van dog that went everywhere with Bert. We never really knew what age she was but we had her for at least eight years. She saw many a dog and cat come and go and she was always the most tolerant, gentle and patient animal that we ever had the pleasure to know. Rosie died on the road. She was getting old though and she wouldn't have liked to suffered from old age complaints. So we were left with Paddy and Bonnie. Being used to three dogs mum decided to get Judy. She was a pup when we got her and we weren't used to puppies. I watched her grow in my arms. And, boy, did she grow. I will always have a soft spot for Judy. She was an abundance of cuteness and joy when Paddy and Bonnie had grown old and tired.

For a brief time we had four dogs. Charlie was found in the middle of a storm and he was in bad shape. This is where it all gets a bit hazy. I think Paddy died first. Of old age. Though we got the vet out to make it as dignified as possible for him. Then Charlie got run over on the road. He was always a live wire but I think he was getting closer to realising the security he had around him. That left Bonnie and Judy. Jess (the cutester with the half smile) and her sisters and brother were all rescued from a farmer who threatened to put them in a sack and drown them. He probably knew that if he said this to the right person they'd make sure each and every one of the pups was homed. And they were. Bonnie died, not long after Jess arrived, of old age.

Then along came Ziggy. My little prince who tamed me:

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

How I Spent My Wednesday Night

On Wednesday night a friend and I headed up to Belfast for an Audio Play. I'd never been to one before and didn't really know what to expect. It was a very interesting experience but, because it was all down to sound it's probably gonna be very hard for me to write about it and do it justice. It's the kind of thing you have to experience for yourself. But I can give you the gist of it. The whole idea behind it was to give you a sense of "what the fuck is going on here?" We walked in a few minutes late so we were already a little unsure of what was going on. As i sat down in the darkened room I looked around me. There were massive speakers set up all over the room. The floor was a metal grid which you could peer down to see some kind of cement basement. This made me think of the hospital scene from Jacob's Ladder in which Tim Robbins is wheeled through various disturbing scenes. He looks above him and there is a metal grid in which horribly disfigured mental patients peer at him and scream. I think it was this movie that gave me a taste for strange and disturbing films. So after looking around the room I realised that there was nothing in particular to look at so I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds that came from the speakers.

There were three separate plays broken only by a moment of silence that was deafening. There was dialogue all of them. In the first play someone died as a result from getting stranded up a mountain or a boat. I think. As I missed the first few moments of this one I kind of had to assume this was happening. A long with the dialogue were background noises of the wind howling. A woman was sobbing. Then all of a sudden a woman from the audience stood up and walked out of the room. At first I wondered if she was just finding the whole experience too intense but I then realised that she was the only visible actor in the play.

The second play was about a radio talk show. It was based around the issues of "the fleg" and I picked up on influences from A Clockwork Orange as they talked about a government programme that had been put in place to "cure" people's anger. This came with a lot of distorted background noise and at one point the sound (intentionally, I think) of the radio show talkers became fainter as if there was a technological fault.

The last one was the most intense. It was the inner dialogue of a girl who suffered with obsessive compulsive thoughts. I found this very evocative and powerful. It didn't have a happy ending. She poured boiling water from a kettle over her face. The experience as a whole was brilliant. Afterwards we drank wine and told the producers and writers what we thought. They were encouraged by the feedback. We found out then that the lady who walked out was meant to make the audience question if she was part of the act. It was all very cleverly constructed and enjoyable. Who knew there were such treats for the ears and mind?

What I Need

I was just about to write a list of all the things I need when I realised that pens are actually something that I need and, without them, I cannot write a list. I have two pens and they both ran out last night when I was doing some homework. This is my list:

Pens - how could I have let it get to the stage where I only had two pens and they both ran out? I have a cheek calling myself a writer.

Work shoes - Ziggy chewed the current ones

Bag - Ziggy chewed the current one

Haircut - In my secondary shcool days I wore a fringe that came half way down my face. It suited me that way. I liked the Sonic Youth song Goo "She looks through her hair like she doesn't care". But now I'm no longer a teenager and I bump into things when my fringe gets long.

Bathroom floor - Ziggy chewed the current one

Well, as you can see there's a lot of money to be spent. Money I don't quite have yet but hopefully the next month will sort that out. I stumbled upon this short video a while ago and regretted not bookmarking the page. It took me a while to find it again but I think it's well worth a share.

Sofa Club

The first rule of Sofa Club is, we don't talk about Sofa Club. The second rule of Sofa Club is, we don't chew holes and make dens in the sofa. Hmmm, I wonder how long that will last? So here I am sitting on the my first ever bought sofa. I bought it second hand of course. Who buys a brand new sofa at £500 a pop when they've a rat and a dog to contend with? An utter fool, that's who. Meka was confined to her cage all day so she wouldn't accidentally get sent to the dump in the old sofa. She wouldn't last two minutes out there. All the wild rats would be laughing at her big fat belly and flawless ears.

The weather has been rather awesome this week. I've sent Ziggy out to Cullybackey. It's a mortal sin to keep a dog cooped up on such a nice day. I miss him when he's not here but he continues to be a complete skitter, pretty much, all day long. The routine is, I come home I take him for a block walk so he can pee. I come home, have coffee, get changed, check mail, then take him out for his proper walk along the river. The rest of the evening is spent with Ziggy strutting about the house looking for things to bark at and trying to fight/wrestle/hump me when I'm doing chores or trying to do something on the computer. He only plays with his toys when I play with him. If I do anything other than show him some form of attention he tries to chew all the things he knows he's not allowed to chew. Like wires and guitar straps. Basically, he's a little shit. But he's my little shit.

So that's an update on the pets and sofa. In other news, work has been horrendous. I'm on day two of a sugar detox because I was in danger of OD'ing. I've been exhausted and feeling very fractious. Numerous annoying things have not helped the matter, Power NI, you in particular have bugged the fuck out of me. I was a bit heartbroken at knocking over several trays of raspberries. Of all the things to coup raspberries are the worst because they come in flimsy punnets with detachable lids. I'm pretty sure that very nearly could have been my Falling Down moment. I think I preferred my Trainspotting moment It's just as well the sun's been shining.

I Got The Eye Of The Tiger

It seems my Sunday morning rant was just like a zit that needed to be squeezed. And I do feel better for squeezing it. As a result of releasing all that toxic poison I am now in a position to be proactive and sort the stuff out that I've been avoiding this past wee while. The first thing I did was place an advert for a new flatmate. I have someone coming to view it next week so that leads me to the next couple of things that need sorted. The bathroom floor that Ziggy kindly destroyed and the sofa that Meka kindly destroyed. I have my eyes on a new suite and the floor should be easily enough replaced.

I spent the morning with my youngest niece and oh how we laughed! It's been a tough couple of months but I am feeling much more like the girl I used to be and that, in itself, is a great feeling. When I have help with the rent I'll be able to afford driving lessons again. I'll be able to afford the odd night out with friends. The weight off my shoulders will allow me to focus on the things I want to achieve, like getting Freddy and the Fox illustrated, playing more guitar, hanging out with people who make me smile. The past few months have been all about survival. I survived. I'm ready to start living again. I'm ready to start spreading joy and happiness all around me, for it's so much nicer to make people laugh. And it's nice to know that I've dealt with things accordingly.

It's a well known fact that, despite my otherwise fantastic taste in music, I sometimes let the odd pop song into my life. I was called Britney by a friend at uni for years because I admitted to liking <i>Baby One More Time</i>. I sheepishly admitted to my dad in 1997 that I liked <i>Wannabe</i> be the Spice Girls. He sheepishly admmitted to me that he also kinda liked it. Now I'm going to share the current pop song that makes me red faced to admit I like but I don't care. You're gonna hear me ROOOAAARRR!

Sunday Morning Catharsis

The earlier days of this blog were much more carefree. Or so it would have seemed to the reader. Behind the silliness and humour lurked a lot of confusion and sadness. It was never exposed because I didn't want to expose it. I buried it deep inside and always gave myself something to look forward to. Like travelling. You can only hide behind these things for so long. You can only hide behind words for so long. Then you're words say to you "I will not let you use me as a tool for denial and pretence. If you can not use your words for their intended purpose then you will not use them at all. Speak the truth no matter how much it hurts."

So I took a break from blogging because I wanted to speak the truth and it did hurt but I weasn't ready to share it with the world. Then a whole lot of stuff happened at once and it was a mixture of intense beauty and bitter craziness and I got swpet along on a tidalwave of emotional mess. Not my mess, other people's. And that annoyed the fuck out of me. More than anything. That other people, with their issues and insceurites and power struggles, could leak into my life and try to suck me dry. I have no time for bitter, angry people. I have no time for lazy, selfish people. I have no time for obsessive, demented people. They can all fuck off out of my life and suck the energy from someone else.

I have no time for liars. Or people who think they are above everyone else. I have no time for thoughtless people, or people who chase money and riches. I have no time for people who look at me and don't look inside me, past the exterior. I have no time for people who try to change me, or mould me into what they think I should be. I am me. I am just me. And if you open your ears and listen to me you will learn. You will learn not to box me up or try to define me. You will learn not to place expectations on me. If you open your ears and listen to me you will learn that I did not need a saviour. I needed a friend. I was not put on this earth just to play a role in the Act of Your Life.

Of course I'm talking about my ex boyfriend. And the anger in my words aren't so much directed towards him as directed towards myself. For letting him come into my life and upset it so much. I am disappointed that I did not see what was happening to me. How I was being controlled. Especially when I thought I had leanrt that lesson a long time ago. People are clever though, and there are many different ways someone can try to control you. Manipulation takes many forms. Despite getting myself involved with manipulators, I don't see them as bad people. Just people who feel they have some form of entitlement. Confused people who never ask the questions, "Why am I behaving like this? Why is this so important to me? Why can't I just let people be who they are? Why do I have to control everything around me?"

I can't change these people just as much as they can't change me so it's better if they are not in my life. I don't want to change them. They are responsible for themselves. But I am glad that I'm not one of these people. And I'm glad I can be open and honest about how I feel. I'm not scared of anything now. I'm not scared to be who I am. I'm not running away, or burying my head in the sand. I'm dealing with each and every one of these emotions and learning. Learning how to stay true to myself.

Challenge Hannah

I quickly got over the bathroom incident. I think Ziggy was trying to tell me to decorate the room. He's good that way. I can feel spring in the air and it makes me smile. I was thinking I might write a letter to Channel 4 suggesting they do a Challenge Anneka type show that Ziggy and I could host. I want to be paid for having adventures and doing treasure hunts and flying in helicopters and doing it all really fast because there's only an hour slot. I think, with all the tripe on TV these days, there's an actual possibility they'll take me seriously. The only thing is my bum might not be big enough. I could always stuff padding down there so it dutifully knocks into the camera when I'm overcoming obstacles.

Ziggy Does A Bieber In The Bathroom

I finished work a couple of hours early today and wasn't sure how I was going to put the afternoon in. I took Ziggy his quick walk rond the block to relieve himself and bumped into my sister and niece. My niece was going to gymnastics so I thought I'd tag along. I took Ziggy for his proper walk and then left him back home before calling round to my sister's. Ziggy is not used to me going out and leaving him unless it's in the morning. He accpets that he has to spend that part of the day by himself but, otherwise, I try to fit my life around him as much as possible. This is good of course. I am a responsible dog owner. But lately I've realised that I have to live my own life a bit more and not restrict myself to dog friendly activities.

So I left Ziggy behind. I gave him the run of the house for a change rather than being confined to the one room. I thought it would make it easier for him. I came home two and a half hours later to the sound of whimpering. He had let himeslf into the bathroom but couldn't get out again. I opened the door and was met with complete chaos. He'd completely ripped up and chewed the lino flooring, he'd pulled towels all round him, tore up the toilet paper and managed to bring down the plastic side of the bath (which was poorly designed anyway). So that's the last time he gets the run of the house. I called him a bad boy and phoned my mum in tears. I was angry but I knew it wasn't his fault. When I got off the phone I went to find him to let him know I wasn't cross. He was hiding behind the sofa. He refused to come out at first. Which is strange because he's never been punished harshly for anything. He seemed to know that he'd done a really bold thing. But he was trapped and frustrated in the bathroom. He came out from behind the sofa with some coaxing and now he's lying on the sofa beside me.

The mess looks bad and I have to go clean it now. Mum thought Ziggy had died because I was so upeset. So, from her point of view it could have been a lot worse. Things could always be a lot worse.

I Drink, Therefore I Am....Drunk

I was chatting to the taxi driver who left me home today about the kind of work I enjoy doing. We both agreed there was no way we'd want to be cooped up in an office with the same ten work colleagues for years doing the same thing day in and day out. I was saying how there tends to be a bad atmosphere created in such places with office gossip and politics. People like to moan and complain and this has a negative impact on everyone who works there. I told the taxi driver "Misery loves company". He had never heard this saying before despite being at least 20 years older than me. He liked it. He kept repeating it. Then I told him he'd be more aware of that now. How people who are always complaining and bad mouthing tend to stick together and the people who are happy and positive tend to stick together. This melted his head a wee bit. He liked the saying but he didn't want to thnk too much about it. I laughed as I got out his car and joked about what else he might talk about with his customers today. He laughed and said he'd be better sticking to football.

People don't like to think too much. And, whatever they can do to stop themselves thinking, they will. TV, junk food, addictions are all tools to drown out that voice in our head. As always, I believe in balance. Being someone who thinks too much I am aware how it can be a bad thing. But to not think at all, well, that just makes you dumb, in every sense of the word. I did find this on the internet yesterday and it did make me smile and so I'd like to share it because it's silly and I'd rather be silly at the minute than thinking all the time:

Thinking

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then -- to loosen up. Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone -- "to relax," I told myself -- but I knew it wasn't true.

Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.

I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunch time so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"

One day the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it \hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job."

This gave me a lot to think about.

I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking ..." "I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"

"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."

"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!"

"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently. She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.

"I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door. I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors... They didn't open. The library was closed. To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.

As I sank to the ground, clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster. Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting.

At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting. I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home.
Life just seemed ... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. I think the road to recovery is nearly complete for me. Today, I registered to vote Republican.

I'll never forget my Thai friends who told me "Don't think too much". I thought they were telling me not to drink too much but they preferred me to drink a lot and not think so much. Also, some people get a bit carried away with the "I think, therefore I am" philosophy. If you think you're brilliant that does not necessarily mean you are brilliant. A new motto should read "I think, and then I act accordingly, therefore I am"

At Least There's Ice Cream

I'm pretty sucked dry at the minute. I'm not exactly what I'm sucked dry of. Words maybe. I had a few days off. I spent Friday evening with The Dogparents. T and I went to a session. I can't explain too well what this session was but it did give us a good giggle. Last night I was in child land with my nieces. It's a wonderful place to be. My younger niece likes to make us laugh by telling us a joke. This involves her saying "a joke" and we all roar with laughter. My older niece thinks that if she spoons a big blob of pink icing sugar out of the cup and turns round so she isn't facing me, I won't know that she's eating it. The classic ostrich syndrome of burying your head in the sand. If I can't see you, you can't see me.

So I'm watching TV and this dude has just said "Jane's advice to me was to be more.....something, or other, I wasn't really listening. But I'll take it on board. Starting from tomorrow". Obviously it was an extremely educational programme I was watching (Come Dine With Me).

I really have nothing to write about. I do, however, have Haagen Dazs ice cream so it's not all bad.

The Tree House

It's taken me a long time to be able to talk about the tree house. The project that I was so excited about last summer. I have to be comical about this. I'm referring to it as The Summer Of Magic because everything just felt so great. Excitement was in the air. A lot of hard work and love went into making that tree house. And every branch on every tree had grown perfectly to accomodate it's design. It's like the trees always knew there'd be a house there one day.

I was so proud of it. I took thousands of photos. I loved the way everyone bonded over building it. It represented what was important to me. A community working together to create something. It's been kinda hard lately not to look on it with sadness in my heart.

But, you know what? It's still a damn fine tree house and it's about time I celebrated that again. And what better way to celebrate than a party. An official tree house warming party. Woo Hoo!

In Rod We Trust

I didn't really know what version of this to share as there are so many. I decided on this one by Mary Black because I like the Indian folk music sound mixed with the Celtic folk sound. This song has powerful memories for me. My mum used to sing it. And that's the reason why I'm honouring it now. A few years ago I would turn my nose up at my mum's offers for me to hang out with her and her friends. It wasn't that I didn't like them but I just felt that I should be hanging out with people my own age.

Well, I have to say that my mum and stepdad have worked very hard in building their network of fantastic people around them. They have done it through kindness, generosity and love. In this past couple of months, when I haven't been rightly at myself, my mum has been my rock. And I know better than anyone, it hasn't been easy for her. Nellybert, as a team, are ace. Bert for the practical support and mum for the emotional support. Nellybert's closest friends have also been there to help out in any way they could. The Indian head massage from TMC was devine and the ongoing support of MM is giving me a sense of hope.

I think one of the best things I could do at the minute is surround myself with music. I have given up trying to reach out to my peers. Kids these days just can't commit themselves to anything. I have been practising the guitar a lot lately and I'm craving some musical interaction. Time I got in with the Tuesday night crew again. I used to participate when it was a bunch of amateurs but now Bert plays with pros so it's a wee bit more daunting. But, if I can travel to S.America by myself, teach Thai students English without any training whatsoever and throw caution to the wind by telling a boy I like him, well, I think I can play a song or two in front of some musicians.

*The title to this post is another one of Nellybert's dearest friends. He and TMC are dogparents to Judy and Jess (and Ziggy now too).

This Is What A Hoor-Cat Looks Like

This is a tale of a ginger cat,
A cat who was big, and oh so fat!
And he met, one day with a rat, who was late,
For a date, with a mate, a friend he called 'Fate'
The cat, who was quick, and oh so slick,
Pounced on the rat, who was taken aback.
The cat it fled, with his prize in his jaws,
The rat could do nothing but hold up his paws,
And pray to the good, that he wouldn't be food,
That he'd meet for his date with his friend called 'Fate'.
The rat closed its eyes and squeaked out 'please',
The cat was tickled and suddenly sneezed,
And lo and behold, the rat was released,
From the jaws of that terrible, fat, ginger beast.
The rat he did run as fast as he could,
Ran deep into the dark, dark woods,
Where he thought he was safe, from the cat and it's claws,
And these terrible things with their terrible jaws.
But down from the sky, swooped a bird that could fight,
The rat stood no chance and gave up its plight,
In the mouth of the bird, the rat took flight,
Way up in the sky, oh, what a sight.
And a little girl watched, as she walked down the street,
Watched the bird in the sky and saw the rat's little feet,
She yelled out loud as a train went by,
And it frightened the bird that was up in the sky,
It let out a squawk and the rat fell through the air,
Thankfully, though, the girl's aunty was there,
She caught the wee rat and took her back home,
Where the rat would be safe to run free and roam,
A place that was fun , no birds and no cats,
But best of all, a place with more rats!

The Things My Dog Can do

I used to leave BBC Radio 4 on in the mornings when I went to work so Ziggy wouldn't be startled by all the noises of the outside world and start barking. I haven't done that in a while now but I defineitly think it's helped Ziggy learn the English language.

I know most dogs are clever. And I know that owners have a tendency (just as parents do) to think that their dog is the most intelligent being on the planet. Ok, so the truth is, I haven't much else to write about so I'm pretending that my dog's cleverness is far more significant than is actually deemed necessary. I don't care.

THE THINGS MY DOG CAN DO:

1. Sit! I have to start off with the more unimpressive things to build up momentum.

2. Give his paw. Though he's not keen on this. I understand. I don't like giving my paw either. Or holding hands with boys.

3. Lie down. Sometimes I get him to do this when he's being naughty just so he remembers that it's much nicer to get praise than be shouted at. It hasn't really worked so far.

4. Roll over. Ziggy KNOWS how to do this but he just thinks it's far too much effort. He used to at least try but now he puts his head down and refuses to make eye contact.

5. Stand on his hind legs and pirouette like a ballet dancer. I don't really have a proper command for this yet as he just did it one day and now keeps on doing it because he knows I love it and he'll get a treat.

6. Tell the difference between his various toys. Everything's lying on the floor and I ask Ziggy to get his tugger/squeaker/teddy or ball. He knows exactly which one is which. Though the tugger and teddy are his favourites.

7. He knows exactly what house my sister's dogs live at and he scratches at the door even if we're just walking past to get home.

8. He knows the names of his two most favourite bitchers in the world. JUDY and JESS. When I say their names he goes frantic running to the door.

He's only 8 months old so I reckon by the time he's two we should be seeing him on the big screen. I seriously think it's time that Joesph Gordon Levitt took on a role in a film where he needs a trusty animal side kick. Let it never be said that I didn't have hopes and aspirations.

Doing The Doggy Paddle

On Saturday night I went out to the pub and, of course, Ziggy came with me. Had the crowd been a bit more sedate we would have stayed longer but when drunk girls are screeching "Awwww.....gizza a wee go!" and they're talking about holding your puppy it's time to leave. Really, I should have left Ziggy at home because the whole point was for me to go out and see my friends. I did see them but very little chatting was done as everyone was too busy cooing over Ziggy. This didn't ail me in the slightest. I feel proud as punch about my dog so a compliment his way is a compliment my way.

In the morning I woke up to a beautiful, bright day. I took Ziggy for his walk earlier than usual and because it was so nice we stayed out a bit longer than we usually do. I sat down on a bench by the riverside and all of a sudden this strange feeling came over me. I can't be sure but I think it was something akin to happiness. Or, at least, the closest I could be. All of a sudden the day ahead looked like something to be enjoyed rather than "got through". I even got excited about what I would have for dinner. And to think, if the sun had been shining this whole time maybe it wouldn't have felt so bad.

The rest of the day was constructive. I tidied the flat. I had a bath and then Ziggy had a bath. I ate better than I have in months. I watched bloopers of Philip Schofield and Holly Willoughby laughing their heads off on live TV. They are the least professional presenters in the world but they are a joy to watch because they aren't pretending. They're just being themselves and enjoying it. I always liked Philip Schofield anyway.

I have been playing guitar and listening to music again. Maybe one of these days I'll have a good dance. January is over now and February's gonna go in a flash too. Each day is a day closer to spring. If yesterday is an example of the good a mild, sunny day can do me then bring it on. But, y'know, I can't let the weather take all the credit. Things are getting better. I rode the fuck out of that wave. And now I'm gonna do the doggy paddle.

216 Reasons Why Numbers Suck

Give me the alphabet and I see beautiful bright colours. Give me a list of numbers and I see chaos and nonsense. I never liked numbers. Never liked maths. Thought time was a bullshit concept put in place to regiment us. Couldn't understand why people liked referring to numbers so much. Why numbers were so important. I had an ex boyfriend who believed he was being haunted by the number 22. I scoffed at the idea.

When I came back from Thailand I worked in an office 'til the boss was too big an asshole for me to put up with. I started a new job in a clothes shop just before Christmas. They had decided to open a smaller shop for ladieswear in the same shopping centre. It survived over Christmas but afterwards they turned it into a bit of an outlet shop. I was the only one that didn't mind working there. So, it was taken for granted that I would always work there. I had help and company the odd time but not very often. The shop survived for months getting rid of all the stock that couldn't be shifted in any of the other stores. The shop's store number was 216. The longer I worked there by myself the more I hated the shop. The number 216 started to pop up, reminding me of my loathing for my job.

Then I remembered that when I was teaching in Thailand my favourite class were 2/16. Unlike the other classes I saw them more than once a week and built up a relationship with them. They were very cute. And sometimes naughty. So the number 216 kept popping up in my life but I had a positive thing to relate it to, as well as a negative thing. I do look atthe clock several times a day but you can be guaranteed that when it's 20:16, 21:06 or 02:16 I will instinctively look up to see the time.

There is a game I play on the computer called Mah Jong. It's like a Chinese tile game where you match pairs. I was playing this for a long time and could never completely clear the board, though often got close, when I realised that if I did clear the board the score would 216. This made me chuckle and not long after I decided that if I cleared the board, scoring 216, I would do something. I don't like to say what but two weeks after I decided this I was lying in bed one night and without any warning I cleared the board on the game. I'd got my 216 score. Though I didn't feel ready to do the thing I said I would do. The next day I didn't need to do anything. The thing I told myself I would do just happened.

Needless to say this made me very intrigued about the number 216. It's strange how this number figured in my life for almost 5 years before I thought to see if it had any meaning. Wikipedia helped me out on this one. A quick search shows that the number 216 has associations with the Devil. And to think I didn't believe in him!

Warning: Explicit Language (yay!)

It has been raining here in Norn Iron nearly everyday. It's like one old man said to another "That's a c**t of a day for nothin'"
I want to dedicate this post to swearing. Not that it's big and not that it's clever but oh, how satisfying it can be. My dear sweet mum has a terribly foul mouth. As youngsters our ears were constantly bleeding. We were well reared enough to know that even though mum was allowed to swear like a trooper, we weren't. My sister Katkins found it hard to hold her tongue, however, and she would often slip up.

When we moved to the country side we were excited about all the wildlife we would see. Apart from the odd rabbit (mostly dead ones that the cat brought home) we rarely saw anything exciting. Then, one day, we were looking out the window and we say a ginger beast skulking along the edge of the field. Katkins shouted out "A fox, a fox! A fucking fox!" Turned out just to be a cat though. She also told mum to "F**k up" once and the look of horror on her face when she realised what she had said was priceless. And then there was the time that we sat down to our Christmas dinner and mum, sarcastically, suggested we say grace to which Katkins bellowed out "F**k Me Dead".

One summer's afternoon when I was about six or seven and my eldest sister was 14 or 15 I announced my boredom. Z suggested I compile a list of all the bad words I knew. Which was most of them. I thought this was great fun, especially when Z taught me a few new ones. That was the day I learned the word C**t.

Many year's ago when we had our dog Danny mum decided to write his diary. He had a very busy life which revolved mostly around his love of chocolate and hen and his hatred for what he called the hoor-cats. Mum went to S.Africa for a holiday for three weeks and Z and I kept up Dan's Diary for her. Danny, amongst other things, was a very foul mouthed dog. And, boy, did he hate them hoor-cats.

Freedom vs Control

"Freedom isn't the absence of commitments, but the ability to choose - and to commit yourself to what is best for you"

I am drawn to this quote by Paulo Coelho time and time again. I guess it's because freedom is important to me. And maybe I'm only really understanding now what it means to be free. I have felt free many times before. I am good at feeling free. I actively seek out things that make me feel free.

Control is not conducive to freedom. To want to be in control all the time is time consuming and exhausting. I am probably the complete opposite of a control freak. My life just seems to happen. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Ultimately, I believe in balance. So I probably should take more control over some aspects of my life.

So, because freedom and contol were on my mind I decided to do some research. I came across an article on Psychology Today. It mentioned James Redfield, author of The Celestine Phrophecy, and his suggestion that attempting to control another person's behaviour is a type of neurosis, based on childhood feelings of powerlessness. He referred to four different strategies in attempting to manipulate someone's behaviour; The Interrogator, The Intimidator, The Aloof and The Poor Me. The interrogator is constantly questioning and criticising the beahviour of others, making them feel uneasy about themselves. The Intimadator uses force or violence to scare others into submission. The Aloof is distant and detached, speaking rarely and only in vague or cryptic ways. The Poor Me is always complaining about feeling unwell or sick, to make others feel guilty for asking them to do anything.

According to Don Miguel Ruiz, a truly free person is someone who is not affected by either the neurotic or normal attempts of others to regulate his or her behaviour. In order to do this we must not "take anything personally". It goes without saying, of course, that a truly free person will not feel the need to control or regulate anyone else's behaviour.

So, when someone asks me to commit myself to something and I say no, I'm not saying no to commitments, I'm just choosing to commit myself to what is right for me.

Hortence

Today I took Ziggy for a walk in the park for a change of routine. I also did some housework for a change of routine. I'm now trying to figure it out if it made me feel better or not.

In my last job there was a customer who took a shine to me. Her real name is a secret but I'll call her Hortence, just because it's a crazy name. This lady had been coming to the shop long before I had been working there. Prevoius members of staff found her hard work. People can be when it comes to photos. Especially when they are important to them.

Hortence was crying out for a bit of patience and kindness. As soon as she was shown this she started coming in twice a week. She started a project of getting old family photos scanned. She had several albums and each Friday she would come in and pick out variuos photos out of particular albums. I had to write extensive lists. She would then come in on a Saturday to pick her albums up. She had no coherent pattern to which photos she was getting scanned each week, and, after a few months I had scanned every single photo from every single album. I'm not sure why she didn't just get me to do that in the first place but she seemed to enjoy doing it the way she was doing it. This went on for months. She kept chatting about the project coming to an end but it never happened. When she'd ran out of albums she moved on to loose photos. When she ran out of those she moved on to scrap books she had kept of old newspaper cuttings. When she ran out of those she moved on to old religious pamphlets she had picked up from church and bookmarks with religious proverbs on them.

Her project went on for over a year. At times I got frustrated with having the burden of serving Hortence and being the only one who knew what was going on with her order. She didn't like being served by anyone else. It kept me busy though, not only scanning her photos but fixing up all the little cracks and marks on them. And her photos were interesting. When I left she dropped in a couple of envelopes for me. I called in to get them and there was a card in each envelope. One to say 'Thankyou' and the other to say 'Good luck on your new job'. Inside one card was a photo of her and her husband. Inside the other card were some religious blessings. She has got used to me not being there anymore and, as far as I know, her project is still going on.

Good Luck Dodgin' Them Bullets Boy

Amy: Hi John, just ignore me if I'm being nosey but it came up on my newsfeed on facebook something you wrote on Noon's wall. Am I the Amy that you were supposedly meant to have kidnapped? Who the hell has Noon been talking to? All a bit mental.

John: Hey, no not at all, thanks for writing. That message from her really span me out. Not sure what the hell she was going on about. Maybe you could write to her and tell her I didn't do that please. I did, however, not pay the bike money but you remember why. Bloody gangster rip off merchants. I plan on going back over there with some mates in October so I don't want to get shot. Anyway, how have you been? Long time no hear. John x

Amy: I just sent her a message saying you didn't kidnap me. Crazy though. I do remember the whole bike incident. I'm sure you'll be fine going back. I'm just working away in a cushty office number, saving money to do more travelling. Hope You don't get shot when you go back in October ;)

Amy: Hey John. Not sure what to do. Kieth told Noon that something happened between us and now she wants to know if it's true. She says she doesn't care (but I think she's pissed off). The ball's in your court on that one but I don't want to ignore her so I have to tell her something. Fucking Kieth!

John: Oh crapola. Right, well, you could just say Kieth got confused or something and we didn't. If you don't mind. I was planning on seeing her when I go over there so don't want to piss her off. Everyone's going to want to shoot me.

Amy: Yeah, probably better if I tell her nothing happened. Fucking Kieth. I love him but fucksakes where's his code of honour? Anyway, good luck dodgin' them bullets boy!

John: Yes, I will be emailing him. Thanks. Your discretion is very much appreciated. I'll let you know how I get on. If I don't get shot.

My Best Friend

It is great for Ziggy to be at my mum's. It's doggy heaven there. The problem is, now he knows how great life can be he just wants that all the time. I have pointed out before how Ziggy is very much like his owner. He is also very senstive, like me. When I am feeling bad, Ziggy feels bad. This creates a vicious circle as I start feeling guilty for kepping Ziggy with me when we both know that his life could be awesome all the time. I feel worse. Ziggy feels worse. He lives for his walk around the river path. He settles in the evening when I start to settle and relax before bed. But while I'm in the throes of despair so is he.

So I had to ask myself was it better that Ziggy go live with mum permanently? A couple of days ago it seemed like I might not have any choice. It breaks my heart to deprive this fine young beast of all the pleasure that life has to offer him. He's young and virile. My mood at the minute is probably more suited to an old, sleepy dog. I have been pondering it over and over and neither options were looking good. If I let Ziggy go it would be another loss for me to cope with. As guilty as I feel I do take pleasure in him being around. He's the one good thing in my life at the minute.

Last night we both went out to mum's to stay. It warmed my heart to see Ziggy so happy and comfortable out there. Ziggy picked up on me feeling more at ease and when he wasn't playing with the other dogs he was lying close to me. It made me think that, as much as it's not ideal having a dog living in a small flat in the town, if I'm happy, he's happy. The wee darling doesn't have the capacity to know that he could live in the country all the time. It doesn't bother him as much as it bothers me.

Hopefully getting a flatmate will change the dynamics. Ziggy will have a bit more going on his life. I won't feel guilty for going out for a couple of hours to see friends. My life will get better and Ziggy's life will get better. I won't be stressed and Ziggy won't be stressed. Until that happens I have to focus on not feeling guilty that Ziggy's here with me. He loves me. I'm his mummy.

Pickled Willies

Finding a little bit of inner peace doesn't magically make everything ok but it does make things better. I know I must be feeling better because I am overwhelmed by love for Ziggy. He's been staying at my mum's while I work a couple of night shifts and I miss him. I can't wait to see his wee ginger face tomorrow and he'll be getting a bath as I just phoned my mum to see how he's doing and she said "The very best. He's covered in shite."

Night shift has been fine. Sometimes I forget how much I hate routine and it does me good to get out of it. I enjoy getting stuck into physical work. Also, stacking the shelves gave me a proper chance to look at all the products. I was working the foreign food aisle and was amazed at the sheer amount of pickled willies and things they have in jars.

This doesn't happen very often but I have a real urge to get lost in a film. A nice film, not the strange films I usually watch. I actually have one that my good friend Mels bought me for Christmas. It's called Beasts of the Southern Wild. I think Ziggy would enjoy it too though he might do a bit of hootin' and hollerin' at the TV as he's well aware when there's beasts on the telly. Right, I suppose I better get ready for work. I wish I was getting ready for bed.