Are you listening?

"Minx, this is Mrs Smith. She is going to be having Cathryn in her class after Christmas. She would like some background knowledge from her key worker.'
This happens frequently in the centre where I work. Many children have problems
or disabilities and we welcome a visit from staff before the child moves on to school.
"So, little Cathryn, she's deaf?" Mrs Smith asked.
"Yes, hearing impaired, a profound loss" I said.
"So she doesn't hear too well then?"
"Without her radio aids Cathryn would struggle to hear a plane six feet over her head.".

I went on to explain about the importance of light on the face when talking to Cathryn and the best place for her to sit in group work so that she can lip read. Mr Smith looked a bit confused but at this time she was more concerned with avoiding a flying paint pot from landing on her white skirt!

A little later Mrs Smith joined us for a circle time, watching Cathryn interact with her peers.

"She does well, doesn't she?" I said.

Cathryn had joined in with the activity to the best of her ability and understanding. She had only wandered off task a couple of times.

Mrs Smith looked a bit perplexed.

"I think it would do her good if she could learn listen a bit harder" she said.

So all you 'deaf' people out there, as Mrs Smith says, just learn to listen a bit harder. Maybe if you are sight impaired you could learn to look a bit harder and if you're stupid, well, go and join Mrs Smith in her class of imbeciles!! Thankfully Mrs Smith was also too dim to notice that I had signed something as she left the room!!

"Gow? Moo! Where gow?" said Cathryn.

That's my girl!

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs!!

New rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy

I cduol not blveiee taht I cluod aulacity uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg.

The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtsy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, thhe olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer are in the rghtit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm.
Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos nto raed ervey ltteer by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Amzanig huh?

Yaeh, and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!

And I looked. It was there and I beheld it. More ancient than time, a web of souls, eyeless and helpless. The calling came and I had to answer ....

And do you know? I looked and it was still there!
Everywhere I look, it is still there. Words, words, words, stealing my eyesight, waking me in the night. Dark circles ring a pair of bloodshot eyes and my chair-bound thighs get bigger by the minute. I am a state and my family are fending for themselves, begging for scraps from the neighbours because I haven't got time to go shopping!

But, do you also know this is worth it?
Every ounce of my passion has been poured into that manuscript. Every drop of energy is being sacrificed to making it right, and it feels so good!

Thank you so much to those who have already pressed the button and ordered. Dreams do become reality!

Press the button here!

It's time to drag this one out!

Oh Fuck!

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck

the door on the tumbler

has fucking stuck

the ironing is walking

out of the room

and the tv is spouting

doom and gloom

The hoover is broken

the carrots boiled dry

I could sit down

and have a cry, but

the plates are stacking

my back is snapping

too much, too many

and just no ending.

Are the uniforms dry?

I've burnt the pie

there's cobwebs on cobwebs

I cannot lie

Oh!

fuck, fuck,fuckety fuck

this is my life and I'm fucking stuck

I love them all really

so excuse the 'fucks'

it's just a bad day

and I'm feeling fucked!

(better take one of these then!)

Sam Wright has a sister

When I first read this post on Amin's blog, I must admit thoughts of "how morbid'" had passed through my head. The more I read, the more I felt that it was probably one of the most interesting ideas I have come across in a long time - I hope you feel the same way.

Sam Wright has a sister, she died in 1962 having only spent 36 hours on this plane. Sam would like to know what her life was like by bringing her to life through the thoughts and ideas of others.

Along with a few other bloggers, I have added my piece (To love and hate a brother) and Jacquies life is starting to take a shape, a shape that can be filled in with details from other writers.
Whatever your pre-conceptions, go and have a look, read or contribute but you have to admit that the idea is fascinating!

http://jacquies-journal.blogspot.com

(Sam also blogs here)

The Yardstick

The granite walls of the courtyard to the side of my house are over ten feet high. I planted this monster just after we moved and it has taken on a life of its own. It is my weather vane and I watch its yearly cycle as I write.
In February it starts, with tiny red shoots covering the dead looking stems and you know that warmer weather is coming. By the start of spring, the whole wall is a vibrant acid green. As the summer hits the green darkens slightly and it keeps this colour until now. Almost overnight it changes, reds, browns and oranges replacing the green. It doesn't stay for long, early October winds will strip it of its coat. It won't be long now....autumn is coming.

Me prize has arrived

Oh wow, what can I say? A prize for me story in the Skintwriter competition, and a 'specially for me' certificate. I am so honoured and touched and I must say some thank you's....

Firstly, thank you to everyone who voted for me, and I would also like to thank my family, as without their persistent attempts at distraction I would probably never write a word. Thank you to the cat for keeping me lap warm and thanks to the kettle for those unending hot drinks. I would like to pay tribute to me leather chair and the support it has given through this literary challenge and a big thank you to Tesco for supplying a rather nice wine to keep the writing juices flowing.

Last, and by no means least, I would like to thank Skinty for his admirable skill in choosing the winners! And, of course, thank him again for the hours of effort he put into making my very individual, professional looking certificate - look, did you see, it's got a gold ribbon and everything and you would never know he used a Weetabix packet - so talented!

Cover story

Here is the new link to the 'Coven of One' site at Opening Chapter

http://openingchapter.com/coven.html

The cover work can be seen, in all its glory, just click below the picture and tell me what you think!

*

While you are here, please go and say hello to the MD at

Confucious he say....

he's a bit pissed off!

Mabon

Today is Mabon, the Autumn Equinox. It is a time of equality, balance and thanksgiving. A time for setting aside old quarrels and discarding those more unsavoury traits of character.

So, I invite you to dump all your ghastly habits into my comments box and I will dispose of them safely!

Press release!!

If you would like to pre-order a copy of 'Coven of One' please take yourselves along to :-

http://openingchapter.com/coven.html

and leave your details!

Oh look....

...apparently I've won a book that will tell me what to do with these funny looking things!

Just like to say....

...thanks for all the lovely comments on The Little Minx. I will get the next one posted soon.

Typo-dyspraxlexia

There is a teeny weeny connection missing in my brain. It does not cause me undue stress in my everyday life, I have learned to live with it and in certain circumstances to hide it from those around me.

It is called typo-dyspraxlexia (typorus dyspraxlexium) and therefore I am typo-dyspraxlexic.
I have suffered with it for a long time and perhaps getting it down on paper will help to ease the symptoms.

I cannot type 'and' , well I did it that time because I had to think about it, and look there's another one - 'think', only right because I had to go back and correct it.

Usually....
nad = and
thnk = think
becoame = become

And there are others, many others, if truth be told. The information that leaves my brain gets somehow shoved up a railway siding before it reaches my fingers.
That is what the experts say but I am inclined to think that since I have been writing my fingers have developed little brains of their own. Oh yes, they work in conjunction with each other, it takes two to mess up an 'and' and the little buggers have a riot with 'tomorrow' - which usually comes out as 'tommmorrow'.

I know my symptoms get worse when I am tired or have an attack of 'must get this down before I lose it' but please, tell me I'm not alone.
Are there other sufferers out there, can we form a Typo-dyspaxlexia-not-so-annonymous club. I would feel so much better.

'An if ye harm none, do what ye will'

* * *

In the bluestone caverns, deep under Masterbridge, someone was taking notice.
It had been a long time since there was anything to notice, anything at all, but there was, imperceptibly, something there.

A further investigation would be needed, of course, there was no need to get overexcited at this early stage. Those above would know about it all in good time and there was plenty of that down here, an abundance of it going forward and coming back, but that was another issue.

In the here and now, the monotony had been rudely interrupted and only time would tell if it were to remain broken, or continue on as it had done for the last fifty years.

The yellow ridged fingernail reached out to swirl the inky, black water. With a sprinkle of chosen herbs the scene burst into life once again. The shrouded face watched intently as the picture cleared, expanded, shuddered and then settled down to admit the truth.....yes, she was coming.

* * *

This is a small, opening taster of my novel Coven of One. I am publishing through Skintwriters company Opening Chapter. I would appreciate you comments.

Skints blog-not-blog-story

Skint has put up a challenge to write a short story in two hours. Oh dear, got to get some sleep soon, okay smartass, lets do this in an hour...maybe!


Gone to God

Lizzy meads was pleased. From eleven o'clock this morning she had been filled with the burning words of the Methody Preacher, words that had by-passed her brain and bored their way into her very soul. The Preacher had delivered a fiery sermon and Lizzy had been filled up with the light of God. Her father would be pleased that for once she was filled up with more than Billy Bartle's wayward shank. That boy had caused enough trouble over the last year.

Lizzy smiled and pulled the blanket carefully around the baby's face. It was a cold day, the ice on the windows was as thick as a fist in places, but Lizzy had not noticed the cold since early this morning when her Grandmother had told her the news.

'You're father says you can go this time' Grandma Meads had said. She neglected to tell Lizzy that she had all but twisted her son's arm out its socket in order to get him to agree.

' I don't want her up for ridicule' he had argued.

'There will be more ridicule if you keep her locked up. This is the tenth time John Wesley has come to Gwennap to preach at the Pit. Your daughter has not attended once. Give her a chance.'

'I gave her a chance Mother, look where it got her.'

Mary Meads could not argue with this, but the baby was beautiful and was doing well, considering.

'That baby is an innocent in all this' she said 'don't punish her no more.'

Lizzy had been presented with her mother's Sunday best. The dress hung off her thin shoulders but the shawl covered the worst. She had combed the dirt from her hair and had scrubbed at her face until it was ruddy with cleanliness.
The baby had been left with Martha Gerrans and they had walked with the rest of the Methodist community to listen to the Preacher at the Pit. Lizzy hung on tightly to her fathers arm, she had never seen so many people and there was an excitement in the air.

'John Wesley loves Cornwall' Grandma had told her as they turned in the gate 'he has a special place for us in his Godfearin' heart'

Lizzy looked down over the ancient amphitheatre. It was already half full and the congregation was steadily filling each ring. By the time the Preacher took his place at the heart there were people spilling out over the surrounding fields.

'I can't see nothing father' Lizzy said

'His voice will find you' Thomas said patting her arm. Lizzy had been born short of a penny or two but she was a good girl really, he should be thankful.

'And the innocent shall go to God unfettered, bereft of sin, and he shall take them in his arms...'

The Preachers words rung out clearly and Thomas looked down at his daughter. Her face was alight.

*

Thomas grabbed John Perranwell by the arm.

'Have you seen Lizzy? She disappeared halfway through the sermon.'

John was the fifth person he had asked and no one had seen his daughter. His mother pushed her way through the dispersing crowds and shook her head. It was so unlike Lizzy and she really seemed to be enjoying it.

'We'll go home' Mary said 'she knows the way.'

They left the village and made their way to their cottage at the top of Coldwind Cross. There was no sign of Lizzy but as they drew closer to the house Thomas could see that the door was wide open.

They found Lizzy with the baby, the blanket carefully covering his small body. He had been dead for a little while but Lizzy continued to rock him.

'What have you done Lizzy, ' Thomas gasped 'what have you done?'

'I have give him to God,' Lizzy said smiling 'the Preacher said that the innocent shall go to God. Grandma said my baby was innocent.'

*******

Earlier this evening I was looking up some spooky venues for me book launch. One of the places I looked at was Bodmin Jail. In my usual fashion I got completely ditracted by some tidbits of information and found a young woman's name amongst all the convicted felons. Beside her name were the words - 'murdered her own child'.

Gwennap Pit still exists and is about ten miles from where I live. John Wesley visited on numerous occasions and it was said that he stirred up the crowds with his 'fire and brimstone' sermons.

Oh, running out of time...have I done it??

Yep, nearly, set myself a challenge of an hour - started 11pm, finished at 12.03. Have a go, it was fun, apart from the initial panic!!

Wait.....

.......She comes.....more details soon.....

Ask Minx

Yes, you're sympathetic agony aunt is here to answer your questions.
Leave them in the comments box and I'll get back to when I feel like it, ( as long as I've got nothing better to do, that is!).

Oh look here's the first twa, err, poor desperate young man....

Dear Minx,
My name is Skint and I'm a blogaholic - I get through tens of thousands of wonderful words everyday - and I feel compelled to comment on them all - sometimes I just can't find the words to comment and I have to leave feeling empty and guilty.
It's getting so bad that when I've gulped down my regular supply of blogs, I have to go searching the vast city of blogdom for more. It doesn't matter what time of the day or night it is, I have to seek them out, often coming back exhausted in the early hours.
I just need more time in the day, can you recommend a potion to keep me awake for longer, or enable me to read faster

Help

Skint Writer

Minx says....

Dear Mr Writer,

do not despair, there is a very simple solution to this very common problem you have.

I personally would set up two computers, side by side, and quickly become ambiwotnot. By having two computers on the go you can satisfy this 'commenting diarrhoea' that you are so clearly suffering from!

And yes, there is a potion on the market - it is called 'Red Bull' and I am surprised that a blogger of your stature has not gratefully turned to this wonderful elixir.

Of course, you must remember that there is only ONE blog worth commenting on...need I say more?

Oh dear, here's another one in peril...

Dear Minx,

My wife has just run off with Ivor iMac down the road and I am left feeling so inadequate. I know that I should have provided more bytes, and my memory is not what it used to be. I tried hard with my little Dell and still she wanted more.

Please help, I want her back

Delwyn Tinydell (by email)

Minx says....

Dear Mr Tinydell,

what can I say? She won't come back now that she has had a taste of bigger and better things- her apple has been plucked, so to speak. He has obviously found a way into her permanent files, filled up her cookies and left her panting for more.

It is time to move on Tinydell - it's no good crying over poor equipment. Go forth, spend some dosh and get yourself a custom jobby with a couple of routers. Women are impressed with things like that - it worked for me!

Oh Gawd, Alper's got a problem......

Dear Minx

My name is Debi and I'm a blogaholic.

I know it's bad for me but I just can't stop. Now there's a conspiracy in the ether that's messing with my habit and I just don't know if it's a test of my resolve and I should just hang on in there or if it's a message and I should heed or die.

Please help me, I'm desperate

Debi

Minx says.....

Hi Debi, my name is Minx and I am too....no help there then!

I have tried not to blog wearing me habit as the flagella get caught in the keys, but there you are. I am not sure if it is a test of your resolve but I do know that it was a test of my stamina - you produced the longest sentence that I have read all week!

'Heed or die' sounds like a fantastic title for your new book, and please don't be desperate, so un-becoming in a lady!!

Gird your loins, here comes another bleedin nuisance...

Dear Minx

For the past month or so, I've suffered intensley from blog withdrawal. My flesh has crept (luckily I was able to creep after it), my eyes have crossed, my nails have frittered and my toes have curled.

Just as I had started to believe that my addiction was under control, the blogosphere once again allowed my participation and the old symptoms of addiction are returning.

I'm trying to keep things under control but I'm afraid that if I stop blogging my toes will curl again. I'm not too concerned about the other problems but as a committed shoe-a-phile curled toes make pretty shoes rather difficult to wear. It's a dilemma that's ruining my life

Please help

Yours lovingly

Sharon Buttdip

Minx says.....

Dear SB,

Apart from having a rather unfortunate name, I have to tell you that you have got completely the wrong idea about your symptoms. This is nothing to do with being a bloggyholic. The simple fact of the matter is that you have been hexed.

Here is the cure.....

First find out who you think it might be and then snip off a few strands of hair when they are not looking. These need to be mixed with a handful of helsbane, a quart of horse urine (fresh), two ladles of soured squid milk and a couple of apple pips. Not sure what to do with it but I'm sure you'll figure it out.

(recipe courtesy of a Hedgewitch I know)

Minx - The Interview

I got a bit fed up with all these bloggers getting lovely interviews, so I nipped over to the BBC yesterday and secured myself a spot with the best!

Here's the transcript......


P - Well Minx, I must say that you are looking decidely gorgeous today.

M- Thank you Mr Paxman, one makes an effort.

P - So, can you explain what a blog is?

M - It's a kind of virtual arena, I suppose, populated by some truly weird people that I am now more than happy to call friends

P -Tell us about your blog, what sort of things do you write?

M - Umm, well, rubbish really, but it seems to go down okay. Every now and again I do a sensible post but I don't think they believe me

P - How did you get into this blogging then?

M - The crotchet wasn't working out for me Paxy, I started reading a few well-known blogs, surfed about a bit, pushed the button and have been there ever since

P - I have heard of your love of buttons

M - What can I say, they are there to be pushed

P - Can I just say that you really are looking wonderful today

M - You can, and you can say it as often as you want

P - Now, this commenting lark Minx, do you enjoy this part of blogging?

M - Oh yes. Nip in, plant the bomb, nip out and duck from the backlash

P - Have you upset anyone? We have followed some of your bombs with interest.

M - No, not really. They read the blog and realise that I'm just a bit of a ditz, all title and no content you know

P - You certainly don't look like a ditz today. That particular shade of purple brings out the gleam in your eye

M - Pax...

P - Okay, sorry, do you have a favourite blog?

M - That is fighting talk Mr Paxman, there would be big trouble if I didn't mention the whole linky lot of them.

P - Blood?

M - Copious

P - Okay then, we haven't seen much of your poetry lately, are you still writing those eloquent words of yours?

M - Oh Pax, you old flatterer, I got the email you sent about my last effort

P - Ahh, yes, 'Annie get your drawers on, the vicar's at the door' - a classic.

M - You might like to know that I have written one especially for you

P - I'm afraid that might have to wait Minxy babe, time's up and we really do need to talk about this rather fertile imagination of yours

M - We do?




(no animals were hurt in the making of this interview)

Geography lesson

(This is for Maxine, who believes herself to be too old for a Viggo! Read to the end...)

The Geography of a woman

Between 18 and 20, a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, naturally beautiful with fertile deltas.

Between 21 and 30, a woman is like England - well developed and open to trade, especially with a country with money.

Between 31 and 35, she is like India - very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own allure.

Between 36 and 40, a woman is like France - gently aging but still a warm and desirable place to visit.

Between 41 and 50, she is like Yugoslavia - lost the war, haunted by past mistakes. Massive reconstruction now needed.

Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Russia - very wide with un-patrolled borders. The frigid climate keeps people away.

Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Mongolia, with a glorious and all conquering past, but alas no future.

After 70, women become Afganistan - almost everyone knows where it is but no one wants to go there.

*

The Geography of a man

Between 15 and 70 a man is like America - ruled by a dick!

The Silent Generation

WARNING: if you are of a delicate disposition about the ways of the world, look away now!

I am back at work with a vengence. My day job involves working with children under five in a Childrens Centre. Many of these children have speech problems.

As it is September we are having a large new intake, so the next two weeks are taken up with visiting our new children at home. I loathe it, because it brings home an essential part of parenting that is missing in this, and previous, generations.

Yesterday I visited a child who has no speech at all (this is quite rare). Tests and records show that this child has passed hearing and sight tests, there is no outward genetical problems and all is intact physically. No disfluency, no oral dyspraxia, both parents have language but the child could only point and make a grunt if he wanted something. So what's the problem?

During the whole of my time with this family I had to shout to make myself heard above the sound of the television. I asked politely if it could be turned off for a while but they looked horrified at my request and just turned the volume down one notch. Luckily I can lip read.

This little boy sat there the whole time with his eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to what was going on around him. He couldn't even drag himself away with the temptation of the exciting bag of toys that I had brought with me.

"Oh yes" said the mother "he's ever so good. We don't hear a peep out of him from morning until night, so contented".

How I managed to refrain from strangling the pair of them I don't know, but I do know that for the next year or so my work with this child is going to be totally focussed on trying to bring him into the real world. This is happening more and more. We have 30 new children starting over the next month and 18 of them have speech difficulties.

So.....TURN OFF THAT BLOODY TELLY AND TALK TO YOUR CHILDREN!

Under the boiling southern seas lies something old, something evil....

.....go HERE to find out more!

Happy Birthday and welcome home Maxine!

Here's a slice of Viggo to welcome you back to Petrona!

Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more....

... But when the blast of war blows in our ears

Then imitate the action of the tiger

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood

Make sandwichs to forestall the hunger of the troops

Iron the clothing of war

Set thy alarm clock

And for fuck's sake get to work on time!

*

(After five-and-a-half weeks holiday of slobbing about in a state of general undress, blogging into the wee small hours and drinking to excess, I am back to work on the moro. Don't feel sorry for me - the next one takes place in exactly six weeks, thirty-three minutes and twelve seconds. Not that I'm counting or anything!)

Moving upstairs

At Susan's behest I thought it would be a good idea to to post about my monumental move to Beta Blogger... it was monumental for me, okay?

What is it?
Upgraded Blogger apparently - it will come to all eventually. Count me as one of the many guinea pigs! You know me, new buttons an' all.

Who can have it?
I thought it was open for all, but maybe not yet. There has been a little sign on me dashboard for a couple of weeks - maybe longer - I'm not that observant.

Do I need a degree in blogology to do it?
No definitely not, you're talking to me - Princess Airhead (although I do have a diploma in toilet cleaning, must have because no one else in our house can do it!). The only thing that you have to do is open a googlemail account if you haven't already got one - I did. Easy anyway and googlemail is dead handy for blogging because you can nip between the two in a flash! Passwords to googlemail and beta blogger are one and the same - less headaches!

What's different?
Not a lot. The format is exactly the same, posting, template etc. The whole look is a bit neater, dashboard, posts etc, and you can publish at the speed of light. No waiting for the interminable clock - bonus!

What's new?
You can fiddle with your template, change your colours, layout, font. Expect changes when I've got me head around the whole shebang and managed not to delete the whole thing in the process. There are other mysterious things that I haven't had a look at yet because I had to go shopping, but it all looks fairly simple.

Drawbacks?
As far as I understand (so don't quote me on this) if you change your template (background etc) you can't take your links with you, they have to be added later. Blogger will kindly make a copy for you though, so not much problem just a bit of time.
I found commenting on other blogs a little different - Blogger now sees me as a separate entity and refuses to let me post until I have told them who I am - well really!!

I also thought that I had a) cocked up the site metre and b) cocked up the whole world's site metre. Turned out to be just bad timing. Thanks to Skint for letting me know that I wasn't responsible for destruction on a global scale! Btw I now have two site metres and one is telling me that I am possibly the most popular person I know - guess which one I'm keeping?

Well....?

That was painless. Do I look any different?

Advice please...

... thinking of switching over to Beta Blogger now, seems we are all going that way in the not so distant future. Thought I might get in before the diaspora.
Any thoughts, problems, pain, loss of limbs etc?