Thought

After they have killed our men and destroyed our homes they drop their guilt from the sky. The bags of flour and rice litter the village, bombs of a different sort. I have watched the proud and the honourable scrabble in the mud, finding aggression deep within to keep their remaining family alive. I am no different.

I think I used to smile, but the cracked mirror tells a different story. The muscles in my face have forgotten joy and the threads of our clothes are testament to 'war torn'. The girls have
forgotten 'clean' but remember 'hungry' every minute of their waking day.

Our God and their God do not condone this war but a uniform overrides human nature, I suppose. I override my own nature as I fight for food in the sorry parcels that came in place of Christmas.
I cannot grant the wish for the return of their father but I hope amongst the medicines there maybe something that will help.

I wonder, in 2008, if they have invented a bandage for grief?

.

With love from

I love buying gifts rather than receiving. I can spend hours wandering around waiting for the appropriate present to jump into my hands - a gift with someone's name already stamped on it. Although price is a consideration I like nothing better than feeling the delight of finding exactly the right thing.

This year I probably scored a few hits along with a couple of misses. Mass Christmas present buying is not good for a studied appreciator of a 'good' present and I often find myself in a panic when a gift hasn't made itself known. I think I would rather not buy anything rather than pick something out in 'that'll do' mode.

I am not into expensive stuff and this year I had some fabulously thoughtful small gifts but the one that made me chuckle more than any was this tiny tin full of notes.......
.

....how appropriate!

.

Seasoned felicitations (Goddess, almost wrote fellatio - phew!)

Right, all dressed up and ready to go....

.


...the tree is decorated appropriately....
.


....now I just hope someone buys me the right kind of present!

.
.
Seasoned greetings to all, and many, many thanks to all you shiny, happy, sparkly people who have popped in for a cup of tea over the last twelve months. You made me laugh, you made me cry and most importantly you kept my teeth sharp and stopped me brain from turning to mush.

Love and light
Kate

.

Yule

Happy winter solstice.

.

May your log burn brightly until the return of the sun


... and if light turned to darkness,
stars faded one by one,
if all twas dark and quiet,
you would be my private sun.


.

eeeeek!

Dear fellow bloggers,
you are a wise bunch so I am going to ask your advice.

I have an affliction and it is getting worse by the day.
I have noticed over the last couple of years that I grunt when I get out of bed (please note that this is a different kind of grunting that might take place before I get out of bed). I have ignored it so far but of late it is getting louder and longer. This is coupled with the realisation that I am also starting to make noises at other times of the day. These are not to be confused with 'talking at oneself' which I have done for years and am perfectly comfortable with. These noises are soft groans and grunt-like moans when bending down or getting out of a comfy chair.
I am 45 in January so please don't tell me it is my age. Everything is working, bending, moving normally and the last time I looked all me marbles were in place.
So, please help and don't try and fool me with gentle pats on the head to save my feelings - I want the truth!

If no one else is suffering from this then please ignore this request.

Thank you.

Colour me Christmas

Dear Father Christmas, Santa, St Nick, Father Time, etc,

The season of jollyness is nearly upon us and once again I am filled with horror. Did you ever mean for it to end up like this? No, I suppose you didn't because we humans have a way of twisting the truth of anything and making it fit our needs.
What happened to that gentle midwinter festival of light that all religions and belief systems held dear? It seems to have been replaced by this frenzy of consumerism, this fight for the latest gadget and a need to fill our larders with as much sugar as we can lay our hands on, but the question that is bugging a number of people lately is this...

What colour are you exactly?
.

That school in Brighton that has renounced your redness in favour of a more green greeness.
They are right in a way. In days of old, ( until those nice people at Coca cola got hold of you) you were always depicted with a coat of green and you were a lot slimmer. You represented the hope of spring and getting through the winter without starving to death.
.

I know this is no longer true for most of the nations who celebrate this twisted festival but the red one seems to induce a kind of madness, so don't you think it is time to rein in the reindeer and get back to what is important?
Call me a poopy old Pagan, but hasn't the era of the red coat run its course? With poverty still the main cause of death in our world, isn't it about time we started to think about what is on other people's plates and not just our own?

The global debate on the world climate has also started to make some people think HERE (and well done America for seeing sense at last!!) - so it seems that green may be the colour of the season after all.

What do you think, Santa?

Yours sincerely
Mrs Minx

Fairy tales

NEW ones are up and details are HERE - get to it!

Brilliant tales from

Leslie Hawes
LM Noonan
G&G
Taffiny

Textidiocy and emoticonflict

Since having children I have realised that they go through a period when everything they say sounds like it is being filtered through a moron sieve. From about the age of 11 through to 18 they might as well be talking a foreign language. My own love of language, and specifically the written word, has been tested to the extreme during this time. It appears that they not only feel the need to grunt rather than enunciate a word, but they have also employed another language of which I want no part ( brb)

I'm talking about text language, or txtspk - grr. Is it not bad enough that we are subject to our children missing vital letters from spoken words but now they are disposing with vowels and punctuation from their writing. I am aware that we live in an abbreviated world and I am often scampering after the in-crowd to understand the latest fad of the day but this is not acceptable (angry face).

Along with this form of communication comes the emergence of the emoticon :) Grrr again. I am fed up with the Feckers MSN messages to me being littered with emotional faces faces when I have only informed them that their supper is ready!

There can, of course, be endless fun (winks lasciviously) and those bloody little smiley faces are no doubt useful for replacing nuance and sarcasm that may be lost in the hastily written note but should we be worried (puzzled face)?
I read recently of the concerns that children are using text language in their exam papers and don't even mention the lack of capital letters (cries).

I suppose we just wait it out and hope that they will one day our children will learn to spk and txt properly again (c u l8ter smirks cheekily).

.

8 x 8

My love of meme's is well documented but I have come out from under my self-induced meme stronghold to do this one. G&G and Marie have been messing about with it already.

So, 8 thangs......

....that I am passionate about

• love
• feckers
  
• friends
• pointy boots
• food
• truth
• tea
  
• words

....8 thangs that changed my life

• six losses and two births

.....8 thangs that attract me to other people

• soul
• light
• heart
• love
• mind
• thoughts
• ideas
• words

...8 thangs that I learned last year

• Blogging is quite good fun
  
• I like riding on trains
• I am beginning to know poetry
• Merkans are quite nice
• you can form friendships in the ether
• I can write a bit
• patience is not a virtue
• my tits are going south

...8 books I have read recently

• Lonely Werewolf Girl - Martin Millar
• Beyond Black - Hilary Mantel
• Who needs Cleopatra? - Steve Redwood
• Herbs and healing - Nicola Peterson
• Drinking Sapphire Wine - Tanith Lee
• A Half Life of One - Bill Liversidge
• Kairos - Barbara Smith
• The Invitation - Oriah Mountain Dreamer

...8 songs/bands I listen to again and again

• Radiohead
• Billie Holiday
• Raphael
• The Shins
• Stones
• Elizabeth Fraser
• Zero 7
• Pixies

..8 thangs I often say

• What?
• Why?
• I'll do that
• I don't think so
• Really?
• I love you
• Complete fuckery
  
• I think you have mistaken me for someone you like
  

...8 things to do before I die

• punch someone
• punch someone else
• go skinny dipping again
• learn the bagpipes
• sell all my crap...
• ...and go on a world tour
• clean the toilet
  
• smile

Beware - I am cruel enough to tag you, but someone has just handed me chocolate so you are safe!

Sweary Mary and the art of vulgar conversation

My mother once threatened to wash my mouth out with soap if I used the word 'twat' once more at the dinner table. It was her pet hate, but she was quite happy to refer to something as being a load of bollocks.

Funny, isn't it, that some words can really grate on your 'norm' nerves and the use of certain words are enough to make some people tut and raise their virtuous eyebrows. These words are often considered common, used by members of the population who don't know any better - heh! This is completely wrong, the landed classes are far more foul mouthed that their terrace living counterparts - a friend once worked as a nanny for Lady Wossname and was often told to "Feck orf" if she had done something to displease her boss.

My love of language includes the creative use of certain words, but can these words actually be called foul? I suppose that depends if the profanity is directed at someone. I once let go of a well timed 'Oh shite' during a meeting at work. It was politely ignored because I had just spilled hot coffee down me front. Had I said "That idea is complete shite, you are talking through yer ass" I would understand if it was considered offensive.

In a time when new words are lining up to be included in the latest version of the OED, is it surprising that our expletives have changed very little over the years. The versatile 'fuck' was first seen loitering about in a poem in 1475. Today it is probably one of the most widely used oaths, so can it truly be called offensive - it is after all only a word?

I would recommend swearing, whether in public or in front of the bathroom mirror, for a number of reasons:-

• it releases tension and stops you hitting your boss
• childbirth is not possible without it (for both parents)
• the proportion of male deaths would go up at certain times of the month
• home improvements are not possible without it
• plumbers can get away with ripping you off without it
  
• language would be very boring without the odd cuss and curse

Practice often and if you can't bring yourself to let one go out loud then go HERE and let your tensions just melt off into the lovely, lovely sunset.

Love and light and a bit a swearing does you good!

Faery tails

Dragontale by LM Noonan is a new story up on LITTLE MINX.

If you are feeling inspired.......

.

WRITE ME A FAIRY TALE

..and restore my belief that there are trolls under the bridge, there are such things as seven little men all living in one house, and that the temptress, Goldiwotsit, was nothing more than a small, blonde, chair-breaking thief!

Contributions of prose (up to 900 words) and poetry, will be gratefully received and will receive a prize of great value (Baba Yaga cut my tongue out for such lies).

You may find me in my turret at - innerminx at googlemail dot com

.

Nicked names

Today I am pseudonymous and in search of a new nom de plume.

Names excite me in a way that most people would find hard to understand. I take huge delight in mailing a close friend as Ethel Plank or Ursula Plughole (she reciprocates with Betty Bagpipe or Norma Doom). Childish fun, but it feeds my constant craving for made-up names.

Aliases, and why people choose them, are a fascination. Many actors and writers choose a soubriquet because their own name is already taken, or not exciting enough for the potential audience.
Would Archibald Leach have been as successful as Cary Grant or would Judy Garland have trotted down the yellow brick road as Frances Gumm? Would the name William Pratt have rung through the house of horror as much as Boris Karloff and would Ginger Rogers have danced as well as plain old Virginia McMath? I doubt it.

Interesting names imprint themselves on the brain. We remember our heroes, heroines, villains and thieves because their moniker rolls off the brain tongue...

Mata Hari (Margaretha Zelle)
Joseph Stalin (Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili)
Marlene Dietrich (Maria Magdalene von Losch)
Harry Houdini (Erik Weisz)
Muddy Waters (McKinley Morganfield)
Billie Holiday (Eleanora Fagan)


So, I am throwing 'Minx' away for 24 hours and becoming.....becoming who?

Ummm, well, today I shall be.....

Nellie von Cloppe

Has a ring, doncha think?

Anyway, there are rules today - if you are loitering about and thinking of commenting please humour me a little and use a juicy gnome de plum. I will make a vague attempt to guess who you are.


Thank you.
Nellie xxxxx
.

Minx in the city

A weekend in London is never enough especially when a certain coven buddy has decided that you will cover most of London in 24 hours!
After shooting all over south London on Friday evening to make some important arrangements for February (more on that to follow), Barbara joined Debi and I on Saturday morning and we shot off to Goose Green Eco Fair (not a pair of hemp knickers in sight - boo). Then it was on to Waterstones in Piccadilly for a blogmeetle.

.

(Debi and Babs having a cling just before meeting a herd of awfurs)

Twelve authors from the Bookarazzi (bloggers with book deals conglomerate) hogged a table in Waterstones for the whole afternoon. My provincial dismay at paying £4.50 for a glass of wine was quickly overcome by the realisation that Waterstones also provided entertainment. Our waiter was the flounciest, loudest tutting drama queen that I have ever met.
The company was fab and new friends were made.

.(here we are all having coffee together!)

Barbara was also celebrating her birthday so we ran back to Dulwich for a mini party at Debi's (cake and everything) and then out again to The Canterbury Arms, Brixton to see John Bently, a performance poet in a set called Homemade Jam.
.

(yes, he is 'playing' a false leg)

.

(his last piece was called 'They're bringing back my era' - I want those boots!)

If you get the chance to meet up with your fellow bloggers, take the leap and do it - it's wonderful. Blogging is really so much more than a daily dose of 'me' life!

Thank you Debi, for putting me up again and making all the arrangements. We made a valiant attempt to wear out London transport but if I see another #40 bus in the next couple of months I am going to scream.