From the 'Stock to the 'Shire

My laptop smells of fire. Hardly surprising, though I should like it more if it smelt of hot man or Turkish delight, but that would just be distracting. Fire's good. It's a strangely pleasant smell don't you think? Takes you back to good times I wreckon. Anyone else who was a Girl Guide will know what I'm talking about. Good times indeed. I had my first 'shmore' in the girl guides (toasted marshmallow squished betwixt two chocolate digestives) and my first toasted choc banana (not quite as tasty as the former but a delicacy none the less). It was never the same in winter toasting marshmallows over tea lights. They were always to neat with a distinct lack of charcoal and green stick flavour. Give me the hard stuff every time.

Anyway, let's talk about sand for a while. I took myself to St.Anne's beach this afternoon in pursuit of some me and God time. It didn't disappoint. I was however deeply perturbed by the sinister ability of sand to just get literally everywhere - I mean I was fully clothed darn it! Whatever, if I have to pick sand from my ipod and car for the next however long I can handle it for the worth it factor. A surprise meet up at Wrea Green with my beautiful friend Abi then followed. Oh how I love her and her gorgeous house in the sticks. I would like a house in the sticks but as I have said before, I would also like it to be made of sticks. Well, not actual sticks, wood but we all know where wood comes from.

I am heading down to Oxford tomorrow to spend time with my homeboys. The three of us are Blackburnites but some of us are more true to our routes than others - they'll know what I'm talking about. One's back from his new life in Australia and we're visiting the other in the 'Shire so I'll let you do the maths. But I forgive them. Besides, they didn't do punting trips in Blackburn last time I checked. So bring on the heatwave I say and some messing around on the river. And as for the 'Cat Empire' gig on Wednesday, they're gonna be SWEEEEET. I could evangelise at length about this lot but I'll let youtube do the talking if you'd care to get acquainted. I may have to give myself holiday grace on the blogging front too. With a mere two days to go and an unblemished record that's nearly killed me, it seems a shame to 'fail' at the last hurdle but that's grace for you; it counts not your wrongs. We shall see what the next days bring. I hope for grace.

I need an axeman...

This evening I blog from the great outdoors. Some might not think two feet from the back door is anything to write home about but perhaps you will be more impressed when I tell you I single-handedly built myself a fire in the chiminear with only one match and no firelighters in sight. Nope?.... just me then. It’s so lovely being out here at night time. There are no stars to speak of but fairy lights hang from the canopy above me and I hear the sweet strumming of a guitar playing Roo (Emma’s boyfriend) from the living room. But just me and my fire is making me happy. My only concern is the lack of mediocre sized wood. There’s a log pile here and an axe but a distinct lack of brawn for the chopping. As is, I have to get enough of the little fellas burning before I can hope they will set the mother log on fire. Like going from first to third gear without stalling I imagine – a risky business I think you’ll agree. The leg of an old chair is bridging the gap nicely for now though; thanks for lending us those chairs for our Christmas party Lydia, seems their real season pleasers.

The earth smelt good today too. I was foolish in thinking the air would be fresh following the storm this morning and set off on my usual running route with a spring in my step. Turned out, fresh not so much but a deep muggy heat quickly engulfed me or perhaps it just felt that way a couple of K’s in. Either way, it was a heat almost rising from the ground; a thick, lingering heat. A heat I would have much to whinge about if not for the richness in scents it brought. As I approached the shadowed tree lined walk way, the smell of garlic and wet wood mixed was truly beauteous and I was a little bit thankful to be alive and free. I used my freedom to walk and explore a little bit more than usual and fuelled my running of the home stretch with some Coldplay anthems. We all need them from time to time – Coldplay and home stretches I think. For now though, my blog is home stretching as I see to this lovely fire of mine. It is very lovely.

Michael Jackson - my initial thoughts.

Of all the blogs in all the world, I'd say there was a pretty good chance that most of them today will be paying tribute to the late Mr Michael Jackson.

It was late last night that I heard what had happened as I came downstairs to find my house mates watching the breaking news. I just saw 'Michael Jackson, heart attack' and it took me a few seconds to realise he had died. It was so hard to believe. Such strange news almost, so unexpected; a fact without a feeling. I felt very little apart from bewilderment. Sharon too was strangely unperturbed. I reminded her how only a few months ago we were busy attempting to learn the moves to his Thriller routine (not just the two of us I have to say - a group strange enough to incline.) It's like Michael Jackson was just this guy who existed who none of us knew but everyone knew. My other house mate, Emma, commented on the strangeness of it all when a celebrity passes away because you aren't close to them but they're so ingrained into your culture you can't help but wonder just how affected culture will be. Sharon also mused over a link between Michael's death, Jade Goody's death and the general collapse of the economy and all the leadership that goes with it. An icon, the 'people's princess'/celebrity and the very structure we placed so much financial faith in. Is it merely a coincidence that so many whom society have looked up to, have left a gap which seems to be widening fast? Perhaps not. Sharon wondered if now was the turn of the 'little' people. Of the stories of those living in hardcore realities; kids smuggled through Afghanistan and the like. Will we start to look outward and not the perceived upward? Caz knows not.

A different reaction to my house mates hit me though once back at the parental units. When I asked how my Mum's day had been, she replied how sad she'd been about Michael Jackson. As she pointed out, he was her age. A weird thought but I guess it brings home how young he was. She had always felt for the guy, felt he was a tormented soul, never knowing who to trust. She was angered by the media and their total admiration of him now he's gone. How could they be so two faced after the sheer number of lies and mileage they got out of harassing him? "If only Michael could hear their kind words now", she said. Even if he could though, he wouldn't be too impressed I doubt. The media are fickle and have to do, say and print what sells. And while I don't mean to be the biggest cynic, I hope many too will note the media's lack of backbone. An 'upward' lesson I think for all, an outward one I hope for more and for those with a genuine admiration for the man, you have my heartfelt condolences.

Does anything wait anymore?

Darn it. I see blogger is set to an American time frame and it therefore appears I failed in my quest to blog yesterday, but I know the truth. On a positive note, I see I have had a 20% increase in my followers over night. Not to be sniffed at. I sniff at you not.

Blogs though, they wait for no one. I'm realising this. After my one a day phase ends, I will get to be more selective about what, when and how I blog. I propose quality over quantity, the stakes will be higher. Though I have to say the whole daily write thing has shown me a thing or two. It's taught me some stuff and reflect I will...just not right now. My sleep waits for no one.

Words are good

Oh look, it's Wednesday already and here I am making my entry for the day as first thing as it possibly can be. It might not be coffee fresh but you can't knock me for trying. Besides, I can now chat about "last night's" open mic in a bit more length. I say a bit more because Helen, though I embrace your plan, my eyelids appear to be opposing it.

I have the feeling of £3 well spent. A good feeling indeed. I much prefer it to that well know £3 poorly spent feeling. I think we all know what I'm talking about. For £3 was the amount I paid to spectate and partake at the live lit night/Word Soup 3 held at The Continental pub. I have never ventured into the room we used before. Very comedy club i felt with people strewn around tables lit with tea lights (the tables not the people). A lovely low light to be inconspicuous enough to have a wee go at reading myself I thought. Better wait till the second half though I reasoned, check out the standard first. And very good it was too so perhaps it was against my better judgement to put myself out there. Good judgement also reasons that you only live once - in this life at least.

Two verses in I found my hands shaking so violently I had to actually physically shake them out, apologise to all for my nervousness and attempt to redeem my rocky start. Now, most people probably wouldn't have me down as a nervous sort. I wouldn't have me down as a nervous sort but it turns out the bright lights of the stage affect my heart in a way that not many things can. It shall perhaps be my new nemesis, since I have conquered my laser eye fears and have never looked back...ey, were on the top, we're goin' higher. I digress.

So I finished my poem to lots of happy clappers, or perhaps just clappers, but it was a nice sound to my withered heart. My heart now hears. You know what Helen, I'm not sure I concur with this method of blogging... I value my followers. But anyway, I can't sign off without giving a special mention to a man called Gary Bridgens and his ukulele. What a jolly performance he gave us. As a kids lit developer who writes songs with kids and is a puppeteer (Like my library job but with more music, puppets and less admin I'd guess), we sang along with him to a song he'd written with the kids about ducks and sausages, heard a heartfelt poem about his little boy somewhere in the middle and ended with a song on the ukulele about Margaret Thatcher being paraded around in hearse. Fun times. No one could argue he wasn't eclectic.

Finally, I was most pleased to meet a fellow blogger named Viv (a boy). I do like it when boys have girl's names. I like even more the stories behind nicknames. Anyway, I think Viv will be a very good blogger because he works in a bookshop and has just helped to edit a published book which can be bought in 'all good bookstores'. Viv writes satirically. Perhaps if Viv has been kind enough to remember my blog address and is reading this, he will be kind enough to remind me of his. That way I can introduce his stuff to you and you can see for your good selves. For now, I hope for pretty dreams but for those there tonight, not ones with legs ;)

Smarter not harder

It is with regret I find the evening has left me a mere seven minutes to get characters on screen. When I say the evening what I actually mean is my evening of open poetry/spoken word goodness, a boy who keeps me talking for time periods which even I know are wrong and two bowls of crunchy nut cornflakes prior to laptop switch on. I have however been shown the error of my blogging ways (see comment made by Helen on yesterday's blog). So watch what I'm about to do - it's very clever. That's how you know I couldn't possibley have come up with it on my own.

Disciplinaphobia

With the lovingly and immaculately perfected discipline of an amiba, I have successfully managed to remain in the cusps of in depth conversation with a beautiful friend of old ,in her beautiful house, overlooking the beautiful river. I had made a mental note to leave by 8.30pm, 9ish at the latest. It comes as no surprise however, to myself or indeed those who know me well, that I have had to dive onto her laptop at this late hour. My day begins far earlier than I would like it to tommorow therefore my blog ends far quicker than I would like it to this evening. I am officially poop at daily blogging. Must get better.

A musical interlude

This is the literary version of the musical interlude between acts where the last minute sound checks occur, there's time to get one more drink in and prime viewing spots are jostled for. As it happened there was surprisingly very little jostling recquired for us to get second row spots. This however was definately due to the polite and sparse fan base as oppose to it being a reflection in any way on the quality of the act to come. Prepare then for the quality of the act to come. Tommorow. For now, I have a date with the motorway back to Preston and besides, I still have 29 mins left of the day of rest. Amen.

Love burns brighter than sunshine: Part 1

On Tuesday my hopes were aquatic. Last night they were realised. I would like to pay tribute to the night by writing something of a mini review. Perhaps you will be persuaded to sample Aqualung someday for yourself. In hopes you will, please take me with.

We arrived at Manchester Academy 2 around 8.30pm. It's a great little venue; something of a basement gig affair with it's low lighting and mildly moody atmosphere. It lends itself well to audience participation too, with a people capacity akin to a bus load or three. Audience participation it turned out, was a strong theme of the night.

The support act were a little country and western style duo; he on his guitar and her on vocals. Surprised was I to return from the little ladies room to see Mr Hales himself providing piano accompaniment. Until that point, pleasant though they were, I could have taken or left them (hence the cheeky loo stop) but with that beautiful man playing the piano with such effortless finesse he really brought their act alive. One song later however, he exited stage right. It was then that the pair did a very strange thing. They said they were going to come out and sing amongst us - a crowd of perhaps only 100 or so. I don't think I quite grasped what this meant. As they wandered off the stage and into the crowd, the woman, a petite brunette with a strange kind of beauty, was singing the lyrics as she looked purposefuly into the eyes of individuals in the crowd; like she was singing the song just to them, if only for a line or two. There were stifled giggles and confused glances between friends. How very odd they seemd, or perhaps how very british we all were. A conversation between their set and Aqualung's with some english folk who had toured with the pair, proved the latter to be true. In Brooklyn, New York, where the pair were from, apparantly it's something of the norm to be so 'out there' with your music or it's received more warmly at the very least. For me though, it made an otherwise forgettable support act, instantly rememberable - they did a very clever thing. Just don't ask me what they were called.

Okay, given that it is 11.40pm and I'm about to exit babysitting duties, it would be an appropriate point in proceedings to recline from blogging, but I will surely pick up where I left off tommorow. Prepare yee.

Gigs that soften blows do rock

Having an epic but having it peacefully. It might have been nice if I hadn't found I'd been robbed today but maybe my forgiveness gene needs sharpening. So I shall forgive, drink tea and make for the blow softening Aqualung gig this eve. Peace.

Small spaces Big places

This evenings blog is lovingly typed from the miniture space my folks call an office. It may be likened to the room under the stairs which Harry Potter was banished to in his pre-Hogwart days. That's because it is the room under the stairs at their house. Genius use of space though it is, I'm not sure how the space cadet in me will fair. No expeditions to the moon tonight then. In fact, I have no idea where I'm going with this one but wherever it is, you're coming too.

Okay, so perhaps I just lied to anyone who stopped reading at the above line but the rest of you, climb on! For this eveningI should like to discuss a small nugget from the old time travel concept which got me thinking whilst watching Mr Spok and Captain Kirk last night. Now, I'm not going to lie to you; after the Ben and Jerry's icecream had me at hello, it was hard to recover the rest of the plot and I won't pretend I followed it all. However, I did pick up that James Kirk, having met his friend Spock in the future time (who was then an old man) was told by old Spock that he becomes Captain Kirk and leads the troops into space victory. James, obviously chuffed with this, still has to go back to real time and do the stuff, fight some stuff and get through some stuff before this can happen, but I think the fact he knew he already had the victory gave him confidence and strength and made him more of a risk taker. See where I'm going with this?

I think sometimes we (well, me at least) forget we already have the victory. That the plans we will walk into are good ones that will prosper us and not harm us if our trust is rightly placed. That as we're faithful in the small stuff, the bigger stuff will come; small acorns 'n' all that. And if we would just trust that although, unlike God, we cannot see the end from the beginning, He can and He's already told us the end of the story. And while I'd usually be hacked with anyone who does that or someone who gives you the result before you've watched the game, on this occasion I'm glad for the ending. In this case I can use it to fuel my going through and if that will make me a stronger, confident risk taker for the Almighty then look out Spocklings is all I can say!

And they all lived long and prospered.

Gerard vs Zachary

Ah, look at ths. It would seem I have a whole 5 mins before the sun doth officially go down on the 17th June. And what a day it has been. However, I will focus briefly upon this evenings debate prior to viewing the new Star Trek movie.....Zachary Quinto, the new and some would argue more chiseled man about town or Gerrard Butler, the house favourite since P.S I love you. We finally settled the debate that has been close to driving a stake between myself and Shaz by bringing Paddy to be the litmus paper. The result? The G man.

11.59 - get in

Aquatic hopes

A midday blog to break with my late night rambling tradition...can you handle it? Can I handle it? Guess that will become apparant.

Little to say today have I, though perhaps I will provide a little prelude to my hopes over Friday night. A special night it will no doubt be, for 'tiz not everyday a girl gets to see one of her favourite artists play live. The mighty and very beautiful Aqualung is the one I speak so highly of. Take a listen to 'Outside' from his 'Memory Man' album and tell me I'm wrong in doing so. Actually don't, 'coz I wouldn't want any of you to have to lie to me. The sound is a very special blend of all that I like about the musical art form. The final seasoning ingrediant will be to see him live amidst my fellow fanbase. The power of live cannot be underestimated, nor the power of Mr Matt Hales. Hope to transmit some in Saturday's blog. Adieu.

I love you just because you lead me down to the ocean

I have often wondered at our absolute desire as human beings to have those around us love that which we do as much as we do. I can certainly say for myself that when I have a moment with something, someone or someplace, I just want others to experience it. And not just to validate that I was, of course, correct in being so excited by or moved by that thing but just because I want them to experience the same kind of joy I have with whatever it is. I guess I realised though, that that's rarely possible because even if someone does love a thing as much as you, it's more than likely they will love it for a very different reason. Equally, they may not love it at all and though this may be purely down to personal taste, it may be that they simply cannot love it as much as you 'coz you resonate with whatever it is on a level which just gets your gut in a way it won't theirs. To give an example, I watched the film 'The Notebook' with a friend whose like a younger sister to me. We were wrapped in a beach towel watching it under the Austarlian stars at the outdoor cinema of a water park. Yes, the story of the film is very hearfelt and moving but I have such fond memories of that evening down under, this added dimension totally adds to my love of the film. Now, I can't give someone that feeling but neither can they give me their experience of how or why something so speaks to them.

A few months ago my good friend Tom, a lover of many art forms in their utter intricacies, attempted to educate me in the ways of the film 'Buffalo 66'. I mean he raved about this film and though I doubt he could ever create a top five list where films are concerned, I imagine if he could, this film would be in it. Now, I'm not sure I recall him telling me I had to watch this film on my own to receive its full impact but if he did, perhaps he didn't stress the point enough. Long story short, the film was viewed by a bunch of us and Tom was invited to join the collective as we did so, being as this was his thang. I can't really recall where it all went wrong that night, it just did. Perhaps it was my initial dislike of the film's protagonist or it could have been the various low level conversations that occured intermitently throughout the plot. I just know that Tom left that night feeling something of a deflated man, like he'd failed in his mission to convert me to the film's beauty. I was also reminded/chastised that I should have watched it solo. The thing is, it wasn't that I didn't like the film or the protagonist either in the end as it turned out, it's just that my ability to relate to and empathise with his character could in no way compete with Tom's ability to do the same, with or without the posse in tow.

It was with a wry smile and a little trepidation then that I received a cd from Tom on Saturday night. The writing upon it simply said 'To be listened to in the dark alone. Richard Hawley "The Ocean"'. The 'Buffalo 66 incident' as it could best be called has become something of a running joke now and the wrath of Tom is no longer to be feared. Besides, the boy mostly has impecable taste and there's every chance a girl could miss out if she paid no attention to his attempts to educate. These things considered, I felt I should like to honour the scrawled instructions laid before me and give the song every chance to penetrate my very soul. In the lamp light and lateness of last night then, I'm pleased to report the song did just that. By way of surprise and just because, I instantly fell for the Hawley charm or perhaps more so the subject matter. Whatever it was, whether the reasons be similar or not to Tom's, I'm so very glad he chose to share.

Given all of the above, I think then I will continue to share my passions with others on account of even the remotest possibilty they may share in some lovely joy as a result. They may not get get my passions or get them in the same way I do, but I figure good things are still worth sharing and passing on just in case. Perhaps I shall start now and commend to you also the above ocean song of wonder and then sit back and await the Hawley revolution. This power in the hands of you faithful seven could well go far. Use it wisely.

Bluebell basics

What an altogether charming day it has been. I remembered how fun it is to be in the presence of little ones first thing. Though some might find it a little odd that a small child is watching them as they wake (OK, some who are not mummies and daddies I mean) it just amused me. You see, Amelie, (my house mates little niece) who slept over with her big sister has such a beautifuly cheeky charm and you just can't knock her defiance. It turns out she had asked to come into my room, was told 'no' as that would waken me, but was obviously convinced otherwise and just came and stood at the foot of my bed. As I opened my eyes, to her excitement, she then ran downstairs to inform her favourite auntie that Caz was awake. "Did you wake her?" said auntie Shaz with a face I imagined sported a raised eyebrow. After a long pause and a face I imagined looked very much like a sheeps, she simply said "Yes". But, despite today being my first lie-in for what's felt like forever, I have to say it felt nice to be loved and wanted awake. Then beaten with a pillow and tickled.

Still in my pj's, I found myself scouring our shed for garden tools and we each grabbed something that might possibley help us in our quest to plant blubells in the back garden. An incredibley simple task to the more green fingered no doubt but for the sake of the little ones and their keeness to get stuck in, I had a go at pretending I was, in fact, the next Charlie Dimmock (minus the boobs). Meanwhile, Shaz quizzed Google to check I was even planting the bulbs the right way round. Spot the genius. Anyhow, they're planted of a fashion now and perhaps my cat won't dig them up and will kindly water them for us instead - eww!

Then this afternoon was happily me, myself and i-pod, God, the clouds and flip flops as I lay in the park and had nowhere else to be except there. The very best kind of appointments these are. I would like to have more of these appointments. I would like to sleep now.

Small acorns

Goodness. It feels like longness since last I was this tired....must be all this blogging, it's finally taking me over. Imagine if one day I did actually live the writing dream and spent hours each day in my beautiful wooden outhouse, perhaps in a forest, with birdsong to inpire and shards of sunlight cascading softly through my window across the plethera of pages I would write. I imagine how wonderful that would be. I would never be tired, get writer's block or run out of bird food and Turkish Delight. I would never tire of my own company and I would learn the fine art of productivity and would know exactly how to live off the fat of the land. I wouldn't have to see another soul for days and, after pouring over pages and pages of the most anointed scrawlings ever to have been quilled on paper(laptops aren't really long term options in forests), I would re-surface again in the real world, liase with my agent who would confirm, as I had suspected, that I had indeed produced a guarenteed best seller the likes of which the world has never laid eyes on, until they held my beautifully bound and illustrated masterpiece in their hands...
.....What I was actually going to say was, imagine if I wrote all the time, my brain would be fried and my eyelids might swing, but silliness prevailed. I shall perhaps learn to spell first as I feel this is the only barrier standing in my way of living out the above.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, I should add that the closest thing I got to writing today was walking past an author who was sat signing books in Borders. I hoped that perhaps walking past him several times with a tray full of sample strawberry cream frappucinos, would activate the process of osmosis and I would somehow be imparted with his beautiful gift. As it was, we chatted a little and in my usual self-depricating manner I suggested I was far from the lofty heights of authordom, my green apron causing me a slight mental barrier. He was kind enough to suggest though that perhaps I could start a Frappucino empire. "Maybe that could be my inspiration for a book" I said 'How to start your own Frap empire' or something. Either way, he just said "well, small acorns" and I liked hat he said that. He seemd like the kind of guy who would champion and inspire the cause of the underdog. He made this one smile. I wish to be a tree.

Weak wonders

It's weak, this I know, but being a wanted woman makes Caz a dull blogger. Jibber Jabber (my housemate and her fella's band) need me, what can you do? Maybe you don't....or you'll keep at least ;)

How hectic?

Can you handle it? It's been a fully hectic day. Hectic has in fact been the word of the day. But not hectic in the British sense, hectic in the South African sense, whereby any thing/person/situation that is in any way full on/crazy/intense will get dubbed as such. Phrases such as "that dude's hectic" may be used to describe an extrovert or "check at that dudes hair, it's hectic bro" in relation to say a sizeable fro or even a wig. Sentences such as are uttered at what some (myself) might say is an overused amount by my South African co-host at Preston fm. Now don't get me wrong, I love the boy dearly and the magical land from which he hails but I had to draw the line today when he used the word to describe the incredibly slow software on the computers at the station. I was like "how is it hectic if something's slow? have a word" to which he replied "Yah, but it being so slow then makes it hectic if you know what I mean". No friend, not sure I do but I know this; any more of your hecticness and I'm making you a little box, like a swear box. That way if I must suffer at the hands of hectic, I might as well make me a Rand or two in the process. Flip, maybe I'll save the air fair to join you 'O's' for the world cup next year....now wouldn't that be hectic!?

Burp

I'm posting a burp. Can I do that? At this time of night, I think I can. OK, it's done. I feel good about it.

Do less, be more.

Unsuccessful as I have been at this so far this week, I have decided I am going to work hard at doing less. I've come to the conclusion that the less we do the more we get to be which in turn will lead to the good stuff. We will be more fully ourselves when we get less lost in the stuff. Take right now for example; I was supposed to be working on our next radio show but my co-host cancelled leaving me with a late afternoon/early eve of time. Time I have spent listening to some old skool tracks with a friend whose decorating I disturbed. Time I have spent touching base with my house mate who I seem to have seen surprisingly little of of late and time cooking chicken kiev and burning rice. Okay, the last bit wasn't so genius but isn't time of the unexpected variety the sweetest? I think so, because it's unmarked and has the ability to be spontaneous. And that people is not a great enough feature in my diary situation at present but I'll work on it. So please, next time you invite me to do something wunderbar more than a few days in advance, I must warn you I may meet your request with some hesitation. Ask me five minutes before and I'll grab my purse and keys ;)

More than the carpet...

I have heard it said that the only thing some people have in common with their work colleagues is the fact that they walk across the same piece of carpet every day. That and the fact you'd guess they shared the sameish career goals, though that mayn't even be the case I suppose. And I just find this all a bit sad and count myself not just a little bit blessed that I'm not one of them. You see, for the first time in my relatively short but probably overly-varied career, I can honestly say I enjoy the company of all my fellow colleagues; baristas, supervisors and manager. They all add something unique to the blend (see what I did there?). With discussions which can go from the stuff we've been watching and attempt to impersinate; 'flight of the concord', 'family guy' 'Bill Bailey' etc to boob jobs, selling your kidneys for cash and the daily debate of 'is this fruit toast too burnt to serve?' it makes for a whole lot of comedy and something of an open forum for creativity I think. That I can call my colleagues friends and not forgetting certain regular costomers who at the very least are quality acquaintances, is a joy ineed. In fact the customers often join in our random debates, or at least leave the counter with an ear to ear grin that says they've just been witness to the likely silliest thing they've heard all day. So I grant you, it's certainly not been the best paid job I've ever had or am likely to have but I like it and I like them and I'm happy for that. To my fellow 'buckyites - I thank you.

The day of books

We all know coffee and books go together like rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga dong... but not today my friends, not today. For sayeth I, Sunday should be a day for books alone, while coffee has its weekly day of rest. Books are at peace on Sunday, they don't need the break like coffee does. What I mean to say is, coffee and books can only be friends, real friends that is, when mutually appreciated by their owner. Today I suspect, though I speak only from the meagre perspective of a Starbucks barista, there was little space for that to happen. Jostling for tables amidst the cries of small children running hither and thither, is hardly conducive to the partnership into which I believe they were created. A sneaky loo break into Borders book store was like crossing a border from a war torn country into the restored Narnia - so very refreshing; you could just tell the books were loving it. In light of this, and because I am concerned for the future of the coffee/book friendship and their full enjoyment by their owner, can I politely suggest that on Sundays the two would be happier as would your lovely self if you would just opt for TAKE OUT....that way, we all win. Thankyou.

Flying weddings and airwaves

So The open mic night on Thurs was a real joy to the eardrums and soul. My personal favourite act of the evening was a guy I've never seen there before who played the guitar with such technical skill and prowess, I have to say he was in a whole other league. I fear though, he may be the start of the open mic turning too 'pro' for us little people to flow with the bobbins, but I guess as the compare continues with his bad jokes and while there's ukelele playing of a beautifully odd variety, none of us need be intimidated.

So yesterday. It's time to admit there's only so many times I can sing 'five little men in a flying saucer' with the nursery kids before my sanity frays and the desire to be flown moonward myself becomes gravitational. Well, that's perhaps a little extreme but Caz does need some new material none the less. I'm surprised how many nursery songs have stood the test of time; 'wind a bobbin up' and 'the wheels on the bus' can still be heard echoing down the corridor - you know you remember them. If anyone however does have something original, please fling my way. My attempt to introduce 'boomchikaboom' was met with some confusion.

And to last night. A quick supergirl type change from librarian to wedding guest and I was soon heading over to the 'Do in the sticks' in my usually organised fashion; the write the card on the knee en-route and hope for legibility. My hopes were not misplaced though and not too shabby a result ensued (even if I do say so). To be 1/5th of a car load was a bonus too; the old Caroline 'and guest' add on that featured on the invite could have been unpleasant if not for my friendly climbing types banding together and making it a party. And that it was....some post lasagna grooving to dolly Parton and dance offs for cheap Lambrini (said as if there's the expensive kind) made sure of that. It was disappointing to see a distinct lack of climbing dance moves I have to say, perhaps we need more practice down at the wall first.

I received a text around 11pm informing me I had a pre-record radio show to do this morning at 11am. It was time to relax on the old Pimms and lemonade I wisely decided. Around 20mins later I was rudely handed a glass of G and T, what can you do? What indeed. None the less, I'm pleased to report my butt was promptly down at the station by 10.20am this morn. The pre-record was a lot of fun and a safe place to say a very stupid thing. Thankyou God for those who edit. For the hopefully more polished version of the tomfoolery you can tune in to Preston Fm next Saturday 13th June between 6-8pm or jump online at www.preston.fm. If however you feel inclined to listen to us live live and completely un-edited and typically likely to say a silly thing then check out our show this Thurs between 10-11am (going out at a suitabley not much listened to time I think).

I do hope I'm making up for yesterday's poor word count here but soon I need to get down with my pillow to the land of sleep and dreams. Let me leave you then with a pearl I came across on a new website: www.kore.uk.com recommended to me today. There's a photograph section with a very cool shot with the words 'don't spend your time, invest it. Investing is cool' and I was like 'Yer, it is!'. It just spoke to me 'coz I think there are so many things pressing on our time, we just use it all up on short term pleasures but how often do we 'bank' our time, that we might one day reap the reward for doing so? In my case a whole load not enough I think. I do hope the stuff my head learns will quickly fall into my heart and other body parts so I will one day live out all this wisery. Until then, perhaps I shall continue blogging such stuff and tell myself it's the thought that counts ;)

Hello pillow.

Too busy to write - the shame!

Okay, so this is a total copout but I have a wedding night do that would keep me from the dashboard this eve - darn those marriage types! ;) So let's never talk of this pitiful entry again and I shall repent with a an extra long spot of nonsense tommorow.

Richer for running and all that jazz...

I must keep this short as today I blog on the hoof. I have dinner with friends in a mere 20mins planned followed by my monthly trip to The Continental's open mic for dessert. I will of course be there amongst the finest company.....do not think me an excentric thespian type to pitch on my todd, drink brandy all evening and make eccentric hand gestures to myself in the corner. Nope, but twil no doubt be a most civilised and social affair as it always is with much of the Broadgate masseef showcasing anything from poetry to beatboxing. There should be more nights of the like around I think, though after all the Britain's got talent hoo-haa, perhaps you'd prefer a quiet night in with a rich tea and a roiboos, who knows.

I must also quickly give a cheeky plug to that most arduous of sports; running. It's such a pain to desire but such a joy to have done. To the friends who I run with; you make my life richer and keep me in the game. To those who I don't run with, have a word, get thee some sneakers and merrily into the skyline shall we run (as the theme tune from Rocky plays us sweetly into the sun set) Oh yes peoples, come live the dream. Anon my freinds, anon.

Impaired creatures and not many other matters.....

Between a typically long overseas phone call and a date with a bottle of hair dye do I write my blog this eve. I'm not sure that I have any deep profound pearls to provoke, amuse or outrage but I will say this....always ensure the number on the bottle corresponds with the number on the box...girls, you know what I'm talking about.

I discovered at my friends house this evening that I have a particular affinity with blind grey hounds. Well, perhaps it was just her blind grey hound but after my lack of success regarding the bonding process between myself and the cat our house has adopted, it made me feel there was a pet loving pang of compassion in me somewhere, even if it was hidden deep. Perhaps I would bond with our cat more if it had some form of impairment - losing bodily fluids randomly around the house however, does not count.

I like the story my friend told me about the time she was dog-sitting. The dog was small white and deaf. At which point she felt it would be suitable to take the dog for a winter walk in the snow, I really couldn't say or explain. Neither could the dog it turned out after being estranged from her walker for some time. Ahhh, the stories I could tell if only we owned a truly impaired animal....a trip to the RSPCA soon perhaps roomies?

Made up words

Perhaps I am cheating a little with today's post, seeing as I copied and pasted it from a comment I made on someone else's blog regarding made up words. But I like made up words so much, don't you? and I thought perhaps myself, and the six of you, could embark on a random word adventure whereby we share our wordy gems (in much the same way we do whenever we meet.) Here's what I wrote...

Made up words definately constitute a sizeable number of my favourite words to date. I am however slightly disapointed that 'discombobulation' is not a made up word; when I first heard my friend use it some years ago I was absolutely convinced it simply must be. I wonder who got to decide that that lovely set of letters strung together in such a comedy fashion, could be an 'official' word. I'd like to shake his/her hand. For all out random and not even close to heading dictionaryward, I'm going for the word 'crocabamboonie' - a word we made up as kids to describe my Dad's shoes....go figure!

I therefore challenge the rest of you to top this word - I doubt you can; I think we can all be adult about this and accept that I might just have the edge over you, but it's OK - we all have to start somewhere ;) Until the morrow my friends....think on.

Bird by bird....

Get in. It's 23.44 as I type this sentence which can only mean one thing....I'm on target for completing my June goal... a blog a day for the entire month. It is with regret that I have made it to the 6th month of the calender and have managed a pitiful three to date. A small child would laugh in the face of three but I ask the question; will you be laughing in thirty three posts time small child? Didn't think so.

I happened upon a book at work today which promised to teach me something about life and writing. I'd say two pages in, it had a fair shot at both. The book, 'bird by bird' was titled such as a father whispered the word's ' take it bird by bird buddy, bird by bird' to his son who was surrounded by an overwhelming next day essay deadline. The essay was of course, on the topic of feathered birds. Just wanted to clear that up. I liked the sentiment a lot though. I like the fact there's a Dad out there who said those words to his son and there's a daughter who used them to title her book. It applies to writing, of course it does - live the wordcount in nuggets but so too life I think.....a man plans his course but the Lord determines his steps.

Caz out before 12.

What a difference a week makes......

Well my faithful four, it is with some sadness that I confess the utter lack of discipline I have worked hard to possess when it comes to actually blogging my thoughts webward. I mean, most people who are 'ideas people' at least have enough drive to get them onto paper or screen, even if they can't deliver their small brain children. Me? I not only fail to get to the delivery suite but entirely bypass the conception stage too. Darn it! perhaps the disciplined have more fun after all. Someday I'm gonna try it. Discipline I mean.

Anyway, on this rare occasion I felt led to share with you a strange turn of events that has led this Thursday to be so much sweeter than last Thursday. You see, last Thursday I believed I was poor and single to the extent that not even the open mic goodness or indeed the Gentleman rave up could keep my bottom lip from scraping along the floor. Indeed, there was a truth of sorts behind this belief in that, yes, it turns out I am on one level both these things. But a level my friends, I have come to cast aside. For on my new and very much clearer level it turns out I am, in fact, rich and attached. Yes, you did read right. I am rich because George Bailey, of 'It's a wonderful Life' fame, reminds me so. If he who has friends is rich, I my good ones, am truly minted. And on the issue of men, why have I considered the attachment to one of the male species something to be so esteemed that I am in someway a lesser girl human without one? Well, I see now I'm not. A lesser girl human I mean. The affections of the Mars inhabitors can only go so far. When it comes to true romance, it's the heavenly one that's on it (sorry Paddy, on this occasion not you brother). The 'Jesus is my home boy' t-shirt has got competion coz t-shirt, He's mine too, mine I tell ya. But of course, with you my followers I'm happy to share. Enjoy Him (but not like Coke). Me x

To my faithful four

Followers, oh my goodness, imagine being me right now carrying the weight of the responsibility to lead the four of you down wonderous paths unknown - it's a responsibility to be sure but one I'm happy to shoulder as your leader....for surely the weight will not supress me, it will only make me stronger!



Truth is friends, I haven't really researched this blogging malarchy to know anything about blogging etiquette and the expected topic choices one might expect to find on such pages. But I think I like it better this way - if I know not the etiquette, I cannot be blamed for any misuse of this cyber space I intermitently inhabit. But I will try right now to not abuse it - it is after all keeping me in right brain space.

What then shall I say? except that I love you and goodnight....


.....I love you and goodnight x

To blog or not to blog?....that was the question

Ah, my very first blog of the year, of my life in fact. I like to think it momentous, though amongst the trillions held captive in cyber space right now, relatively speaking I suspect it's not. I guess for me, blogging is something I've wanted to delve into for a while now but for two very different reasons I've been putting it off. The first was this; does blogging suppose you have something to say that anyone would care to read and if so is there an arrogance in that? The very fact there is SO much that can be read, it seems bizzare to consider that people would give their time to reading that which I might spout, any of us little people might spout for that matter. But then I changed my mind, after all, those who know me well already suffer at the many ideas per minute I spout from my lips and maybe now before I get overly animated about them I shall say coldly with an air of superiority "regarding this matter, I'd like to refer you to my blog" ;)


Most of my thoughts, twiddles and musings to date have lived out their existence only in journals, the over used part of my brain and perhaps less so, the underused part of my good friend's brains. I would defo consider myself the great thinker amongst us (note: by this I mean over thinker. Compadres; your thoughts I am sure are of the highest callibre and are far more efficient than mine. Sharon, regretfully sister I don't count you among them ;)) So I figure if I start blogging I shall free up a little right brain space that I might not become a damn of wonderment, or indeed nonsense. And if my blogs are never read by a single soul, it will do my heart good to know that some of it got to seep out cyberward. Weirdly though, if noone ever does read this I am now writing to myself...but self know this "you are normal!"

The second reason for my dawdling, and might I say the more superficial one, was that I wanted to come up with a half memorable blogspot address. As it happened I chose 'This day we write' 'coz it just popped into my head moments before embarkation into the set up process. It's funny how stuff just comes up when you aren't thinking too hard aye. And yet I totally got where this train of thought came from.....you see my heart knows that 'the pen is mightier than the sword' and perhaps if more of us drew out our pens, we could kick some collective literary butt!! So this day I write, and maybe the next and the next and somewhere along the way maybe I'll 'cut you deep brother'.

So do read on and do be kind but remember also, regarding a good debate.....I'll take you all on!!