These days it feels like often no-one is willing to take responsibility over their own actions or those of their kids. God knows how teachers cope day after day.
To me this sums it up nicely. although I doubt it's a real answering machine for the school. The voice kicks in after about 30 seconds.......
Nae day sae dark; nae wüd sae bare; Nae grund sae
stour wi' stane; But licht comes through; a sang is there; A glint o'
grass is green.
Wha hasna thol'd his thorter'd hours And kent, whan they were by, The tenderness o' life that fleurs Rock-fast in misery
--------------------------------------------
No day so dark; no wood so bare;
No ground so rough with stone;
But light comes through; a song is there;
A glint of grass is green.
Who hasn't endured his thwarted hours;
And knew when they were past;
The tenderness of life that flowers;
Rock-fast in misery
William Soutar
William Soutar (1898-1943), the author of this poem, was born in Perth, Scotland. While
serving in the navy during the First World War he contracted an illness which
left him paralysed, apart from his arms and hands. He was confined to bed for
the last fourteen years of his life but nevertheless produced a number of lyric
poems - including this.
Am I nervous? Oh Yes. Terrified more like! I don't know why
on earth I've agreed to this. Sitting here behind the table, faced with all
these complete strangers and waiting for my introduction, I feel almost physically sick. No
one who knows me can believe I've agreed to this and more than a few have
almost wet themselves laughing. Yet here I am, nervous as a kitten, stomach
tied in knots and feeling like I'm just about to lose my non-existent lunch. I
must be nuts! I didn’t think for a second I'd start out this way when I began looking for an
outlet for my writing.
I’d been writing for a couple of years by then, blogging
mostly but also sending a few bits and pieces in to papers and magazines in the
hope of getting something published. I’d joined a writing group too in the hope
that I could improve my skill and perhaps make some contacts along the way. I
subscribed to a couple of writing oriented magazines and used them to follow up
on articles on improving chances to get published and check out the adverts for
writing opportunities. It seemed hopeless – most of the adverts looking for
writers expected you to pay them to publish your work and the others wanted
everything for free. No-one wants to pay for anything these days it seems.
And then I found some adverts looking for writers to help
others; give a few talks on process; hold a few workshops and be available to
check and feedback constructively on work submitted. Best of all there was a
fee for your efforts and for a lucky one here and there a paid position for a
period of time of intensive work. I began to see a rare advert or two for
writers in residence too. One of these was working in prisons helping develop
communication skills and thinking process; keeping prisoners in touch with
their kids through the writing of stories; helping set up an in-house newsletter.
Although I tried I never got anywhere; the competition for
these rarest of opportunities was intense even where fees were negligible;
people desperate to get something that could be useful to build a credible CV.
Weeks and months passed by with nothing.
Then.
Wanted:
WRITER IN RESIDENCE
A writer in residence is saught to deliver lectures, workshops and demonstrations to groups and individuals in a holiday environment at our establishments here in the UK and in Spain. An open minded, creative and flexible attitude is required to ensure this experience delivers to our members interested in developing their writing and communication skills in a fun and relaxed manner.
Roll on three months and here I am: sweating; mouth dry;
heart palpitating. I wait for the society chairman to finish his speech and
introduce me. A new wave of anxiety and nausea washes over me as I look at the
lectern I had requested. Somehow I thought I would be more comfortable speaking
from behind a lectern but now as I look at it's clear, gleaming perspex under the
auditorium lights, I know that's not going to work. What was I thinking?
Bugger! I look left and right along the table for an exit but just the sight of
the other committee members drives the thought from my mind and my head snaps
back to looking down at the notes in front of me on the table.
God!
I can't even
look at the audience! I try to get a grip on my emotions while the voice of the
chairman drones on. I take a sip from the glass of water beside me, close my
eyes and concentrate on my breathing, silently but desperately telling myself
"Calm. Quiet. Peace. Calm. Quiet. Peace." as I do. I become aware
that the chairman is drawing to a close. Too late now, there's nothing I can do. I have to
make the best of this. Who knows, it might be the break I'm looking for after
all.Suddenly, I'm aware of applause. I open my eyes and see the
chairman at the front of the stage, half turned towards me, his arm
outstretched in a welcoming gesture. I swallow and take another sip of water. I
gather my notes and stand up, pushing the chair back with my legs as I do. I
hold my notes demurely in front of me and move out from behind the safety of the table and walk the few
paces to the lectern where I put them reluctantly down and take one last deep, calming
breath while I wait for the applause to peter out. I hope I don't look as terrified as I feel.
There is silence. I swallow -hard.
"Mr Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen of the committee.
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Three months ago it would never have crossed my mind that I
would be standing here today thanking anyone for the 'opportunity' of becoming
the first writer in residence for the UK Society of Naturists.
Or that I'd be doing it in the nude……"
See you later.
(By the way – this is a work of fiction!!! - honest)
There are probably fewer things that remind us more of how reliant on modern technology we are than a power cut.
We get more than our fare share of them in our quiet wee corner of the country, especially in the winter when you are in the grip of those short days and long cold nights and losing power also means we lose our modern central heating and gas fire. It's a pain - and we're only about 4 miles from a major power station, which really rubs it in as no matter how often we get cut off they are always gleaming brightly in the dark like a beacon of pure unadulterated smugness.
We've had a power cut tonight when there are no storms like those that happened over the past week when thousands of homes were cut off for days - although thankfully not including us. We did have a couple of outages yesterday or the day before, enough to have us lighting up the candles around the place and leaving spares in handy places and matches close to hand. You've got to be prepared, right?
We like candles in this house and often use them of an evening by preference, but that's a whole different ball game to having no choice in the matter. It always seems to happen when your engrossed in something of course; TV or a book or a DVD. Tonight I'm here on my own ,just Jess and I cosy on the couch watching something on the TV recorder, I'm thinking I need a cuppa and am getting up to go and make one when - WHAM - total blackout. I let out a groan {and probably an expletive}. That'll be that for the cup of tea for a while then......
Luckily I have my mobile phone nearby and grope around to get it and use the built in flashlight which lets me maneuvre round to the fireplace, get the box of matches and light a couple of the bigger candles on the coffee table before getting upstairs to the bedroom where we'd left a battery powered light designed for camping - one of those ones which can hang and give a light round 360 degrees. I bring it down but decide to leave it off and stick with the candles. I go and get the laptop and bring it back to the lounge too, thinking I might watch something on BBC iPlayer but when I come back and sit down with it I decide to write a short blog instead. The battery will last a few hours........
WHAM!
The lights come back on.
I leave the laptop, make a cuppa and fill the big flask in the kitchen with hot water to last the night. Experience tells me these things usually happen in multiples.
A few minutes later I come back through to the lounge, coffee cup in hand and take a couple of steps towards the sofa....
Dont worry - 'Crivens Jings' is here to stay and will keep on in the same vein I hope but I'm going to try a blog of a more specific nature.......
To be frank I never expected to be setting up another blog right now even though I'd laid the foundations for 'The Porage Diaries' well over a year ago, when the name came to me one day in a haze of porage and sunshine. I know - most people see porage as a winter food, but I happen to like it and am known to have an occasional foray in a poragely direction at any time of the year.
We all get gifts at Christmas time. Most of the time these are more than welcome but sometimes the odd gift will arrive that's either unwelcome or at least greeted with less enthusiasm. This year the unwanted gift I got was type two diabetes which is quite annoying. Even more so when I consider that the person that gave it to me was; well - ME. Now, I take full responsibility: I'm a Scot - well known as having one of the worlds most unhealthy diets, which I have wholeheartedly embraced for many years.: I'm overweight - for many reasons, explanations or excuses which will probably come out in various guises as the blog develops: I'm in the danger zone of middle age {53}: I've lead a pretty sedentary lifestyle for far too long even though I knew I should have been doing something about it {introduce those explanations/excuses again here} and finally: I'm a typical male 'ostrich' in many ways. There is simply no-one else to blame.
I'd been unwell for a few months and had complained to my doctor of lack of energy, aches and pains, insomnia, a general increasing weight despite addressing {somewhat} my diet for more healthy stuff and a dozen other things that I couldn't put down to any particular change in circumstances. This lead to a whole seies of blood tests over a short period of time and a diagnosis of an underactive thyroid and a slow process of medication and monitoring to establish the correct dosage of medication which I'll have to take for the rest of my life - a process that's not yet complete. During this time one of the tests threw up an anomaly with liver function leading to another series of tests and an ultrasound scan which showed that everything was tickety-boo and there was nothing abnormal. I came home from the hospital that day happy that my fears about the big 'C' were unfounded. Two hours later my doctor's surgery phoned to say that there was a problem with my last blood tests and that my doctor wanted to see me right away, so first thing the following morning I saw her and was told that my blood sugar levels had suddenly rocketed and more tests were needed to confirm her suspicions that I had diabetes.
So it was that the week before Christmas I got a confirmation call that her suspicions were correct.
Most of that week was spent reading up on the information she had provided, supplemented with information from the web and in making significant changes to my thinking. I have to admit after the previous few months I took the news quite badly and perhaps focused on some websites which emphasised the more negative and serious side of the condition and it's impact on long term health prospects. Probably as a result, my mood and well being took a big dip and I think I convinced myself that I felt dreadfully ill for the bulk of Christmas until one day I just suddenly realised that there are millions dealing with this and doing so successfully. I realised I'd perhaps been given the kick in the pants that I needed to get things back in balance and that tackling this could be beneficial in every way:
I suddenly felt doors opening instead of doors closing. there are many opportunities that could come out of this condition - now that I have it and can't avoid that reality. There are things to discover, things to tackle and things that can be discussed and shared. 'Crivens Jings' showed me that I could use writing as catharsis as I did when I was made redundant. This too is something that I can write about while I experience, come to terms and understand what the implications have on the reality of my life ahead. While I'm not stupid enough to be looking forward to living with any kind of diabetes, I can see that there are benefits to be had for myself and maybe for others in writing about an experience that I can't avoid.
So now I have to face some consequences and deal with this condition.
Do you fancy coming along for the ride? I promise you rants, raves and reflections - and porage:
Something new for the New Year: The first track released by Scots prog-rock band 'Abandoned Stars' who hail from Edinburgh and include my two brothers-in-law in the line up playing drums and bass guitar.
The track is called 'Beyond Reason' and comes from their first EP 'Opening Act'
Members: Tony Hodge - Drums / Peppe Schiavone - Guitars / Olivier Hadder - Vocals / Leen - Bass
The New Year celebrations are traditional here in Scotland. We're rightly world famous for our cheerful and exhuberant welcome to each new year and the extended partying that often accompanies it for several days afterwards. But many countries celebrate it in their own unique ways; the ball drop in Times Square, New York; The fireworks over Sydney Harbour Bridge; favourite TV shows to bring in the new year; a dip in the ocean on January 1st etc. Being married to someone of Swiss German descent I was introduced to a tradition from over there which I really enjoy. It's a TV sketch called 'Dinner For One' which is played across Switzerland and Germany every New Year without fail at some point. They absolutely love it and fall about in stitches, which is strange considering it's completely done in English. I've no idea where the tradition comes from or when it started or how it came to be taken so much to heart by so many, but somehow I too have fallen for it's charm, innocence and fun.
