tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42993254862372492802024-03-05T23:18:12.508-08:00Views From An Acoustic PineappleKev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-67890973429396687492020-05-11T08:05:00.002-07:002020-05-11T08:05:54.966-07:00Doing Just Enough<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the beginning - when one's brain had limited discipline and sense of order - Friday used to be a day of the week when I would reflect back upon the various, lofty goals that I had set for that week. If I was lucky, I may have set 43 specific goals and perhaps hit 2 of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Net result: an overriding sense of failure. Retire immediately to the dunce corner, self-flagellate with a vacuum hose/cheese grater combo and write out 'Kev iz stoopid!' a total of 573 times, using only a tatty feather quill and a leaky bottle of ink.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mindset change. This week, I set myself a grand total of 5 specific targets, linked to writing, music and study. By Wednesday, I'd done all of them. By Thursday, I had added 4 further goals I had achieved, which hadn't even made it on to the original target list I'd made on the previous Sunday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Net result: a sense of momentum and success. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So now, Friday is an odd day, because I've hit all my targets. Cue, an impish, childish sense of fun and freedom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had a couple of meditations this morning. Instead of castigating me, my mind looked somewhat confused and disorientated by having an irregular sense of freedom and calm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Inspirational brain piped up and said 'Oh, this is much better! Now, seeing as you have both time and space, here's a ton of inspirational stuff associated with those novel and short story ideas that you had around 5 years ago in 2015...you know, the ones you received whilst walking home from the supermarket...the ones where you zoned out and nearly got ran over twice! I've been trying to drop these off for bloody ages, but you never seemed to have any free space before...you always seemed to be preoccupied with beating yourself up and filling your valuable loading bays with a ton of nonsensical and irrational junk....;anyway, there's 3 trucks into loading bays, A, B and C, carrying stuff for Novel #3...the other imminent trucks will relate to Short Story #23, Non-Fiction Idea #4 and how to unite them into the blueprints for Novel #5. See? This inspirational stuff is a lot easier when you make space for it and find creative, practical ways to achieve a sense of inner peace...albeit temporarily.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Inspirational brain has a point. In this high-pressure world, it's so easy to over-reach, or feel that we have to over-perform in order to find success. Remember when we were at school and we messed up a lesson? We'd wait anxiously for a mark, knowing that we had not done well. Sure enough, when our exercise books were returned to us, there might be a tick, or two, but mostly there was likely to be a sea of 'X' marks next to our answers. If we did really poorly, there might be a comment too, to add to the horrible feelings...'Kevin, this is poor!'...'Kevin, did you even try?'...'Kevin. See me!' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How much different when we had nailed something and were met by a crowd of ticks on our page. How inspired we felt to carry on in that vein and get more of them ticks!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes, we fall short of our expectations. Not because we are stupid, or have done stupid things (well, maybe sometimes), but more often because we tried too hard, reached too high and ended up way outside of our safe, comfort zones, where we feel confident and assured.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's be kind to ourselves. Set targets we can reach. Build that inner confidence up to higher levels. Yes, it's true that we can feel pressured by the energy of others, but how often do we fall short because of the pressure we place upon ourselves? </span><br />
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<br />Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-17969633024883994632020-05-04T08:14:00.003-07:002020-05-04T08:14:58.139-07:00Some thoughts...<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are various points in one's life, where we perhaps think, 'I'm living through a specific point in history here...something that people in 100 years will be assessing and criticising as part of their social history degree'. I'm sure this is something people living through the two world wars and various occasions since the 1950's and 60's have pondered. The historical stuff also...walking on the Moon...key assassinations of public figures...various political highs and lows...natural disasters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I guess the current, global Covid-19 outbreak puts us in a similar 'historical' pocket. How will we be judged by future societies and university professors? How will the choices of our world leaders be assessed by commentators, blessed with the 'wisdom' of hindsight that the onset of time affords them? How will our media be judged for their roles in how people think, act and express themselves during these uncertain times? Did they portray the mere facts alone, or was there a hidden agenda to scare the living shit out of their viewing audience by offering truckloads of speculation based on nothing more than fanciful whims?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's move forward to 2120. We're still here and have just about refused to blow ourselves into individual molecules due to various racial, religious & political indifference. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Technology has improved massively, but it's still 113 years until the birth of James Tiberius Kirk in Riverside, Iowa, so there's still a way to go yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">OK, we have flying cars now, although they are banned from public use, because a minority of people still believe that rules are for sissies and they can do what the hell they like. Hence, since the infamous 'Moron Pile-Up' of 2114, when 563 dumb people were mashed into one large, nightmare, metal sculpture whilst all trying to overtake a hover bus full of nuns on a tight bend in the Rocky Mountains, flying cars are restricted to government use, utilising a trained, sensible person as the sole pilot. A sensible policy, adopted by sensible people in sensible nations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, of course, less sensible folk from every country protested! Dammit, it was their right to do what the hell they wanted and how dare officialdom take away their precious liberties?!! Whose right was it to let people take the chance of an early, painful, agonising death from them anyway??? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What kind of fascist Nazi allows this madness to occur??? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What kind of country is this and where the hell did we go wrong??? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Teenage martyrs shall berate their parents for existing in this ridiculous age of the 22nd Century and write meaningful (if delusional) poetry about being born back in the golden days of the early 21st century, when society was free, world leaders were wise beyond words and people knew everything there was to know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, it's 2120. We're somewhere in California, at the 'Robin William Memorial University For The Development Of People Who Shine Their Light Into The World' (the 'RWMUFTDOPWSTLITW' for short) and Professor Schwarzenegger is standing before 300 eager students in a social history class. He turns to his class and smiles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'In our previous lesson, we looked at the Victorians from 1839 to 1901 and discussed how they loved to portray themselves as the archetypes of dignity, morality and ethics, whilst also being the most perverted group of humans since the glory days of Nero and Caligula. Today, we're going to explore a little closer to home and discuss the world in 2020'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Several eyes shall roll toward the ceiling. Oh God, not this again...haven't we covered this already, sir? This stupid time period comes up in every damn test paper! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But Professor Schwarzenegger's facial expression shall remain adamant. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'I vant...sorry, I mean I want to explore this from a psychological perspective'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Further rumblings, but the stocky professor digs in his chic army boot heels and continues.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Why was this period of time so different to...let's say...someone born in 1963? A 'boomer' was the term used for such a person a century ago. So, what was different to someone born in...say...1999...known as a 'millennial'?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few hands raise up; more from a resigned urge to get this over and done with so that they could get back to those fruity Victorians and all the creative ways that they hid their perversions away from mainstream, respectable society.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Yo...it was technology, sir!' </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The professor shall nod.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Yessss! Technology! Exactly this! Well done, Stallone Junior! Let us imagine a scenario. It is 1974. We are in merry, olde England'. The class groans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'But sir...since the Populist Uprising of 2024, aren't they're all communists over there?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The professor shall wave his hands dismissively and continue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'In some murky pub of East London, in the United of Kingdoms, a man is seated at a table. He wears what is known as a flat cap upon his head and he speaks not unlike our beloved entertainer, and former President, Dick Van Dyke, who recently celebrated his 195th birthday. Let us call him...Bert. Bert has had many ales and is feeling merry, if not a tad mischievous, because this is highly typical of your average British cockney dude.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The class shall begin to guffaw. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Did he have bad teeth, sir? I bet he did!' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Did he look like a horse, sir?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Did he drink warm beer, sir?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Did he wear a monocle and have a butler, sir?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Did he say "ain't" a lot, sir? I bet he did!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Professor Schwarzenegger continues.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Thus, Bert raises from his cheaply fashioned pub chair and decides to air his views on life, the universe and everything. There are maybe 20 people in the pub and each can hear Bert as he begins his tirade. He shouts out into the air about the matters which concern him the most...his job security...immigration policies...the state of the National Health System...why his local football team, the 'Western Hammers', are a 'useless bunch of one-legged, dopey wannabes' and why no woman has deigned to be physically within 6 inches of his erogenous zones since that wild, 1968, Tuesday evening in the back of the Ford Cortina, with Mabel from accounts, who had consumed 15 bottles of Babycham with three double vodkas and probably would have 'done it' with Quasimodo if he'd bought her a drink at the bar'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The class closes its eyes and, for a fleeting moment, or ten, are transported back to 'The Swan and Bucket' in 1974. As one student begins to nod, the psychological act of entrainment sets in and soon all students are mechanically nodding along. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'How many people hear this man's voice?' </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hands slowly raise into the air.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'About 20, sir!' The professors nods.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'Yes. Now, imagine Bert leaves the pub and is immediately intercepted by an alien transport beam from a passing saucer'. The class nod knowingly, as one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'You mean like the one that transported President Trump from the White House lawn in 2022 back to circa 300 AD, where he ruled Rome as the Emperor Constantine, sir...and then created the 'Really Great Holy Roman Empire' in 325 A.D.???'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'Yes...exactly like that...by those pesky Alpha Centaurians! May God damn their 14 eyes and cause them to have fleas for a decade!' The class shall nod in agreement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'Except our Bert is taken forward in time to the year 2018. After a period of 'adjusting', Bert learns to master the 'internet' and finds incredulity at his potential target audience. In 1974, 20 poor souls were forced to listen to Bert's inane rantings, focusing solely upon his personal thoughts...quick test class, what word in that last sentence is the most important?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A flurry of hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> 'Personal, sir...the important word is 'personal!'' More nodding. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Yet now, Bert finds that he can communicate far and wide. In 1974, someone called Bruce, living in Wagga Wagga, in New South Wales, Australia would likely never know of the existence of our Bert. Bert could set light to his hair, hold lit fireworks in the waistband of his spandex underpants and loudly recite the contents of every page of the 'Kama Sutra' through a megaphone, yet still Bruce has no Earthly knowledge of him, nor his personal views upon politics, religion or the practical advantages and disadvantages of the 'Reverse Cowgirl' sexual position...' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The more mature and worldly-wise members of the class shall nod and allow their eyes to temporarily glaze over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> '...Yet, in 2017, Bruce is passing a quiet day in the Australian summer...on Xmas Eve to be exact...where's it's just reached 40 degrees Celsius in the shade. He has a calming herbal tea and is glancing on what was known back then as 'social media'...essentially places to meet folk from all over the globe and share ideas, sharing juvenile laughter and heated arguments, while exchanging photographs of cats doing weird things'. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hands raise in the air.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'You mean like our former, feline President Tiddles Ten Toes of Tennessee, sir?' The professor shall nod.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'So...Bruce is about to switch off his personal computing device when he spots a comment from a friend of a friend of a friend's sister's friend. In the comment, a man called Bert is ranting about his personal views and why he believes them so strongly. Let us imagine that 5,000 people have read the personal comments of Bert. 3,573 have 'liked' his words. Another 1,007 people have loved his words, because they tally exactly with their own personal viewpoints and don't contradict them in absolutely any way. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">However, around 37 people, who maintain a different, opposing perspective, have passed comment that Bert is perhaps not taking his medication as he should. When Bert challenges these personal views with his own personal views, he is met by further outraged humans, who accuse him of being 'deranged', 'delusional' and 'biased' toward political extremities</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> that definitely do not match their own viewpoints. Some blunter UK people are accusing Bert of being a vigorous masturbator, although they used different words from the language of that time period. Bruce reads all of the personal comments-made-public from Bert thirteen times over, ultimately becoming so incensed that he has to bang the table a few times with his herbal tea cup and utter gross profanities toward the cat...which is very unfair, as the cat, 'Captain Bongo' actually shares political views very close to Bruce's mindset but hasn't ever shared them because Bruce has selfishlessly yet to ask Captain Bongo for his opinions...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">More hands in the air.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'You mean unlike President Tiddles Ten Toes from 2087, sir...who sprayed and hissed his words to anyone who would listen and crapped in the shoes of anyone who disagreed with his political policies and devised the devastating fur ball missiles, used in our brief argument and conflict with France over tax duties on catnip imports, sir?' The professor shall nod.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'So...our discussion today is...who is right? Should Bert relay his personal viewpoints, knowing that they go global and may offend someone seated on the toilet in Singapore, who until that point had been having a positive, nurturing day? Or, should Bert realise that this is not 1974 any longer and refrain from spreading his views outside of his local environment? Furthermore, is it entirely down to what is being said by Bert? If he is discussing the failings of his 'Western Hammers' soccer team, then is that preferable to him talking about more sensitive subjects...politics...religion...sexual preference?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The class shall look thoughtful, amid much chewing of pens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Or...should Bert be free to say what he wishes? Regardless of who it may, or not, offend, because he exists in a democracy (of a fashion) and therefore it is his inalienable right to say what he likes, when he likes and to whom he likes?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The sound of pen chewing shall hereby increase in amplitude.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Do we focus on the speaker...or what is said? Do we look at the context of the oratory, or shout down anyone who disagrees with us and tell them to go home if they do not like hearing our wise, blessed opinion...or to question their sexuality maybe...or even their parentage? Or is the question much simpler...do we care what people think anyway? Or do we like to 'stir the pot' because it creates a sense of joy within us to see others become distressed by our actions? If so, what does that say about us and are we the problem...or maybe...just maybe...might we be the cure?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The class shall look contemplative. One young lady, whose name shall be 'Villanelle' will raise her hand. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Is there a right answer, Professor Schwarzenegger? Or are you tricking us?' The professor shall smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'We shall find out when you hand your homework papers onto my desk, in three days time. 5,000 words maximum. No doodling, or drawing penises in the margins...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A boy named Justin shall go red and pretend to be very interested in the floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> '...also, let us add Villanelle's query in as part of the essay...is there a right answer?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A hand shall raise and the professor shall nod.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'I wish we could go back to 2020 and ask people on the media socialism thing!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Social Media, Clinton...social media. And yes, wouldn't it be good to hear the views of people from 100 years ago...' A boy shall blurt something out, then quickly remember himself and raise his hand, before blurting something out again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'If only Professor Sagan's time travel experiments had not ended so...so...badly...' The class shall sigh and engage in head-shaking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'Indeed, Jones Junior...if only. But if we have learned anything from the late Professor's time experiments, it is not to tempt fate by being very overconfident and not grounding ourselves with patience and restraint...unless, as the poor professor, we wish our heads to be lodged somewhere in Ancient Greece, while our arms and legs reside in Plantagenet England, our torso is buried somewhere under Stonehenge in the Bronze Age and our sexual organs freely orbit the planet Mercury in the 26th century.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The female students shall look tearful and the male students wince. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'But yes...it is an excellent question, Clinton. One that people from 2020 would likely have many strong views upon. So...as an additional homework extra...your task is to pretend you are living in 2020. The oceans are full of plastic...there are many animals on the endangered list and people are coming toward the end of that odd, overlong period where celebrities and sports people had infinitely more attraction and appeal than those who devote their time and effort to humanity and the world around them...how would you feel about social media? How would you choose to express yourselves to a global audience and what global issues would you say were the most important? Would you care what was said and how it was said? Or would you sneer and say it anyway? What would ultimately persuade you to change your viewpoint(s)...or is it simply a question of once you believe something that is how it has to be, despite having convincing evidence to the contrary shoved in our faces? How important is it...to believe we are right?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The class shall nod.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> 'I shall be intrigued to read your thoughts and opinions. Class dismissed!'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-46098193814892297622016-02-22T09:36:00.002-08:002016-02-22T09:49:05.296-08:00Episode 2016 - A New Hope.<br />
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2015 was an interesting year. Most of it wasn't too good for me, especially health-wise, and this was exemplified in my almost non-existent work output during the latter half of the year.<br />
Goals and targets set in the flush of optimism that was the 2015 New Year sadly disappeared from view.<br />
Mostly.<br />
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While my target of adding 100,000 words to my first novel fell at the third fence and flatly refused to get up, there were some interesting developments from surprising areas.<br />
At the start of 2015, I decided to focus solely upon getting published and finishing the novel, 'Age of Bronze'. The first part I achieved with a poem in an anthology with the 'Spiritual and Writers Network'. We won't mention the second part again, but there was an unusual twist towards the end of the year.<br />
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There is something about seeing my name in print that seems to propel my confidence upward. By August, I had practically given up with writing - instead choosing to lose myself in swathes of self-defeatist gloom; wondering if I had lost my writing edge and whether if total submission was the only option open. It was fun...I tried...well, I mostly tried...well, partly. Sometimes.<br />
Anyway, I tried.<br />
In August, I received an e-mail saying that a poem called 'Sanctuary' was going to be published in a book called 'Illuminations of the Soul'. OK, it's not the 'Man Booker Prize' and I'm not earning a penny from it - so there goes the private helicopter for another year - but it's still something to be proud of. Well, it is for me.<br />
<br />
Something about seeing my poem (pages 30-31) snapped me out of a depressive fug. Just long enough to provide the ammunition for a single shot and create a positive response. <br />
The day after seeing my poem in print I was still riding the highs of confidence...sadly ones that had been missing since the beginning of the year. I was milking them and riding them for all they were worth. I also knew that this would likely wear off very soon. So...now then...how to make use of this 'high as a kite' feeling?<br />
Now, I've always had a passion for ghosts and the paranormal. Well, not so much a 'passion', more of a yearning to understand more about it all. Growing up in two badly haunted houses will do that.<br />
I sat at my desk in unusually elated fashion and thought about doing something brash. My battle plan was simple - stick to what you know and go from there. Well, I know about ghosts...I'll write about them. But a ghost book would take ages and I only have 'x' amount of positive fuel left in the tank. Something quicker. A magazine article? Great, but I've never written one before. <br />
'Who cares?' says the positive part of my brain, now floating on all the positive waves and hula dancing to its own rhythms. 'Find somewhere to write an article and wing it'.<br />
An hour later I'd sent off a message to the editor of a successful and glossy paranormal magazine.<br />
Basically, my e-mail went something along the lines of: <br />
'Hello, I'm Kev. I write things. I could write things for you. Hell yeah.'<br />
A day later, just as my bravado was wearing thin, I got my reply, which basically said something like:<br />
'Hello Kev. Could you write things for us?'<br />
Hell yeah!<br />
<br />
And so I did. A lot of research and planning later, two articles went out in different editions of 'The Spectral Times'. All forged from confidence at seeing my name in print. Without that moment I would never have believed in myself enough to ask the question to the magazine editor. Without that burst of confidence I'd have never have thought I was able to write an article at all. Now, buoyed by kind comments from the editor, I know I can do it. <br />
What's more, the confidence from seeing my name in print again (twice) has fuelled even further confidence.<br />
<br />
This has meant that 2016 has started much more positively. <br />
By the beginning of February I have had two submissions accepted - both poems. One for the 'Lakeside International Journal of Literature & Arts' and another for the 'Spiritual Writers' Network'. This again has inspired me to gain more confidence to return to my novel. Another competition is being aimed at for the end of March. After that I want to add 70,000 words to my novel. My research for this novel has just exceeded 23 pages and I have hand-written notes, maps and charts all over my walls. I'm pumped and buzzing. This is what I want to do with my working life and I know it's all down to me. My choices - whether to fill my days with darkness and regret or to fight back and seek illumination.<br />
<br />
I can blame life and the universe for not giving me this or that. <br />
I can lay a multitude of fault at the feet of stress and worry.<br />
But ultimately, I steer my own ship in this lifetime. <br />
The buck stops with me.Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-14217924897698512015-03-24T02:53:00.002-07:002015-03-24T07:56:38.791-07:00Poetic memories.<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Yesterday, a friend put a wonderful poem onto her blog, concerning the experience of loss. Her words were so awesome that they made me revisit some poems I wrote back in 2011, about the same topic.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The three poems are part of a series, linked by the common emotions of birth and loss. The titles of each poem depicts the years in which events happened and each poem has its own rhythm & pace.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>'63</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>It's the coldest March on record</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>when I painfully make my way,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>from restricted confines, out into the light;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I am the one who will stay.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Chill weather suits ice-cold lessons,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>that have caused you to panic and pray</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>for someone to cling to, with motherly pride;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>so I am the one who will stay.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Towered tiers of dark-ringed worry</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>shall be lost in moments of play.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Fear shall be faded by baby smiles;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>for I am the one who will stay.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Your eyes tell of those who have left you;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>all love-ties invisible this day.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>From somewhere unseen, warm whispered words;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>'This is the one who will stay.'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>'89</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Bright day turns darkest grey, as my soul-mate's light start dimming.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Stark, creeping fear, when told cold-clear, 'We will try to save your wife.'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Stunned confusion...blood transfusion; battered senses slowly spinning;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>corridor pacing; heartbeat racing, as battle rages for her life.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> From faint within, a heartfelt cry:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> 'Breathe deep; believe...she will not die.'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Hands held taut-tight; faith, former bright, fades fleet & fast with facts reviled.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Cold doctor's room, words forged in gloom; invasive phrases pound poor ears:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>'Ectopic pregnancy...' 'Not meant to be...' 'You will never have a child...'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Hope's light now smashed; cruelly dashed on fated rocks and drowned in tears.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> From deep within, a heartfelt song:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> 'Breathe deep; believe...you must be strong.'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'91 & '92</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mid '91; tunnel's end light, for three months long a hopeful shade of bright.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scared to ponder names, for fears upon a well-trod path are seldom still.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At home, upon a stormy night in May, our precious, nameless 'bump' is stole away.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Raging anger, cooled by hugged words tender shared, 'We tried...our very best.'</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In deep mind's eye, an image misty-lined, </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> of infant boy and girl with eyes pure kind.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Hands held, faced front to light:</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> cherubs clasped forever into wishful parents' minds.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Late '92; nurses' hard toil - worry's lined traces, bare hid on angel's faces.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Skilled surgeon's hands upon my shoulder, 'We'll do everything we can.'</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nicotine-craved pacing to fog-bound time; swiftest mind, incessant racing,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">yet nightmare scenes breed silent prayers, cast unto all faiths; 'Guide them through.'</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Grand entrance made to still, hush breath,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> blessed blanket wrapped in wishful white.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Shared smiles in trembling, thankful hands:</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> gilt-golden dawn for heartfelt light.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>©Kev Milsom, 2011</b></i></span><br />
<i style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></i>
All poems are copyrighted to Kev Milsom and can also be found published in <i>'The Sea of Ink'</i>, a creative writing anthology, published by 'Ink Pantry Publishing' and available on Amazon.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<br />Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-25111442245487612352014-12-14T04:30:00.001-08:002015-08-04T10:07:41.839-07:00'A Perfect Christmas' by Kev Milsom (written 2003, re-edited 2014) <br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">A PERFECT CHRISTMAS</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">T'was Christmas time up in Lapland,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">old Santa stood wiping his brow,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'I hope Farmer Giles will be pleased' said he,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as he finished gift-wrapping a cow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But working nearby in the corner, stood</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">a young elf named Fnarg Applepip,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">who sighed loud and then shouted in anger,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'I can't get this bottle into this ship!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In his rage he picked up the tangled wood</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and threw it hard, along with the glass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The ship's maiden voyage was a sail through the air,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">before it docked, deep in old Santa's ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The helpers all started to panic</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and poor Fnarg went as white as a mint,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">while Santa uttered some very bad words</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as his rear went a shocking, red tint.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">His helpers, they rallied and started to tug</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">but, although their pulling was frantic,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">protruding from Santa could clearly be seen,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the propeller and two funnels of 'The Titanic'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mrs Santa was called to the scene of the crime,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">where she screamed and fell down to the floor,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">screaming again as she fell on some marbles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and even louder as she rolled out the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'I'll fix Santa's wounds!' said Norman,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as he jumped down from a very high shelf,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Thank heavens for that!' the helpers all cried,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'For Norman, the National Elf'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But now they all had a big problem,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">for Santa's trip of twenty-four thousand miles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">could never take place with a ship in his bum,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">which was playing merry hell with his piles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'It's your fault, you steaming great numpty!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The helpers yelled at Fnarg, in a rage,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'We're now running forty-five minutes late,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">he should be dashing over Spain at this stage!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So Fnarg was hustled and bustled,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as they squeezed him into a red suit,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">then glued on some wool for a fluffy, white beard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and finished him off with black boots.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'You've got to get going immediately!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Said an elderly gnome named Ray,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Santa's having extractive surgery,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">so we need you to leave right away!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Just then a door opened and in walked a pixie,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Herringbone Twang was his name,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">his eyes rolling madly with panic,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">his arms full with toys and games.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Things look bad' said he, with a frown,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'The kids' presents aren't going well at all,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">all the bicycles have got square tyres,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the 'Swingball' is all swing and no ball...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Barbie's totally drunk in the kitchen,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">singing a very loud, vulgar song,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">while Action Man watches her clapping,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Shoving Monopoly cash in her thong...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ken's in the cupboard with Sindy,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">they're all over each other,' he groaned,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'The Pokemon are all playing 'Russian Roulette' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and Winnie the Pooh just got stoned...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">in the toy hospital it's total chaos,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">beds all full of sick Beanie Babies,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">they're all screaming and frothing at the mouth,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm starting to think they've got rabies...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The Playstation 4's have all gone on strike,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Bob the Builder's gone gay,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Noddy's doing a ram-raid in Toytown,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">all in all, it's a hell of a day!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now in everyone's life, there comes a time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">when we have to stand up and be brave,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">so they found Fnarg hiding in a flowerpot </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and frogmarched him to the Santa Cave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There, down in the grotto, his eyes fell upon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">a pure vision of Christmas delight,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">for the walls were all covered with magic</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and the floors shone with sweet, rainbow light.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There, in the middle, stood a sight to behold,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">a huge sleigh of gold, steel and wood,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">ready to deliver gifts to all girls and boys</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">who've been good all year round, as they should.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There the magnificent reindeer were:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Dasher, Vixen, Comet and Dancer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Blitzen, Donner, Bernard then Cupid</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and eating a cream bun, brave Prancer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At the head stood Rudolph the Red Nose - </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">so handsome and quick to the last!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Behind him was Bernard the Brown Nose - </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">just as speedy, but can't stop so fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Now listen!' Said Herringbone Twang to Fnarg,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'We don't have time for any twaddle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's late and we're really up a certain creek...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and we don't even have any paddle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, you go out there and do your best,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I know there's no presents to give out,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">but there's enough fairy dust magic for one last wish...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">this is YOUR fault, you stupid, great lout! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For, with Santa disabled, the toys have rebelled</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and all of their magic's gone bad,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">so you've got this small pile of fairy dust,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I want the best Christmas we've ever had!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Let's see billions of happy smiles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and people with no worried care...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">if you don't then I'll rip both your arms off</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and feed them to Paddington Bear!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So Fnarg was thrown in the back of the sleigh</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and Rudolph's red nose twinkled bright,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as the reindeer and sleigh swooped skywards,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">up into the starry, clear night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Young Fnarg stared hard at the fairy dust</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and wondered quite what he could do,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">just now he'd been putting ships into bottles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">but now he was deep in the poo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">With just enough magic for one big wish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">he thought hard about what he should say...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">perhaps he could aim for bringing world peace...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">or make hunger and famine go away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fnarg looked out and saw twinkling lights,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as far as his eyes could see</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and said 'Just make Christmas a perfect time,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">make it joyful, as it really should be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Take away all the stress throughout the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and all things that make Christmas unpleasant,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">put an end to pressures, worry and greed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and ban the giving of presents.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">From the sleigh there came a flash and a bang,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">then suddenly nothing but quiet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'That was perfect' said Rudolph, turning his head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'I hope so,' said Fnarg, 'had to try it.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The sleigh turned east and flew through the air</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as it returned to the chilly North Pole.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'No more presents?' yelled the elves, when he told them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Oh great, we'll all be on the dole!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On Christmas morning over six billion people </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">awoke with huge smiles on their face,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">then each closed their eyes slowly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and said a prayer for the whole human race.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Not a thought was aimed to wrapped presents,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">or the size of the turkey they had,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">instead everyone thought of their loved ones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and sent prayers to the sick and the sad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No-one homeless sat on the roadside,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">those without were invited inside,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the world rang with torrents of laughter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and everyone's heart shone with pride.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">People forgot all religious division</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and the colour of one's skin at birth,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">for the first time people truly listened</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">to their brothers and sisters on Earth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They danced and listened intently,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">while smiling for all of the day,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">meaning all hatred, fear and ignorance</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">began melting and fading away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In the evening as darkness descended,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">a pinpoint in the sky grew bright</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and all who watched the hovering star</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">knew that all was perfectly right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'How long will it last?' said Fnarg Applepip,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">to Santa, who stood by his side,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">both watching the light in the sky grow in strength,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">their eyes and their mouths open wide.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'A day...a month...who can tell?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At least they're not living in fear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In theory, it should be forever...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">if not, there's always next year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You've given them hope and shown them peace,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">in short - now they have a new start.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's their lesson to become even closer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">instead of finding ways to keep them apart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Let them feel the joy of unconditional love</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and let them find their true way.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So ended an important day for all humans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The most perfect of all Christmas days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kev Milsom © 2003</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-51190709342997228562014-12-14T04:21:00.003-08:002014-12-14T04:21:18.600-08:00New Year - New Frame of Mind.<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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2015</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2014 has been an odd year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In truth, the last few years have all been a little odd. Being slightly of the 'odd' persuasion myself, I'm well used to a bit of 'odd', here and there, but it has to be said that currently the levels of oddness are showing a definite increase on past years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A part of this is entirely down to that favourite old chestnut - 'What do I want from my life and how can I make it happen?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Never an easy one to tackle, especially if one is totally unsure about a) 'what one wants from life' & b</span><span style="font-size: large;">) 'how to make this happen'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In terms of my writing, the last few years have followed an often new and exciting (if slightly meandering) direction. In positive terms, this has meant taking university study in all forms of creative writing - something I absolutely adore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the not-so positive front, this has meant studying other subjects alongside the creative writing, in pursuit of a fabled trophy known as an 'honours degree'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">With the benefit of hindsight, I took on this quest partly for myself and partly out of respect for my mother. When she passed away in 2009, in the aftermath of dealing with her painfully-slow, physical demise, I convinced myself that this was a sign for me to do something new...something she would be proud of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I took the fact that I was fast approaching the age of 50 as another golden sign. Yes, this was definitely a turning point in my life...the omens were clear. I could get my degree and become a teacher. After all, I had spent the last 12 years home-educating our daughters. The curriculum was still fresh in my head. I could find square roots of anything, while understanding the molecular structure of objects, our position in the vastness of the universe and - more importantly - when to correctly use a semi-colon. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">With a feeling of being 'reborn', I began designing a tattoo involving a phoenix bravely rising from the ashes, to symbolise my 'newness'...until I remembered my lifelong fear of needles...but still, dammit, it was a sign! Verily, I gathered my finest sword, took my first step on the metaphorical road to success to smite the fire-breathing dragon of uncertainty at the summit of Mount Destiny. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was to be my moment and I was ready.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It started well. My first few steps - purely to see if I could handle the pressures of such an educational challenge - were firm and reliable. </span><span style="font-size: large;">My first ever university module in digital photography, during which I would often pause with, camera around neck, and gaze up to the clouds, as if to say, </span><span style="font-size: large;">'Look Mum...I'm at university!' went better than planned. Needing 40% to pass the course I weighed in with a hefty 94%.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My sword, now twice as long and six times as sharp, rested against my thigh - awaiting the next challenges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Modules in the Arts and Creative Writing followed. Each duly dispatched by my sword, who now screamed out, in wisps of fiery breath, to have its own name. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Duly, it was appointed 'Cecil - Vanquisher of all University Modules and Slayer of Academic Essays.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For two years, Cecil (VoaUMaSoAE) and I blazed a brave trail through the misty trails of uncertain university modules. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Delicately, we dodged several pools of despair, tiptoed gingerly through minefields of referencing/bibliography and battled ferociously through the forests of wtf-is-going-on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once the creative writing parts had been conquered, mapped and learned, the next stage of my quest began.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In order to pursue this 'holy grail', I would need to complete my degree with 'other stuff'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here, the path took a much steeper turn. Learning about things we like is a lot easier than poring over huge lists of potential modules and picking a pathway through. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What to study? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Should I delve into history - another passion? Not according to the feedback from former students who had vainly fought thirty-headed beasts and fallen on the muddy fields of battle - leaving 'Beware This Path' signs as their final deed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The university - at first a charming collection of helpful smiles - also began to show a different face. Modules of vast interest began to disappear from view, as if extinguished by a cold and merciless hand upon the light switch of fate. (OK...a bit melodramatic yes, but you get the point).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As study paths sank within the vague, forlorn mistiness, surrounding the Isles of Uncertainty...(OK, I'll stop it now)...my options became fewer. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I found myself pondering over such questions as 'Could I learn Welsh in a year?' It would have got me to Level 2 and from there I could...well I could find something...ANYTHING...to get to Level 3 and my glittering prize.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Purely to complete Level 1, I took a module in sociology. In truth, I knew more about the feeding patterns of the Arctic Tern, but I picked it because it was preferable to Welsh...or Ancient Greek....or a whole wave of nasty-looking foes of which I knew even less about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">From knowing bugger-all, I secured a good pass in sociology and finally sheathed Cecil in his summer hibernation until I would need him again in the autumn of 2014. Hurrah! The end was in sight...well, still at least some years away, along with thousands of pounds...but an end nonetheless!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yet now, a new fear approached and stalked me...namely, the enemy known as weariness. The original plan had been a noble and worthy one. Get a degree, take a teaching course, become a teacher. A fine and noble plan which would have indeed made my mother very proud. </span><span style="font-size: large;">However, sometimes time has a way of unpicking the worthy threads of noble intent and scattering them spitefully into the twisting tornadoes of torment. (Sorry, I promise that's the last one...scout's honour). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Since the onset of my chase for a degree, certain things had transpired. Firstly, my age was in doubt. A year into my degree I made an enquiry to a local, Gloucestershire college which offered teacher training to graduates. At the question, 'how old are you?' my honest answer of '47 and a bit' had created an ominous silence. It was then explained to me that 50 was the usual maximum age at which teachers were trained. Might I complete my degree quicker?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The honest answer to that was 'no'. It was taking all my finances just to remain doing any sort of study...to 'fast-track' was out of the question.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Problem #2 then emerged. I had heard from various sources that the teaching profession was in urgent need of teachers...not just that, it was desperate for MALE teachers. Being firmly of the male persuasion, I took this news initially as a good thing - if there was a shortage then I might find work quicker than I had imagined. In hindsight, I may have found some of the reasons why male teachers are in short supply.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I approached several local schools and offered my services as an unpaid volunteer - explaining my degree path, my past experience in home education, etc, etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Not a single sausage of information came my way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I tried again - using a volunteer website to strengthen my application.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When I tried the direct approach, the looks of horror I received were demoralising. In my head, I was imagining myself as a bold, confident student, with the noble intent of helping kids to read, write...do sums...learn about the world. All that stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In reality, what I believe the staff saw was a middle-aged man with greying hair, asking if he could 'get to know the kiddies'. It dawned on me slowly that while I was asking questions, the teachers would draw the children closer to them...just in case I might be 'one of those' men...the type you read about in the Sunday papers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Suitably disheartened, I cancelled my planned university studies in education and sought another option. Surely I could use my degree for something worthwhile?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By October of this year, my army was weakened and my trusty Cecil </span><span style="font-size: large;">(VoaUMaSoAE) </span><span style="font-size: large;">was starting to think of his retirement home, hanging above the mantlepiece against an oaken board.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It took months to pick out a module to complete my Level 2 studies. In the end I went with religion. I like religion - not from an internal, theological aspect, but certainly from a psychological, sociological angle - why do we believe? Why do we have faith? What makes us take one spiritual pathway and not another? All that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The course was fascinating...but...academically, I was done. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was also fighting the idea that the 'holy grail' of my honours degree was, in reality, worthless. Had it gone to the Antiques Road Show then it wouldn't have made it to the televised part. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Sorry mate, I'll give you 50p for it...top offer'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">To top everything off, the uselessness of writing constant academic essays, in pursuit of something which would look nice in a frame on the wall, but in truth, meant nothing, was having other negative effects. </span><span style="font-size: large;">It was stopping me from doing what I loved....namely writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Despite being published in total 6 times, since 2012, (something my mother would also have been extremely proud of) my ideas and plots for new stories had became nothing more than scribbled notes on my word processor, or scattered bits of paper littered over my desk. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time I realised that I was following the wrong dream, I already had notes for 9 complete novels, 16 short stories, at least 2 books of poetry and several non-fiction books.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The game was up. I'd tried my best and done OK - my modules have scored between 74% and 94%. I was even still in line for a 'First' had I continued with my studies. I know a part of me will regret not continuing, but I had to be honest with myself. The road was going nowhere. I needed to be true to who I was. I believe I'm a writer...it's taken me 51 years to realise that snippet of information and - in many ways - this has been what has held me back...or more importantly I've held myself back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Net lesson learned: we should go for what we want in life...what makes our hearts burst with energy, inspiration and pride...not always what is expected of us...to make us feel 'normal'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I wish I'd learned this sooner...but better now than when I'm 93 and terrorising the staff in an old folks' home with my off-key singing and deranged plans to invade the Isle of Man with an army of armoured hedgehogs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've made plans to complete my university studies - for a Higher Diploma of Education - over the next two years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">More importantly, I've given myself some time to chase a dream. not only to chase after it in vague, pitch-patch steps, but to bloody well go for it, my Cecil in hand and screaming like an enraged Viking warrior. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So...my resolution for 2015 is as follows:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(a) Write.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(b) Keep writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(c) Write every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(d) See (a)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My writing goals for 2015 are as follows:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(I) Add at least 100,000 words to my first novel, 'Age of Bronze'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(II) Completely finish 5 of the 16 short stories on my list.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(III) Finish at least one of the books of poetry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(IV) Complete at least 3 non-fiction articles on parapsychology, metaphysics or the paranormal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">New year, new objectives, new challenges.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most importantly, as I take this new path, this time it genuinely feels as if the sun is finally shining on my face.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wish me luck. :) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">KJM.</span></div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-64828782111223522292013-09-09T05:25:00.000-07:002013-09-09T05:28:19.627-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8ys6asm1PBAMFghwKEA9dAUnqCyMSTohfHYypJGqFDK0A4kFYkfHFZawSIK_KElBpNrp-kZofrYFZQAH_MxLdrJvWIKue8C0QO_Qe9gd70vXDBne06YrQHOfzYxLj_wvmpXwM2ZFnzk/s1600/Day+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8ys6asm1PBAMFghwKEA9dAUnqCyMSTohfHYypJGqFDK0A4kFYkfHFZawSIK_KElBpNrp-kZofrYFZQAH_MxLdrJvWIKue8C0QO_Qe9gd70vXDBne06YrQHOfzYxLj_wvmpXwM2ZFnzk/s400/Day+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">WORD BOHEMIA CHALLENGE - DAY #7</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Interesting photo and had to think a bit outside the box for this one. Apologies to non-Brits who may well wonder what the heck I'm going on about. :)</span></div>
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Photo copyright David Vale.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maintenance Man</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">With a contended
sigh, Edgar walked through the double doors of the Holomaticon XT2500 and allowed excited senses to take in some very familiar
surroundings; a smile crossing his lips at the welcome sound of an automated
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>‘Instructions please?’</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Having been away from the machine for three weeks due
to maintenance problems, Edgar’s response babbled from his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>‘Please repeat.’</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Edgar took a deep breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Austria, Europe, circa. 1925.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The metallic voice appeared pleased with his decision.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>‘One moment please.’</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US">For twelve and a half seconds there was only
silence but,with the onset of a soft, inviting hum,
the room before Edgar’s eyes began to swim with a range of multi-</span>coloured<span lang="EN-US">
lights, before settling gradually into recognizable focus. As expected, he was standing in his favourite city, upon a much-loved bridge
spanning the river Danube below. Small groups
of people bustled about him as his eyes once again grew accustomed to the
unique lighting of the XT2500 system. With a growing smile that lit up his face, Edgar marveled at the scenes before him, before a</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> jagged noise of static rudely pierced his thoughts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Hey Ed…how’s it looking?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Silently cursing his supervisor’s voice, Edgar managed
a composed response.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘So far so good, Bill.
The lighting seems fine, olfactory and audible systems appear back
online and I’m just about to test for A.I. functional ability.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US">Edgar approached a group of three, dressed in </span>sombre clothing yet engaged in happy banter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘A good day to
you all.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The taller of
the two men returned his smile, while the remaining man and woman appeared intent
on continuing their conversation. <span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Tossing a mental coin in his head, Edgar chose test question
#3 from the maintenance manual.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘It’s a beautiful day, sir, but I think perhaps it may cloud
over later.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man nodded his head intently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Well, you know, it’s just something we've been
working on in training and, you know, it just came off today.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Edgar paused, before repeating his test question with
a clearer and slower pronunciation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man nodded again and removed his bowler hat to scratch behind his left ear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Well, you know, Wrighty took it down the wing and,
you know, Gigsy pulled away some defenders with a darting run and, you know, I
was just in the right place at the right time, I guess.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Edgar shook his head and attempted test question #4.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘I wonder what the heights of fashion might be this
year in our fair city?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man nodded and started at the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Well, you know, a hat-trick is always nice, but as
the Gaffer always says, it’s not about one player, it’s always, like, you know,
about the team. I think, you know, that’s
always what’s important, like.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The woman, standing to his left and adorned in an
expensive head to toe dress, turned away from her conversation and took Edgar’s
elbow; her voice booming out in a pronounced Scottish accent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Ya know, Gary, I can’t see this team winning anything
this year. I’m sorry, but you simply
cannot win a Premiership with a bunch of kids.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Edgar found himself taking a cautious step backwards
from the small group, who all calmly smiled and returned to her conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To his left, Edgar noticed a line of blurry images
appearing further along the bridge.
Although not sharply defined, he could clearly see the lower parts of
several torsos; complete with white socks, blue shorts and football boots. Behind him came the sound of the English National
Anthem, mixed in with a second, rousing song about some lions being situated on
a shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nervously, he reached to his left shoulder and clicked
a button.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">‘Bill? I think
we may still have a problem…’</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
</div>
</div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-4976200968429704122013-09-08T08:08:00.002-07:002013-09-08T09:47:08.861-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mdPvDW0SsMZ3-6bRYQ0h7b7w7Y2taCpaShTEw1AgkuOcs5Gtf88Ip3Bk62AFNl5ZZQJtfZNB9lEOEdT4YT76p0Wz0W71rnra-uoLT_QH8Q-hWDlM57yYfgwvnpcoWJKC9ceZrb1fTMo/s1600/Day+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mdPvDW0SsMZ3-6bRYQ0h7b7w7Y2taCpaShTEw1AgkuOcs5Gtf88Ip3Bk62AFNl5ZZQJtfZNB9lEOEdT4YT76p0Wz0W71rnra-uoLT_QH8Q-hWDlM57yYfgwvnpcoWJKC9ceZrb1fTMo/s400/Day+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">WORD BOHEMIA CHALLENGE #6</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The angle of the photo reminded me of a child's viewpoint.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
Photograph copyright David Vale.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Hide & Seek</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I bet she’s reached to fifty now...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">or maybe even sixty now…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dear God I promise to kiss a cow<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">if she finds me hiding here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I saw the way she smiled at me<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">as she turned her face towards the tree;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I bet she was peeping secretly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh please come find me here!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Please don’t find Anthony Green,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He’s loud and bad and rude and mean,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">plus his snot-filled nose is never clean.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hurry up and find me here!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anthony’s shouts and happy cheers<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">alert my heart to darkest fears,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">it’s fine…just fine…there’ll be no tears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But why couldn't she find me here?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now we’ll never dance on meadow grass,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">or hold hands tight during English class,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">or laugh till we cry when I pass gas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If only she’d found me here.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-77862685069759178802013-09-08T06:59:00.006-07:002013-09-08T09:47:34.847-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICDzhe5M9_eXR-gNQYgx7Di4Fpd03StblZerAt-KbMNQQDkeDIi-7bhsAogs8Usgl4VfopWGw-LY7ILqWmmiuu6u77-oKqPMosAfWyn69znxtuw7O-pD741s9ePhag0dMpfaOCZ3cKn8/s1600/Day+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICDzhe5M9_eXR-gNQYgx7Di4Fpd03StblZerAt-KbMNQQDkeDIi-7bhsAogs8Usgl4VfopWGw-LY7ILqWmmiuu6u77-oKqPMosAfWyn69znxtuw7O-pD741s9ePhag0dMpfaOCZ3cKn8/s400/Day+5.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<h2>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">WORD BOHEMIA CHALLENGE - DAY 5</span></b></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I liked this picture as it supplied many images and ideas. Being one who is actively involved in paranormal research, my first thought was of a 'ghost-hunting' party in some abandoned asylum, but as the paranormal idea had already been covered, I decided to pick something else.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
Photograph copyright David Vale.</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Hallway</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The dream has continued for the
last three weeks. Without fail, the details
always remain the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s June, 1980. The hallway of our former college – long since
demolished – appears before my eyes.
Ahead of me I can see you, walking along with Tom on one side and
Francois upon the other. From where I
stand I can hear your laughter echoing from the walls. I know precisely that the source of your
laughter lies within an episode of M*A*S*H* shown the previous evening. I also know that you have each walked from
the Science Department on the second floor and are making your way towards the
Main Hall and a welcome lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I know this because, upon that
day in June some thirty years previous, I was in the middle of our group; situated between Tom
and yourself. I remember that the person
relating the tale of the female outfit which Corporal Klinger was wearing,
was myself. I recall fiercely how my
hand swung with yours, like a happy pendulum, as we walked the hall, wrapped in a cloud of huge relief at the end of a tortuous double
chemistry lesson; four friends locked together within one supremely, joyous
moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In my dreams I always hear you responding to
my words, yet the only noises which register to my ears are the sound of your
voices and the clunk of your footsteps upon antiquated stone floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Every time, I promise that I try to run. For a split-second I move forward, only to watch in
frustration as you all move farther away from me. Last week I am sure that there were no more
than five window arches between us.
Today, I know I counted seven. It’s
reaching the point where...where a 'voice' inside me is urging me to stop....to save my
energy...to accept that I will never close the gap and once more place my hand
within the loving warmth of yours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ll keep trying. I promise that I will use everything that I possess to
keep you in sight; my blessed Angela.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The doctor placed the clipboard
upon his desk and wore an expression that poured chilled fear deep into her
heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">‘We’re doing everything that we
can, Mrs Wilkinson. I have to tell you
that Simon’s condition has deteriorated overnight. It's down to your husband now. If he can keep fighting then he has a
chance...but...’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Dr Miller’s face bore a sea of frowns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">’...well, I wouldn't be doing my job professionally if I didn't ask you to be
prepared for the worst. I’m so sorry.’ </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-41704205216720209772013-09-04T03:09:00.002-07:002013-09-08T09:47:49.881-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9RxVnl302_j7t9b1hKqxYsREYpYzPALhKHhW-fjI3WmGnKirUZ9tgssNNNnRpe1Aw69GCpsSEbN7OCrIZ7_93v-v_3fp0-jHIJ4AyOlUVu0UwerZLbo0LlRQ-l7Z0hfpugk9awoUhDk/s1600/Day+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9RxVnl302_j7t9b1hKqxYsREYpYzPALhKHhW-fjI3WmGnKirUZ9tgssNNNnRpe1Aw69GCpsSEbN7OCrIZ7_93v-v_3fp0-jHIJ4AyOlUVu0UwerZLbo0LlRQ-l7Z0hfpugk9awoUhDk/s400/Day+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">WORD BOHEMIA CHALLENGE - DAY #4</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Another tough challenge as nothing immediately leaped out at me, but with the aid of strong tea and plenty of salt & vinegar crisps, some inspiration finally began to kick in. It's rough as sandpaper and untitled, but just enough for me to get some firm foundations for the beginning of an idea. :)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'PT Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Photo © Cassie Tillett</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'PT Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Last week you saw me by our caravan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Lost within, your waterfall eyes caught briefest sight;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">a simple pigeon’s gaze, locked still with yours,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">for fleeting moments bathed in dawn’s gold light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Just enough for you to register;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">just enough for you to notice me there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Friday found us in the park together –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">You - sat upon our bench with mournful frown,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Me – stock still beside the litter bins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Hoping you would glance sweet, blue eyes down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Enough for you to register;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">enough for you to notice me there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Next day I wait by our library,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">as you trudged the mile there with books unread;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">rage towards a God who causes heartache,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">tempered slightly as you found my gaze instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Enough for you to register;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">enough for you to notice me there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Today, I've chose to stand right here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">A few more seconds till you leave our house;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">mind locked upon our fondest farewell,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">whispered promises to my soul-shared spouse;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">enough that you might register,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">enough for you to know I am there.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
</div>
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Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-70938133751492652062013-09-03T04:30:00.002-07:002013-09-08T09:48:10.738-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hehl-6xbe0MnG2WBplu9qMOdr5EuQgjyfA7HqzMq2US6FFMvnoreJmCGmKzaRJ0XQgH6_RkA5bL6DZcNt6y6OKHfmqBNwOi-wWB27OaQXaIHl5vMfcRxi7XaWOQEefZZmLgB1HwA2ZA/s1600/Bohemian+Writing+Challenge+3+-+Napoli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hehl-6xbe0MnG2WBplu9qMOdr5EuQgjyfA7HqzMq2US6FFMvnoreJmCGmKzaRJ0XQgH6_RkA5bL6DZcNt6y6OKHfmqBNwOi-wWB27OaQXaIHl5vMfcRxi7XaWOQEefZZmLgB1HwA2ZA/s400/Bohemian+Writing+Challenge+3+-+Napoli.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">BOHEMIA WORD CHALLENGE DAY #3</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I found this one a little trickier, as the image didn't trigger as many instant pictures as the ones previous.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">After dallying with a few ideas, I focused on the fact that it reminded me of the many 'house' TV programmes that my daughter likes to watch.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">(Photograph of Naples, copyright David Vale)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Smile for the Camera</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I feel another dig into my ribs and remember to smile
for the camera. The blonde lady whose
name I keep forgetting - but I think might be Anna…or possible Annette - is
once more revealing her astonishing set of teeth. I hear myself gently humming the theme to ‘Jaws’
and feel another accurate dig from my wife’s elbow. Anna/Annette’s accent is starting to grate
now but I am good and keep smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘Now then…I
know you said originally that you were looking for a house by the sea, with a
sense of peaceful tranquility and room to breathe…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I think it’s a Liverpool accent…or possibly Cheshire
of some kind…maybe even Yorkshire or Scottish borders. She’s reminding me of a girl at college…Debbie
I think…or possibly Dana…anyway she sounded like her, but I can’t for the life
of me remember where Debbie/Dana was from.
Another dig alerts me to the fact that I've zoned out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘…and naturally this helps to give a certain ambience,
but I think you’ll be pleased with what I found you today’ concludes
Anna/Annette.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> She’s smiling again.
I swear she has ten more teeth than she needs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘Well, we’re certainly open to new ideas’. I recognize my wife’s diplomatic, ‘polite’
voice and suddenly take stock of our surroundings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The Neapolitan road is narrow. Back in England it would barely pass for a
cycle lane, yet it doesn't stop a wide range of vehicles trying to drive along
it or park on it. The noise of blaring horns and animated Italian becomes
deafening. Anna/Annette points high above our heads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘Now I know you said that you preferred a ground floor
flat, because of your mobility problems, but I really think you’ll love the
ambience of the building and the…inner beauty and…and ambience of the rooms
inside.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Clearly Anna/Annette has found her word for the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There are five sets of stairs. By the
time we reach the top level, I can sense all traces of patience deserting me. Anna/Annette becomes animated as the camera
once again comes to life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘It’s old…we
think possibly back to even the 15<sup>th</sup> century’, she coos.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"> ‘Yes, but does it have ambiance?’ After twenty eight years I distinctly </span>recognise my wife’s patience instantly disappearing. Having not been married to my wife, Susan,
since 1985, and totally failing to heed the approaching warning clouds, Anna/Annette
simply smiles wider.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘Now I know it’s not really a Tuscan
farmhouse, which was also on your list, but I think you’ll change your mind
when you see the inside’. Ten points for
not saying ‘ambience’, but glancing at my wife’s face I’m starting to worry for
the future of the young lady with the teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The inside is
beyond bleak. Had the living room been
an animal it would have been put out of its misery long ago. Walls that had not seen a dab of paint since
the time of Da Vinci framed a gloomy interior - complete with flea-bitten
carpet, grimy windows and furniture which had supplied ample nutrition for many
generations of woodworm. Here comes the
smile again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘I don’t know about you but I think the
shabby chic really blends well with the antique ambience to create a...’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> What it created
I shall never know, for it was at that moment that my wife’s patience finally
broke. For almost twenty minutes even
irritated motorists far below us and their accompanying horns, were quietened
by Susan’s tirade, concerning the subjects of what/who Anna/Annette had done to
get this television job and the precise biological region in which she could
shove her ambience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Finally, an awkward silence broke;
helpfully relieved by my good self.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> ‘Newcastle!
That’s where Debbie was from!’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Thankfully, Susan’s stare does not kill me
and the room once more resounds to the ambience</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> of awkward silence.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
</div>
</div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-3787106787706336072013-09-03T02:41:00.005-07:002013-09-08T09:48:39.329-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXC26YXTEOnFRS9eZpc2vLiC05qL6eR8TEA_xPH1WMY6vl6ppr0DYQDgZB3UmuQNXlGG68_lt5bmpVL3FKBSO_rdUv8z_JXVABscTs_3lB1Ou_uXhuj0r1E6mcgoec5G4h9eKdqJ1ES8E/s1600/Bohemian+Writing+Challenge+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXC26YXTEOnFRS9eZpc2vLiC05qL6eR8TEA_xPH1WMY6vl6ppr0DYQDgZB3UmuQNXlGG68_lt5bmpVL3FKBSO_rdUv8z_JXVABscTs_3lB1Ou_uXhuj0r1E6mcgoec5G4h9eKdqJ1ES8E/s400/Bohemian+Writing+Challenge+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">WORD BOHEMIA CHALLENGE - </span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">DAY #2</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Originally I wrote this as a lighthearted piece, but decided to sleep on it before finishing up. This deeper, darker story came from assorted dreams last night, so I'll save the lighthearted tale for another daily challenge. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 16px;">Photo: © Cassie Tillet</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Juno</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There was a time when, bound for the coast, their numbers
were large enough to fill several trains with the noise of youth. From steaming railway, they had filed
obediently onto waiting boats. Only at
the gentle rising of the waves had their chatter abated. Men, whose only concern should have been what
to wear for the next exuberant dance, now shared the exact same fashion and growing
fears. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"> The sight of
a broadening French coastline alerted both young eyes and heart. After months of training, planning and
speculation, here it was; this big, important day about to happen. At a single order, the battalion of eight
hundred and twenty three men re-checked all equipment, gripped their rifles
tightly to their chests and prayed that they would know tomorrow. </span>From silent prayers, the beach exploded into noise with
their first footsteps. Invaluable,
disciplined training offered their only hope.
Pick your spot…stay low…don’t run straight, but DO run fast…may God be
smiling down upon you.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> June, 1994. The
last four living souls of 184 Company sit in silence, once more upon French soil,
relieving memories half a century old that can never fade with time. As clear
as always, faces of former friends appear upon weary, ageing minds. The best method has been learned through time;
remember them smiling…remember them at their last dance…two rums too many…far
too loud…trying to chat up the new barmaid…the smell of their tobacco…the
particular tones of individual laughter.
But never focus on Juno Beach.
Those thoughts are always for the unconscious night; never for the
glaring light of day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> English and
French media have been milling around the area for days. Brass instruments are receiving a final spit
of polish. A mayor’s speech is being memorized. Interviewers apply final layers of makeup,
ready to address a waiting television audience.
The noise around the media crews nears fever pitch. Directors shout into
microphones as important camera angles are discussed. Deadlines are planned to the nearest millisecond.
There was little doubt; it was to be a
big, important day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For the last four survivors of 184 Company, the bench
offers a respectful refuge from the growing noise. The time to answer banal questions and smile
politely for cameras will undoubtedly come.
For now, there need be only silence. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
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Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-67190491098205538692013-09-02T07:21:00.001-07:002013-09-08T09:48:52.534-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcs5y58q62OM88BfBEIwO40HpSno4gQVWA41VDzYGjuI9IwGvdOdLAAe8QfukZBy0QWnWzHZdjaHzqcuW5CsB6hS4vdN3cakq-MFnBEkn8TgB1CWf2pVBeV9CnayuC9P__se_tRFLdBnA/s1600/Funfair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcs5y58q62OM88BfBEIwO40HpSno4gQVWA41VDzYGjuI9IwGvdOdLAAe8QfukZBy0QWnWzHZdjaHzqcuW5CsB6hS4vdN3cakq-MFnBEkn8TgB1CWf2pVBeV9CnayuC9P__se_tRFLdBnA/s400/Funfair.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">WORD BOHEMIA - SEPTEMBER 2013</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I just found out about the Bohemia challenge for September, 2013 - basically a photographic prompt is given each day and the challenge is to create a piece of flash fiction (around 100 words) or a poem to accompany the image.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I really need this at the moment as </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">my creative motivation could use all the help it can get. So hopefully I'll end this month with 30 pieces of new writing, from which I can maybe smooth a few out towards greater and grander things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Photograph - </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">c. David Vale</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ferris Wheel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">‘Oh don’t worry, it’ll be great,’ says Dad,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">‘it goes up over two hundred feet,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hear that right at the top it’s not so bad<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">and you can see the Co-Op on the corner of our
street,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">and won’t it be just wonderful to be way up high,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">surprising all the birds swooping round us in the sky?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I’m more worried about showering poor spectators<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">with portions of my breakfast bacon, sausage and
potatoes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">‘For God’s sake George!’ screams out my Mother,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">‘Bobby really doesn't want to go up there,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I feel a pinch from my smirking brother;</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dan’s been up four times and doesn't care.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dad just does his act of pretending to be deaf<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">and when we’re locked in tight he smiles instead...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">a poor, short-lived smile, soon to die a terrible
death,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">when my former full-sized breakfast lands squarely
on Dan’s head.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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© Kev Milsom (2013)</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-72508173135498320432012-08-18T03:12:00.003-07:002012-08-18T03:13:32.611-07:00Creamy Curried Kev<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here follows a creamy and milder recipe for chicken curry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As before, the same rules apply...relax, only add ingredients that YOU like and enjoy the process. Like with the medium-spiced curry, we'll do a marinade. This is certainly not compulsory, but I find that it adds to both the taste and texture of the chicken. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let curry making commence...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>KEV'S CREAMY CURRY WITH PILAU RICE</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Ingredients for marinade:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tomato Purée </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Water</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Range of Spices: </b><i> Personally, I like the balance between creamy and spicy, so for me, I would still include chilli powder, paprika and turmeric but the rest of the spice list can include more aromatic and interesting choices, such as ground cinnamon, mixed spice, nutmeg and ground cumin. Experimentation is always the key.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Curry Powder </b>- I always buy mild/medium curry powder - anything stronger will usually overpower any other ingredients within the wok.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Kaffir Lime Leaves - </b>an alternative to Bay Leaves; available in good supermarkets.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Seasoning.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Other Ingredients:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Chicken</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Fresh Garlic</b> - or jars of 'Lazy' alternatives, available in all supermarkets.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Fresh Ginger</b> - as above.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Chopped Onions/Shallots</b> - optional. Chopped or sliced to personal taste.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sugar</b> - optional. Just a light sprinkling, or a pinch, is sufficient.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Chopped Tomatoes</b> - optional here. I like the taste of tomatoes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Groundnut Oil</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Salt & Pepper</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Pilau Rice </b>- Loose.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Coriander Leaves</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Corn Flour</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Cream/Natural Yoghurt</b> - small to medium sized pot. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Coconut Milk/Creamed Coconut</b> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Optional Extras:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sweet Peppers</b> - optional for added taste/texture. Yellow or orange peppers. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Pineapple</b> - Completely optional. Fresh pineapple is best, cut into small cubes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Cherry Tomatoes</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>LET CURRY-MAKING COMMENCE...</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>1 - Making The Marinade.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>a) Chop chicken into small cubes. Place in casserole dish and put to one side.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>b) Making the curry sauce...first, take a jug or small bowl.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>c) Add a few squirts of tomato purée.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>d) Add a little water and stir.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>e) Add chosen spices - about half a teaspoon per person is a good rule.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>f) Add more water and stir well.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>g) Place Kaffir Lime Leaves in the casserole dish with the chicken.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>h) Pour your spiced sauce over the chicken, making sure nothing is left at the bottom of the jug/bowl.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>i) Add seasoning.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>j) Add lid to casserole dish and place in fridge for anything up to 24 hours. A few hours minimum.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>2 - Making Stuff In The Wok.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>As before, it might be a good idea to look at the rice situation before we start cooking anything. Measure out 100g of rice for every person and place in saucepan. Cover the rice with water and leave for at least 30 mins. OK...back to the wok...</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>a) We're going to stir-fry our garlic and ginger in the groundnut oil. First, heat the wok on a low-heat setting. Secondly, cover the base of the wok with the oil. Add the garlic and ginger to the oil and watch for spitting. Have some of the curry sauce from the casserole dish on standby...a couple of spoons of this will tame the spitting.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>b) After about a minute, add the optional onions/shallots. Keep the heat low and manageable. If anything starts going black/cremated then quickly remove the wok from the heat and remove the offending burnt item.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>c) Once the onions are sizzling nicely (a few minutes), add the chicken from the casserole dish, plus some sauce. Stir occasionally, until chicken is well cooked through. Remove the Kaffir Lime Leaves from the casserole dish and discard.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>d) Add the optional chopped tomatoes and stir well.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>e) Add a couple of teaspoons of corn flour to the mixture and raise the heat for a few minutes, making sure everything is nicely cooked.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>f) Lower heat to a simmer and add a lid to the wok if you have one. Simmering time is at least half an hour. Stir every few minutes.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>g) Rice Time! Sieve the rice from the starchy water. Add boiling water to the rice and place on a hob. Add seasoning.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>h) Time to add the 'optional extras'...I can't emphasize the importance of taste testing here. The balances between creamy, over-creamy and under-creamy consistencies are narrow. The golden rule is to add small amounts at a time. Have curry powder or garam masala on standby also...if you 'over-sweeten' the wok then you'll need something to bring the taste balance back. Go slowly. No rush.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>i) Add the creamed coconut or coconut milk - if it's the creamed coconut bars then about an inch should do it...with milk, the very small jars should suffice. Stir well.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>j) How much cream or natural yoghurt you use is down to personal taste. As a good rule of thumb, I'd say about 3-6 tablespoons of either (depending on the number of people eating). Add cream SLOWLY and stir it well into the curry before adding more. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>k) Time for optional peppers, optional cherry tomatoes and/or optional pineapple bits. Be careful not to overload the wok. Taste-test regularly. I like a fine balance between creamy and spicy, (creamy texture but with a slight growl at the back of the throat) so I'll usually aim for that. You do it how you like. Experimentation is our friend.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>l) Add coriander leaves to the curry just before serving. When the rice is cooked then it's serving up time. Raise the heat on the wok for a couple of minutes before serving. Season well and add any optional sugar. </b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Enjoy!</i></span></b></div>
Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-88421627688751699582012-08-15T07:50:00.001-07:002012-08-18T02:01:25.876-07:00Curried Kev<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">One of my earliest memories involves curry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bond Street, Bristol...I must be about eight or nine. Indian cuisine was something entirely new and different. So radical in fact, that it caused my parents to organise the one and only occasion that our family ever went to a restaurant. I know that my parents weren't keen on the food (probably like most Bristolians in the early 1970's, they didn't have a single clue about any of the items listed on the Indian menu). I recall the thrill of the 'giant crisps' (poppadoms) that came out in a large bowl. Mother hated the spicy food. Father's reaction is absent from my memory, but the restaurant certainly never saw us again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some people profess to find meaning in tea leaves, or wax lyrical on the day they discovered religion while ironing their socks. In a similar way, a friend and I 'discovered' curry in the early 1990's. For a while, curry was all-consuming and dominated the food chain. Serious books were purchased. International Curry Clubs were joined. Lengthy discussions broke out in pubs, concerning the best type of ghee (clarified butter) to use, or whether it was proper to stick to the 'pure' cinnamon sticks, or risk cheaper supermarket ground cinnamon in one's signature dish. Cream or natural yoghurt? Red onions, white onions or shallots? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was my first true love for food and the delicate balances of the kitchen intrigued me. Eventually, I would move away from Indian cuisine and branch out into other styles - especially Italian (recipe for Kev's Cannelloni to come). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The onset of diabetes has compelled me to mainly eat foods of my own creation or only use strict recipes. If I don't know what's in food then it doesn't tend to pass my lips...my body will soon let me know if I stray too far from the path and it won't be a pleasant experience. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so, curry makes a grand return to the dining table. Fresh ingredients, healthy options, no artificial crap...great for a diabetic and pretty good for the human race in general.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Below is a recipe for a medium-spiced chicken dish. A recipe for a milder and more creamy type of curry will follow very shortly. It's possible to do a whole range of different types and - if I ever get around to locating my library of old curry books (never, EVER lend out a good recipe book) then I'm sure I can add some unusual/one off recipes to this Blog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First, some ground rules. I know I sound like I used to worship at the altar of the Curry Gods, but...ok, hands up, I freely admit to it...but I also realize that the best food is cooked while relaxed and happy. In the past I've shamefully thrown entire woks of food into bins, because 'the chilli was the wrong texture' or 'the rice isn't ricey enough'...dammit Jim, I'm a writer, not a three star chef!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, rule #1...enjoy the process. I find experimentation is both very important and HUGE fun. With curry, there are few rules, especially when it comes to taste. I like a certain amount of chilli...you may not. So...rule #2...flexibility. If you like the taste of ground coriander then add it...if a recipe book doesn't mention that you should, then assume that it's having an off day - probably still sulking about the time you over-salted the Chicken Korma back in 1997 and never quite managed to say sorry. Leave it to its prolonged sulk and add some coriander. When it comes to taste...erm...well, it's down to personal taste. I'll lay out some basic ingredients, some tips and then it's down to you. Good luck!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh...I'll also go through making a basic curry sauce. The supermarket jars of curry sauces are no good for me as they contain huge amounts of sugar. Likewise, I cannot eat in an curry restaurant...the sugar levels would put me into a diabetic coma. I don't even want to think about artificial food colourings...the slightest whiff of an E-Number and I'm liable to start 'speaking in tongues'. A simple 'Pot Noodle' could easily make me believe I am 'King of the Potato People'. As I said, I don't usually do additives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am also aware that some people are better cooks than others. I don't know how many people will read this, nor have I raided each of your dustbins, read your personal diaries, interviewed your nearest and dearest...all leading to an in-depth, scientific survey on your individual cooking skills and experiences. I will therefore assume that everyone knows what a wok is, how to use a saucepan and from which end you fill up a jug...thereby aiming the tone of this recipe at people who might say, 'Yes, I DO know one end of a kitchen from the other, but perhaps I might NOT YET be able to make a curry sauce, however I CAN strip a chilli without blinding myself, the dog or next door's goldfish and I haven't lost a single finger yet!' </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I do say anything that makes you go 'Oh FFS, of COURSE that's how you do it, you four-eyed baboon!' then I sincerely apologise...but I have to aim it somewhere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In life - and in the kitchen - I find that 'simple' works. Hence, we'll use 'simple' as our base foundation and go from there. If that's still unacceptable then naturally you are perfectly free to buy a recipe book out of your pocket and make your own fecking curry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Enjoy! :)</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">MEDIUM CHICKEN CURRY WITH BASMATI RICE </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ingredients for curry sauce: </span></b></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tomato purée</span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Water</span></b></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Range of spices</b>: Choose from - ground cumin, turmeric, paprika, ground coriander, mild/medium chilli, ground fenugreek, garam masala...experiment with different spices for different tastes. (Good quality spices are key - Schwartz are expensive but high quality. Bart spices are good, but cheaper. Avoid cheap quality spices like the plague...just not worth the effort. You can start with say 3-5 spices and gradually build in more as time goes on. A good basic 5-spice curry sauce would be cumin, paprika, turmeric, coriander and chilli) </span></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Curry Powder</span></b></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Bay Leaves</b> (2 or 3)</span></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ground Peppercorns</span></b></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Other Ingredients:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Chicken -</b> For simplicity and convenience,<b> </b>I tend to use good quality chicken breasts, although chicken legs can provide a tasty alternative. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Fresh Garlic</b> - alternatively, you can find excellent quality 'Lazy Garlic' jars in all supermarkets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Fresh Ginger</b> - as above...'Lazy Ginger' is easily found. Use sparingly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Fresh Chillies</b> - an easier option is to buy 'Lazy Chillies' in white wine vinegar - available in jars from supermarkets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Chopped Onions - </b>optional to taste - good quality white onions, red onions or shallots. All are good. I'm currently experimenting with caramelised red onions. If you don't like onions, leave the little buggers out. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chopped Tomatoes</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Groundnut Oil</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Salt & Pepper</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Basmati Rice - </b>loose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Coriander Leaves - </b>fresh is best.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Optional Extras:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Peppers - </b>One of my personal favourites and well worth experimenting with different types & colours, Be careful of overusing peppers as their taste can completely overpower a wok. In a medium-spiced curry, red and green peppers are well suited for a warm or bitter texture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Cream/Natural Yoghurt - </b>I tend to use these like a 'fire blanket'. If I overheat a medium dish then these offer relief from too much fire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Naan Breads, Poppadoms, Chapatis</b>...goes without saying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>LET CURRY-MAKING COMMENCE</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1 - Making The Marinade.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">a) Chop chicken into small cubes. Place in casserole dish and put to one side.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">b) Make the curry sauce. Making up a basic curry sauce is a lot easier than it sounds. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">c) Take a jug or small bowl. Pour in a good few squirts of tomato purée. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">d) Add a little water and stir.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">e) Add your chosen spices - a good rule of thumb is about half a teaspoon per person. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">f) Add more water and stir well.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">g) Place your bay leaves in the casserole dish with the cubed chicken.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">h) Pour your sauce over the chicken, making sure that no spices are left at the bottom of the bowl or jug.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">i) Add seasoning - sea salt and crushed peppercorns are wonderful.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">j) Add lid to casserole dish and place in fridge for anything up to 24 hours. At least a few hours.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>2 - Making Stuff In The Wok.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Before we touch the wok, this might be a good time to mention rice. I tend to use loose Basmati rice, although any good quality, long-grain rice is fine. Microwave cook-in-the-bag rice is a creation of Satan and all his disciples. It tends to clump into lumps...which is never a good experience. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Measure out 100g of rice per person and place into a saucepan. Cover the rice with water and leave alone for 30 mins. This should dislodge the bulk of the starch in the rice. OK...the wok.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">a) We're going to start with a garlic, ginger and chilli base. First step is to place your wok over a low heat. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">b) Take some groundnut oil and cover the base of the wok. The oil should be lightly steaming.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">c) If you're using fresh garlic, chilli and ginger, you will have crushed the garlic, stripped and cut some ginger and prepared the chilli. (most take the seeds out...I know some who adore the heat and keep chilli seeds in. It's your curry; your call) If you're using the 'Lazy' varieties of these (from a jar) then simply take a teaspoon of garlic and chilli and one half teaspoon of ginger. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">d) Carefully, add each to the heated oil and stir well. It's going to spit at you, so be careful...I tend to keep a table spoon or two of the curry sauce from the casserole dish and add it to the wok. This will keep the spitting to a minimum, but won't interfere with the delightful aroma of garlic, ginger and chilli, all cooking together. Stir well.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">e) After about a minute, add your chopped onions. How much depends on you...I usually use about half of a chopped large onion. If using white onions then you're heading for a 'golden' tone. There are more complex ways of using onions, but this is a very basic recipe and so simple works every time. Raise the heat to a medium setting and stir the onions well. This should take 3-5 minutes, depending on how good your hob is. If the onions start burning, lower the heat and add a little more curry sauce. When golden, they be done.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">f) Add your chicken from the casserole dish. Remember to remove the bay leaves first! They're great for adding flavour - not so good for digesting. Add as much sauce as you wish from the casserole dish. Again...personal taste. Some like a lot of sauce, others not so. I like to use a ladle and add as I go. It also depends on how many I'm serving...for one person, about 2-3 ladles of sauce should be plenty. You can always add more later.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">g) Your chicken should now start cooking. Let it simmer nicely...no rush. The longer and slower it cooks, the more tender it's going to taste. Marinating will also help with the tenderising process. You're looking at a medium heat for about 5-10 mins.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">h) When the chicken is cooked, add the chopped tomato. I usually use about one tin (400g) for every meal...sometimes less. It's always a good idea to keep some back for the end, in case you need to adjust the taste slightly.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">i) Add a couple of teaspoons of corn flour to the wok.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">j) If you can, place a lid to the wok and reduce heat. Leave the wok simmering for half an hour. Stir well every 5 mins.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">k) Rice time! Sieve the rice from the starchy water. Add boiling water to the rice and place on a hob. Basically, your curry is on simmer mode. When the rice is done, that's curry over. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">l) Check the wok for taste. Add more liquid if required. This is also the time for 'optional extras', such as peppers or a touch of cream/natural yoghurt, if required. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">m) 5 mins before serving, turn the heat up on the wok to make sure everything is nicely cooked through. The sauce should be bubbling. Check for taste, especially seasoning. Add the coriander leaves to the curry, taste-test and stir well before serving. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As with all things, there is often a terrible snobbery about the most trivial of things. I've been lectured in the past for serving the rice separate from the curry. Others have admonished me because I have sometimes served them together. I have lost count of the times I have been told that for true authenticity, 'it's best done THIS way'...or 'THAT way'...or ' the ancient mountain men of 'Umbur Pumbur' ALWAYS serve their rice on separate blue plates, on a Wednesday, while leaning at a 47.5 degree angle to the horizon...blah blah blah!' </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you want to be 'authentic' then that's deeply wonderful and I'm happy for you. As far as I am concerned, the ancient mountain men of Umber Pumur might also sleep upside down and do their business in buckets. I like my rice on the SAME plate as my curry and, in my house, that's how it shall be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If mountain men don't like it then they can kiss my arse. ;)</span></div>
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Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-30146044463301775382012-08-06T03:15:00.001-07:002012-08-06T03:32:37.708-07:00The Concert.<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">The culmination of a recent university course (Open University A215 - Level 2, Creative Writing) involved a final exam (known as an EMA). Its purpose is to test students on the three aspects of study over the last year - fiction, poetry and life writing (biographical or autobiographical writing) - or a combination of two of these.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">For my EMA, I chose life writing. Going back to my 18 year old self was an interesting journey...and at times quite a difficult one also. I think it's also important to realise that (hopefully) we are not the person we were at 18. In many ways that person is unrecognisable to me today. Yet, the spirit of who I was back then still remains. I just know more stuff in 2012 than I did in 1981 and possess more confidence to be able to do things with it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">However - probably along with 6 billion or so other people - I sincerely wish I had the ability to go back to my younger self and spend a good hour or twenty. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">Mostly, I'd tell myself that everything would be OK. Just hang in there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">KJM</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><i>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">‘</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">What we have here is a failure to communicate.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> Paul Newman, </span><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">‘</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Cool Hand Luke</span></i><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">.</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue;">PREFACE.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Communication is arguably the most precious of creative expressions; providing basic connection and bonding with our fellow humans. Alternatively, when the priceless gift of speech is lost behind impenetrable, personal barriers, it follows that an individual’s confidence will suffer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Around the age of thirteen, I become such an individual. Understandable, emotional dents form as my chronic stammer deepens. Less understandably, dents also occur materialize at school, when a couple of </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">cruel </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">teachers decide that I constitute an excellent source of class morale. Another of many memorable dents occurs with a local bus-driver, listening as a schoolboy politely attempts to state the designated fare of </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Fifteen please</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">. When a twenty second burst of echoing </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">f-f-f-f-f-ffffff</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s emerge, he reduces his passengers to raucous, rib-aching merriment with the arrival of a perfectly-timed punch line;</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">I think you</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">ve got a puncture there, lad</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">.’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> At such testing moments, the possession of analytical reasoning and sheer bloody-mindedness become my most valuable allies. Through experimentation, I discover that stammering is greatly decreased while (a) singing, or (b) inebriated. Both options are quickly discarded, but soon fate provides me with an option (c). </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> During a break in lessons, a fellow pupil executes an appalling impression of the cartoon character, </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Top Cat</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">. Malicious faces in the playground excitedly turn towards me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Go on, Milsom…d-d-d-d-d-o…Ta-Ta-Top…C-c-c-c-cat!</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> I sigh inwardly, but realize that any refusal means getting thumped. It takes three lines of gibberish in Top Cat</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s voice before realizing that I haven</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">t missed a single beat. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Hey, that</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s not bad…do another.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I square my shoulders and launch into John Wayne.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Okay pil-grims, we</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">re gonna get these wagons in a circle and keep the teachers at bay, see?</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> For the first time, an intoxicatingly, delicious sound of people laughing with me, not at me, hits my ears. I want more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> The threat of total strangers engaging me in conversation no longer equates to blind panic. Of all the accents I explore, the broad London dialect is the easiest to reproduce. By placing a cassette tape recorder by the television whenever </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">The Sweeney</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> is transmitted, it isn</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">t long before I</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">ve nailed John Thaw</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s character, </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Inspector Jack Regan</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">. Meanwhile, every day is spent before a mirror, practicing my speech and dreaming of a day when society can regard me as </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">normal</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Immediately prior to the beginning of the following story, my eighteen year old self has been asked for the correct time. Somewhere in a small dressing room within my mind, a bell sounds. Enter, stage left, </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Inspector Jack Regan</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> to give suitable response.</span></span><br />
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">The Concert</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">You what? Oh, I fink iss five to nine mate.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> My enquirer appears suitably satisfied and nods his thanks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">S</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">awlright</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">…</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">sorted.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> After quickly checking his face to make sure that no further conversation is forthcoming, I turn my attention back to the growing commotion some thirty feet ahead. It</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s a wet, 1981 spring morning outside Bristol</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s Colston Hall and the long queue in which I am standing is becoming restless as a vociferous, scruffy opportunist seeks to push to the front of the line.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘No…oi bin ‘ere all along…oi only went to the toilet…’onest!'</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> In unison, several fellow Bristolians relay their unanimous verdict.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> ‘Buggerrrawwwfff!</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> There is certain uniqueness about the sound of hundreds of people performing a simultaneous, sharp intake of breath, as our latest time-waster is physically ejected into a busy Colston Street; causing an oncoming 74 bus to swerve wildly. As a driver with the physical stature of a gorilla emerges from his cab, I stare at the ground and let my mind wander away. I</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">m not one for observing physical violence and I sense that the guy</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s likely to get a </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">knuckle sandwich</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> While gazing at the darkened, rain-stained pavement, my thoughts drift towards heroes, role-models and precisely how I came to be standing in this queue. A knowing voice from the past resonates around my mind.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Always have heroes in life, son. There</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s always plenty to aim for.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Ah yes, heroes. Mentally, I leave the rain-sodden queue altogether and disappear back to the early hours of a July morning in 1969, where my father and I are seated upon our new avocado and magenta sofa. Before us, upon the fuzzy screen of our twenty-inch, black and white television set, Neil Armstrong is about to take his first </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">giant leap for mankind</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">We’re watching a legend, son.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Like Geoff Boycott, dad? Or Bobby Moore?</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> My father winced. In his eyes, cricket and football were games invented by God Himself. The fact that there was nothing at the start of The Bible stating that, “on the eighth day, the Creator fashioned a fine cricket pitch and taught Adam the value of the forward-defensive batting stroke…” was merely evidence that the ‘Holy Book’ had been tampered with by ‘soppy, dress-wearing non-cricketers’.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘Well, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">almost, son...let’s not get carried away, eh?</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> When dad </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">nipped out for a packet of cigarettes</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> in late 1976 and decided never to return, it became evident that any quest for inspirational heroes would take place outside my paternal, family line. In 1980, lurking within a highly chaotic musical genre, I discovered my ‘Holy Grail’.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Raised on a diet of classic ‘Rock & Roll’, my major prerequisite for a song involved it being energetic, to the point where one’s entire body was unconditionally compelled to dance. After a glorious childhood of Elvis Presley, Little Richard, James Brown and Jerry Lee Lewis, the 1970</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s would have to raise the artistic bar considerably. Unfortunately, the whole </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Glam Rock</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">scene - comprising men with girls</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> haircuts and apparently wearing sequined </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">tin</span><span style="line-height: 32px;"> <span lang="EN-US">foil</span></span><span style="line-height: 32px;"> with matching moon boots – </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">stirred nothing within me. Subsequently, I was content to spend the entire decade cocooned in blessed Rock & Roll. Until punk…</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Punk was loud, brash and quite beyond articulate reason. Punk was a chaotic cocktail of energetic noise. Punk was the very epitome of being different. Punk was putting two fingers up to the world and telling it where to go. Punk was… </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Have you seen her before?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Current thoughts immediately disintegrate as my gaze meets that of my former time enquirer, now grinning in friendly fashion.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘What? Ahhh…not before, no. Iss my first time, mate.’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Oh.’ He seems disappointed, but continues smiling. I’ve learned from experience that over-stretching conversation is never a good thing. My accent can waver, I can easily lose track of what I’ve said and there’s always the risk of people asking awkward questions, such as from which part of London I originate.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Which bit of London are you from?’ </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Sighing inwardly, I give a stock, well-rehearsed answer, avoiding any hard consonants, such as ‘B’ or ‘D’, which are more difficult for me to say.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘I’m from Enfield, mate. Norfff Laandon’ </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Recorded to memory are researched roads, postcodes, schools and landmarks, local for Enfield. I offer my enquirer nothing else; instead lighting a cigarette and expressing a scowl, perfected from many Clint Eastwood westerns, which snarls: ‘leave me alone’. Aside from a nod, he appears to respect my wishes and I return to gazing at the ground. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> This is a hated aspect of my predicament. By nature, I abhor all aspects of rudeness, yet, for fear of being ridiculed as a freak, there are times when I have to become exactly what I despise. If he sees through my façade, it could be less than ten seconds before the whole queue is pointing at me and laughing. With yet another possible new friendship in tatters, I resume my chain of thought…ah yes, my precious record collection. Soon, I had amassed an assortment of multi-</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">coloured </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">vinyl offerings from bands with quirky names, such as </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">X-Ray Specs</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">, </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">The Clash</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">, </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">The Sex Pistols</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> and </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">The Dickies</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">; mostly containing unintelligible shouting, performed at a hundred miles per hour against a whirlwind of pounding beats. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> In 1980, I become aware of a diminutive, flame-haired singer called Toyah Willcox. Imaginative lyrics, containing elements of mysticism and science-fiction, were often backed by thumping, tribal rhythms. From the outset I am intrigued by Toyah. Dubbed the ‘Princess of Punk’ by the music media, she is derided by lesser journalists for possessing a heavy lisp, along with snide remarks about her physical disabilities from birth. Instantly, I warm to her rebellious spirit. The more people laughed, the louder she shouted back that she didn’t give an ‘airborne act of lovemaking’ what anyone thought of her. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 1981 returns with a jolt, as I realize that there is only one person between myself and the ticket office. His subsequent departure leaves me at the head of a mile-long queue, and I am suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to use my own voice. The mere thought is enough to start my shoulders shaking, but I concentrate on my breathing, while counting slowly in my mind. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Six…seven…eight…you can do this…nine…ten…eleven…you ca… </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Next please.</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> With a deep breath, I take six heroic paces forward. For a fleeting moment, I am Clint Eastwood, Charlton Heston and Genghis Khan combined; a force of cool bravado and ultimate strength, unrivalled amongst all warriors, past and present.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Yes, sir?</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Dimly aware that my mouth is opening and closing, it’s not until my shoulders begin rocking that I start losing hope. A large bead of sweat drops from my forehead onto my spectacles, rendering the receptionist</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">s facial features into swirling patterns. With an emergency klaxon echoing around an internal dressing room, Inspector Regan rushes to the scene.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">Yeah, I</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">m lookin</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> for something in the stalls to see Toyah… as close to the stage as ya can. What ya got, love?</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> The next two months are spent sampling everything performed by my musical heroine. Toyah’s latest album, ‘<i>Anthem</i>’ is her best work to date and it takes me two days to confine every lyric to memory. Her current single, ‘<i>It’s A Mystery’</i> is riding high in the charts and the words resonate deeply with me as I sing them aloud, with gusto.</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">‘<i>Somewhere in the distance,</i></span></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">hidden from the view.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Suspended in the atmosphere,</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">waiting to come through...’</span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> Like an impatient child waiting for Christmas morning, I cross days from the calendar. In a fit of compulsion, I purchase every badge pertaining to Toyah, punk, bands and youth culture that Bristol has to offer. By the time I attach them to my </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">favourite</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> jacket, I have thirty down each side. My mother is distinctly unimpressed.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘You look like a bloody Pearly King!’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Being in full teenage rebellious mode, I remain impassive.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘R.ri…rig.ht…j-j-just for that, I’ll b-b-b-b-b…’ I pause, silently cursing whoever invented hard consonants. ‘I’ll p…p..pur…ch-chase even mo-more!’ </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> She laughs, but her eyes reveal how much it hurts to see me struggling. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> With a cloudless dawn, the Fourth of June, 1981 finally arrives. The day is spent mostly pacing and trying to contain mounting excitement. A long morning crawls into a lengthy afternoon. By seven o’clock, an unseasonal chill has crept into the evening air, yet the exterior of the Colston Hall is positively bursting with animated warmth. I</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">n the passing of minutes, dozens multiply into hundreds; noise levels growling upwards into higher decibels as more bodies swell our crowd…and what a crowd</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">…</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">rows of brightly-spiked hairstyles bob around, all vying for attention from excited owners; many of whom clearly </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">favour</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> studded, leather attire and an imaginative choice of body areas to pierce their skin. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Nice one.’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I turn around to discover an orange, Mohican-topped head closely examining my array of badges. A heavily-ringed finger points out a badge with a young girl’s face, promoting a Gloucestershire band I liked, called ‘Pigbag’. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘I’ve got that one too.’ He turns his head, revealing the same badge pinned through the lobe of his right ear. In no particular dialect, I mouth ‘Wow!’ He grins.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Where are you sitting?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Pulling my ticket from an inside pocket, I show my designated seat number, about six rows from the stage. A huge hand slaps my back.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Just stick with me, right?’ I nod; returning his infectious smile as he spots someone he recognizes.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Marcia!’ A girl, about my age, trots over; a beaming grin surrounded by thick, black make-up and several facial piercings. Topped with three tall spikes of blue hair, she reminds me of a stegosaurus. Between them, Mr. Mohican and Marcia appear to know everyone else in the crowd. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"> It’s an hour until Toyah. Amid a tribal composition of stamped shoes and slapped palms upon glass barriers, the outer doors to the Colston Hall finally open. Wedged between new comrades, I am swept forward as a youthful stampede ensues, causing all in its path to react with life-preserving speed. Everyone has an allotted seat, but as we charge towards the stage, no-one cares. For the next couple of hours, we</span><span style="line-height: 32px;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;">re all together; a crowd of one. A woefully undermanned team of bouncers briefly attempt to push us back. After ten minutes, accompanied by helpful - yet largely physically impossible - advice from the crowd, they relent and leave us be. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Twenty-five minutes until Toyah. A supporting act has finished a brief set to polite applause. The crowd becomes noticeable more animated as adrenaline levels surge. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Ten minutes to go. Hunger, thirst and toilet requirements are utterly forgotten. Everything becomes immersed within a cacophony of chanting and stamped soles…a final sound check and my heartbeat gains noticeable momentum…chanting rises until it threatens to loosen the elaborate, Victorian fixtures and fittings. Screams replace chants as finally, the lights dim.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Then it arrives; an opening bass line that bursts through the crowd like glorious thunder from the Gods; a matching volley of drums detonating around euphoric ears as the stage lights up. It’s her! As one, we jump up and scream her name. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Good evening, Bristol!’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> The bass line smoothly slides into a familiar pattern as the band launches into the opening number, <i>‘It’s A Mystery’.</i></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Sing it back to me, yeah?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Two thousand people adoringly comply.</span></span><br />
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Sometimes, it’s so far away,</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">sometimes, it’s very near.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A sound being carried by the wind,</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">just loud enough to hear…’</span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I’ve no idea if heaven exists. If so, then it must equate to the ‘Utopian’ bliss, I subsequently experience as my tiny heroine completely dominates a large stage; holding a captivated audience within a masterful grasp. Two hours and three encores later, she is gone and unwilling feet trudge towards exits. With a slap on the back, Mr. Mohican is at my side.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Was that awesome…or what?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I smile back and nod.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘What time you got?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I glance at my wrist.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘It’s abowt twenty-foive to ten…’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I pause as my Bristol accent hits my ears.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Nice one…I’m Dan by the way, what’s your name?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Me? Oi’m Kev. Nice to meet you, Dan.’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘You too, Kev…take it easy, yeah?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> A final slap on the back and he disappears into a dense forest of fascinating hairstyles.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Once outside, I stop strangers just to ask them the time; each in unbroken, Bristolian tones. One spots my watch.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Oops…oi’m a daft bugger, I am!’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Instead of a three mile walk home, I hail a taxi.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Downend Road, Horfield, please….oi’ve just bin to see Toyah at the Colston…bloody fabulous she was…you had a busy night, mate?’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> With adrenaline still pumping, my speech is flawless. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> A blissful week dawns before the stammering returns, but now I know – beyond all doubt - that at the culmination of this long war, I shall be the victor.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Three years later, Inspector Jack Regan gives his final performance and is retired. An accompanying newspaper announcement would have read:</span></span></div>
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<i id="yui_3_2_0_1_1344237302813291"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1344237302813288" lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> ‘Whilst immensely grateful for Jack’s priceless contribution of many years, it’s finally time for Mr. Milsom to commence a challenging and exciting, new chapter of his life.’</span></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-25368346579181237952012-08-02T06:24:00.000-07:002012-08-02T07:23:48.414-07:00The Bench<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The following piece was written as part of a recent university course. (2011-2012) The object of the exam was to produce a life-writing (biographical or auto-biographical) piece of work. I decided to cover a traumatic time from 2009, yet use a sense of humour to balance the structure.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As my preface suggests, I don't do 'bleak'. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've not been to Blogger for a little while and everything seems to have changed. Why this post should be dark font on white background, when all my other posts are the opposite, is well beyond my current technological understanding. I'm a writer, not an engineer. If I can find a way to change it back then I surely will.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 38px;">The photograph is also mine - taken 2012 at the spot where I received the inspiration for this piece of writing, Dursley Cemetery, Gloucestershire.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">KJM.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>The Bench</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">PREFACE.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I've never been one for sad stories. As a kid I was always drawn towards movies that opened with the main character(s) in the absolute worst of dire straits, yet culminated with happy, smiling faces, preferably accompanied by cheery songs and a multitude of cheesy dancing. If my parents had consented, corners of my bedroom would have likely held shrines to both Walt Disney and Dick Van Dyke.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> To this end, I'll begin with what is commonly referred to as a low point in life or, to use my own personal phraseology, 'being at the very bottom of the well</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.'</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">August 1st, 2009.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 22px;"><u> </u></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 38px;"> 'He's not looking too good, Bob.'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'You're right, Tom...he</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> hasn't been the same since that vicious uppercut...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I am seated upon a plain, wooden bench in Dursley</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, surrounded by an abundance of brightly-coloured flowers and the delicious aroma of freshly-cut grass. While my eyes take in luscious, green shades within the rolling hills before me, my head and stomach appear obsessively dedicated towards destructive, alternative agendas. The weather over the small, Gloucestershire town has decided to match my internal mood by adopting a dark and menacing outlook. In the past hour we have also perfected an electric, bristling air. Momentarily, I ponder that if this were a game of emotional poker then the weather and I would be holding very similar cards. For someone who delights in disciplined self-control, this is a time of major concern</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'In 46 years</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, I've never seen Milsom quite so ragged, Bob...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Well, with all his experience, I was expecting a lot more 'bob' and 'weave', Tom...his legs have totally gone...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I could never be described as a hurtful man. However, it's two weeks since my mother died and I am becoming extremely weary of the well-meant, awkward collection of facial expressions and accompanying phrases aimed in my direction</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Well, at least she's out of pain'...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'She had a good innings'....</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'It's probably a blessing'...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'You'll feel better after a good cry'...</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Naturally, there are no rule books for observing a treasured soul disintegrate on a daily basis; not a single master class. While watching the constant onset of Mum‘s physical failings, promptly followed by harsh, emotional whiplashes and the ultimate breakdown of her cognitive faculties, my resourceful side had quickly developed a stout defence system. As usual, when personally confronted with negative life forces, my armour has been skilfully forged from the finest humour</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. For five hurtful years, myself and currently exhausted family have relied upon a battle-balancing arsenal of surrealism, jokes, puns, limericks and silly impressions; each worthy enough for the entire Monty Python team break out in admiring whistles. I've watched my mother use humour in exactly the same way; even in her most fragile of moments. If it's good enough for her then it'll do me fine</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Within unfamiliar and uncertain darkness, finding slivers of comedy gold has long been my salvation. However, for the last few months, troop numbers within my 'Comedy Defence Force' have dwindled alarmingly. With Mum‘s passing, all humour has deserted the ranks. A row of outsized, steel toe-capped clown boots lay unoccupied. Military-issue custard pies go stale</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> It's a half-hour drive</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> but this is the one place where no-one can find me. Throughout the bewildering numbness that has clung to me like </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">morning fog for the previous fortnight, I have planned such a healing time as this. To sit in peace. To gather my thoughts. It's exactly what I need. I'm about to discover some alarming errors in my thinking.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'The referee's looking very concerned, Bob.'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'Milsom's got to cover up, Tom...where the hell's his defence</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">?'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> A fair question, Tom. Currently, my boxing gloves hang limply by my side. It would make astronomical sense for them to be tight around my ears, but...to be perfectly honest...I'm well past caring. All attempts to 'gather my thoughts' have merely allowed the quick parting of internal doors. Each door, holding specific memories, has been purposely locked, bolted and barred at some stage over the last five years. By myself. For my own protection.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'I'm not sure I can watch, Bob</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> A gruesome, gut-wrenching collection of twisted imagery, depicting my mother throughout her weakest and most vulnerable states of frightened fragility, viciously pummels my ribs. However, the one punch which has truly staggered me involves a sudden granite 'uppercut of realisation'; namely, I've spent a large portion of life devoted to - and reliant upon - someone who no longer exists. Not a single atom of space upon this Earth. Not anywhere. The thought sets firmly in my head like concrete</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, unleashing a further torrent of painful blows.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'For God's sake...get off the ropes!'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I tell Tom precisely where to stick his microphone and continue to absorb punches. With ghoulish images pounding away like a demented jack-hammer, somewhere within my crumbling senses I realise that I am beginning to accept the blows as a normal part of life. In time, I'll even grow to like them; admire and respect them</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Reaching inside my jacket, my fingers fold around a plain, brown envelope which soon emerges into the dull, grey afternoon. For a few seconds, my eyes simply scan my printed name and address, before retrieving the letter within and reading it for the countless time. From half a decade previous, my mother's agitated voice swims into range.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Are you sure you can afford this? Houses aren't cheap these days...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My confident reply could have emanated from the lips of a method actor at the absolute peak of his technical craft</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'It'll be fine, Mum. We'll just work together and get through whatever comes up. It's what we always do.' In a classic Dick Van Dyke movie, this would have been the cue for a heart-warming song about overcoming impossible odds and always chasing life's most optimistic rainbows</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I read through the letter again, before firmly closing my eyes and pondering precisely what goes through the mind of people who can produce printed phrases such as, 'failure to pay', house possession' and 'with immediate effect'. If ever careers were designed purely for emotionless robots, then producing these types of letters must surely rank highly</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Of all the words before me, the hardest to accept is 'failure'. Losing my mother and house inside twenty-four hours of each other isn't just careless. It's plain irresponsible. I am aware of my right hand gripping the Dursley bench with a force that threatens to physically separate my knuckles. I've never felt so hollow</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'Open your eyes.'</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> That doesn't sound like Bob. Nor Tom, unless he's taken my explicit instructions regarding his microphone</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Open your eyes.'</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Obediently, I comply. There, in my immediate line of sight and dark-shaded by regular Cotswold rain, is a wooden knot on the seat of my bench. For a split-second, the knot becomes my entire universe. Memories of former sun-splashed, days burst into my view</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Running with childhood friends. Countless hours engaged in the wonderful art of cloud-watching; laying on lush grass alongside animated friends at Bristol's Brandon Hill, or up at the sprawling Clifton Downs. Whoever made the loudest, laughter-inducing images became the 'King of Cloud Weaving'. In truth, the crown was rarely from my daft head.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 38px;"> Back in Dursley, to my visually-ravenous brain, the knot immediately reminds me of Chewbacca from 'Star Wars', smoking a cigar. It's very</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 38px;"> silly...but just enough to form the briefest of smiles upon my lips. All that I require. Images of Chewbacca wandering around the 'Death Star', while smoking a cigar in true, clowning Groucho Marx-style, have already started to infiltrate my imagination.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Bob...are you watching this?'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Somewhere in my mind, a curtain opens before a large screen. Chewbacca, complete with ridiculous spectacles, false eyebrows and moustache, is walking towards Darth Vader with a cheeky grin; cigar waggling in his furry fingers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 'I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception!' he says, with exquisite 'Groucho' timing</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I feel myself grinning. That'll do nicely. For the first time in months I duck as a menacing glove whistles over my head.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Fight back!'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I recognise the voice as my own. The mental image replays, this time with more eyebrow wiggling. Hearing my chuckle, I draw in welcome breath.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Look him in the eye. Make sure he sees it. There...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> The punch begins somewhere down by my right ankle as my body twists up into a graceful arch with the astonishing speed of Superman on ice; a purposeful glove connecting squarely with my opponent's</span><span class="yiv1551567383MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 22px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> jaw, to send him reeling. As it connects, the empty hollow feeling in my stomach finally begins to subside</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Where the FU...'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> I ignore Bob and add a quick, hard jab to make sure he knows I mean business. A bell sounds...I'm tired, but more importantly, I'm back in the game. The canvas looked so soft and inviting. One simple count of ten and the fight was over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Glancing down to the small rectangle of earth, beneath which the physical remains of my mother reside, I say a silent prayer and think about returning home. There's a lot to sort out and my immediate family have no further requirements for a sullen, humourless individual within their ranks. Truly, tomorrow can be another day.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> In a final move, the Dursley weather raises the stakes as an artillery of heavy thunderclouds release torrents of rain</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> upon the town. Defiantly, I throw in my poker hand and hang up my boxing gloves</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. I'm all done with crying</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-18812257681899073882011-10-05T07:32:00.000-07:002011-10-05T07:45:03.876-07:00Haiku RumbaWith my lifelong and effortless sense of lousy timing, the exciting build up to the beginning of my university writing course has been somewhat overwhelmed by my body's insistence on failing dismally and being a pain in the...well, pain all over really.<br />Despite my selfish body and its fiendish plan to lay me low, I shall adopt a Tarzan attitude and swing back into action. I might be a little behind on the study path but with a cheery grin, some cleverly edited montage sequences over a 'Rocky'-style backing track, I'll soon be back in the game. Yo..etc.<br />To this end, I am finally getting around to the ancient Japanese form of Haiku...essentially a non-rhyming verse consisting of 17 syllables, in a three line format of 5-7-5 syllables.<br />I've not done one of these before, so I wrote out five at once, to get the general idea. Overall, I really like them as they make my brain fizz in rather pleasing directions.<br /><br />Twirling, dancing leaf,<br />Spinning over next door's cat,<br />Heading south to York.<br /><br />I swear I saw you.<br />A momentary glimpse,<br />I know it was you.<br /><br />Cheese, banana, jam.<br />Stuffed into a sandwich.<br />I could be pregnant.<br /><br />Listening to you.<br />Makes my heart go 'flitter-crash!'<br />This could be the one.<br /><br />Precious, noble lives.<br />"Over the top!" The last words.<br />Death roared like a gale.<br />Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-33077027744607618922011-08-31T07:13:00.000-07:002011-08-31T07:30:13.983-07:00A215 - Writing Practice 4.<div align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lg0NXN1OsluslwOYpczSRe-uSW-MSiUjOB0ggADmpQzSgh16hvWd_XAAL_cbM2pJxmsLW8NmcXMLtqnDVjLCk5NSVPD8m5w5E3c44MQxh7kQCimvZMm9W1kYiWlISiXsg8556NdNHS0/s1600/Park.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 340px; height: 267px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647023554802558130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lg0NXN1OsluslwOYpczSRe-uSW-MSiUjOB0ggADmpQzSgh16hvWd_XAAL_cbM2pJxmsLW8NmcXMLtqnDVjLCk5NSVPD8m5w5E3c44MQxh7kQCimvZMm9W1kYiWlISiXsg8556NdNHS0/s320/Park.jpg" /></a></div><div align="justify">Weekly challenge #4 was to look at the photograph on the left, of a New York park, and to write a poem, prose or piece of fiction which related to the image.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Being in poetic mode for no reason whatsoever, I fiddled and faddled for a while and came up with something. I'd spend longer on it but with a holiday coming up in the next couple of days there is little chance of being online for a week, so best to do it now while the iron is hot...wherever the iron is, and whoever has it this week.<br /></div><br /><strong>ON A DAY LIKE THIS.</strong><br /><br /><em>On a day like this,<br />It really helps that it’s raining.<br />If the Sun were here; (shining hard down on me),<br />I‘d not have made it to the park.<br />At a time like this,<br />And I’m really not complaining,<br />But if you were here; (with your loving arms around me),<br />I wish that…<br />I feel that…<br />I know with all my heart that,<br />My life wouldn’t be so very dark.</em><br /><br /><em>On a day like this,<br />Three years from the very moment,<br />That you were last here; (before fading from my sight),<br />As we sat right by this tree.<br />At a time like this,<br />Almost to the very moment,<br />That I held you close (to try to keep you from the light),<br />I wish that…<br />I feel that…<br />I know with all my heart that,<br />My love is walking next to me.</em><br /><br /><em>On a day like this,<br />I’m castaway upon an island.<br />And I want you here; (so I could gaze into your eyes),<br />As we languish by the sea.<br />In a world like ours,<br />Where I'd reach out for your hand,<br />And feel you draw so close, (before my vision fades and dies)<br />I’d wish that…<br />I’d feel that…<br />I’d know with all my heart that,<br />You will always live in me.</em>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-77080582756826891882011-08-31T04:07:00.000-07:002011-08-31T07:30:13.995-07:00A215 Writing Practice - Fairy Story<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xrz7TFvqRuA2UMq7myEmtToFvLIlm7n2CA1hj4We3bHpp3TkFmy766sWg5-tVyM5YfxWHSTSk12FNWBtOgQ06DoT7UzAiwwdKDRZpGLN9WdsrVwJVwyE_fuK-h7euDhLB3nwCoAQCR0/s1600/Seven-Dwarfs-Cartoon+Disney.jpg"><font style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></font><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 307px; height: 164px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646977710656576722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xrz7TFvqRuA2UMq7myEmtToFvLIlm7n2CA1hj4We3bHpp3TkFmy766sWg5-tVyM5YfxWHSTSk12FNWBtOgQ06DoT7UzAiwwdKDRZpGLN9WdsrVwJVwyE_fuK-h7euDhLB3nwCoAQCR0/s320/Seven-Dwarfs-Cartoon+Disney.jpg" /></a><div align="justify"><font size="2" face="trebuchet ms">This week's task was to recreate a traditional fairy story by giving it a different twist - such as, a change in genre, location or time. After trying a few different genres and discounting several, such as 1940's gangster novel, science fiction and adult literature (which reduced me to a giggling wreck for a good hour and nearly brought on a migraine), I settled for the genre of Crime Fiction - a la Arthur Conan Doyle - and my chosen tale was Snow White & The Seven Dwarves. :) I'd have liked more time on this to tidy it up, but other studying has kinda got in the way this week, so this is a version which I'd probably like to have another two or three edits at, but as it is already a day past the time it was due then I'm putting it out in its current form. </font></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center"><strong><br /><br />The Case Of The Poisoned Apple.</strong></div><strong><div align="justify"><br /></div></strong><div align="justify">Laying in the centre of the room, before the wide, stone fireplace, the glass coffin became the main focus for the small audience. The only sound aside from the crackling logs came in the form of hushed whispers and the occasional sneeze; all eyes following the tall man as he walked to the fireplace, stooped low and took a long, thoughtful while to light his pipe.<br />“Come now, Mr Holmes,” said the only one of the assembled group to wear spectacles, “why exactly have you gathered us here? Some of us have work to get to, you know.”<br />Several grunts and nodding of several small heads accompanied the words, although the detective appeared lost in thought and temporarily oblivious to any form of complaint. For the umpteenth time that morning Holmes walked to the coffin and peered through the glass to the unmoving form beneath the lid.<br />“Mr Holmes!”<br />Finally, the detective blinked and looked in the direction of the rather grumpy owner of the voice.<br />“Mr Holmes, it’s quite clear who the culprit is here. I don’t see why we have to stand here like statues, while the evil Queen gets away. Why aren’t you arresting her instead of picking on us working folk?”<br />A low rumble of agreement rose up from the group.<br />“I…I do hope that this is not a case of height-ism, Mr Holmes” stuttered a red-faced bashful fellow, “I would really hate to complain to Scotland Yard. I w...would indeed.”<br />Further grumblings filled the room and once more all eyes were on Holmes as he relit his pipe from the fire, before turning to face the room.<br />“Gentlemen, I am of course most utterly grateful for the giving of your time to assemble here and I promise that I won’t detain you a moment more than absolutely necessary.”<br />Holmes’s words and kindly facial expression did little to appease the small crowd, but before the grumpy gentleman could begin a new verbal tirade, the detective raised his hands in a commanding manner as if conducting an orchestra. As one, the dwarves fell silent.<br />“I will concur,” said Holmes, “that initially it appears that there can be only one assailant in this crime. All fingers point to the Queen…perhaps, if I may suggest, a little too conveniently for my liking.”<br />Indignant gasps met Holmes’s ears, but his hands dipped quickly into his coat pocket, producing approximately one half of an apple, which he held aloft.<br />“According to your testimony, the victim was visited by an old woman who proceeded to persuade this poor, naïve, young lady to bite upon this very apple, thus rendering her unconscious and in a temporary medical state of comatose immobility.”<br />Holmes watched the slightly confused expressions with interest, smiling faintly to himself as he noted the one tiny face who was the exception.<br />“Before my arrival here, gentlemen, I took the liberty of analysing the available evidence. The Queen keeps only one type of poison, namely rat poison within the bounds of her castle. However, the poison contained within this apple is an extremely rare combination, formed from specific crystalline compounds…or as one trained in chemistry might label it, arsenic.”<br />The silence in the room was broken only by a loud sneeze and a faint hum of snoring. <br />“Naturally, the properties of arsenic would be unknown to most people…but then you’re not most people, are you, ‘Doc‘? Or should I say, Professor Heinrich Morgan from the University of Vienna and reported leader of the infamous ‘Little Red Handed’ gang…”<br />The face of the bespectacled dwarf turned bright red and began a faltering, stammered reply, before quickly falling into silence.<br />“…Wanted by Interpol for jewel thieving in Milan…kitten rustling in Sardinia…small-arms smuggling in Barcelona and now apparently contract-killing in the Enchanted Forest.”<br />The front door to the compact and bijou home suddenly burst open, revealing a large group of police officers, with Inspector Lestrade and Doctor Watson bringing up the rear.<br />“At last, Watson!” beamed Holmes, “I thought you’d never get here. Officers! If you would be so kind as to remove these gentlemen into the safety of Her Majesty’s custody.”<br />Holmes jabbed an accusing finger at each culprit, as each one was led away; small heads bowed in shame.<br />”Smiling Boy” Smith…”Grumpy Jack” McClane…Bob “Sleepy Byes” Brown…“Shy Stan” Sinclair…Hank “Handkerchief-Howling” Harris…and of course, last but not least, the notorious brains of the outfit, “Dopey Dan” Denton.”<br />Watson peered at the tiny, cross-eyed face and viewed the tongue peeking from the side of the mouth with disdain.<br />“Brains of the outfit? Are you sure, Holmes? The fellow seems positively doo-lalley to me.”<br />Holmes nodded and relit his pipe from the hearth.<br />“Absolutely sure, my dear Watson, Denton might play the absolute fool to perfection, but then the seven times winner of the ‘North Yorkshire Gurning Competition’ would naturally fool even the most ardent of observers.”<br />Denton’s face fell and relaxed back into a definite scowl.<br />“Damn you, copper! This would have been our last job before retirement. We’d bought a little place on the French Riviera…”<br />He sighed loudly as a burly officer escorted him from the room, leaving only Watson and Lestrade with a clearly gloating Holmes, who paced the hearth rug in triumphant style.<br />“Well…” said Lestrade, “another victory, Mr Holmes. Of all your recent cases this one dwarfs all the others by comparison.”<br />“Indeed,” nodded Watson, “No small feat at all, Lestrade. Will they get short sentences?”<br />“Perhaps, Doctor Watson, after all they were 'miner' offences.”<br />Ever the perfect professional, Holmes ignored the childish laughter, for his eyes had fallen on the front of a newspaper which lay upon a tiny coffee table; his lips moving as he read the main headline from ‘The Hunter‘s Bugle‘.<br />“’Opportunist Girl Snares Gullible Prince In Glass Slipper Plot‘….hmmm, come Watson, with all haste! There is no time to waste!”</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-64390066073237385382011-08-17T01:20:00.000-07:002011-08-31T07:30:14.007-07:00A215 Writing Practice - Vignette.<div><div align="justify">This week's warm-up exercise asked for a vignette, using the phrase, 'We meet again' as our prompt.</div><div align="justify">Never having written a vignette before I consulted the all-knowing deity of Wikipedia, which states that a vignette is, "a short, impressionistic scene that focuses on one moment, or gives a trenchant impression about a character, an idea, a setting and sometimes an object."</div><div align="justify">In for a penny... :)</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><strong><br /><br />We Meet Again.</strong></div><div align="justify"><strong></strong> </div><div align="justify"><br />I'm exactly where I want to be and falling heavily into selfish sleep, as if encased in the densest of iron armour. Deeper. Faster. Yes...just there. Now come the wine-sodden images I've recently come to enjoy and embrace; almost to depend upon.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">Complete and utter nonsense. Well, of course they are, but as I bask in the sudden lightness of fluffy, ridiculous visions, fuelled by three bottles of finest Spanish red, I sense my distant, sleeping form unload an uneven smile and release a relaxed sigh into the pillow.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Chocolate horses, smiling at the window. That's a new one. I cheer wildly as an immaculately-dressed marching band waltzes up the path to serenade my house. Yes boys, louder please! Not a house any more, now a proud Gothic castle. Fine suits of armour bedeck my columned Great Hall, where medieval minstrels perform from their purpose-built gallery and Georgina Johnson from 'Human Resources' is regaling an entranced audience with a belly dance which would make wizened kings weep joyously into their ale.</div><div align="justify">Before I can blink, I'm holding a steaming mug of tea and arguing with the seven foot tall Viking who's appeared just in front of me. </div><div align="justify">He wants to go to the opera. I prefer the ballet. Voices are understandably raised. Entire villages will soon be flattened and raised due solely to differences in creative expression, but there's no backing down now. I'm still yelling into his pitted face about inspiring pirouettes, plus the full technical wonder of the 'Pas de deux', when I sense subtle movement behind his right shoulder. Curious eyes life slowly from my opponent's wrinkled, bearded visage and fall instead onto the face of another. In a single heartbeat, Olaf's foul breath vanishes from my nostrils and my fantasy castle evaporates around me.</div><div align="justify">Eyes locked only on hers. I'm acutely aware of the overpowering stillness, yet the all-consuming knowledge that somewhere a cruel, celestial clock is counting down priceless moments.</div><div align="justify">Some clumsy words stumble from my lips.</div><div align="justify">"I...I've been thinking..."</div><div align="justify">"I know you have, darling. I've felt every thought. Every word."</div><div align="justify">It's her. I know it more that anything I've ever felt in my sixty-three years of awareness.</div><div align="justify">"Sara, I went to the garden yest..."</div><div align="justify">"I walked every step with you, sweetheart, and our sunflowers have never looked more beautiful. But, you mustn't cry there. Not any more."</div><div align="justify">"It...it's not..."</div><div align="justify">"It's not a question of fair, my love. It is what it is. It's simply how things are meant to be."</div><div align="justify">A dull, heavy pain rolls through my chest and I sense that time will soon release itself from whatever temporary, delicious spell that has it caged.</div><div align="justify">"I..."</div><div align="justify">"I love you too, my darling Peter, and always will. Remember this, here and now. Remember us. Hold these moments as tightly as you can manage and draw whatever strength you need from them. From us. No matter what your mind tells you."</div><div align="justify">I smile deep into her eyes as our fingers meet, causing spiralling sparks of shared sensations to momentarily dance freely around us; memories finely crafted from over thirty-three years of blissful companionship. my best friend in the universe. Always.</div><div align="justify">"I promise, Sara. I'll remember."</div><div align="justify">For a glorious, luxurious second and three quarters, I hold her entire face to my memory, until her ever-loving smile is the very last image to fade from my sight and I find myself sat upright in bed; my arms locked around my torso in a protective, healing hug.</div><div align="justify">Dear God, my soul had missed that smile. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-36690996206283598122011-08-12T01:56:00.000-07:002011-08-31T07:30:14.019-07:00Genealogy, A173 and those darn Milsoms.<div><div><div><div><div>It started with an Open University course at the end of 2009 in Family History. Well, actually, not strictly true, it began around 2006 with my decision to take the first step towards building my family tree.<div><div><div><div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucC5_m4mDGl_YMKL_aiNdzRqLorAY1oq8o_sfxGvgEdI00eVMYYh6imhypOBbBSFvnfzKkjgD038jpJt8EJBHj2_NF65pQt1_VsHtRsVRD7XHR2nzZ8bSe5FDM2p2lOyAHYJoRPGwdYQ/s1600/Grandparents+-+Clifford+Knowland+%2526+Elsie+Sale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 214px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641003078363952706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucC5_m4mDGl_YMKL_aiNdzRqLorAY1oq8o_sfxGvgEdI00eVMYYh6imhypOBbBSFvnfzKkjgD038jpJt8EJBHj2_NF65pQt1_VsHtRsVRD7XHR2nzZ8bSe5FDM2p2lOyAHYJoRPGwdYQ/s320/Grandparents+-+Clifford+Knowland+%2526+Elsie+Sale.jpg" /></a></div><div align="justify"><br />In truth, the first sparks of wanting to uncover my past heritage began in my teens. A relative had 'so-say' tracked down everyone possible on our family tree; filling many heads with romantic tales of Irish links, treasure boats and probably a pirate or three thrown in for good measure.</div><div align="justify">My mother had always told me of strong Irish roots with her side of the family and thus I was keen to see the proof for myself. So were others. Of course, time moved on, the relative stayed elusive and, despite promises to show all to various excited family members, nothing physical ever materialised.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10-R3vAvkNMO9ntmbWBAsydIU2I4Meh9pICaxCYwrgUadcyOJG58h4bjD9wzVO8UKMATNosTo1fLSo3WMz914MbauWzUGCNCfQB8LTcVS48YzJxN69jIbB3xjz6z_7IKJqOaaDydWT7g/s1600/Grandfather+-+Clifford+Edward+Knowland+%25281898-1959%2529.jpg"></a><br />By 2006, my mother was in poor mental and physical decline. Spurred on by the en<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRghoniVQ9OA3_Hcw3T6Obqqh2LCJKRAIJJVfysWEjkfLuDCWEVzFOZI3bHlvqLRUYip6bNwl1VkxOM6RgDJ0e2jf-Cn_El6wfjJ9jO8V1jod5Jfxgz8hyQhvqgPLSafislVW5g0n7QM/s1600/Emily+Milsom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 206px; height: 320px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641003458122666002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRghoniVQ9OA3_Hcw3T6Obqqh2LCJKRAIJJVfysWEjkfLuDCWEVzFOZI3bHlvqLRUYip6bNwl1VkxOM6RgDJ0e2jf-Cn_El6wfjJ9jO8V1jod5Jfxgz8hyQhvqgPLSafislVW5g0n7QM/s320/Emily+Milsom.jpg" /></a>thralling BBC programme, 'Who Do You Think You Are?', I took the first daunting steps towards building my tree, starting with only the six names that I knew for sure; parents and grandparents. </div><div>Armed with the power of the Internet and grim determination, I soon found interesting websites such as Roots.UK., Genes Reunited and Ancestry.co.uk.</div><div>Slowly, piece by piece, entire family lines were revealed; like slowly peeling layers of an onion. My mother's side came quickly. She remembered a few names and this helped greatly...soon a great-grandfather and grandmother appeared...then their parents...then their grandparents. Within a short space of time some lines had retreated back to the early 1800's. Learning was a steep, but joyful curve and the help available on websites by some very patient people was invaluable. Soon, I could find my way around an official census report, or learn how to trace a birth, marriage or death record. </div><div> </div><div>Long nights of trawling through endless records until the eyes start screaming are tempered by the occasional discovery, accompanied by whooping and dancing around one's chair as the Sun rises outside. Gradually, a picture <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZrGfVQCHE9Ay4Ao3ChuS1D3x1rbYWNWmrHJtzgrAdoIfAYP6_A-Pwzr08EWXAiY9GxF1jIVNDDZyv6LINozjUnuV0NJ-duIrdb9mSC2PCGgyCmtyNTtYI1RYWHSdrr92tJQCwcuiZtI/s1600/Elsie+Sale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 158px; height: 250px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639900749509804498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZrGfVQCHE9Ay4Ao3ChuS1D3x1rbYWNWmrHJtzgrAdoIfAYP6_A-Pwzr08EWXAiY9GxF1jIVNDDZyv6LINozjUnuV0NJ-duIrdb9mSC2PCGgyCmtyNTtYI1RYWHSdrr92tJQCwcuiZtI/s200/Elsie+Sale.jpg" /></a>evolves around the skeleton of the family tree, which allows the real reason behind all those hours of research; the chance to understand more about our ancestors. Not just their names, or data, but WHO they were, WHERE they lived and most importantly, HOW they lived. What kind of daily lives did they have. What were their greatest assets and fears in life?</div><div align="left"><br />By 2009, I had the bulk of my family tree in place, aside from some notorious dead-ends, mostly on my father's side; the Milsoms (paternal grandfather) and the Nichols (paternal grandmother). The very nature of research leads to an understanding of history, both local and national.</div><div>To help with the who's, how's, what's where's and why's, I opted to take an Open University course, A173 - Family History, as part of my degree studies. This allowed a lot more insight into life in the Victorian era and was quite eye-opening, especially compared to the myth of strict morals and practices associated with that period of British history. </div><div>Simple truth: debauchery and naughtiness were just as rife as today, the Victorians were just better at hiding it.</div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpnTaeyigHyFdN4u0-KSpbTvoASxr3c8EED0Ta4C3wtEbXM26KXJI6xwO3qPb791uhlltZnt5qm4O282OBJ_rysDtbPvmnJTFobRh4r0ao6MG7SfhdpDYWolMU9tYwId8j2rbwTXzIAE/s1600/Mother+-+Mary+Caroline+Knowland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 166px; height: 261px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641001899536391634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpnTaeyigHyFdN4u0-KSpbTvoASxr3c8EED0Ta4C3wtEbXM26KXJI6xwO3qPb791uhlltZnt5qm4O282OBJ_rysDtbPvmnJTFobRh4r0ao6MG7SfhdpDYWolMU9tYwId8j2rbwTXzIAE/s200/Mother+-+Mary+Caroline+Knowland.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>The Milsoms remained elusive for a good two years. The discovery of a Last Will and Testament for my great-grandfather, while looking through an old chest of drawers, allowed me the information of his year of death. From that, in true detective stylie, and whilst wearing my finest deerstalker hat, I was able to find his death record, work out his year of birth and then track him down on official birth records in 1867. </div><div>As any 'Milsom' will know, our surnames are rarely, if ever, spelt correctly. There are Facebook groups and websites dedicated simply to this fact. Therefore, I checked the most common misspelling, 'Milson', and hey presto, one recently discovered great-grandfather.</div><div>It took another 6 months and the assistance of a distant relative in Canada, before I could track the elusive Milsoms back any good length, but I was recently able to find my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Charles Melsom, born c.1735. </div><div>The Nichols proved even more elusive than the Milsoms and I was only able to finally track them down about a month ago. Finally, after a good five years, I could take every family back past my grandparents and start observing the trail to the past.</div><div> </div><div>This, essentially, is why I adore genealogy. It gives us an idea of our roots, not only in terms of physical locations and personal, family and physical traits, but occupations and lifestyle. Personal stories uncover and make a solitary name on the family tree stand out in unique, individual ways. Only then can we start to get a true glimpse of what kind of people our ancestors really were, what kind of lives they led and also how we fit into the vast melting pot that goes to make up our own family. </div><div>Oh, for a time machine. </div><div><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 513px; height: 297px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641009622879497650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9rGH5WrbvE3qyzCm9xb46eCLcXkCutTzxQ2s1Cvk7lD05WbmVNSs30pJ6cd6mXOAfQwyhEoGRn36HOur0DPCOkQph7HrLg-ZCVEiUQdvv-FudY67H0dgXDvt493enTpnYioHtMgQ1HY/s400/A+Group+of+Knowlands.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>Pictures from top: Grandparents, Clifford William Edward Knowland (1898 - 1959) & Elsie Gwendoline Sale (1897 - 1946) on their wedding day, Bristol, 1923...Grandmother, Emily Marian Nichols (1895 - 1980) and 2 year old me, taken Bristol, c.1965...Grandmother Elsie Sale as a child, c. 1900...Mother, Mary Caroline Knowland, (1924 - 2009), taken around 1927...A group of Knowlands on a family day out to Cheddar, Somerset, 1937, including my mother, grandparents and great-grandparents. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-4156817269803689802011-08-10T02:13:00.000-07:002011-08-10T02:28:48.166-07:00Weekly Writing Challenge<div>A fun exercise to sharpen the writing brian...erm brain...and prepare for the forthcoming Level 2 Open University course, starting in October 2011.</div><div> </div><div><strong>Week 1: Write a poem, 40 lines or less, on the subject of brutality.</strong></div><div> </div><div>Cheryl Hunt has shoes made by Jimmy Choo in L.A.,</div><div>She says they're worth at least a few thousand pounds.</div><div>John Morris has headphones made from gold and silver,</div><div>Reproducing the best 3D, sweet, sensual sounds.</div><div>Now...while I'm the last to moan, or whinge, or whine,</div><div>About crap shoes from Matalan for £9.99,</div><div>You can't deny the true, virtual reality,</div><div>That, quite simply Mother; this is sheer brutality.</div><div> </div><div>Tommy Chang flew first-class from London to Barbados,</div><div>And told everyone he got very drunk on champagne.</div><div>Emma Robbins has huge stables, with fifteen horses,</div><div>Plus a pony she once let me sit on, in the rain.</div><div>Now...while I'm the last in my class who seeks to impress,</div><div>Three weeks in Barbados beats a weekend in Skegness.</div><div>I'll e-mail UNICEF to stop this insanity,</div><div>Unless you agree to end this sheer brutality.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-56815476837672426712011-08-08T07:20:00.001-07:002011-08-08T07:27:20.520-07:00Editorial.<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gM_azEFsUEwZB6AZ3kHYJSFc8veLs0EQ6O9AkvxXoM3C1gl068pusOrCFxLzT_8t9A4Q0Ub5X2T_FfGmVMVN8eHtIFg6GgNp_JAgDcbvNZj7Ms7MOJTJP7s0a_Aet6TYUFSvSg0UT4I/s1600/confused+chimp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 237px; height: 185px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638489942237482722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gM_azEFsUEwZB6AZ3kHYJSFc8veLs0EQ6O9AkvxXoM3C1gl068pusOrCFxLzT_8t9A4Q0Ub5X2T_FfGmVMVN8eHtIFg6GgNp_JAgDcbvNZj7Ms7MOJTJP7s0a_Aet6TYUFSvSg0UT4I/s400/confused+chimp.jpg" /></a>Because I am daft and have totally forgotten how to edit existing posts, I just wanted to state that the two previous posts were written some time ago, but not as yet put on here. This could be because my life has been so hectic and busy, what with flying all over the world being a superhero and spy, that I haven't got around for it because I've been foiling diamond thieves in Casablanca and thwarting Godzilla off the coast of Brighton.</div><div>Alternatively, it could be because I forgot my password to get onto this site...and maybe even forgot the name of the site altogether. The fact that it took a good hour to remember how to publish a document may also have entered the equation...although I like to think that I was just too busy fighting crime and the many evils that pervade our wonderful world...and not just a bit thick when it comes to remembering things.</div><div> </div><div>'Study' is from notes made in August 2009, while 'T189' was written at the end of January, 2010.<br /></div><div></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4299325486237249280.post-26498217644370889102011-08-08T05:10:00.000-07:002011-08-08T06:41:25.164-07:00T189<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnNHROrHij2V28rRZnbfTsQCiHIfCxBCIU3OZMJ-LkLps2DeR9V-ATGFmWa9UGfZcvjLhrhiPWn1OFYGdjdy0y6pH_6l8Mmjfb2iVNuyr3ClSReva4kblXzGcH42t4uvsIvAso9oINJQ/s1600/Top+of+Stroud+Hill%252C+Gloucestershire..jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 163px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638458259849642834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnNHROrHij2V28rRZnbfTsQCiHIfCxBCIU3OZMJ-LkLps2DeR9V-ATGFmWa9UGfZcvjLhrhiPWn1OFYGdjdy0y6pH_6l8Mmjfb2iVNuyr3ClSReva4kblXzGcH42t4uvsIvAso9oINJQ/s320/Top+of+Stroud+Hill%252C+Gloucestershire..jpg" /></a>My first course with the Open University. I knew that I wanted to aim for creative and artistic subjects and chose T189 - Digital Photography, because although I had been involved with photography for some years, my knowledge of digital photography was practically zero.<div> </div><div>I'm so glad I started with this particular course. There were no tutors (which threw a lot of people), only feedback from other people on the course. As there were well over a thousand people on the course (I think closer t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jtZfZVGl5hjDDxXLFJxjvufEVzgzZYGLC1SVIgXHogWTZmJQJt4eDNb04xIY2FyHwFBh7ULJwYWmvk21rQDgH-C2H4yKRM-tLeq8rvjfBsywIhBuBRMEu0XvWn-Lh489Aldgv3nEphA/s1600/Bathroom+Noir.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 319px; height: 250px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638462141564057714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jtZfZVGl5hjDDxXLFJxjvufEVzgzZYGLC1SVIgXHogWTZmJQJt4eDNb04xIY2FyHwFBh7ULJwYWmvk21rQDgH-C2H4yKRM-tLeq8rvjfBsywIhBuBRMEu0XvWn-Lh489Aldgv3nEphA/s320/Bathroom+Noir.jpg" /></a>o two thousand plus), it meant that feedback varied a great deal, from the upbeat, positive type to the totally ridiculous superior or sarcastic type - thankfully not too many of those, and the ones that tried quickly got shot down in flames.</div><div> </div><div>It gave me a chance to reunite with photography and also buy my first digital SLR camera. Over time - and with incredible patience concerning the fiddly software of Photoshop - it all started to come together. </div><div>Having been trained to work in darkrooms with lots of fiddly accessories, plus the over-riding fear of allowing any chink of light into the photographic film, the whole digital process was somewhat of an eye-opener.</div><div>Creatively, it's a bit of a dilemma.</div><div>On one hand, there a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvPhFadCQwJuFofhyphenhyphenyvrKNwbJvPczuNy7fygyYslmUp2W-3UXoA5zFbtjyNxkwUu7rOzk1tRw3HVtG4LACXYavxCy720HaVHgX-UpiOFFKvisn9KIkhxv9nCbRLYD1k1UaEkVmmtBnD8/s1600/Rock+Splash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 245px; height: 224px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638458546971799266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvPhFadCQwJuFofhyphenhyphenyvrKNwbJvPczuNy7fygyYslmUp2W-3UXoA5zFbtjyNxkwUu7rOzk1tRw3HVtG4LACXYavxCy720HaVHgX-UpiOFFKvisn9KIkhxv9nCbRLYD1k1UaEkVmmtBnD8/s320/Rock+Splash.jpg" /></a>re seemingly endless options on how to edit an individual photograph; in essence there appears to be little that one cannot achieve with a good standard photo-editing software pack. </div><div>Which raises point #2; namely, at which particular point in the editing does your image stop being photographic and become art?</div><div> </div> <div>As a purist (old fashioned fogey) I found this concept a little difficult to comprehend at first. I thought back to my ancient photography teacher at college in 1980 and wondered what he would make of this new-fangled malarky. Endless essays on the early inventive minds that brought photography into being, like Fox Talbot and innovators such as Ansel Adams. Then I remembered that Adams had been a major creative<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WNm4fcfOHiAd_s7KmgDE-IsgwVH0P-N9R0vP7too9ijQv3RnyckZyTUdiFIKAZQI9eSyVm60yRnaSYiKZq0AhYSZCGNTc8QDUMUFO0sStonQ2hjWwhwrKWT4ti4gksKgUfvQwanF-BY/s1600/Sunburn..jpg"></a> </div> force in the early part of the century, producing essentially hi-definition images in the darkroom in the 1920's. If it was good enough for Ansel, it should be fine for me. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGKY_XkJTVxjNCvvvFX76GyJATuObfWX4em_ewqEGrikXmo0gr7lqY7FQtkOdhZPetA4phyphenhyphenybDRl_ooHtwmShzplmxUzhPWprbNt54u8Je3Aj-4_S6TM9Bad49m6dO4XDQy_v-8DFv6c/s1600/Sunburn..jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 205px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638464760984111042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGKY_XkJTVxjNCvvvFX76GyJATuObfWX4em_ewqEGrikXmo0gr7lqY7FQtkOdhZPetA4phyphenhyphenybDRl_ooHtwmShzplmxUzhPWprbNt54u8Je3Aj-4_S6TM9Bad49m6dO4XDQy_v-8DFv6c/s320/Sunburn..jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>The atmosphere on the course was generally positive and encouraging. New friends were quickly forged and I was lucky that our particular group tended to be supportive and fair in criticism. </div><div>Two exams were included in the course; firstly a technical multiple choice selection of 20 questions, concerning the physics and chemistry of photography and secondly the main exam, a portfolio of ten photographs with a small written piece about the technical aspects of your work.</div><div> </div><div> <div>As an incentive to study, the course was perfect. In order to get the work done one had to get off their asses and get out clicking. Mental barriers were broken down by encouraging the student to look at objects and opportunities in a free, or unusual fashion, in order to train the eye. </div></div><div>For example, an early task (There were two tasks weekly which weren't compulsory, but helped imm<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPwsRON96ymy00XjukbU8qbc4DtYMh4dMpLvHu54LweoA88JSBj16kb0fOj20qqWXmReRPxQUB4mlN1X37bZVWNIz-F3qBN2uauqFQRpoM-kNVmpV63ZJu6t-FnU9IzCpZEDA8kBV9dw/s1600/Stroud+Swan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 273px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638467773424169346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPwsRON96ymy00XjukbU8qbc4DtYMh4dMpLvHu54LweoA88JSBj16kb0fOj20qqWXmReRPxQUB4mlN1X37bZVWNIz-F3qBN2uauqFQRpoM-kNVmpV63ZJu6t-FnU9IzCpZEDA8kBV9dw/s320/Stroud+Swan.jpg" /></a>ensely for those that bothered to do them) was to get out and find shapes in nature/civilisation/anywhere that resembled letters of the alphabet. This trains the eye to start looking at objects outside its usual limitations and stereotypes and allows the creative mind to start seeing pictures and shapes where normally the eye wouldn't even bother to look.</div><div> </div><div>As an introduction to university study I couldn't have chosen a better course. My creative mind creaked back open again; something which had not happened for far too long. The momentum of the learning and study took over and it was genuinely a shame when the course starting wounding to an end.</div><div> </div><div>Good for confidence? You bet. All early fears and doubts subsided inside a short space of time, especially once I adopted my 'I don't give a shit, I'm gonna go for this' attitude, again which I had sorely missed for some time. It's the only way forward, I feel. If something is bothering or blocking your path then grab it by the balls and don't let go. Hardly a quote from Plato or Confucius I know, but at the end of the day, it works. </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 430px; height: 267px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466499575190882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBU2M3U3wHdBgj_O-UK8Caupdfn1PK4JymK47OnqdIQVieTt5O2iANlzhQHQVhA9UcjEKhtfFfwPpmPebCdhcE7uzZc98apQ1NW8GgcsjX7dWEkn9xy801TPp4CMIzbFD03asgGgZJJW4/s320/Single+Rose.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kev Milsomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596111045369720121noreply@blogger.com0