"When you grow up, you can be whatever you want."

Were the rest of you guys told this when you were at school? This was a particular favourite catchphrase of our social guidance teacher at school. Trouble was that it conflicted with the careers teacher’s slogan ‘be realistic’…

Even tho’ I was a pretty bright kid the extent of any input into this matter was the occasional vague question ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ which was usually only ever brought up in polite company where the adult conversation topics had run out.

I wanted to be a scientist working in the field of genetics. I have no idea how I even thought I knew what a scientist was, or where this crazy idea entered my head, but I loved the idea of working with animals and doing experiments. I’d seen the Rowett Institute, all posh buildings and somehow knew about its world leading reputation for health and nutrition and thought that this was the place for me.

Reality intruded upon my perfect life vision of becoming the next marie curie when I had my first careers meeting with the school’s careers advisor. He asked me what I’d like to do after I left school and I stupidly took the question at face value, in that he genuinely wanted to know.

I remember hurriedly telling him my plans and how I’d already become the volunteer keeper of the school’s biology animals. How I’d been carrying out my own studies at home by breeding gerbils and had bred my first albino third generation from starting. And on and on I garbled, omitting that I sold the excess gerbils to both the school for vivisection and local pet shops for live snake bate in case he deemed me unsuitable to work with animals. Best part for me was for the first time ever, someone was listening to me and my plans.

Turned out that he had obviously just been on a ‘listening as a skill’ course and was waiting until I’d finished my vocalisation before discounting it in one swift but well aimed barb, “That’s a nice idea, but tell me – do you like shoes?”….

I felt something ping inside me as I realised I was supposed to be focussing on crappy jobs and that I ought to be just happy to have a job. And just like that, a grey haired, be speckled old man had stolen something from me and I never really got it back.

Rediscovering the Classics

The great thing about having a poor short term memory is that when the things you've bought online turn up... you're surprised... by converse, if they don't turn up you forget you've ordered them! I'm talking specifically about two books I bought before Christmas and with the disruption in my mail being delivered and then the following furore of the holiday merriments I completely forgot. Turns out that Amazon is holding to ransom my bargain copies of La Vita Nuova & Faust - A Tragedy In Two Parts & The Urfaust and I've just remembered that I want to read them!

I've always been captivated by Dante's obsession with Beatrice and the logical part of me suspects that such unwavering lasting love or proclamations of 'she's the one'... just doesn't seem probable particularly these days. But there is a dogged romantic part of my nature that hangs onto the idea of 'what if'....

I heard the tale of Beatrice when I was very young and I think that's where my love of old poems and books comes from. I can't explain the joy of poems such as O Fortuna, made famous by Orff's musical adaptation. I like to think of it as an classical version of the BBC's 'Points of View' programme!

I read this one and others as being full of passion and and given the desperation of most people's lives in those days it's hardly surprising. It's a reflection of living through dramatic or cataclysmic situations which run the gauntlet between life and death. Wanting to squeeze as much out of life is a stark difference from the half hearted desires of our times. To me, walking in departments stores is a reflection of how sick our society has become. More and more pointless 'things' on offer at inflated costs which are designed to enslaves us all to leading lives shackled to our own pointless possessions and the need to work to pay for them.

There's an old cliche that life is not about the number of breaths you take, but the number of times your breath has been taken away (I'm paraphrasing cos I can't remember it exactly).. When I'm reminded of the things I've already discovered and had me spellbound, it feels like I'm rediscovering those feelings and thoughts with the same excitement or sometimes even renewed excitement as the first time around. It's a by-product of the way my brain's wired but it occurs to me that wouldn't it be useful to have that feeling of rediscovery about someone you fell in love with or something you've treasured, instead of the increasingly disposable mind set that appears to be so prevalent today?

Which would you prefer - the long term deep joy of a much loved classic or reliving temporary short term pleasure from the same start point?

Playing Catch up!

Falling behind for the third day it's hard to deny that I suck at this daily blogging thing.....

Blog - Where the *&*%*&^ have you been?
Me - Surfing the internet mostly
Blog - Oh yeah, so you'd rather destroy your eyes looking at dodgy sites than write out paragraphs and word salads like you used to.
Me - Well, I guess
Blog - You don't love me no more!
Me - Now, now baby, don't be that way. I've not really been giving other sites more attention than you. I've just taken up another love (books)
Blog - What!? You son of a no-good-paper-chaser! I'm going to carve out your eyeballs!!
Me - I'm sorry. It's just that books are just so... so ... less demanding. It jst easier for me to gather paragraphs than to spew them out daily
Blog - .....
Me - Come on now, at least I wasn't seduced by that hussy, friendsface!
Blog - ....


Truth is that it's not that i lack material or the imagination to blog, it's just that i'm not very good at habits or focussing so it's kinda hard to maintain the wherewithal to keep updating....

Blog - must try harder!

The Road (I.O.U. for 11th Jan)

I read the book 'The Road' by Cormac MacCarthy a few years ago and remember the feeling of desolation and sadness like it was yesterday. One of the most compelling but harrowing reads in my experience so I have no idea why I picked up the DVD of the film.

I know that some people like to be scared out their wits and some people like funny movies or love stories or even mysteries and everything in between. But I don't know many people (if any) who would chose to watch a film knowing it's ending is so bleak and the road to that ending so hopeless. I can't watch it and I don't know if I ever will and knowing this brings this quote from the book to mind...

"Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said.
You might want to think about that.

You forget some things, don't you?

Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget"
The Road

THE ROAD... available in all good bookstores and out on DVD!!! Don't do it!

Conversation with the 'ex'

RING RING - RING RING

"hello?"

"I'm at your house, and the lights are off. Where are you?"

"Oh we're here, sitting inside with the lights off"

SILENCE

"We often to that, just incase people come by unexpectedly. Hang on and I'll come to the door"

SILENCE

SILENCE

SILENCE

"Aye are you coming or not?"

SILENCE

"You're nae even at hame are ya?"

"And that Sir, is the reason why I feel so safe at home. Knowing your calibre of policemen are patrolling my neighbourhood"


~BRRRR~

Status - Single

Why do all the single people I encounter automatically assume that because I'm single too that I'm looking for a lover. Then find it hard to accept that because they are available they are a candidate for this fabricated position in my life? Why do past lovers assume that I hanker after them long after the dust has settled and imagine I'll welcome them with open arms and gratitude for their renewed attentions? Words fail me when faced with this level of arrogance, but Carol Ann Duffy sums it up beautifully...

To the Unknown Lover

Horrifying, the very thought of you
whoever you are,
future knife to my scar,
stay where you are.

Be handsome, beautiful, drop-dead
gorgeous, keep away.
Read my lips.
No way. OK?

This old heart of mine's
an empty purse.
These ears are closed.
Don't phone, want dinner,

make things worse.
Your little quirks?
Your wee endearing ways?
What makes you you, all that?

Stuff it, mount it, hang it
on the wall, sell tickets,
I won't come. Get back. Get lost.
Get real. Get a life. Keep schtum.

And just, you must, remember this -
there'll be no kiss, no clinch,
no smoochy dance, no true romance.
You are Anonymous. You're Who?

Here's not looking, kid, at you.

Ninja Invasion

Imagine it ... 6 am on a bitterly cold morning. It's dark outside and my bedroom is silent as a sleep. The house is occasionally groaning from the pressure of -15 outside and full boar heating on the inside. I'm roused from my sleep and still in that blissful half aware state i need a small scrambling noise coming from the loft. Distant but distinct. This is all part of country life and nothing worth losing sleep over. I remind myself to set the table for unwelcome guests and half wonder where the mousetraps are before dosing back into a semi sleep.

Seconds? Minutes later I'm shaken back out of my snooze with a louder, closer scraping noise. This isn't the usual mouse feet scurrying and my ears registers it before I'm fully awake and by the time I've caught up with my ears my brain has me sitting up in bed. It's dark in the room and my eyes haven't adjusted to the gloom so my only useful sense (my ears) are on high alert.

The scraping is right at the loft hatch, which from memory isn't closed properly. I 'ahem' loudly hoping to scare the intruder away from the entrance, but not only does it ignore my polite entreaty but it starts to dig the wood with its nails. My brain has now upgraded the little field mouse to a rat... a huge one at that. I can hear the joists on one side of the doorway being chewed and clawed and listening with growing horror I realise how very unprepared i've come to bed. I have a bottle of water and my phone with me.

I flick the phone into life and a tiny beam of light floods the darkness around me. Great... now the rat can see where to find me! My phone is locked and the light flicks off after 3 seconds. Logically, I know my phone light will stay on much longer if I unlock it but in my growing panic that idea doesn't even occur to me.. So i start a ridiculous round of pressing and point my phone towards the back of the bedroom.

Far from being discouraged by my exaggerated noises and woefully pathetic phone light, the rat rallies it's efforts and the clawing seems to be reaching a frantic pace. The phone has so small a light and the room is so dark that it's beam doesn't cast enough light to see far.

I'm not a great fan of horror films and every time I watch them I get frustrated by characters who go tip toeing towards strange noises or unexplained lights... it's utterly illogical surely. But here I am, gingerly getting out of bed armed with my mobile phone, which continues to abandon me every 3 seconds edging towards the back of my bedroom.

I imagine I can feel the warmth of the invader, even tho' the scrapping has momentarily stopped. The suspense is palpable and my heart is literally in my mouth. Little mice don't scare me, but large vicious rats are a different story. I've no idea what I'll do if it runs into the room but I feel compelled to investigate. My brain isn't listening to my survival voice shouting 'runaway! runaway!'

I flick my phone for the umpteenth time and the light finally falls onto the scene of the crime at the exact same time as there is a renewed effort on the house beams. I can see what's happened the opening is open but a box has fallen down to cover the bottom half of the doorway. I hold the phone higher to get some illumination into the loft space and there staring back at me are two huge eyes reflecting the phone lights!

That's too big to be a rat! I'm about to run when I hear for the first time a tiny apologetic 'meow'. It's a cat! Two steps and I'm at the entrance and there clinging on a joist by all four claws like a koala bear is my black cat 'Monty'!! He has a look on his face looks surprised to see me... like 'oh hello, your awake too huh?'.




I grab him unceremoniously by the scruff of his neck and pull him out the loft. He hot tails it out the bedroom and down to the kitchen with me in close pursuit. I imagine he's as frightened as I am angry by the time I catch up with him.... but no no... he's jauntily milling around the kitchen cupboard which houses his food, all hightailed and prancing. He stretches all pleased with himself and the thought of a bite of breakfast now I'm here.