And it’s the Summer Solstice dear readers, so I have no words today, only images from a blissfully sleepy Thursday off doing very little. Any other readers out there off on a Thursday?Wishing you a wonderful weekend with moments to just be 🤗😍🤩💥
Author: Rare Bit Blogging
29 November 2017 is the date I started my blog, initially as an expressive outlet for some of the myriad thoughts whirling incessantly round my head. My intention was to attempt to attract people that were interested in my music and the life of a freelance musician to my website. Just over a year later, in one of my now regular stock takes and decluttering episodes, it’s become apparent that quite a few people enjoy reading what I write.
My blog has already served its purpose in that I’m able to express in writing far more quickly and clearly what I most often struggle to shrink down into spoken words. This has helped me in more ways than I imagined possible.
My style of writing is instinctive, emotional and creative so if it’s grammatically immaculate facts your after (pun intended), this probably won’t be your thing. If you want an intuitive and occasionally indulgent written meander in colourful language whilst picking up a few pebbles to skim over the surface of that stream water, let’s jump in - the water’s quite nice.
Tonight I have no idea which direction this new page will take. All I know is that it’s a journey I’m ready to explore. Coming with me? What are we waiting for?
Play
Play is an evocative word. Even as responsible adults, or maybe especially so, play features less than when we were in our youth, but play is crucial for our physical, mental and spiritual health and wellbeing.
You can play in the sun and in the snow, and you can play in the rain. In fact, one of my favourite things is putting my wellies on in Winter and splashing through muddy puddles and getting a bit mucky. It feels naughty and rebellious, and anticipating a telling off before getting cleaned up and warm again is all part of the fun of that playtime.
Some words that conjure up play for me are: beach, sea, water, sand, cinema, popcorn, ice cream, food. Food. Now that’s a fundamental one for me as I live to eat and I love cooking and baking. I’d rather shop for food than clothes. Clothes shopping definitely isn’t play, it’s not my idea of fun.
We all have very contrasting ideas of what play and fun is. Last week a lovely Finnish couple stared at me confusedly when I asked if they had their loyalty card handy. I hadn’t yet heard they weren’t locals or fluent in English. With their limited vocabulary, they went on to explain they’d come to town for the Last of the Summer Wine Experience. Can you imagine that? A vintage bus trip around town visiting locations from the series followed by supper at Compo’s chippy wouldn’t be my idea of fun. For this couple, it might have been the highpoint of their holiday.
The other day, yet another grey great big fat fucking miserable rainy June day, I was so fed up I decided to wear my bikini instead of underwear. That was fun. I was transported back to the beach where I experienced a few magical moments of blissful ease and carefree abandon as I gazed out at the azure blue sea and basked in the warm sunshine.
At the shop much of the food has a playful theme. Fun sells. Despite the weather, picnic goods are strategically positioned next to barbecue equipment, hinting that Summer is definitely on its way to Yorkshire. Branding and product naming is big business and companies play on our inability to handle boredom, emptiness, solitude and hunger. Joy Fills. Tony’s Chocolonely. Feast. Magnum. Not sure what that’s about but if it could make Tom Selleck appear, that would be rather nice thanks.
Play is a very musical word too. One plays music on an instrument. But in order to enjoy playing, you have to put in hours of often gruelling practice to reap the reward of sharing your expressive fun with an audience. That was a notion I genuinely struggled to get my younger students to grasp.
Look at my cat. She’s just turned 16. In human years, that’s about 84. She’s not in the best health and she has a liver condition but she’s still young at heart and on several occasions throughout the day, she has mad moments where she goes a bit nuts. She runs after a scrunched up piece of discarded scrap paper like a lunatic, rolls on her side and air kicks the rug. Breathless after her energetic aggressive exertion, she looks around with the expression of a creature that was just possessed by an unknown force. And maybe that’s what we need so as to access our playful fun side. The opportunity to just say fuck it and do inanely insane silly things without worrying about the consequences.
I think it comes down to honouring that instinctive authentic free spirit that resides in each and every one of us, whether we’re 48 or 84.
What does play mean to you? How do you express your playfulness?
Rare Bit
Minding The Gaps
Today was a good day. I’m feeling quite insular and introverted and that’s ok. Feeling that I should do this, ought to behave like that, that I should be as people expect me to be, puts on an immense pressure. In the past, people have insinuated that I’m a bit manic at times. So what if I am? I feel things to extremes and I’m ok with that. It just seems that others aren’t ok with the times I don’t fit into their moulded expectations of how I should be. What goes up must come down, or at least hit a plateau. I have highs and lows and I’m glad of them most of the time. Heavens forbid a neutral flat line.
I spent most of the day out and about with my thoughts. There were very few moments of anxiety and by managing my time (leaving plenty of time to get to my meeting), any tension was reduced. I’m not keen on big cities these days, especially not at peak times, but I do love the indulgence of not having to sit daydreaming in my car on the motorway. Daydreaming on public transport is preferable and it’s still a novelty except in rush hour. Not much is a novelty then with the jostling of elbows and grumpy commuters.
I went for lunch on Sunday with 2 other women. I was very tired and I admit I wasn’t riveting company. I had three intentions – to be sociable, eat and leave. Apart from good food, it was a bit disappointing. I wasn’t able to engage. I don’t know these women very well and I would love to have more men in my life. I’m not a fan of smalltalk at the best of times. Spoken word is a bit of challenge. I’m a bit shy with strangers and I find it difficult to articulate my thoughts, preferring the safety and reflection of the written word. Perhaps it was fatigue, maybe it was because I’d been surrounded by sometimes deafening sounds and music on Sunday, but the conversation was like listening to white noise and I couldn’t identify with anything they were talking about. After lunch we started to meander meaninglessly around town, hovering awkwardly to watch a parade. I like to move and walk fast. The heavens opened and I politely made my excuses. Besides, I had just one more deadline that evening, and by 7.30pm, I knew I could just press the pause button.
I crave physical and emotional intimacy. I know I’m capable of feeling and sharing both these qualities and I think it’s a basic human need. We weren’t created as solitary entities. Thing is finding the right person. For me, that’s someone warm, funny and communicative with quite a lot of patience who is kind yet firm. Someone challenging yet supportive who encourages growth together. They’re out there, it’s a question of finding them. It’s an ongoing personal battle.
Reading back over this, I’m aware I sound like a right miserable c**t and nothing could be further from the truth. I have my moments. Don’t we all. I’m aware my birthday’s coming up and I’ve even started to think about Christmas. Fuck. I swear they’ll be an improvement on last year. Neither occasion was bad, just average. I want memorable please, for the right reasons.
I do miss music. I rarely listen to music at home these days, preferring the hum of my fridge and the soothing hypnotic tick tock of the clock. I can no longer justify my former refuge, my haven, my safe place. For now. I would love to make music the focal point of my world again. I miss minding the gaps between the notes. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the expressive safety of writing.
Blue Monday
Good evening dear readers! I’ve set myself a challenge to write a daily blog every evening I’m free, so here goes! I won’t win a Nobel prize, but that’s not the point of the exercise!
Today was a bit of a wash out, a damp squib for the most part. Like every Monday, it started with a mad splash at the pool. It was a brilliant workout, feeding and freeing my mind, body and soul, and I pushed very hard as usual. The weather’s been so hideous that I’ve been unable to face any of the walking or running I’d planned, wellies or no wellies. Life is damp. Drab. Grey. Sodding sodden. I’ve been so busy with playing work, and that’s taken over my life, something I would have embraced wholeheartedly (like everything I do) two years ago, but since I made some major changes in my life, what used to feed me now zaps my energy. I can no longer afford the indulgent 4 hour practice marathons I love so much. What used to be my playground (orchestral playing) feels like a torture chamber more often than not these days. I got on a bit of a downer after the concert. There were several friendly familiar faces from the past and I remembered the good times. I heard the compliments about my playing and took them on board even though my confidence in my playing was questionable.
After my class, I rushed home to wolf down my breakfast before giving a lesson. Lesson time came and brought no student with it. After 20 minutes I texted. She’d forgotten. Leave it, I thought to myself in a karmic peaceful frame of mind as I conjured up a thousand useful ways to fill an hour and a half. I looked at Facebook for 5 minutes and then I slept.
As the day went on, I got a bit more agitated about the missed lesson. I received a very sincere apology and a request to make another time this week please. The thing is, if I’m going to maintain any sort of practice routine, I don’t have time for her before the beginning of July. The other thing is that I had a new student who would have willingly taken the musician’s hour I’d allocated my present student. There was no offer of payment either. Easy come, easy go.
I didn’t want to go to work. I was in a mood for staying in under the covers. I reminded myself of the challenge of trying to crack a smile from as many customers as possible. Today however, the tables were turned. I was in a bit of a daze, in proficient autopilot mode at the tills. The few customers who approached the counter beaming sunny smiles despite the downpours were welcomed most openly, and I feasted on their positive energy. A week ago, I was the one giving out the cheer. Today I was more than happy to be on the receiving end, and I was equally happy to share that fact. Happiness goes in circles.
One of my preoccupations is loneliness and I spend a lot of time alone. I’m usually comfortable in my own company but at the moment it can be a challenge with only myself to bring me down. Some of my core issues are being addressed as I relinquish past shackles and create a new life for myself. There’s an opportunity for change and growth and it feels urgent to seize that with both hands. I started doing some deep work on myself a couple of months ago and things came to a head in my last session in which I basically cried, talked and listened for an hour. I had been so relentless, so caustically tough on myself to the point of numbness. In a safe environment at last, the floodgates opened. What a fucking relief! How cathartic tears can be and that session was priceless. Being kind to myself is my biggest challenge and I’m predisposed to giving myself a jolly good hiding given half a chance. I don’t need or deserve that anymore and I know full well how hard it is to shake, break, smash old ingrained habits.
Ever the optimist, before work, I put my laundry out having seen a clear forecast. Maybe I read the forecast for Seville by mistake. Yes, I have that city on my weather app! I’ve wanted to go for ages, and one day I will. Seville and Granada too. And Valencia again, for more than 24 hours next time, and Bilbao and San Sebastian. So yes, definitely Spain. France too. Biarritz, just for the sake of the name.
Desperate to get back home for a brew and a run, but in a bit of a bingey mood, I did some shopping after work. (When I faced up the chilled wines during my shift, I noticed a bottle of Spanish rosé I used to be keen on and remembered the feelings that drink evoked. In my imagination, drinking it was like spending a night in Spain. I wasn’t bothered about the taste as much as the feeling.) I had 3 things on my list. I ended up with 18 items in my basket, including the above haul in a moment of weakness. I’ve seen customers buy vast quantities of sweet stuff to brace themselves against the bitter June chill, and we’ve definitely shifted more family packs of chocolate for one than fruit since the weather turned sour. It’s nearly bedtime and I haven’t had any of it. It’s all about having it there, just in case.
Thursday
Good evening Friends and Fiends!
I hope you’ve had a devilishly delightful delicious day, much as I have. I’ve been very good and finally got on top of my practice and it was such a relief to be in flow at last this evening after a couple of sessions feeling I had fistfuls of bananas for fingers and two left feet to pedal with. I feel reassured that I’ll do myself justice in Saturday’s evening’s concert as I’ve been in musician mode all day.
It’s a funny old thing, creativity. It was only until this evening that I started my practice. I’d put aside a creative day focused on my practice but in the end, I needed other forms of feeding. Much of my ennui and lack of focus was due to the weather, and I noticed an element of disobedience, of naughtiness about not doing my work. Interesting, that.
I didn’t write or do any admin, but I did reflect a lot on my week and gained some perspective on where I am in my life right now. I’m neither here nor there. I’m not where I want to be and I’m okay with where I am most of the time.
My loneliness is still a bit of a concern and this evening, as I’m in a bolshy boisterous conversational mood for bullshit chitchat about anything and nothing, I’m sort of relieved there’s nobody here to hear it. I’m trying desperately to get to grips with my tech issues but time always evades me and practical work was more important. I tried to upload a live photo in a break but it just came up with a message that it was processing and round and round the busy whirling circle went. I gave up. The picture was of blue sky and the deluge had finally ceased to reveal a texturally rippling sky riffled with puffy fluffy clouds.
Tomorrow is a new day. I’ve decided to try to blog briefly every evening I’m free. I hope you won’t be bored… and thanks for reading!
Have a fabulous fun-filled Friday🤩🥳🥳 RBB 🤓
An image can speak a thousand words
At Sea
I’ve got a surfeit of excess energy tonight. Yesterday was vile, a shitastrophy, a day that would have been best spent under the duvet in my most fetching hoodie, but I embraced the challenge anyway and fought the urge to seek refuge from it all in bed. I’d been away for the weekend and HAD to catch up on some work. I eventually got some good practice done. I swear, if you’d seen me, you’d have phoned the nearest psychiatric unit. I kept bursting inconsolably into uncontrollable sobbing spells. I’d completely lost my lust for life. I bore an emotional headache from such an intense lengthy expression of emotion and its ensuing numbness. My self-talk was lamentable until my second hour of practice. Music makes everything better for me.
My gritty eyes stung and smarted in the pool. The class was the highlight of my day. It’s such a tough workout but I love the sense of solidarity within a group of women fighting the currents, swirling round in circles, gritting our teeth and squeezing our cores for dear life. Eventually pummelled into submission just after midnight, I read a few lines from Gwyneth Lewis’ Sunbathing in the Rain to accompany me into a deep slumber.
After a busy shift, tonight my creativity is back with a vengeance. I can’t stop singing. My thoughts cascade forth and I try to harvest the cream of a copious crop, jotting each brainwave in purple, pink and white. All it takes is a simple lifeline, a straw to be clutched with both hands. A gesture. A courageously tentative question. I dared. I asked. Suddenly the world transforms. It’s a warm welcoming environment and I feel connected again. I seriously considered medication last night but it’s not a route I want to go down. I still believe that’s just sticking a plaster on, masking the wound. The problem remains. I have some important issues I need to deal with concerning my career and my personal life. It’s as simple as that. End of.
Speaking of which, I might have mentioned I’ve been dabbling in the world of online dating again. I’ve been on 4 dates so far, none of them hideously uncomfortable or mindblowingly memorable. I dispatched the first 2 candidates efficiently and gently. S was my most recent potential suitor. After some engaging messaging, I made the mistake of accepting his WhatsApp invitation. Our date in a pub in town on a Sunday evening was dull. I sensed some possible control issues when he wanted to stretch our first encounter beyond an hour before we’d even met, ignoring my fatigue following a four hour stint of playing. Despite my request to meet near my workplace that day, he insisted on sticking to his plan. I was very tired and heard myself coming out with my same old story with lacklustre delivery. I couldn’t wait to escape and cursed my fate on my drive home. I’d been swayed by his quirkiness and the fact he sent me a couple of photos of his cat, which was identical to mine other than it was a male cat with a fatter face. I think I’d have preferred to go on a date with his cat. With hindsight, I think he was too similar to me but I like to think I’m more interesting.
When I got back from my weekend at sea, I still felt I needed to clear the air. Before I went, he pulled me up in a message saying I hadn’t been in touch after I said I’d contact him. I had no recollection of this. I apologised and told him my head was all over the place (true) with all I had to juggle. Yesterday morning I sent him a message saying it had been good to meet him but that I just didn’t fancy him. I think he took it personally and I got quite a terse message back. Yes, I put myself in his shoes. In his position I wouldn’t have taken offence. To someone, he has been attractive, he is attractive, and will be considered attractive again. Just not to me. If someone told me the same thing, I’d take that on board and it would make it easier to move on. I’m certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Anyway, I’m happy with the clarity and politeness of what I expressed and I’m not responsible for his reaction. I now have closure. I just wish I could delete him from WhatsApp. He’s getting lower on my list of messagees and eventually he’ll disappear into infinity. Poof. Just like that.
I love Easter. It’s one of my favourite times of year with its air of promise and misty chilly mornings that bloom into beautiful sunny days as if by magic. I’m working on Saturday night. The shop work is going well. It gives me a sense of purpose and responsibility and adds real structure to my day. There’s a new manager and with him comes a sense of freshness as he pulls things into the shape he wants. I worked harder yesterday than I have since I started in January. He offered me a miniature chocolate egg, one of those really sickly ones filled with sugar, probably about 5 teaspoons in total. I’m saving it for a crisis. I worry about my hands of course, and working milk is agonising, but if I keep to 12-16 hours a week, I should be ok.
Sunday is my day off. I’m looking forward to going with the flow, although I have a vague plan. There’s plenty to keep me distracted. There are doors to be opened and interesting new places to be explored.
I’ve been to a lot of pubs recently and they don’t phase me any more, except when they’re really busy and noisy. We went out and ate some amazing food on Saturday night. The cocktails and wine were flowing freely but I wasn’t tempted. The aroma of red wine is satisfyingly nauseating. We were next to a party of 20 or so and I really struggled to engage in group conversation, my ears throbbing along to the pulsating loud music and the rowdy cacophony and expressive outbursts of celebratory revellers. My efforts to transform my shell likes into pointed feline ears were useless and I remained silent for the most part. I’m a good listener in these circumstances.
I’ve got another date lined up for Friday night, with J in a local pub. He seems nice, nice smile and nice eyes but he ends each message with a BIG triple X. Our first few exchanges were simply sealed with a single smack. Silly isn’t it? Don’t worry. It’s not a dealbreaker! He asked if I’d like to eat with him. That, however, is a no no. I only eat with people I know well and feel comfortable with. I think it partly stems from seeing Cynthia Nixon on a date in Sex and the City when she wore braces, her teeth sullied with spinach. I can laugh at myself but I like to have a say about the boundaries within which I do so.
Rollercoaster Ride
MONDAY NIGHT
April started with a pinch, a punch and a hilariously hearty bang. It had been a busy few days and I finally crashed in a huddled emotional heap in my kitchen after a 6 hour stint at a promotional event on Sunday. I’m not long back from this evening’s shift and as is the case more often than not these days, supper was eventually consumed just after 11. Whenever I finish a shift, I have to drink a mug of strong decaf tea. It’s become a ritual. When I used to get home from gigs, I’d reach for a beer or some wine to help dispel the emotions and frustrations of the day. Drinking tea is akin to drinking a hug. Slugging alcohol was like ingesting a numbing kick.
I realised over the past few days I’ve got a new obsession. Food. I guess it boils down to an inherent urge for survival, an instinct to feed and nurture. My freezer is full and I’ve got a plethora of ice cream varieties in case I run out of fun. Play time is vital and I try to inject small doses of fun little and often throughout my day.
Working in the shop feels perilous at times. I have no interest whatsoever in Beer, Wine and Spirits other than the fact it’s one of the easier aisles to work. I have no problem with chocolate, biscuits or sweets, and I was ecstatic when my favourite darker than dark variety was on offer a couple of weeks ago. I bought 6 bars which will keep me going for months. I get excited when I see the highlighted special offer stickers dotted around the shelves, especially towards the end of the evening when they practically give food away.
TUESDAY MORNING
Freezers. Keep me away from them. My Raynauds isn’t improving and the artificial air in the shop and its unpredictable temperature peaks and troughs don’t help matters. Spring has more or less sprung, although it seems to have bombed today. The forecast is better for the end of the week.
My agitation yesterday morning was extreme, my knees shaking uncontrollably. As I reviewed Sunday, I remembered I’d taken no exercise other than a short stroll near the canal where I was working for free. After a proper breakfast, lunch consisted of a packet of crisps purchased on the event premises and some grapes – I ran out of time on Saturday night to prepare anything. I’d hoped for a glut of free samples from the catering suppliers at the event. Imagine my dismay when the sausage roll and pork pie I’d visualised with such vivid optimism failed to materialise and I had to content myself with 2 tiny portions of chocolate brownie washed down with cold home brewed extra strong coffee. Thrashing it out in the pool this morning felt divine. I love feeling my body supported by the water, my ankles pleasantly weighted as I bob up and down.
Things seem to be hotting up on Tinder. I hasn’t been in touch and neither have I. I’m enjoying some banter with J and a date may be on the cards. One a week. I have a litmus test for anyone I know I’d like to get involved with. If I want to cook for them within seconds of meeting them, it’s a sure sign. Does anyone else get this? I didn’t feel this with I, as entertaining as he was. I’m still a little naive and I still believe, but dating apps are intimidating. They cause so much mental and emotional interference and it’s impossible to tell what men are like from a few written words and some random photos. Why some men put photos up with their kids or their exes is beyond me, and having an idyllic beach or mountain vista as a profile pic doesn’t cut it either.
So today is my day off. Who else is free on a Tuesday? I’ve been pottering blissfully. Parts of my house are in order again and I cleaned the shower yesterday before work. I’m off duty officially until after swimfit tonight and I’m grateful to have fitness options. This afternoon is Pilates at home to iron out the creases from a morning spent more or less in bed. Not sleeping, just reading and writing. Swimfit – now there’s a blog post in itself and talk about embracing the challenge. Last week I thought I was going to pass out, my body got so deeply oxygenated from all my huffing and puffing. I managed “THEY TOLD ME THIS WOULD BE FUN” through teeth gritted from the effort of lifting a hollowed out plastic log dunked into the water and raised unceremoniously above my head. My head spins when I leave the leisure centre, my body radiant with heat. Pool bunny? Yes, that’s me.
Flow
I went to the pool on Thursday. I hadn’t had much sleep following the constraints of 3 days of short shifts. Although I really enjoy many aspects of my new job, it puts me in a restricted frame of mind and I sometimes get a bit down if I take on a few extra hours as I have to stifle my vivid imagination. There’s only so much creativity you can indulge in at the chewing gum cabinet without getting a benevolent slap on the wrist for being slow. I prefer to call it being meticulously detailed but it’s a quality that isn’t always appreciated in the fast paced field of retail and shop floor work. My creative thoughts flurry back with fervent passion as soon as I get home, a few looser days ahead of me.
For the first 10-15 minutes of most pool sessions, I feel sluggish. Everything’s an effort as my body gets accustomed to movement again. I can feel my body is out of flow as I struggle with the warm ups, my legs and core aslumber from inertia and unnatural movement. I’ve been holding my breath a lot in case I get something wrong at work. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, there I am. In flow. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing anymore. I gaze glazedly at the water in front of me, my thoughts momentarily on hold. I love this feeling and only started experiencing it outside music performance from the end of last year. It’s like being in a trance, my mind purified of all its clutter. I stop listening to the instructor’s orders, barked above the disco music. Her voice becomes a distant background murmur. The water feels like a second home, a place that’s stark and hostile at first when I plunge into its engulfing shocking coolness. Its smart slap soon turns into embracing gentle caresses, my limbs and joints supported and encouraged to push to extremes. I lengthen my arms and legs, fulfilling my body’s potential. I never understood how fitness fanatics can be thus. Now I do, and the hit of endorphins rushing through my body is potent.
In flow, everything is easy. Effortless.
This morning I went for a walk. I took the high path which I’ve put off again and again. Not today. Up I went, huffing and puffing, trying not to look back for fear of, well, fear. Sherpa steps. Must remember to take Sherpa steps. What if I slip and fall? Who would find me? Who would know? Who cares? What if?
I reach the insurmountable summit and look back in disbelief and surprise at my achievement. It was by no means a mountain but in my mind it was Everest. The mystery of beyond was revealed. It was flat and the path ahead looked intriguing and untrodden.
It’s felt as though Spring has almost sprung with flouncy crocustard carpets of luxurious velvety yellow, and their vividly violacious mauve sisters. Suddenly we’re pulled back into Winter with the slap of horizontal rain reinforced by bustling winds to remind us we’re only just in March.
All of me, every last ounce and inch is itching for a softer sweeter season ahead. I remember with gratitude the midsummer smells sitting in my kitchen listening to the mechanical rhythmic rattle of the boiler. With gratitude.
Change
I don’t know about you but I’m not a fan of change. I like it when things are, to a greater extent, fixed. I like knowing what’s going on. Although there’s a playful improvisatory side to me, I like to feel and think I’m in control. I’m a fan of a plan, even if I end up going off-piste.
I’ve got so many questions that probably have no answers, only those I can find by looking deep inside myself. Why am I here? What’s the point? Who cares?
I’m going away. I’m feeling quite considerable anxiety. It’s uncomfortable and I deal with it by keeping busy. The anxiety is about survival. I want to survive. I want to come back from my road trip. I sometimes find it hard to justify the reason. Life feels too monochrome.
There’s a deep dissatisfaction which doesn’t sit well. It could be seasonal. It could be hormonal. It could quite simply be that this is such a complex and uncomfortable age in which we live. I often think I’d be better suited to life in olden times, the age of horse and cart, the era of candles and writing elegantly with a feather, its tip hand honed, dipped in a pungent inkwell. Typing on a laptop never feels quite expressive or messy enough. I can’t slash a red line through an unsatisfactory word or uninspiring phrase. Pen and paper take too long. Perhaps I’ll try a podcast. The microphone is on my desk, poised, ready for some airtime. Ahem. La la la la laaa. I tackled my major technical challenge last night, updating my Satnav, which had caused me concern for a few weeks. Passwords. Logins. Memorable information. Which of these images has a shopfront? Is that even a shopfront?
Change is inevitable and inevitably I’ll fight it every step of the way with the resistance of an ox or that of an ass. I know who’ll win!
Rare Bit Blogging 