Write-Place

Over the past few days I've been getting emails, texts and notifications, some at unearthly hours of the morning - as I'm sure every internet user has about  Google policies . I've skim read the information as it's arrived - and lost interest after the first few lines.  Is this something I need to read the very 'small print' of or is it just something that will happen and won't particularly effect the likes of me as a regular user of Google search ? Facebook 'timelines', Twitter upgrading to new versions, Amazon recommending what I should read and iplayer giving me suggestions of what to watch, it's hardly surprising that I find it difficult to find time to write. Of course I could tap away on the laptop without considering the internet at all until I'm ready to email something. But that would mean a long list of 'research' topics to look up later and anyone who knows me knows my aversion to lists. Text me, email me, Facebook me o...

I look it and more days than not I feel it. The signs have been there, for as long as I can remember (!). Poor memory, going to the fridge and losing my way across the kitchen, agreeing with everything that's said on "Grumpy Old ... ". Aches and pains and body protesting at the simplest of tasks.  But now it's official (according to research done by the Dept for Works and Pension)   Old age begins at 54.  This has been a bit of a shock to me today, despite the signs, because it seems I have been in old age for almost 6 months now. If I remember rightly, which I probably don't, last birthday I received a few jokey cards on an old age theme along with the ones with flowers and dogs and things, but I've been getting those for a number of years now, but  no one sent me a "Welcome To Old Age " card specifically announcing this milestone in my life.  Now I would have thought that with the recession and all the cutbacks, that the DWP might have better...

Writers Talkback One Word Challenge - "Scarlet" Akram is jostled in the crowd, struggling to push his head up between the knees and elbows that are digging into his small body. He is almost deafened by the sounds of angry voices chanting and car horns signalling their discontent. He grasps the hand of his older brother, desperately clinging on. He knows he must not let go. The crowd surges and Akram's five year old feet are lifted off the ground as they move forward, nearer to the group with the white peaked caps. Akram's brother will be in deep trouble with Mama if she finds out he is here. In the past few months since the troubles got worse she has forbidden them to go to Friday prayers at the Ummayad Mosque in the city and they  have stayed indoors much more than usual. But she won't find out - not yet. Tricolours of scarlet, whiter and black with two green stars in the centre, wave above the heads of the people as shots are fired. Akram's limp, now li...

Watched  The Grumpy Guide to Christmas  last night - amusing, if not predictable. All those so called celebs telling us how much they hate Christmas, but obviously revelling in the revenue that moaning about it brings by talking about it on TV. As Ozzy Osbourne said "When I was a practising alcoholic it was the best time of the year, but when you don't drink it's just another day". They also talked about sending (or not sending) cards at Christmas and how you always get one from someone who you have never heard of. Me, cynical as ever, thought - that never really happens, it's just you have forgotten or something. But, another one of those coincidences that aren't  really coincidences happened this morning.   I received a Christmas card through the post this morning... from someone I've never heard of.                                              ...

In case anyone missed it on Tuesday 29th November via almost every social networking site available  - I   won a competition . At risk of being repeatetive, the competition involved Vintage Inns, Sir Andrew Motion as judge, and one line of poetry. I have graciously accepted and enjoyed the dining out part of the prize (at  the Boat Inn , Sprotbrough) and am now waiting for the other parts - a framed copy of the poem and a signed copy of Andrew Motion's latest collection of poems "The Cinder Path". Now, I have to admit that apart from knowing he was poet laureate at some time in the past, that was about all I knew of Andrew Motion. My main studying time of poetry was, of  course, before the days of Google at the sweep of a thumb and the click of a button. That's my excuse anyway, but I did feel obliged to read up a bit about the man responsible for my latest 'literary prize'. As coincidence/luck/fate or whatever would have it, a few days after the compe...

It did cross my mind not to write a blog about Christmas - before, during or after the event. Which ever way I talk about it I know that I will appear either 'holier than thou' or scrooge- like. I will certainly seem hypocritical.  However, I have buckled under the weight of my thoughts - which apparently are not so dis-similar to those of many others at this time.  There's nothing new in feeling a bit pressured at this time of year. Most of us want our family and friends to have the best possible...  everything.  Best tree. best decorations, best lights, best food and drink, best time together and most of all best presents. Whether this 'best' is  for ourselves or for what others think of us is something that's a bit too uncomfortable to think of. I hold my hands up here - I reckon I'm a pretty good contender for the top prize in this game. I want my family and friends to have THE BEST, be it mince pie, cracker or party, while talking about peace an...