Shredding is good

I thought it was just me who enjoyed shredding post, but Matt does too. Shredding is good. But have you tried to re-arrange a shredded bill into something intelligible again? (I have, and failed)

Why “Happy Halloween”?

Why do people in America say “Happy Halloween”? What’s happy about it? I’ve never understood why they say it, as though it’s a celebration. To me, it’s a dark, sinister thing and great fun for children, but by no means is it a happy event.  Bah Humbug.

Sweet Justice, or cruel fate?

What do we make of this?

“CUSTOMS officers claim that the businessman at the centre of Britain’s first avian flu case made up to £4m from an alleged bird-smuggling operation”

Justice, fate, or what?  Made me smile, albeit sheepishly.  What goes around comes around.

Good morning!

Good morning!

Originally uploaded by Cappucino Break.

Test from Flickr

Anxious moments cause anxious moments

I’m sitting here pondering what to feed myself in an hour.  Have agreed to go for a beer with a mate, in a vain attempt at “calming down.”  (why is it known as calming down?  Why not just calming?).  Unlike the rest of society who, to me, all seem uber confident, uber happy and uber successful – I find the smallest things impossible, and some of the larger things less troublesome.  I’m back to work tomorrow after a few days off and am a bag of nerves.  I usually am.  The prospect of working with some of the people there is, well, less than thrilling.  They’re not “my type of people,” on the whole.

And this week, I’ve been given a task – one which everyone else has done before, and one which last year I could never, ever imagined I would be doing.  And I’m re-colouring my pants with nerves.  Shall I have a sandwich or something more substantial?  Certainly don’t feel like eating anything.

Yet, my Mother’s trouble – she has some kind of cancerous growth in her mouth -  doesn’t make me nervous or panicy.  I am almost numb in that regard.  And, while I don’t consider myself selfish, maybe I am.  Maybe I’m self-obsessed; maybe I’m vain; maybe I only think of myself.  All these traits which I despise others having…and I might “hold” each and every one of them.  Disturbing thought.  Oh, and I’m not arrogant too – despite that last sentence.

For all the anxiety and nerves, in a week’s time I just know I’ll be feeling better; the task will be done, the butterflies flown away.  But not yet.  Beer awaits and then, I think, a microwaved curry.

Last night I proclaimed, in a loud voice: “Thank GOD I’m 23!  23!  23!”  Being six or seven again now seems far more appealing…

Headhunted. Me?

Well, what a turn up for the books. I’m genuinely in a state of desperation as regards cash and money at the moment, and as so often happens, things find a way of working themselves out. That’s a really dreadful sentence, but I know what I mean. A freelance writer for a national newspaper in the UK has contacted me and wants me to become the Editor of a new light-hearted blog. Details of it have yet to be confirmed, or found out – but it could be a nice little extra income, and I’m extremely excited about what this might lead to. Hurrah!

Eight weeks to pack and unpack

Eight weeks to go until we move. Somehow, I’m quite happy about it all – it was essentially my idea in the first place – but the fact it’s coming so soon does worry me. Not only do we have to clear the house, and the loft (which hasn’t been touched for 30+ years) but we haven’t found anywhere to live! And I’m off to the big smoke – on the pathetic salary I find myself on, this will not be easy.

The prospect of living with strangers does not appeal, one little bit. I’m not unsocial, or anti-social – or whatever the term is – but living with people I don’t know very well, or at all, is a concept I can’t yet grasp! Still waiting on a friend to see if he’ll be able to make it – we would have such a brilliant, drunken time if we got a flat, but alas it’s unlikely to happen.

And meanwhile, going through some things from the loft I came across some stuff from my Dad; piles of letters he wrote to Mum, and her to him, which have been quite fascinating. We hold our parents in high regard (I do, anyway) – slightly mythical people, with a wisdom and intelligence far beyond ours. Or so we thought. These letters, written in their 20s, were just as dull and hopelessly love-stricken as I’d expect I would write to my girlfriend. “I suspect you’re tired after your long drive? Nevermind, have a nice rest and you’ll feel fine in the morning.”

People don’t change much, really, do they?

Intro

Hi.  I’m a long-term blogger, with another blog elsewhere.  I’ve only ever blogged about one particular topic, my hobby, and have often yearned to write more personally about the things that delight and trouble me.  Due to my blog, which this summer got me a full-time job, I’m remaining anonymous.

In the same manner in which I first started my other blog, this blog is just a place to pen my own thoughts on things and is “for me.”  If others find it interesting (and I doubt anyone will) then that’s great.  It’ll be very honest, quite rude in places – and a place to shout, scream and sing about things that irk me, and please me.

Hurrah!

Oops