By the way, we ate here. Lunch was delicious. 

And no, no photos of my meal this time. I simply forgot. 

I swear on my mother’s grave, I am not giving the stiff finger to Frank here. Honest. I was just pointing to his name when the OH snapped a photo …

I read two very interest interconnect blog posts this morning from Jim Mitchell and Sebastian¹, both talking about the why and way they blog. Which, of course, got me to thinking about how others blog and, in particular, how I now blog. 

After a lot of starts, stops and even going as far as to delete various blogs over the years. I think I’ve finally found what works for me: The Garbage Can approach.

Pretty much everything and I mean, everything I want to write about, goes on this blog. A personal post, check. A film review, check, a post about blogging, check. I realised the reason I kept starting and stopping was I was trying to force each blog I started into a tiny set of parameters. 

And me? I like to colour outside the lines. A lot. 

It took me a long while, but I think I’m there. Now I just write what I want. When I want. About what I want. However I want. 

This blog is both my online journal and a place to share things, but also a place to archive thoughts, events, notes and observations. As much is it is about writing in reply, like this post is, to other bloggers.

Why can’t it be everything? 

I found by limiting myself to either one thing or the other, I was putting too many constraints on how our minds work, our thought like butterflies, flitting from one thought to another, and back again. 

So that it, that’s how I write. Whatever it is that pops into my head, when it pops into my head. I’m sharing it all with you, and, of course, for prosperity.

After all, it’s not written in stone, right? Right? 

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

1. By the way, we all seem to envy how neat and tidy Darren Hester’s blog is, and dream of being this organised and creative. Maybe … one day …

While the OH’s coffee has them thinking of past coffees, and remembering other times, other places, and conversing with cats about the weather. I find it’s that first cup of tea that sparks my brain into life. Especially if it’s a cool morning then, I sip it outside, in the shade on the balcony, listening to the sparrows in our privacy hedge chirruping at one another.

Their frenetic chatter is a constant and I often wonder what it is that they find to talk about, endlessly, as the sun slowly edges its way around our apartment building, bringing glimpses of the day to come. Like this morning, the subtle change from cool through to humid.

I brought out the water bottle this morning, filled the bird bath and sat to one side sipping my mint tea. They came, they danced at my feet. Sipped the water and told me it’s going to be another hot one, and offered thanks for the water.

At least, in my mind, that’s what they said. I tossed them the last of my breakfast toast and came inside, leaving them to it. A mother brought her babies to the water, she showed them how to scoop it up for a drink. I smiled, happy.

Some days, life can be perfect.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Brevity is underrated.

A family of four are suddenly sealed inside their home with no way out, and must work together to survive against both their dwindling resources and the mysterious, looming threat that is keeping them trapped.

The premise for The Last House, a new movie showing on Netflix, made me hope for a good Hitchcock thriller, where it is more about what you don’t see than what you do. And, to begin with, this one started off good enough but sadly, fizzled out midway through as there was just not enough tension or palatable fear.

Throw in the fact the ending was nothing short of head-scratching, and the monster element a little weak, and what you have is, at best, a lacklustre attempt at a horror movie that falls short. Very short.

I think I have this weird sense of self belief [see: I Can Do This] in part because I’m a middle child. A forgotten child. I’m sure not all middle children feel the same, or even grow up the same. But with four brothers and a much older sister, I was, for the most part, the forgotten one who lived in a world of her own. 

I was a dreamer wandering a fantastical landscape of my own imagination where I could be both a super hero one minute, and a whale the next. No wonder I never heard my mother half the time when she called my name. I was Ultra Man fighting a monster from the depths of the ocean, or Superman brandishing my x-ray vision to see inside a building, or Wonder Woman battling some bad guy with my shield, sword, and lariat of truth. 

I wandered through fields of dandelions thinking they were fairy artillery, chasing butterflies who were secretly ridden by pixies being dive-bombed by dragonflies whose riders were a rival clan.

I talked with crows, sang with skylarks, and watched swifts and swallows endlessly skim ponds and streams, while I fished for minnows with my hands, and asked frogs what flies tasted like.

As a forgotten child, I’ve lived a very full life. A wondrous life.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I would live in a rambling, rose covered cottage on the edge of a forgotten English village, lost in the mists of time, that only a descendent of the ancient Queen Mab might find if they knew how to call the boat to cross the river, where Avalon is still bathed in a Golden light that lingers as the sun sets in the west of a place bordering between here and there. A place that smells of violets and honey, where spring waters run fresh and clear, and apple trees buzz with activity and pale pink blossom covers verdant grass, next to poppies that gently sway to the rhythm of a wind who whispers long forgotten secrets.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I’ve never really held back from jumping in at the deep end, with both feet, not worrying whether in fact I can swim or not. I created my own self-belief long ago. Something I think I learnt from a very early age; maybe 3-4 years old? 

Preschool, one bright sunny afternoon, poolside, I took a huge flying leap towards some random guy in the pool my sister was dating who, arms open ready to catch me, turned at the very second I flew over his shoulders, whereupon I landed in the water with a rather loud splash. 

Far from drowning, I found myself laughing happily as I doggy paddled toward the side of the pool as if I’d been doing this forever. Only to climb out and scream at the man to catch me. And that’s how I learnt to swim. Not a moments thought or hesitation, I didn’t know any better.

No one had chided me, or warned me not jump in the pool if I couldn’t swim. I just assumed as everyone else could swim, I could swim. And be damned if I didn’t do just that. Perfecting my jump, and swim technique throughout that afternoon till I could splash around happily with all the big kids, gulping in half the pool in the process, but having an absolutely marvellous time.

Basically, that’s how it’s been with everything I’ve ever done in my life. 

I jumped straight in with a certain believe, I can do this.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

… are moments. 

Moments when you’re stood amid a strand of really tall sunflowers, listening to bees quietly buzzing and going about their business and, as you tilt your face toward the sun, mimicking a sunflower, the warmth radiates through you and you experience a brief moment of utter bliss.

As if, in that instance, the sun god touched your heart and woke you from a dream.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I talked yesterday briefly about how I love clouds, adore them really. There’s something dreamlike and peaceful, well, at the best of times. 

There’s also another element I was born to: water. I’m a Pisces and natural born water baby. Sometimes I think I’m part mermaid I love the water that much. But, just like changeable clouds, I have a healthy respect for water, especially the sea. 

Like cloud and water in general, the sea is a living entity. Alive in a way all elemental forces are. Not sentient, but still, you almost feel like they’re aware. Dangers aside, this hasn’t stopped me jumping in any large (and sometimes, small) bodies of water throughout my life. 

Quite often this has been spontaneous, accompanied with or without the proper attire, sometimes swimming in nothing more than my birthday suit. But not, I must add, in mixed company. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist. Though there is still time to change that.

But not today. 

I’ve swum in lakes big and small, the local duck pond, gentle meandering rivers and streams, and gone over one or two waterfalls in my time. But my deepest love has always been for the sea, my spiritual home. It calls to me often, and I miss it dearly but also know that She can be — as any body of water can be — changeable and moody one minute, calm and serene, even inviting the next. 

When I’m finally ready to shrug off this mortal coil, I’ve asked for burial at sea. Maybe the fishes will find me first, maybe the crabs, who knows. Either way I wish them all a hearty meal on my account. 

I came into this world through water, I’ll leave it the same way.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

So Sunday evening, at a loss as to what to watch given we were camped out on the couch, huddled under a blanket, staring out the window at the rain coming down in veritable sheets. I said to the OH pick something funny, silly, and quirky, thinking they’d find a decent enough comedy on Netflix but wasn’t quite ready for what they chose: The Mitchells vs the Machines!

As it turned out, The Mitchells vs the Machines was an absolute blast. I found myself smirking, then giggling then finally laughing so hard we had to stop play at various places, scroll back a frame or two, to catch a missed joke.

This film is hilarious. The in and out jokes never stop coming. It really is one laugh a minute, action-packed, family-friendly, chaos-induction, popcorn chomping, coming of age adventure.

If you haven’t already seen this then get sat down, grab a bag of your favourite snacks, and enjoy the laughs.

It’s customary for participants to write an introduction, mostly for new readers rather than for those who are regulars to this blog. But, either way, I hope you find it interesting, if not, funny. So, for new readers to this blog, here we go:

• I’m a viviparous mammalian, carbon-based biped.

• I’ve been a military analyst, air traffic controller, and a book and magazine editor.

• And yes, I still love reading. I used to read mostly scifi and fantasy but over the years have diversified into crime fiction, but nothing too grim or violent. I enjoy mostly cosy mysteries and suspense with a few political thrillers thrown in for good measure.

• Words and flowers are two of my biggest passions, as is photography. I’m a happy snapper who loves to take floral portraits. As a result, you’ll find a lot of words and flower photos on this blog.

• I’m also a foodie who loves to cook and create chaos in the kitchen. 

• And, at one time, I use to travel a lot. I’ve lived in and or visit over 37 countries. 

• And yes, it’s true, I love Marmite.

And there you have it. If you’re feeling brave enough, you can also check through the Lists category to find more random facts about me.

Finally, got to see this week’s episode of Silo and, wow, this is what we’ve all been waiting for. And finally, some action, and answers as to what’s been going on while we weren’t looking. We’ve had 4 torturous episodes of being spoon fed tiny snippets of information and background with, to be honest, what felt like a lot of unnecessary filler.

And suddenly, in episode 5? A whole load of missing threads are revealed and we get to see what’s happening. Though, not quite why, not yet. But that glimpse gives me hope we’re rumbling toward an explosive, if not, climactic finish.

Yay!

Every year for the last few years, Mark Temple (Belghast) has prompted us to join in and write throughout the month of August as part of #Blaugust month. I was sorry to read yesterday that Mark sadly passed away on July 2, but cheered to read that others will carry on with the #Blaugust Festival of Blogging and keep this wonderful tradition going in his honour.

If you want to know more, pop on over and read the blog, or, if you already know what’s what, go and sign up for this year’s challenge.

You can also check out who the other participants are in this month’s challenge.

Other than that, write, write, write and, of course, do your best to help promote other participants posts and foster community.

It was just as well I went out yesterday afternoon to go for a walk and, of course, go buy myself a much needed gelato from my fav (and only gelato shop) on the rue st. Jean, Tutto Gelato. 

So naturally, I took a load of silly photos while strolling in what might be the last day of sunshine we see again for 4-5 day.

Welcome to August.

As you can see, there are a lot of churches in one street. But also, plenty of fun shops and cafes.

Welcome to one of my fav neighbourhoods.