There are times when there is nothing for it but to give what you’ve got.

I had a post, almost ready, about Theresa May announcing she was going to stand down as leader of the Conservative Party – she had come to the realisation that it was impossible for her to deliver Brexit.

(Alas – I like her.)

And about Trump’s state visit (Mrs May will still be in office as Prime Minister for that), and how he is bringing four of his five children (Barron is only 13 and that seems to exclude him), and their spouses, along to the banquet that the Queen is having on the day of his (their) arrival – and how the Duke of Sussex (Harry –  the Duchess, Meghan, is still on maternity leave) is going to that now, when he wasn’t before, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (William and Katherine), ostensibly to help welcome the extra guests – would Trump take what I’ve said there as fake news?  It is only what I gather from the paper.

And Trump said, before his last visit, that he didn’t want to meet Prince Charles because he didn’t want a lecture on the environment.  Well, Charles is going to be there, and the Duchess of Cornwall (Camilla) – and they will give an afternoon tea for Mr Trump and Melania, though it looks as though the sons and daughters and their spouses won’t be going to that.

Well, the Queen is 93, and the Prince of Wales is taking up more and more duties – the newspaper said it was practice for him, as King in waiting.

No.  The Duke of Edinburgh has not been mentioned at all in the news with regard to this – he will appear or not as he feels, since he is retired now.

What a good consort he always was – standing those few feet behind the Queen at all times, which is a sign of respect for who the Queen is, after all!  It was often remarked, when I was a child, how few other men would take that position with their wives – that he willingly took (but I’m going back many decades in memory now).

I do hope Trump and family remember to bow or curtsy to the Queen this time, which he and Melania didn’t last time (I was watching it, the arrival, live – they cut that from the later news – edited it in a way so that it wasn’t noticeable – that was fake news).  Oh – she had to wave him to the side, also, as he strode on ahead, oblivious, inspecting the – guard or whatever it was – I’m no expert (but if I met the Queen, I would curtsy – I’m no republican).

And I wrote something less than complimentary about Corbyn (I can’t stand him), and assured you, dear readers, that – no, I wouldn’t be put into the Tower (of London) for speaking my mind (saying he was sleazy, and slimy), though it isn’t only me who has noticed that we seem to be able to speak our minds less and less, in some areas, these days.

In my opinion, that was her biggest mistake – Mrs May – talking to Corbyn in that last-ditch effort to keep her deal on some sort of tracks – giving him too much (a second referendum and a customs union), as far as many of her colleagues were concerned – it was too much for them, and set off that final visit of the men in grey suits – but not enough, in the end, for Corbyn himself, who declined to vote the deal through, after all.

And so he divides and conquers, as he is able.  He’s a rat.

And I said that – if I’d seriously been going to report all this, I should have done it some days ago – the news has moved on already.

But I am not a journalist.



Yes, you with the motorbike!

I could have had a motorbike you know!

I did once!  In a story, I had a motorbike!

It was a full-length romance, and I went in as ‘she’, and when she ran away from a sticky situation – and ended up at the mansion (would be) of he who was to become the hero – she saw something in the pond in front (it was a lake but I called it a pond) and it turned out to be a body, floating face down.

I couldn’t help it, writing that!

It was a romance but it was turning into a horror story!

Writing itself, this story – the heroine entered the mansion, which was undergoing renovation work, and she went along passages, and she found his sandwiches tied up in string – no, in paper (the string belongs to another story) – and she thought they must belong to the workman who was doing-up this place (she came from the slums) and then she bumped into him (literally) and – he wasn’t the workman at all but the haughty lord who was handy as well as supercilious!

Anyway, she had a motorbike and full leather gear – to escape away.

No.  I didn’t keep that story.



I’m a writer, first and foremost.

I write every day – day in, day out.

It is a rare day wherein I do not write.

Even if I am away – for a social occasion – I have my notebook.

I have reams of writing, which I am going through – to see what is there.

I am up to ‘February 2016’ now – from the diary – and so I get close to meeting myself here.

My writing isn’t a game.  It is deadly serious.

I play games – Nintendo – when I need to come away from the writing for a while – but the writing itself . . .

What rot!  I was going to say that the writing itself is not a game but, sometimes, I play games with the writing.

I am blogging to find out precisely what I am willing to let into the public sphere, and what I want to keep private – I know that much now.

Eventually, it all may go public.

I saw a woman on the bus today with two children who had Down’s Syndrome – they were twins.

You take what life gives you.

Sometimes, you choose.


Keep in the loop. Write something.

It’s hot here today.  We’re going to have about four days of heat – the weather person said something like that – but, with me, opinion goes in one ear and out the other.

I’m wearing a new blue top.  Don’t you have difficulty getting underwear?  I do.

Ah!  I know what I was getting round to saying.  I met that awful woman again – the one I’ve been avoiding all winter (walking on the other side of the road all the time so that I wouldn’t bump into her).

She was out on her own, without her dogs – that is unusual, but I have been seeing them, over the winter, with other people – I gathered that she must have been asking neighbours and friends to walk them (while she got her knee and hip sorted out) – she had a painful knee, the pain from which spread, over the times I saw her – it was an exceptionally warm summer last year – to her hip.  What I’m saying is, she seemed to be out all times, walking her dogs – but just up and down that one stretch – she never seemed to be going anywhere – just looking for people to talk to – and once she had you, that was it – you couldn’t get away.

I can’t go on telling this story just now – but – these days, the pain is in her upper back where your bra strap goes – no mention of her knee or hip – and since she didn’t, I wasn’t going to – but this was why I was thinking of underwear – and she moved to the side of me – and I didn’t flinch – and she reached round me, and touched me to illustrate, as she was saying this – just where the bra strap goes.

Not that I wear one.

Or – I’ll wear one so loose it hardly does the bizz – when it’s too hot for my vest.  (But it hadn’t been that day.)

But why couldn’t she have touched her own – where her bra goes – to illustrate?

She did that before – I can’t remember what that was about, except that she had pain in her knee that was spreading up into her hip – but it was – touch my hand, touch my hand . . .

I was starting to get sore with her constant flicking.  I am somewhat arthritic myself.

Or some fact like that which the doctors can’t agree upon . . .

Swollen round the joints sometimes, I am – it used to be worse – heat in the hip areas (and she’s on about her pain) – too hot at night – the only person in the neighbourhood to have my bedroom window open when it is – snowing outside . . .

I don’t mind being touched, but she was annoyingly rhythmic about it.

I don’t mind being hugged by family and friends but this woman is creepy – was a boss at the chemical plant – a bossy boss, she’d divulged.  She had been driving since she was eight years old, she confided.

Private land, I said.

Well, yes, she answered.

(Well it had to be private land.  People aren’t allowed on the road – no matter how young they are – until they have passed their test.)

She had some tablets from the doctor.

I asked what they were.  (I’m keeping an eye on what doctors do and do not do.)

And she said they were small, in a little red box – drawing the box in the air as she said this – I got the impression she thought I was going too far in asking what medication she was on.

So I said – well, I never know which cars are which – I talk about ‘little red ones that have a wheel on each corner’.

I was being upright straight.

And I drew it in the air.

It was only later that I thought what that must have looked like – but she’s a bully – I can’t be doing with it – I may think, on my surface, that I’m responding in an ordinary way – but I tell you – I’ve been opening my throat chakras, and my inner takes care of what my outer may shrink from.

Do you know – I don’t like that woman.  I shall continue having as little to do with her as possible.

And, despite myself, I’ve told that much of that story.


I’ve been busy, I could say, bright and breezy.

And that would be true but I am always busy.  I write every day.

The thing is, I’ve been at odds with myself.

I can surmise how this came about – someone appearing on my scene who had been gone for a while and then turned up – and I couldn’t be sure of her.  But I couldn’t be sure of my unsurety of her, either.

I didn’t know what to think.

And, meanwhile, I dropped into that slough, and had no recourse but to wallow there, until I had the confidence to think – no, I am right – she is wrong, even if it is difficult finding where she is.  I must believe in myself, I thought.

There are set procedures.  There are procedures that become set within new practices.  I’m thinking about blogging here; the word ‘corporate’ came into my head there, but I barely know what that means.  My ignorance in – I don’t know – the gears of how the world works – I’m not as ignorant as I once was – I have the newspaper now and I’m still interested in that – enough to go out for it every day – but I’m at an age when it often happens, from what I’ve seen – this interest in the world that you didn’t have time for when you were ensconced in your – I’m lost in this thought and frantically jotting down, as I frequently do, in fact – if I lose that sense of self-consciousness.

Yes.  I need to lose that.

Write and cross out –