This Is The Way The World Ends ...

I was buying cat litter when the world ended.

I was still buying cat litter after the end of the world had come and gone.

I'm not sure whether that says that nothing changes; that life just comes down to shit in the end; or something else entirely.  Possibly all three.

It's the end of the world as we know it ...

Tomorrow.  Just after 11am.  So make sure you have a decent breakfast and get your tea break in early!

That is all.  Thank you.

The Tattooed Poet Project

In the days of flat sharing with Pansy Smilso, I used to have this poster up on the kitchen wall:

I loved it then and still do: it has more resonance now I'm older and have learned that the measure of value is far, far wider than simply monetary.

Despite some people seeing me as being 'square' or totally uncool, in my youth, I flirted a bit with the avante garde, certainly in terms of my appearance.  I wore hats before they were cool; moved on to gloves (still have a bit of a love affair with them); and teamed my work issue uniform skirt and jacket with non-regulation shirts and some of the most way-out shoes it was practical to wear in a catering environment.  It was my little bit of rebellion; a way of asserting some independence by refusing to be confined in a convenient box; a way of refusing to be labelled.  Although, of course, I was self-labelling, but anyway ...

As part of that I kind of wanted a tattoo - used to tease my then boss, who was so uptight and conservative, that I was going to get one just to see her reaction because I knew, if she'd believe it of any of her team, she'd believe it of me.  That was back in the day when tatts just weren't fashionable: you'd have to find some back-street or sea-front dive to get them done in; designs were of the traditional 'hearts, skulls and roses' variety; and only women who were real scrubbers really had a tattoo (although plenty had ankle chains - including the boss!).  Then they got fashionable and I went right off the idea: I didn't want to be one of the tattooed masses!  Now, however, I've changed my mind again.  Whether that's a mid-life crisis, or the realisation that some (although by no means all) can be really beautiful works of art.  The trouble, again, has been in deciding what design I want.  I think I've made my mind up and it's something I've designed and which has some personal significance (I really - and pardon the pun - don't see the point otherwise), but I came across this whilst searching the net for possible inspiration:

I'd love it!  But where would I put it?  I'm not having a tatt down the inside of my arm so across my shoulders seems to be the only realistic option, but I know I'm not ready to have something quite so big (and I may never be) but, oh how I wish I could work out a way to incorporate this with the design I've already chosen.

Then again, it's a mighty big statement to have to live up to ...


(By the way, there is actually a Tattooed Poets Project https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Tattooed-Poets-Project/154955387862114?ref=stream)

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas ...

I like the build-up to Christmas.  I like dressing the tree and getting everything ready.  I just have an intense dislike of the day itself.  It's my birthday, and I loathe it.  I can't go anywhere or do anything that I'd really like to; I can't spend the day with the people I would otherwise choose to as they're usually spending the day with their families.  And even if I do spend it with other people then they are inevitably celebrating their Christmas - as they've every right to do.  (I've considered having an 'un-birthday' in the middle of the summer, but it just doesn't feel right).

But the one thing I absolutely detest more than anything else; the one thing guaranteed to wind me up ... getting a Christmas card with 'Happy Birthday' written in it!!  

Bah humbug ...

I can't imagine the Germans considered invading via Llantwit Major ...

The Welsh side of the family visited this weekend for the ritual exchange of Christmas and birthday presents.  As always, my mother and uncle spent most of their time together reminiscing about "the old days".  My uncle has a particularly sharp wit, honed across several decades of being a history teacher and, usually, the brightest person in the room.  My aunt is the whetstone upon which that wit is most readily sharpened.  You'd think, after 36 years of marriage, experience would have suggested that taking archaeology classes when she knows stuff all about British history (by virtue of the fact that she's American) and is married to a man who knows far too much about it, might be to open herself up to more target practice than should strictly be legal.  No.

Today, in regaling my mother with tales from the trowel's edge, my aunt was spooling through the gazillion photos of things archaeological on her phone - most of which were either unidentified or whose purpose now evades her.  She came across one of these and pronounced: "Oh, now that was near Llantwit Major: it's a World War II Pill Box I think."  In response to which the title phrase of this post, on an inevitable wave of sarcasm, rolled across the room ...

George Osborne is a cunt

Anyone who knows me at all well will know that the "C" is not one I particularly like or use with any regularity.  My inner feminist has some mixed feelings about using it in a derogatory fashion, particularly when applying it to a man.  But I believe in equality and if I can call someone a dick ...

I am becoming increasingly angry with Mr Osborne's Victorian Workhouse Governor-style attitude towards the unemployed.  I'm only surprised that he hasn't (yet) proposed they all be given a DWP 'paupers' uniform to wear as a means of legitimately being able to reduce their spending and thus their benefits.

Surely to god a Modern History course at Oxford must have covered John Maynard Keynes?  If you look after unemployment, you twat, the deficit will take care of itself.  Create jobs and you create a  level of wealth that will support the economy and ultimately bring about deficit reduction.  An economy, I might add, that you, and Dave, have fucked up even further than Gordon Brown did with your recovery-killing austerity measures (and don't think you can get away with blaming it all on the Eurozone's debt crisis either: this is mostly down to YOU!)

I'd really like to see Osborne locked into a room with Joseph Stiglitz.

Oh, and by the way Gideon (because that's your real name), it's only libel if it's not a fair comment.  I'm willing to take the chance on there not being several million people willing to support my assertion ...

Cutting Edge News ...

Went for a haircut this afternoon (yes, I know: Hold the front page!!)

Woman there just before me who goes about once a year, apparently, to have the 'annual growth' removed.  Bit like pruning a lilac tree, I guess.  Anyway, she's known to be a touch random at the best of times.  Hairdresser chats away about preparations for Christmas etc. and this woman comes out with: "Oh, well, I'm not bothering, the world is going to end soon".  A Mayan calendar adherent then.  She went on to say that her ex-partner has an hotel out in the Med. somewhere and is throwing a huge End Of The World party starting just after midnight on December 21st.  Apparently, he's telling all his guests that all bills must be paid in full before midnight.

If anyone can spot a streak of logic running through the minds of either of these people, please let me know.  I'm also quite intrigued as to why they might have split up: they seem like a good intellectual match to me!