Ignore

Yes ignore that last spew.  Somehow during the spewaging, the old inconsequential spew slipped back into it's previous spew bucket. 

So glad I made the most of a bright spring morning...

Click.

I G N O R E 

Queen Glitch...

Thought I'd have a quick peek at Blogger to see if it had decided to behave in my absence.  It most certainly had not.  But as I'd planned to do lots of writing today, I wondered if a quick flick thro' a couple of old posts might just spur me on.  Either to make me think 'it's ok I CAN do this' (unlikely) or to be so shamed by my drivel that I'd resolve to improve, and set about doing so (a virtuous ambition don't you agree?)  So I just tapped on a couple of random ex-splats.  Noticed some typos.  Ignored them.  Next splat - the urge to correct over-took me so I hit the Edit button.  Fool.  Removed the offending error.  Fool.  Was faced with Save Draft or Publish.  Hit Publish.  That's what I used to do wernnit??  FOOL.  Suddenly I was back on the battleground of Signing In.  My password has lost it's power.  My choices are displayed in a muted 'you can look but you can't touch' tease.  I press everything in the end but nothing works except 'Cancel'.  My corrected old post disappears.  Now it wasn't a great work, but it's a link in a chain that has become more precious with age.  It's the rarity value.  My bloggy offerings are but a paltry tinkle of coppers due to a broken heart - Blogger dumped me and I never got over it - (oh it lets me spew still but not defend myself afterwards - comments still denied) - so I recoiled and took myself out of the market.  But like a soppy black&white heroine I pulled my old love letters out from under the bed to torture myself - and dropped one down the floorboards....

Oh the anguish!  I have no idea why I felt so bereft, especially as I had just read it and knew it was wholly inconsequential, but it's the principle goldarnit!  And gods knows I have so few of those left.  I've just been electronically erased.  Outraged by technology again.  Feel thick now.

Can't even remember what it was called....

I give up fighting against the fight.  Go back to the front line hands raised clutching a tattered white hankie and look!  There the bastard is.  Re-published as if it's a new bloody idea.  

I hate this 'I Know Best' digital nazism.  I can't even retain my own thoughts in the order I thought them. I might just stop thinking altogether.  That'll fix Them.  

Anyway - just ignore.  Did you know that on the Self-Service tills in B&Q there is an Ignore button that the staff can press when the posh voice goes AWOL?  I want an Ignore button installed in my head.  When the shit starts to waft my way - click.  Ignore.

It's the only sensible path.  Self-improvement has shown itself to be a worthless ambition after all.  In trying to polish-up my previous incarnation, I merely highlighted my lacking.  So I'm backing away into the dark bushes once more to watch the pretty lights from my lowly hovel.  Pretend you never saw me.

Click.

.  .  i g n o r e  .  .  .  .  .

The Lonliness of the Long Distance Blogger

Keeping the far-flung Roving Blade company with stories is the brief. Brain Department says 'eeek!' What can I pretend I've been doing with my face-less bra-less hairbrush-less day? Can't confess that... MadameSmokinGun would not leave the house without eyebrows, sculpting or mop restraint. Thing is... Madame did not leave the house. Only as far as the washing line. Madame took the unusual opportunity of a Sunday without football, play rehearsals or Aged P-visiting to stay in what she had worn to bed and just avoid mirrors. Thuglet was too snotty to take out but well enough to ignore. The perfect set-up for anti-social slobbing sans guilt. And with no Roving Blade to pour scorn, the Scene of the Dance Crime was full blast and fluid. Boy things were electronically entertained beyond the radio-ruled Scene's threshhold. Their noise dismissed by a twist of my own cheeky little volume knob. Minxie-Pops appeared sporadically to feed, join in the dance crimes and change my phone's wallpaper to creepy images of sloths. (Funny the teenage interest in her wild counterpart.) The most taxing activity was disagreeing over the pronunciation of sloth. I know I'm right but have the calm maturity to just pull a 'derrr' face instead of argue. And carry on twerking. A 40-something booty-grinder will always but ALWAYS win any argument with a disturbed teenage daughter. Just have to brace oneself when switching one's mobile. A sloth in a box this time.

Back to thinking how to describe my day to my loved one peeking in from foreign shores. Back to the bosom of The Blog. I had convinced myself that my blog site problems were a gift from The Universe to stop me from directing my energy towards fun and frolics and make me concentrate on The Infamous and Still Unwritten Book. Yeah...I haven't been overly successful on the word-count front but I HAVE started. (That means diddly - I started it about 10 years ago... ) What I mean is I have downloaded an app on my new posh phone and have been rabbiting on that - all over the house at odd opportunities - instead of waiting my turn on the big pooter. Then I email them to myself and feel all clever. ....Except on the days when I haven't. Then I feel worthless and shamed. Today was a non-writey-emaily day so receiving a request for a blog tale split me in two. Am I misdirecting or am I boosting my achieveless little soul with a wee bloggy pick-me-up? Just a drop to warm the cockles eh?

So what tales to tell? Ummm.... unfortunately, despite the huge spaces between posts, I am still the same lame dame. I switch on machines that hum or whirr. I squidge-clear plate-sized spaces on counters and coffee tables. I squirt things that stink with chemicals. I sigh with over-work and check Facebook. I am an inspiration to my doting children....

And yet this evening did I not get up-to-date with my Home Ed scrapbooks? Surely a podium position? It's astounding what a moving date can spur. The last time I was up-to-date was the last time we moved house. The thought that Kent County Council might discover our existence and pay us an inspection does also haunt the cobwebbed tomb of my skull. East Sussex have been delightfully uninterested in us. My scrapbooks are so unwieldy and frightening I would hope they'd still the clipboard scratching. Preparation preparation preparation....

I haven't started packing. It's not for the want of boxes, it's the skip I'm looking forward to. Almost everything I lay my eyes on has been mentally filed there already. Apart from the scrapbooks. I peered into my wardrobe thinking I could start clearing out but didn't dare as I realised I'd not stop til it was all bin-bagged. I feel the same about the boys' room. Moving Day may be a month away but is there really any point in changing the sheets? It'll seem so much the nicer in the next place... I've got those vaseline-smeared visions - a new house with floors and walls you can SEE.... A clear table.... Clean made beds.... Sparkling kitchen.... Fragrant bathroom.... Let me dream.... It was only 2 years ago I dreamed this dream. Then we moved in. This time baby I'll beeeee bulleeeeeet-proof. No crap allowed. Apart from me. Aagh I've been shot!

Today was not the day tho'. Today was for throwing shapes, much tea and sellotape over-load. And a little nip of a blog.

Tomorrow will be back to hitting targets - multisports, extra football, the museum, chips in the park and everlasting lurking at the theatre. Interspersed with more football and dazed knitting. I'll turn off the engine tomorrow night and collapse onto the steering wheel. So today was a sweet oasis of flop. Looking at it like that I don't feel so lazy. I really should have had a shower tho'.... target number one for tomorrow then. As for rounding off my fat-arsed evening, I'm off to my crumpled minging bed to sleep, perchance to dribble.....

A Bigger Arse

Have got Roving Blade on a promise to think of away round my Can't Comment on a Post (Even My Own) Problem. Been a problem ever since Blogger 'improved' and fucked up their perfectly fine previous layout. Will hopefully be back to abnormal soon - leaving stoopid comments on things. 'Cos I couldn't I've not even been reading - too much like having me nose pressed up against the windows of cake shops I'm not allowed into. Sigh....

Bloggers beware.......

Arse revisited

Just testing.