Tag: GORDON

bookmark_borderDear Bloggers

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For the most part, us “people who blog” are a friendly bunch and get on pretty well, don’t we? We are polite, even when we disagree, enjoy leaving comments for others (even just to say “well said!” as that’s just as important as any other kind of comment) and occasionally some of us swap emails and do each other favours. Yes, we are “good sorts” by and large (apart from HIM, ohh, and HER… but we won’t talk about THEM).

Of course we are only human and this hobby is so transitory that you occasionally lose touch with people (blogs) that you used to read regularly. Sometimes it’s a deliberate decision, other times it’s a sneaking change that you don’t notice until it’s pointed out to you. I’m guilty of this, as you no doubt are, but we all have our own habits and preferences and, as with most things, interests change. Over the years my reading habits have veered here and there, and still remain fairly eclectic. I enjoy many types of writing, many forms of reading, and for that I thank each and everyone one of you lovely bloggers whom I’ve had the privilege of reading.

And to those who I used to read and no longer visit, don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault, it’s just the way things are, tastes change.

Part of my thinking behind the comments discussion last week was driven by the fact that, often, I won’t know that someone has linked to me unless they leave a comment. I guess I’m similar to most in that I will always visit the website of someone who is ‘new’ to my site (even if they’ve been reading for a while). The added exposure, generated by leaving a comment, is usually enough to tip me in your direction for a week or so. Sometimes my visits will continue, sometimes they won’t, but regardless I’m usually pretty chuffed to find a new site that is linking to mine even if I still don’t really understand why people link here, there are plenty better blogs around (a lot of them linked down on the left!).

But you know what would REALLY make a difference, to me at least? What would/may tip me in your direction more often?

Spell my bloody name right!!

It is NOT GORDON MCCLEAN (one “c” only!), nor Gordon MacLean (no “a”!). It’s pronounced “mck lane” if that helps.

M C L E A N

It’s really not that hard you know.

And for those who still have me as ‘snowgoon’ you are forgiven for a while but come on, I’ve not used that name here for a couple of years at least. Get with the program!

Yours somewhat in jest (but you know what they say about ‘never a truer word said’)

Colin McClain

bookmark_borderGORDON MUST DIE!

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Those words, writ large on an A4 notepad, have been shown to me three times this afternoon.

Now, I realise that we are reaching that point in the project where tempers get a little ‘stretched’ and that, at such times, we tend to resort to some fairly black humour, but surely that is going a little too far? Don’t you think?

It’s almost as if, whilst he was in the midst of de-bugging a particularly onerous problem (office tip: you can judge the difficulty of the bug by the amount and volume of swearing), someone, who will remain nameless, somehow managed to accidentally unplug his computer.

Ahem.

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Gran
Visited my Gran last night, and having not seen her for a couple of weeks, I was again slightly taken aback at how.. well.. small she has become.

My Gran has been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, my Mum was in and out of hospital a lot, so I spent many weekends staying at my Gran’s. In addition to that, my Grandpa had several strokes until he was eventually hospitalised, which meant that every weekend we would go and pick up my Gran to take her to the nursing home. I think looking after my Grandpa kept my Gran going. I can only vaguely remember a time when my Grandpa wasn’t in a wheelchair, so my Gran had to do everything for him.

Since my Grandpa passed away, and Gran moved out of their family home, she has slowed down as old age has crept in. She was knocked over by a reversing taxi a few years ago, and ever since then she has suddenly become an ‘old’ woman. She’s not the Gran I remember, or want to remember. I know it’s part of life’s natural progression, but I’m going to hold onto the Gran I knew when I was eight. The Gran that would play football with me, make me mince-n-tatties (when everyone else was having roast beef), the Gran who still likes to spoil me and my sister whenever she can.

She’s still sharp though, when she’s hears what you said… and she still remembers my name, eventually… (Andrew, Nigel, Ian, David… GORDON… pass me the salt will you…).