Tag: SURE

bookmark_borderOn Writing

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One day I’ll figure out how many words I type in an average (week)day. I have absolutely no idea what that total will be but I can already guess that it’ll scare the bejesus outta me. Be they emails, instant messages, text messages, documents, presentations, spreadsheets, blog posts, blog comments, articles or just jotting down items in my to do list, words dominate my day.

I hate them.

Well I don’t hate them, but I certainly abuse them on a regular basis. Mind you, given the amount of abuse the English language gets, and given that a lot of it is brought about by the language itself, with it’s twisting, turning rules and exceptions, part of thinks the words welcome the abuse, I think they kinda like it.The English language is the sadomasochist of the linguistic world.

Of course my job makes it difficult to avoid words so between us we’ve developed a love/hate relationship. I try and use them properly, they promise not to bite me in the ass too often (although between you and me, I’m not sure it’s a very even agreement, I’m SURE the words could try a little harder to be nice).

I don’t hate words.

Truth be told I do still enjoy the thrill of certain combinations of words, the gentle flow and rhythm, the beauty of juxtaposition and the jar of the unexpected. I’ve experimented a little with such things on this very blog, the occasion attempt at something “more”, but I struggle to find my own flow and rhythm, the words jar awkwardly on the screen and every line, every construct, takes it’s toll.

I don’t consider myself a writer here, more a casual scribbler, yet with each passing word the grandiose and ridiculous thought grows in my head, maybe I could?

bookmark_borderLost and Found

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You may not have read it, but hidden amongst the post prior to the Faithless gig was the fact that I had, at the time of writing, misplaced my camera.

I was beginning to get a bit worried, especially as the only place it MUST be was my Gran’s and both Louise and I were convinced that I decided not to bother taking my camera in with me.

So, suffice to say that I was most relieved when my darling, gorgeous, wife phoned me to tell me she had found the camera. It was in the car all along. I was SURE I’d checked.

Phew.

WARNING: Any comments from any of you women (you know who you are!) about how “men can’t find anything” will be met with the full wrath and fury that is my reasoned argument on the topic. Namely that, as us men are ‘hunters’ we can spot a kestrel flying three fields away whilst we zip along the motorway at 85 70, and Louise can’t as she is a ‘gatherer’ and more attuned to finding things in the immediate vicinity. Like my camera. In the car. Where I’d already looked. And yes I COULD hunt and kill my own food. After all, it can’t be that hard to chase down a pizza, right?

Oh shut up.

bookmark_borderAnd then it was Monday

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I’m SURE there was a weekend just there, right? There WAS, wasn’t there? I’m not going mad(der)?

Friday night and I felt well enough to go the pub, and well enough to stay there from 5.30 to midnight drinking Guinness.

What else? Ohh yes, how could I forget! The Christmas tree is now up and decorated and the rest of the house has been given that special festive treatment. Having two nieces over for the night helped mind you, and I’ll fully admit that they were used as slave labour (although slave labour is astonishingly cheap these days, all it took was one spicy chicken and one mushroom and pepperoni pizza!). The only downside is that with the new fireplace, we used a few more bits and bobs decorating it than we had before and so, of course, that means we will need to buy more to fill in some gaps. Mind you, even I have to admit that the dining half of the room is a tad bare.

And I’ve just been accused of being overly ‘jolly’ because I have my Christmas tree up on my desk at work. Humbug to the lot of you!

You see that’s the thing. I don’t mind now. It’s December. I’m quite willing to address Christmas during the month in which it lands. Until that point, though, I’m as humbug as.. ohh I don’t know.. Lyle say.

Sunday and we dumped.. er.. made sure our nieces got the right train (we are presuming as we haven’t heard from their mother that they made it home safely) and then went to see our recently married, and sickeningly tanned, friend. They had a great honeymoon, and even got to attend a wedding whilst they were there.

Home for a light dinner with my parents, who informed us that my sister won an Oscar at her company night out (it was an Oscar themed night, you know the type of thing, Marilyn Monroe handing out champagne, paparazzi waiting at the door and.. em.. Suzi McGuire from Radio Clyde handing out the awards). She won it for “most happy to help” although I think that equates to “biggest suckup” but, hey I could be wrong (it happened once in 1987 I think). Ohh and Jen, Dad sent me a photo of your outfit, very classy (who knew!).

And then, all of a sudden, my alarm is going off and it’s Monday morning.

How was your weekend?