Blowing Away the Cobwebs...

So, rather than start yet another one of these things only to swiftly abandon it I thought that I'd breathe life into the ol' blog for my submission to Feline Friday, an utterly adorable MogBlog I discovered in a slightly convoluted way via Twitter.

Without further ado, let me introduce you to Ozzy....

Name: Ozzy

Age: God knows

Colour: Tabby

Distinguishing Features: Lacks a tail and walks with a 'John Wayne Swagger' on account of a nasty altercation with a car. Has a very distinctive 'Mau' and is a rather chatty little fella.

Temperament: Big soft teddy bear, loves a cuddle and purrs like a motorbike.

Yup, that's him, the handsome fella - also known as 'Stumpy', 'Baby Bear', ''The Ozmeister', 'Ozwald' and 'The Prince of Darkness' - hair-ing up my duvet cover even though, technically, he's not mine (ours). He belongs to the next door neighbours and he has been trying to move into the house ever since the people with the little yappy-bitey dog moved out and we moved in with our (now sadly departed) moggy, Ella, in tow.

At first, 'Operation Lodger' came in the form of two-pronged 'smash 'n' grub' raids executed in collaboration with The Russian; a burly blue from a few doors down. Then, after we acquired Steve - a ginger and white cartoon cat (also now sadly departed) - Ozzy resorted to covert infiltration; on account of the earsplitting caterwauling that erupted from Steve* every time he laid eyes on Ozzy. This tactic was pretty successful and he managed to fool Steve into thinking he was Ella on several occasions; the best of which resulted in the funniest moggy double-take I've ever seen. To wit Ozzy, on being discovered holed up the spare bedroom, hurtling down the stairs past Ella 'n' Steve, and Steve turning to look at Ella, then turning to look at the stumpy rump swiftly heading for the back door, and then back to Ella with a look of utter bewilderment on his cartoon face.

With the arrival of a baby next door and some of the worst winter weather in years Ozzy eventually resorted to old fashioned squatting - of the refusal to move variety rather than then hunkering down and marking variety - to claim his stake on our duvet. Steve and Ella both passed away within a couple of months of each other and despite our best intentions about "not getting any more pets" the cat shaped hole in our lives was soon filled; first by Stella (see what we did there?) and then Izzy. Both new cats seemed far more accepting of Oz so actually getting into the house was easy enough for him, but staying in was a little more difficult so the canny little bugger picked the gap behind our bed for his first squatting spot. As he got braver (and we got softer) he moved out from the behind the bed, and eventually on to it, and it's where he's stayed ever since - with the occasional foray over the fence to remind the neighbours he's still alive.

*Like all our cats, Steve was a rescue with more cattitude than should be allowed. The OH named him Steve because he thought it was funny, but it was actually more appropriate than we could have known as he was a stray rescued from a fire, so we say that he was named after Steve McQueen for making the Great Escape from the Towering Inferno. What we didn't know when we got him was that he had a heart defect and it claimed him just over two years later.

Three Beautiful Things.

Because I am so hopelessly terrible at updating this thing. I have decided to unashamedly nick a beautiful idea. So here are mine for the day.

1. Seeing the lovely photos from all the people who went to collectamania today. I may be a little envious that they all got to meet and hug Philip Glenister but it must have been a fabulous experience for them.
   
2. Posting the prologue to a new Fic, which has already thrown someone off the scent.
3. Following up on a thought and reading about French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir
   

Another Star In The Firmament

Today was a sad day. Today we said goodbye to Gina, someone I will forever be proud to have known & called my friend. Gina lost her battle with Cystic Fibrosis on Monday 22 December 2008, shortly after 33rd birthday.

Gina was one of life's doer's. Where a lesser person would have bemoaned the hand that fate had dealt them, used it as an excuse, given in. She never did, she never once let her condition define who she was and never stopped fighting.

Funny, feisty, loyal, loving, friendly, generous, independent, determined & stubborn. All adjectives one could use to describe her. In all honesty, despite knowing her since childhood I didn't really 'know' her for all that long. But I'm glad that I had the chance. Her warmth, spirit and passion were infectious. Her quiet strength & dignity an inspiration.

Perhaps it was because she always knew that time was never really on her side that she lived her life to the fullest or perhaps it was because it was just who she was but the more I think about it the more I believe we should all live that way. We might get our 'four score' or our 'three score & ten' but there again we might not. So grab it with both hands. No regrets or at least regret the things you did, rather than the things you didn't. You can't just play at this life. For all we know we only get the one. (You might believe in a next life, or a past life, or some other place but all of these things have yet to be proven.) As for Gina, her physical time her may be over but whilst her memory remains in our hearts, she'll never really be gone.

Bucket of odd.

The adjective 'random' is an oft, some might say over, used word when making reference to the contents of the internet, but nowhere is it more appropriate than when it is used to refer to the contents of the average Photobucket account. Casting a casual eye over the entry for random at Thesaurus.com reveals a number of different alternatives; casual, indiscriminate, promiscuous, (well perhaps for some buckets!) but nothing seems to quite fit the bill as well as random. And it is in celebration of this randomness I present a selection of the stranger inclusions in my own bucket...

The Furrowed Brow

It has to be said that I am one of life's great worriers. In fact I am up now, at 6:30am, on a day when I could be happily tucked up in my nice big cosy bed, enjoying my last bonus lie-in of the holidays before going back to work on Monday. But noooo, my brain saw fit to get up before my body was ready & start worrying about stuff. So after tossing & turning for a while I decided that the only thing for it was to get up & write a blog. (It's going well this new years resolution isn't it!)

Worrying, you see, the thing is, it's not as if I worry about things that are (almost) completely beyond my control. You know, world poverty, global warming, whether or not the world economy is going to disappear up its own £$@# & we all revert to paying for things with groats fashioned from dried mud. What I actually worry about are things that I could do something about. I worry about the state of my bank balance. I worry that I'm not doing a very good job at work. (I'm probably doing a just fine & dandy job but I still worry.) I worry about having to make telephone calls to ask for things from people I don't know, and people I do know. I worry about not having enough hours in this lifetime to do all the things I want (need) to do...

Still, whilst lying in my comfy bed, tossing, turning & cursing my overactive imagination I reached a conclusion. All this worry comes down to my old friend procrastination. If I stopped procrastinating, took control & just got out there did it I might not worry so much. At the very least I'd only be worried about the things that are happening rather than the things I haven't made happen yet. At best I might just be able to halt the increase in the depth of the lines on my furrowed brow. With the aid of a good moisturiser of course.*

*Mental list 'o' virtue brownie point. I cleansed, toned & moisturised before going to bed last night rather than take a cursory glance at the soap & wave the toothbrush in the general direction of my gob.

Resolutions Smesolutions...

... As a rule I don't make 'em. They only lead to inevitable guilt when, come February 18th, you either fail miserably to give up the thing you promised to give up or start the thing you promised to start.

I have a little 'list of virtue' in my head (for little read, 'requires a length of parchment even a Hogwarts student would envy' to write down.) of things I'd like to achieve this year (any year) but if the items on this list were actual resolutions then I'd have fallen at the first hurdle.

So 2009, January 1st, start of a new year, new challenges, new horizons, or same old schitt?

Well, we started alright. I managed to wake up without the customary post NYE celebratory hangover (woo hoo) although I did consume slightly more booze than my cunning plan, swapping beer for shandy, had allowed for on account of the fact that I swapped beer for fizzy wine. Swapping one alcoholic substance for another, stronger, alcoholic substance is clearly not the best way to reduce one's unit intake.

But, I didn't clean my teeth (urgh) and remove my makeup before going to bed (at 2:30am, go me) & therefore woke up with the customary panda eyes & bog breath. So a fail on the 'improve beauty routine' list item then.

& I am just finishing off another glass of something fizzy (Prosecco) that I had to wash down the roast beef & Yorkshire pud. Another fail on the 'reduce the amount of booze I (we) drink before the bin men start sticking Alcoholics Anonymous leaflets on the recycling bin' list item. On the plus side the roast beef didn't come with all the trimmings, just mustard mash & steamed broccoli & the beef was organic & the yorkies were from scratch & so light they needed to be tied to bits of string to stop them floating away. That has to count as a brownie point on the virtue front surely? Still, give me a hour & the goodness can all be undone by scoffing down a hunk of "Dads best 18 month aged gin soaked Christmas pud" & double cream.*

Other items on this 'Mental list 'o' virtue' include:
- Reign in our spending habits & get a handle on our finances so that we are not constantly poor as church mice.
- Learn to strum more than three chords on that guitar I bought last July.
- Stop my home looking like some Dickensian junk emporium. etc etc...

Clearly, all that the above goes to show is that resolving to start anything vaguely virtuous on the first day in January of any year is doomed to failure. In fact, there is only one resolution you can make that it is perfectly sensible & appropriate to start on Jan 1st & that is to keep a diary. & Here's mine. Ta Daaaaaa!

"Huh?" you say, "What kind of nampy pamby pansyassed wishy washy resolution is that?"

Well it might seem a bit poor but I thought about all the time I spend on 'teh interwebs' posting urbane, witty, erudite missives (inane twoddle) on various (well three) message boards that occupy little dusty corners of cyberspace and shocked myself at the level of procrastination I have reached. If wasting time were an Olympic event (it can hardly be referred to as sport) I would be up there with Sir Steve Redgrave in the gold medal winning stakes. So, after the shock had worn off, (smelling salts and hot sweet tea did the trick) I decided to avail myself of the google facilities and allow my thoughts to spew forth. You never know, by the end of the year I might even end up something of use among the clutter.

So, what have we learned today, not much, except that Mr Lilgreenmomo has discovered a wonderful talent for making lighter than air Yorkshire Puddings.

Aunt Bessie eat yer heart out!

* Which actually became chocolate puddin' & custard because to 'nuke' the aforementioned Christmas pud would be sacrilege