A letter to my Father on Father's Day

Many years ago, father's day would have been spent together, all of us around the kitchen table. Gifts and cards bought, dinner served and wine poured, drunk and replenished. A feast. Happy times.

I have spent the last few years, on the approach of father's day, passing cards that lined the shelves, feeling heavy of heart. Something I would never buy again. For you.

When you left us, you left broken hearts, smashed and destitute. Life was dark; a curtain drawn, deterring sunlight. We fell to our knees, grasping at hands to help us stand, but we were all too weak to lift our heads. The night was endless, daylight extinct. We spent each day wishing for the 'old days' yet yearning for the next; take away the pain. Slowly, we existed.

Weeks flowed into months and in turn, years. We found hands to hold onto, shoulders to lean on. We stood up, in anxious state and uncertainty. Will this life hammer hit again and knock us off our feet? We held onto each other, helping our sister, brother, mother. We grew stronger day by day. Letting the sunshine return to our lives lifted our hearts a little, and we were able to smile again.

These days the sun is always shining. The light that shines into my life reminds me of you ~ you were a bright light. When I think of you, I see gardens of flowers and hear beautiful music. I see love.

You left behind a legacy. You taught us all about softness of heart, kindness, forgiveness and understanding. Everyone that knew you, loved you. You were a special man. A man of true value and love for all.

When I look at our family now, I smile. In my darkest days, I never thought I would. Time passed through those 'dark days', and although I still feel a heavy heart from time to time, I know that the pain will not last. We have each other. We are a strong family.

The wind blows softly through the trees, rustling the leaves and I take time for reflection. If I listen, I can hear you. 'Be happy', you say. 'Live your life in colourful detail, be who you aspire to be. Be you, for me'.

We all have some of your blessed qualities dad, I am grateful for that. My heart is always full.

I love you dad.

There comes a time in life when you look at your children and you know you have to take a step back. Letting them learn through their own experiences and/or mistakes. Knowledge of life you may impart, but no matter how much it hurts you not to sweep them up and wrap them in a warm blanket, you are just left to guide them forward.

When they're babies, you cradle, saving from harm A bruised knee is soon forgotten with a tender kiss from mum or dad but then again, physical knocks are an easy heal.

There are some things in life you cannot teach your children. Emotional intelligence is one of them. Personally, I find this to be the hardest to deal with of all. The time when you know you cannot make things better with just a hug or a hot chocolate is that time when you step back and reevaluate, making mental note to stop talking and start listening.

That little baby you held and nurtured in your arms isn't a baby anymore and although you've done your very best to ensure his or her well being, emotionally, you have no say in the matter.

Emotional intelligence is an area, which I believe, is a life tool but feel can only come from experience. You cannot teach your children how to deal with emotional outbursts or silence from another, just the tools on how they react to them.

In my life experience, I've found that overthinking troubles usually causes more uneccesary worry, as the weight of the world begins to feel heavy on your shoulders. My philosophy is, 'Can I do something about this'?  If the answer is 'no', then I will strive to let it go. I have found that as time passes, life has levelled out and balance has been restored. What about the children? Well, they will have to live through these trying times of theirs too, in order to secure cognition.

Life is joyous, a gift. You cannot teach someone to be happy, it has to come from inside the heart. Knowing that 'tomorrow' is life's reset button helps to move us all forward with a positive gait...and may we all get there, one baby step at a time.

I never thought the nature/nurture debate would surface again in my lifetime...what do I know?

Tempting a Muse

As much as I'd like to think I understand life, with all it's twists and turns, more often than not, I don't. Questions I cannot answer, actions I cannot begin to comprehend, all make for a shrugging of the shoulders. In order to remedy this, I make things up and write them down.

I am an avid people watcher, have been ever since I was a little girl. I often find myself staring at people, sometimes slipping into their 'get the fuck outta here' look when I've hung around their person too long. Can't help it, always been the same. It's mostly unconscious and it's not until the person turns to me and engages in eye contact, the trance is broken. But people watching is fun. Transporting yourself into someone else's life for a while can be an engaging albeit daunting experience.

Christmas 2011 I was seated on a bus, gazing out of the window and looking forward to getting home from work. The bus stopped to let a passenger disembark and it was there I noticed a house. Standard roses lined the pathway to the door, a paint flaking racing green, and my mind was invited in.  The curtains were open and a single light bulb cast shadows over the nicotine faded flowers wallpaper, barely lighting the room. Cheap ornaments adorned the fireplace, I assumed complete with a light sprinkling of dust. Family gifts perhaps?

It struck me that whilst I was sitting there, in my santa hat, laden down with booze and christmas goodies, that maybe this person would be spending christmas alone. No fancy stuff. A couple of cards on the sideboard from old friends who still happened to be shuffling about, the only constant reminder that they were still thought of from time to time. A single tinsel affair. A frozen turkey dinner for one. A merry christmas indeed. My heart sank, my christmas spirit evaporating quicker than I could think. I busied myself by rummaging through my shopping to shake off the gloom.

When I got home, I thought about it again. I quickly began to realise that what I had seen and what I had imagined had merged without me even being aware of it. Imagination. A marvelous thing. So then, envisaging a miser who stashed rolls of notes under the mattress and dodged buying 'a round' at the local, I began to feel a little less troubled.

Stories are born from these 'visions' or daydreams. They are treasured when they arrive although I have to say, can be quite alarming at times.

Looking for inspiration doesn't always work. Sometimes you just have to let it happen, and if it doesn't...going after your Muse with a hammer will cause you nothing but stress and a blank sheet of A4. Let her be, she will return in her own time.

'The Muse must have shape. You will write a thousand words a day for ten or twenty years in order to try and give it shape, to learn about grammar and story construction so that these become part of the Subconscious, without restraining or distorting the Muse.

By living well, by observing as you live, by reading well and observing as you read, you have fed Your Most Original Self. By training yourself in writing, by repetitious exercise, imitation, good example, you have made a clean, well-lighted place to keep the Muse'. Ray Bradbury ~ 'How To Feed and Keep a Muse'

BUT, having said that, why not give yourself a break? Allow yourself room to breathe, go for a walk. Feel free. Forgive yourself if you haven't reached the ridiculous word count you set yourself for the day. Go jump in some puddles and stare down some drains...after all, that is where Charlie Bucket found the treasure to buy his golden ticket. Ray Bradbury may very well be a genius, but he isn't the one sitting in your chair.

Fly High Little Butterfly

A little caterpillar climbed a tall tree and came to a stop on a leafy branch high up in the green. He rested awhile. He looked around and he was happy with his resting place, soaking his body in the sunshine and feeling at ease being 'just so'. With the sun warming his blood and life around him very still, he felt content. A few weeks passed and the little caterpillar found he was becoming restless, 'What is this?' he thought to himself. 'I am not understanding why I am feeling this way, I have everything I will ever need up here in this place' . He looked around, nothing had changed. The leaves still a glistening green, swaying in the breeze: the sun, a golden yellow button giving new life to all below him, he began to feel sleepy. Tired. The little caterpillar decided he would close his eyes awhile. He made himself a bed in which to sleep, turning over and over in order to feel comfortable. Through his effort and energy spent, he fell asleep. He started to dream here in his safe place.

The sun shone a blistering red, painting the sky a masterpiece over an emerald green homeland. Leaves applauded in the breeze; an ovation for the sun's stupendous fanfare of the day and invited the flowers to stretch tall and embrace the goodness of the hour. Mother fox called her cubs to suckle and rest a while and safely in her den, exchanged stories and adventures of past hours. The mountains towered high, slicing the skyline in two with jagged tip beauty and hats of snow; silent white with thunderous voice, charming in her flawless beauty. The stream, the giver of life, the cleanser of souls. All was magnificent...

The little caterpillar started to stir, sleep complete and energy replenished. He thought how beautiful a dream could be, but feeling a little sad that he would never be invited to share his dream vision of this beautiful place, for he was far too small to carry himself toward these things. He looked outside of his sleeping place, shards of sunshine divided the trees and stung his eyes. He blinked. How he wished he could travel toward the sun and see the running water the birds so often talked of. He felt alone. Suddenly then, a winged beauty appeared and rested aside him. She was most splendid. "Come with me" she said, 'Let's go exploring'. The little caterpillar laughed at the beautiful creature and told her that he was unable to reach such heights of adventure, for he was small and earth walking. The beautiful creature looked at the caterpillar closely and sighed, 'You are not looking closely enough little caterpillar, for while you were sleeping, you took on the colours of your world. Come with me, see for yourself your future, your colour'.

The beautiful creature then took flight, asking once again for the little caterpillar to follow. 'Believe in yourself little one, for although within this life we are very small, there is nothing greater than a mind full of dreams and a heart full of love'. The little caterpillar lifted his head and saw that he was changed. Rejoiced, he shed a tear as he looked back toward his old life...he flew away.

Fly high little butterfly...

For my friend Maria Passuni @mariaineselvira ~ with love

Scraping Shit from a Shoe

I woke up this morning with a feeling of impending doom in the air. After last night's frantic attempts to get the kettle to work and failing miserably, resorted to boiling pots of water on the stove in order to make a cup of tea. After much profanity and slamming of the spoon drawer I decided that rather than have a cup of froth, I'd go to bed. Falling asleep rather quickly and dreaming peacefully, I was then catapulted out of bed at 5am with the shrieking of the smoke alarm. Feeling my way downstairs with my eyes still glued shut, I discovered that all was well and myself and 'Fruit of the Loin' would be spared being BBQ'd. The smoke alarm had decided to act out her monthly PMT again and after much stabbing with the broomstick and failing, decided I would go back to bed. Shoving my head under the pilows to drown out the sound, I fell asleep.

6.15am I am then jolted awake by the phone alarm dancing merrily alongside the smoke alarm. Swearing again, I threw back the duvet and stumbled towards madam's room to get her up for school. Shuffling back into my room I fell face down onto the bed groaning. After much moaning to myself I then realised that I would have to get up and get breakfast and school lunch ready for madam. Being hit with the reality of the situation and the noise of the smoke alarm still ringing in my ears, I can only describe my vocal shriek as akin to a dinosaur.

Downstairs again and I'm now making the school lunch. Ham sandwich as always, day in, day out. Buttering bread I feel my head is inserted inside a giant marshmallow and I can't hear very well. Not only can I not hear much but also I can't think straight. I proceeded to climb the stairs with the lunch on a plate. After realising my mistake, breakfast was made and lunch was packed. Madam got ready for school and kissed me goodbye and I jumped back into bed.

I don't know about you, but these mornings are becoming more frequent in this house. Let's hope tomorrow morning they'll be no hover over the sink, scraping shit from a shoe

Mr Cosgrove is coming out of the closet....

The shop wasn't anything out of the ordinary. There were a myriad of items that would have served better in the rubbish but Mr Cosgrove would keep everything. The dusty shelves were littered with papers and books, some of which were very old; some items were so consumed with dust they no longer deserved a title. The place was a mess. Despite this, the old dusty shop contained some 'magic'. The thousands of papers, books and bric-a-brac that filled every corner had a life force all of its own. Literary jewels with dusty crowns and crispy, curled edges waiting to be discovered and it was rumoured that the little store held an original document from the court of Henry VIII, although no-one knew if this was true. Jewels indeed. Lifting them from their dusty beds would only open up the box of curiousity and wonder, putting to rest all of those questions. They were best left alone.

Looking more closely, there were hundreds of trinkets scattered here and there. Items of devotion passed between lovers in years gone by. Once beautiful and treasured, now dull and no longer magnificent: sparkle faded and extinct.

The room itself was not very large and the items contained within made it look even smaller. The window to the high street had long seen the sunlight shining through and all the items placed there for the public to see, were invisible from the street. Dead spider and flies mummified on the cill only served to cement the stillness. For here, in this place, time stood still.

Mr Cosgrove was busy outside in the garden ruffling through old newspapers. He remembered he read somewhere there had been an outbreak of a so-called virus that had caught hold in the southern villages a few decades ago. He was darned if he could remember where he had read this and with all this junk around was becoming disheartened that he would ever find it. Why hadn't he put this somewhere safe? He was sure it would be of use to him in the future. Looking up from his endeavour, he sighed. His ever faithful cat Mozart was rubbing against his leg and this signalled feeding time. Mozart was very punctual. In fact, Mr Cosgrove didn't need a watch, the cat would ensure feeding and nap time were the same each day. Standing up, Mr Cosgrove made his way into the back of the house, stopping only to sniff the roses aside the back door. He loved his roses, they were his labour of love.

Inside the house, Mr Cosgrove laid down a saucer of milk for Mozart and cut two thick slices of bread for his lunch. He was unsure what to have in his sandwich today, but settled for cheese. After making his lunch and a cup of tea, he sat down at the small table to eat resting his elbows on the side of the chair. He looked over to Mozart lapping his milk and sighed. He was such a straggly mongrel of a cat, but faithful and loving. He didn't know what he would do without his company. His mind wandered to the day Mozart had arrived in the shop. It had been a very cold night and the rain had managed to work its way under the door. On opening the door, he had noticed a dark shape aside the post. As he bent down to touch the object, it moved and a pair of emerald green eyes had met his gaze. Shocked to see the object was actually a cat, he had proceeded to pick it up and carry it inside. He remembered how cold and wet the cat had been and how frail and weak he had looked. He had wrapped the cat in a blanket and placed in the corner by the piano. Now look at him, he thought. He's an old man just like me! Mr Cosgrove smiled and finished his sandwich, now where was this blasted newspaper. Back outside in the garden rummaging around in the piles of papers, he found it. 'UNKNOWN VIRUS SWEEPS DEVON...Twenty Four Dead...Panic Sweeps Town' . He took the newspaper inside and placed it on the table. Picking up his glasses, he put them on and continued to read...

A Monday Morning Chuckle....

On waking this morning, I remembered a funny story sent to me via a twitter buddy. Please read and enjoy....CAUTION: Swallow the coffee before reading.


Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife...

A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their
anniversary submitted this:
Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that
sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was
looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came
across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer.
The effects of the Tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long
term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to
retreat to safety....?

WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it
home.. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the
button. Nothing! I was disappointed.

I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against
a metal surface at the same time, I'd get the blue arc of electricity
darting back and forth between the prongs.

AWESOME! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn
spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that
it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently
(trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking
that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a
second) and then thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I
was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a
mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Am I wrong?

So there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one
hand, and Tazer in another.

The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient
your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms
and a major loss of bodily control; and a three-second burst would
purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of
water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the
batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5"
long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy
AAA batteries), pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no
possible way!'

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one
side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one-second
burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I
decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it.
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and...
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. WHAT THE... !!!
I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up
in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over
and over again.

I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with
tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles
nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the
oddest position, and tingling in my legs!

The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a
picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to
avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a Tazer, one
note of caution: there is NO such thing as a one second burst when you zap
yourself!

You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by
a violent thrashing about on the floor! A three second burst would be
considered conservative!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at
that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and
surveyed the landscape.

My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace.. The
recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it
originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still
twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my
bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling.
Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for
sure, and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above
my head, which I believe came from my hair.

I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant
reward for their safe return!

PS: My wife can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift,
and now regularly threatens me with it!
If you think education is difficult, try being stupid!

Rosie Child

Beautiful Angel, this is true
Everything, I do for you
For I do know that I am blessed
To have your heart beat in your chest
You lighten up the darkest day
For all the glory you display
And those that have not seen your smile
Or held you closely for a while
Do not know my precious child
Of truth and feeling, love beguiled
And should you ever go astray
I'll light a lamp to show the way
For when in life, you just can't stand
I'll walk beside you, hold your hand
Throw you high, your wings erect
To learn of life and life perfect
Still very young, you're not to worry
Life should be slow, not a hurry
Take your time to figure out
Just what life is all about
Lift a flower to your nose
Experience nature as it grows
Watch a bee search for her treasures
One of life's most glorious pleasures
There's not enough time in this day
To say the things I want to say
But for this moment, in this hour
Just, I love You, precious flower.

Happy Birthday Rosie

Open Book

Somewhere there is a place of tranquility...a haven of peace and beauty, I believe that is where nature is made. I will drop the materials that drag me down and spend the day with a butterfly, passing over gardens and bathing in sunshine...this is where I truly belong. Sunshine breathes a feeling of contentment and life but still darker clouds loom close by. I take a dandelion and blow away the awaiting life...giving a chance. But someone, somewhere is crying....

Reaching out into the void, I feel a sense of adventure. When did the word 'spontaneous' disappear from my life? I think maybe lost, although I wake every day hoping to find it again. I grapple with the 'mundane' of everyday life; the faceless commuter reading his newspaper, the skateboarder who knocks me into the kerb and wonder, do you see me? Reach out and touch me, I am here and I see you. Sit a while and watch with me the beauty of the spider weaving her snare.

I hear repeating beats from your electronic device and I know, you love to dance. Come dancing with me...we will sing our tune together and frighten away the birds. Take a moment for being nowhere for it is in nowhere you will find yourself. An abyss of empty; possibilities surrounding you and waiting for you to open that door of wonder. Be not afraid to step into the unknown...use your magic wand.

I look at you and sigh...such a beautiful creature, such a miracle of life and I ponder, did you smile today? Did you reach into your 'happy' vat and take a piece for a stranger to see? Did you save somebody from a day of low? I think so...I can see you. I hand you a book and as you open it you see it is empty...this book is for you. Make of it what you will but fill the pages with your dreams...and make them happen. You 'are' the 'Open Book'.

Farewell

This will be my last post to this blog. 

It was meant to be a group effort to enable the group to try blogging for themselves, but looking  back on past posts will reveal that apart from a few occasional exceptions, I seem to be the only person who can be bothered to post here.

In fact some people who seemed enthusiastic to begin with, despite promising to post here, have proved that they just can't be arsed.

I have my own blogs and rather than waste my time here, I've decided to dedicate my efforts there instead.

To those of you remaining here, the best of luck. I'll leave it up to you whether you leave my earlier posts in place or delete them. They're yours to do with as you will.

Goodbye.

Clarity Begins At Home

Apologies for the awful pun in the title, but to be honest, you wouldn't think that was the case when it comes to communication in my house. So many disagreements are caused in my family either because of avoidable misunderstandings, or because of one of us not listening to what the other is saying or trying to say.

Scenario One: My son is currently doing the third of a number of part time counselling courses at the university. He's otherwise unemployed, (following in the family business?) and so has a fair amount of spare time on his hands at the moment. He's currently into playing the computer game "Assassin's Creed" on the PC. I say 'into' but recently it's been more like 'obsessed with'. On Wednesday, he sat down at the PC around mid-afternoon and fired up the game.

Me: Don't stay on there too long David. Try to limit it to only about an hour.

Him: What?

Me: You were on there for about four or five hours yesterday. Restrict yourself to just an hour today if you can.

Him: (logging off) Oh fine! I won't bother going on then.

Me: Don't forget you have your prep work to do before your course tomorrow night. 

Him: Exactly!

Me: What?

Him: I need to be getting on with my work for uni..

Me: EXACTLY!

Him: Well how can I do it if you won't let me on the PC?

Me: It was you who logged off. I didn't tell you to.

Him: You did. You said I could only have an hour.

Me: I was talking about the game.

Him: So what happens if I can't finish my work in an hour then?

Me: I was talking about the GAME.

Him: I need the PC to do my prep work.

Me: I was talking about THE GAME!

(at this point Mrs B walked in from the kitchen to find out what all the hassle was about.)

Him: Mum! I need to do my work, and dad won't let me go on the PC!

I'm such an unreasonable parent!

Scenario Two: Mrs B firmly believes that she knows exactly what I'm going to say next in any given situation. She won't admit as much, and of course she couldn't possibly know that unless we had some type of telepathic link between us; but my wife is so convinced she possesses this special ability, that most times during a conversation, she'll forego the unnecessary chore of actually listening to what I say, and will instead use her special power to predict my next words, and thus she'll formulate her responses even before she's heard mine. The other day, we embarked on the fascinating discussion of what we should have for lunch.

Her: If you're going out, you could get some mayonnaise for tuna mayonnaise sandwiches.

Me: Do we have any tuna?

Her: Yes, I looked in the cupboard; we have three cans left.

Me: Three cans left? How many cans did you buy?

Her: I can't remember; about three weeks ago, I think.

Me: No. How many cans did you buy?

Her: Either Asda or Netto - Not Tesco, their tuna's always too expensive.

Me: (giving up on that line of enquiry) Can I have chopped gherkin in mine too, if we have any?

Her: You can get some if you're going to the shops.

Me: So we don't have any gherkins then?

Her: Someone will have to go; we've run out of mayonnaise.

Me: What about gherkins?

Her: No, I've got tuna. I have three cans from a multi-pack of five.

Me: Will you PLEASE just listen to what I say before you answer what you think I'm going to say?

Her: So don't you want tuna mayonnaise sandwiches then? Are you still going to the shop?

I went to the shop, if only to escape the madhouse!

Country Diary II (getting to be like a 'real' diary this!)

[See 'Country Diary (or as near as you'll get from a townie)' first]

On Friday, two days after my encounter with the handbrake horse, I went walking up toward Cottingham again, mainly to see if I could get photographic evidence of those roe deer I told you all about, (I really wanted to prove that not all the wild life around Hull is the kind with ASBOs.)

I had even worse luck than on Wednesday to begin with, but at least the horse who was responsible for my muddy fate the other day trotted over to say "hello," (if she'd have done as much as a canter, I'd have legged it, just in case,) I'd like to think she was saying "sorry" too, though she was probably just investigating to see if I had any food about my person. At least she looked sorry.

I'd forgotten to bring any carrots or apples with me, to bribe the horses. I'd passed a sweet shop on the way, but I'm afraid I'm still not quite at the polo mint stage yet. With my lack of 'booty' I knew she wouldn't stay long, but I overcame my terror and stroked her head a little; I was able to take a quick snapshot of her before she galloped away, and even managed to dodge the mud from the kickback.

I realised I'd also forgotten to bring my glasses with me. I used to wear them all the time, but have had the need for bifocals or varifocals as I've got older. I broke my varifocals about a year ago, and could only afford to replace them with single vision jobbies, so I tend to leave my glasses off most of the time, unless I particularly want to see something at distance; consequently, I often forget to pick them up before I leave home.

This particular day of course, I particularly wanted to see something at distance, to wit: the elusive roe deer, but with my limited eye sight, I didn't stand much of a hope. There certainly weren't any stood in the middle of any of the fields this time, and there was no way I'd be able to pick them out amongst the distant trees with these eyes.

I chatted with an old chap out walking his dog, who said (the old chap, not the dog,) that he'd occasionally seen the deer in the fields on the opposite side of the road, so that meant that there was either more than one bevy (impressed eh? I've been swotting up on my collective nouns,) or that they sometimes crossed the main road. He also told me that there was a bridle path back the way I'd already come that led down the side of the fields toward the trees. I was surprised I hadn't spotted it, but decided to give it a try.

I found the bridle path. I set off to walk along it. It was long. It was muddy, and by the time I'd passed the trees at the back of the fields there was still no sign of the deer. Beyond the trees were more fields, as the path led on past farmland. After a while, squinting, I looked out over one of the fields, and thought I saw a few dark spots poking out from behind the raised earthworks alongside a drainage ditch.

Using the zoom on my camera as makeshift binoculars (or more accurately, a makeshift telescope,) I confirmed that it was indeed, roe deer sitting in the distance, partially obscured so that not much more than their heads were visible.

I took a photograph anyway, though I knew that even at full zoom, there wouldn't be much detail, but I also knew that once I got home, I could enlarge it digitally and even possibly enhance it.

I walked a little further, trying to get a better view of the deer, and after a time, they started moving around a little and I was pleasantly surprised to see that there were a lot more of them present than I'd previously thought. It looks like my local roe deer are surviving the winter well. Here's to seeing a lot more of them when the warmer weather arrives, though they're so elusive I think I'll need someone to lend me a really good telephoto lens.

Country Diary (or the nearest you'll get from a townie)

Nobody would ever claim that where I live is suburban; nevertheless only fifteen to twenty minutes walk to the north leads me to open fields. It's the road to the nearest village to me, Cottingham, and that's where my walks often lead to for various reasons.

Priory Road, caught when the traffic was quiet

First, because they have a 'proper' old fashioned butcher, where I don't have to buy pre-packed meat like they have in the supermarket. It's a little bit pricey for some things, but at least the range is better than the standard, chops, sausages, mince and chicken legs at most of my local outlets.

Secondly, because Cottingham has a number of very nice pubs, selling very nice beers and at times when I'm in the market for alcoholic refreshment, it helps to have places like that in the vicinity. Also, it features my nearest branch of 'Rythym and Booze' (wines and beer store,) and that's the only place I can buy Barnsley Beer Company's range of competitively priced bottled ales. Now you may say that walking nearly four miles there and then the same back again just to get beer, makes me some kind of piss artist, but I look on it as devotion to a hobby; and of course you'll know that if you've visited my beer blog. What do you mean, you didn't know about it? Get over there and check it out.

The horses do have access to grass at some times of the year

Third amongst my many reasons to walk up to Cottingham has a lot to do with the horses contained in the fields I pass on the way. Since my early twenties I've had a fear of horses. Now that may seem irrational to you and maybe it is, but I'm trying to deal with it. I've got to the point where though I'm still certain that a horse would have the ability to rip me apart, I'm coming to terms with accepting that it probably wouldn't have the inclination. I've got to this level of near fearlessness by occasional visits to the horses on the road to Cottingham, to stroke their  massive fearsome heads (over the fence, but no sudden movements please, horses) and to feed them, first carrots, shaped so you can just poke them toward the horse's mouths, and later apples, which require a little more open handed, close up courage. I can just about manage that now. I've heard that horses are also partial to polo mints, but that requires full flat handed confidence while the beast picks up said sweetie with its teeth. My problem is that since horses have teeth just like chisels, I can't discount the possibility of losing a finger, so no polos for the horses, just yet, but maybe one day.

Humberside Police Headquarters
(where the cars slow down!)

My route to Cottingham takes me along Priory Road, this is one of the main routes from West Hull to Cottingham and the traffic along there is very loud, very busy and very fast (though not quite so fast on the bit of the road that passes  Humberside Police headquarters for some reason.) There are times though when the traffic will die off for a while, the road will be clear and a near silence descends. At times like these, I can hear the birds singing, the wood-pigeons cooing; the light somehow seems a little brighter & the air smells a little cleaner for a time, and if I stop and close my eyes, I can imagine that I'm in a better place, a happier place.

During the summer months, if I stand at the fence by the horses' fields, I often detect movement amongst the trees, far away on the other side. If I stand around long enough and look carefully enough, I can see a number of roe deer wandering amongst the trees. On my last few trips up that road there has been no sign of them. Admittedly it has been winter, but I'm certain that roe deer don't hibernate; I can only assume that they've flown south for the winter or disappeared to some other mystery place by some other mystery method. Today though, I looked across the field and there were the tell-tale snow white arses of roe deer; not amongst the trees: they were actually grazing in the field, (a little too far away to photograph with my phone camera, or this post would have been a little more interesting.) They seemed bigger than the usual roe deer I've seen there; they're normally no bigger than a small sheep, but these seemed to be much larger, (and YES, I am taking into account that they were standing much closer!) Perhaps the ones I see in summer are younger ones; I hope that means that there are baby deer on the way.

Winter still seems to be holding onto the fields. The only signs of grass are the odd tufts around the edges, mainly under the fences, and the odd green blade standing up through the mud like a bit of discarded Christmas tree. The fields themselves are mainly mud; I say mainly mud, because vast areas of them have been given over completely to water. Walking past the fields, they all seem to be flooded but to varying extents, each new field I pass will be of either 'marsh', 'swamp' or 'quagmire' quality, but every one of them could only laughingly be described as a field, which is a shame, because the poor bloody horses still have to stand out in them.

The horses seem to have taken to the idea of spring a lot more than the fields have. Some of them have become very sprightly. One particular field I passed had nine horses standing there, well away from the fence; there were nine, but technically only six of them were standing there: the other three had taken to galloping around the field, paying no heed to the deep mud or to the great pools of water that they stormed through as they went.

Now I've never seen a horse do a handbrake turn before. Of course not: horses don't have handbrakes. But as I stood by the fence watching the three horses galloping around, they turned toward me. Whether they remembered me and associated me with carrots and apples from the past I don't know, or perhaps anyone who stands still at the edge of their field for more than a couple of seconds is associated in their minds, with the possibility of free food, but as I stood there watching, all three came galloping toward me. 

One of them veered off quite early and turned to continue its journey back across the field; the second slowed to a stop as he approached and stood there watching his companion who seemed to increase speed as she came closer and closer as though she was about to smash through the fence. At the very last minute, this horse seemed to turn through a hundred and eighty degrees, seemingly without reducing speed. Oh, I know she must have stopped, as she turned, but then she seemed to gallop away at the same speed she'd approached. There seemed to be no deceleration before the turn, and for some reason, no need for acceleration after it, just fast then turn then fast again. I can't relate it in any other way than to describe it as a handbrake turn.

As she turned, her hooves skidded sideways into the mud between her and the fence, the mud just on the other side of the fence from where I stood. I recognised what the outcome of this would be, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I'd already turned away at the prospect of the horse smashing into the fence, so all I could really do was to step away slightly. What I hoped this was going to achieve, I'm not sure, but the effect it had was for the entire left hand side of my body to be splattered with big gobs of wet mud.

Now the thing about mud, is that it's a lot easier to get off when it has dried. Trying to remove it while still wet is only asking for trouble, so I continued my walk to Cottingham. A guy standing by a land rover on the opposite side of the road called out to me "Hee hee, did it get you then?" I wondered why he had to ask, not realising that he could only see my right hand side as I passed. This became plain to me as I turned toward him to answer him and he rolled over onto the bonnet of his car laughing. I continued. I managed to remove most of the mud from my face and my coat as I went, but I'm sure I knew exactly why I got those strange looks in the butchers and in the off-licence. "Bugger it," I thought, "I'll go for a pint."

I decided to sample whatever ale the King William IV had to offer but avoided the lounge bar, where what seemed like all of Cottingham's population of pensioners were tucking into their lunches, opting instead for the slightly 'rougher' public bar; not rough enough, it would seem, to ignore someone still semi-clad (at least down one side) in drying mud though, because as expected, I got the same strange looks in there as I had done while shopping, but at least I got a table to myself.

I made my way home via Shropshire and Warwickshire, (that's Shropshire Close, and Warwickshire Close. This is after all, only a lunchtime walk!) then I made my way down the cycle path that goes under the flyover and emerged at the southern end of Lowdale (Close, again) into Rosedale (Grove) so now I'm almost home again, back in town. I'll get home and hand over the kidney I bought for Mrs B to use in tonights mega pie (steak, kidney, mince, onion AND potato) then I'll sit down to pick the remains of the mud off my coat, then think about a way of cooking the thin rib of beef I bought for tomorrow night's tea. Who knows, tonight, I might open one (or more) of my bottles of Barnsley beer, (all in the interests of reviewing it, of course.)

[See also: 'Country Diary II (getting to be like a 'real' diary this!)']

Look over your shoulder

Something happened on that trip that changed who I am from the inside. Up until that point I felt invincible, as young people do. I’d never felt scared of being out after dark, even on my own. I don't mean I took risks but I believed myself to be anything but the typical victim. I walked with confidence and purpose, went wherever I chose. Getting mugged was a huge shock. I'd taken a shortcut through a square with a few trees and benches, a square I'd crossed numerous times by daylight; home was just metres away, I could see the light through the window of my flat. Ironically enough, when I was sitting on the U-bahn, I’d been mildly concerned about having a larger than usual amount of cash on me. Little did I know at the time that the mugger had seen me leaving the Bureau de Change and then caught the same train as me, followed me all the way back to my stop. So I'd been specifically targeted and it wasn't random.

The first I knew of it was feeling someone’s arm round the front of my neck (he'd approached me from behind) and being pulled to the ground. I had my bag over my opposite shoulder (so the strap was right across my body instead of resting over just one shoulder.) He tried to grab it, but in doing so it lifted me off the floor. I yelled at him and he kicked me in the face, which I didn't feel at all, then we had a bizarre kind of tug of war as he tried to drag my bag off me but I refused to let it go. (I've no idea why, everything you read says you should let go of your bag.) He was much bigger and stronger than me and eventually lifted me back to my feet as he was still trying to get the bag off my shoulder. He kind of yanked it upwards so the strap bruised my face and I was so angry with him and so disgusted by the injustice of it that I punched him in the face, really hard, which made him yelp in pain but by that time he'd succeeded in getting my bag and running off with it.

I got back home and my flatmate saw the state of my face, I was still adrenaline fuelled at this point; I felt no pain or fear. In fact I wasn't keen to go to the police station. But we did, and that was an ordeal in itself. I'm not used to police with guns (even the desk person was armed) and that felt disturbing to me. I reported it as best I could in halting language. The desk Officer was wearily sympathetic, I gave a description and was asked to look at some e-fit pictures of local known criminals. Then we were sent home.

We were about halfway through our trip at this point and it resulted in me becoming a bit of a recluse, I stopped going to Uni and put a halt on the socialising. There wasn't really anyone to tell there and I didn't want to worry my parents back home. As the years have gone by, my confidence has returned. But I no longer ignore the kind of gut feelings I’d had on the U-bahn, perhaps I should've paid greater attention to my subconscious. But I always, always look over my shoulder.

The Expedition

But Which one? There are so many to choose from, so I will give you my favourite, although I have only some actual memory of this one. It has been repeated so often amongst family and friends, that I thought to share it with you.

They would always start with my eldest brother pronouncing grandly "we are going on an expedition, Mummy and we need provisions" These words always filled me with delight but back then, I wasn't even sure what 'an expedition' was.

None of us were aware, that fate would play a part in what happened that day, or even what was about to occur; we were more concerned about who had more jam in their sandwiches than the other and if we all had enough orange juice to last us until we got to 'The Top'

Finally we were ready; my eldest brother was always the General, the middle brother was The Captain and, Private Kitty (I never ever got promoted) tagged on at the back.

The General, gave a full 'kit inspection' of our rucksacks (school satchels)and pronounced that we were ready for an assault on Mount Stairway. I don't think that I really thought the mountain was very high but my brothers were always so good at fuelling the imagination. So, that day, as the sunlight filled into the hallway, the ropes(dressing gown chords)were very tightly knotted, binding us all together, ensuring, that if one of us should fall to his certain death, one of the others, would be able to bravely stop it from happening and more than likely get a medal for outstanding bravery too (all except, Private Kitty, because Privates never ever were awarded medals.

And so the climb began, on hands and knees, we skillfully maneuvered ourselves over the treacherous ledges; only once stopping for refreshments on about the fourth or fifth stair. That was when the baby (who also became a Private at a later date) crawled up beside me; he was fast on the stairs and fearless, he overtook both The Captain and The General and went to sit on top of the mountain and wait for us all to catch up.

Finally we all safely reached the 'top' and admired the view ( I think this was just a picture on the wall)and finished off our provisions. There was then some discussion of how we would get back down the mountain and we began preparations...

I have to halt at this point and take you out of the hallway and into the kitchen; this was where my mother usually was; she was very very busy, doing whatever it was that mothers did, and we all knew very well, to stay out of her kitchen and out from under her feet. So, anyway, Mother was in the kitchen, when she suddenly realised that ominous sound of silence from her children; she wiped her hands on her apron and stepped into the hallway.

It was a timely entry on her part; she saw three children on the landing above the stairs, all were holding very tightly onto a rope made of the dressing gown chords; the other end was dangling over the bannister rail, firmly knotted around the neck of the baby, who was at this point, turning blue and making odd choking sounds.

And the reason this story has been told so often, is the delight we have in repeating the General's words: But Mummy, we were only abseiling the baby.

There are all kinds of cages...

Kookaburras

For the past couple of years, while I've been unemployed, I've had my own personal reasons to go out walking quite a lot. Often, especially during the spring and summer months, my walks would take me to a local park, where there's a small aviary and an even smaller menagerie.

A couple of years ago, there was a new addition to the aviary in the form of a pair of kookaburras. I suppose they might have been described as a mating pair, though I'm not sure if kookaburras will breed in our climate; even if they didn't, they were still inseparable as a pair. Most of the time when they appeared in the open, they'd be together; when they weren't, it wasn't for long because as soon as the one who was outside started its song, it wasn't too long before the other would pop out through the little door from the enclosed area at the back of the aviary cage.

The sound of their song was lovely, and as I spent more time near them I discovered that their song varied at different times of day. It seemed that they had one form of their song for the morning, and another for the evening. Both were so beautifully musical, that I recorded both of their songs on my telephone, and on later visits, if there was no sign of either bird, I'd play them back. If I played the wrong song for that time of day, there'd be no effect, but if I remembered to play back the correct one, first one bird, then the other would emerge from their shelter, flock to where I stood at the front of the aviary, and sing along.

Then last summer there came a time when only one of the kookaburras would emerge. At first I thought that one of them had gone, but then one day I arrived to find them both out in the open, They were now in adjacent, though separate enclosures. I saw the attendant and asked why they'd been separated and he told me that the female had become ill, and they were being kept in separate cages in case whatever she had was contagious.

For the next couple of weeks, whenever they were both out in the open, the female would sit quietly on a branch near the fencing that separated their two cages, and the male would be clinging onto the same fencing as close as he could possibly get to his mate. Often he'd be singing his heart out, but rarely got any response from the female.

Then one day in August, there were no kookaburras in sight. I played their evening song, and almost immediately the male emerged into the open, though it seemed with more urgency than ever before. He ignored me and went straight to his place on the cage fencing and began singing his heart out, but with no result. The next day, the attendant told me that the female kookaburra had died a few days previously.

I often played their songs to myself after that, but I thought it would be cruel to play them at the aviary again. Around October last year, my own personal circumstances changed: the details are still too painful for me to relate, but suffice to say that I had no reason to spend time walking in the park again. Then in early January this year, just after the snow had cleared, I paid a visit to the aviary again. The little kookaburra was still there, and after all these months he still clung to his chosen place on the cage fencing, singing for his mate. His song didn't seem quite the same though, it seemed more subdued, as though his little heart wasn't in it. He seemed to know that his mate was gone, but his affection for her wouldn't let him just give up. There had been cages separating them before, and to him, it must have seemed that death was just another cage keeping them apart.

Of course, not all cages are made up of bars or fences. Distance can be just as restrictive as any cage. It may seem silly to say so, but I felt a kind of empathy with that little bird. Though I was free to come and go as I please, I was still in my own cage, kept away from where I wanted to be & from who I wanted to be with by distance in the same way that the kookaburras were separated by physical cages.

But even cages, those of bars or those of distance are not enough to keep lovers apart, until something happens that separates them permanently, and then the parting becomes more real; then, just like the kookaburra where he is, I have my memories to dwell upon within my own cage. He puts everything into singing to bring back his mate, even though he probably knows the futility of it; love is like that, and though it may also be futile for me, I too, still dream and hope that one day I can overcome the restrictions of my own cage.

Ten Trivia Teasers

Here are ten questions to test yourselves with. (no prizes, it's just for fun.)

There's nothing here that should prove testing, since most of these are concerned with pointless trivia anyway and there's even a multiple choice one, and two true/false questions, so everyone has a chance of getting at least three correct.

When you've come up with the answers, or when you've given up, you can check how well you've done by scrolling down to see the questions repeated, with the answers.

1. When blue smarties were first introduced in 1989, which colour did they replace?

2. What was the name of the aeroplane involved in the crash that caused Buddy Holly's death? (You know this; you may not think you do, but you do!)

3. True or False: Actor Leonard Rossiter once took his milkman on holiday with him to make sure he'd have someone to play squash with?

4. Who were the first married couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television?

5. For just under a year in the 13th century, half of England was ruled by which of these:

a) A military dictatorship

b) A committee of women

c) The King of France

6. On July 4th 1776, how many people signed the American Declaration of Independence?

7. 'Cricket', 'Dragonfly', 'Firecracker', 'Confetti', 'Leopard', 'Spaghetti', 'Tidal Wave', 'Frosted' & 'Cats Eye' are all traditional varieties of what?

8. True or False: Men had wristwatches for 36 years before they became available for women?

9. Which sequence of four letters, has eight possible variations of pronunciation in the English language?

10. "Peace and hope for all mankind" were the last six words spoken from where, on December 11th 1972?

                                                    :
                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                         

scroll down for a repeat of the questions, with answers.....

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

                                                    :

1. When blue smarties were first introduced in 1989, which colour did they replace?

Specifically, LIGHT Brown (Dark Brown are still around)

2. What was the name of the aeroplane involved in the crash that caused Buddy Holly's death? (You know this; you may not think you do, but you do!)

American Pie

3. True or False: The late Leonard Rossiter once took his milkman on holiday with him to make sure he'd have someone to play squash with?

True

4. Who were the first married couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television?

Fred and Wilma Flintstone

5. For just under a year in the 13th century, half of England was ruled by which of these:
a) A military dictatorship
b) A committee of women
c) the King of France

c) - King Louis VIII (from 1216 until the Treaty of Lambeth in 1217)

6. On July 4th 1776, how many people signed the American Declaration of Independence?

Only Two - the rest of the signatures were added from August 2nd onwards.

7. 'Cricket', 'Dragonfly', 'Firecracker', 'Confetti', 'Leopard', 'Spaghetti', 'Tidal Wave', 'Frosted' & 'Cats Eye' are all traditional varieties of what?

Marbles

8. True or False: Men had wristwatches for 36 years before they became available for women?

False - Patek Phillipe produced the first woman's wristwatch in 1868, but it was 1904 before Louis Cartier made one for men.

9. Which sequence of four letters, has eight possible variations of pronunciation in the English language?

'ough' - As in "A rough-coated, dough-faced ploughman strode through the streets of Scarborough, coughing and hiccoughing thoughtfully." (for non-English speakers these are pronounced uff, oh, ow, ooh, uh, off, up, and awe, respectively.)

10. "Peace and hope for all mankind" were the last six words spoken where, on December 11th 1972?

From the moon, by Eugene Cernan, commander of the Apollo 17 mission.

Winter - Hades is to blame.

I've always had an interest in Greek mythology. Almost everyone is familiar with the main tales, thanks to Hollywood and Disney, and though most of that is inaccurate, being based on a hybrid of the Greek and Roman versions of the myths, it serves as an introduction to what is by far the most complex and contrived example of folklore.

The weather in the UK at the moment is terrible; It's the middle of winter, and all of nature seems to have ground to a halt and died, though it's more a case of nature sleeping, since we know everything will  re-emerge in the spring time.

There's a Greek legend that explains why this happens every year, and I'm not sure if many of you will know the story of Demeter, Persephone and Hades....

Demeter was the goddess of the fertility of the Earth, of agriculture, of forests and of the harvest. Zeus was enamoured of the bountiful Demeter and visited her bed; as a result Demeter gave birth to her daughter Persephone. As an Earth goddess, Demeter lived away from Mount Olympus and from the other gods, so Persephone was raised on Earth itself. Many gods chose to pursue and woo Persephone, amongst them Ares, Apollo and Hermes, but Demeter turned them all away, refusing their offered gifts and hid her daughter away from the other Olympians.

One day, Persephone was picking flowers with nymphs,  Aglaope, Peisinoe and Thelxiepeia, when Hades, the god of the underworld, burst through a cleft in the Earth and abducted her. Demeter discovered what had occurred and in her anger at the nymphs for not protecting Persephone, she transformed them into the Sirens (but that's another story.)

Demeter tried to discover exactly what had become of her daughter and searched everywhere for her, until Helios, the sun, told her what had happened, and that Persephone was being held by Hades as his consort. Demeter was distraught, and her anguish and sadness was reflected throughout the Earth, as nature lacking the influence of Demeter, became still.

Without Demeter bringing about the harvest, the people of the Earth began to starve. Zeus beheld this and having seen Demeter's despair, he submitted to the pleas of the other Olympian gods and ordered his brother Hades to return Persephone to her mother.

The Return of Persephone

However, the Fates had long ago decreed that anyone who should ever consume food or drink while within the bounds of the underworld, could never leave. In his desperation to retain Persephone, Hades tricked her into eating a few seeds of the pomegranate, so that even though the will of Zeus led to her return to the world above, the law of the Fates ruled that she must return to the underworld and to Hades for a number of months each year.

When Demeter was reunited with her daughter, she was overjoyed and the world bloomed again as nature flourished once more; but from that day on, every year, for one season, Persephone returns to the realm of Hades, being separated from her mother, and the world falls barren once more.

So it was, according to the ancient Greeks,  that the seasons were established, and that Persephone began to be portrayed as both the peaceful secluded maiden of nature, and as the iron queen of the underworld, so much so that the ancient Greeks would not speak the name 'Persephone'; but soldiers dying on the battlefields would offer themselves to the white arms of the dread queen.

A Little Bit of Nonsense...

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,

I composed this verse,
Especially for you,

Now some poetry rhymes,
And some poetry scans,

But unfortunately this doesn't do either particularly well at all.

How to Deal with Agatha Christie

Between Christmas and New Year there seemed to be an awful lot of Agatha Christie mysteries on the TV, and a particularly large number of Miss Marple episodes.

Mrs B has a liking for all things Christie and a fondness for Miss Marple stories in particular. I can take them or leave them, but in the past it meant that I had to sit through them from time to time just to keep my wife happy.

Of course, these days, with Sky+, they can be recorded, so that she can watch them any time she likes, preferably when I'm out of the house.

Scanning through the TV schedules on the program planner, I noticed the plethora of all things Marple that seemed to be showing late December and early January, so I decided to record them all for Mrs B.

The problem was that there were so many of them, that once they'd been recorded, it left us very low on Sky+ disc space. So it had become a matter of urgency for Mrs B to watch them as soon as possible. She's taken to watching one early in the morning, while the kids are still in bed; I'm usually busy tweeting early in the morning, but I must admit to watching with occasional glances toward the TV and to listening, if only with one ear.

Today though, everything seemed a little familiar, until I realised that what we were watching was "The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side." This was the Joan Hickson version, but a couple of mornings ago, we'd watched the Geraldine McEwan version of the same story.

The two productions had been adapted differently, so there were a lot of variations in the storyline, if not in the plot, which of course had to be basically the same, so as to at least have the same victims and the same murderer as the original written work, but I couldn't see how anyone could possibly take pleasure in watching the story being told when they already knew the outcome. Surely, the pleasure of a whodunnit is working out who done it (or is that just me?)

It started me wondering if the people who they make these programmes for are actually Agatha Christie fans, who've read the books, or people who don't read, who just need their fix now that Inspectors Morse and Frost have left them wanting.

When I read, I'll occasionally come across a book that I've enjoyed so much, that I'll make a point of reading it again at a later date. Of course there'd be no point in doing that with Agatha Christie novels, because you'll already be aware of all the spoilers.

I remember an episode of Red Dwarf, where Holly, the ship's computer came across exactly that problem, but having an IQ of 6000 (or at least 'an IQ with a six in it',)  he'd thought of a foolproof solution to this minor setback.

I've dug out the script for the scene in question. The transcript is reproduced below. (Acknowledgements to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor.) It always makes me titter. I hope you enjoy it:

Lister is watching a soppy movie on one the screens while drinking a beer milkshake and eating a bowl full of french fries. Romantic piano music plays in the background of the film. Holly appears on the screen, interrupting the movie.

HOLLY: Busy, are you, Dave?

LISTER: Hol! I'm watching the film.

HOLLY: Just wondered if you're a bit bored?

LISTER: No, no. I'm watching the film.

HOLLY: You're not bored, then?

LISTER: No! Go away!

The film reappears on the screen. Holly appears on the screen again, interrupting the movie.

HOLLY: I've just finished reading everything. I've now read everything that's been written by anyone ever.

LISTER: Would you go away?

HOLLY: You know what the worst book ever written by anyone ever was?

LISTER: I don't care!

HOLLY: "Football, It's a Funny Old Game" by Kevin Keegan.

LISTER: Holly, would you let me watch the film?

The film reappears on the screen. Holly reappears on the screen, interrupting the movie again.

HOLLY: I'm at a loose end now. I don't know what to do with meself.

LISTER: Holly, why don't you just read everything all over again.

HOLLY: I was thinking it might help pass the time if I created a perfectly functioning replica of a woman, capable of independent decision-making and abstract thought and absolutely undetectable from the real thing.

LISTER: (Sitting up eagerly) Well why don't you, then?

HOLLY: Because I don't know how. I wouldn't even know how to make the nose. Heh.

LISTER: Holly, is there something that you want?

HOLLY: Well, only if you're not busy. Would you mind erasing some of my memory banks?

LISTER: What for?

HOLLY: Well, if you erase all the Agatha Christie novels from my memory bank, I can read 'em again tonight.

LISTER: How do I do it?

HOLLY: Just type: "holmem. password override. the novels christie, agatha", then press erase.

Lister jabs two-fingered on a keyboard.

LISTER: I've done it.

HOLLY: Done what?

LISTER: Erased Agatha Christie.

HOLLY: Who's she, then?

LISTER: Holly, you just asked me to erase all Agatha Christie novels from your memory.

HOLLY: Why should I do that? I've never heard of her.

LISTER: You've never heard of her because I've just erased her from your smegging memory.

HOLLY: What'd you do that for?

LISTER: You asked me to!

HOLLY: When?

LISTER: Just now!

HOLLY: I don't remember this.

LISTER: Oh, I'm going to bed. This is gonna go on all night.