Thrift

There's a great thrift shop in our nearest town and I tend to take the kids in there when MG is at the barbers getting his barnet done. It's full of complete rubbish of course. I always go in expecting to see a pile of vintage storybooks or some lovely pottery I can scoop up by the armload for a song. But you know how it is with charity shops. You just have to keep going in and every so often there's a nice-little-something. In theory at least. In the meantime I've been buying animals with interesting facial expressions.

I took these with a little digital canon, on the macro setting. Poor little Dachshund - I was fiddling with its little tail and snapped it off. They've got the expression just right. A friend whose mother always had Dachshunds told me once they always look humiliated. It's their natural mien. Have always quite liked the idea of having a Dachshund and calling it Charles. It turns out others harbour similar longings, our friend AB (a very dapper chap) also wants one.

This Cupboard is my Shame #1

When I first decided to start a blog I initially thought I'd post a list of a heap of things I wanted to do - really banal stuff if truth be told - and then just post pics of the done deed. But to be honest I shudder at the thought of it all hanging over my head, taunting me as I fail to pull my finger out yet again. Even though the whole point would be to force action - self-sanctioning in a public forum. Also thought I'd spare the yawns. One of the things on my (mental) list was to sort out the pantry. An 'Open the door. Shove it in. Job done' philosophy reigns supreme in these parts. A bit like Monica's closet of shame in that episode of Friends, except in triplicate, because the pantry is nothing compared to the hall cupboard, which in turn is a mere prelude to the horror that is the garage...It's all been getting out of hand. Anyway, MG forced the issue. He dragged everything out of the pantry and started hoovering the floor. I put it all back. I couldn't make the photos interesting, funnily enough.

Before...

And after...ta-da!

Well whaddya know, there was a child in there under all that detritus. Thought it was a bit quiet round here.

Writing - A Lot.

Having just finished a huge unmentionable writing project (curiously mentionable - that's 3 so far in two blog posts), I thought it would be useful to read a book about writing a lot - after the event. It was kind of recommended in Oliver Burkeman's 'This Column Will Change Your Life' in the Guardian Weekend Magazine a couple of weeks ago. I think the column will actually, finally, live up to it's moniker. I fully expect this book to revolutionise my life. It's called 'How to Write A Lot' by Paul J Silvia. It's a practical guide to productive writing for academics. In fact this is the sub-title, more or less. But the advice could apply to nonacademics and beyond writing. I'm going apply the basic tenet - schedule writing time and respect it - throughout my life.  I'm hoping it will put paid to any paralysis and procrastination dogging my professional and personal life. Just a small ambition. I was reading it on the train the other day and the fella next to me said 'excuse me, but that's rather a strange ambition'. He was incredibly polite. The only other thing he said to me was an apology for not saying excuse me when he first sat down. That might have been because I was busy cramming my face with burger. Nice to know that interrupting a lady gorging on a whopper is deemed more impolite than not saying anything when you take the seat next to them.

Haven't quite got to the point of getting my diary out and ring-fencing slots. I ought to do it RIGHT NOW if I'm really taking on board Paul J Silvia (PhD)'s advice. Blessedly short volume, by the way, probably so recalcitrant writers can begin to exercise some finger-outtage and get on with it, rather than wasting time reading about writing. One unfortunate side-effect I should mention is a sudden attack of paranoia about my writing style as a result of reading Silvia's tips on style. I want to go back to every report etc I've ever written, effectively to cringe at every flabby, flowery phrase.

I've arrived!

So here it is, the inaugural blog. I've been umming and aahing about starting one. I even held off, saving it as a 'special treat' for when I finished a rather large and unmentionable piece of work. But really I knew I was in danger of creating another avenue of procrastination. And I do feel as though I need a purpose other than procrastination to prattle on, into the ether. So, what is it all for? Following aforementioned large and unmentionable piece of work, am feeling slightly adrift. I like to write. At least I think I do. And this might be good practice; I can tap away without bellyaching about every word. Except old habits die hard. I also like to take photos. At least I think I do. And this may force me to take photos again, which aren't of the kidlets and him indoors. We'll see. It doesn't really matter because I'm not actually going to tell any/ many people about it. And what on earth am I going to write about? No idea. Hence the rambles. And galore is such a great word. Except together they sound like a louche old bon viveur. Anyway, I can't promise many actual walks - I'm strictly non-sportif.