Saturday 13 November 2021


 Always up the 'job' from 5am...

No matter what.

But there is a 'secret'. 

Being as i have my elves.  18 of the most glorious months imaginable - it's all in the other book-page; a few know of.

And, all of it has been based on only one thing: as of May 2020 roamings.... roaming far and wide, so many actual new friends it is daft. Especially chief number 1 goddess. She knows she is.  Rich and the most engaging children ever encountered except mine own. and yet no one to walk the hills - mine hills, that one paradise long day, where she practiced pure free speech and told me her all.  And then just a few weeks later the old lady who ...well there's a Bobline on her somewhere the rest are older then the youngest human even if 74 year old i ever met.

But that is all now. 18 months of now. 18 months of putting the actual real version of freed up speech about their realities into practice.

However this is not a 'weblog'. One of them is elsewhere that is so subversive it would be genuinely subverted because it is about the ten or more new real friends - ok 5 known some years but because of being freed somehow to speak a little more about reality as from summer 2020  despite initial bristly moments my my how we live Socrates on streetcorners so often now. Even the mothers. Those whom just two years ago would never in a million years open up about the sickness in society. That which has taken their lovely healthy ruddy cheeked country lasses to somewhere they know is bad but prior the great opening up (radio 4 could never of course imagine as they are all city based neurotics)  would keep inside because their living depends on the smiley masked version. 

And yes we have had our attacks. One even physical. A sad young man. But what is seen and known is just how many latent attackers there are. Silly Pinker never got it: the LATENT angst and aggression he can never measure. And if even in quiet  backwater verysmall towns of my region there is so much as my tribe of balanced middle class (though non neurotic ruddy cheeked) mothers state they feel,  this is where freedom to speak is in fact a matter of eventual life and death because no matter what sad angry bitter nonsense they wish to share  I am quite sure hero number 1 Monsieur Montaigne the first blogger with his little pamphlets knew.... better out than in. And learn not ever to take it to heart or personally.

My oh my how we have a little 101 manual on that, the story of the last year. My only regret is that with having to 'live' the effects of those who think that their words are so special and matter  - in ways that do need some Montaignish essays on one day I never had the time even to read the volume of everything he ever wrote. Long on my mantelpiece. Did i hear correctly a few years ago there is even a passage about whether or not it is morally appropriate - valuing his wifey fully, to bend her over their AGA and pleasure himself that way? 

Anyway i care - somewhere below in this or the other one there is a 'Lord Carlyle' i think if so it is a typo and should be  Lord Strathclyde. The one someone i once knew and so valued used her mouth to besmirch. 

A wonderful Portuguese woman i sat with 4 hours in the summer  discussing the truth of one of their stupendously gorgeous words saudade (she said and i write elsewhere "it isn't finished yet")  ... whereas the dead Welsh [ a construct, being the majority of their football team i heard in 2016 actually had English so called 'genes']  word hiraeth is sobbing into your tenth beer and getting even fatter as they have no imagination about how to get back that good stuff lost - nor spirit, said to me the Portuguese have a saying "there are three sides to every story, hers his and the truth"