June Round Up

I pinched this format from my cousin’s daughter, Becky and I’ve tweaked it to fit my needs. Hopefully it will serve as a much-needed kick up the backside, and encourage me to keep up with my blog posts.

So here goes…

Financial status: Money continues to trickle in and gush out of my account on a regular basis. Fortunately I tend to eat food that was destined for bins, avoid contracts wherever possible, avoid buying “stuff” even more, wear charity shop finds, read second-hand books, and earn just enough cash to cover my half of the rent, contribute something towards the utilities, and still have a bit of brass left in my pocket for “essential treats”

Jobs done: My regular day and a half a week spent working on  the community radio station I’m setting up here in Bethesda, Pesda FM.

There were also two Life Modelling Sessions; one in Gerlan, one in Bangor. I struggled to come up with 10 two-minute long, off the cuff poses during the busy Bangor class.

There were two washing up gigs for Moel Faban Suppers ; and I’m still not being given enough tea towels and scourers to do the job properly by my boss (AKA “The Girlfriend”)

Another call to do some extras work for Rownd A Rownd This time I had to walk into the shop and pick up a basket. Judging from the decorations in the window, you’ll be able to see the scene sometime this Christmas. I don’t think it’s as big a storyline as the last scenes I shot for the show, not too long ago.

Writing done: I revisited one of the short stories I wrote when I first considered taking my writing more seriously. I wrote “The Woman Who Yelled At Puddles” about a decade ago. There were plot chasms and clumsy sentences everywhere. I rewrote it, and got it down to 1000 words, gave it to my manager to read, argued with my manager about her editing suggestions, kissed and made up with my manager (AKA “The Girlfriend”) and am now going to make most of the changes she suggested, and then submit it for a competition.

I also submitted four poems to 3 sites; in a variety of combinations. Oxy Bloody Moron I Love (Dot Dot Dot) Victor’s Secret and Blue Girlfriend Blues (note to self: post Victor’s Secret and Blue Girlfriend Blues on here).

I made a little more progress on a “work in progress” I’ve been working on for well over two years now; it’s gone from a novel to a short story to a collection of short stories over a 30 month period…it’s progressing, slowly.

Mostly wearing: I’ve rediscovered my “Don’t Let Your Tongue Cut Your Throat” T-shirt. And I recently dug out my Captain America T-shirt; since it turns out he’s been a sleeper agent for Hydra all these years.

I struggled to remove all the old gold glittery nail varnish from my toenails; before the new bubblegum pink varnish was painted on (hashtag it’s a long story)

I also cut up a pair of ripped blue denim jeans, in order to make a new pair of shorts to wear,during the recent heatwave.

We’re still looking for my wedding dress; for our cross-dressing, cross-gendering wedding at Shambala Festival later this Summer. The groom…erm…bride…erm…Denise is considering wearing a frock coat, with pin striped trousers; hipster style, with full beard. I’m thinking traditional bridal gown for me.

Mostly eating: I’m being encouraged to eat more salads; in order to lose the “cake belly”. Fortunately, living with a chef means salads aren’t boring and tasteless. We’ve been treating ourselves to ice-cream since we found a freezer to put in the garage; and the weather turned warmer…for a while, this being North Wales. There was also a delicious duck dish, left over from one of the Moel Faban Supper wedding gigs recently.

Mostly drinking: Still switching to de-caf coffee around 4pm. There’s an opened bag of the Moel Faban coffee blend in the cupboard at the moment; 60% Columbia/40% Sumatra, blended by Poblado Coffi and I was allowed to use a bit, as a treat. We’re out of Grapefruit juice again though; it never lasts long, because I often gulp from the carton. I know.

Mostly buying: Two notepads from charity shops. One is a large, ledger type hardback, with glossy pages. I’ve had to buy two special pens, so I can write in it. The pens cost more than the pad.

I also found these beauties in a charity shop, as new, £1 each



Major events: June was spent mostly coming to terms with the fact that I had recently held the hand of a man I hardly knew, while he took his dying breaths. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone die. I felt…human.

Reading done: 



Nod was engrossing. I picked it up in the hospice I was spending a lot of time in, and read it in snatches over the next few weeks. Plot aside, the author’s personal story and the circumstances in which I found the book added poignancy to the reading experience.

Secret Invasion I read in two days; another charity shop bargain at £1.50.

I recently started to buy Private Eye again. I was a regular reader for years, and there’s a collection of the annuals in one of the toilets at home.

The Gaiman is autographed by the man himself; from when we went to listen to him speak with Stephen Fry, at the Hay Literary Festival in May.

Films watched: Revisited Turner and Hooch. Watched it with “The Boy” (my girlfriend’s 14-year-old, flakey minded, long-haired, multi-instrument playing, skateboarding, zombie loving geek of a son). He enjoyed it. I wept at the end…again…every time, every time I watch it.

I endured Step Up 2 while down in Dartford, and was duped into watching Grease while there too.

We were also misled by the promo picture and blurb accompanying a Scandinavian film called Girls Lost we watched last night.  We expected a relatively lightweight movie, and were traumatised by the end.8EgUVp2T

Mostly growing: I received a free pack of wild meadow seeds from the Wildlife Trust at the end of May; as part of their Go Wild In June campaign. I planted them on a patch of ground in the back garden. Within a week there were shoots appearing. Eventually I hope to have a patch of garden containing these wild beauties; alongside all the wild strawberries we have growing there already: Lesser Knapweed, Meadow Buttercup, Meadowsweet, Red Campion, Ribwort Plantain, Self-Heal, Teasel, White Campion, Yarrow, Corncockle, Cornflower, Corn Chamomile, Corn Poppy, Ox-eye Daisy, and Lady’s Bedstraw



There’s also the plant pot in the conservatory, but there’s no sign of life there yet. And growing my own mushrooms is still high on the To-Do-List.

Right, that’s it. I’ve probably gone on too long, and broken a number of blogging cardinal rules, but what the hell.

See you at the end of July…but probably before, if the manager dangles the right carrot, or swings the most effective stick.



Oxy Bloody Moron

I can understand why a grieving parent,

Would insist on a bloody revenge.

I can see why a tree hugging, blissed out old hippy,

Would spend solstice camped out near Stonehenge.

It’s obvious to me why a tired out child,

Falls asleep while you tell them a story.

But there’s one thing for sure,

I just can’t comprehend;

That’s the mind of a working class Tory.

They’re turkeys pining for Christmas.

They’re cricket fans praying for rain.

They’re early worms searching for hungry birds.

They’re masochists hiding from pain.

They’re china shops looking for bulls to set free.

They’re Marmite fans spreading on jam.

They’re virginal sluts wearing chastity belts.

They’re buying an ice cream,

And letting it melt.

They’re not taking sugar,

Then adding two lumps.

They’re a broken suspension,

Driven fast over bumps.

They’re reading a book,

Without checking the cover.

They’re finding a soul mate,

Then taking a lover.

They’d saw through the branch of a tree,

That they’re sat on.

They’re never the pigeon,

They must love being shat on.

I bet they look for Lego they can stand on,

But take care to take their shoes and socks off first.

Then fill their mouths with a dozen cream crackers,

In a feeble attempt to quench their thirst.

They’re a fart inside a diving suit,

And a chocolate fireguard.

They’re “Congratulations” written,

In a “Deepest Sympathy” greetings card.

They’ll tell you a tale,

With no sign of a story.

They’ll cheat playing football,

Then steal all the glory.

They’ll tell you they’re vegan,

Then eat your baloney.

And that’s why you can’t trust,

A working class Tory.