Music is my first love

I've loved all sorts of music since.....well, for a very long time. My dad bought me a reel to reel tape recorder when I was a teenager (That was considered 'state of the art technology in those days!) and I spent hours recording music off Radio Caroline. Oooops, is that illegal? Well I doubt if I'll get arrested now although, knowing my luck............

It drives me mad nowadays how music has to fit into a box. When I was young there was a mixture of music genres in the charts and I think it's from there that I get my wide appreciation of different styles.

I know nothing about creating music - I wish I did, it must be so satisfying to produce a wonderful piece of music however, we can't be good at everything can we!

When people ask me what sort of music I like I reply 'Good music' I'm not being facetious when I say that. I really mean it. Of course everyone has their own definition of good music but why does it have to fit in with what's popular?

One day you'll find me listening to Mozart, another The Scorpions. Depends on my mood. In my (humble) opinion Jackson Browne is a far better song writer than Bob Dylan. As opposed to songs, he writes stories to music. If you listen to the words of his songs they are very moving. It's impossible to pick a favourite song but I thought this week I would like to share some songs that mean a lot to me.

I often wonder what the world would be like without music.I feel that the man in my previous blog has much to answer for when it comes to modern songs and I feel sorry for today's kids growing up with bland, mass produced songs - or am I just getting old?

Watching the news tonight about under nourished children in Afghanistan made me think of this song:
http://youtu.be/ze3ziOoEUNA
This song never fails to bring tears to my eyes, the raw, painful emotion. I've read John Lennon's biography from six different perspectives, what a sad story:

http://youtu.be/NkOoZDK7Rz8

I often think they should make a film about Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. What a love story that would be. I keep willing them to get back together!

http://dai.ly/cVGBnd

The day I Accosted Simon Cowell

This week's events brought it all back! I went with a friend on Tuesday to the Opera House in Blackpool to watch a live recording of Britain's Got Talent. We spent tha majority of the day squashed up and penned in amongst thousands of people getting drenched by the incessant rain. If you want to read about the experience there is an article appearing in the February edition of Gridlock Magazine - www.gridlockmagazine.com.

The last time the show came to Blackpool was in 2008. My granddaughter who was eight at the time was very excited about the possibility of meeting Simon Cowell and co. Her parents - who are song writers - were away working so we planned our day with precision to optimise our chances!

We hardly slept the night before because we were buzzing with excitement - yes I am quite capable of being an eight-year-old or any other age that takes my fancy. I'm not known for acting my age!

We jumped out of bed as soon as the alarm went and got ready for our 'adventure'.and arrived at the Winter Gardens at 6.30 am. Well? the early bird and all that..............

It was cold, miserable and damp due to the continual fine rain, the sort that wets you through, as Peter Kay observes. Exactly the same weather as we had on Tuesday this week.

I mentioned earlier that my daughter and son-in-law are song writers, they earn their living 'gigging' up and down the country but their dream is to be professional song writers. Not one to miss an opportunity I was armed with three CD's of their songs. The judges that year were Simon Cowell, Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden, hence three CD's.

Strangely there were no barriers up that time and - as far as I can remember, no crowds outside. In fact when Simon Cowell eventually arrived I think there were about twenty people there - although the numbers quickly swelled as word got around.

We waited for hours, not venturing far from the front doors of of the Winter Gardens in case we lost our vantage point! I think it was around eleven o'clock when Piers Morgan arrived - I walked straight up to him, shoved a CD in his pocket (They all had my daughter's contact details on in case I didn't have time to explain) and said 'There's a present for you' He looked a bit surprised  and said 'Oh Thank you'. My next target was Amanda Holden who arrived about thirty minutes later. She smiled and looked genuinely delighted when I gave her the CD but again, didn't have time to explain as TV camera's were honing in on the celebrities as they arrived.

We then waited with Tony Adkins, Simon Cowell's then body gaurd. He was a very pleasant man and made my granddaughter's day regaling her with stories about how he felt sorry for the  contestants - especially the children - who had their dreams dashed. He said he didn't think it was fair to put children through that level of rejection at such a tender age. He would break off to talk into his walkie talkie every so often trying to establish when his boss was going to arrive as he was already about an hour and a half late. Tony assured us that he would get Mr Cowell to stop and pose for a photograph with my granddaughter when he arrived. She was unbelievably excited! Mr Adkins made the wait worthwhile, it's not every day you get an introduction to Simon Cowell.

Simon Cowell's limo eventually drew up at around 2.30. Tony Adkins stuck his head in and had a conversation then Simon emerged shaking his head at his body guard and marched past the small crowd that had gathered ignoring calls from the crowd - including mine and headed straight for the door where a TV camera was waiting.

Well, you know those moments in your life when you see red? I had one of those! Could you blame me after standing in the cold and rain for seven hours with a small, excited child? I walked straight over to Mr Cowell who, I think, was being interviewed on camera, tapped him on the shoulder and stuck a CD in his pocket. 'There's a present for you' I announced as he turned round looking a little surprised.

'Oh thank you very much' he oozed, now the camera was on him! One of the security staff called my disappointed granddaughter over and told her to go down and see him at the tower the following week and he would get Simon Cowell's autograph for her. I took her down and he had kept his promise. She was delighted.

My daughter never heard from any of the judges about the songs but.....it was worth a try!

Here are links to a few of the songs on the CD. Have a listen and see what you think.



Jenny Cox - Would you run broadjam.com/artists/songs.

When She Cries http://www.broadjam.com/artists/songs.php?artistID=33439&mediaID=447766

 

FIRST WIN OF 2012

You probably know this by now but in case you don't - I like entering competitions. I enter quite a lot which is presumably why I've started winning a few. I opened my emails on 12th January to find an email beginning with the word Congratulations. I like emails that start with that word. Anyway, it turns out I've won a spa break for a family of four - or four adults - at Alton Towers including overnight stay, bed, breakfast and Evening meal. It's a first prize and my second spa break prize! The only trouble is it has to be taken by March so I don't think I'll be able to go.

I sold the last spa break I won so when it arrives I'm hoping to do the same (depending on the terms and conditions) The point is I'm still winning so it looks like the wins I had last year weren't a 'fluke' as I thought.

Now, I've seen a competition that ends in three days and the prize is a brand new fitted kitchen worth £20,000 including planning, fitting and top of the range appliances. I AM going to win this prize - watch this space. It involves writing a hundred and fifty words about your dream kitchen. Sounds easy enough doesn't it? Trouble is I've been thinking about it for three days now and haven't come up with fifteen words, never mind a hundred and fifty. I love competitions that involve writing and I've put in some pretty fantastic entries - at least I thought they were fantastic - sadly the judges didn't agree.

I was certain I was going to win that BMW in December. You should have seen what I wrote, it was genious.....mmmm I wonder who's driving round in that car! Maybe I should change tactics and write an X Factor type sob story......

I always get excited when competitions involve writing something because it isn't down to luck. Maybe I'm fooling myself because I've only won the ones involving luck so far. I did once win a National Writing competition, yes, I won the  Gold Award. I was mighty impressed with myself until the prize arrived. Call me ungrateful - go on, I can't hear you - they sent me a certificate stating I was a Gold Award winner and a pen set containing a smart looking pen that didn't work. You wonder why I'm bitter and twisted!


When I win a major prize you'll be the first to hear about it unless it's majorly major in which case I may be too busy laying on a sunny beach somewhere to be bothered writing my blog.

Now, I really must go and write about my dream kitchen. All that stands between me and that kitchen is a few inspired sentences.............

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A GRIMNEY NEW YEAR

I thought I would just take this opportunity to wish my readers a Very Merry Christmas. It's a busy time of year and not much time for writing - unless you're ultra disciplined (which I'm not!) I think this will probably be my last post for 2011 as I'm sure you'll all have better things to do over the coming weeks than to read my blog!

If something particularly exciting pops into my head in the meantime I'll put a link on Twitter.

My regular readers - all three of you - will know by now that I have slipped into a fantasy world during the past few months. Now, there are some who know me that would say I've always lived in a fantasy world, but never mind about that.......

Of course, I am referring to The Land of Grimney. I do spend a lot of my spare time there these days and I love it! I have three characters in this strange land now and they seem to be taking on lives of their own which is fascinating to me, not being a fiction-type person. I suppose as much as anything it's the challenge I'm enjoying. I haven't played with imaginary people since I was about eight years old, I'd forgotten how much fun it could be.

I have also been promoted to 'site administrator' this week which I'm buzzing about even though I don't quite know what it means! It's a lovely feeling to be valued and given a promotion - even though it is in a fantasy land. Well let's face it it's the only place where I'm likely to be given a promotion! So I thought I'd just like to take the opportunity to let you know that I am important now. I promise I won't let the power go to my head though so don't worry all you peasants. Grimney are also running a Christmas poetry competition but if you want to enter, you'd better get your ice skates on because the closing date is the 25th December.

If you still haven't visited Grimney I suggest you give it a try if only to read some of the amazing poems and stories that members have posted in there. The address is: www.thelandofgrimney.co.uk

I thought I'd leave you with a couple of festive poems. The first is one of the entries I put into the Grimney poetry contest followed by one my twelve-year-old granddaughter wrote this afternoon. I'm so pleased that she likes poetry at such a tender age.

Have a lovely holiday and I'll see you in 2012 x

Present by Barbara Thomas

The present looked exciting

Yes ever so inviting

It sat beneath the tree

With love it said, to me!

Wrapped in crinkly bows

And Santas in the snow

I picked it up, I pressed and squeezed

Then back it went beneath the tree

For weeks and weeks I tried to guess

The contents of that treasure chest

I willed my dog to make a tare

So I could take a peep in there

But she just sighed and licked her feet

‘Cos it didn’t smell of bones or treats

So finally surrender came

I had to play the waiting game

On Christmas day the gift was placed

Into my lap, did my heart race!

I pulled the bows and sellotape

And tore the Santas out of shape

When I finally got to see

What had plagued my curiosity

I forced a smile and tried to hide

The disappointment felt inside

The hints I dropped were very clear

But must have fallen on deaf ears

No Kindle did I find in there

Instead a dryer for my hair

A poem of Christmas by Tyrion Cox

Putting up the decorations,

The sound of cheer and celebrations,

Outside the snow twinkles and glistens,

The choir sing, and everyone listens.

Chestnuts roast on a flaming fire,

The Christmas spirit is lifted higher.

The star upon the festive tree,

Sways, and shimmers gracefully.

Presents look so beckoning.

We sit and wait its so exciting…

Then it comes, the magnificent day!

Both children and adults all shout ‘hooray!

The presents are opened,

Faces are brightened.

Everyone’s happy, cheerful, and glad,

Christmas time, here at last!

This week's blog is another true story from my childhood - followed by a poem based on the story. - Enjoy!       

                                                                SNOW JOKE

I was born in Burnley, Lancashire and lived in a big, old terraced house with a backyard, the gate of which, led out to a large cobbled area which was our play ground.

Most of the houses in the area looked the same, row after row of big, grey terraced houses with chimneys that oozed out clouds of black smoke. This was the age before smoke free zones and being an industrial town with factories and cotton mills, it wasn’t just the smoke from residential chimneys spewing out smoke but also the tall industrial chimneys which dominated the landscape.

Looking back, the setting was quite gloomy and depressing but that’s not how I remember it, with lots of extended family living close by - my grandparents lived next door but one. There were always lots of family members popping in and out, lots of laughter and quite regular family get - togethers mainly in my Grandma’s house where there would be around thirty people crammed in, chattering or singing and dancing to the strains of Grandad’s accordion playing.

Beyond the green, latched gate next to ours, lived the original grumpy old man who was known – for some inexplicable reason – as ‘Pop’

Pop constantly aggravated my Mum with his moaning and grumbling about ‘them kids’ which referred to me and my two elder brothers, Tommy and David. David was the eldest and therefore should have known better but he was a proper lad and led Tommy and me into all sorts of scrapes and misdemeanors, the likes of which would never have entered our innocent heads had it not been for our rebellious leader.

These misdemeanors involved such pastimes as knock and run, and shouting “Baldie” out of the window at folically challenged passers-by before swiftly ducking behind the opened sash windows and peeping over the sill to catch the bemused reaction.

I particularly enjoyed playing knock and run. I didn’t really understand the purpose of the game I just remember it was a source of great excitement, one minute we’d be standing in front of someone’s door whilst whoever’s turn it was knocked loudly. The next we’d be running like the clappers in a desperate bid to get out of sight before the door was opened. Great fun!

I remember one particular night when Tommy and David rushed into the house excitedly and insisted I come out and play with them. I was delighted; I wasn’t usually in such great demand. When we got outside they pointed to a gate.

“See that gate?” asked David “Go and rattle it really

hard” he instructed “and you’ll get some sweets.”

So off I went to accomplish my mission. I grabbed the handle tightly and pushed and pulled with all my strength. The gate rattled furiously but no sweets appeared. .I   threw a defeated look towards the two expectant brothers lurking in the shadows.

“Nothing’s happening.” I whispered.

David emerged temporarily from his hiding place to give further instructions.

“You’re not shaking it hard enough.” he advised, “You need to shake it really

really hard.”

I returned to the task filled with a new determination after the pep talk. Grasping the handle in two hands I proceeded to shake the gate until it was about to come off its hinges. Then everything went black and my excitement turned to horror as I felt myself shuddering from head to toe. I realised that I was freezing cold and dripping wet. From within my miserable, wet darkness I could hear the stifled sound of giggling.  My vision returned as one of the delightful brothers came to my aid and lifted the bucket off my head. Then came my next set of instructions delivered in a somewhat menacing tone:

“Right, you better not tell mum what happened, tell

her you fell in a puddle.”

      “I…. I fell in a puddle.” I wailed as my mum wrapped a towel round me, but from the dark looks she threw at the two ‘innocent’ onlookers, she didn’t believe me.

It wasn’t until later it emerged that David and Tommy had been rattling the gate earlier and had been warned by an exasperated Pop that if they did it again he was going to place a bucket of water on top of the gate and they were in for a soaking. Ever been had?

In those days winter really was winter with the obligatory four feet of snow. A path would have to be cleared from the back kitchen door to the gate before even the shortest of journeys could be considered. On one such day – the story goes – Pop’s heart must have thawed a little, unlike the frozen snow and as a gesture of goodwill, he had entered our back yard armed with a shovel and cleared a path for us. To most people this would be a sign, an extending of an olive branch, so to speak, but not to my Mum, withered by the constant barrage of abuse  about her ‘little angels’ this was an opportunity for……revenge!

She donned her wellies and crunched her way round to Pop’s door to confront the snow thief. She ‘ram tammed’ on the door – as she put it – and a few moments later, Pop opened it a little sheepishly, probably expecting to see a burly policeman standing there judging by the violent hammering at his door.

“Now then” began my Mum, “Warrave you done wi’ our snow?”

After an incredulous pause and a sharp intake of breath Pop replied hesitantly:

“I… er ….. I’ve cleared a path for you.”

“Well you’d no right” continued my Mum, “That’s OUR snow, now

gerrit put back, the kids want to play in it!”

That said, she turned and crunched her way home victoriously, wearing a wicked grin.

Pop, rather grudgingly, trudged back and forth with spades full of snow until every last flake had been replaced – so the story goes.

Now, I can’t validate this story, it is being passed down through the generations (Kunta Kinte style) by my brother David. That said, David is the man who, during his three ‘lost’ years when he disappeared with the hippies in a cloud of smoke, was roadying for Pink Floyd,  the man who now lives ‘just up the road’ from Chris Jagger (Mick’s brother) who he regularly has ‘jams’ with and who, incidentally, once announced:

                                             “Oh she’s great this chick”

 just after the presenter on Top of The Pops had introduced Alice Cooper.

SNOW JOKE – a Lancashire tale

Bill the grumpy man next door 

Often gave my mum what for

Her little cherubs he complained

Were running wild and unrestrained

Chance came for sweet revenge one day

As she beckoned us to come and play

In snow that had fallen two feet deep

While we’d been drifting off to sleep

What possessed him we don’t know

But Bill had been and cleared our snow

Perhaps the path was his device

To end the feud and break the ice

But mummy’s angels had been wronged

And for this moment she had longed

A chance to air her deep frustration

Off she stormed for a confrontation

Face to frosty face she came

With the perpetrator of her pain

Hands on hips she pursed her lips

Warrave yer done wi’ our snow? she quipped

Bill was taken quite aback

By this incredulous attack

I’ve cleared a path for you he mumbled

Put that snow back, it’s ours she grumbled

Bill’s jaw dropped in disbelief

Lost for words that slippery thief

The poor old wretch had met his match

When he ventured on to mummy’s patch

So off he trundled with his spade

Quite disgruntled and dismayed

To re-instate our stolen snow

Truth or fiction?  No - one knows

Here's a true story from my childhood days - followed by another true story written as a poem.                                          

                             WHITE MARE ON ELM STREET

                                      

I swear my Dad invented Jim Royle’s catchphrase “My Arse!” When I was

a child I thought the expression was part of the English language

In fact if you know Jim from the Royle family, you know my dad, he was  

Jim Royle, but with a work ethic.

I don’t remember being bored when I was a young girl, I always found

ways to amuse myself, usually out on the cobbled back street either skipping

or throwing a ball against a high brick wall and catching it. On one of these

occasions   my attention was diverted by a strange sound. I must have been

around five years old and this is one of my enduring childhood memories.

Along the bottom of the cobbles ran Elm Street which led on to Colne road,

a busy main road. From the back street could be heard the distant rumble

of traffic travelling along Colne road and occasionally the rumble would

become a loud roar as a car turned left off the main road into Elm Street.

On this particular evening, a new sound emerged amongst the distant rumble

of the traffic. At first it was barely audible but as it approached it gradually

got louder and louder. I stood and watched, curiously waiting to find out what

was making the noise.

It started as a soft sort of clattering noise like someone wearing big, heavy high heels.

It got steadily louder until into my view appeared a magnificent sight. I gazed in

wonder as a huge white horse with a rider sitting, proudly aloft, passed by the end

of the cobbled street and the clattering noise faded away again.

I was totally fascinated and strangely excited by the spectacle. Over the next few

days I noticed that the same thing happened at around the same time every day

and I would find myself waiting with great anticipation

 After about a week of this, I could stand the suspense no longer and a crazy plan

started to form in my little head.

I waited and waited for the moment when I could put my plan into action then
the day arrived. I waited and waited then eventually the soft clatter could be heard in
the distance. Horse and rider came into view and I was off!

 I chased the horse along Elm Street On and on I ran, all my energy andconcentration 
focused on the black outline of the rider seated on that magnificent beast. Although I 
continued to run at full speed, the gap between me and the horse began to widen.

I kept on running, I couldn’t let them get away now I’d come this far. Idon’t know how 
long I ran for but somehow they got away, the silhouetteof horse and rider vanished over
the brow of a hill and the clatteringbecame softer and softer until I could hear it no more.

Not only had I lost sight of my horse and my bold plan to ask if  I could have a ride

but now I had a new and more immediate problem. I was totally lost! Theunfamiliar
landscape which just moments ago had seemed so inviting, now looked frightening and 
mysterious, green hedges lined with trees, rapidly descending intohalf light as the sun faded.
I spun around on my heels and surveyed the strange and unfamiliar landscape I could feel 
my tiny heart pounding against my chest, partly from running, partly from fear and partly
from wondering   what   my mum and dad would say when they found out where I’d been.

Why had I chased that stupid horse up here? I had to get home, but how?

With incredible clarity of mind I decided that even though I hadn’t a cluewhere I was, if 
I started running in the opposite direction to the one thatbrought me here I would 
eventually recognise something familiar  

The return journey was the complete opposite to the exciting adventure which

 had brought me here, full of terror and uncertainty, all I wanted to do was get back to that 
familiar cobbled Street.

Oh! the feeling of relief   when, eventually I came upon a street that I recognisedbut the feeling
was short-lived, soon to be replaced with the fear of facing my mumand dad and trying to 
explain where I’d been. I was sure they’d be out franticallysearching for me by now, I must 
have been missing for hours. Finally I turned onto those WONDERFUL cobbles. No sign 
of my frantic mum and dad. With great trepidation Ilifted the latch on our green gate, walked 
around the bend in the yard and opened the heavy, black kitchen door.

As I entered the kitchen, I heard laughter coming from the front room; I walked up the corridor 
on trembling legs and into the room where my mum and dad were sat by a roaring fire, 
chattering happily. My mum looked up as I entered;

“Oh hello” she said, casually, “I was just coming

 to call you in, what’ve you been doing?”

“Oh….er….playing with me ball” I replied, half truthfully.

Relief swept over me, nobody knew about my crime, and nobody ever did, until now that is.

At some point I must have told my mum about the recurring horse visionand I must have 
given her the inclination that I was excited about it because one afternoon she said 
she had something exciting to tell me.

Apparently she’d been talking to Eileen from the chippy on Elm Street and it had transpired 
during the conversation that Eileen worked in riding stables on Manchester Road and she’d
told my mum that I could go with her one day and help her to ‘muck’ the stables out.

“Would you like to go with her?” she asked....... Would I!

Well! For the next couple of weeks I ate, slept and dreamt those stables. Finally the great 
day arrived. Clad in my new stretchy slacks and shiny wellies, I clung tightly to the carrier 
bag containing my picnic and waited anxiously for the door bell to ring.

I boarded the bus with Eileen and she chatted away happily about what she did at the
stables. I don’t think I said a lot, I was very shy but it was worth going through the pain of 
being with this virtual stranger to get to see a horse up close.

I’ll never forget, the wonderful smell of horse manure as we trudged along the muddy, winding 
path leading to the stables. Eileen opened a big gate and I followed her in to a massive yard, 
the stones crunched under our feet as we made our way in to that magical place. I looked up in
awe at a massive head peering out over a gate. The jaws went from side to side as it munched on a clump of hay. It stopped chewing momentarily and gazed curiously at me, I stared into the huge
shiny eyes and felt I would burst with happiness. My love of horses had begun.

After a long day filled with new sensations, including back – breaking work, every minute of which, 
I adored, Eileen stunned me with the biggest surprise of all;

“Would you like to ride on one?” she asked.

How much excitement can one child take in a day?

Sat on that horse with the leather saddle creaking and the jangling bit on the bridle, soft leather 
reins clutched in my tiny fingers and the warm, horsy smell in my nostrils, the clattering sound 
came from beneath me now not from a distance, I felt like a princess! Life doesn’t get much 
better than this.

When I arrived home my mum and dad wanted to know all about my day and I had so much 
to tell them that my words were falling over each other, they laughed, I think they could tell I’d 
had a good day.

When all the excitement died down, I remembered something important that I needed to ask my dad.

“Can I go for horse riding lessons? Eileen said she’d take me.”

“And how much is that going to cost?” asked my dad.

“Seven and six” I replied

[1] “Seven and six? Seven and bloody six?” he repeated,

 “Horse riding my arse!”

---

[1] seven and six: equivalent of  37 pence

                                                              UNBRIDLED JOY

I’ve never seen a horse so black

Overwhelmed, must sit on her back

And ride around that field so free

No saddle no bridle, just Diana and me

Alongside the fence she stands

Over I climb and with both hands

Grab her mane and with all my might

Pull myself over and hold on tight

There I sit excited and dazed

She lowers her head and continues to graze

Come on Diana I urge her on

She doesn’t take a step, not one.

I dig my heels into her sides

Hoping to go for a gentle ride

She pauses and lifts her head, at last!

Then snorts…and continues to nibble the grass.

You’re lovely, I coax, gently patting her neck

But Diana’s just not in the mood for a trek

I get the message and slide to the ground

Diana continues her munching sound

I clamber the fence but I’m still feeling fine

For a whole ten minutes that horse was MINE

On my way to school the following day

The farmer’s daughter was coming my way

I want a word with you she screamed

My heart stopped dead or so it seemed

My dad saw you yesterday, she said

I looked at her blankly and scratched my head

Sitting on Diana’s back

She spoke of my non-existent hack

Oh yeah well, I meekly replied

She was by the fence and I fancied a ride

Well it was a stupid thing to do

I didn’t reply I suppose it was true

What did you think you were playing at?

Climbing onto a horse like that?

I just wanted a ride I repeated

She shook her head and looked defeated

Then suddenly I was rudely awoken

She exclaimed, That horse has never been broken

Oh I gasped, well I didn’t know

I felt myself shaking from head to toe

Now the sight of a horse never fails to remind

Me of Diana, so gentle and kind

Who wants to live in the real world anyway!

I know I'm not the first and I'm sure I won't be the last but...I realised a few days ago that I spend more time in the Cyber world than I do in the real one. I'm either writing my blog, entering competitions online talking on Twitter or Facebook or getting lost in Grimney!

I find myself rushing to do things that need to be done on planet reality so that I can get back into my cyber world. My dog doesn't like it, she sits staring at me quite often as if willing me to 'come away from that box'.
She's happy enough today though because we've been playing in the park for two hours so she's tired enough not to notice that I'm on the box in the corner again!

My husband doesn't mind too much, he's in his own little cyber world much of the time! We do meet up in the real world for a coffee occasionally though......

The most surprising aspect of this is my growing addiction to Grimney. I - or at least my character - has been having lots of adventures there recently. The difference between Grimney and planet earth is that you can control what happens to your life!

I used to spend quite a lot of time uploading articles and poetry to various publications in the hope that they would not only publish my scribblings but pay me as well. I don't do that so much nowadays though because I find that simply writing for the pleasure of it is far more enjoyable. My words may not be the most profound that you've ever read but they are MY words and I don't have to have anyone's permission to get them published.

During that particular period when I was desperate to be a published writer, I  wrote a poem called 'Cyberspace Race' My daughter then turned it into a song for me which gave me a huge thrill! I can now add the rather impressive title of  'songwriter' to my growing list of credentials.

What?

Well, other people blag their way through life so why shouldn't I?

So until next time I leave you with my poem and my song!!

                                                 CYBERSPACE RACE

My words of wisdom keep disappearing

Into cyberspace

I don’t want to grumble

But I’m sort of losing face

All my words are disappearing

To a black hole sort of place

You see

I’ve joined the cyberspace race

The cyberspace race

The cyberspace race

My words are disappearing

Into cyberspace

Now that I’ve joined

The cyberspace race

One day I’m going to get a call

From an alien in another world

He’ll say Your words are clever

And I wondered if you’d ever

Had them published

No not yet

I just upload them on the net

But I’ve never heard a word, not yet

You see:

The cyberspace race

The cyberspace race

My words are disappearing

Into cyberspace

Since I joined the cyberspace race

Log in, Log out

Log in, Log out

All this white space

What is it all about?

The cyberspace race

The cyberspace race

Think I’ll cancel my subscription

To the cyberspace race

All my creative juice

Is floating round in cyberspace.

 http://soundcloud.com/barbarathomas#play (Copy and paste this link to bring up player)