Here's to you, My Laptop...

I missed the February Long Ramble. Did you notice? No, me neither. Sorry to everyone I let down. It's not all bad. You got four Weekly Updates instead of three. I don't think the world will stop turning because I didn't post a rant an exploration of a single issue during the calendar month. 

This is a (much more)
dramatic reconstruction
 of what happened

But let's make up for it now. Last week, if you caught my Monday morning TikTok address (the first couple of minutes can also be found on Insta) you'll know my laptop was hanging on for dear life. Folks, I'm sorry to say she didn't make it. I know. Dark times. Several weeks before I was mentally ready, I had to say goodbye. I now have a shiny, new, bought-in-a-hurry laptop, upon which I'm typing these very words. I can't, however, move on without stopping to take a moment. The adventures myself and My (old) Laptop shared, are many and varied. Today, I want to share my personal tribute with you.

Born in 2015, My Laptop led a full life. She came to me when I tinkering with the draft of my first novel. I'd no idea what I was doing, or where I was going with it. Deadlines and a work ethic had yet to be put into place. But with My Laptop at my fingertips, I was able to finish the manuscript, research publishing, send it out to people, engage an editor, arrange with a designer for the creation of a front cover, and publish, distribute, and market the thing. With her help, I repeated the process another three times.

 

My Laptop spent her life completing the most mundane of tasks; never complaining, always with a welcoming chime and a bright screen. She tackled the Guardian Crossword, the Times Concise Crossword, and the free New York Times puzzles on a daily basis. She compiled shopping lists, found recipes, and sent messages. She was the host of almost all the FaceTimes I've had with my nieces and nephs. Midway through her life, she swapped the Google home page for Ecosia's. This did not stymie her ability to search. She provided information on a myriad of topics, with speed and clarity. She also enjoyed modifying her appearance. A 2019 Christmas present saw her become adorned with Jessie and Celine stickers. After Liverpool hosted the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest, she added an ESC sticker to her lid. 

 

My Laptop travelled widely. Accompanying me on multiple weekends in Wales and Scotland, she also went as far as Canada. Our shared experiences on the VIA train from Toronto to Halifax will remain a particularly happy memory. She was also instrumental in one of my favourite evenings in Berlin. After a long day of walking around the city, I escaped to my bed. Me and My Laptop ordered a room service burger, a glass of white wine, and snuggled up with the Andrew Haigh film, Weekend. It was a lovely evening, providing much-needed succour amidst a busy and shattering week. 

 

It's not all been glamour and travel. There's been adversity along the way. My Laptop has spent hours in Ticketmaster queues. She lived through the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021, being an essential part of the weekly Bond Family Zoom quizzes. Throughout the Covid pandemic, she was my portal to the outside world. This was a responsibility she did not shy away from. She enabled me to watch a Zoom with Kenneth Branagh, raising money for theatre professionals unable to work. She facilitated a Zoom with Russell T Davis, where he shared tips with members of the Writers' Guild. She even broadcast the Dominic Cumming's Barnard Castle speech from Downing Street's rose garden. She did not baulk at this grimmest of tasks. 

 

Throughout her life, My Laptop remained stoic in the face of adversity. She survived multiple drops. The loss of two of her rubber corner feet did not hold her back. Indeed, her persistent wobble became an endearing eccentricity. In later years, the complete disappearance of the printed letters A and E from their respective keys, did not hamper her efficiency. She continued as she always had. A loyal friend despite her own personal challenges.

 

In recent months, it's clear she's been struggling. Her inability to update to the latest iOS meant she could no longer take part fully in all that was required of her. As apps on her desktop started to fail, it was evident her remaining time was limited. On Tuesday 25th February 2025, her inability to open Word was the sign I needed. It was time to say goodbye. She left this world having been an essential part of the next Leeza McAuliffe book; missing out on the first draft's completion by half a chapter. No doubt she would have taken this set back in her stride.

 

So, here's to you, My Laptop. Thank you for giving me the chance to write the stories I had in my head. Thank you for the puzzles, the recipes, the films, and the reading material. Thank you for the FaceTimes and the Zooms; for both keeping me in touch with others, as well as accompanying me in the solitary task of novel writing. Ten years has flown by. We had a blast, didn't we?

 

Have a lovely week, folks.

No Money For Lobster...

I'm at it again. I can only apologise. You thought my home-improvement woes were done and dusted with January's cess pit upgrade? Wrong! Turns out, living in the same place for sixteen years without really maintaining it, can be a recipe for... well not disaster. That's far too strong a term. More like, a recipe for lots of jobs needing attention at the same time. And once you begin on one thing, loads more issues crop up. 

As I speak there's a pile of bricks outside my garage. They're from a wall that's been knocked down. Skips are pricy so they're going to the tip, one car boot at a time. Then the patio's getting redone. At the moment it's a trip hazard and only a matter of time before a family member sues. After that, there's the gravel to replace, and the new fancy-pants cess pit needs greenery to disguise it. The list goes on and proves the old adage: once you pop you just can't stop. I've resigned myself to the fact that 2025 is the year of home improvement shit. And that's OK. I'm lucky I have a home to fix. Remind me of that when I moan.  

Writing News

The last thousand words still need to be written, but the first draft is practically done. So far, the word count is 66,845. It's slightly shorter than an adult novel would be, but for a YA novel, this is fine. 

But here's the rub. What feels an appropriate length for the genre, isn't the only consideration. As I head towards the editing period, my creative storytelling needs are not the only thing on my mind. I've also to consider how much paper will be used to print the books. Prices are rising all over the place. I could raise the price of the book (and it may well come to that) or I can use less paper. With the last book, I worked out I needed the story  to stop at 60,000 words in order to sell the book at £8.99 and make a pound profit. This time, it may be pricier? I'm not sure yet. I'll work it out when I have a clearer idea of the final length. The upshot is, that as I come to the end of the first draft, I'm aware that the next stage isn't all creative decisions and writerly instincts. And more's the pity.

HOME. Image from here.

Culture

Someone's killed the President! Uh-oh! Who could have done it? That's how Disney+'s Paradise opens. It's moves on - quite quickly - from that set up, but it's fun and tense nonetheless. In other TV news, Reacher is back on Amazon Prime. This series is based on the Lee Child book, Persuader, which I'll probably end up rereading. As for the show, I'm waiting until all the episodes have dropped before I go in. Elsewhere in Culture news, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I had a ticket for Before Sunrise on the big screen. Last week it happened. It was SOOO good to see it enlarged. But just as marvellous was my glass of wine in the bar at HOME beforehand. It was Valentine's Day and I'd brought my book to read. Before I walked in, I had the slight panic that I might stand out like a sore thumb, as couples around me romanced each other to bits. Not so! The bar at HOME is a welcoming space for people wanting a quiet drink with a book. I was not the only solo reader there. That fact alone would have made my night, but I also had the thrill of the film. Lucky, lucky me.

A beige bowl of brilliance. 
AKA crab and prawn 
ravioli, cod goujons, 
and tartare sauce.

Food and Drink

I've been craving lobster ravioli for weeks. I know, I know, it's such a bougie thing to say. Soz. But I'd had it in a restaurant a few weeks ago, and it's been on my mind ever since. Now, I'm not someone who's going to make my own pasta. Not these days. And the Asda didn't have anything even approaching what I wanted, so I had to go to Markises. There goes the food budget! The nearest I could get was crab and prawn, but it was enough to satiate me. Come Saturday night, I went off piste by baking the individual parcels until they were crispy and serving them with a garlicky tartare. They were lovely!

 

Bonding

Out and About

It was half term. Did you know? I did. Because all my siblings with kids were on holiday, and my usually quiet Costa was riddled with multi-generational patrons. Fair play. I can handle it for a week. But the best part was I got to catch up with two of my nephs. The littlest neph - still under a year old - has yet to learn of my brilliance. I did my best, over the course of Friday afternoon, to impart what he needs to know about me. Time will tell if I managed it.

Enjoy the rest of the month! Can you Adam and Eve it? March is almost upon us! The month of my birth, as well as the births of almost everyone I know. There'll be no money for lobster ravioli in March. It'll be spent on birthday presents, maintenance jobs, and nothing else. Until then...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Small Stuff, Wanky Words, and Hyperbole...

Time's flying!

It doesn't seem five minutes since Christmas. Or is that just me? The aftermath's over so quickly, while the build up lasts for months. It's almost two months after the event and the shebang's become a distant memory.

I had a thought this week. It was when I opened the fridge and was reminded of one of my many December food stresses. In order to ensure the Christmas Night Cheese had plenty of date left by the time it got eaten, I had to buy it fairly close to Christmas. It was the same with the Boxing Day lettuce too. I spent the 22nd December (the last free day I had) visiting three different supermarkets, looking for a lettuce that had a date beyond the 26th. In my head, it became 'an issue.' Fast forward to now, and the last of the Christmas Night Cheese is still in the fridge. I've been eating it throughout January, and will finish the rest this week. I've no idea what its date is, but a quick glance tells me it's OK. Maybe, just maybe, this is a lesson for life. Don't get obsessed with lettuce when you're busy. Don't panic about serving mouldy cheese to guests when the chances are, it'll be good for weeks. TLDR? Don't sweat the small stuff, I suppose. It's a cheesy lesson, of sorts.

Me and my teen-mates

Writing News

This is the wankiest thing to say, but I'm going to do it anyway. Ready? I LOVE hanging out with my characters! Look, I warned you. The thing is, it's SO cathartic. Writing teen Leeza and teen Jake means I get to relive my youth, chill with cooler people than I was, and experience all the firsts all over again. Last week I wrote a scene where one of the characters has their first 'proper' kiss. (i.e not the spin the bottle sort.) It perked me right up! I never got this sort of high when I was teaching. (I mean, it was cool when a kid finally got a tricky concept and you suddenly saw the lightbulb go on, but still.) Living through every detail that happens to my fictional mates, is life-affirming. The problem is, it only happens now in the first draft. In a year's time, when this story will be out in the world, I'll have become so dulled to the magic, I won't get the same high. There'll be other highs by then, but buzzing off every sweet plot development, is a first draft experience. For me anyway. Over the next week or so, I'll be finishing the first draft. It's a huge milestone in any novel, and I'll definitely celebrate reaching it. Ngl, it'll be bitter sweet as well. Sigh. Farewell my lovely made-up mates. Soon  I will leave you.

Culture

I'm aware that I have a tendency towards hyperbole. I'm OK with that. There's enough negativity in the world without me using my weekly Culture paragraph to slag off other people's creative endeavours. If I've enjoyed something, I'll write about it here. I consume lots of telly, many films, and occasional books and theatre in the week. I can't reference them all. That means I pick the stuff I've found to be the most brilliant, and big it up for anyone that's stumbled across this blog. 

Betty White being marvellous
will have to do in lieu of
ACTUAL Big Boys gifs.

This week, I fear my hyperbole meter may explode. Honestly, I CANNOT praise this show any higher. Big Boys (Ch4) just dropped its third and final series. I'd seen the previous two and really enjoyed them. They told the story of Jack and Danny, two students who meet at the start of Uni. Jack's gay and just lost his dad, Danny's straight with an extrovert personality that masks his own struggles. The series follows their best bud friendship, through foam parties and bad dates, assignments and family trauma. Despite the pathos, it's also piss-funny. The 2010's setting is mined for comedy with the love for Alison Hammond being a regular reference point. So far, so good, right? But series three dropped last week. To say it takes it up a notch is an understatement. All the beats are there - the humour, the poignancy. But we're nearing the end of third year. The friends are looking to the future. And, just as happened at the end of series two, the narrative structure is there to play with. Jack Rooke's script is a MASTERCLASS in how to tell a story. He's been narrating it from episode one, but only now do we fully realise why and to who. I CANNOT recommend it highly enough. Honestly, it's properly great, for realsies. OK, hyperbole over. I need a lie down.

Food and Drink

Welcome to more tales of Bond's experimental kitchen exploits. I've kind of invented a sauce. Actually on second thoughts, of course I haven't invented it. Someone somewhere in the world will have done this already. It's probably someone's national dish. There are literally no new ideas anymore, so to assume this is my recipe is hugely cocky. But to me, this is both new, and a revelation. Here's what happened. It was the day before the big shop and I was trying to cobble together my tea from the random stuff in the cupboards. I had pasta so all I needed was a sauce. Look, I'll cut the chase and tell you what I did. No one needs an exciting build up.

Ingredients 

• 

  Roasties with my
  paprika-y sauce.

  1 tin of anchovies in olive oil
• 1 tbs smoked paprika 
• 1tbs parmesan
• 1 crushed garlic clove
• 1 tbs tomato puree
• A splash of water

Method

Whizz together until its an oozy paste, warm through on the hob, and stir through pasta. 

Ta-daa! It was a taste sensation. I made it again on Saturday night as a patatas bravas style topping to my roasties. A happy accident and a new sauce to my repertoire. (I think it's the only sauce in my repertoire, if we're not counting packets of Colmans.)

Sunday vibes

Out and About

The trouble with finding a great new place for brunch is that you want to have brunch every day. Just me? I've come to realise I much prefer a brunch to an evening restaurant meal. I haven't decided if that's down to a preferred time of day, or the food choices on offer. Regardless, Botanico in Woolton is my new place. Sunday morning's have never been so much fun.

Have fun, whatever you're doing. Enjoy the things in your life that cause their own hyperbolic reactions, and whatever you do, stop stressing over the lettuce.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Feeling the Love?..

It's Valentine's day on Friday. Are you feeling the love? I'm lucky to have reached both an age, and a reasonable level of self-esteem, where I don't need to be showered with shiny red tat in order to feel valued. Hurrah for me! Obviously, if Valentine's presents are your thing, crack on! You do you. But it does mean that while the rest of the world is engaging in en masse romantic gestures, I get to scan the horizon and find something marvellous to do for myself. 

In other news (that'll become relevant in a sec) it's thirty years since my second favourite film was released. That's mad! Before Sunrise came out in 1995 and it hasn't aged a day. The plot - where two strangers hit it off on a train and spend the rest of the day talking in Vienna - needs no modern remake. It's timeless. We still have trains! We still meet people! We still have convos, right? Before Sunrise has lived deep in my heart for many years. But here's the thing. It's often classed as a romance. A soppy boy meets girl film. If you watch this trailer, the burst of 90s guitar at the start, coupled with those specifically selected snippets, wrap it up with a big red bow. I'm not a fan. Of the trailer that is. It misses the vibe of the film, completely. 

Julie Delpy, playing
 Celine, representing ME.

This is a film about THE MEANING OF LIFE. I first watched it when I was nineteen, with the whole of adulthood stretching before me. I identified with everything Celine said. She was me! I was onscreen! I may have been represented as a French blonde woman, but the similarities were UNCANNY. The film is about the ease of connection, that you're particularly susceptible to, when you're young - before cynicism and life experience have bashed out your gut instincts of hope and optimism. It's about seeing your life as something you can control and shape. It's about the urge to make sense of the world in order to learn how to live in it. This movie is not a fluffy romance. But hey, if you want a neat and tidy genre for something that defies such definition, I guess romance is as good as any. Romance, schomance, it's still one of the best films ever.

So lets cut to the chase. Because of the thirtieth anniversary, and because it's Romance's special day this week, some cinemas are showing Before Sunrise on the big screen. It took me approximately three and a half seconds to book my ticket. I don't need to be told twice. I did do a quick check with the person I share a life with, to make sure he was otherwise engaged, and that was it. My Friday night was sorted. Forget your romantic meals, your chocolates, flowers, or underwear. I'll be spending Valentine's night having a solo cinema sesh with one of the great film-loves of my life. Here's hoping you also have the night of your dreams.

This is the likely fate of my Mac.

Writing News

Like I said last time, the end is nigh. The end of the first draft of my next Leeza McAuliffe book, that is. The next stage will see me editing the shiz out of it. But first! I'm going to have a break. A break from the book, at least. The writer, John Niven, once advised (via Twitter) that after your first draft is done, put it in a drawer and leave it for six months. That's the kind of distance you need in order to edit effectively. I've not got six months, I've got one. In March, I'll be either fixing or upgrading my laptop, and then ironing out some background character issues that have arisen. 

If you watched Junior
Taskmaster you may
remember Persia. 
 She's the only person I've
ever seen - in real life
or the telly - that looks 
how I imagine Leeza.
There are no gifs of her,
online, so here's a generic
TM one, instead.

You see, I know my main characters well. Leeza and Jake's voices are clear in my mind. I know what they think, feel, want, and dislike on any topic. The same goes for Mum, Dad, Grandma, Spike, Cait, and Tom. But that's not the whole cast list. There's Leeza's school mates to think about. I know their names. Bella, Cayla, James, Owen and Lexi. These are some of the people that get mentioned when school scenes take place. The problem? They're just names. Cayla and Bella have become interchangable in my head, and James and Owen are blank outlines. I need to tighten up these minor characters. I need to know what they think and feel, even if it never comes up in the story. If I'm not distinguishing them in my mind, how on earth can a reader? When March rocks up in a few weeks, my draft might be in a metaphorical drawer, but now you know what I'll be working on instead.

Culture

You never forget your first Shakespeare. For me, The Merchant of Venice was my gateway drug. My dealers were Mrs. McCormack and Mr. O'Brien. I inhaled, snorted, and injected that stuff right into my veins. I LOVED it. It was the most interesting text I'd ever studied. There was something intoxicating about cracking the code of the language. I was fascinated to read about human emotions and behaviours that continued to exist centuries later. A few weeks into my GSCE English Lit. course and I was hooked. Shakespeare was my bag. 

Over the years I've seen many productions. It's always a play I want to revisit, despite its dark themes, and that's just what I did on Thursday night. The Merchant of Venice 1936 came to Liverpool. This is another reason why I love a Shakespeare. There are seemingly infinite ways to present the same text. This version had its setting in London's East End, just as Mosley and fascism were on the rise. Antonio, Bassanio, and Gratiano were thugs in black shirts. Their racism, thinly veiled at the start, was overt and violent by the end. The play, despite being written centuries ago, felt hugely relevant in the current climate. And having a female Shylock highlighted the other characters' prejudice much more clearly. It was excellent theatre.

This tasted FIT.

Food and Drink

Since my lemon curd exploits last week, I've been borderline obsessed with the stuff. I must reiterate how I've never felt the need to buy a jar. But the home made stuff? You can feed it into my veins with my Shakespeare. On Saturday, with an empty day ahead, I found myself Googling recipes that include lemon curd. There are a surprisingly large number of them. Overwhelmed with choice, I did what I should have done at the start. I retreated into the welcoming safety and comfort of Nigella. This is her lemon meringue cake. It wasn't especially quick to make, but it was easy. I spent a happy Saturday whisking my troubles away.

Out and About

Now that the January hibernation period is over, people are ready to come out and play. I had a meal with an old mate last week - thank you Billinge for hosting - and then beers with another mate on Friday. Because of an excessive number of school children getting on my bus, I was late to the station so missed my train into town. The upshot? I stayed on the delayed bus as it was also travelling into Liverpool. The problem? It took the best part of two hours to get there. I KNOW. I could have driven to Carlisle or Warwick in that time! Despite my elongated journey, a happy evening was had by all, me and my mate put the world to rights, and I got over my bus trauma quick enough.

Enjoy your romantic assignations, if that's your thing. Enjoy leaning into the second third of the month, if that's what floats your boat. But most of all, just enjoy whatever the week throws up. Yeah? Can we at least have a go at that? Excellent.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Too Many Snoozes...

It's taken a month but 2025 is finally on track. The diggers have left, the pit in my garden's been filled, and my own personal sewage is whizzing through a shiny new tank as we speak. 

Deadlines schmeadlines

It's all systems go for the rest of the year. I've got deadlines schmeadlines littered throughout, and a book to birth by the start of 2026. It's doable, for sure. The trouble is, if I float around in a creative bubble without actually doing the graft, the year will go nowhere. Nothing will get finished, and I'll still be wanging on, twelve months from now. 

Take this morning, for example. I woke up knowing I had a whole day in an empty house, to bash out this blog and write the last sixth of my current chapter. Piece of piss! Well, let's take a look at what happened. My alarm went off at 7am. Standard. I switched it off and waited for the following alarms of 7.30am and 8am to gently signpost that I was ready to start the day. Except! Knowing I had a whole day, an empty house, and a manageable amount of writing, my semi-conscious mind thought... 'Nah.' I rolled over, did NOT set another alarm, and gave myself an extra ten minutes. 

My thoughts this
morning!

Fast forward to 10am. I woke up, thought, 'Oh shit!' got over it, and rolled back over. Several games of Candy Crush later, I started listening to a podcast. At 11am, when I finally decided it was time to emerge, I used my posh shower gel, took longer to dry my hair, and decided now was a good time to trim my fringe. Then it was lunch... can you see where I'm going with this? Now, after lots of stops and starts, I'm sitting at my desk and typing these sentences. It's 1pm. The day has gone nowhere! I've got to finish this and get my  chapter done - all before meeting friends at 6.30pm? I AM NOW STRESSED.

This is my worry for the year. I've GOT to stick to my deadlines and ignore all distractions. If the next book's publication date is early 2026, I'll have managed it. Any later than that, and you'll know what happened. 

Writing News

My bit of chapter I'm writing today, will be the end of Chapter Ten. I've got to do Eleven and Twelve, and then the first draft is done. Woohoo! A strange thing happens when you write a story. To me, at least. No matter how detailed my plan is, and no matter how much I've plotted the ending, it always comes out differently in the wash. The basic plot doesn't necessarily change, but new subtexts emerge. Nuances you hadn't realised, pop up by the end. Then, when you go back and edit, you find ways of signposting those themes earlier on. Joel Morris wrote about it recently in regard to The Traitors edit. Whether you like The Traitors or not, it's a fascinating read on the way novels, especially mystery novels are written. I'm looking forward to getting to the end of my new Leeza McAuliffe story.  I want to find out what the vibes of the novel actually are. They're always a surprise.

Culture

We're in the midst of awards season! I'm not obsessed with the ceremonies themselves, simply the abundance of film options at the cinema. This is the upside from the barren listings of the summer. What's that quote? Something about living through the darkest night so we can see the dawn? Summer kids' films are the blackest of nights, and January is the beautiful dawn! A couple of weeks ago I watched A Real Pain. On paper, it sounds simple. A road movie around Poland, with two odd-couple cousins, searching for the place their grandmother once lived. It's comedic and witty and that's about it. Except, it's so much more than that. Both cousins are dealing with their own shit. They're in Poland as part of a Holocaust tour, with others making sense of their own family history. Then, part way through, the film shows the coach tour's visit to the real life concentration camp, Majdanek. The silent scenes in the camp - ones that follow laugh-out-old moments and comedically verbose dialogue - are incredibly affecting. A remarkable film on many levels and one that stayed with me afterwards. Then, last weekend I was back at the cinema for A Complete Unknown. I went in, not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I came out... not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I think that's the point. Is he an enigmatic genius or an up-himself pseud? Maybe he's both? The film doesn't seek to find an answer. What I do know is that Timothée Chalamet gives an outstanding performance and I'd watch it again for that alone. Also, the scenes set in Greenwich Village made me long to live in a time where you could literally sense creativity and art on the streets. The hubbub of those scenes was intoxicating.

Not authentic but utterly gorge!

Food and Drink

I know, I know, I'm not Scottish. But how marvellous that instead of a patron saint or a random king, it's a poet that gets celebrated every year. Burns Night was last week and, as usual, I culturally appropriated it to hell. I had veggie haggis, neeps and tatties for my tea, along with smoked salmon blinis for lunch. I also rode roughshod over another Scottish culinary delight. Cranachan. I see it on menus every time I'm north of the border, and I'm sure it's delicious. Except I don't like cream and I'm not fussed about whiskey. However, that same day, in unrelated news, I'd read a recipe for lemon curd. Did you know how easy it is to make? My mind started to fizz and next thing you know, I'd worked out my own homage to cranachan. Not authentic in anyway, but with kinda similar vibes. And so it came to pass, that on Saturday night after the haggis, I served Bondie's Non-Authentic Cranachan With Lemon Curd. There was no real recipe. I mixed curd and Greek yogurt, added some raspberries, and plopped more curd on top. I served it with home-made shortbread and it was DELISH. Once again, apologies to Robbie Burns and the entirety of Scotland. I do it out of love.

Out and About

I love a pub quiz. There's something about being asked to recall the capital cities of Africa that makes me feel alive. That was one of the questions at the pub quiz I attended last week. Actually it was 'Put the countries that have these capital cities, into alphabetical order. Then, on the iPad, popped up Tunis, Algiers, Cairo, and Nairobi. Because, yes! Did I not mention it? This was a pub quiz on a SCREEN! Ngl, I missed my paper and pen. When it's an interactive screen based quiz, it's not really about knowledge of capitals or Shakespeare plays. It's about speed. Fastest finger gets most points. Still, I enjoyed it. I even remembered from the depths of my brain that Sixpence None the Richer sang Kiss Me. (My team had my Dawson's Creek CD to thank for that.) Anyway, thanks to The Cookhouse in Rainhill. Your quiz night was fun, even if it was a little frenzied.

I"m going to have to leave it here. That sixth of the chapter won't write itself. And it's already 3pm. I can safely say I've frittered away my empty house and writing hours. This can stand as a lesson to us all. Crack on and get the job done. Only then can you play Candy Crush and trim your fringe to your hearts content. Learn from my mistakes! Don't waste your time!

Have a lovely week, folks.

See Some Good? Believe it!..

Last Tuesday, after giving the news a swerve for twenty-four hours, I saw the clip. You know the one. It's where the current owner of Twitter does a... well let's call it an 'arm gesture'. It wasn't just an arm gesture, of course. I'm simply unsure whether certain words get blocked on here. (The ones that rhyme with the popular dice game, Yahtzee, for example.) Regardless, we all know what we saw. And right away, a quote popped into my brain. It wasn't just me. I've since seen it used all over the place. 

'When someone shows you who they are, believe them.' 

Maya Angelou. She knew
what was what.

Maya Angelou said it originally, and it's a solid piece of advice. The guy at the podium, arm gesture and all, was showing us who he was. I believed him.

The thing is, that quote is almost always used about negative behaviour. When you're gently advising a friend about the red flags their boyfriend gives off; when a date is nice to you, but rude to the waiter. It's when you discover your neighbours, who seem lovely over bin collection small talk, vote for political parties that seek to erode the rights of others. People show you who they are all the time. And it sucks.

But enough of all this negativity! We know the score. The news is awful. We'll engage with it when we need to, and accept there are terrible people about. But have you forgotten Newton's Third Law of Motion? Yes? Let me remind you. 

'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.' 

Physics!

Now, I'm not really a physics gal - I'm sure that's no surprise - so let's focus on the vibes rather than the scientific specifics. If there are grim people being platformed on the world stage right now, that means there are an equal number of good people, quietly doing their thing. The world's algorithms have got skewed. We see the bad stuff more than we see the good. It'll probably be that way for some time. But it doesn't mean that every single person has flipped to the dark side. In this week's Long Ramble, it's time to shine a spot light on the good people. Those that are also showing the world who they are. It's our duty to believe them, just as much. 

The Right Reverend Mariann Budde

The Episcopalian bishop of Washington, Mariann Budde, spoke truth to power last week, and she was awesome. With the new Prez and Veep in her direct eyeline, she respectfully and compassionately asked them to be merciful - for the people that live in fear of their proposed policies, and the world in general. You'll have seen it. It's been all over the Internet since it happened. But after the corporate sucking up and bending of the knee that's been ramped up in recent weeks, this woman's strength was awe-inspiring. Would any of us have the courage to do that? Who knows? But with her example, it becomes a tiny bit easier.

The neighbours'
internal monologue

Welsh Neighbours

As I mentioned last week, parts of North Wales had an absolute nightmare when a burst pipe meant no one had water. (Although after reading my blog, my Mum was at pains to correct the record in the family WhatsApp group. It was a burst water MAIN [she used capitals so I have too] and it was situated under a river bed. This made it even harder to fix. Consider myself, and the Internet, corrected, OK?) All of this meant that for several days, my parents, along with a gazillion other people, had to rely on bottled water for all their water use. Now, you'd think that having a bunch of kids, dotted about England, with houses full of free-flowing water, would be a perfect solution during my parent's hour of need. They were given several invitations by (some) of my siblings. But no! A sort of war-spirit camaraderie appeared to grip my parent's hood. Then, a couple of lovely neighbours took it upon themselves to queue up at the water distribution centres, collect water bags, and distribute them to the (mostly older) residents of my parents apartment block. Everyone was able to attend to their basic hygiene and hydration needs until the water rocked up once more. What neighbourly legends! Presumably they had people they could've stayed with too, but they didn't. They stayed put. They cracked on and helped out the apartment block. It won't make the news, but it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Jury Duty

You want to see someone inherently good, prove it over and over? Course you do! If you've got Amazon Prime, you'll be able to watch Jury Duty. It's been out for a couple of years but it's a great way to remind yourself that most people are decent. Ronald Gladden is summoned for jury duty. After being selected for a trial, he's told that there's a documentary crew making a film about what an everyday jury experience is like. So far so good. Except that's not quite true. The court case is fictional, the other jurors are actors, and comedic mishaps occur on a daily basis. The only person not in the loop, is Ronald. That description sounds kind of cruel. It might come across as if the viewers are being invited to laugh at his misfortune. Except for one thing. Day after day, Ronald shows that he's a nice guy who puts other people first. He's kind to the weird 'juror' that keeps bringing in his inventions. He listens closely to the evidence, finding mistakes that could result in a wrongful conviction. He takes the blame when a fellow 'juror' spectacularly blocks the toilet. This everyday guy is given many opportunities to be less than great, but it just doesn't happen. The final episode shows the big reveal, and how the cast and crew were blown away by the good natured amiability of the stooge they had selected. It's the uplifting reminder we might need. Most people are good, most of the time. 

Photo credit:
LEON NEAL/GETTY
from this site

Prince Harry

If you forced me to vote in a binary referendum about keeping or ditching the Royal Family, I'd vote ditch. Without that hypothetical enforced choice, however, I'm happy to ignore them and crack on. In fact, I barely hear anything about the royals. I blocked the fawning Facebook groups years ago, and so unless it's something that's actual news, it rarely crosses my consciousness. Last week, a news story broke through. Prince Harry settled his court case with the owners of The S*n newspaper.* I hadn't paid much attention to this one. In fact, I saw News Group Newspapers' lengthy apology on my timeline before I read anything about about the build up. Most media are reporting this as a loss for Prince Harry - except the legal commentators.** I find myself increasingly seeking the analysis of lawyers rather than journalists these days. It tends to cut out the noise and get to the heart of an issue. But I digress. Regardless of how the conclusion reads, all I keep coming back to is how this longwinded legal action will have helped others. Whether it's standing up to powerful bullies or being instrumental in potential changes to the law, this happened because someone took a stand. Fair play to him. Only someone with no fucks left to give, and millions of pounds to his name, could have pursued this to such an extent. Other celebrities, and indeed the families of murder victims, could not. I'm not a fan of the institution he grew up in, but it didn't stop him from doing something good.

Michelle Williams 

Right then, some more positive platform use. This one's from 2019 but I find myself rewatching it regularly. Michelle Williams won an Emmy for her portrayal of Gwen Verdon in Fosse/Verdon. Put simply her speech made me want to punch the air. She thanked the television academy, her fellow cast and crew, then she outlined the importance of being valued. She explains that if you're valued in your job, and given the things you need to do it well, then not only will you do it better, but you'll also believe yourself to be capable of better. That will make you better, even more. Look, I've paraphrased. Badly. You need to watch the clip. It may only be an awards ceremony, not a pulpit or court of law, but it's another example of someone using their platform for good. She could have thanked her family, said she was grateful, and got off the stage. She didn't. She did more than she needed. She recognised the value in equal pay, knew that intersectionality was her responsibility and so referenced her colleagues of colour, all the while being eloquent and clear in her message. Every boss should take notes.

Bob Mortimer

And finally! Yep, here's the metaphorical lighthearted story that ends the nightly bulletin. Who doesn't love Bob Mortimer? Whether you're old enough to be a nineties Vic and Bob fan, you're into your fishing telly, or you buzz off his Would I Lie To You appearances, he's a national treasure. It's WILTY that we'll end with this week. We started this post with Maya Angelou's quote... When someone shows you who they are, believe them.' Over the years, David Mitchell has faced many a Bob Mortimer anecdote and had to decide if he believes it. If you've not seen the show, let me tell you, they ALWAYS sound false. His stories weave in and out of pure fantasy. Except, when it comes down to it, they're very often true. Like this one, for example. Does Bob Mortimer do his own dentistry? Watch the clip and find out. Or if you really want a pick-me-up, how about this one? Watching David Mitchell unravel as he fights his own instincts and votes for utter madness, is delicious. The lesson? Bob has shown us who he is. If you ever bump into him, and he starts chatting some random nonsense, believe him!

Have a lovely week, folks.

*It should be noted that the former Labour MP, Tom Watson also settled his claim against the same news group. I've focused on Harry above. Mainly because I know Watson has also been treated very badly, but I don't know anyone in my day to day life who routinely criticises him for no reason. In fact, since he left front line politics, I've not heard him mentioned much at all. This is not the case for Harry. A purely subjective view, of course. Anyway, the points I made above, apply to both men. For more analysis on the settlement, I found this article useful.

** Wider legal commentary, here.