Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Monday, 25 May 2015


Yeah, I was by a busy roundabout and thus unable to get out of
the car immediately, but my level of technical competence is
similar to that implied by this image.
My car broke. I suspect if Calvin reads this he'll be able to diagnose the problem easily enough but I am a bit useless when it comes to cars beyond the concepts involved. Anyway, I was driving out to get some compost, hence the car for a short journey, and the gears just stopped working. I called breakdown, they arrived and wiggled the gear lever and the gears came back, but then they went again. More wiggling. They were back, but felt very funny, and then we took it to a garage. It's a bank holiday here so the car has been in since late Saturday and won't be looked at until Tuesday.

Just in case there was any doubt as to my position on gay rights
and gay marriage as a Christian...
This has meant that things have been a bit crap. A debate online with some family about gay marriage (well, no, about the fining of a baker for being discriminatory to a gay marriage proponent who was gay) where they argued for the right to discriminate put me in a bit of a bad mood. Eurovision failed to lift the funk, my laptop was once again used to stream it through the telly and Tilly spent the night on the Twitter without really interacting with me. I attempted to use the tablet again but, like last time, it was a bit pants and I lost interest quickly. We were supposed to go and visit my brother's family yesterday but the distances involved required a car, which we didn't have, and their eldest was sick. Instead we went to the local park to ride bikes. Tilly managed to get our girlie riding a little bit without stabilisers (I got too frustrated to be of help) and the Boy and I did some riding about before going on swings. After lunch we stayed in.

In fairness, the hosts of Eurovision were a bit lacklustre.

I dunno, I get the feeling that they really didn't know what
to do with Conchita.
Today I got up late, like about 9am, having gone to bed earlier than Tilly (she was writing with her buddy again until gone 11pm). I mean, it was nice of Tilly to give me that time, but I was onto washing the pots, feeding the pet and then getting ready. Apparently this was too late as Tilly got progressively more grumpy and revealed that once it reached 10am and we hadn't done anything that she didn't really see the point in trying anything. She has thus retired to bed. The children are playing with Lego having watched the movie in the morning (Tilly was busy on her blog) and largely being self-regulating. For the first time in ages I don't have any work on either, which is nice, but it does lead me to feel a tad bored I guess. Tilly's assertion that nothing in walking distance is worth the walk there is a rehash of how it was where we used to live, and is disturbingly similar to things then in other ways (see Eurovision posts of old).

As always.
We were supposed to be meeting another family for a walk in the countryside with the chance to see stone circles but, obviously, this is a journey that cannot be made walking and no buses go from where we live to where we want to go. The other family has elected to continue with that plan, after all they want a day out as a family, rather than come over our way (can't say I blame them) and the local swimming baths were shut - which, apparently, was the only other option. It's like nothing has changed again.

In other news, I have looked into a new website, because why not I guess, and accepted the opportunity to use rope on my bits, which I have tried and realised that I'm going to need more rope (and thinner) to really do it properly. Not sure what that means about me, I tried it before having a bath because Tilly refuses to go anywhere near me or the bathroom when I'm having a bath. Which I guess is fine and normal. Of course, there's still no option for me to run off and do things like dressing as I would still have to justify the time to myself. And, with the car likely to cost considerable amounts to repair, I lack the funding to do anything clever like buy random clothing items. Or even snacks. Examining starts soon and that will pay most of the bills by topping up my salary but it won't do that until August, in the meantime I have arranged a bridging loan with my mother should it become necessary to pay for the car repairs. I'll find that out tomorrow.

Ugh, minutiae.

Friday, 22 May 2015

Pink Fog

Of course I'd wear it.

You know, thinking about it, I could probably
get away with the colour in a men's suit at
work given my reputation as an eccentric.
The pink fog descends. But this time it is slightly different to normal. We all know how it usually pans out: the desire to dress and the desire to dress in a particular way grows stronger and stronger, stress compounds it and, eventually, it is sated or it triggers a bout of depression that it cannot be sated. However, there is little to no stress either at home or at work at the moment. Equally, I am not at all certain that there shall be any opportunity to dress any time soon. I don't get up early enough in the morning to attempt it before the family get up (I've been sleeping in until 6.30am lately) and there's no chance of an evening.

Tilly isn't working in the spare room at the moment but she does go there to read and then come down to the kitchen or the living room to work on the laptop for a bit before going back up to read. In short, I would have to ask for the use of the spare room and one consequence of having a more healthy relationship at present is that I don't get to just wander off on my own no questions asked. Tilly would inquire why I needed privacy and would likely quibble my stated desire until I had to reveal my urge to cross-dress. Not sure she'd like that and I'm not sure I'm quite ready to talk about it as baldly as that.

Sharing is caring, I guess?
A friend of mine has shared something with me online of a very personal nature that took some bravery to admit and, more, to share. Given my awful habit of missing important life events of this friend, my teacher friend that I have spoken of previously, like his wedding and his anniversary, I am very touched that he would share with me anything of that nature. It does make me wonder if I ought to do the favour, as I have previously wondered, of sharing this place back. Kind of a prid pro quo of sharing I suppose.

In completely unrelated news I have been reading a lot about Mad Max: Fury Road. I wasn't all that fussed. I do have a soft spot for Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior because it used to feature in my teaching repertoire when covering the Cold War (along with Threads as it happens) and so I'd kept a weather eye on it, but had no hankering to see it on the big screen. If I may sound so rubbish, it was mainly down to the violence and raw nature of the films. Two things have changed my mind: the fact that I discovered George Miller directed Happy Feet (something of an ecological masterpiece) and Babe and also the fact that anti-feminists started to claim that Mad Max: Fury Road was a feminist action movie to be avoided. Some digging has shown that, yes, Miller is part of that Feminist group wishing to take over the world. Apparently. Whatever, it is looking more and more brilliant and I may have to go and see it on the big screen. Also, the music.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Tuesday, 19 May 2015


No apologies and no more rhymes.

This is more to do with the General Election than my mother
but it properly fits here rather than elsewhere.

Also, those dresses and skirts...
Recently, my mother was up to visit and things were... well, she always said to tell her if she started behaving like my grandmother and, well, she's started to act like my grandmother. On arrival she was louder than necessary (the children had just gone to bed) and when given a cup of tea announced that it was too hot and heavy to hold (she had just taken it from my hand). On sipping it, she announced that she liked less milk than that. Then demanded the code for wi-fi in the middle of a conversation, refusing to engage on any other topic until we had tried three times to connect and failed. All to look up the results of the UK General Election that I had on my laptop anyway. Which we then looked at. On my laptop.

Heh, this is a reasonable representation of my wife and
perfectly encapsulates at least three reasons why I am
vaguely jealous of what she has achieved.

And yes, the hair and the nightshirt equate to one of those
reasons, of course they do!
In the meantime, Tilly was working on her book upstairs. I shared my pride and faux jealousy (though it is rather painfully obvious that I am also actually jealous of her success in this measure) at her success and her writing in general. She has book due out in July, a series of three novels (no, really) written and in varying stages of completeness for which there is already a market of strangers waiting to buy and a second book contract in the works. Just plain wow! Anyway, I jokingly explained that this had pretty much ended my writing with the self-deprecating remark that I had yet to finish any work. I laughed. My mother didn't. She asked if I was still writing. I said no. She explained to me that this was because I hadn't ever finished anything. And then went on to explain that I never would and perhaps I should give up writing. At another point in her visit my mother, who helped us move into the house, asked if we had a toilet under the stairs (we don't, it's a tiny cupboard).

Yeah, this sums it up quite well. Except that my mother is
much larger. By volume she probably exerts more
gravitational pull than all of the world's spiders put together.

Well, okay, that's an exaggeration, but certainly a greater
gravitational pull than all the spiders currently in my vicinity.

Assuming large numbers of spiders.
When the family went out for the day and Tilly said she didn't want to do a particular activity it became an all-encompassing quest of my mother to make that activity happen. On it, for it did happen, she attempted to get our children to want to do it again but just with Mummy. That didn't work and backfired spectacularly, souring that activity a little for the children as well. Without noticing what she'd done, my mother continued to try and throw in little seeds of irritation with the children. I'll be honest, were it not for her husband, I'm not sure we would have remained civil. Luckily, she left soon afterwards and then went home. One other feature of the visit was the problem with my grandfather, who seems to be displaying symptoms of advanced Alzheimer's, and the fact that my mother can't work with him - she now treats him in much the same way as my grandmother did. The dead one. The one with Dementia.

Yes, yes, I get that it's out of a person's control but, frankly, being emotionally stunted means that I don't see the point in putting up with that kind of hurtful shit. I didn't put up with it from my grandmother in the end and felt much better when I walked away - to the point where I do wonder why I didn't try much earlier than I did. I lost nothing in walking away from the poison of her insanity and gained much in equilibrium instead. I shall tell my mother if she heads the same way and apply the same logic there.

Now, Joanna, we've been through the
differences between mental image and
This last weekend I went up to my previous place of abode and met up with some ex-colleagues for a night on the tiles. It was a good night, and much less depressing than the last time I went and ended up revealing the long drought and slow drift of sexual relations with Tilly. Much fun was had, both colleagues now moving into different phases of work and one leaving, through promotion, to another place and being rather happy about it. Indeed, listening to their tales they have both made the right decisions and it has made my own job-move all the more positive and helpful, if there had ever been any doubt about that in the first place!

Work has been busy. Flaky colleague remains flaky. An occupational health review argued that this colleague was not fit to work so, legally, we had to send them home. They went to the GP and got a "fit-note" and are now back at work. Eventful? You don't know the half of it! Still, I rather enjoy this kind of pressure and my current place of work has given plenty of space to deal with it (and that is the best kind of support in my book). So, stressful few weeks, plenty of late evenings and being tired (hence the lack of content on here) but a good few weeks.