We stopped today under the motorway bridge,
Traffic roared above our heads,
Birdsong rose above the roar,
Clear and pure in summer’s air.

Traffic roared above our heads,
Unexpected was the sound,
Clear and pure in summer’s air,
Piercing our hearts exquisitely.

Unexpected was the sound,
Birds sing sweet in strange places,
Piercing our hearts exquisitely,
Nature deafening traffic’s roar.

Birds sing in strange places,
Under concrete, tar and steel,
Nature defeating traffic’s roar,
Nothing can ever silence them.

Under concrete, tar and steel,
Sounds and senses mix and throb,
Nothing can ever silence them,
We stopped today under the motorway bridge.


One thing that I have developed recently is a fear of food’. It is not to do with wanting to be slim, but it is to do with childhood trauma over food, produced by my mother. She starved me and whilst she ate, she did not allow me to. At various points in my life I have been overtaken by this food phobia. Usually some stress or other sets it off, and life is certainly stressful at the moment. I am therefore battling with this. I usually beat it alone. I feel very weak at times from not eating enough but I have to try to keep going. It is a nightmare.


I began this blog quite a few years ago, with the intention of providing myself with a platform for my poetry. Prior to starting the blog I had produced a few poetry books of my own. We made them up ourselves and sold them for the Lymphoma Association, as my cancer was Lymphoma. I no longer sell these books, but we still have them. They did well. I have no intentions of trying to sell them again, but they were entitled, Eternal Light, Songs of Hope, Stars, Under the Rowan Tree and a book of limericks entitled Oooops and Whoooops.

Since those days my health has deteriorated drastically and I am no longer the person I was then. I like to post my poems and make posts of various kinds. But I am finding more and more now that I yearn to write about the direness of my present position and the struggles I am going through and the feelings associated with it. These feelings can be very black at times, and I am loathe to post them, but there may be people who would relate to such feelings and struggles even though they may be for different reasons. I need to be honest and truthful. So I try to post humour and lighter things too. I always feel bad and guilty if I post something black, but that is a fact of life for some people. There is not a fix for everything. I wish there was but there isn’t. I do not know what things I will post in the future. I want to keep the humour going but I need to post the blacker things too. As I have changed, so the blog has to change a little bit too. This is a journey and I am on a particularly bad part of the journey right now. I am not very good at being how other people want me to be or feel that I should be. I am not into all this modern pop psychology that for me does not ring true. I need the raw honesty. So I do not yet know where all this is going. I guess I will just say Watch This Space. Not much will change but there may be more raw honesty.


I attended many writing groups in Derbyshire. They were all such fun and there were many colourful characters within them. Sometimes I joined in with a formal class. The first one that I joined was one run by the `University of Derby. In fact I joined quite a few run by them. The characters were an education in themselves. However, I met Maggie in the first one that I joined. Maggie became a good friend. She had an isolated farm high up in the hills which she ran with her then husband. Maggie was a dark horse. I never stopped discovering things about her and they all surprised me. She was far from conventional. She had the wanderlust but I never thought it would come to anything, but I was wrong. On the farm she kept Shetland ponies. Along with umpteen cats. She was passionate about cats. Especially getting them neutered so that the cat population did not grow at am alarming rate. Every cat that she had was a character. She was a District Nurse and so was well occupied. I got invited up to the farm and found that it was sparsely furnished, with few comforts, and no television set. She told me one day that she wanted to go and live in the Shetlands in a very isolated place. She loved the sea and the idea of being on a small island. There was a post being advertised on the Shetland Islands for a District Nurse. She was thinking of applying for it but I did not feel she was really serious. However the next thing that I knew was that she had got the job and was moving to one of the smallest islands in the Shetlands. It was only a mile wide, and she was to live in the Nurse’s House on the island and travel between the islands to attend to people by boat. It turned out that she was not as good a sailor as she thought she would be and she was sick on every trip. In time, she moved to the main island, having retired early, and then eventually moved to Spain where she lived in an isolated spot again, this time in a forest. By this time she had divorced her husband and a new male name was appearing in her emails to me. Eventually she married him and they moved back to the Shetlands where she had kept her house on. I have not heard from Maggie for a long time now, but both of us had once expressed a desire to live in a cave, so maybe she is living in one now. I am waiting to bag the cave in Derbyshire that she once told me about but I have yet to find it despite her very good instructions as to how to find it. I’ll let you know if I ever take up residence there.



“I wonder where the damned things have gone,” fumed Jim. There he was dressed all in his motorcycling gear, ready to go to work and he could not find the keys to his motor bike.

Helen sat quietly. She knew what he was like when he got like this. It was best not to speak.

Jim thumped around a bit, and gave up the idea of going to work. Flustered, her began to take off all his motorcycling gear. Finally he came to his crash hat and took that off.

“Oh my God there they are,” he exclaimed. “They’re on my head. I put them in my crash hat and then put my hat on and now they’re on my head.”

#FOWC- Prior


Shall I deposit thee back on thy couch
Where thou hast languished for so many years
I could not tempt thee even with my pouch
And everything has ended now in tears
Prior to seeing you my lust was stilled
But then it rose so strong within my breast
My heart with deepest sorrow now is filled
Thou didst reject me as a filthy pest
If only thou hadst let me kiss thy lips
And then caress thy body oh so plump
I even loved thy very ample hips
And into bed I wanted so to jump
But now it is all over I will be
Just on my own and never now with thee

BE GONE – Cancer

I sigh
Oh cancer why
Did you come visit me
Stay a long time then leave your marks
As bad
As you
So that I can never forget
The visit that you made
No goodbyes now
To pain

You stand
At the door wait
For your time to return
Is it now oh cancer my skin
Burns now
My throat
Closes up is this fear or you
Raping my body go
Be gone never


Do you believe that a chair is a chair
And is a chair a chair because everyone agrees that it is
It is only a word
It could be a piano
What can I believe in
I may see things differently to you
I may be confused
I may be bewildered
I may be hurt
Truth is many sided
What has hurt me has not hurt you
And what has hurt you has not hurt me
So what attributes do we give things
I am not you and you are not me
If you don’t like what you see
Then don’t look


I will not
Because you do
I will
Because you don’t
The box does not fit me
And I do not fit the box
I am fluid
I am water
I cannot be caught
Or captured
I am free as the wind
Sometimes I blow
And sometimes I don’t
But I am still the wind
You cannot see me
But you can feel me
You have no idea where I am coming from
Or where I am going
But you will know when I am there

#FOWC – Sea


Forsooth I’ll come and get thee off thy couch
For thou hast languished there so very long
Look here I have some tit bits in my pouch
They’ve been here quite a while so they might pong
But never mind I’ll take thee to the sea
Where it is fresh and we can have our fill
And I will kiss thy lips and happy be
I hope that thou art on the tiny pill
Oh sing my darling I will always love
Your fine contours despite thy massive hips
For thou was sent here from the saints above
Along with bags of gorgeous fatty chips
Oh come to me I’ll satisfy my lust
Oh do come quickly oh I really must


I think I met Vera at the Volunteer Centre but it might have been somewhere else as she seemed to get all over. Wherever you went, there was Vera. When I first met her she lived in a large terraced house not far from the Volunteer Centre. She was the sort of person who drove everyone else mad. She was very forthright and intended to force herself on others but in a good natured way mostly. She knew what she wanted and intended to get it. She dithered as well though and was very slow in doing anything. Especially going home at the end of something. People could be waiting to lock up but Vera just would not move. Short of bodily lifting her up and physically moving her out of a building there was nothing anyone could do. She refused to respond to any requests to please leave so that the locking up could be done. She was in a way a figure who was larger than life. She had a rather striking black bob for hair and a dramatic fringe, and with bright make up, you had to notice her. She had one of those faces that you never forget.

Always the patient one, I made friends with Vera when everyone attempted to avoid her. Often If would take her out in my car, and when I called for her at her house in a morning she was never ready however late it was. We would always eventually get set off, but I felt as if I had climbed a mountain by midday. She certainly was not the easiest of people. Usually she would disappear into some place to apply her make up, ready for the day, but it would almost be the end of the day by then. She had no sense of time at all.

Vera had been married, but sadly her husband had died. I say died, but he did it by his own hand. Vera returned home one day to find a notice on the wall facing her as she opened the front door saying,

“This way to the electrocution,” with an arrow pointin in a certain direction.

Vera followed the many notices and arrows and found herself in a room where here her husband was lying dead on the floor attached to the electricity. He was a television repair man and had somehow attached himself to the innards of the television and had successfully electrocuted himself.

Vera’s biggest grouse was that there was no insurance money for her. “Well, he hadn’t insured himself,” she said, “as he was not expecting to die.”

Vera had two children, so she was left alone to cope with them. She became a little depressed, and put a notice in her front window saying,

“If you are depressed, call in here.” I never found out if anyone did.

OBITUARY – In Third Person

Because I cannot bear my name I have called myself Letty.

Letty was born in 1948 to Verrant Charles and Joyce Kathleen Holden. As her mother made plain to her, she was not meant to have been born. Rationing was still in place following the War, but Letty did not think that babies were rationed. In her mother’s eyes though they jolly well should have been. Many were the times that her mother bemoaned her fertility. Letty was born ten months after her parents’ marriage, and her mother told her of how she had got married in Auntie Peggy’s wedding dress because rationing meant that dresses and material were in short supply. Her parents got married in Blyton Parish Church and her mother walked up the aisle to the sound of Ave Maria being sung. Following the wedding they went on honeymoon to Mablethorpe, a town on the Lincolnshire coast. Immediately, there was trouble between her mother and father as at the end of their stay at the hotel, her father could not pay the bill, and her mother was mortified. She had to go to her step father, a wealthy farmer for the money to pay the bill. Unbeknown to her mother, she had conceived Letty on that fateful honeymoon. Her father continued to get into trouble with money all of his life, and indeed was at the moment he died. Following the honeymoon, her parents went to live in Nottingham, where, in time, her mother discovered what had happened on that fateful honeymoon. She was going to have a baby. It was with surprise and horror that she received this news. Letty always wondered why she was surprised as post wedding activities often led to babies being born. Letty wondered if her mother knew the facts of life. Whatever, her mother set about trying to get rid of Letty. Letty learned of this when she was thirteen years old. Her mother told her of how the woman in the flat above had also become pregnant, and she had used some medicine or other to attempt to get rid of her baby. Letty’s mother told her of how the woman was brought down the stairs by ambulance men with blood pouring from her and she almost lost her life. She had decided at that point not to follow her original plan of using the same stuff as her neighbour had. And so, Letty was a fixture. Her parents were very poor when they lived in Nottingham, and her mother described to her going up onto the railway line to pick up bits of coal for the fire.

DERBYSHIRE FRIENDS – Ron and the Blackberry

I met Ron at a writing class run at Buxton by the University of Derby. It was strange really, for we had had two terms in which he had never so much as spoken to me never mind looked looked into my eyes that he said were deep pools. He just said to me one night after the class

“Ooooh, those eyes.”

I had never been so surprised in my life. Well, not at a writing class anyway.

“Why, what’s wrong with my eyes,” I inquired.

“ they’re like limpid pools,” he said.

Well, I was not quite sure what limpid pools were but he seemed quite taken up with them.

“I’ve seen those eyes before,” he said. Well not on me, I thought.

I was mystified. Maybe something in the writing class had rubbed off on him. After all we went into all kinds of places in our minds, and the tutor, Babera did think that she was Kathy from Wuthering Heights and sometimes Emily Bronte herself. I had learned to accept anything in this weird writing class. So Ron was in a way just another one.

Ron had MS and he was in his late sixties. He was still able to walk though at times a bit wobbly. He asked me if I would like him to take me for a walk along a nearby river. Being fairly new to the area, he thought he could show me some good sights. So I agreed.

He met me at the car park one morning, and we set off for our walk along the river. After a while, he spied some blackberries on a bush. Playfully he pulled a blackberry off the bush and instructed me to open my mouth. I protested. I really did not want a blackberry. But he would not give up and so in the end I thought Oh what the hell, and just to shut hin up I took the blackberry. After putting the blackberry into my mouth he became like a little kid. Then, he apologised for not being able to take me to his bungalow, and said that even if he had been able to take me, he would have been unable to satisfy me as he had diabetes and was impotent. I said that I had not been planning on being satisfied in any way like that. Then I resisted the temptation to kick him in the balls.


Right, it’s back to business as usual now, after messing about trying to sort out what WordPress have done. I think they thought they were making it better but in fact they made it worse. Anyway, I can still post, which is good news as this was in doubt at the beginning of today. Putting titles in is still difficult for me though, as is replying to your comments. But we will keep working on it lol. Just bear with us. Thankyou for all your understanding.


I have decided to tell jokes.

There was a man going up into the sky and he met a man coming down out of the sky. The man going up said to the man coming down

“Do you know anything about gas cookers”. And the man coming down said

“No, do you know anything about parachutes”


Through the gate today I saw
A golden path of leaves galore
The sun was shining through the trees
Branches wafting in the breeze
And then I heard a black bird caw

I wondered what was now in store
Would heaven open to me its door
So many graves my heart did freeze
Through the gate

In my heart I never bore
Resentment lived within God’s law
Though beaten many times to please
Desires of those who tried to seize
My soul now resting  on heaven’s shore
Through the gate



As I have said before, I met a lot of colourful people at the Volunteer Centre where I was a Trustee. Terry was one such person. At first he seemed quite quiet and ordinary. He would turn up at the Centre and have a bit of a matter with me. He had lost his wife to cancer, and he talked a lot about her and of how they had worked as a team. He was always dressed immaculately, in a suit and collar and tie. He seemed very conventional. Often there was food left in the fridge and the cupboards at the Centre and when I think of Terry now, I can see him sitting at a table all on his own, facing the all glass shop front, tucking into a dinner and really relishing it.

Gradually I got to know Terry a bit better, and it was approaching Christmas, and he was going to be alone, as were we. I invited him to spend Christmas Day with us. He accepted eagerly. As usual he arrived in his suit and collar and tie, his shoes well polished. It was after dinner that we found out a lot more about Terry, and he was convinced that the Cooperative store was the Antichrist. He told us all about it, gradually warming to his subject more and more. I just listened, but with a sense of amazement that anyone could think that. He turned out to belong to a religious sect and was passionate about it. Then he suddenly pulled out of the bag confirmation that the Coop was indeed the Antichrist. He told us to look at the bar code on all of their goods and would see that the three last figures were always666. Not only that, but the till receipts all ended in666. We should no longer shop at the Coop, he told us. We should transfer to Tescos. He had nothing to do with Tescos so he was not trying to get us to shop there for any ulterior motive. But he utterly believed that the end was coming and that the Coop was going to bring it about.

Then there was Graham. I met him at a writing group at a local library. One day he suddenly announced that he could levitate. He produced a photograph to prove it. Indeed, the photograph was taken on two steps in his church and it looked for all the world as if he was levitating. No one believed him of course. But he insisted. I started to question him on it after the meeting. It turned out that he was a Deacon at the Orthodox church near to Manchester. Being intrigued, I asked him if my husband and I could sample this church. He eagerly agreed, and so one morning there we all were in Graham’s car travelling to Manchester. I had no idea what we were going to but I am all for new experiences. Well, it was an experience and a half. It went on for hours and there was so much incense the fire brigade was nearly needed. I watched for Graham levitating but no such luck. He just kept popping in and out of doors chanting. It was such an overpowering experience and one that I will never forget.


I often think that it would be great if you could see me as I am typing. You would see a smile on my face. Often there is hilarious laughter too. I think that my humour is very dry and droll. Often it is mistaken for seriousness but often there is a smile behind even the most tragic of words. Humour is a great thing.


I am still experimenting with first and third person for my book Obituary. Strangely I wrote a piece in third person today and it made me cry lol. It had far more impact on me than the piece in first person that I have posted in here. I am incorporating chapters that I had already written for my original book. I am finding this new departure very exciting.

OBITUARY – From my book of this title

Please be as critical as you like

I didn’t really want to die. At least I don’t think I did. Death is a queer thing. You can either look forwards to it and greet it with joy when it comes, or you can hate the whole idea of it and vow that you are never going to die. That’s what my mother did. Swore that she was never going to die. She’s dead now. And that brings me to a signifacant point in this, my obituary. You see, she never wanted me to be born, so all my life I figured I should be dead. And now I am. But a few times I got a bit previous and nearly took matters into my own hands. I grew up thinking I should be dead, and I felt I ought to be doing her a fabour by getting rid of myself. Well, she tried hard enough to get rid of me when I was in the womb. She told me about that when I was thirteen. I’d always felt there was something wrong. I was never seen as a good child, but oh God how I tried. No, the other kids were always better than me. Like Karen, on her horse. She was a nice girl. I could never attain to being like her. In my mother’s eyes I was kind of to blame for being alive and by God I was going to pay for it. I was never going to win though. That had already been decided. Well I suppose you could say she has won now. I’m dead. Mind you, she went before I did, so I had a few years without her. Can’t say they were peaceful ones but at least she couldn’t do any more damage. Good job. She’d done enough anyway.

I guess I never really knew whether I really wanted to die or not. Not that I had any choice in the matter. It was inevitable. Everyone has to die. Now I am dead and I can’t even tell you what it’s like. Being dead I mean.

I guess that writing my obituary before I am dead is a bit previous too, but only I know the truth and what it was like. No one could write my obituare like I could. I want the truth of it all to be known, the good, the bad and the ugly. It has never been told before but now is the moment.

So, I will start in the usual way. I was born in 1948 in a village called Blyton in Lincolnshire, to Verrant Charles and Joyce Kathleen Holden. My mother started as she intended to go on. She went into labour with me in Woolies, short for the store called Woolworths. For the whole of her life she was never happy unless she was in a store or shop of some kind. Preferabley when there was a Sale on. Fifteen per cent off or twenty per cent off was quite a draw too. She just had to be there, and she always had to buy something even if there was nothing there that she either wanted or needed. Thus we always had a house full of eiderdowns and bedding of various kinds. In fact you could hardly move for stuff she had bought in a Sale. I did not take long to get born. Two hours I think. My mother said that I could not wait to get here and came just in time for tea.

We lived in a tiny cottage in Blyton, rather romantically called Pear Tree Cottage, but what went on in there was not exactly romantic.


A ship slid by sailed
Taking you away from us
You asked a question

Your question broke us
Did my mother love me tears
Flowed down our faces

We lied yes she did
He was born out of wedlock
She did not know him

He was our blood though
Watched everything that happened
Grandmother took him

Wrote birthday cards gave
Them to him speaking of love
All a delusion

Now he knew the truth
He never wanted to know
He sailed to new worlds


Do some not fit?
Like a foot that will not
Go into a shoe
A broken piece of a jigsaw puzzle
Shouldn’t there be room
For the broken ones
The torn ones
Raw with the red of their suffering
But together you huddle
Puting up your “No Entry” sign
Having enjoyed your banquet
To which some could not come
Empty invitations
Because you knew
Some could not get there themselves
Because they are broken
You speak your empty words
Holding hands together
Some at the back
No peace for them
From you who give each other peace
Nothing to heal their brokenness
They gag with hunger


I am still trying to work on doing all the normal things on WordPress and am still working on how to reply to comments. I really want to crack this one as asking my husband all the time is not good. He is so busy and does not have the availability to always do it. It is a goal of mine to simply do all the things that I used to do before I went completely blind. I feel so good and proud in that I have learned to type in my posts as a blind person and put titles in sometimes though that is still a bit hit and miss. I am having problems thought because WordPress seems to keep changing things and then as a blind person I don’t know where I am. I am not giving up though so please bear with me. Thankyou for all your patience with me.

Ps we have had an online chat with happiness engineer and he does not know how to put titles in using voiceover Tsk!


She was well acquainted with the ground,
Mostly, it was all she could see,
Though now, even that was simply black,
She scrabbled daily with her raw bare hands,
She tried to cry with her voice,
But now her voice was gone.

Everything in her life had gone,
All she had now was the ground,
If only someone had heard her voice
And seen that she could not see,
Touched her with their hands
Pierced her world of black

She groped around in the black,
Her dignity now was gone,
Bleeding were her hands,
As she dragged them along on the ground,
How she longed to see,
For someone to hear her voice

She used to sing with her voice,
Now her songs were black,
Not only could she not see,
Her walking now was gone,
Knocked down onto the ground
She reached out with her hands

She still could use her hands
Though weak now was her voice
No one looked down on the ground
Left her there in the black
All her friends were gone
Now that she could not see

But wait……she above all could see
And touch now with her hands
That place which had never gone
She sang now with her voice
A song that was no longer black
From her place down on the ground

Down on the ground she reached out with her hands,
For she could no longer see, weak now was her voice
But she sang out loud in the black, for heaven had never gone


For some this may not be a very pleasant subject but being aware that death may come sooner rather than later for me, I am thinking very much about it. It may be that it does not come quickly, as none of us knows truly when it will come. In the first place I feared it, or maybe I feared the possible pain involved. All I knew and know is that I feel it is something that I must prepare for. The reason I say this is that when it comes I want to be as much at peace as possible. My life has been far from peaceful, but I do not want my end to be that way. Some people do not want to think about it until it is upon them but I am not built like that. If it is possible to prepare for it, then I want to. I have seen people struggle and fight it but I do not want it to be that way for me. After seeing my mother’s death not too long ago, I do not want my death to be like hers was emotionally. So, that is why I am going down the road that I am going down.

I have no idea if there is anything beyone death or not or whether there is a God or not, at least in the conventional way that we think of God. I will always be the questioner that I described in a recent post. I would not rest if I stopped searching and asking questions. I cannot come down finally on one side or the other.

Yesterday when I was talking with that vicar about my funeral, we talked a lot about God and we both came to feel that God may be Being itself rather than a Being. Many theologians and thinkers have put this forwards and this is also in line with the many mystics of all faiths. In the end there is no scientific proof of anything and it is all a matter of faith. Therefore we do not have to believe anything just because someone else tells us that we must. I had an experience when I was thirteen that to this dayI think about a lot. One day this experience may become clearer to me. I will not deny it but neither will I stop thinking deeply about it.

INTRODUCTION TO MY BOOK – Obituary Walking in the Dark

As I write everything is dark. It is as if there is a black curtain in front of my eyes. I am blind. I am walking in the dark. Eight years ago I was diagnosed with a serious and advanced cancer and following chemotherapy treatment I went into remission, but the drugs did terrible damage to my body. I now have a progressive disease which is making my body deteriorate very quickly. I am well aware that this will ultimately lead to death. Though I have no idea when this will occur, I know that I cannot expect to live for too many years. I therefore want to leave behind my own obituary. I wish to tell the story of my life and give an account of how it is possible to suffer some horrific things and not give in to feel bitterness and hatred. I have subtitled this book “Walking in the Dark” because I have walked in the dark for most of my life. I am no stranger to dark times, and have had to walk into the unknown for so much of my life. Most of us like to be able to see the way ahead and cannot accommodate the unknown. I hope, in this book to show how it is possible to walk into the unknown and survive. Death is an unknown experience and as such most of us fear it if we are honest. For myself I want to be ready and at peace with it when it happens. For me, this means going through a process of self emptying. To die, we need to be able to let go the controls. We need to empty ourselves of all that would hold us back. In writing this, my obituary, I am emptying of all that is within me and hopefully leave a message behind that we can rid ourselves of all bitterness and in indeed, love others with all our hearts and souls.


Yesterday I posted about my day going back to my home village and of what transpired there.it had come about because my body is deteriorating so much and I needed to think. As I said yesterday I was born in that village and it has many happy memories for me, of my grandparents’ farm. The farm was not actually in the village but a little way out of it, and rather isolated. I have no family left in that village now, nor any friends. However it is the place where I want to come to rest. We saw the vicar inside the church and I talked very deeply about my feelings and of course about death as it has to be faced. It is not in many ways a pleasant subject but I needed to feel at peace over it as it could come at any time. We all like to avoid thinking about it and I am no different. I want to live, not die, but sadly our bodies deteriorate and we have to face the inevitable.

Today I feel differently to how I felt yesterday. Today I want with all my heart to live. I want with all my heart to be part of normal life again, but I cannot be. I feel unhappy and frustrated. I cannot pretend about my blindness. It sucks. Often I want to be out of this world because of it as I feel I can live with it no longer. If I could walk and did not have other serious problems with my body as well, I could cope. But my combined problems make me very depressed and many days I do not know how to cope.

It was the vicar who suggested my writing my book as an obituary. At first I thought he was nad, but then the idea took hold, and I wrote the first bit last night. At this moment however I do not even want to think about it. I am fighting to live. I am distressed at how my body is stopping me from living. Although I am happy with just my own company and in solitude I am a people person as well and very sociable. I do not know how I can go on living like this never seeing anybody or talking to anybody. I feel cut off from life in my world of darkness. I reach screaming point very often. I struggle to go on and it is only my writing that saves me but you cannot spend all day writing. It becomes very tiring and then I start to wonder why I am doing it. This is me being totally honest. I hate blindness and do not know how to go on with it at all. Most blind people have some little sight left even they can only see a little bit of light but I have complete blackness. I feel as if it is touching my face and smothering me. I am not brave although people tell me I am.


Today I have been on a bit of a journey. Well, actually it was not a long one to most people but it was to me. It was a journey of about fifteen miles. I went to the village where I was born. I went into the church where I was baptised. That was a very long time ago. So many memories come back to me whenever I go to that place. Good ones. I am going to have my funeral there and we talked funerals for a while. I am wondering whether anyone has ever read a book in the form of an obituary. If anyone has, I would like to know or if anyone knows anything about writing a book in the form of your own obituary. It has been suggested to me today that I might do that. At least that is what I think was meant. I would have no idea of how to go about it but I am intrigued.

It was a good day, bringing all kinds of things to me. I am tired now but it was good.


How thin is your God?
Is He fat with promises divine
Luring you into sweet satisfaction
False as hell?
But who wants to see a thin God
Who slips through cracks
Becomes invisible
Un- nourished
Just when you want to enjoy a Banquet
How can you eat His flesh
Drink His blood
When there is nothing left of Him?
Made small by your boundaries
Your definitions
You think He is fat with the food of your praises
Masks for the unsuspecting
O thou fool
Tonight you will lose all that you had
In the Sea of Deception

#FOWC – Affront


I met Flo at the Volunteer Centre where I was a Trustee. Often I would sit in Reception greeting people as they came in, and finding out how we could help them. Flo was a regular at the Centre and we became friends. She had come to live in the small town following her divorce. Suddenly she was free and she was savouring her freedom to the full. She joined many groups and took part in many activities. One of these was Scottish Country Dancing. My appetite was whetted and I wanted to sample it too. We arranged for me to go with her one night, and I realised when I got there how serious she was about it. She had been going for quite a while and had become quite proficient at it. She partnered me for one of the dances in which we had to go from one person to another in a kind of square. I got into one hell of a muddle, and Flo was dancing round on her own with her arm held out trying to find someone to take it. Meanwhile I got into such a muddle and was bumping into people all over the place causing mayhem. Eventually I landed on the floor laughing hysterically. Flo did not think it funny at all and took it as an affront to her dignity. Stranged to say she never invited me to go again.


Find the word Write with your finger voice over will read it to you
Then go to the top of the screen and feel around with your finger until you hear the word Options then click on it
Now go down the screen with your finger until you hear something about Code Editor and click on it
A text box will appear and it will tell you to type
Type your poem or whatever
Now go to the top of the screeen and feel around for editing Code Editor or something but I forget what it says
Below that it says Heading Level two so click on it twice
Then a box will come up saying Level two and it will tell you to tyype
Type in your title then feel around at the top of the screen until you find the word Publish and click it twice and hey presto you have done it