Well I’ve taken stock. I can report that there’s not a lot out back, we’re pretty much down to zero and, as you can see, the tired metaphors go on. But what was I thinking of, anyway? I have never stockpiled – never had the wherewithal, just grabbed the essentials in a hand-to-mouth kind of way, much as I am doing now. Think of this as a kind of performance piece – character in action running on (not quite but almost) empty, grabbing a few essentials en route; the essentials in this case being words – any words that, cobbled together, stand for some kind of truth. My truth, that is.
It must be spring. Yes, there is a particular quality to the sun’s warmth, there is a heady scent of blossom in the air and behold, a new wooden patio set from Argos and one’s beloved Mr. Signs has filled the tubs with geranium, mint, something white and bell-shaped and something greenish/red and spiky, and if I do not know the names of things now then I never will. But good though these things are, it is not for these that I say it is spring. I, like countless other PWME, register the change of seasons as does the wretched little potato in the vegetable rack. You know the one – it has a greenish tinge and the life force seems to have gone from it, at any rate you wouldn’t put it in your pot and cook it but spring comes and hey, it puts out sprouts and shoots, kicked into motion at the season’s pleasure. Of course the centre cannot hold and is depleted utterly. And thus sit I with an unremarkable but unspeakably draining throat infection, weak-limbed, cloth-headed and, at this very moment dear reader, drugged to the eyeballs on co-prox because sorry, but I need a break from the muscle thing. PWME looking in? You know the muscle thing.
What else? I’ve sent poems off to a competition and am not holding my breath. The point of the exercise really is to bring a bit of focus in on the work that I have sitting there – like the potato in the rack, I suppose. Poems shouldn’t be left lying around for too long. Looking at everything again I realise that most things need work – much work, and meanwhile I’ve temporarily lost sight of what my next task should be. When I decide what it is I’ll bash on. Writing is work and takes strength, but if you are a writing person, not doing it is infinitely harder work and not doing it hurts.
But apparently I am looking very well. On balance, odd as it is that one does not necessarily manifest the inner condition on the outside, I would rather look well than not. And Daughter of Signs came to stay for a couple of nights. The house was filled with the sound of her singing, her lovely voice, as she accompanied herself on the piano.
*****
And then a lovely thing came. Do you see it? Sitting elegantly on my sidebar to the right - from The Periodic Englishman. Press the button and listen - watch for the bird flying past the window.
There are words too, and applause - and, as they say in Textville - :) :) :)
31 comments:
Beloved and esteemed Knnnigg'htly Sees - I haven't really anything clever to say here but that's never stopped me before. Just wanted to say hei, glad the stock-taking's done, you're brilliant as always, the award in the margin is lovely and very deserved. In my illness-weakened state, I entertained myself for an hour the other day random-blog-hopping (not on blogger, mind, but that's neither here nor there). A whole hour, seeskins, and I came across nothing that I would have actually liked to read - not a single blog. And many of the sites I came across were mere shells - people had opened a site, named it and left it. It was a strangely lonely and saddening little foray into the desert. Needless to say it made me appreciate the nook I have found with its gorgeous and live people - not that I haven't appreciated it thus far, right enough.
Anyhow. My congratulations and heartfelt thanks, sweet Signs, for being, well, you, esteemed and funny signreader with an eye for the silly and the beautiful (as well as the pain cetra cetra. You know what I mean. I'll stop now so I don't sound like a complete ninny).
Mwahs before I go, though. It seems we are both pretty much fucked so I doubt there's any reason to worry about cross-contamination of flu bugs.
xxx
(And hei - just to make sure I don't make myself misunderstood, I am not comparing my current ailing state with what it must be like to have a chronic condition such as ME. You know what I'm trying to say (I hope) so I'll just bumble off. I need to walk the wolf, anyway. Mwah.)
Sees, come back here, I do not for a moment think you are comparing your state with mine. It sounds as though you have been quite clobbered and feeling rough is as it is and it behoves one therefore, on occasion, to refer to it and tell it like it is. Yes yes, I can be Polyanna, but we'll play The Glad Game another time.
Though actually, changeable as I am, today feels much better than yesterday.
May we always, Knightling, have an eye for the silly (which comes from selig and is therefore holy) and the beautiful. I am glad you like the TPE. It's like having a window on the sidebar - the music plays in my head now.
I am intrigued by your blog-hopping episode, especially because it was not on blogger. It almost feels as though you went bush, as the australians might say, and found mainly empty houses.
Good to see you here up top :)
Mwah!
x
Obediently, I am here, Skins Sees - and God, is it ever a relief to be out of my top thread (I know you're there as we speak, because, as we know, I'm psychic and all that, yes, so I know you understand and will forgive me all my convoluted excesses here, and brackets and long sentences and too-many italicised words and so on, because writing controlledly is probably super good for me cetra but it hurts. Phew). So yes, hello, highly happy to be here. Yesyesyes, I love the TPE - I have it on the brain too so snap - and it is indeed a window, not only like having a window. A totally lovely development in your totally lovely house, is my verdict.
But listen, I had no idea that silly and holy have the same root. What a totally revealing revelation and discovery, and yet, deep down, I have always felt this to be the case. How brilliant to have my oddity thus linguistically, etymologically validated.
I did indeed go bush (thank you, Australia - this is a contribution to the English language that we really couldn't do without). I went hopalong from the wonderfully-fluid writing of your friend Ms Far North (hello, esteemed Lady, if you're looking in. I am a mouth-breathing lurker on your site. I'll say hello sometime soon, though, I hope), thinking maybe that since she's such a pleasure to read, there'd be rows and rows of houses like hers, all nicely terraced along Freeblogit Close. Nope. I couldn't have been wronger, really. No such luck. It's mostly boarded-over squats over there, sorry to say (or then I was just massively unlucky with the random blog generator - but I did give it a full and increasingly-destitute hour) (and please note I am fully aware that boarded-over squats can house a multitude of interesting people and lives and stories galore - it's just that, well, when they are boarded-over squats of blogs and there's no writing at all it's a little difficult to be open-minded). Anyway yes, so that's the sorry story. I then read what TPE had written you and I just couldn't have agreed more with his sentiment.
I need to nip back into my room of constrainment, I have a feeling someone's there. Be seeing you, number Six... and super glad to hear you're feeling better today. I am, too, but I cough if I talk so it's better I stay home typing, still, for today and tomorrow. Mwah - I will be back.
Your presence, your words, as always, so enjoyed, dear fellow Knnnigg'ht. And I have told Ms North what you said.
My word, my short little comment is going to look truly pathetic by comparison with those amazing - and lengthy - comments above. I like the way that Ms mr really hasn't anything clever to say and promptly goes ahead and says lots of very thoughtful (which is clever in my book) things. Whereas when I say that I really haven't anything clever to say - like now - well, I really haven't.
Well I just wanted to say, I hope the throat infection clears up - and to the aforementioned Ms mr, I hope the flu doesn't trouble you too much longer: best wishes to you both.
And what a lovely addition to your site c/o Mr periodic - a welcome addition especially so soon after receiving that certificate!
Ah my dear; the coming of the warm weather and the lack lustre drain on the energy. This summer lark don;t cut it with me (or M.E).
I do hope your throat gets better soon. As they say, 'There's alot of it about'
Anyroadup may I also congratulate you on recently being bestowed the most elegant and stylish awards. The P.E. one is a triumph...and I say that as someone who was never good at P.E. or like it very much.
x
Trousers - lovely things also come in small portions you know. And are appreciated! Think of an exquisite chocolate at the end of a meal - or at any time, really. This is how I receive your comment, Trousers - actually no, it is worth several chocolates. Which is not to say that I necessarily regard Anna's comments as the meat and two veg. Liquorice comes to mind, as it happens. A certain stuff of which I am inordinately fond.
Anyway, lovely to see you and I'm glad you had a look at my beautiful award/s.
Ciao, Cuspchen - yes, I thought a number of things might resonate. Hoped, in fact, that you'd be looking in because it is somehow sustaining to feel that there are others out there who know exactly what one is banging on about. Not that one bangs on all the time, but -
And I couldn't stand P.E. at school either - so I always refer to that particular fine gentleman as TPE now, just so his name isn't tainted with that memory.
What a lovely gesture. I am prob being incredibly thick and missing a credit somewhere, but do you know what the music is, cos I would love to hear some more?
Mr Periodic Englishman seems like a very nice chap indeed, shame one can't comment on his blog and tell him so.
Re bloghopping,I have found that your sidebar reccmmendations are consistantly good, be they lovely images or wise words. I just wish i could think of interesting ways to tell them, because i hate lurking.
Hope son of signs is fully recovered, and that you have a better patch coming soon
Hey Gael, thanks, that was nice of you to say. I made up the music for Signs myself, though, so you won't find it in any shops. You'll just need to imagine how the rest might go because there is, alas, no "rest". Drat.
SIgns - goodness me, you cover a lot of ground in this post. A performance piece, you say, encompassing poetry, a potato, tiredness, aches and mint – I like to think that the appearance of the Argos wooden patio set was rogue – topped off with a daughter playing piano and a flurry of (teenage) text message symbols. Even Mr Signs sees his good name briefly dragged through the shrubs.
Clearly, however, you are not in the mood for one of our elongated fights today, so I’ll leave you in peace on that front. But Signs, you make it sound like a bad thing that you have “temporarily lost sight of what [your] next task should be”. Personally speaking, I see this as progress. One day, hopefully, you will completely lose sight of what your next task should be and then, hallelujah, the task will be to just be. Except it won’t feel like a task at all.
Anyway, I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been feeling a wee bit rubbish lately, but happy that you seem to like the thing I made for you - just don’t, please, ever reach 200 comments in a thread or I may have to compose a whole symphony. And nobody wants to see that happen, trust me.
You’ve attracted some lovely comments and Anna, in fact, says most of the things I would have said, really, but you struck a chord with your use of the word “sustaining” in relation to there being other people out there, seemingly in tune. That’s exactly what it is.
And I suppose, as a direct opposite, that this is maybe one reason why those derelict blogs and incomplete shouts in the dark can often feel so dispiritingly sapping and sad. These deserted outposts once had the nerve and the need to ask “is there anyone out there?” And silence is a cruel kind of “no”. I feel a similar pang – it belongs to the same family, at least – when I see people ignore their guests. I hope that I never feel comfortable around such poor human qualities.
To reach one hundred comments, then, to oversee and maintain these weird connections, to keep them gently moving - however much we may have smirked at the thrilling pointlessness of such a thing – well, this suddenly feels worth celebrating. You help turn the flat-lining silence of a terrible “no” into a hopeful and welcoming “yes”.
So maybe it’s not really an award in the end, rather more a musical “thank you.”
Only good things to you, Reading The Signs.
TPE
Gael, I am glad you asked about the music because I'm hoping that your question will embed itself in Mr. TPE's consicousness and that he will feel moved to go ahead and write a symphony, or at any rate more. He won't realise where the impulse has come from, but it will have been your question, so give yourself credit for this, in advance. Yes, he is one special McEnglishman, multi-talented and psychic, so fear not - if you want to leave him a comment just put it here and he will know - as has already been demonstrated.
I'm so glad you have enjoyed some of the links - honestly, you shouldn't worry about lurking. No-one expects everyone who reads their blog to leave a comment. I've noticed a couple of bloggers ask for people to just leave a sign that they've been - and if you look at the comments in the post before this one you'll see that someone has left a "pebble" (o) - which is a nice gesture. But it's also fine if people just want to look. Though comments are appreciated, just saying.
S of S is fine now and back at uni. Thanks for your good wishes, Gael, and lovely to see you here.
TPE, are you serious? About writing that symphony if I get 200 comments, I mean. No need for an immediate answer, but believe me I have ways and means and cunning plans, none of them involving (much) cheating.
I like what you say about losing sight etc. and instantly recognise the truth of this. I should know this all by myself of course, being as how I'm so good at leading others to the rivers and streams of creative flow. But it is ever thus, Mr. Guru, that they who have all the answers trip themselves up at the first hurdle. Anyway, I shall do as you suggest, have already begun in fact.
The thrilling pointlessness, yes. For did someone not once say: where all systems fail, poetry begins (but not trying to start a fight, honest)? Or, the point at which one loses the point is really where it begins; the point, I mean.
And to acknowledge and celebrate each other's gifts is the stuff of life, and something to that effect should hereafter be forever inscribed on the banner of MOCDOC.
Good things flying back to you(not the same ones you sent, obviously, I'll keep those - different good things I mean).
It just gets better and better. A piece written especially for you, how cool is that. You are a muse : )
I love the music, and would very much like to hear more. If the Gentleman in question does happen to read this I am intrigued to know - is it two cello tracks, or a cello and a viola or something else entirely? And does it have a title, or will Song for Signs suffice?
You sidebar award from PE is absolutely out of this world. Fantastic!
Gael, I don't know if it has a title. Untitled is ok by me though. Between you and me, I kind of picture that TPE got some musicians especially, that they are playing in that room that we see every time I click on the button.
Kahless - hello! Yes, it is :)
Oh dear, yes, that's true, Signs - dispensing advice is all very well and easy. Personally speaking, I can dispense all sorts of cunning wisdom - quite brilliantly, too, if I say so myself (which I do) - and yet remain, to all intents and purposes, an absolute car crash of a human being. And we're talking mangled Trabant here, Signsy, not some swanky Aston Martin with a lightly dented door. Nightmare.
But no, you greedy blogger, you may not have a symphony for your 200th birthday/comment. It took me forever to perfect such poor sound quality, Signs, and there is only so much applause one can add to a piece before people start thinking “he’s just doing that to cover up dog sneezing noises from the kitchen, you know”. It’s a bitterly tough life for a Trabant-maestro lite, to be sure.
Nicely done re Gael, though. It’s probably best she thinks I’m psychic for the time being and not just some needy guy with way too much time on his hands, relentlessly stalking your home. I don’t want to frighten her away, not yet. (Keep this all under your hat, Signs. Shh.)
Hello again, Gael - Signs is right about the lurking stuff. I know, it’s incredible, but it was always likely she’d stumble into being right about something at some point.
It's true that it's lovely to receive comments - when my own blog is open, then that's my favourite thing - but visiting without commenting seems perfectly fair enough to me.
I've been waging a tyrannical campaign against another visitor to these pages - Nicola - trying to terrorise her into setting up her own blog. Don't tell her, please, but it's actually totally unnecessary. I think it's possible to participate fully without setting up your own home. I didn't used to think this, but I do now.
Don't worry about a thing, just do as you please and leave a comment if the mood takes you and sail silently by if it doesn't. If you find it a bit difficult to imagine introducing yourself to complete strangers - and it's definitely quite a nervy thing to do - then following the links from this site is as good a place as any to start because the chances are high that you'll receive a nice welcome from the people found therein. Just say hello. Everything else follows on from that....
Left hand, cello. Right hand, viola and violin. It took me too long to work out how to achieve this setting on my new swanky keyboard, but sometimes it sounds pretty "real". Trying to play the thing so that it sounds like a violin, say, is an enjoyable challenge. I'm seriously hampered by not being able to read or write music, though, and have very clunky and limited skills on the piano (self-taught, fingers look like they're having a fight).
Plus, until I learn some new skills, I have to record everything in one go. No room for depth or layers, then, let alone different instruments. I'm left with a watered-down approximation of the bedlam inside my head.
Hopefully, next time, I won't have to resort to recording the sound through a digital camera, though, with an immoral dog clanking sneezily in the background. Something to aim for, certainly.
Kahless - you seem wise. Very wise.
Signs - you finally saw the bird fly past the window? Happy days.
TPE, I think a Trabant has a real kind of retro chic to it now actually. You are just incredibly rockandroll, aren't you?
I'm a bit piqued about the stalker thing: because, put it this way - Madonna has one and I'm just as good as she is (in my fashion, obviously). So I don't see why I'm to be deprived. It's almost a necessity these days for anybody who is anybody.
And about this supposed keyboard business you were telling Gael: I'm sorry, but I happen to believe that there are proper live musicians in that room who come to life and begin playing whenever I or any visitor presses the button. I see no reason to change my mind about this.
This brings me to the business about the bird. I want to see the bird, I believe there is a bird but I can't put my hand on my heart and say I've actually seen it with my eyes (though I've done everything you said). Seen it often in my imagination, though, and am always expecting that the next time I push the button it will favour me with a sighting.
There are two possible conclusions - either I am not yet sufficiently enlightened, spiritually I mean, or you are having me on. Like in the Emperor's New Clothes.
Or my very expensive titanium varifocals are not up to scratch.
But whatever - I feel the bird's presence, TPE - I do, really.
*coughs* I'm glad you came out and said it Signs, I can't see the bird either.
Mr P.E. if it is possible I am even more impressed to hear that that was your good self on keyboard. Who needs to be able to read music if you can come up with something that accomplished? Though keeping an entire symphony in your head may prove a little more taxing.
I am not actually a total blogging virgin. I have had a photo-blog for years, and have a wide circle of friends through that - not all of whom are figments of my imagination. As for the lurking, a simple 'Hello' seems a bit lame, but I am rather taken with Signs' concept of pebble leaving. That smacks a little of leaving a stone on a cairn, which has always appealed to my northern soul.
And as for Song for Signs, it has become my revision theme tune. I'm hoping that when I sit down on the appointed day I shall be transported from a smelly gym into a serene pastoral space and will enter 'the zone.' And who knows, the bird may even materialise for good measure, which would certainly cause a stir...
Signs, how good to see you back and all your lovely company here. If tpe is a mangled Trabant, I am a bicycle with the spokes fallen out, but I venture out in wobbly fashion into the light of this place to say hello (to Anna and tpe too). Have enjoyed the Crimsonhood tales over at your other home.
Enjoy your weekend.
Right Gael, this really is beginning to smack of an Emperor's New Clothes situation because you strike me as an intelligent person with (probably) decent eyesight. But still, between you and me, I am giving TPE the benefit of the doubt. Well more than that, actually, I've got the weirdest feeling that there really is a bird. It can be quite effective in life, though, to simply deny the existence of something one can't see oneself, no? Absolutely. TPE? My immortal soul may be in danger here.
Nicola! Where have you been? Well you don't need to tell me, but damnation, I've been wondering where you got to. And, as you can see, your name has been spoken here - so clearly you are psychic too.
I love old bicycles. I just do. And think there are more spokes in yours than you realised - well you manage to travel here, at any rate. Have a good weekend. Freewheel a little.
I'm off to Oxford for a night.
No, in TPE's defence, I must speak out (much as I'd like him to trot around in his Imperial Garb), Signs, Gael (hello, incidentally, Gael, it's totally lovely to make your acquaintance. Where's that photoblog of yours? I wouldn't mind a look in. I too have a photoblog but it's a sadly-neglected oft-ignored nook where I don't often bother going, it has to be said. Anyway...). I have seen the bird, the bird is there, not just figuratively or symbolically or any of that stuff, it's a flesh-and-blood-and-feathers bird which flies past the window as TPE states, and more or less at the moment he quotes too (around about 00:34 running time, or something, unless I remember wrongly?). Granted, it's not a huge bird, not like a heron or a Scottish Eagle or something, just a wee song-birdy type winged creature, but brazen as hell at that. And very obliging, because it will come back and do it again and again at the quoted moment, right on cue.
But Nicola, hello right back (you don't mind, do you Signs?). I've left you a little pressie under my name, since you've revealed your true identity as a clapped-up old bike (and Signs, you can share in the cycling since you confess to liking old bicycles too). I am sort of hoping this little ditty will make you feel all good and jolly about yourself (and maybe that would encourage you to open a blog, too. I know, I know, TPE's given you absolution from blogging but I still think it'd be fun if we could come and hassle you at your house, too).
Anyway, that's all I came to say. I think. Enjoy Oxford, Signs, and everyone else, enjoy wherever you are.
Hmm. I may have missed a trick, Signs. There is, in fact, a bird - as Anna Foreigner correctly states. At about 35 seconds, beyond the first line of trees in my garden, zipping from right to left at the bottom of the screen. It’s there. Blink and you miss it.
Now, however, I’m wishing that I’d said there was a lion or, I don’t know, a huge big snippy-snappy crocodile. Somehow, you see, I would have then forced you to utter words along the lines of: “there is no crocodile in your garden, Englishman, and nor, in fact, a lion.”
This, of course, would have allowed me to pounce all over you with a cry of “show me your God, poet”. It would have been brilliant. Your life would have entered freefall and everything would be ruined. A good day’s work for me, certainly, and terrific fun all round (except for you, obv.)
I would have run the very real risk, however, of having you say: “yes, that’s one mighty fine lion in your garden, TPE, but my eyes are always drawn to the guy in the balaclava.”
Now I would know that my film showed no such thing, but how would I really know? At the very least, my garden would become totally out of bounds for some considerable time as I scanned the footage and started up with some nervous and belated praying. So maybe we both missed a trick, after all?
I liked the thing you said in your last comment about the Conservative Party, though. (Now I just need to sit back and wait for you to deny having said such a thing. Victory will surely be mine. Incidentally – don’t bother. Anything you offer will be met with “but I believe that you said it, I feel it, I see the words before me, right there. You just need to look more carefully and with an open mind.” I must say, however, that I’m v. surprised by your exceedingly right-wing views, Signs. I think, with this new truth I have just this very moment seen, it may be an idea to ask everyone else not to shop on a Sunday – just, you know, to be safe. Discuss.)
Oh Signs, I never tell jokes outright – they are merely cunningly weaved into my beautifully elaborate finger-splurges – but when you hinted that my Trabant status afforded me retro chic and made me (potentially) quite “rockandroll”….well, unbidden, and therefore not my fault, I immediately thought of “rockandstall”. Seriously, I was delighted with this, so I hope to goodness you are at least smiling.
And read your own blog, Signs, stalk yourself. I’ve caught myself doing this many, many times. It feels even dirtier than stalking someone else and so adds to the sense of a corrupted wellbeing. Invaluable. I bet Madonna doesn’t stalk herself, the loser.
As for the live musicians in the room thing….I like to think that, too, and can (almost) make myself believe it. I’m doomed. Doomed. I can always tell when I’m on shaky ground when entering into an argument, you know, because the ground feels shaky. Handy that.
Lucky duck, Oxford is gorgeous.
Gael - hello hello. Who ever said anything about a bird? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. If you come back and quote me as saying “there is, in fact, a bird. At about 35 seconds, beyond the first line of trees in my garden, zipping from right to left at the bottom of the screen. It’s there….” then I’ll need some proof that I ever actually said such a thing.
In fact, come to think of it, can you prove that you haven’t seen the bird? (I should have asked Signs that one. Dang.)
Snap, by the way. Leaving stones on cairns has always struck me as being a simple and beautiful gesture. How northern is your soul?
Anna asks the correct question about your photo-blog, although I appreciate you may want to keep it private. No harm in asking, though, I always feel.
I'm trying to remain fetchingly modest and humble at this news of your new revision music. But God alive, Gael, I'm made way too happy to remain modest for long. So do be careful, please.
Nicola - you broken old bicycle, you. Hello straight back, it's lovely to see you out and about again. I love the old style bicycles, too (same goes for cars, actually). And if you are a knackered bike, then I am the rusty bell that no longer rings and has fallen, quite useless, to the road.
We could have a Monty Python sketch on our hands, you know. Beautiful to see you.
Anna Igloo - quite right, too. In everything. Always. (Usually)
Feeling a bit better, I hope? x
P.E., anna mr: for what it's worth, my Moblog which is n way of the same calibre as these esteemed pages, but nevertheless my own little niche within the blogosphere.
I shall now try to spot this elusive bird - any excuse to listen again : )
And thank you for the greeting anna, I shall pop by your blog soon
and profuseapologises for high-jacking your thread, Signs.
Oh my life. No, you are not a blogging virgin, Gael, I can see that now. You are a (mo)blogging legend.
Ninety-six pages and just under two-thousand images and you've been doing this blogging thing for longer than most of the people on this page. Deary me. I'm starting to regret having offered you what must have seemed like such patronising advice (although not enough to stop me from patronising you - or anyone else - in the future, bafflingly).
I don't think Signs will mind, you know - she's good that way - and I don't really think that you hijacked anything, anyway. I think it's exciting to have this window to your world here, like a a tiny tear in the fabric of space and time, opening up into a parallel universe. Beautiful.
It all feels so new and different to me, I'm afraid, as I've never seen - or heard of, in fact - a moblog blog. And is that you with the ice cream? And are we allowed to comment there? And and and.....
Thanks, Gael.
(Signs - hope you had a good time in Oxford and have got yourself home in one piece.)
Oh oh. I echo the Englishman's sentiment (I often do because he is always right) (hello sweetheart), Gael - you need no advice from a beginner such as I. Thank you from me, too, for the address to your house - and if you have comment notification in the moblog world, you'll find I haven't the Englishman's decency because I have already started to harp on, on an old thread. I would like to assure you, though, that whatever you choose to do, if and when you visit my house, is fine - if you'd like to say something (and a "hello" is a perfectly valid and oft-adopted thing to say and do), do so, anywhere you want - old thread, new thread, wherever (I'll let you in on a secret and tell you that from time to time I've had some very old threads frightfully busy and active), or if you prefer to look around silently, that is equally fine. Everything goes and you're most welcome.
Signs? Hello. You're back from Oxford, my psychic powers tell me this. Hope you had a lovely time - we've been keeping the intellectual salon going nicely in your absence. Mwahs all round...
xx xx xx
Dear P.E., no one has been at all patronising, quite the opposite! It's a bit like moving to a new school, they do things a bit differently, and the lay-out is unfamiliar, but hopefully no-one actually bites, and soon you feel at home. Moblog is just a bit more punchy, probably because of the mix of image and text. Yes, you can leave comments, Anna has worked it out already : ) And the young lady eating the ice-cream is, most emphatically, not me - half my age for starters! There are traces of me there though, if you dig deep enough : )
I look forward to open season on your blog, one day...
Anna - rather than me further abusing Signs hospitality I'll pop over to your house to introduce myself properly
Signs - thanks again, and hope you enjoyed the dreaming spires
Gael, you are positively not abusing my hospitality. Listen to what TPE says - he's right about everything, you know, (which is why I believe in the bird even if I can't yet see it) and actually I like people coming in and feeling at home. I'm a hippy, Gael - open house, home-made lemonade and hash cookies, for everyone. Chocolate brownies, I mean (hello officer, and a cup of tea for you?).
Well anyway, I'm a bit done in after Oxford and doing the new post. Have a nice time in Finland, but know that you're welcome here on The Edge too.
TPE and Anna, lovely to see you here - always. Too tired to say anything but Mwah!
and (wohxiprt)
Hey Signs, welcome back from Oxford - only now you're leaving us once more, this time to go to Berlin? Have we done something wrong? Starting to get a complex here.
(See you when you get back, traveller. I hope the trip is rewarding. Oh – and your post on ME was beautifully rendered. Really quite something, Lesen Der Zeichen.)
Gael - okay. Got you.
Yes, the layout is very unfamiliar – I’m more stuck in my habits than I thought, clearly – although, in truth, I even find Wordpress blogs dizzyingly different and unsettling. I’m going to need to learn how to say things less cumbersomely, I can see, because the in-house style seems zippy and to the point. Did Anna manage to keep her comments short? If she can do it, then that’s all very well – but it doesn’t help me one bit.
Glad I didn’t patronise you, by the way, although do, please, give it time. Thanks again for the window into your world – I’ll try to not make a racket as I climb through it.
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