love in a box

A box of scented flames arrive in London today between 2 and 3pm.

Be there!

(pretends to rub noses.)

Off I go up The Dales with a car full of tourists.

Have a beautiful day and don’t open until yours!

Quietly Quirky ©

(photo above may be my next project, If I’m brave enough.)

poisonous mud

We can be in as many places as we so desire in any format. Surprisingly it’s the ‘vindictive’ that ‘often’ deem transparency. For they’re scared. Fearing colourfulness, freedom and craft surpassing their own ‘vindictive’ appeal of ‘let’s be them.’ Or in the mud dwellers case, ‘let’s be that.’

Watch you don’t fall into the pages of the pit of your own stomach origami. It’ll eat you alive. (Perhaps it already is?)

You know … munching you up from the inside out – like a spritely bug on a grainy salad leaf, you forgot to wash. You were too busy planning the next chapter to focus on the plate – now it’s eating you back.

Have you no idea the carnage your deeds have trailed? You’ve more in common with little creepy things than you can ever comprehend. You utterly sadistic fool.

I never knew until ‘I did’ … you’re not in your senior years – as defined by birth. It’s as though you’re a spoilt minor stuck in a pool of miss-carried frogspawn. The strange thing is … you ‘virtually’ enjoy it? A mirror of your own dissatisfaction. A  perpetual coward afraid to walk free – stuck. TUT!

Cash won’t bail you out. It’s all just a loan from the darkness – your darkness – you make their darkness. You are darkness hiding behind the obvious. You wouldn’t dare otherwise, would you!

You’d be wise to grow up (come forward) and face the land from the murky depths of your troubled mind. What right do you hold to meddle with innocents. Be ashamed. Take debt for your ill intentions.

You went out your way to meddle and now look whose the victim. It’s certainly not me. I come from love. 

Til then, I send you to spin in the mud you so deviously crafted with the filth from your own garbaged existence.

I don’t know how you rest at night with your ‘sly’ history of intervention.

Make your own business worth representation and stay away from the ‘righteous’ path of others. You’re not wanted here – you tragic imbecile. You’re out your depth in a tarnished bog of poison that you’ve so shambolically crafted.

Be fearful, for I can tell the truth! Love can be hard, relentless and forever forgiving yet a memory that never resides.

Quietly Quirky ©

It’s Never that Bad

I think I’m really pathetic to admit I was bullied online. In the real world I speak openly to everyone. I don’t have any enemies. So I suppose hitting resistance all those years ago came as a shock. I’ve never been a gossip. It doesn’t interest me and when people know this they don’t pull me into their battles. I don’t take sides. I draw my own opinion.

So to be misunderstood on social media was frustrating. When I look back, it had a cycle. I would wake each morning, feeling very depressed by it. Look at the source, then instead of planning how I would make ends meet, I instead thought about ways to defend myself. I am proud, as not once did I tell anyone how bad things were. Not even my children.

I believe if we have a problem with someone we should speak face to face and then it’s no longer a problem. But with online attacks, you can’t do that. So it never stops. There’s never an opportunity to nip it in the bud.

When I look back I think it’s all really childish and I feel sad I let it beat me and earning a living. It nearly killed me. It wasn’t the situation but more the force behind it. In a face to face situation, they’d not have a chance, because I tell the truth. I will never understand how any person would want to attack someone who had lost her home, livelihood and self confidence. I would never do that. My quotes, sentiment and battles would transpire through the work of them. And nobody knew except me. It was as though they were stealing my soul. On reflection, I think they wanted to make me go away. A volunteer, a fundraiser, campaigner. How could that offend anyone? But it does. And, the most unlikely. There’s some funny folk out there who are not as they seem.

In turn, it’s allowed me to set up groups and seek people out who feel voiceless. That’s why I spent my time on Twitter helping people who may be feeling the same way I did. It put me off ‘celebrity’ for a while. I was scornful at the whole subject. But I’ve since realised it was one person and his shadow. That everyone is ‘indeed’ very lovely and helpful. I am as great as the next person. If not greater. I endorse that. But for a while, I felt worthless and that was only due to statistics.

I hope the future is not going to be built on shares and likes as that’s not art. It makes people feel excluded and insignificant. We all need to help each other up. It can even save a life!

Quietly Quirky ©

Rachel and Evie

This is Rachel in her yard. She’s such a sweet girl. I’ve tried to fix her up with my son but went a bit overboard as I invited her for supper then popped out (for an hour.) When I returned, they’d both gone home. Probably not the best ‘host’ idea I’ve ever had. Rachel is an accountant. She works long days. She always involves the community. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to help others. Little darling. She lives with her four cats.

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Quietly Quirky ©

My Street will be Missed

I am now crying. Am really going to miss this house. I’ve had two and a half years here. It was only supposed to be a few months but I sort of fell into a trance. Many of the people on my street are women who also live alone. We just wander into one another’s gardens. We all share too. If something’s of no more use, we put it on our walls, so others can help themselves. It’s a lovely idea.

As I sit here now typing, there’s silence outside. It’s a peaceful place. They even have their own Facebook page named Burley Cats. There’s plenty of the fluffy things around here and boy do they get noisy at night! It’s cat fights galore. I love the sound of cats after dark.

I did have two bad neighbours (well … very noisy ones.) They’ve left now and a Polish lady rents there. She’s lovely. On the other side it’s three flats. I am not sure how you can make three flats out of a terrace house? My basement kitchen on the other side of the wall is someone’s entire living space. Her name is Livvi and she makes vegan fairy cakes. She’s got a tiny herb garden outside too. A warm-hearted character. Then there’s a band on the upper floors. A cool lot. In-fact they’re all cool around here. I think I’m the oldest. But I get accepted (probably because I go to the shop in my pyjamas.)

I used to put pictures of my house on the internet, a stupid thing to do. I got a death threat so it sort of fused out the inclination to share my living space. Yet, people are lonely and they like to see ‘real’ lives. A grey area I guess. There’s so much loneliness out there. I get lonely. Like I always say, you can feel it in a crowded room. But I’ve always had hobbies. I’m rarely bored.

I don’t want to be someone who relies on the internet for a fix. Life’s too short. Blogging I can deal with as it’s an expressive platform and I learn so much from here. We can learn and then we can share so others learn too. That’s why people should not try to silence others.

Quietly Quirky ©

A Cheesemonger

The friend who I went to Amalfi with was a Cheesemonger. I learned a lot about food with him. He even supplied world cheeses to the Royal Family. Once he invited me to Highgrove to meet Prince Charles. I didn’t go. I had three jobs at the time and could not afford the privilege. Not that I really wanted to be there that much. Had it been the weekend it would of been a different matter.

He was a manager at Paxton and Whitfield. We met when he came to me to get his hair cut. Yes, I was a hairdresser (stylist director to be precise.) But I lost the craft. Haven’t held a pair of cutting scissors in years. It was just a journey. Anyway, I made a big impression on him as I told him a very rude joke about an elephant. We just couldn’t stop laughing. Our friendship went on from there.

We had such fun together. My friend was gay and we would conquer Soho. I love Soho. It’s my favourite part of London. I love London.

My great uncle Frank was a Beefeater for the Queen. I’ve been visiting London all my life. Need to get back. Although, it’s changed. Many parts I loved are now dumps. It’s true. Overseas people buy extravagant homes then leave them empty to rot as a long term investment. Disrespectful, if you ask me.

I wonder how my friend is. Or whether he is still alive? The last I heard he was in South Africa. (The man on this video is random. Not Jeremy by the way.)

Quietly Quirky ©