Category Archives: Uncategorized

The 1951 Rolling Review Show … # 159

The 1951 Rolling Review Show … # 159

Welcome to the 1951 Rolling Review Show which features pieces of music I have enjoyed at some time in my life. I hope you enjoy them as well. Let me know if you do. Sometimes I feel that each song here is a little personal voyage for me on a vast and beautiful ocean of musical memories. Thank you so much for joining me. I really appreciate your company.

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I, Writer …. # 25

Routine Matters

I, Writer …. # 25

Hello

I seem to remember telling you that I now have a new cat.
Her name is Kitty. She is almost 4 months old and her favourite food is Felix tuna flavour. She sleeps just about anywhere and has recently taken quite a fancy to the wooden fruit crate in which I keep some of my old writing files.

I also have a new desk. It is quite small and fits in nicely by the window. Try as I might it is stubbornly refusing to eat. I asked in the pet-shop if they had any tasty desk nibbles. This was just before they threw me out.

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I, Writer … # 24

Routine Matters

A couple of days ago I reblogged a post from Kate over at 4AM Writer. She’s called 4AM Writer because she does precisely that. Highly recommended.

Anyway, I woke up really early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked at the clock. It was a little after 4.AM.
Freaky or what. I lay awake and got to thinking – 4AM Writer lives in America and is 5 hours behind British time which means she’s 9AM Writer as far as I’m concerned, me being over in Scotland and all. So I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Back to my dream about drinking beer on the Moon. Time-zones are for wimps.

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I, Writer … # 23

More mad ramblings from I, Writer over at Routine Matters.

Routine Matters

I, Writer … # 23

TOSSED SALAD

A short dialogue I overheard when my ear was pressed close to a bowl of salad at a friend’s birthday party.

Your eyes are like limpid pools of starlight. Your skin is as soft as a kitten’s fur.

What about my hair. Do you like my hair ?

You’re a cucumber. You don’t have any hair.

And you’re a tomato. You’re not exactly hairy yourself.

Well no, but …

You’re just jealous.

Jealous ?

Yes. You’re jealous of me and salmon.

No I’m not.

Yes you are!

Look … what you two get up to in a sandwich is non of my business.

Anyway, lettuce told me that you were getting very friendly with a courgette.

Yes. We were at Eton together.

You mean you were eaten together ?

No. We were at Eton together. He was in the year above me.

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I, Writer … #22

Routine Matters

I, Writer … #22

I, Writer has a new furry addition to the family …

KITTY

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I, Writer … #20

Routine Matters

I, Writer … #20

Cry me a river …

I mentioned a wine called Writer’s Block in a recent post.

My pal Dermott Hayes over at Postcard from a Pigeon very kindly left a comment in which he mentioned a brand of Irish Whiskey called Writers Tears.

So, I think I’ll go and cry me a river …

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I, Writer … #19

Happy Monday folks. This is from my other ramblings over on Routine Matters. Go on. Reblog it. You know you want to. 😁🌹

Routine Matters

I, Writer … #19

WRITER’S BLOCK FOR SALE …

Writer’s Block. I rather liked the sound of that so I ordered one on eBay – £2.75 + Free postage.

OMG! Cheap or what. I mean, it was coming all the way from bloody China. How they can afford to send something that heavy and not have to charge postage is beyond me. Absolutely insane. The postman had to actually drag it down my garden path and damn near gave himself a hernia. It now takes pride of place on the mantlepiece between my Captain’s Log and my Housemaid’s Knee.

Also, when I visit sunnier climes I’m always sure to pack my handy tube of Writer’s Block. Smother it on. Lie back and enjoy the scenery. It smells like rancid cheese in a sewer rat’s armpit but it certainty does the trick.

I also keep several bottles of Writers Block i

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I, Writer … #18

Routine Matters

I, Writer … #18

Total Global Nuclear War in a Waste-Paper Basket …

Many years ago, before Twitter was an egg and trolls were just annoying creatures with nothing better to do than scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting travellers, I wrote to several well-known British daily newspapers. I was trying to sell them articles about all manner of things from the price of fish to the likely consequences of total global nuclear war. I didn’t hold out too much hope of getting anything published but these things must always be attempted in any event.

Anyway, just in case my efforts weren’t accepted (and believe you me, they weren’t) I had adopted a face-saving ploy. This ploy was absurdly simple and centred on the subject of waste disposal.

I told them – “If, in the unlikely event you choose not to snap this article up and prefer instead to dispose…

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I, Writer … #17

Don’t forget to follow my other blog if you’re not already so doing.
You should if you like writing quotes or finding out about the work routines of other writers … plus the odd bit of plain daft. 🌞🍻👒

Routine Matters

I, Writer … #17

Much of a dayness (Part Two)

(Click here for Part 1 in case you missed it)

So here I am back at the table tapping this post on to my Kindle notepad. It’s almost 2 pm. and the wind sounds pretty wild out there. I always seem to hit a tiredness barrier at this time of day. Sometimes I just go and lie down for an hour in graceful surrender. Or I may go out for a walk and try to blow the cobwebs away.

Our cottage is situated in the beautiful village of Turnberry on the west coast of Scotland. It’s only a few minutes walk from the beach. Tell you what. I’m going for a stroll. Why don’t you come along and I’ll show you around.

This is the view from just outside the cottage. There’s usually cows and sheep grazing in the field…

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I, Writer … # 16

Routine Matters

I, Writer … # 16

Much of a Dayness (Part 1) … a.m.

I have been living in Full-Timeness for a little over a year now.
It’s hard to describe a typical day but with images taken here I will try.

At some point in the early morning I rise. This generally consists of a somewhat unwilling transition from horizontal to vertical. I open the blind and look out through the window just to make sure I’ve not been spirited away to the Village during the night.

I blink my eyes a few times. Everything looks normal. That’s definitely the garden out there. Good. I knew it wouldn’t let me down. Now I won’t have to answer any stupid questions about why I resigned. Not that I did. The security services are a bit neurotic about things like that. No. I went easy like a good man should.

Breakfast consists…

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