For God’s sake, try and be funny.  September is running away; tomorrow marks the 20th anniversary of 9/11; the weather is indescribable; my beloved car has been condemned and I’ve just been advised – in a well-known supermarket – to start stock-piling for Christmas as shortages are pretty much a given.  Just keeps on getting better!  Did I mention the White Stiletto has re-emerged from the bowels to spread her particular brand of ‘cheer’ with the introduction of COVID passports in October, a government focus on ‘gender correction’ (?!) and, of course, her reason for living – yawn, yawn – another independence referendum so that we can vote ‘NO’ one more time and with feeling.  Best of three?  For those, seemingly, blinded by her bountiful charisma, I envy you.  For the rest of us, the frustration, the anger and, quite frankly, the fear at her unchecked ego and ambition is a daily reality as one bears witness to a First Minister who has no interest in the mundane running of the country; mere trivia when all one covets is one’s name in the annals of history.

An impossible task, trying to be funny in these climes.  There is nothing funny!  If the incessant humidity doesn’t get you, those who aren’t already ground into submission are, certainly, teetering on the edge as the daily statistics continue, intrinsic in the agenda of fear.  Will they/will they not roll out mass vaccination of 12-15-year-olds?  Will boosters be administered in the other arm as one receives one’s flu jab?  Of course, to both.  This is a runaway train and the doors are locked …  However, what is not being reported is the mass protests around the world; the thousands, if not millions who refuse to acquiesce; to whom freedom and the right to choose is paramount.  One question: why?  Why are these protests not being covered in the main media?  The same reason the numerous eminent doctors and scientists speaking out about the dangers of the experimental vaccine, the very real side-effects and injuries – fatalities, in some cases – amassing around the world, and the unknown long-term effects are not allowed to be heard.  The alarm bells are ringing but those who do not listen shall never hear.  Maybe, on the other hand, that’s me …

Stir crazy.  Is that the word/s?  Human beings in their quest for power subjecting others to confinement similar to animals in a zoo, inadvertently affording them a lesson in how that feels.  Ironically, released after the third lockdown, these same human beings flocked, in their droves, paying money to see other living creatures behind bars.  Earth to Man, come in please!  The power to compute, is there none?  Do we learn nothing or is it just a case of wishing, merely, to exist devoid of any inclination to learn or to question?  Eat, drink, sleep.  No wonder we are where we are.  For the rest of us, it is a case of slow suffocation in a mass of the vacuous inert.

Saturday, now, anyone still reading?  I have depressed myself.  Meanwhile, to my right is a piece of paper on which I have written How To Fail.  Help!  Actually, the title of a book, I happened to hear the author, Elizabeth Day, being interviewed on the radio earlier this week.  Conversely, her own story of triumph over adversity, it is one of positivity and hope proving that there really is no such thing as failure.  Yes, there may be obstacles in the road but their navigation can lead to growth, renewed confidence and self-knowledge.  Inspiring, methinks I shall add it to my library.  Who knows, perhaps I shall even be able to look at French in a new light!

On the subject of books, Jane Austen’s biography has been returned to the shelf and I am, now, reading that of Michael J. Fox, Lucky Man.  Bought many years ago, I think this may be the perfect time to glean some much-needed perspective.  All too easy to become introspective, magnifying life’s trivialities, it is important to continue to look out – and up!  There will always be those who seem to have it all, as there will be those who would appear to have had more than their fair share of bad luck.  However, one can never walk in someone else’s shoes.  Michael J. Fox’s story is of one who did appear to have it all – certainly fame and wealth – but, in hindsight, he credits his crippling diagnosis with Parkinson’s, at the age of 29, with changing his life for the better!  He didn’t like the person he had become, the path he was on.  Faced with his own mortality, however, life gained meaning as he learned just what, and whom, was truly important.  As of now, I have only read the first couple of chapters but he writes with honesty – and humour.   Something to which I aspire.

Time to go.  My heart wasn’t really in it – could you tell?  I am feeling hemmed in and bored; tired of the mundane.  Desperate to pack a suitcase and go …  Just how desperate, that is the question?  For now, my entertainment this evening lies in an outdoor viewing of The Greatest Showman.  Admittedly, in one of my favourite settings to which one can take one’s own seats, picnic and drinks, will that be enough to overcome my/our dislike of musicals?  Dylan has already convinced me otherwise!  Oh, well, in the words of Lady Macbeth, I shall screw my courage to the sticking place …

Act well your given part; the choice rests not with you.’


This is Trish, signing off.