Monthly Archives: January 2013

Ode To The Blogger

Ode to The Blogger
A blogger is a writer,
First and foremost, this is so.
A master of the written word,
A mummy in-the-know.
We’re clever and impassioned,
We’ve a canny way with words,
We write the things that interest us,
We’re longing to be heard.

And yet, for me, the blogging world’s
Becoming too elusive,
The groups and chats are forums
Somewhat complex and exclusive:
I know not what a “plug in” is,
“Self Hosted” is a mystery.
The techno world is prevalent,
The fountain pen, but history.

Would Plath or Wolf or Austin
Have reviewed the latest slinky?
Would Atwood, or Du Maurier
Do carnivals or linkys?
“To be or not to be” it seems no longer is the question,
“To follow or no-follow”
Is instead the new obsession.
HTML – what the F**K? I haven’t got a clue!
And even leaving comments has become a right to-do.

ENOUGH! Say I, I’m sinking,
In a world of techno babble.
A word is not a proper word
Unless it counts in scrabble.
So take you “codes” and “badges”,
Take your “pingbacks” and your “themes”,
Take you “widgets”, “stats” and “templates”

I haven’t got the foggiest,
I know not what they mean.
I officially declare,
That all thing’s techy aint my scene.
I’ll just crash on with writing,
Cause the rest seems just a farce,

So you can keep your techno jargon
And shove it up your . . .

. . . ULRs.

Love Minty x


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Odd Conversations With Grace: Part 1

“Mummy, Mummy, will you break my head?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh sorry – will you break my head please?”

“Will I break your head?”

“Yes.” Nods with satisfaction.

“Do you mean kiss your head, Grace? Do you want Mummy to kiss your head?”

“Nooooooo” looks at me like I’m stupid. “I show you.”

With the patience of a carer looking after the elderly, she advances and places my hands either side of the top of her little head holding them firmly in place. She then throws her head rhythmically from side to side whilst chanting . . .
“Break . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head”

“Grace this is a bit weird.”

“Break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . .”

Stops long enough to absolutely collapse with laughter before resuming the game.

“Break. . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . .”

Her enjoyment in this bizarre activity is so infectious that I can’t help but laugh and play along.

“Break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head” We chorus together as we merrily fling Grace’s head around. Then a picture springs to mind: of Grace at Nursery telling her key worker how Mummy grabs her by the head and tries to break it. The game swiftly ceases.

“Let’s play something else Grace, this game isn’t very good.”

“Ok – let’s go break Daddy’s head.”

“Yes let’s go break Da . . . oo NO Grace, let’s NOT break Daddy’s head.”

We pause a minute, pondering what else we could play.

“Grandma’s head?”


She gibbles off, I assume to find another game that doesn’t have implications of violence. I was wrong, (of course). She swiftly returns with her very annoying talking Peppa Pig soft toy.

“Mummy, my break Peppa’s head?”

“Er . . . yeah, ok.”


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Project 365

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