Quote of the Day

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

William Shakespeare - The Tempest

COOTS

Conversation overheard in Hyde Park:

"Are you born again?"

No, actually. Reincarnated.

Counting Sheep

Sleep. Its so easy to take it for granted, until you don’t have it. Then all hell breaks loose. Not really – if you haven’t slept, then you wont have the energy for hell. In fact, burning to a crisp in the fires of damnation might sound like a good way to go. It would probably be more peaceful.

One person that doesn’t take sleep for granted is Lucy Kellaway, as she documents in A Point of View on the BBC website. I seem to have a frighteningly great deal in common with her. Apart from visiting Chinese doctors. I haven’t had that pleasure…

‘I went to visit a Chinese doctor. Ah yes, he said, insomnia. Very serious. He looked at my tongue and shook his head. Was I worrying about anything, he asked. I said I was worrying about not sleeping.
By way of reassurance he told me that insomnia had already made my hair dry and skin wrinkled and would in time lead to organ failure and early menopause, and would also destroy my relationships with my family and colleagues. Even my mum, I think, wouldn't have gone that far.’

The really frustrating thing is there isn’t really anything you can do about it and lying there worrying just makes things worse. I find that getting up for a while and doing something else, before going back to bed and trying again to sleep sometimes helps. But often it doesn’t.

‘Alternatively one can give up trying to use the time productively and count sheep instead. Yet this didn't work for the singer Robert Wyatt. In his song Heaps of Sheep, the animals, once counted and over the stile, refused to go further and piled up creating a vast writhing heap, causing the sleepless singer to be so traumatised he could no longer even close his eyes.’ Lucy Kellaway

Being without sleep is like torture. In fact, it is often used as such. It wears you down, leaving you more and more like a gibbering wreck. Unable to think, unable to do anything but sit, staring like a zombie, but with your mind still whirring like the exercise wheel of a gerbil high on sugar.
And heaven help anyone who tries to talk to you. Ratty (or gerbilly) doesn’t even come close. Hyper and running on adrenaline one moment, close to tears the next. You know what’s worse? ‘Missing out on sleep may cause the brain to stop producing new cells, a study has suggested.’

Well, that’s just bloody great. How very typical of my life. I can’t sleep, my brain cells are giving up and I’m going slowly mad.

Ok, ok, those of you who know me know I’ve been mad for a while. But still. Going slowly madder.

Withdrawal symptoms

So, glossing over the fact that I just tried to spell ‘withdrawal’ with a ‘c’ ('witchdrawal'? don’t ask…) I’ve just realised I haven’t watched any Time Team in aaaages. Other than about 5 minutes last weekend when I was being distracted by people talking to me, which doesn’t count.

How has this happened? Well, I know why – no access to a TV for the last, oooh, couple of months, has prevented me from watching that glorious programme.

So what can I do? Um. Not a lot. *cries*
Does anyone know if Time Team is available on DVD? Is there even a market for Time Team DVDs? Other than me, of course…

Quote(s) of the day

Cole: Why would I ever not want to talk to you?
Phoebe: I don't know, you know, just in case you thought I was a drunk or a lunatic, or a drunk lunatic.


Cole: Don't you think you're being a little paranoid?
Phoebe: With my demon ex-husband from hell?

from Charmed (Seasons/Episodes unknown...)

Autumn Equinox

It’s nearly the autumn equinox, one of the eight Sabbats (major festivals) of the Pagan calendar or ‘Wheel of the Year’. In honour of this, I thought I’d explain a little bit about the Sabbat (sometimes called Mabon).
The Autumn Equinox is one of three harvest festivals in the Wheel of the Year (the other two being Lammas at the beginning of August and Samhain at the end of October). It is a festival of thanksgiving for the harvest, of celebration for a (hopefully) good yield and a time of slaughtering livestock and preserving food for the winter ahead.
It is also a time for relaxing and enjoying the ‘fruits of the harvest’ (although with this year’s credit crunch, we may need to be doing more storing of fruits than enjoying…!)

The change from longer days to longer nights as dark conquers light is closely associated to the Sun God’s journey from strong (in the Summer) to aging and dying (in Autumn) until his eventual death (at Yule) before his rebirth and growth (in Spring). This is middle age transforming into old age with its declining strength.
This change is mirrored in the turning of the Earth Goddess’ year: she is changing from Mother (maternal, productive, warm and caring) to Crone (symbolising wisdom, healing and rest) before her death and rebirth as Maiden.

Autumn Equinox traditions are primarily based around the last sheaf of the harvest. This was sometimes woven into a large man or woman (a la ‘Wickerman’ but minus the human sacrifices) and burned in celebration. The ashes would be scattered on the fields to ensure next year’s fertility. In some areas, the last sheaf was stored safely through the winter and ploughed back into the field in the Spring.
Small corn dollies were sometimes made from the last sheaf and kept in houses during the winter as a protection from evil spirits.

Groom me...

Its official – stroking causes humans to feel pleasure…
And hugs, of course.

So will I be taking it too far if I purr?

End of the world/weekend

Why, oh, why do Monday mornings have to happen? Can we not just skip straight to Monday afternoon? Or how about Tuesday? Wouldn’t the world be a happier place if we went to bed on Sunday night, dreading Monday morning and instead woke up and it was magically Tuesday…

There’s something about that moment of dread as you drift off to sleep: ‘No, no, damn it! Must…. not… sleep… must… postpone… Monday…’ There’s that little knot in your stomach, that utter misery of the weekend being over. Even if your weekend hasn’t even been that great (and for the record, my weekend has been pretty close to perfect) you still don’t want it to end. And it has nothing to do with your enjoyment of work/school/uni/retirement/other existence.

I think I know why. It’s about control. Well, it is for me anyway. I love having the flexibility of suddenly deciding to read my book for half an hour. Or go shopping. Or stay in bed. Or have a drink. I don’t like being told what to do. Yes, I’m a typical woman. Stubborn as hell, and for no good reason.

So what I really dread about the week (other than not being able to be in a small village in Hampshire) is not being able to do what I want, when I want. I’d happily work into the evening, take 30 minutes to wander around Hyde Park, 5 minutes to do the washing up etc etc. And you know what? I’d probably get more work done…

Or perhaps not. Perhaps what I really want is a 6 day week – 4 days working, 2 days off. Much better.

Quote of the Day

Britain’s most famous fertility symbol is having an epic makeover. Volunteers are to re-chalk the 180ft Cerne Abbas giant. Warden Rob Rhodes, of the National Trust, which owns the site, said: ‘He is hard to pick out.’

from The Daily Mail

Am I very childish that I find this funny?!

COTS or COOTS?

So I’m planning on starting a new semi-regular topic called ‘Conversations Overheard on The Street’ or COTS. Or possibly COOTS, I’m not sure yet.
It amazing what you overhear as you wend your merry way along streets, roads, paths and bridleways. Some of them can stop you in your tracks by their sheer stupidity, some because they sound so interesting you wonder if it would be considered strange to strike up a conversation with the utterrer…
This will be a fairly rarely updated topic, due to my habit of wandering around with headphones stuck in my ears. But occasionally I go out ipod-free, and sometimes I hear things….

‘I’m so fed up with all these good-looking guys with less personality than a hamster. I’m switching to interesting guys - I don’t care if they’re ugly.’

And today's award for least-shallow person in London goes to…..