antistatic cleaning fluid.

Well no, this is the wildflower bit in Youngest's garden.


I had a thought for a post the other night and so, just now, hunted around for a piece of paper on which I know I'd written a keyword or two. all I could find was a shopping list including the above and such riveting stuff as dried ginger, green milk and gunk. (nice smelling white gunk please for removing evil black greasy gel-like gunk on my non-stick frying pan).

Now I know people who could make a hilarious and thought provoking post out of this selection and could introduce a note of serious political meaning and make you wonder if you should in fact be leaving the country or at the very least, throwing out your dishwasher/silk pajama collection/dog/hoover/husband...But I am not one of those people.
And on another piece of paper I had written "sitting on the fence"

I do this.

Since I was brung up as a posh, spoilt, brat in Croyden (and the St Anne's Convent School in Sanderstead), transplanted to the rural and earthy atmosphere of a grammar school in Devon, whisked without a lot of preparation to the Manchester High School for Girls and then shifted unceremoniously to The High School of Art and Music even further into Manchester (under the shadow of the Strangeways Prison hanging tower no less), I have had to develop considerable camouflage abilities to survive.
"H", barked the general studies teacher at HSoA&M, "you have pefected the art of sitting on the fence. In the last few minutes you've made points that support all three sides of this discussion. Any chance we might ever learn what you actually think? Do you actually think?" "er, no sir, yes sir, um."

What I'd learnt was, what I thunk and what the natives thought were worlds apart and our assorted experiences hadn't equipped me to know what feathers to wear or them to understand where I was coming from....though wherever I went, they all understood posh, spoilt and funny accent.* Lacking ready wit or innate sweetness I sat on fences. I refused to take sides. I'd already hated sport (Oh do we have to have H on our team?) for years, though I did rather well at cross country running until we started doing it round and round the athletics field instead of out in the woods with the perverts and dog walkers. Not a team player, me. Well really, just not a very good player at all. Unless you count riding (not exactly horse riding...more leg-at-each-corner sort of riding in local gymkhanas and over the moors and far away).

So now when I read about what some people can't stand other people doing I either keep my mouth shut or mention the opposite (or third) point of view. The chances are, whatever it is I've either done it in one or other parts of my life or had a best friend who did it or been threatened with having to do it or desparately wanted to do it.

Taking the other point of view...no, finding another point of view, is one of my skills. But don't imagine for a moment that it means I'm a nice kind person...Oh no. I can usually find a nasty point to balance every tolerant one. But that's so much easier, I daren't let it get out of hand or I'd be doing it all the time. And it usually sounds petty or at best, pedantic so not even very entertaining. Oh and I may have said before, I'm not particularly well informed, (you can out that down to laziness or busyness whichever you like), so it's wise to work out exactly how little I know about a subject before opening my mouth.

One of the blessings of blogging I've found is that I can go to blogs where it's safe to say what I think. Other blogs where it isn't but I can still lurk and enjoy. Because I do love to hear people say what they think especially when it's not meek and mild and hampered by safety restrictions. Even more when it's funny or makes me think. (I quite like thinking now and again).

I think I've wound down now. But, Hey! I'm antistatic see, like the cleaning fluid. Metaphorically speaking anyway.

Leeks are ever such a pretty vegetable don't you think?


*There was an appalling moment when I realised that all the other people's mums couldn't afford butter and ate marge so me saying we couldn't even afford butter produced gales of laughter instead of giving any support to my argument. As I said, ill-informed and desparately needing camouflage.