Women’s day…? Really…?

Now here are some thought provoking comments on Women’s Day. Check out the full story 😀

That middle class girl

Year after year, I keep asking the same question to myself and to my friends, but never have received a satisfactory answer, ever. Why do we need women’s day? Why a day is devoted to us? Why has it been so much commercialized and media making a big deal out of it? Why do we need a day to remind everyone that we are equal or that we women are strong and powerful?

Wait..is there a day for men? Like a Men’s day or something? Or is it that every day is Man’s day but we women need a day to celebrate our being.

Ages have gone by, but till today, in this modern world, we women are asking for permissions, we are confirming our equality by giving ourselves a special day, we need a confirmation to feel special, we need a confirmation to feel strong. We need our men…

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world arthritis day

Ever thought dance could help you? If you read what Anna has to say you may be surprised 🙂

Streets On Pointe


Due to world arthritis day in couple of days I would like to say some things about dance and how dancing could relieve the pain of arthritis

Having a waltz around the room or enjoying a yoga class can work wonders for millions of people suffering from arthritis, say researchers.

A study found hospital-based exercise programs such as Pilates, yoga or dance fitness can relieve the pain of the disease.

American scientists studied at the effectiveness of exercise programmes run by the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City.

They found the weekly programmes significantly improved enjoyment of life and balance, and decreased pain and the severity and frequency of falls.

Sandra Goldsmith, director of the Public and Patient Education Department at HSS said: ‘When participants were asked to report their level of pain severity, there were statistically significant reductions in pain from pre- to post-test.

‘Pain is a…

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Whitby, Count Dracula and Fish and Chips

When Bram Stoker arrived at Mrs Veazey’s guesthouse in Whitby in 1890 did he imagine that 128 years later there would be a ‘Dracula  Experience?’ Probably not 🙂 Dracula Experience

But, a trip to the library, Abbey and graveyard and he had the seeds of a story. All I got were a few photos and a blog post. In the library he discovered  Vlad Tepes, a geezer who impaled people on wooden stakes during the 1450’s (and you think Donald Trump is bad news) Bram also heard about a Russian ship the Dmitry sinking off the coast some years earlier and ‘voila’ he had a tale about Count Dracula surviving a shipwreck, landing at Whitby and then wreaking havoc. You know the rest, if you don’t check out Christopher Lee. Personally I always found the whole vampire thing quite sexy, but back to the post. The drive to Whitby skirts the North Yorkshire Moors, barren or beautiful? I’ll let you decide.

Whitby is also famous for Whaling (until 1837) Fishing, since the 1500’s,  Captain Cook  a Goth Weekend  (great post from  and of course something close to all our hearts and stomachs Fish and Chips.

I indulged in the Fish and Chips (of course) and at the Quayside I was intrigued to see a notice informing me, not only where the fish originated from, but identifying the trawler. No fish from Whitby, hmmm sign of the times maybe? What about diversity!? I hear you cry. No? oh OK 😦 How about a Tattoo Studio alongside a traditional Fishmonger?


Did I mention it that it was pouring with rain? Anyway after a walk along the harbour and seafront it was time to head home, Captain Cook’s house was closed and I wanted to see the Abbey.

The origins of the Abbey date back to the 657 which is long before our old mate Vlad the Impaler and his wooden stake act. It’s spectre still looms over Whitby today and I can see how it caught Bram’s imagination.

So even though it was a cold wet day in Whitby it was quite lovely; especially the Fish and Chips and the scenery is not half bad even if there were no sexy vampires haunting the alleyways 🙂

Posted in Entertainment, History, Life, Opinion, Travel, Whitby | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

7. Fear is the MindKiller.

This is definitely worth a read, Jacqueline has a really interesting take on Fear 🙂

Jacqueline Marie Alberto

Things I’m afraid of:

  1. Sharks
  2. Alligators
  3. Fish
  4. Bugs
  5. Airplanes
  6. Ghosts
  7. Movies about ghosts.
  8. People with gun, knives, or other sharp destructive devices.
  9. Destructive devices.
  10. Eyes falling out of sockets or losing limbs.
  11. Out of body experiences.
  12. Whatever it is that happens when my mother finishes counting to 3.
  13. Surprises
  14. Failure
  15. Performing stand-up in front of a big crowd.
  16. Wasting my time.
  17. Talking to my crush.
  18. Texting that one guy and asking why he suddenly wanted to be friends out of no where.
  19. Making the first move.
  20. Gaining massive success and realizing it wasn’t what I hoped it would be.
  21. Dying.

Remember this for later.

When I was in training, I was asked to chant the phrase, “Fear is the mind-killer,” while performing an excruciatingly difficult exercise in which I would take a cue from a man banging a stick into the floor, slowly descend my upright body into the ground, while…

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SILH (10) Lets Join the Foreign Legion (Part 2)

Ahh, breakfast in Paris, OK it wasn’t the Champs-Elysees, but the bread and coffee was good. After a few days Corporal Yarring told us we were taking the night train to Aubagne, Marseille, the Legion’s headquarters and selection. Selection!? No one had said anything about selection. I had expected to be on a camel by now, but apparently there were five hundred other people with the same idea. Ken and I had a sinking feeling. “Don’t worry,” says the Corporal. “Keep out of trouble during the selection and you’ll be fine.” He hadn’t read SILH (7) A Penultimate Tale or indeed ‘I’m Amazing’   I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by keep out of trouble, so we asked him to elaborate. “Don’t get into cliques with other English recruits and no fighting,” he said. I was still confused as I didn’t know what a clique was and I thought we were there to fight, so I nodded using that ‘gormless face’ as my Mum used to say.

The train was great, when someone fell asleep we put matches between their toes and lit them or just painted their face with a marker pen. Eventually I arrived in Marseille with no sleep, no matches and a dry marker pen 🙂 Upon entering the selection camp there were other young men shouting, ‘any English?’ I put my hand up, of course and that was that apparently I was in a clique.

There were lots of tests and when we returned to our billet people had disappeared. Literally disappeared. One day Ken disappeared. This was a little disconcerting, so a few days later when we were at the hospital waiting for another test I asked our German Sergeant. ” Où est Ken?” He frowned at me (I’ve met happier men).

“He is gone, you want to go with him?” I declined his generous offer and returned to my seat. As people disappeared new people appeared, then one day we welcomed into our clique Otto. He was a very large German chap who, we all decided, would be very handy at a later date. Otto’s primary disfunction was that he loved to fight – anyone.

Several things happened around this time. I had chosen the 13th Demi-Brigade as my future home and with my diving/construction experience Combat Engineer as my new career. They shaved our heads, well apart from the Greek guy who, just as the shears were about to make their first pass, pulled off his shaggy wig. Someone did a poop in the showers and there had been several fights, so at the 0530 roll call one morning Sgt LeGrain informed us of these misdemeanours and explained that he had been shot in the Algeria conflict (I didn’t get the connection either) He did make it very clear that fighting and pooping in the shower was punishable by exile. That morning I was detailed to help in the kitchen and observed chef shooting Blackbirds with an air rifle. I didn’t understand why until that evening when there were two little birds on my plate.

Then disaster struck, we were resting on our bunks one evening when ‘little Tommy’ ran in and said that Otto was getting a hiding in the showers. Corporal Yarring’s words didn’t echo in my head, sadly. Our ‘clique’ ran to the showers and had a jolly good scrap. Hmmm, the next morning after breakfast we were escorted to a broom cupboard (yes really) We stayed there for about 2 hours until everyone else was out of the way then walked to a corridor where a man behind a hatch tore up our contracts and told us we were history. We were put on a train back to Paris and released into the wild once more. Oh well 🙂

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Till When this Rape Culture will continue ?

Rashmi makes some very important observations here, so please give it a read. 🙂

Peek a boo

Friends, this post is not a blog at all, I am writing this for the purpose of awareness.

2017 is about to end and nothing has changed.
Today morning I was scrolling my Facebook and I came across a thrilling news that “A 8-year-old girl in Pune Brutally Gang-Raped by 6 Minor Boys from her Neighborhood.”

A 8-year-old Girl? what has she done?
She didn’t even know the meaning of ‘RAPE’.

Damini India Raped Death
I think India is not the country for girls because every second girl is getting raped by her neighbor, relative and sometimes even by her male family member.
Boys, have you ever think about that pain she has suffered because of you?
Have you ever think about the torture that she has gone through because of you?

I think that Rapist is not only the criminal but society too.
Here I am…

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SILH (9) Lets Join the Foreign Legion (Part 1)

I enjoyed sharing my experiences in the SILH series so I thought I’d write a little more (narcissism? Hmmm) Anyway, I had returned to Jersey after the Spanish adventure SILH (1to 8) and I met a very pretty girl, so that was me, always a sucker for a pretty face. We got on well for a couple of years, but I’m not doing the whole break up thing. I’ve had the great pleasure of knowing many beautiful women, some married me and some didn’t. I have no excuses, no remorse, no animosity and as far as I’m aware we’re still friends. Alone and forlorn I found a friend, Ken (no he wasn’t plastic). He had escaped a jealous boyfriend (don’t date girls whose boyfriends are in prison) a car chase and a shotgun in Manchester.


One drunken night we decided to join the Foreign Legion.Now, once I have an idea I believe it has been written, I probably would have made a good Bedouin. So I called the French Foreign Legion and they said no English until April, this was June, so we went anyway.  We spent several days in France walking, hitch hiking and asking politely, “Where is la Foreign Legion mate?”  my French from school extended as far as “Mme Tibou a acheté un nouveau chapeau.” ‘Mrs Tibou has bought a new hat,’ it wasn’t helpful. One day we met a friendly shopkeeper and with a series of hand signals and despite her laughter we established the phrase we so badly required. “Où est la Légion étrangère s’il vous plaît?” We decided to get a train to Paris.


I do not recommend walking through the streets of Paris asking, “Où est la Légion étrangère s’il vous plait?” In the early 80’s there was a certain stigma attached to young men wanting to join the Foreign Legion and so people shook their head and hurried away, leaving us baffled. Sometime later as the tumbleweed blew by, an old man pointed us in the right direction and explained many people who join the Foreign Legion are on the run from the law and not escaping a false accusation as portrayed in Beau Geste. At least the gate lived up to the reputation.                      c4cfb383ec3d11666f82a47759fc313f

I knocked on the door (really). A small hatch slid open to reveal quite the most fearsome face I had ever seen. “Oui?” He grunted. I politely asked the face if he spoke English and the hatch closed. At this point we considered running away, but decided to stick it out and eventually the great doors opened and we were escorted to some seats whereupon man mountain said “Wait” (I think) he definitely grunted something. As we waited  young men kept appearing with sticks which they hit into their hand in a most aggressive manner. I presumed they were trainee Legionaries or maybe on work experience, but eventually we were rescued by Corporal Yarring, a Cockney time served Legionnaire. He explained that they were full and could we come back tomorrow? He asked us if we had any money as he didn’t want us sleeping rough and that we may find it hard to get a hotel as the Paris Air Show was on. He then told us not to believe articles in the newspaper and that they don’t break recruits limbs or bury them up to their neck in sand. I wasn’t aware of said articles but felt some relief all the same. We were told to report back at around ten thirty and sent away, a little bemused. We found a hotel which could be described as ‘seedy’ if you consider stepping over two drunken prostitutes in the doorway as ‘seedy.


Upon our return the next morning Corporal Yarring explained all the new recruits had been shipped out to Marseille the night before, so now there was room for us. He promptly took all our belongings and clothes and gave us some ‘combat greens’ to wear, which strangely enough were ex US Army. A day later we were ushered into an office where a high ranking officer explained some ‘stuff’ to us and we signed a five year contract. So our adventure had begun. Our first job was to place huge rocks around the tennis court as a sort of feature, so far this Foreign Legion malarkey semed OK. Things have changed during the past forty years I guess  Legion Etrangere (this is their Facebook page) 🙂 Next week, ‘Off to Marseille.’ 🙂

Posted in France, Life, Military, Opinion, people, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Denby Potteries

You know when your darling partner says can we go……… and you have that impending sense of a wasted day but you agree because you know that somewhere in the future you will want your angel (an angel is sexless so could be girl/boy or any other form of human life) to accompany you on a wasted day? This particular day it was Denby Potteries to purchase a new dinner service in their 60% sale. I have to admit this wasn’t on my lifetime bucket list, certainly not up there with Macchu Picchu or the sale of my first novel (still waiting) but hey, I guess even Hemingway ate from plates, we all have our needs and hers today was a dinner service, so I acquiesced with good grace. The drive through the beautiful countryside of the North of England was enchanting. it’s heartwarming to know that people can survive in such an environment.

Eventually, surviving what could be reminiscent of a nuclear winter,  we arrived. I was surprised how large it was and delighted to discover they had a restaurant. I’m a very fickle person, promise me food and I’ll go anywhere. It struck me that there may be a blog post here (we all do don’t we)

After a scoot around and a bit of snapping with the iphone it was suggested we eat. The food was very good and the service friendly. It was time to spend some money, so off we trundled to the shop. It was there that I discovered that you can take a tour and ‘have a go’ now that would have been fun, but they don’t do them on Saturdays, which I can understand as the factory is probably closed. We entered the shop and I have to admit I was impressed their range is very good and chip proof which is one reason we were there. Our IKEA pottery wasn’t chip proof and my co-ordination isn’t what it was.

Now it began, these or these, or even these. I always take part knowing full well the decision has quite possibly already been made and I am being guided slowly but surely to the correct choice, all the different designs were examined and eventually there were two left this one IMG_0825

and this one                   IMG_0826

I pondered and shuffled uncomfortably, it was scowl or smile time. As the drum rolled I chose the latter and she smiled. Eureeka! I had passed. We paid, loaded up and headed back through the frozen wasteland home. 🙂


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Live to Dance: Kizzy’s Story (Last but not Least)

If you’ve read Live to dance, Dance to Live then you will know that this is the fourth and final installment of four little girls who became dancers. I met them in Paphos, Cyprus. So, meet Kizzy Waudby

Kizzy was born in East Yorkshire and is a close friend of Emily’s  By the time Kizzy had reached three years-old she was a tiny shy little girl. Kizzy had no confidence and couldn’t look people in the eye. Diagnosed with Level 2 Autism  this affected her social ability and speech. Kizzy says, “I lived in my own little world where no one could understand me and I showed no feelings or connection with others.” Her Mum  tried all sorts of hobbies, techniques and interests to help Kizzy engage, bond and communicate with others, but to no avail. Eventually Kizzy’s Mum turned to dance and performance. Kizzy says. “My dance teachers were so loving and caring towards me and my mum was happy she and my family could finally see some progress in my confidence.”                                                                                                                                                  

I don’t know how aware, as a nation, we were twenty years ago that dance would help with autism,  but I would say Kizzy’s mum was probably somewhat ahead of her time and the practice is now widely recognised So how did a hobby that helped a four-year-old Kizzy engage with her surroundings become a career? The answer is similar to all four girls stories. For Kizzy it’s been twenty years of hard work, dedication, sweat and tears (sometimes).  Training at at a dance school four nights a week in Hull she learned ballet, tap, modern jazz musical theatre and commercial. Coincidently her first professional dance job was in Paphos, Cyprus back in 2013 when she was just twenty years old. When I met her four years later she was back in Paphos, but what a journey that had been. Dancing around the world on tours, circuses and several hotels, she also achieved her childhood dream of dancing on a cruise ship.  Her aspirations are to continue to travel the world as she loves being up on stage and dancing with her heart and soul, but long term, Kizzy would like to create her own choreography for other dancers, and to watch her routines being performed with passion on stage.

Kizzy still struggles with her autism on a daily basis but has almost broken the barrier. She says. “I want to prove to people that it can not stop you achieving your dreams and you can become independent and happy when you find the one thing that makes you shine and for me that is dance.”                                                                                                             

          So there you are the final story of how four little girls took a hobby and turned it into a career, overcoming many obstacles with an unfaltering determination, vision and belief that they would achieve their dreams because, let’s face it, that is what real life is all about. Isn’t it?

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Reblogged from Megha’s site who only started her blog in December

Musings Undwindled

A dagger stabbed right

In my chest

Would have caused lesser pain

I ponder

With my hands wound around

A mug of hot coffee

My legs crossed demurely

Of fear?

Thinking about it

Makes my wounds bleed

Dreams splinter

And an image shattered

My image

I feel desolate

In a world, mad and greedy

Where insanity triumphs

And silence never subsists

The dark shadows gain power

And finally overwhelm me

As my ears

Cease to hear

The rumors, the gossip

Mindless noise

Edged lies

Scary whispers

That ruin my reputation

Take away my friends

Friends? I guess they never were

The coffee is cold

The chilling wind sends

A shiver down my spine

As it brings with it

Voices that never stopped

Never stopped talking

And I wait here

To be free of those frightening thoughts

I wait

For a pretentious redemption?

His need to conquer

The bloody lust in…

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