Gemma’s Blog

United as One

Dear Radicalised Nutters,

I’ve just finished watching the concert organised by Ariana Grande.  It was called One Love Manchester.  It was fabulous.  It sent a message out, something you won’t understand.

As you well know, 22 people, mostly young people, died when one of your ilk decided to detonate himself after an Ariana Grande concert at Manchester Arena on the 22nd of May.  Whatever he thought he would gain out of it is wrong.  Yes, he caused heartache, such a lot of it that it is, in fact, heartbreaking.

You used a car on the 22nd March to run through innocent people on Westminster Bridge and yes, you killed people.  You killed one of our police officers.  But you will never beat us.

What you lot don’t understand is that even though we are often divided by political opinion, football alignments and many other things in our every day lives, we stand united against you.  We always will.

You hired a van on the 3rd of June and you strapped fake bombs to yourself.  Why fake? Is it because you are so useless that you can’t even make a real one.  Did you think that by wearing these false vests you would alarm people? It might have done but despite all that, the public told you where to go.  By throwing chairs and tables and glasses and bottles at you because we are basically telling you where to go.  Before our beloved police ended your rampage, yes, you did get your kitchen knives out and you killed and you hurt people and we will mourn them but YOU will never win.  An off duty policeman took you on because he was trying to protect other people.  This is us.  We will always protect each other, we will always stand united against you and your ilk.

When you try and divide us all you do it unite us more and more.  When you detonated yourself after the Ariana Grande concert you killed people and you seriously injured others.  We hurt, we did hurt.  But we didn’t fall apart.  That’s not what we do.  There will be concerts in the Manchester Arena, people will drink in Borough Market so you haven’t won anything.

All you have done is take lives.

And you can’t dine out on that in your horrible flats with your horrible friends because you’ve died doing so, because you are so cowardly that you will also die.  For what? Virgins? You don’t even realise that this is a false claim, but you are stupid enough to believe that.

You’ve hi-jacked a religion in order to “justify” your behaviour but now that religion is starting to fight back against you.  It’s taken a while but it’s happening.  People who follow the religion you say you follow are reporting you, and they will continue to do so.  They aren’t frightened any more.  We’re helping them to stand up against you.

Just know that Manchester tonight is what we all think – fuck you and your attempts to cow us.  It will never happen.  You can sit, seething, in your manky homes and decide to hire a van and load up with the knives from your wife’s kitchen set but you will never beat us.

You will NEVER beat us.

LOVE

The UK and it’s beautiful citizens

 

One Love Manchester.

One Love.

We stand UNITED.

 

Living on my own: The stress of the back bedroom

The back bedroom in my flat has fast become the utter nightmare of the abode. It’s now a room where I only go if I have to.

When I moved in the back bedroom was going to be an office/guest room.  That was the idea anyway.  I’d have two guest beds in one part of the room and my officey section in the other part.  Best made plans and all that.

First of all I’d like to point out that I call the back bedroom such because it is at the back of Fox Towers and that is the simplest of reasons.  My own room is at the front of the upper villa and therefore is the front bedroom so the other bedroom is the back bedroom.  I hope this is understandable.  I mean,

Not quite there yet!

could call the back bedroom the North bedroom and my room the South bedroom but that’s just daft.  My nana had a front and back bedroom, my parents have a front and back bedroom.  It’s like a family thing as my sister also has a front and back bedroom.  It’s basically having two bedrooms, one at the front and one at the back.  I have no idea what I’d do if I lived in a place with two front bedrooms or two back bedrooms or, indeed, a side bedroom.  This is a nightmare I haven’t come across yet and have no desire to either.

Anyway, so the plan was that the back bedroom would have a duel use and, to be fair, it has that and far more.  It’s now a laundry room and store room plus emergency bedroom (if anyone needed it).  Have I managed to get my desk in there? I have not.

The boxes in there are unreal.  I have spent four months getting rid of them while also keeping some should I need to move again even though that’s just mad because I could move without boxes and have no reason to believe that I would have to move but, hey, have to be prepared and all that.

It also seems when I get on top of the boxes and get them off to recycling I then order other things and they arrive in boxes.  However, when I get something in a box I think well it’s OK because I can recycle the boxes whereas when something arrives in a bag it just goes in the general waste. But still, that box takes up space until I have time to jump up and down on it and put it in the recycling bin.  I do my recycling once a fortnight.  I’m not one for regularly filling the bin.  Am I lazy? Maybe but really it’s just something I detest doing but will do it.  So, once a fortnight, just before the green bin is due out, I can been seen jumping on boxes, making sure all the plastic bottles have their tops off because apparently the bottle can be recycled but not the lids (🤔) and sorting through the bins in my house that are not in the kitchen to make sure I’m doing it right.  I then make several trips up and down the stairs to cart all this into the green recycling bin.

Before anyone worries that I’m drowning under recycling until I do this, I’m not.  I have an alcove in my kitchen where my recycling stuff is and and I pile it all there in bags before sorting it.  I much prefer sorting it on one night than doing it at the time.  It’s just how I am.  If I had an online dating website profile I’d probably add that.  Recycles in own time. Or something similar.  Don’t rush me on recycling.  I don’t find it attractive.

Anyway, the back bedroom is a focus yet again.  I’m not going to get away with the fact that it’s going to be part laundry room.  I live in Scotland, I need a place to dry things for when I can’t get them outside.  This is 90% of the time.  Although I have, recently, managed to get out towels, linen and general laundry out on the line for a fantastic blow on the line.  In Scotland this is an achievement and has been discussed at length with family, friends and people at work.

I reckon, if I put the effort in (😅) then I can, in the next couple of months, get it into a state of storeroom, bedroom and laundry room.  My office is going to have to remain in my living room.  This is fine but I’ve no storage so now I’m going to have to look at a new desk to accomodate this which I will do.  Although, if I get the back bedroom right I’ll have some storage room there.

Until then though, the back bedroom has a door that remains closed.  No visitors can see.  It’s a nightmare, for me.  Yes, laundry dries there, quickly but no guest could stay there immediately.  I just go in there when I need to and I close the door on it.  It’s where I keep my vacuum cleaner, my spare toilet rolls and my laundry.  Yet it has so much more potential.  Let’s hope we get there. 😫

 

Living on my own: Where does the washing come from?

Four months now I’ve been living on my own and for the life of me I don’t understand why I didn’t do this sooner.

I actually live on a main road now.  At first I thought this would be weird.  Going from a streets where a car passed a couple of times an hour to being a main artery for traffic.  Buses, cars and all sorts of other vehicles going by.  People going by.  Yet it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

I was out gardening a couple of weeks ago, I spent three hours out there putting up new features, planting, repairing and a few other things and the only time my attention went elsewhere was when my neighbour came in as I was cable tying solar lights to the fence.

It was, when I thought about it later, amazing that I could escape into my own world while cars whizzed by, buses full of people went past, people walked past to the school, the park or the shops.  I never noticed them.

Anyway, that is not what I was going to write about.

What I don’t understand is that now I am on my own I have more washing than I ever did.  I’ve only ever did my own washing so that’s not changed, it’s just now there seems so much more.

This is how it is.  I do a washing, the weather is crap so the back bedroom becomes a drying room.  A couple of loads later the washing machine gets switched off and the back bedroom looks like a laundrette, minus Dot Cotton.

What seems like moments later I pass the washing basket and it’s half full.  In reality it’s a couple of days later and I’ve passed the basket several times but it’s when I notice it.  Where’s this washing come from? Have people with keys been coming in and leaving me their laundry? Must be.

To illustrate this, last Friday I did four washes, the washing basket was empty when I returned it to its home in my bedroom.  The towels and bed linen were out on the line, everything else was hanging on two clothes horses in the back bedroom.

Standing at the kitchen window I felt that satisfaction you get when you see your washing flapping in the wind.  Imagining how fresh it will smell when you bring it in.

Yes, I’m a saddo.  This is where my life has ended up.  Spent years clubbing and doing things that will never be blogged about and now I get my thrills from seeing my bath towels billowing in the wind.  Younger readers, you’ll understand this when you get to my age.  You’ll also get a weird satisfaction from tidying your house.  Shiny toilet bowls will make you proud as punch and the glint off a newly cleaned window will be justification for opening that bottle of Prosecco you’ve been saving since Christmas.

To get back on track, washings done on Friday and just before I wrote this blog (Monday evening) I passed the washing basket and it’s half full.  How? HOW?

I’ve not gone into the washing basket but I have thought about what might be in it since Friday.

Underwear, yes.  Despite the fact that I do wear big pants they still shouldn’t be filling up the washing basket.  I worked on Saturday so there’s those clothes.  Still not enough for a half full washing basket.  Pyjama change.  OK.  What’s in there is a mystery.

It’s not the only thing that builds up.  Washing up.  The dishes.  Where do they come from? On Sunday I did my dishes after my early roast.  So by six PM the kitchen was clear.  By Monday morning I could see the bunker beside my sink.

Had I hosted a supper party? No but I had myself a supper of poached eggs on potato scones (delicious by the way) about nine PM.  So there were poach pods, a pan, a plate, a grill pan, a grill handle, a knife and fork, a glass for water.  All that for a snack! Add to that the cups of tea I’d had (three cups and three spoons!) and the plate I needed for my afternoon cake pm Sunday.  Then add to that my Monday morning cuppa, breakfast bowl and spoon.

How have I never noticed this before?

Of course, I have punted the dishes before when the boiler can’t be arsed working.  Why should I make the effort if the bucking boiler doesn’t? It’ll be sitting there looking all worky and then I’ll turn the tap on and it’ll flag up ERR 108 which I have spoken about before.  I cannot repeat what the boiler has been called over the last few days.  I’d surely be arrested under the Boiler Protection Act.

So yes, I have sympathy with people living on their own who just don’t know where everything comes from.  Last week I walked into Fox Towers and looked around and I genuinely wasn’t sure if I had been burgled or not.  Why was this? I’ve been working, seeing friends and family and the hoose has just been a place to sleep.  It had become a mess.

I gutted it last Thursday.  Apart from my desk, that’ll never be tidy.

In recent times I have had some strange folk following me.  Folk who live their lives on social media.  They think they don’t, but they do.  They get a bit enraged if you don’t comply with their views.

May your laundry pile lessen.

Living on my own *not a football blog*

I’m aware the whole site has become a bit Hibernian related recently and that is fine for followers who are Hibernian supporters, or even interested in football.  For people who follow me for other reasons it’s probably getting a bit wearing.

So here’s a blog about living on my own.  No, not the wonderful Queen song, but the actual act of living alone.  Is living alone an act? Who knows? It’s certainly interesting. Continue reading

Santa Forgot

This is the fantastic video from Alzheimer’s Research UK.  It centres around Santa having Alzheimers himself and not longer remembers what he does and how special he is to so many people.

My own Nana died from Alzheimer’s and I know of so many more who have too.  If you can afford it then please donate, if you can’t then sharing this helps more than you will know.

There is a cure for Alzheimer’s, it’s just not been found yet.  It’s there and we will find it.

Everyone is important to the research and fight to stop this disease.  Those who wear the white coats and spend their days testing drugs and analysing data.  Those who suffer from it.  Those who campaign to raise awareness.  Those who donate. Those who share every chance to get the message out to people.  Everyone is involved.

Site under reconstruction

Not satisfied with a quick change I have gone for the full whack.  I also want to do this without closing the site down for any reason.  All content is still available all of the time.

It is driving me slightly insane at the moment as I have to update each individual post to create the site that I want.  Well, almost the site I want.

Continue reading

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