It is coming, Spring shall rise, as sure as the blades of narcissi doth cut upward through the earth those first signs of spring have quietly bloomed. They are out there, hidden away, but there nonetheless, the fair Galanthus has arrived.



Standing shyly 'neath the trees, or blanketing as they do, the river banks, heads bowed against the late winter cold, Snowdrops,as pure and white as their name sakes, each a moment of untainted, innocent beauty, the green lace around their centre, drawing in the cold weather insects, that life may carry on, that for years to come, they may rise again.

It has been a long winter, the snow heralded it in some weeks before solstice night, and for the first time since I was very young, it has remained,and returned with frequency and longevity, a quiet life has been a necessity, for no longer living IN the country, it simply hasn't been safe to head that way, we're high up here, and the more spectacular places to stretch ones legs,are off the beaten track, beyond the realm of the gritters, I made it once, to the perimeter of safe driving, and beyond it, all was still, silent and shrouded in a deep, untainted covering of snow, such isolation and the cold was it transpired unsettling after a whilst, and the warmth of what resembles the 1970's called me homeward, to curl up, with tea, a book, and just my thoughts for company.

After a whilst though, this wears thin, Cabin fever sets in,and all attempts at writing do take on an 'All work and no play makes jack a dull boy, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy....." quality, you feel inclined to check for corpses in the bath tub, fear the smell of oranges, and dread the day you find yourself uttering the words 'Boy,come take your medicine'... So it was with a happy heart this morning, whilst checking for dog shit in the garden, wondering just WHY my shed was once again open (seriously just STEAL the flymo already) that I did espy, in the bottom of the hedge, that the Snowdrops have returned, in a week where my mind has very much been elsewhere, it was a nod, that soon, the sun will warm the Peaks, and escape will come. Proof, then that we find our own happiness in the world, that it is the smallest things that can take you from despondency to joy... A ray of sunlight filtering through clouds or a small flower heralding the coming of spring.. simple things and all that.

All will be well, and I will remain happy... fighting the good fight, in order that I may see a great many more spring mornings into my advancing years.

I join you on this crisp february afternoon, to share in the joy of flared trousers.

I cannot begin to express the state of glee I have been experiencing since Tuesday afternoon, when after many years of fruitless searching of various shops, experimenting with various styles of lesser trouser, I finally found them.. the NEW trousers which I knew would in fact change my life, or at least the duration for which I will wear one pair of trousers between washing (record so far is 10 days....)

When I say 'flared' I do not mean a boot cut, I do not mean a 'kick flare'.. oh no..

I mean at least 18 inches from seam to seam... I need, should the situation ever arise, to be fully confident that I can use my trousers as an emergency sail should I ever find myself adrift 'pon the ocean, that I could, with some confidence act as an Amnesty worker and smuggle whole families of refugees over the border, to a new life away from their plight of suffering and turmoil. Also to know that with the use of a mild sedative and some gaffer tape, I could conceivably steal several largish animals from the zoo, simply stowing them away about my calves and sauntering innocently through the gates... (frankly I think its about time the Peak district HAD wild Penguins and Pandas reintroduced.. it would make a welcome break from all the Sheep up there)

Ideally then, the flaring process, should start no lower then mid-femur... the fabric should be heavy enough to make a crumphing sound as you skip effortlessly up and down stairs, but light enough to drape and hang in a way that denote you don't have solid triangular legs... a good gauge denim will suffice, but the ultimate is naturally, a pin cord... a cord so soft its like rubbing a kitten, that catches the light with the same ethereal quality of dust on a summers afternoon..

It is with nothing short of supreme smugness then, that I inform you.. I have after years of searching found the very corduroy flares I have dreamt of for 8 long years.

In a world where high street shops don't understand there are still people who go IN at the waist, to find a cut of trouser that fits on your waist AND your hips is something of a marvel. I may never remove these trousers again.. certainly I have no cause for at least 5 pairs of inferior jeans and will be re homing them accordingly, I'll keep my pinstripes - its nice to have a suit, and sometimes being dapper is a necessity

Join me, readers, in an uprising.. let us leave behind this trend for skin tight hemlines, and embrace the freedom and smuggling potential flares can bring your lower legs... meet me on the clifftops, in a a high wind... and tonight, we'll fly.

Don't get me wrong, I know its just as song...

Some people might tell you theres ony one song worth singing, well I got my philosophy, You don't have to be lonely, all of my friends where there, falling about, we took a left of last laugh lane, and I am lsitening to hear where you are, clarity.. just confuses me, I guess I just wasn't made for these times, if only I coud be sure that my head on the door was a dream, when the lights are coming on (and) I'll be there, there she goes, standing in a field alone, I'm hiding in the trees with a picnic, we stayed up baking all night long.


this reads as the ramblings of a mad woman, so business as usual in one respect, but it was my challene to self.. write something semi coherant with just song lyrics if anyone out there can name the songs, I'll be impressed...

Mahlah, Oh Mahlah

Walking the streets of Hull, you may be assaulted, and whilst this could literally happen,its a very realistic possibility in Hull, I refer actually to an assualton the eyes.

For in that fair port, convention is to look like an archetypal chav, or perhaps adopt the Kagool and tracksuit botoms look, and worse, The use of fleeces printed with fierce animals is also rife... So to see, some flame haired slip of a girl, its understandable you might be impressed.

I'll point out, before this starts sounding like some epic testimony to my three weeks as a Lesbian back in April/May, that Mahlah is my sister.

As my notes to self amuse me.. so does she....

"Gorsaf... she's like Winona Ryder"

I never truly recovered from the incident, with her toaster.. where I was berated for showing concern... and it was alleged this concern wasn't a productive addition to the dialogue.

And I haven't questioned quite what she's getting up to whilst she does her MA... but this parting gesture, concerns me..

"Well, I'd better go and make myself some tea, I'm out volunteering with the Prostitutes tonight"

Its funny what you find in Mojo some months...

Some seventeen years since she disappeared under the leaf mould of obscurity, one time songstrel Misty Waters , rises, like an unusual fungus, with her retrospective collection of not only her greatest work but also, unusally some of her worst.

Opening with the haunting strains of, 'Geraldine, its just a Giraffe' , Reflections promises such magnificence, that the listener can only wait, trembling with anticipation for which aural delights will follow, it is then unfortunate, that what comes next is something of an anti climax. The yowling and yelping that one woman can pass off as musical talent, dear reader,is initself nothing short of an accomplishment, though, one finds oneself longing, that she would follow through with her declaration that " I fear my life must end, hand me a shot gun, I'll fill me guts with lead".

Early interviews with Miss Waters, suggested she would follow in the serendipitous footsteps of the greats, her influences cited as Mary Queen of Scots and Nena (of 99 Red Balloons fame) have oft inferred she was capable of producing work that was not only upbeat, but that may evoke the struggles and slow rise to notoriety only a truly marshmallowous folkie can acheive. Whilst certainly her work has a unique quality,its not for the faint hearted, or indeed the hearing.

Breif highlights crop up, within the 89 song collection, 'Homicidal Maniac with a mince pie' being memorable if nothing else, and its novelty value secured it that all elusive Number One spot, at Easter 1990. Ardent fans of Misty,will no doubt be prepared to part with the £9.99 price tag, curious explorers of the world of truly dire music may be better, saving their cash and wating for the rumoured promotional offer coming this July, and collecting either 72 tokens from 'Ready Brek' boxes, or sending 12,000 leaves with a postage stamp directly to Ms Waters, who firmly believes she will be able to guage a persons address by the film of grime coating the stamp, along with the chlorphyll concentration of the assorted leaves.

Whilst sometimes, reader, we welcome artists back from the bowels of obscurity, in this instance, we wish the songstrel a long and happy life,in which, we hope she can find the kindness to end her musical career, and return to her life of weaving sandals from Orangutan hair, a career that see's her safely out of reach of humanity for several decades at a time.

Out of sympathy, we have ranked her album below.


"absolute shite, worthy of one star,in the vague hope it implodes, taking this monstrosity with it"

Notes to self

These are real, found spread across my kitchen over the course of today:

Emma - see if Spillers sell the Y Niwl EP online, love yourself

Emma - I am empty please fill me with fruit, love the fruit bowl

Emma - You have already taken 2 of these do NOT take anymore till lunchtime, love yourself

the last one was underneath the Nurofen... even very tired at silly o clock I'm keen to avoid an accidental overdose.

Was a time I laughed at my ex father in law for similar behaviour, though he was prone to leaving notes like ' don't forget to pick L up from work today' now, as my memory fades into a place where weird facts and peculiar thoughts lie, rather then the important information that will see me through the day, I begin to slowly understand.. that actually we, the Human race are quite stupid. Or at least we reach a point in existence whereupon we cease the urge to take in day to day information, and these notes become an important factor... how long I wonder till I leave myself a list sellotaped to my face just to make sure I do what needs to be done, not go off yeti hunting with a packet of jelly babies or something.

Anyway thats quite enough of this, I need to research the Restoration Era.

Put the brush down, there'll be no grooming here.

So online dating...

Back in December it was suggested to me that perhaps I ought to give it a go. Being of sound mind, and quite happy with my life of solitude, I laughed, quite loudly, in between gasping for breath in my mirth doubtlessly murmured a breathless 'hahahaha fack orf' (somewhere between posh and 'Len' from the Smoking room)

4 weeks later.. after silent pondering, I decided actually nothing ventured nothing gained, I really aren't likely to meet my kind of people in a bar, plus I very very rarely go IN a bar to start with making THAT method of seeking a mate something of a non starter. So I took my friends reccomendation... and registered with a reputable site, so reputable in fact you pay for the privalege...

Now its fair to say I approached the online method with the same distinct lack of fervour that I have in 'real' life, in fact its slightly easier to guffaw at peoples faces online, largely on account they can't hear you, safe in the knowledge that someone somewhere is guffawing at your own face...

Finally, it threw up someone, not in a vomitous manner, we exchanged messages, phone numbers, arranged to meet...and he was a thoroughly pleasent chap.. though we're 'just friends' he thinks its because I have children... and it could be, few people grasp that I lead 2 lives... that of responsible, world weary at times mother, and that of a 31 year old woman with thoughts, notions, ideals and streams of consciousness that don't revolve around the fruit of her loins, so much as they revolve around her loins and a hankering for adult company. Equally it could be that on the epic, 23 hour date, I neglected to be swept off my feet, landing elegantly beneath him in coitus.. because in my world, unless a meeting is specifically arranged for a thorough seeing to, its not first date material..one has a mystique to maintain.. that and the spark wasn't there, we could talk and talk and talk.. and whilst the late adolescent fumbling that proceeded wasn't by any means unpleasent, it wasn't earth shattering, and he made noises rather like a startled baboon which was as disconcerting as it was unattractive. Yes I enjoyed his company, he amused me for the right reasons,I could perhaps over time have come to grow accustomed to his noises, and perhaps when less nervous maybe that spark would have ignited.. and yet I live happily, verily I am sangiune in not knowing.. no what if's not meant to be... Saddle that horse I'm getting back on....

Only my cantering in the fields, found nothing asides an array of strange elderly gentlemen and overweight trogladyte midgets... and so I decided it was time for a change.. or more likely a giving up entirely, back to celibacy and solitude...

and then.. a peculiar little scenario developed... which folks is why I am here

One day a message dropped in my inbox... from a man with no face and very little in the manner of personal info...which raised a quizzical eyebrow from me... perhaps though he was shy, embarassed by the prospect of online dating.. so I replied

Messages dotted back and forth, forth and back.. and it became obvious he was in fact too good to be true... we had shared interests, he knew about things not many people know about, very easy to talk to.. just a little too flattering.. at which point my suspicions where roused... and I thinking now now missy.. cynics do not prosper. Though digging around gathered precisely no information... what I needed was an email address... thus I agreed to chat on MSN.

Again suspicions where roused.. I do suspicious quietly... and allow the slightly giddy side of me to at least enjoy being pursued by a mysterious stranger, what is life without a little fun.. and what is fun if not,at times playing someone at their own game.

And so 'Tom' (I'll call him Tom, it is afterall what he claimed his name was)and I chatted online.. eventually.. though not till quite late he was working... (which raised another eyebrow of the quizzical nature) and I got precisely no personal information.. though did illicit a photograph, and was if nothing else relieved he wasn't a midget trogladyte with a sweat problem.. in the spirit of things I sent a few pictures.. and gave away nothing... its gift being able to talk about anything at length.

I did a good impression of flustered.

I skilllfully avoided the IM-sex chat he was after

and with a definate working email address for him... I had all I needed.

And so I retired for the night.. a busy day as Magnum PI awaited on the sunrise.

at THIS point I suspected Tom was something of a fly by night.. looking for sex and nothing more, possibly married, and had an alarming interest in threesomes.

So the following day, armed with an email address I did the easiest search method... Social Networking sites..

Yep Married.. also NOT called Tom.

I laughed, the dark laugh of the smart alec. And pondered WHY is it that someone so keen on pursueing me, is not in a position to do so... why be cloak and dagger about it..

then I thought.. possibly he's not the brightest spark.. I mean he gave me his email address, and unless he really did think I was hook, line and sinkered by his charms, he must have thought there was a risk of being rumbled.. surely...

So yes, based on him potentially not being the brightest of sparks. I turned to my trusty sidekick, Count Google...

bashed in half his email...

and low

what bounties I did reep.

what laughter I did emit.

what on earth I wondered had I put on my dating profile that suggested *I* who's risk taking and adventurous side involves mainly driving a long way to go to gigs, taking photographs and having a coffee without sugar... would be interested in hooking up with...

A man, who not only isn't called Tom, isn't JUST married... oh no.. it gets BETTER..

he's a SWINGER.

Does his wife know he's a swinger?

so I hid for 2 days.. I blocked his email, I blocked him on MSN...

Perhaps the amazing vanishing woman act would throw him off, it was sadly too subtle...and eventually I was moved to reply.

I decided, to approach it kindly.... I had afterall enjoyed playing the role of fluffy girl, it had passed the time.. and you know one day he'll trip up and get caught...

However a gentle sorry your not my type.. and not remotley cryptic, you need to be careful searching for people online, I for my sins am as honest, upfront and open as the day is long, but there are people out there who'll mislead you and aren't what they appear

didn't quite work.. well it DID... I think he was fishing for info, as to just how rumbled he was

certainly the words 'who, who isn't all they appear? on tenderhooks x' didn't read as the shock of an innocent man...

and so it was pointed out, 'had you NOT asked that I might have given you the benefit of the doubt, but I think, you work away a lot, your into threesomes amongst other things that I am not, it'll never work, is that ENOUGH yet, *Sean?'

(*Sean is the real name of a married man)

and apparently YES yes that really was enough and he's terribly sorry to have bothered me and taken up so much of my time.


Swinging though people? now I shall pretend it was a northern faction of the effortlessly beautiful London sex party swinger elite that I was being groomed for, rather then the more realistic sweaty, pot bellied beige Y fronts bedecked gent with a wife resembling a bulldog who's not ONLY chewing a wasp but has also discovered its lemon flavour and filled with razor wire...

My car keys will remain safely in either the ignition of the car, or indeed my handbag thanks all the same... I know my luck..I'd pick out the keys to a Reliant Robin, and be sent off with a Heating Engineer called Maurice, and I assure you he'd not be a space cowboy or gangster or love.... In my garden, I grow spikey thorned shrubs... theres no Pampas grass to be seen... I recall avoiding speaking to my previous neighbours for several years because of the impressive Pampas by thier front door... I recall with some mirth how the new neighbours have at least tried to destroy it..

I'm one of those people who can be groomed all you like... but I'll still walk away tousle haired and wondering, just what I've avoided this time... I don't *always* spot it with such accuracy...


I'm hoping though to drift away from online dating... it brings out such scepticism, such cynicism.. and proves me right so very often.. well it can't be good for a girl surely.


* * * * * * *


I do not pretend to have not been flattered by the attentions of a Gentleman, and assure anyone who may be sat thinking hang on - You *seemed* quite keen on meeting him... whats not to be keen about? someone too good to be true who offers to "pin you down and attend to you" someone unphased by your circumstances... However you will also know I wouldn't have been so quick to check him out had small alarm bells not been ringing in my ears... Plus if I'd voiced my underlying suspicions and concerns, I'd have been branded defeatest, sceptical and a cynic... I do not need any MORE brandings of those things seared into my flesh.