I always thought that cupboard – ‘cup’ ‘board’ – was Called an elision. It is in fact a double pronoun. I looked up examples of double pronouns and decided life was too short to get involved with grammatical definitions.
But I have alway loved the word ‘cupboard’ when I saw that it was two words strung together. The etymology of it – old English blah,blah,blah – appeals to me for about five minutes. There are those who come to be ‘ologists’, those who become the definers of ‘ology’ and those who do the ‘ologising.
Like a golden eagle I prefer an overview . I’m not the little mouse sniffing out the details. Worrying over minutiae is both time consuming and necessary, but I say Fuck the necessities in life, I’ll get somebody else to do that for me.
Finding safety in the imaginative is easier than dealing with the prosaic.
So how am I dealing with getting older`? Thank you for asking.
Well sitting in one place for a bit helps. It calms the nerves.
Swearing can bring instant relief. ‘Fuck Fiona Bruce’ for example.
Prevarication is an ally.
Denial is a delicious psychological defence mechanism.
When the light is right reading is a comfortable escape.
Lucky that I’ve always found words user friendly.
I discovered ‘Sassafras’ whilst reading face down, on my bed, in my early teens. It’s an American tree so it must have been in a moody American novel.
Onomatopoeic words appealed to the Semite in me. ‘Tuchus,’ is Yiddish for bum. ‘Tuchus’ sounds like what a big arse looks like. If said correctly, as in ‘Je-suss Look at that mans’ tuchus’, it is satisfying.
Tastes change over time. Fundamental beliefs may shift and mature, but tastes can change.
I can no longer withstand, (a transitive verb not a double pronoun.) the daily News packages, I can see through them. They are less informative and more sensational.
‘Viewers may be upset by the footage….’
Well don’t show it then.
‘Viewers may wish to turn away.’
Then don’t show it.’
‘You may find the next film slightly disturbing’ Then don’t fuckingwell transnsmit it. The News has become a graphic novel
As a Yoof there were books I had to put down unable to bear the sadness. ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ unleashed something in me so primal that my wailings were heard in the garden.
Before motherhood I was quite happy to watch a horror film.
Screaming in the dark with a sympathetic companion was a personable way to fill the time.
After motherhood my sensibilities shifted. ‘Sophie’s Choice’ took me into therapy and unless the blood is Tarantinesque, I’ll swerve a ‘real’ movie. I won’t watch films about war. ‘Real’ pictures are a waste of my energy.
I get upset (adjective, noun or verb.) with pretentious wankery . Just tell the fucking story loud enough for me to hear and bright enough for me to see.
I took the old git to the cinema to see ‘Christmas Karma’ a decent distraction for a cold Tuesday afternoon.
We arrived and I had booked the wrong day. Another senior moment. We ended up watching the second ‘Wicked’ film. I have no idea whether its good or not. The colour grading was so dark could barely make out Ariana in the mist. I assumed it was because I had 76 year-old eyes. Turns out the old man couldn’t see it either or make head nor tale of the mumbling which had reached monumental proportions. Neither of us understood the story, when I woke up there was a young semi-naked man canoodling with the green witch under a tree. Only her green was so dark she looked like Farrow and Balls Peignoir’ grey, perfect for that outside wall.
They have screenings that are baby friendly, means all the kids can scream together. I think that senior showings should be very, very loud, double Dolby loud with huge subtitles.
On the way back from the cinema I took the wrong road and ended up adding another six miles to the journey. I tried to unwrap a sherbet lemon, my fingers had difficulties with the paper, I mounted a kerb.
Parked up to buy a kebab, in the middle of the road. I have senior entitlement.
I still had my pyjamas on. Ok for the dark cinema but queuing with locals – not good look.
‘They are not pyjamas’ said my clever cleaner . ‘They are leasure ware.’
So I paid the money and handed the ‘oosbind a big polystyrene box of fake meat, chilies and salad. The kebab will last us for three days since we both eat like birds.
Two of our fiends have died within the last two days.
Staying alive requires good genes and a friendly approach to life even when it deals you a shitty hand.
Pack your up troubles and put them in a ‘cup’ ‘board’ then count your blessings. (verb)
“Middle English blessinge, from Old English bletsunga, bledsunge, state of spiritual well-being or joy”