The Pound, The Chancellor, Mr Salmond and Scotland

It's such a dreary and depressing title, but the subject is, at times, very depressing. Oh not because of the vote coming up in September but because of the 'intelligent' debates being held on both sides of the fence.

As I see it, the 'Yes' campaigners will have us, in Scotland, believe that the day will be brighter, life will be easier and money will be plentiful, if we vote for an independent Scotland.

The 'No' campaigners will have us, in Scotland, believe that Mr Salmond is the devil incarnate, we will all be penniless, homeless and ultimately stupid if we vote for an independent Scotland.

I have gone onto the web sites for both sides, to get some information. Perhaps I should have watched a debate on Question Time, but sadly it would seem the BBC no longer want to wander north of the border for this debate, so I am stuck with reading the opinion and facts from those taking part in debate. I have also read the paper (paper! hundreds of papers) released by the SNP and it's not an easy task to understand.

I have asked questions on both sites and have been called a 'troll'... on both sites. Now, I am not a little hairy beastie, running around with a club, nor am I trawling to initiate a riot, I just want more information. But sadly, I am left frustrated and depressed.

Each debate seems to dwindle into an appalling name calling farce.

I, was definitely voting with my heart, until Mr Osborne's visit to Edinburgh, whereby he announced in a hotel, one mile from the Scottish parliament building, that Scots would not be given the right to use the pound, should they vote for an independent Scotland. Since his visit, I can't say my heart is involved at all.

Mr Cameron makes an announcement regarding Scotland with the Glasgow Commonwealth banner behind him, and is 500 miles from Scotland.

How disrespectful. Please note, it's MR Cameron and MR Osborne and MR Salmond. All hold senior positions in government, one is the leader in the Westminster government, the other the chancellor, and the other the leader of the Scottish government, respect where it's due, it doesn't cost anything.

Three different parties managed to come together to agree that the pound could not be the denomination used in Scotland. This after the governor of the Bank of England, made a public announcement saying that there could be an agreement put in place for using the pound.

Three parties with nothing in common, they disagree on the aged, the disabled, the poor, the sale of British organisations, the NHS….but they can agree on Scotland not being allowed to used the pound. What a sad state of affairs.

I have never been any good in debate, I listen to both sides, I have perhaps gone into the debate with a set idea in mind, but I do listen to both sides. When I hear explanations from one I have a tendency to agree until I hear the opposing argument, and then I agree with them. I have not the intelligence to understand why both sides are right, it's just that some parts of the arguments, on both sides, ARE RIGHT.

I cannot understand, for example, why we cannot be an independent country and cooperate with our neighbouring countries. The UK have been cooperating with a US government on many subjects for years, so what is the problem in working together with a country separated by a wall that is hundreds of years old?

I have many friends in the south, I have family from the south, because I choose to vote a certain way, does it mean we are no longer friends? Is a Scottish nationalist really something that should be talked about in such a derogatory ways? You may come back with "you say the same about the Tories"…true, but that's because only 16% of Scots voted for them! And it's not only Scots who have a dislike of the Tories, the north of England joins in with that derision.

There are some Scots who will throw into the argument pot, the four hundred years of oppression..it's a fact that truly needs to be put to bed and focus should be put to the future, not the past.

I sigh when reading this because it does depress me, I hate the thought of my friends in the south thinking we are anti-English, I have no doubt there are some who are, but 90% of Scots are not and simply want the decisions of their country to be made, by their country.

Some comments have been made  about the cost of keeping Scotland, there have been comments saying "good, we'll be glad to be rid of you", "we can now sing the second and third verses of the national anthem" and "whingeing Scots" (I truly don't understand this one, why are we whingeing to ask for independence?) So I'm fairly sure in the south there are some anti-Scots but I'll bet the majority are not, yet we only seem to hear - and read - about those who have these sentiments.

A fair debate, one using facts not made up stories, a panel with made up with an equal amount of support, from both sides of the debate. One that does not have racists from either side, one that has people who love their countries. Is it too much to ask? It would appear, yes.

So until this happens, I have another 7 months to read as much as I can, although my heart has made my mind up, but I will keep on reading and learning and hoping that our neighbours will support us, whichever way the vote goes.

Places, Camera, Action....Crack...Grrreeeeeee!!!

     On 9th December I broke my ankle!

     I was sober!

     No I was not climbing stairs, a ladder or anything going upwards.

     I was on my front doorstep, six inches, maximum of concrete. Stretching up to fix our new, security light, adjusting the timing, when I lost my balance, fell backwards and heard the snap of my bone!  Aarggghhhh!

     I have often wondered what I would sound like in a terrified scream, I had hoped it would be similar to those ladies of our silver screen, being hunted by vampires, chased by demons or followed by weirdos.   Unfortunately not!

     I have the delightful scream of a maddened warthog... I grunt....loudly!

     It's so unladylike.

     At the time, however, I can honestly say femininity was the last thing I cared about. I glanced down, positive I would see a bone protruding through flesh, but no, just a big fat swollen leg that matched the grunting scream.   My son assured me I'd probably torn the ligaments and I took the proffered pain killers and crawled upstairs to bed, where I lay miserably for two hours recalling the snap echoing around our cul-de-sac.

     How did nobody else hear it? Or my disgruntled woes? Because it was Christmas, that's why!

     Now, me, I'm a mad supporter of Christmas and this year was amazed with my organisational skills, and thank the heavens I was, because for the next three weeks I had to sit, shut my mouth, apart from saying "thank you" as all preparations were done. I am not, I discovered, very good at sitting and keeping my mouth shut. I am, I've learned, very good at eating, a natural act preventing me from speaking,  and I have a seriously brilliant gift for putting on weight.

     It's now six weeks since the dreaded "break night" and I return to hospital on Thursday to learn whether or not the bone has to be secured with a pin or not.....I pray, not because if I have to sit around any longer I will be first in line for the audition of Jabba the Hut because I know there's not a hope in hell I'll get the screaming lady part!

Oh No...now the sex scene!

     I am very proud of myself!  I have now written 24,000 words in the first book of my Park trilogy.  Seven chapters.   129,000 characters. 1,700 sentences.  800..... Well you get the gist of it. You will also recognise the fact that, once again I am procrastinating.

     Definitely procrastinating.

     I am now at a point, in the book, where 'the sex scene' has to be introduced.  

     Don't get me wrong, like many others I like to read a good 'thrusting' scene.  If handled the right way (and I am still talking about the written prose here people...minds out of the gutters please!) it can develop into a very ..... Interesting, inciteful, 'phew, did someone turn the heat up', 'wish it was me' and 'they really don't make men like that', kind of a scene!  And instead of detracting from the storyline, it can just fuel more of your imagination.

    I cannot say I like the biological written sex scene, which really is the graphic one, or the one that changes all our sexual organs into pulsating, throbbing or engorged members.....how painful  Nor does 'lady lips', pooling or dripping and laving make me want to read any further. What are these women? Walking washing machines?   As to finger poking....puleez, no thank you.  

     No, writing about a good fumble, hot passionate kisses, an understanding that clothes are beingtaken off, more sultry kisses, falling into bed, onto the sand, among the trees, wherever, leaving out all the mechanics.  Add in a few thrusts, a wee bit screaming and then allow me to use my own imagination to conjure up the heat, the chemisrty and the act and I am a very happy bunny.

   Your own imagination is far more powerful than any explicit piece of written work.  Think of the emails, texts, facebook remarks you've misconstrued and have sent you looking for a frying pan, to knock someone's lights in.  Or the tears you've shed from that same source, when you've read a few words, you  have perceived as kindness, flattery or even love.

     The pen is definitely mightier than the sword, more so now than ever before, as we unfortunately hear of another young person taking their own life because of words she or he has read about herself/himself.

     Again, here I am digressing and procrastinating!

     What is the cause of this reluctance in writing the sex scene?  Well, that's simple, my three, main female characters are based on my lovely nieces.  These same nieces I have watched grow up into the beautiful young women they now have become.

     I changed their nappies (admittedly not often) I kissed their tiny heads when they were covered in baby fluff.  Two of my nieces live a distance fom me, so I received the school photos year by year.  I watched as their teeth fell out, started school, went to 'big' school.  To now write about them having sex....well, it's just not right!  And I know it's not THEM but fictitious THEM but still....
 
  So I will once again rely on my imagination and will not write the explicit, the unnecessary or the weird sex organ scene.
 
    Nope, instead...... they'll be 'doing it' in the clouds with angels!   Now that I can cope with.  

   

Lisanne's Books & Thoughts: Ross send me back 500 years...Technology UGH!!

Lisanne's Books & Thoughts: Ross send me back 500 years...Technology UGH!!:      My nephew, Ross, posted  today on Facebook asking the question, "if you went back 500 years what knowledge or technology could you prov...

Ross send me back 500 years...Technology UGH!!

     My nephew, Ross, posted  today on Facebook asking the question, "if you went back 500 years what knowledge or technology could you provide"?

     Bless his heart, Ross thinking of the best mankind might be able to contribute, what a guy.  Me...now if I went back 500 years I'd find the sperm donor that was he who started the chain of events that would lead to the birth of computing!

     Sounds a bit daft, I know when I am using a computer to actually do the blog that I wish hadn't been invented!  But after a week of DNS, USB, URL, PDQ, LBW, UPURS, I can say I truly despise computer technology, and all their horrible acronyms.   Why can't you just tell me the cable thingy with the double heads, plug them in and make sure the switch is down.  It's not that hard, but boy do you lot enjoy making it sound complicated.


     When one is told -
"The domain and the package typed and numbers are displayed select the option to begin transfer if there are no included domains left for the receiving package there will be a charge associated with the transfer please reference "What is an included domain" for more information. The charge is the same as the domain registration fee please reference the "website for domains" for the fee associated with this type of domain name then click ok to transfer but the transfer will not take place for another 24 hours please check the "website for domains" for reassurance of transfer then check "the website has changed the domain"

     WHAT?????

     Please give me something that simply says "PRESS THE BUTTON MAX!!"

      But the WORST of all has to be the magical "link".  That nasty little git in the corner, that if you don't "link" the right way, your amazing website, which has taken five trillion hours of time to build up and it still only has your name, (of course with private address) your photo and a couple of pages you have managed to understand can be added.....but the "link" doesn't direct anyone to your website, NO, NO NO! Because you forgot to input a + or a { or a # or even a < so anyone wanting to see your abysmal attempts are redirected to.....Kazakhstan!  I tell you that advert with those wee ferrets isn't far out.

     So, Ross, send me back 500 years and I'll write you a letter. 

Old??.....Who, Me?.....NAH!

I have, of late, questioned the idea that....now don't be shocked....but, perhaps, and it is just a possibility remember, but there's a chance I might be getting older.

Oh it's not the occasional ache and pain that settles into the knees or hips, that makes me hop instead of walk and has me sounding like an owl.. "ooh, ooh, ooh"...nope.  
It's not even the grunting I do every time I bend down to pick something up!  
The need to have a sleep  in the middle of the day?...No. 
Wanting tea instead of a gin and tonic?....No.
The "oops, it slipped out!" noises, that make you shrug your shoulders and grin embarrassedly? ...No.
Remembering songs from the sixties/seventies even eighties?...No.
The boys having to programme new digital watches etc? ....No!
What about sex, ...what about it?
Looking at Led Zepplin/The Rolling Stones and thinking they're ancient when, as a kid you told your parents they were so old fashioned and that Mick Jagger was just "groovy"......(yes we said that not....... "awesome)
And there are hosts of other reasons that, at present, my memory won't allow me to access .....not to worry because at two in the morning, I will suddenly wake up, my 'eureka' moment, and the other reasons will flood back!  Then, I can thank the Gods of "who needs to sleep" as I am left to ponder, for the next five hours, as I sit wide awake listening to the slumbering noises of the house.

No, the reason I think I must be getting older, is meeting an old woman and helping  carry her shopping only to be asked, "are you Lisanne......you were in the year above me at school!"

Oh my, I know I'm getting older.

Apparently he's not 'special' any more...PC police gone mad

Should some of you not know this, I have an autistic son, who has severe learning difficulties, psychotic outbreak syndrome and suffers from four variants of epilepsy.  Doesn't sound too much fun, does it?  I suppose to you, or I, the 'normal' ones, it sounds horrendous, but to my Michael it's all just a way of life.

My support system has always been my family, my husband, sons, brothers and my friends.  Of late I have to add some of the lovely people I have 'met' on Twitter. Sometimes just a simple phrase, a word, when life is extremely difficult can be a life line.  I do not use that phrase lightly, it is a sincere statement.

We are lucky, in that Michael's psychotic outbreaks have reduced, but every now and again, a three hour screaming in my face will happen.  When I, later, work back to the 'trigger' that has caused an episode, it all makes sense.  At the time, of being screamed at, sense is not a priority. Survival is.

Despite this and all the worries that go hand in hand with having an adult autistic man, he is "my Michael".  We have experienced the worst a family could endure but, in life, there is a ying and yang.  I have sometimes wondered  if there is a God and I completely respect those who say there isn't and add that this is no pious sermon, but there have been moments, with Michael, that have been, miraculous and have given us a glimpse into the place where he lives.  His smile.  A cuddle.  His first words at age seven.  Trying hard to control his temper. Looking at the moon.  Wanting to be Peter Pan. 

He is special.   

He is disabled.

He is special, to try and take those simple words away from the description of my wonderful son and all that he is, is political correctness gone mad.