There’s a terrific neolithic tribe in the pacific
They’ve got no cars, no televisions
No money, no ambitions
Just some pigs and some chickens
And the lost art of conversation
The League of Nations – The English Patient – Joan Of Arc
It’s gonna take some imagination
But all the best things do

Don’t try this in public or they’ll think you’ve gone insane
And it won’t be long before the men in white coats come
To take you far away

We had a comrade, a brave comrade
He could talk for whole days
But then he tried to be a hero
Tried talking ’bout Jean Miro to commuters wearing earphones
He almost die for conversation
Hallucinations – Good Vibrations – Van Dyke Parks
Greyhound racing – Steeple chasing – The Reformation
Transubstantiation – Bram Stoker’s creation
The Land of the Thracians, and right back to the start
It’s gonna take some time and patience
But all the best things do

Don’t try this in public or they’ll think you’ve gone insane
And it won’t be long before the men in white coats come
To take you far away, far away
Well here they come…

I mean your history, the stories that lead up to you being, well, you. Genealogy is a bit like dusty history, it’s names, dates, places, it’s not the story. At least not often.

Many cultures around the world from early cultures to modern day, have their own traditions of sharing their oral/written history with family and sometimes with friends. From cave paintings to email, the legends and stories of their ancestors passed down from generation to generation.

Sometimes oral/written history blends with history on a whole, Anne Frank and Laura Ingalls Wilder, come to mind. They both provided snapshots of what it was like to live in their own place in history. They left a lasting legacy of what was, to start off with, their oral/written history of their own lives.

There’s a vast amount of knowledge that is lost every day due to the tradition of story telling being lost in my opinion. When someone dies, I know there is often the thought ‘I wish I’d paid more attention’. Telling stories of our past is a tradition that I would love to see become popular again, not to mention the recording either via a type of recorded media or written/typed of that history. It would be amazing to someday go to a library or a museum and be able to read about someone’s everyday life, because it’s those everyday lives that are affected by the dusty dates in history books.

I was once described at ‘The Keeper of the Archives’ it’s a title that fits. I have kept a diary since I was 18, the love affair with it has come and gone and then come back again, but I still write in my diary when I can. I also keep my old pocket calendars so I can go back an refer to a certain date if I want to.

My Grandmother was like me, keeping all her old calendars and with every date she wrote a short summary of what she’d done on that day. I love reading them and have made a few amazing discoveries, such as just how small the world really is, discovering that she knew of some of my friends long before I did!

It’s things like that, snapshots in time, that I love.

I’ve discovered that there actually is a large number of people dedicated to oral history, The Oral History Society being one of them.

The one issue I have with the title of ‘Oral History’ it seems to discount the written side of the same coin. I believe that written history can easily dovetail in with oral history. It may be easier for the one telling the story to write it or, as in my case, it’s not possible to do the interviewing face to face. As such I believe that it should not be discounted purely because it’s not actually spoken.

I have started my own little project, on the fringes of oral history course. I have started to email my family asking them about events in the past, fragments of stories I remember hearing or being told when I was young. I have also done some research into fragments of stories I remember my Grandmother telling when I was a young and that has lead me to not only learning something new but to fleshing out what was actually a scary event, one that may even be in some long ago history book.

At some point I may share a story or two here. I have already shared The Compass that my Mom got for her tenth birthday.

I plan to write down what I remember about growing up in my little corner of history as well and maybe expand the project as a whole someday. I am after all The Keeper of the Archives.

Soon after meeting Ross he and his wife got a dog called Maddie. I fell in love with her as soon as I saw the first picture of her.

Over the years Ross wrote of Maddies adventures, thoughts and the friends she made along the way. Ross and Maddie were the best of friends. Through his writing I got to know Maddie, she and Ross were just as much apart of my life as anyone who you’d see every day. The internet has no boundaries, my friends are my friends even if I haven’t physically met them.

Ross would post photos of Maddie along with their adventures. It was always great to see photos of this fuzzy little dog with the quirky look on her face and a great big fuzzy smile, the way only dogs can smile, that feeling of just how happy and content they are in their lives.

Over the years I followed their adventures and felt more and more a part of Ross and Maddies lives, sending virtual fuzzles and treats to Maddie a long the way.

Yesterday came the sad news that Maddie had passed away. Ross had said that she hadn’t been well and that she was in the hospital but I’d held out hope that there would be more adventures to go on, more virtual fuzzles and treats to send. Sadly no, it wasn’t to be.

My heart feels heavy, and it aches. I had a cry of course after Ross told me the news. I’m tearful now writing this. My heart aches for the Maddie sized hole that’s left there, it aches for Ross and for his wife for their loss and for huge Maddie shaped hole that’s left in their lives.

Maddie you wonderful, beautiful little fuzzy I will miss you so very much. Where ever you are, I hope you’re meeting new fuzzy creatures and people. Mostly I hope you’re having lots of new adventures, and maybe someday I can hear all about them.

I remember the first time I saw The Monkees live, it was in Portland Oregon. I went with Mom, my Auntie Maren and my cousin Molly. It was very odd, the concert was at a baseball field right after the baseball game finished. There were a load of cheerleaders in front of the stage, the rest of us were suck in the bleachers so far away they all looked like dots on the stage. On the drive home I remember getting Mom to get one of the posters that had been stapled onto a telephone pole. I don’t know how or where but on that trip Molly and I got denim coats with leather tassels on them. I know I though it was very hippyish and so cool. That’s somewhere in Moms attic collecting dust as well I think.

The next concert was far better. Front row at the Puyallup fair. That was such a great gig and somewhere I have pictures of that show. I wonder if those are here or in the attic with the rest of my collection.

It’s such a strange feeling to sit here and know that someone who played such a big part of my life, who touched my life without ever knowing he did, is gone.

I think it’s always odd when someone you’ve been a fan of dies, for me it’s a little hollow space. Apart of my youth now nothing more than a memory.

The world once again moves on. RIP Davy

Laid-Off-Having lost your job, discharged, dismissed, fired, pink-slipped.

Today was my last day at the job I’ve spent the last 3 years at. To start with I was scared, what was going to become of me? Where was I going to go and what was I going to do? I hated the thought of being the new girl all over again, I thought I’m to old for all this new girl shit.

That line of thinking dissolved into thinking about all the adventures that are ahead of me. It was time to go, I’d reached the top of what I was going to be able to do there. Time to see what comes next. I always do like a new adventure after all.

My last paid day is the 31st of December. That’s a very important date to me. December 31st 1997 8am, the day my plane landed at Manchester airport. The day that my biggest adventure started, 14 years ago. So as I mark the anniversary of that big adventure, I’ll be looking forward to a new one.

All the best things happen when it’s hard or painful, if everything was easy no one would want to try to do anything. Life would be really dull if everything was easy.

I drove out of the parking lot today, window rolled down, the stereo turned up to 11 (please someone get that joke!) and had the song TubThumping blasting into the warm, blue sky, day. If you don’t know the song most of it consists of this one line sung over and over again:

(We’ll be singing, when we’re winning, we’ll be singing)

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never going to keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never going to keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never going to keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never going to keep me down

And you know what? That song is right. I get knocked down, but I get up again.

Come on gang, jump in the back of the van lets see where this road goes.

Unfortunately the electrician has said that we need a new fuse box. I’m not surprised as the one we have is really old. It uses fuse wire. So we are going to have that replaced. Hopefully it wont cost to much.

I have to admit it’s all getting a bit tiring for me. It should be all finished and we can move back in on the 30th if everything goes to plan. I didn’t expect it to take this long, well that’s not totally true, I didn’t think about how long it would take.

Still I can’t wait to see what it’s like in the end. It’ll all be worth it!

As much as I resented the car and all that it stood for, I have to admit I’m going to miss her a bit.

Tomorrow after work I go collect Zippy.

Wednesday afternoon at about 5:30pm Fail Car and a RoyalMail van met in not the nicest of ways. To look at the damage there doesn’t seem like much is wrong. However, to attempt driving it is another matter. To say that the steering is wobbly is an understatement. Maybe this is what Fail Car would have felt like if I’d driven it drunk.

As much as I have complained about Fail Car, I have to admit I’m going to miss her. We’ve had some spectacular adventures, most of them coming from getting lost. There was the epic journey with Cheryl in our attempt to find HobbyCraft. Which entailed the two of us driving around in circles while never being more than spitting distance of the shop! The continual and most always accidental trips to or through Warrington.

Fail Car has done me proud, well as proud as Fail Car could do. Soon she’ll be off to ‘Scrap Car Heaven’ yes I kid you not that is the name of the place she’s going to.

And the world once again moves on.

*why are all cars a she?*

The first time we attempted to remodel/redecorate the bathroom ended in disaster. Well maybe not that bad but it sure didn’t turn out the way we wanted it to. Constant issues with the tiles, sealant and grout continued to fail regardless of what we did. It was all a bit annoying and depressing at the same time.

It’s like a new era for us, we’ll have a house stamped with our personalities and it will be an amazing transformation. I’ll be updating with photos and how things are going as much as I can.

Uncon is a convention that’s put on by Fortean Times. It’s a two day event featuring all kinds of lectures on a vast array of subjects, none of which could be called mainstream.

I got to meet Jon Ronson and he signed my copy of The Psychopath Test which was so cool. He would be signing books after his lecture but I saw him out side the venue and pounced on him. Okay not literally but I did make sure he didn’t get away. He even commented on my politically incorrect pen saying how nice it was. I’m not sure which was better, getting his autograph or him liking my pen.

Anyway, during one of the lectures I wasn’t interested in I wandered out to where the vendors section was. I picked up my free Uncon T-Shirt (which I may actually fit into one of these days!). I noticed Hunt Emerson (he draws the cartoon in Fortean Times) was there and he was selling caricatures for £5. I couldn’t resist! He was lovely to chat to and just an all around nice guy. I love the drawing he’s done of me, it will be framed as soon as I can find a frame for it.

The one thing that struck me about the whole weekend was that I didn’t feel out of place or weird the whole weekend it. It was easy to just be me, to be able to discuss things that interested me with complete strangers. I enjoyed the debate that some lectures created, and there were jokes that only this specific group of people would get. I’m still surprised how mainstream we all look, apart from the few odd-balls, you’d never guess any of us would attend something like this.

Maybe it’s me who thinks that, maybe I feel like an odd-ball because I read it. I do think that it shows how many people enjoy stuff like Uncon and that it’s not as weird as others think it is.

Regardless, I had a great weekend, met some new people and got to spend time with two of my favorite people.