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Author Archives: A wander through the mind

Reflections 2019 w27

Well my skin is taking a strange turn this year. Instead of the usual red head burn and peel, if I misjudge being outside by 5 minutes, my skin is burning and going white. Not that the Scottish DNA that runs in the family does not provide a white sun intolerant skin as it is.

Usually if I can do it right, the sun exposure goes pink, tans ever so lightly and leaves behind more freckles, but one patch of my hands looks like I have poured bleach on it to get rid of the freckles and any sign of colour.

I have googled it, and I will bring it up with the doc when I see him, but I can only find one cause. Nothing can be done and it is more a skin type than condition.

But I remembered that I had a hypothetical conversation on vampires before. That Hollywood has not got enough red head vamps. We are a natural for this type of being.

  • We avoid the sun.
  • We do not have to be told, or trained,  to avoid it at vampire elementary.
  • We burn if it catches us unprepared.
  • We tend to lurk in the darker or more shaded recesses  of locations whilst everyone else walks in the light, perfect for a passing snack during the day.
  • Pale pasty skin is our look any way.
  • Nobody would bat an eyelid at a pale pasty red head walking down the street.

When you wear factor 50 suncream and still get burnt, you know your kind originated in some miserable weathered place.

Which makes our thick curly/wavy hair even more annoying. As this weather will make it frizz like mad.

No wonder we are classed as being moody, we have not found the weather that suits us yet.



Time to Feel…Poem

Time to Feel






I hide, become avoidant.


You say,

I feel.

Words cut,

I reel.

It tarnishes the moment.


To be seen,




My achievements you belittle.



I climb.

Down hill,

I’m pushed.

Why do I even bother?


Get angry,

Keep hold.

Keep quiet,


Immediately guilty, thats fine.


Play down,

Your part.

You hold,

Your heart.

Why is your hurt worth more than mine?


Your hurtful,

And spiteful.

With Speech,


Tis a nasty catchphrase.


When pattens,


I try to,


But I’m trapped in your maze.


With a wall,

Of thorns tall.

And a path,

Of glass shattered.

I have to have my freedom.


Can’t ask for,


Punch drunk,

Til Conceded.

My mind is in a maelstrom.


My ego’s,




That’s what your control has left me.


An answer,

It’s found.

An end

Can be seen.

My life it has to leave me.


I quit playing,

your game.

But I can’t see

all the pain.

That I would leave behind me.



In mist.

Fate took,

A slight twist.

A second chance it gave me.


A chance

To get well.

And break from,

Your spell.

Deflect; nay end, negativity.


A § M 


Reflections 2019 w26

It’s been an mixed week, I have been on holiday, came back to my sons birthday and my uncle going to the hospital after a fall.

That is where my first, and I hope last, encounter with love Island occurred.

My uncle is suffering from the early stages of dementia and is constantly looking for ‘you know’ on the telly. Whilst he does this he leaves programs on. Tonight it was Love Island, 20 minutes of it.

I do not understand the appeal, or what entertainment it offers that differs from the end of a night of booze down the local nightclub. Except these people are sober, I think.

Petty squabbles, jumping into differing beds like they were teenagers and that was pretty much all I saw them do.

I thought entertainment was to transport you away from reality for just little while, to give you a break. Not bring strife into your home – except via news channels.

I do not miss having my TV connected to a multitude of telly stations. It’s been 4 years since it has shown a tv station on it. And from what glimpses I catch, it is the same program formats from before I switched off.

I do not think I will be switching back on for a long while. Box sets offer programs I want to watch – minus all the adverts. Binge watch anyone?




Why is saving, the pennies

to put away,

I find, much harder

than what people say?


My wallet – is sturdy

of material stout.

The holes, I can find none

where the money falls out.


Why is – the more that I save,

the bigger the bills?

Left with only the coppers

to pay at the tills.


Always I scrape by,

the sofa will tip.

Hoping for coinage,

with the stray, apple pip.


But that’s where I found some,

in a week that’s gone bye.

If I was faithful,

I’d turn to the sky.


And ask why it’s raining,

day after day.

To swallow the money,

and flush it away.


A § M 



Reflections 2019 w25

The wind blew at my strapped down Tilly hat as I crested the hill that was once a fort at Dinas Dinlle, sea spray travelling over the land in a fine mist, leaving the taste of salt with each heavy breath.

I love these dog walks with Spot.

My heart pounds with the exertion my body has with the short but sudden climb, lungs filling with fresh, clean air; Welsh air. I hear only the sound of the wind and crashing waves, glad I am not trying to fight the sea to catch a fish or two, not even the bleating of the sheep can be heard. I know not if they are hiding in a far off field or just behind the wall, silently waiting for the wind to die down. Even the seagulls hang in the air as though they are in a painted seaside scene.

The only other people I can see in this quiet place are other dog walkers, some are clearly taking pleasure in the weather, others look like they wish they had cats. It’s not cold, but some are dressed like it was the middle of winter, accompanied by a bloke in shorts. My smile as we pass seems to convey my humour at the sight, much to the annoyance of the person wrapped up, which in turn makes me smile more. Not in a mean way…OK it might be a little mean.

I never get bored of doing the same walks over and over again at the coast, or in the countryside. I find a peace with the empty space, a quiet in the natural sounds, the voice in my head has nothing to find fault with that cannot be easily forgotten by something to see. Yes I may just sit and cry, emotionless, yet calm. Not knowing why, but accepting the release of pressure.

These are the times I know there is hope, because these are the times I do not need to lean on the medication.

They just do not happen often enough. But I am Grateful that they do at least happen.

My Fish…Poem

My Fish


My fish is smart, it talks to me,

with word it cannot speak.

From the bottom gravel sucks,

n’ spits at glass to squeak.


To my corner will it come

and check that I have heard.

If I’ve not, around he turn,

with tail he splash absurd.


He swims around to catch my eye,

he’s darting to and fro.

His last resort, the snail will suck,

and off with thunk he go.


Attention caught, he will then mouth,

abuse I swear he shouts.

Your late again! It’s dinner time,

he acts like local louts?


He will not rest, nor peace he give

until he has his food.

I know not what’s, within these flakes,

but it rids him of his mood.


A § M 


Reflections 2019 w24

Oh I do hate misplacing things, especially after one has searched, and sorted all the draws and bags I could have placed it. I have spent 4hrs searching/sorting and still no joy.

I so want some of the information held within its pages for tomorrow, but I have exhausted all ideas where there notepad could have been placed.

I thought I placed it in the drawer there when it was filled, but no, I did not.

I found the notepad prior to the one I am after, which got filled before the date I am after, and I am positive I have not thrown the following pad away.

I guess it will turn up eventually, but not alas today.