Friday Frights!

Friday at last!

And what a week it’s been!

The main fright to come out of this week is the terrible news that my internet service provider has had their website hacked and one’s and 3,999,999+ other folk have had our personal details stolen… by Russian Islamic Fundamentalists if the news reports are to be believed.

Sigh.

When I heard news the other day that TalkTalk, my ISP, had suffered a prolonged attack on their servers, I instantly recollected that I’d bought myself a new router midweek and wondered if something had happened with its configuration with my computer which has also recently upgraded from Windows 7 to Windows 10 without passing Go, and that had somehow sent a wayward message onto the TalkTalk servers which instantly realised that my router wasn’t the original router that they had sent to me, and went into meltdown.

I slapped myself silly for being so silly. And then breathed again. People buy new routers all the time, I told myself.

I accidentally answered a call from a withheld number earlier this evening, and it was an automated message that said something like “Have you had your personal data stolen in the last three years? If so, we can help. Press…” I hung up.

I then suddenly realised… MORE SPAM! Eeeek!!!

I’m being flippant, but it’s serious business, spam.

At the beginning of the month, this lot left the confines of my Mind to go out and explore the surrounding Grinds:

There are actually five of them, my Inner Zombie, my Inner Woman (Thomasina), my Inner Bogeyman, my Inner Creation and Fingers – or Fangers as he wants to be called this month – my Inner Typist. Fangers seems to be camera-shy and doesn’t want to have his photo taken, which is quite lucky as it happens because the layout of this post would look terrible with five photos to fit into it. It isn’t actually that impressive with four, if I’m being honest, but I digress. Back to the external Inners:

I received a postcard from them the other day, out of the blue:

It’s simply marvellous, Dahling, out here in the Grinds. The cold, the dark, the damp wet rain and the misty mornings… simply stunning. Far better than being stuck inside that stuffy old mind listening to all those strange thoughts and putting up with the likes of the Zombie. Anyhow, we’re having a lovely time here and will see you soon. It isn’t long before the Gathering occurs this year, and we can all party like it’s 1999. Fingers says Hi!

Will write again soon if I get the time. Mwah!

Thomasina.

I don’t think Thomasina’s ever written a postcard in her life. I don’t even think she realises that she’s actually out there with the Zombie either. Her mind is obviously away on other things.

Earlier today, I was meandering around the lake. Not the Lake lake, the Lake in the Grinds, but another lake situated in leafy-green Cheshire. Well, it’s more like leafy-orange-red-brown-yellow-gold-green Cheshire right now, but leafy-green is easier to type. And there are quite a few lakes here in leafy-green Cheshire.

The lake was peaceful and calm, and gently covered in a carpet of ducks. A mouse ran across my path, and a little black cat watched me from within the foliage as I walked passed it. It thought I hadn’t seen it, but with bright yellow glowing eyes, it was actually quite hard to miss. It was all very sedate, when suddenly some buffoon set off a loud firework. The cat scarpered out of the greenery, I haven’t a clue what happened to the mouse, I leapt out of my skin, and every single duck upon the lake jumped in unison. It was splashes galore as they all settled down again, but instinctively quacked their automatic warning quacks. A chorus of quacking ducks quacking in time with each other is a sound to behold, I can tell you. Less of a cacophony (hehehe quackophony – I love dreadful puns on words!) and more of a chant. Hypnotic and surreal.

A little like this week, to be honest.

It Feels Good living the surreal life. Terrorists aside, that is.

Strange Voices on St Valentine’s Eve

Or Friday 13th, if you’re superstitious about such things. I was born on a 13th, so I’m OK with things like that.

In the Mansion in my mind, Thomasina’s decking the halls and singing her current favourite song. If ever an ear-worm was ever needed, I’d have to say ‘Mickey’ by Toni Basil would most certainly be one. She’s even dressed like a cheerleader, which is more off-putting. Thomasina, that is, not Toni Basil.

And now, I’m dancing like a robot as I’m typing. Thanks, Thomasina. Chair-dancing. Can’t be beaten for the sheer fun value… even better when out driving, however!

You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand…

The Grand Hall is a room within the Mansion that isn’t used very often, in fact dust sheets cover all furniture in there. And dust covers the dust sheets. The Grand Hall Grandfather Clock in the corner, hidden beneath its own sheet, still chimes away every hour, plus one. So, one o’clock, it’ll chime twice. At 12 o’clock, thirteen chimes will be heard. In fact, the Grand Hall would be a great venue for a Halloween party… at the stroke of the thirteenth hour. Mwahahaha!

Anyway, I need to run away from the Grand Hall as fast as I can. Come with me. Quickly. Keep up!

We’re running just as fast as we can, holding onto one another’s hand.

Quickly, along this corridor, and into the West Wing. And the Manor Parlour. Where, we meet…

No-one.

I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.

Tomanova should be here somewhere. Tiffany’s playing in the distance, but that’s not Tomanova’s favourite singer. I’m sure he’ll turn up.

Someone’s been here, though. They’ve left one of the best china cups out on the sideboard. I’ll take it back to the Kitchen. It’ll probably be my Inner Cook, always lurking somewhere around the West Wing.

I head back out of the Parlour, and run straight into Tomanova.

Don’t push too far’ he sings. Sings! ‘Your dreams are china in your hand… don’t wish too hard because they may come true… China in your hand’ Tomanova Pau; whatever next?

Cook.

My Inner Cook.

I don’t know what’s going on around here today, but it feels more like April Fool’s Day rather than the day before St Valentine’s Day.

Cook is singing. Tomanova’s singing. Thomasina’s singing. Are the whole bloomin’ lot singing?

I hear a lot of stories, I suppose they could be true. All about love and what it can do to you.

Cook’s actually quite a good singer, don’t you know? I actually could have an Inner Choir going here… mind you, with my singing, better in than out any day!

A good heart these days, is hard to find, so please be gentle with this heart of mine…

I hand Cook Sharkey the cup, and head back to the normal part of the Mansion. I can’t remember what I needed to see Tomanova for now, and I never knew I had an Inner Cook. It’s strange the things you find out when you least expect it.

It’s a mystery, oh, it’s a mystery, I’m still searching for a clue…’ Who’s this? Ah, Fingers. My Inner Typist. He’s a singer too? Fingers Willcox? Blimey. ‘The big question mark in history is it a mystery to you?

Would I be lying if I said it was? I jave no idea what’s going on around here right now. Fingers!

I don’t believe it. Not now. Noooo…. My Inner Zombie. Dancing. And grunting in tune.

You stretched for the stars, and you know how it feels to reach too high. Too far. Too soon. You saw the whole of the moon.

Luckily the Water-Zombie-Boy didn’t stretch and managed to keep himself in tact. I think I’ll go and have a quick lie down upstairs. Recover from the madness that’s going on all around here.

Don’t leave me this way. I can’t survive, I can’t stay alive. Without you love, oh baby. Don’t leave me this way

Who?

SPLODGE THE CAT?!?

In and out between my legs he weaves, singing constantly, ‘So come down and satisfy the need in me, cos only your good loving can set me free

Thankfully, Thomasina coaches Splodge the Communard away. And as I reach my Bedroom, to have a well earned rest after all these shenanigans, I sneeze.

I open my eyes. I’m in bed already.

It was all a dream; mayhap a nightmare with that lot singing.

Now, what date is it? Oh, Friday 13th. The day before Valentine’s…

Alternative Voices

I always class St Valentine’s Day as Halloween, because of the horrors it brings to mind. The fact that I like Halloween, and dislike Valentine’s, is by the by. Both are days geared around us spending as much money as we can on some piece of tat or other, but the delightful frights around Halloween far surpass the sickliness of what St Valentine’s Day has to offer.

However, I moan too much. I celebrate St Valentine’s Day on the blog as it is a seasonal ‘holiday’; a celebration of sorts. A ghastly one, I have to say, but a celebration all the same.

My Inner Woman, Thomasina, and my Inner Romantic, Tomanova, both rave about the ‘loveliness’ of it. The day where it is perfectly alright to spend thousands, if so required, on a single red rose, a box of heart-shaped choccies, a bottle of plonk, a side splattering of strawberries and, if desired, a negligée or two (or, to be one with modern times, a couple of onesies).

We’ve already heard from those two Inner Personalities of mine this week, so for a change I thought I’d ask a couple more of my Inner Selves to give their opinions on Hallo – I mean Valentine’s.

My Inner Typist, Fingers, is eager to get started:

O liek Valentines’. I gett o write simple an dheratfelt rhymes, nay sonnits, which epxlore differnet sides to one of the gretaest emotions in the world. We all thrive off love, and withuot it the world would be a treeible place. O==I can’t epxress deeply throught he worsd I type just how storng an emulsion love is, although sometimes no words are neeedd at all to get the message across. An epxensiev box of chocotales means a smuch to me a sa beautiful peom.

My Inner Zombie is also chomping at the bit to get his message across. (The bit he’s chomping on is actually part of his nose that dropped off as he reached out for the keyboard… and he actually (ahem… accidentally) flung the keyboard across the room, which caused his nose to fall off, and shattered the keyboard into a thousand pieces) He’s now using, under supervision, the best keyboard. Here’s what he wants to say:

1ew45dfg prtu rog4hbr3

y

4bn

3’knj3;om 3ol2f1
w4577uerdsdf[oilfh486 86o95 [‘27oywtchoco

lh

 

hj

 

jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

Although, to be honest, your guess is as good as mine as to what he is actually trying to say. I think he may want chocolate, but I can’t be certain.

It looks as though my Inner Selves, well, these four anyway, seem to like Halloops Valentine’s. My Inner Leader of the Opposition is currently out, and Tom the Geek, my Inner Geek, feels exactly the same way about Valentine’s as I do. He’s the one who’s designed the hearts background for the blog (which will be gone as soon as Saturday’s gone!) because I didn’t want to do it myself…

To say I don’t like St Valentine’s Day is a little unfair. It gives me reason to write posts such as this, but I’m always glad when it’s over for another year.

If you enjoy and celebrate Valentine’s, I hope you have a good time enjoying it exactly as you wish… as, when all things are considered, I do here.

Capturing the moment

Sometimes, flashes of inspiration appear out of the blue. Most times, actually, for they wouldn’t be flashes of inspiration if they didn’t. It isn’t as though a flash of inspiration would be slowly creeping up on an unsuspecting target now, is it? No, they strike in the moment – in that very instant.

I had a flash of inspiration that slowly occurred to me earlier this evening. I was merrily taking photos for my next Selfie post, when I gradually realised a flash of inspiration was upon me.

‘Capture the moment’, said an Inner Voice. One I’m not too familiar with for that matter either. It certainly wasn’t Fingers, my Inner Typist. ‘Capture the moment of you taking a Selfie’ he said. He said. So that also ruled out Thomasina, my Inner Woman; and my Inner Zombie who generally doesn’t string two words together could also be discarded. It takes him all his time to string two grunts together, come to think of it.

So I did.

Captured me capturing the moment.

And I still only got the top of my head.

At least I had enough time to brush the hair away from my face first. That was a flash of inspiration too. You’ll have to wait to see how the Selfie turns out.