Quotes and Facts and Info

I found out who Cicero was - this is the entry in Encyclopedia Britannica

English byname Tully
born 106 bc, Arpinum, Latium [now Arpino, Italy] died Dec. 7, 43 bc, Formiae, Latium [now Formia]
Roman statesman, lawyer, scholar, and writer who vainly tried to uphold republican principles in the final civil wars that destroyed the republic of Rome. His writings include books of rhetoric, orations, philosophical and political treatises, and letters. He is remembered in modern times as the greatest Roman orator and innovator of what became known as Ciceronian rhetoric.

So I have learnt a little something today - could come in useful when watching QI?

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Monday 4th January in 1643 Sir Isaac Newton - mathematician and physicist - was born.

More help knowledge for TV quiz shows or maybe for writing research and our lovely saying to make you feel better today is:

Shared joy is a double joy: shared sorrow is half a sorrow.

I think sometimes this is true - certainly the joy bit but sometimes pain and sorrow just goes so deep that telling everyone does not help - well it just makes them sick of hearing about it.

Oh dear.

Dix

My Liverpudlian Dream

I had this dream a couple of days ago and wrote it down. I am not at all sure what it means and would love some feedback. Is it just a story? Is it about creativity? Or is it about sex? (I know JC will think it is but hey maybe, maybe not).

I met a man who was from Liverpool, he lived in a house above an interesting looking shop or warehouse. He lived on the second and third floor and his lounge looked over an amazing square that was cobbled and had just a few people walking on it and the fronts of interesting shops and a pub with a swinging pub sign.

His flat/house had a long corridor from the front door (up a narrow long flight of stairs that was dark) apart from one very small oblong window right near the top. The window was high up near the ceiling.

In my dream I wondered why was I going into a strange house with a man I didn't know? These are questions that are nevered answered in a dream.

The man is dark haired with blue eyes and a pretty average face - a little Fred Flintstone looking if you know what I mean but he did have a friendly face. A kinda square and friendly face and he was definitely a Liverpudlian although I don't know if we were in Liverpool.

I can't remember the specific conversations we had but I know we talked about art and writing and being creative. I asked him lots of questions especially about the amazing art that covered his living room. I knew it was modern and bright and colourful and I really like it. In my memory it was like a 'Hockney swimming pool' but I can't remember the exact details. The whole room felt creative, he felt like a creative person but I don't remember what he said. Maybe he was a teacher - I'm not sure.

But what I do remember is that he told me to keep writing, to believe in my writing. He also told me I can paint if I want to. I just need to paint what I see and to keep trying until I am happy with my work.

When I woke up all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and return to the dream. It was a nice dream. It felt good.

Quote and Fact for Sunday 3rd

Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty.

106BC - The birth of Roman statesman and philosopher, Cicero.

Wish I knew who this was - time to Google, I think.

Fact and thought for the Day

Like many people I have a new calender which imparts daily (or almost the weekend is one sheet) facts and sayings. Thought I would share them with you.

Joy (but fun?)

FACT - In 1985 Veteran comedian, Ernie Wise, made Britain's first mobile phone call. ( I wonder why it was him, there is definately further information needed here)

QUOTE - (and I like this one) Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much. (Easier said than done I think)

My New Years Eve

No one was at fault but my New Year's Eve was awful - a total disaster. Probably the worst one I ever had. We had been invited to my sister in laws house and our best mates for a party and we normally go down our local pub. But this year we have 'Boy' so we decided to chose a place we could all go.
Unfortunately 'my other half' was what we call 'sick and bad' all day so I ended up going nowhere. He went to bed and I stayed up with 'Boy' until he went to bed and then I curled up on the settee watching 'Love Actually' again, eating from a huge box of chocolates and drinking a far too strong Pernod. My mobiles recieved loads of messages from people wishing me Happy New Year.

And I wanted to cry - I wanted to cry for missing out on my family and mates down the pub, for getting drunk (which I don't do often - yeah you cry but it is true) and laughing and singing and being happy stupid and kissing people at midnight and not caring about any of it.
In fact I didn't need to sit on the settee wallowing because I could have called up the stairs to let 'him' know I was going out and driven down the pub to have a good time. I could have stayed sober and had a good time.
It would have been fun.

My lesson learnt - stop being sorry for myself and take action - I didn't need to sit feeling lonely and unhappy as my mates would have been pleased to see me - I need to understand that I am loved as I love others (in a friendship sort of way of course) - I will be always be happier regreting what I did than regretting not doing it (if you see what I mean).

The only good think about the evening was I got to text with JC about how creative we are going to be next year (us and Luna). Proper plans being made for writing and blogging and putting work out there.

Watch this space.

Cheesy Fudge

i

On the top shelf of the fridge sits a neatly wrapped greaseproof parcel, carefully enclosed

with the ends tucked in like a precious gift
or an illegal substance.

Every time I open the door to select the milk
it calls me.

I stare and stare. My internal conversation fighting the urge to eat,
fighting the urge to taste just one bite,
of the perfect little blocks of:

ii

White creamy cheesy
sticky sweet squares
that squishes and squashes
in between my finger tips
before bouncing back
to whole cubes of heaven.

And fail.

iii

I bite
leaving a
perfect mould
of my molars.
Buzzing sweetness
fills my mouth.

Sweetly cheesy
Sweetly lovely
Sweetly fudgy
Sweetly naughty
Creamy cheesy fudge.

Dedicated with thanks to JC
By Dix

I've been away

Hi - it feels like ages since I have written on my blog. I have been on holiday and had a nice time and good break - lots of eating and relaxing. But everything is already back to normal - rushing around with no time to spare. Maybe I should be pleased that I have such a busy life but sometimes I just wish I had more time for me and for my creativity.

Anyway I read the Parkinson autobiography whilst I was away - it was both interesting but still told me lots about Mr P, not just his life but his opinions and faults as well - I like this in an autobiography. Anyway I found this wonderful quote that I wanted to share.

Micheal Parkinson asked the poet Auden '..what was the purpose of a poet and he said, ''As a poet one has a political duty, which is to try, by one's example, to protect the purity of the language. Because when words lose their meaning then I'm quite sure physical violence takes over.''

I think he has a point - don't you?

Mog