Monthly Archives: January 2015

Wednesday Word of the Week


Meaning- Easily ignited and capable of burning rapidly. Inflammable means “combustible,” and has the same meaning as the word flammable

“Caution: this material is flammable.”

Flammable and inflammable make my list because they make no sense. What is the point of having two words which sound like they should be the opposite of each other but in fact mean precisely the same thing? It’s bizarre. And is there a word meaning not flammable? No! You have to say “not flammable”. I am considerably unimpressed.

Satisfied Saturday Six

The SSS celebrates six things that have gone well, or at least okay, in the past week. It is the creation of Terry Egan, who is all things wonderful.

1. I took some time to think about the good things which happened in 2014. Have to admit, it wasn’t the best year (understatement!) but just as the SSS helps me remember the good things in bad weeks, it was good to think about the good things in a bad year.

2. I confess to having an unkind glee about Chelsea FC losing to Tottenham Hotspur in the football the other day!

3. I currently don’t have any voice (bloody annoying, actually) but usefully my mother has taken Child out for a while so he doesn’t have to cope with a very sub-par mama all day.

4. I just need to chase down a couple of quotations and then my Jane Austen article (looking at what diagnoses some of Jane Austen’s characters might get in modern medicine) will be finished.

5. I had to cancel a holiday abroad (this isn’t the good bit) because of bad health (not the throat, my longer term battle with ME/CFIDS) but was really touched by the support I got from other people and the offers of hospitality from them. I think I just want to sleep for a week, but  I do feel very lucky to have people who like me enough to want to look after me ❤

6. Child and I made pizzas from scratch yesterday, and they were TASTY.

Friday Fiction (Short Story)

A Trip To The Hereafter

It’s not such a bad thing, you know, dying. I should know – death and me hang around together quite a lot, and he’s always good for a pint of beer and cadging a few fags. Sorry, I’m being frivolous, and it looks like you’re not in the mood. Can’t help it: I’m always a bit like this. Anyway, would it really be better if I came into people’s rooms and sang sad songs for thirty minutes before I killed them? I mean, would that really cheer you up? I don’t think so, somehow. You wouldn’t, either, if you’d heard me trying to sing… Back on the jokes again, sorry.

But seriously – dying isn’t that terrible. What do you mean “like you’d know”? I’ve died, haven’t I? Well, yes, okay, granted I rose again and became undead, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t die. I’ve died just as much as the next vampire. Or man. Or, indeed, as you are so quick to point out, woman. And no, you are not going to rise from the dead and kick my sorry little arse, thank you. And it’s quite inappropriate to want to be undead, anyway. We’re the dregs of society – didn’t you tell me that yourself not five minutes ago when I first appeared? Oh, compared to dying it’s looking like quite a good plan, I see. But I’ve told you twice, dying isn’t anything like it’s cracked up to be. A quick nibble, a nice long kiss to the neck and you’ll be floating away in some beautiful dream.

Well, no, you won’t be coming back from the beautiful dream, I admit, but as ways to die go, I think this is really about the best you could hope for. I mean, I’m not going to kill you slowly using only a bowl of water and a piece of string. I’m not going to let you linger on in pain for years and years when you and your relatives all wish you’d just hurry up and die. One little nip and it all goes cloudy.

Well! Of all the ungrateful victims I’ve come across, you’re the worst. Here am I, offering you a nice, warm trip to the Hereafter – single journey only, no returns – you should be biting my hand off with eagerness! No, not such a good metaphor really, in the circumstances, you’re quite right. But you should be at least considering my nice nature. Have I flown in on you unexpectedly, jumped on you in the dark and started savaging you to bits? I have not. I have sat down on your bed and had this lovely chat – and I’ve let you finish your drink, which I think was very tolerant of me, considering that I can’t join you – and am waiting for you to be calm and content before we move onto the next phase.

Which is, yes, your death, and I’m terribly sorry you feel like this about it, but really I can’t see what else I could do. I mean, I can go and hide in your cupboard for a while and wait till you’re asleep… You don’t think that’d work now you’ve met me? Perhaps you’re right…

Well look, here’s my final offer. I’ll read you a bedtime story, tuck you up nicely and then just slide in beside you in the bed and suck gently on your blood. Still not happy?

Some humans. Just don’t appreciate a good offer when they hear it.