Design a site like this with
Get started

Blogs, The English Language & Paying Attention

Bear asked me today how many blogs I had, as he’d read a post on one that mentioned me writing on another blog and he hadn’t gotten a notification that I’d posted anything, and wondered why. He was a little surprised to find that I have eight and that he only had access to three… Hey.! It’s not my fault if he doesn’t bother to keep up, it’s not like I banned him from them. So now he has access to all but this one. This one is my rant and rage blog, if y’all hadn’t noticed… Okay, sorry, I’m never going to say that again. I’m not American and I sincerely dislike bastardisations of the English language.

That’s the trouble with having been brought up on the ‘posh’ side of the UK, we are not taught tolerance of the ‘non-posh’ side of the UK, which is why I have issues with Northerners and their use of the English vocabulary. Also because I love the English language and when you love something you don’t like to see it abused. And boy, does it get abused. The Cambridge and Oxford English Dictionaries are even bowing to the abuse and printing new dialect words as proper English, which they are not. I have no trust in Dictionaries anymore. And for the record it’s not Phoenix, it’s Pheonix.!!

As I was saying, this is my rant and rage blog and to be honest, Bear doesn’t need to see it… he knows how I feel about most things and he knows when I’m pissed at him, so there’s little need for him to read about it. He’ll only ask questions I’m not prepared to answer and get mad at me, and then I’ll get even more pissed at him and right now, I can’t deal with another two weeks of being kept at a distance because he didn’t like what he’d read. Like I have any control over the cesspit that is my mind when I’m angry or hurt.

Last night, while we were sorting out my permanent residence permit application form, I discovered that after almost ten years of being with Bear on a pretty much, daily basis… he has no idea about my likes, dislikes, doesn’t know my email address, doesn’t know my phone number, has no idea how tall I am, or what my favourite colour is… ten years and he’s still totally fucking clueless… I shouldn’t be surprised, but I have to admit, I am. I know a hell of a lot about him, what he likes, what he doesn’t, all his kids’ full names and dates of birth and where they were born, and stuff about his brother and parents’.

The best he can do is my birth date and country. After TEN years.!! I’m not entirely sure what to make of that. Does he not care enough to remember these things.? Are they not important enough to retain.? Am I.? No, that’s a dumb question, of course I am but I have to wonder why he doesn’t feel it necessary to remember these things… 😦 Or maybe he’s the real life version of Johnny Mnemonic…


Nationally Syndicated Editorial Cartoonist

A Family History in Letters

Letters from the women in my family to their mothers from 1910-1980.

What I found

The art of losing

The Belfast Belter

The Life and Times of a retired Soldier, Boxer, Pilot, Husband, Father and Grandfather

Reading Between The Lies

tales of untruths

Shine My Way

My adventures in trail running and awkward socials

Arts & Literature

A site by Clemens P. Suter

%d bloggers like this: