Think of me enjoying a two week January holiday in the village of Punta Mujeres in Lanzarote when I was 62. Waking up every morning deciding what to do by clouds, sun, wind or the strength of the tides.

Looking out from the apartment, I was reminded of the times I spent holidaying in Al Fujaira, the only east coast city in Abu Dhabi which looks out on the Gulf of Oman, when I worked in the capital—the horizon of sea expanding before my eyes. Here, there were no tankers dispelling their oily goo... no fear of being covered in oily spots while swimming that needed special sprays to dissolve the oil to get clean afterwards. Here, only the occasional sailing boat cruised passed with fresh, clear sea to swim in, snorkeling through seaweed and fish, all to enjoy.

Each day we watched the dawn—each an amazing sunrise, though rough in places, we walked and walked along the volcanic shoreline looking for hidden bays, explored rock pools, sunbathed, swam in deep sea and saw the fantastic array of fish life... angel sharks, garpike fish, electric blue damsel fish, and more besides.

In the evening, we didn't watch the pennies (or cents!) as we dined out every night enjoying delicious, fresh food in the local restaurants.

I was determined to try and stop the sense of panic or guilt that I should be doing something more productive but only to rest easy no matter what because rest is good for the soul, mind and body.

When you get to my age, I hope you won't be haunted by guilt, grief, fear, regret or any such negative emotion. Life is difficult and the past is not worth a thought... enjoy today because that's all each one of us has got.

On Thursday 15 June, my daughter heard she was awarded Fellowship of Higher Education (HE), an internationally recognized qualification.

What does it mean? It demonstrates that her practise is aligned with UK professional standards and shows her commitment to professionalism in teaching and learning in HE. 

On Thursday 15 June, I weighed in at 9 stone 4, the weight I last was when I was 33.

What does it mean? Using intermittent fasting, I’ve lost a stone and a half. It has forced my body to burn the excess fat stores during each fast, and, if research is to be believed, reduce the reoccurrence of cancer.

Difference between the two achievements… each of us have different priorities at our stage of life. My daughters’ achievement should definitively help her in her career path whereas mine is more probable, it may give me longevity. But both of us are as pleased as punch.

My conclusion: achievements, that bring more satisfaction in our lives, come in many different forms.

YouTube video...

Is There More To Life Than This… an opening talk by the humble, unassuming, frank Charlie Mackesy

As I review my life and realise my desire was to be someone, to make a difference, to make it all worthwhile... but, as I am at the last part of my life, I look forward and say to my Lord "Remember me...".

What triggered my thinking was the story about the criminal on the cross beside Jesus. I was listening to Charlie Mackesy (author of 'The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse') as he recalls my most favourite story of Jesus.

It's a lovely piece written by Bob Dylan in the late 1960s after he became a father, relating his hopes that his child will remain strong and happy.

Beautifully sung by Brian Houston: https://youtu.be/PhZkacVEGwY.

The words are available online.

I'm due to hear Brian play at the Forestside on 5th December... Forestside is a shopping mall... and it's small, definitely to Abu Dhabi standards. But here's how it'll be set up (taken from a previous event). The acoustics will be interesting!

This information has been gleaned from newspaper cuttings, family documents and letters and online sources.

Louise Fearon was born in Tandragee, County Armagh, Northern Ireland in 1890. She was the second eldest of 8 children born to John and Lavinia (nee Gracey). They lived in 3 Portadown Road. They also owned the properties on either side that contained a small farm with cattle and a Blacksmiths.

Her father worked as a law clerk in a local law firm. One night he came home by carriage suffering from pneumonia and died on the doorstep. This left Lavinia with her 8 children. Louise was nearly 18 at the time.

By all accounts Louise was a home bird, but was encouraged to move to Canada in 1911 when she was 20 by her Uncle James to join the teaching staff. James was the second principal of the Halifax School for the Deaf in situ from 1891-1918 and friend of Alexander G Bell and Helen Keller, often consulting with them in reference to his students.

Louise was appointed as full time teacher of weaving and handicrafts, working with deaf children from Halifax and Ontario. She was responsible for the establishment of a number of handicraft programs and was recognised in the field of weaving. Many years later in one of her letters she wrote home saying she wished she could have thanked “Uncle Jem” as she realised then it was for the best.

She communicated with her younger sisters, Mary and Norah. Norah was keen on handicrafts too and in numerous letters they exchange hand-written drawings of patterns, of what appears to be weave. In 1966, Louise bought a 20" inch table loom for Norah to encourage her to weave (which was donated to Ulster Folk Museum in 2021).

Below are extracts from newspaper articles from 1952 when she was honoured by the school in recognition of her service and outstanding work.

A lifetime of service to the handicapped -- a devotion and patience that are almost past describing -- love and kindness that even the most bewildered child can feel -- these were the qualities of Louise Fearon.

Hundreds of children have gone through her classes and been enriched immeasurably by their experience. Deprived at birth or by disease of the normal means of communication with their fellowmen, they have learned not only to speak their thoughts and learn the thoughts of others but to experience the richness and wonder of the world, with the senses left to them.

After working 40 years with the deaf, she concentrated completely on teaching those who were both deaf and blind until her retirement in 1961. A number of news articles mention a few of these students: Jean Watts, Roberta Wadman and Marjorie Golinsky.

In particular, Marjorie: Two years ago, Marjorie was living in Alberta and the authorities had come to the unfortunate decision to place her in an institution for mental health care for life! Because psychologists had declared that an intelligence without human contact could not develop. It was then that her parents, Mr and Mrs Albert Golinsky of Glenevis near Edmonton, heard of the exceptional work accomplished by Miss Louise Fearon. She has been teaching deaf and blind children with remarkable success for 10 years in a school in the Maritime provinces. She has 40 years of experience teaching those who suffer from deafness. When Marjorie arrived, two older girls, who have now graduated, were attending her classes. But now the little girl has her teacher to herself. Each day, the smiling and patient teacher sits at a narrow table opposite her student, in a small, sunny room filled with Marjorie's favourite toys that she has never seen. And slowly some form of language is emerging in the mind of the little girl with the black curls. She now knows the alphabet...

She became recognised as a pioneer in the field of education for her work with the deaf-blind students. It was because of her service that the deaf-blind unit at Atlantic Provinces Resource Centre for the Hearing Handicapped (APRCHH) was officially named Fearon unit in 1976. In 1979 received special recognition from the province of Nova Scotia for her contributions to education. Along with her sister, Margaret, who had also worked at the School.

Louise was attentive as ever, often bringing her students back to their parents across Canada after the school year was over. She kept in touch with some of them and kept the memories in photo albums (alas not too many have names on them).

Louise passed away on Monday, November 2 1981 aged 91 in Camp Hill Hospital, Halifax, Nova Scotia, following a lengthy illness.

Note: I only met Aunt Louise twice, when I was 3, too young to remember (all I remember is the enchanting musical box that was in my bedroom) and 16 (when my sister and I went to visit the Aunts). I only wished I had known what my Aunt had achieved in her life to have asked questions, but alas!

Yesterday I read Matthew 27:24 "When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!”"

I have been struggling whether to stand up for something or like Pilate wash my hands off the whole thing. The commentary that came with this verse challenged me. I decided I wouldn't do as Pilate but stand up for what I believed was right, along with other women.

As if as confirmation, the passage I read today talked about how other women spoke up (Numbers 27:1-11). If they hadn't, they would not have anything. They were listened to and affirmed.

I open the office door and there's a musty smell in the air... after at least 150 years the old photos emit more than just memories of a bygone age.

There's a package wrapped in a cardboard with the words "Art Treasures of the World" on it and that has the address of where my Great Aunt Louise worked—Institute of the Deaf and Dumb:
Miss Louise Fearon
637 Gottingen
Halifax N S
Inside is a treasure trove of photographs that would appear not to have been opened since the late-1950s. Although I recognise some people, for the older photographs, I don't and, sadly, there's no names on them.

However, some bare the photographer names and studios they were produced by. In the early years of photography, the studios specialised in portraits and highly fashionable ‘cartes’, small visiting card sized landscape and portrait photographs. Some look really grand so I am hoping this will help date who these people are when we match names with our family tree. Here's some of the studios that were printed on the photo postcards:

• MaGill, Belfast—research shows that a James Magill opened a studio in Belfast in 1861
  • My Dad seemed to always be the first to get things... like we were the first in our street to get a colour television, a phone, a computer (though he never got the hang of using it) so maybe that desire was inherited that they were the first to get James MaGill to photograph them
• Moffett's Art Studio, 53 Bridge Street, Portadown (active during 1901-39) also 53 Donegall Place (active from 1909-22), Belfast
  • Great Aunt Mary and the love of her life, Captain James Dick lounging on deck on one of the ships he captained
• Howard's Studios, 53 Donegall Place, Belfast (active during 1925-8)
  • Captain Dick stands proud on the deck of probably the same ship
• An Australian one... Talma and Company (1893-1932) 119 Swanston Street, Melbourne who was the first commercial photographer in Australia to use electric light
• L. C. Bellsmith of 72 & 74 Union St, Lurgan (1902-6) and and 35 High St, Belfast (1906)
• A. G. Massey of 35 High St, Belfast (1884)
• James Good Tunny & Co., 13 Maitland Street (active in that address, 1875-87)
• Frederick Karoly, Leamington Spa
• Benoit Bloch, 179 Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, New York (1883-1889)
• Charles Howell, 44 North Street, Belfast (active from 1937-39)
• Herbert Allison & Son, active from 1905-39 in Scotch St, Armagh; Dundalk, Newry and Warrenpoint
• The Albert Studio operating since 1921-3 at address 305 Pender Street West, Vancouver

Of course, I could try and date the cards through Dating Wizard but I'll leave that for now :-)

Just found a photo of Miss Minnie Palmer who was a celebrated American theatre actress and playwright (1860-1936), one of the first to be accepted on the British stage. Random that it's amongst all these family photos. Somebody must have like to go to the theatre. They are selling the exact same card of her (and similar) for a couple of quid on the internet.

We weren't there when you breathed your last such was the dilemma we faced from the Covid pandemic.

We were assured that you had stopped fighting to recover (that was your norm) and went peacefully. We were glad. You were not happy. It was your time. We hoped that to be the truth. We didn’t want you to suffer.

So now we have the arduous task of clearing your house. Papers galore, and despite of your lecturing “put like with like” as we grew up, you’ve been unable to sort much out over the years.

Personal letters to you mixed with reports, photos tucked in to folders that had no association with their content, old birth certificates with receipts of foreign holidays, though all telephone bills in chronological order from the early 80s and dividend counterfoils bundled together. Why, the volume, why didn’t you clear out periodically?

We go through the piles of paper meticulously ... bags separated for rubbish, shredder and those items that are special and for review later.

Dad, it wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d have let us do it when you were alive. Then I could have asked you about the 20-odd year old reports on engineering, refrigeration and heat pumps. The ones that you didn’t, not only keep the definitive report, but the written draft copy and the numerous print outs that you printed and kept towards the final report. All too much, but you didn’t trust us over the years, even towards the end. Why now?!

I know that technology moves on fast, so does every field. No need to keep so much, though my heart longs for one report that shows the studious, thorough, articulate, clever man you were.

But, alas, time rests for no person so we make a snap judgement and move on.

It’s early days. Maybe I'll find that one report yet.

To Forward IT... you know who you are (12 August 2020):

Thank you for my leaving present of beautiful earrings and for the thoughtful comments some of you were able to add in the card. I will cherish them always.

This week I have contemplated on my time now at home and sense there were two areas I concentrated on while I was with you (though not realising I was doing it) and that is of “connection” and “belonging”. The quotes below are taken from Brene Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly”:

“Connection is the energy that is created between people when they feel seen, heard and valued; when they can give and recieve without judgement.”

Although some of you know I did judge but I hope you realised I did it to instruct, urging you to see how you could improve and become a better for it.

“And, belonging... it is the innate human desire to be part of something larger than us.”

At times, I felt out of my depth such was the enormity of our task. But showed up and applied myself, no matter how I felt and you did too and we achieved what some thought as impossible. We did it together as a team.

You will continue to shine like stars wherever you are.

I am so grateful I was part of it for a short while. I will be forever proud of you all.

My Dad passed away peacefully in Ulster hospital on Tuesday 30 June 2020 at 15:30.

Today is his funeral and I am in Abu Dhabi, 3700 miles away. And with Covid pandemic raging, I am unable to be at his graveside. I have spent these last few days reflecting, since I heard of his passing. Now I'm listening to piano traditional hymn music and remembering Dad.

Some might say the below reads like a therapy session, but isn't that what we have funerals for. It's not for those who have passed away. It's for us who are still here remembering and saying what our loved ones meant to us. Call it what you may, it is my way of saying "so long"...

---

I think Dad wanted a boy after Anne, because I spent most of my childhood as his "on call" apprentice helping with every job under the sun in the garage, garden and house—even under the caravan rustproofing on our holidays. I learnt a lot of good stuff that has helped me all through life. Dad could fix anything, his knowledge was immense, as was his ability to think things through from first principles. He accomplished so much. But it was not all “peaches and cream”. Something always seemed to be gnawing away at him and, as his nominated assistant, I suffered the output of this persistent inner unrest.

I came to realise that Dad had somewhat of a narcissistic personality. I did not know when or how that started. He seemed to expect the world to revolve around him and that he was always right. Others were blamed when things did not work out for him. Dad was pleasant and very respectable to the world at large, but often blind to the good close to him. Narcissism grows as it is fed. I did not want that, I knew I had to challenge it. I tried to be honest with him and did all I could to help him understand when he hurt others. I believe he respected that. Nonetheless, I have had memorable and precious times with Dad. Here are a few...

I feel my father could have been an accomplished pianist, and on his baby grand he played hymns like no-one else. He would have me sing the words of hymns, such as "It is well with my soul" or "What a friend we have in Jesus". He read and played all the intricate musical moves while I did my best to keep up, singing the verses and turning the pages for him on time. At times I felt so lifted with him. No-one will play the piano so eloquently to the hymn "Out of the ivory palaces" as my Dad. This is my unaccompanied solo to Dad.

Dad achieved much academically and was very well respected in business. He wrote articles for Engineering journals, notes for societies and professional witness reports for court. As he struggled with his word processing, I was called upon to compensate for his computer ineptness. I helped format and print each paper and share the satisfaction of work well done. It was obvious to me though that he would never master, only resent, any computer.

Dad was so proud of his heritage and family successes. His aunts Louise and Margaret, had immigrated to Halifax, Nova Scotia to work as teachers with their uncle James, principal of "Halifax Institution for the Deaf and Dumb". In 2007, I agreed to accompany Dad on a Canadian visit. His aunts had long passed, but we visited their old house, the institution’s new premises, saw the portrait of his great uncle James Fearon hanging there, visited the aunts’ graves and saw some of their old friends. I enjoyed the adventure, and with Dad, I sensed that justifiable family pride.

Dad could appreciate good and simple things in life, even if other thoughts encroached and seemed to often spoil this. I recall him coming to visit George and I for the weekend. He was relaxed, enjoyed the meals I cooked, watched with contentment, sheep graze in the fields, and enthusiastically debated scientific mumbo jumbo with George. He seemed a different person. He kept on congratulating us on "our lot", yet it was less than his, and we had a much longer list of things to do than he. We enjoyed several outings like this with him, often over dinner in a Belfast restaurant.

Dad, I know you were driven to keep trying to be better, wanting others to do the same but frequently not understanding or acknowledging the love that was around you. But I also know that on occasions we understood each other and I got glimpses of the real you—a you that I loved and will always be proud of. I am so glad you are in peace now and you are in a much better place.

I will miss you always.

I’m angry, I’m sick of being angry
I’m depressed, I’m sick of being depressed
I’m tired, I’m sick of being tired
I'm guilty I'm not doing enough, I'm sick of feeling guilty
I’m missing home, I’m sick of missing home

I should be more grateful, I’m sick of knowing I should be more grateful
I should be more thankful, I’m sick of knowing I should be more thankful
I need to pull myself out of this, I’m sick of knowing I need to pull myself out of this
I should be happy at my lot, I’m sick of knowing that I should be happy at my lot
I’m missing home, when will I get home?

Were your eyes slightly blurry as we embraced, kissed and parted? I was more thinking of queuing for security than the enormity of missing my home and loved ones. But I know as I filled in the endless forms, hunted out old certificates for the visa, searched for suitable clothes in preparation for this latest stage in my life, I had my moments of tears. In fact as I watched ‘The Showman’, one of the in-flight movies, some of the lines of what Hugh Jackman said (the guy who Anne and I said to my mum once, was ‘a bit of alright’ to which she replied with a glint in her eye ‘I’m old enough to be his mother’... some things she comes out with I don’t expect, a witty woman!). Anyway, his lines helped me recall what George had said “we’ve got everything, why would we want to live anywhere else?” He’s right, of course, he’s always right.

Some opportunities only come once-in-a-lifetime. And for this one, I’m taking the first step.

I recognise: the nervous traveller, the woman who checks where her passport is frequently and the guy whose leg judders incessantly as he sits waiting for the gate to open; the frequent flyers who put their flight socks on to improve their blood circulation during the flight and the guy who just has his mobile with him and continually checks it and communicates on it as he boards; the agitated children whose mothers’ can’t settle—they must sense the long flight ahead and they don’t want to be confined.

Now seated with my blanket, pillow and earphones, I’m bamboozled by the control panel in the seat in front of me: fireWire, Ethernet, multiple power socket, screen for Music, movies, maps, TV programmes, dramas, radio... what choice! It wasn’t like that 18 years ago when I was on my last long haul flight. Shall I look out the window for a while, select a movie and music album that I’d like, study what route we’re taking, get my laptop out to work... I decide it’s a long trip, I’ll have time for everything.

Eventually movie is over and, unsatisfied by the quality of the music over the roar of the plane engines, I settle down to watching the route map (did you know you can view the footage of a forward and landscape cameras as the plane flies by) and prepare a blog post. Well, it wouldn’t do if I did nothing, would it?!

The line we crossed... Dublin, Wales, East Midlands, Amsterdam, between Frankfurt and Berlin, between Krakow and Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest, Black Sea, Tigris river, between Erbil and Zagros mountains (then turned south over lines of mountains), going a bit close to Baghdad for my liking (according to the map), over Basrah (quite a city showing many lights, so we’re flying overhead, quite dark now), about to go over water), Kuwait City, Dammam, Bahrain...

So we’ve had the snacks, the lunch... at this point, with one hour and 23 minutes to land, I’m not sure we’ll get another meal but shall see.

As “The Showman” ended the words of P T Barnum were displayed “The noblest art is that of making others happy”.

I’m hoping I’ll continue to refine my art... I think this will be put to the test in this new culture, climate and work. Here goes!

The sound was music to my ears... a 'tune' that I'm very familiar with. In my teenage years I practised it to perfection on the piano... I loved it... "Für Elise" by Beethoven, supposedly published 40 years after his death in 1867.

Now more than 190 years after his death, I bet he'd be "turning in his grave" if he heard it the way I heard it... from an ice-cream van driving down the road. It made me cringe at the tinny sound.

Or maybe he'd be grateful to know that something he composed resonated with someone.

Just think in 190 years time is there anything that you or I have or will have done that will resonate with anyone... who knows!

I've always admired those women who "went before us"... who just "did it" leaving a legacy and an example to follow.

There are two that come easily to mind: Steve Shirley, who wrote the book, "Let IT Go"; and the other who didn't write a book but left close family to recall her exploits, Kay McNulty Mauchly Antonelli.

I may not have been as courageous as them or been that pioneering, but if I ever write a book about my life (or record memories as I see fit in this web site) with its 'successes' and 'failures', you can be the judge of whether I inspire you as they inspire me.

Last month, Belfast hosted the Vespa World Days for 2018, which was held in the Titanic slipways in the Titanic Quarter of the city. More than 3000 Vespa riders from 37 countries from all over the world, some with their families and friends, descended on Belfast.

From viewing a few Club's Facebook pages, I had seen many took the long trip to Belfast across a number of countries and, for some, two ferries. Also, during the Gala evening, trophies were awarded—one to the person who had taken the longest journey to get to the event on their Vespa.

I was given a special guest access pass which meant I could go into the Vespa Village at any time and attend the Gala evening. I took full advantage of this pass "meeting and greeting" those who were there and, with permission, taking photos of the groups and vespas for the Vespa World Days Belfast web site that our company had developed. I must admit I knew nothing about Vespas and the Vespa family before Mark and Maggie Cooke asked us to help them develop a web site two years ago.

Everyone I met was delighted to meet someone local from Belfast and hear some facts, like: my grandfather was a shipwright and would have worked on the Titanic during its construction; that Cave Hill, which they could see from the Titanic Slipways is called locally as 'Napoleon's Nose' and if you follow the signs in that direction for 'Belfast Castle', you can visit its grounds and get a coffee or meal in the Castle itself.

I, unfortunately, have never mastered another language besides my own. So I'm very grateful nearly everyone I spoke to could speak some English. And if they didn't, a smile, my mobile in hand, my special guest wrist band, the view of a photo on a web site, I was accepted.

One 'meet and greet' was enlightening in how Belfast has been portrayed over the years. A group from England said they'd been apprehensive coming to Belfast. They asked: "Where's your police? We don't see any about". I said "You'll see them walking about with white shirts and green vests, or they're along the roads seeking to give out speeding tickets ;-)".

One couple said, "Everyone's been so friendly. When we've been looking at a map around Belfast, someone comes up and asks us what place we were looking for and gives us directions".

Although another couple told me that the only unsettling experience was when they were taking photos of "that wall that has grafiti over it", that some young lads said that we shouldn't take photos. "Oh, the Peace wall" I said, "Never mind them. They haven't realised that's a tourist attraction now". They brushed it aside though with smiles for me to take a photo.

I heard reports from quite a few about people waving in the streets and countryside wherever they went and they felt truly welcomed by us. I'd a few special moments myself as I saw Vespas as they travelled passed. And when walking home one evening, seeing them outside every bar near where I live (which is about 4 miles from Titanic Quarter—great to see the Vespa family happy to explore). Another time when I was walking into town along Botanic Avenue, some guys from Italy (ones I'd recognised that I took a photo of at the Gala evening) were walking out of town and I shouted "Vespa!". I got four big grins looking back at me. Sweet!

Another group asked where they could go to get to the coast and how far it would be. They hadn't realised how close they were to the Antrim Coast and, after the trek they'd made to get here a leisurely run up towards the Antrim Coast was easy.

All this is probably sounding so tame... but 40 years ago when I was growing up, Belfast was a different place. Back then, if you had told me that Belfast would host such an event, I would have laughed at you. The ship yard, Harland and Wolff, which worked on the land, what we call now, the Titanic Quarter, was struggling like most ship yards. We were in the height of troubles, all shops closed at 5p.m., the city centre closed at 11p.m., fear seemed to hang around each corner all the time. Although most of us got on with our lives developing our careers and bringing up our children, we maybe felt unaffected by the troubles until news of another killing or bomb blast rocked our world.

But, after the Gala evening I walked from Titanic Quarter through the city centre to get the last bus home. What a different place it is now. Every bar is open and the sound of music from pubs like The Duke of York lingers in the air, there is laughter in the streets with the 15-seater bike rides with its fully-functional on-board bar cycling passed, the sound of different languages being spoken... spanish, german, french (and some I don't know what they are)... as I walked down the alley ways and streets. And, for Harland and Wolff that I mentioned earlier, thanks to the booming offshore wind and marine power industry, it now has a new lease of life.

On reflection, I feel that Belfast, for a city, has taken the longest journey to welcome all the Vespa family and friends. We mightn't be out of the woods yet, but we're so much further on than we were. Thank you.

I know most associate this heading with the nursery rhyme "The three little pigs" but it reminds me of what the doctor said after I cut my chin for the second time, "if there's ever a third time, we'll need to repair it with plastic surgery"!

The first time was when I was eight. Back then milk bottles were made of glass. We'd just come back from holidays and my mum told me to go and ask a neighbour to leave a note in one of her empty milk bottles to say us at number 20 were back and to leave milk for us. Instead, our neighbour gave me a bottle of milk. When I went into our kitchen, I promptly stood on a mat that slipped from under me, fell and smashed the bottle. I cut my chin about a centimetre below my mouth and cut my wrist so you could see the bone. I can remember sitting in casualty with a nappy wrapped around my wrist and my chin held in another. But my most vivid memory was my chin being sewn up with eleven blanket stitches. With every needle I squeezed the nurse's hand. I'm sure by the end of it her hand was sore.

The second was when I was eleven. Cycling uphill with flip-flops on. My foot slipped and my chin hit the handlebars of my bike. I remember pushing the bike home with blood dripping on the ground. This time a local GP stitched it up. You can see the plaster from my first form photo. It was that doctor who said plastic surgery may be required the next time.

Looking back now, the doctor was probably kidding but his threat certainly has worked. So far I've not fallen, but reading an article on how prone we are to fall as we get older, I may need to consider buying the airbags they recommended, that will fit around my waist belt to avoid me falling badly cutting myself or breaking a limb.

Sounds funny, but did we ever think we'd have airbags in cars?

Yesterday marked a milestone... I’m now twice the age of my daughter. I told her and she said, “I remember you telling me when you were three times my age”.

She’s catching up ;-)

When an organisation sends out an 'Invitation To Tender' (ITT) inviting companies to bid for a web project, the first thing I do is check how they've written the ITT. I was sent one recently, and what I found, was common in what I find in others:

• no styles were used (sometimes not even the default styles are used)
• there was no clear structure and logic in headings and subheadings
• underlining was used in bold headings making it difficult to read words that contained characters that descended below the baseline (such as g, j, p, q, y)
• there were inconsistent spacing between paragraphs—carriage returns were used to create spacing, not paragraph spacing
• features that are generated automatically were added manually, such as page numbers and the table of contents
• multiple tabs were used instead of setting a tab to align text properly
• in a table, text was too close to the table borders—no inset spacing was used
• two spaces was used after every sentence—this is a throwback when we used typewriters, stop it!
• the document was using US Letter, not the standard A4
• there was evidence that the document had been copied from somewhere else and not properly edited to remove the wrong references.

If I tender for this work, a well-structured, properly formatted document would be written explaining how the project would be delivered. Where appropriate, their stated requirements would be challenged and information provided to enlighten them on better delivery.

So I ask myself how would they judge my tender? Although they say that it will be judged by: value for money; ability to meet the requirements; technical capability; quality of case studies, would they recognise the quality of my experience, content and thinking?

And if they don't have an appreciation for the relatively, small details, will they be open to learn and have an appreciation on the larger, more important details?

So should I respond to this ITT? I'm not so sure.

It was time to stop for a break before doing the groceries so I went into a cafe. A mother in the queue in front of me was having difficulty with her son as they decided what to have for lunch. I think the boy was about eight years of age and had Down’s syndrome but he also seemed unable to talk, only communicating with a series of grunts and what appeared to be mini struggles. They eventually were able to find a table in the middle of the cafe, but the boy continued to be unsettled and threatened to run out. My heart went out to the mother.

I was served and found a table behind left of the mum and the boy, and beside another girl. I had just sat down when the mum, who was ever patient, decided to move tables to somewhere quieter. She saw a table, which was against a wall—she could sit him in the inside and sit beside the boy to help control him.

Immediately the girl beside me jumped up and proceeded to help with the move. I noticed the girl left her mobile on her table, and left her large handbag open and vulnerable. So I kept an eye on them until she came back to her table. I said to her “Well spotted” acknowledging her help for the family. “I kept an eye on your mobile and handbag“. She waved her hand and expressed relief “Oh, thanks!”.

Oh! that we helped people more without thinking and cover each other’s backs more readily!

My daughter and I arranged to meet recently—we come from almost opposite ends of the city so we meet at Waterstones in Linenhall Street, her favourite bookshop.

She texted that she was close so I walked down the street to meet her. I saw a little girl about four years of age run to her mother and I got flashback of my daughter doing the same.

Her long blonde hair flowing behind her, grinning from ear to ear, her little legs in leggings going as fast as she could to run into my arms—such was the greeting I got every time I went to pick her up from our childminder after work. What a memory! Almost brought tears to my eyes, knowing it was so long ago but it felt like yesterday.

But then in the distance I saw "my little girl"—our eyes locked and she started running towards me. It was a special moment to see this mature, young woman with the same wonderful smile and seeing excitement in her eyes and boy, my heart felt it as if it could burst with joy.

We hugged, greeted each other with a peck on the cheek and gabbled our way to the coffee shop in Waterstones words flowing into and on top of one another.

Another monthly meet up to catch up and maybe treat each other begins… what could be better! Thank you my companion, soulmate, confidante, my daughter.

It appears the sky is never silent. Here in the heart of the Dolomites, planes fly overhead at a constant rate leaving their smoking trails behind them. At one point I counted eight that flew passed south west of our apartment, criss-crossing each other. They all look too close for comfort but, no doubt, they are flying at different altitudes. Although scary to watch from afar.

On our way up from Riva del Garda, lorry traffic never stops. A constant flow of heavy goods vehicles plough through the extensive bridges and tunnels. The huge infrastructure makes every piece of land reachable, yet where we stay now is so peaceful and idyllic.

At this time of year, we experience the Ladin way of life as it is meant to be, untouched by tourism life.

The children play excitedly during the school breaks, the local mini market only open at specific hours houses all sorts of goods, each customer is known by first names. Though we, as temporary blow-ins, take them by surprise as we awkwardly review Italian, possibly German labeled groceries. The tourism information is closed—no requirement now. The church bell chimes every hour and echoes throughout the valley. The only other sound is the distant roar of rivers pouring down the mountain among heavy snow.

School is now out. Homework must be done. I hear the sound of a recorder, and later, an accordion being played. From the children’s persistence in practicing their music, it brings back memories of my attempts to play the piano and clarinet. I smile as I recognise a Christmas carol among the tunes.

Though I doubt that these children have younger siblings like I had, who constantly scorned my feeble attempts of playing well, especially on the clarinet. I got disheartened too easily by their bemoans.

So if you are an older or younger sibling, be careful what you say to your kin who attempt to play an instrument. Encouragement will make them go a long way rather than your discouragements.

Although I've still have aspirations to play the piano, maybe one day!

The lifeguard at the pool had gone for the day—the red flag hung limp beside his chair.

It was as if there was an element of freedom in the air now. Excessive use of rubber tyres, blow up beds and footballs were now in full swing.

I could see a small group of two fathers (who were wanting to show off their misplaced prowess, no doubt) and four teenagers eager to take on their elders.

Now the pool is no more than 5 feet deep at its deepest end. Diving is forbidden. Well, guess what... the six decided to race to the shallow end of the pool first diving in. Kids clambered to get out of their way—scared the living daylights out of them as water splashed everywhere in the turbulent wake of these potential Olympians race.

And the outcome?

• fathers won at first, youngest last
• as they proceeded to go back to the "deep end" and race again, older teenagers won, much to the secret annoyance of the fathers, no doubt (well, one of them looked that way)
• the younger teenagers tried with such effort to beat the others, but alas
• everyone else were gracious enough to let them play their macho game.

Staff nowhere to be seen to enforce the "no diving" rule, never mind the others...

... so why have rules?

We would get into the car that we’d packed with enough clothes and stuff for 10 - 14 days traveling. We always knew our first stop-off would be a guesthouse close to Enniskillen in County Fermanagh, so we could be close to the west of Ireland, then decide what direction to go on— Donegal, Sligo, Galway...

The next morning we would go in that direction and drive stopping off in villages, parks and towns to look around. To find our next guesthouse, we had a set of guidelines... we had to find one before 4pm so we could settle in and be close to a village or town so we could get something to eat. We would judge a guesthouse by how it and its gardens looked from the outside. If it suited us, we'd stay for a few days.

Would you believe what I remember most was the worry! Where were we going? What kind of place would we pick? Would the beds be comfortable? The breakfast tasty and get a warm welcome? I definitely could say I needn't have worried. Nearly every one was 100%, there was a number that were more than what either of us could have imagined.

But there was one place that stands out from them all. It was in Achill Island. The guesthouse was outside the main town but it had amazing views and there was a quiet beach nearby.

We called at the house and an elderly lady greeted us. The house was pristine. We let her know what we were doing and that we'd been on the go for nearly a week, but we would stay for a few nights. She recommended a place for us to eat and as we left for dinner, she asked if she could do a clothes wash for us. That evening, when we got back she had board games out and ready to play. She even let her little dog (normally hidden away) into the living room as we played. Much to my daughter's amusement. The lady was so accommodating.

The next day we left to explore the island and go for a swim in the nearby beach. When we got back, our clothes had been washed and ironed and left in our bedroom.

The lady is probably long gone now but how she made us feel... important, safe, special... will last for as long as we're alive.

May, whatever we do, as best we can, leave others feeling the same way.

I saw a branch that had been cleanly cut off a tree and stripped bare of any branches and hammered into the ground, along with others. It was to stop people driving their cars and parking along a grass verge. This one branch obviously had taken root and was starting to grow again.

It made me think... sometimes in life we get uprooted, feel like we've lost our way, get placed in a situation where we never thought we'd be... take heart!

Give yourself time, there's plenty in you to take root, show fresh shoots of promise and keep on going. You'll find your feet soon enough.

Keep believing!

Couple of lines out of an episode of Cold feet last week struck me... Karen Marsden feels like she's going to have a nervous breakdown and wants to down a bottle... Pete Gifford comes to the rescue. They sit on the floor and Pete says to Karen:

... I thought when I grew up, I'd have everything sorted out, but now I've realised we make it up as we go along...

And another time he says:

... don’t think you know how appreciated you are by so many...

So to those who are struggling or think they should have everything figured out by now, take heart.

Stop, smile, feel the wind through your hair and carry on. You're doing the best you can and so many, even they don't say it, do appreciate you!

And to the rest of you who are OK... encourage someone today!

Reading this article... What's your calling in life? made me think.

My desire has always been to help people use technology for the greater good. In some cases with work, helping them concentrate on what they do best. I hope I've done that.

Though I'm not sure people know they need help these days. However, when I look at their Word documents they produce (whether it's a letter, a council tender through to a thesis), I know people need help. Even viewing a presentation at a conference or workshop, something jars when it's not done well. Looking at code, whether it's a Perl program, a page of HTML, CSS file with incorrect structure and naming conventions... there's always room for improvement.

Of course, there's always room for me to improve as well but I'd like others to know what I know and make some progress :-)

The Maccabeats and Naturally 7 - Shed a Little Light - MLK Jr. Day

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crKDDS5D_os

Emailed my daughter the link to:

A special gnome who knits...

and asked "Cute, eh? :-) Mum xo"

She replies... "Absolutely adorable. Wonder if the gnome is a robot and able to make wool hearts or if it is actually alive because some child sprinkled magic dust over it. x"

Melt my heart or what... think I'd prefer "because some child sprinkled magic dust over it"... wouldn't you?

Of course! For us, one accident happened when we visited our favourite rock pool... it's a man made rock pool with huge boulders placed on two sides to build a wall against the coming tide and those boats that bring a surf that wipe most from their feet. The boulders are huge, sometimes jagged rocks thrown together side by side now securely set. We clamber over them every time we visit such is our delight when we delve into the quieter sea.

Myriad of fish life await us... electric blue fish, pig-faced fish with bulging eyes that race after each other, large school of small eel-like fish that swim like starlings fly in unison across the Belfast sky at dusk, silver, yellow and black striped fish that glisten when rays of sunshine comes through the sea... then there's ones that hang off the boulders, black bodies with green-yellow heads munching their way. Then there's the shy, long pipe-like, seahorse-headed fish gently gliding through the sea deep down...

To our accident... this time we decided to go further out over the boulders because the tide, though on the turn, we'd be safe and see more. Stepping out into the sea is harder so we'd need to feel our way mostly by our feet as it's hard to see the different depths. I always wear rock shoes. Though gung-ho joe doesn't! So he feels his way through the boulders heel-first... this time onto a sea urchin with spikes at the ready. Too late. Even with the thickness of his heel they penetrate and take root. Excruciating pain. So much so as he glides into the water, he thinks his foot will be covered in blood. Swims to where I am. Expresses concern. Lifts his foot for me to view. No blood. From his face I know something is wrong. Though he swims around regardless not wanting to worry me but after a while, he goes in... not like him. I swim over to see what's wrong.

He's quiet holding his foot. It can only mean it's not good. I ask can I have a look - there's five spikes embedded but not perturbing. It needs something sharp to dig them out. I hunt around my rucksack and only have a nail file. Though he tries to 'shave' them, it's no good.

Remember we're on the top of ragged rocks. No way to get back to shore easily. I tell him I'll let him swim and I'll take the rucksacks. But he's not having it. Oh hum!!!

We wait a half an hour hoping the pain will ease. Nope! The tides coming in. These particular rocks will be submerged soon. I hear the roar of the sea behind me. Time to make a decision. We're packing up. All ready I check if he can stand and walk. I see him trying to tiptoe. He's in pain. We gingerly step through the boulders. I find it tough at the best of times but now unnerved by how he must be feeling.

I stop halfway to the shore at our normal spot and mesmerised by the sea. My gentleman urges me to go in - he'll be OK. I do for a short while and I'm met with my old favourites and a new one... a sea slug that's camouflaged against the sea weed bed... magical! What pleasure!

On shore we've assessed our plan of action. Just like him, he will do some minor surgery with a razor, newly bought scissors, tweezers and antiseptic spray. We get back to the apartment. I leave him to it. Though I google "how to remove spines from a sea urchin". We discuss the actions that aren't that different from what we decided to do.

Before he puts his heel into *very hot* water after the "surgery", I see his heel is badly cut up as he's poked his way into it to remove the spikes. The hot water is supposed to help the body dispel the rest of the spikes that can't be reached.

Boy, is he a brave man?

I'd have just gone to the local pharmacist or hospital and claimed any expense incurred from my insurance.

Thank God for my rock shoes, Amen!

Note: eight weeks later the heel has finally dispelled the last of the spikes. Lesson to us all... wear rock shoes in unfamiliar waters!

p.s. did he bring his new rock shoes to Tenerife the following year? No, takes too much room in his rucksack but... he was extra careful going into the water!

The simplest things make me laugh and it's at the little observations that come my way! Like here in Tenerife this year, 2016, the latest toy is a rubber ball attached to a string of elastic and a wristband. It's really great as it allows a child to bounce a ball without losing it.

I saw one wee boy throwing it hard away from him, only for it to bounce back and hit his chest hard. Bumph! The look on his face of shock was priceless.

Only for the ball to fire off again. This time it rebounded over his shoulder and in a flash he turned around to try and catch it but it rebounded again. I muffled my laugher as I watched his antics and his facial expressions.

Later as I sat on our balcony writing this reflection, I roared with laughter so much so the people sitting out on their balcony across the resort lifted their heads from their lunch.

I'm sure they were saying "can we have what she's having!?".

The day I heard Trump became the USA president, we picked up a car from Milan airport only to find, a couple of hours later, we'd driven 80 miles on two bald, front tyres (dangerous when we were about to travel into the Dolomites in zero temperatures) and had to go back to get a replacement car, then when eating a breakfast roll broke part of a tooth.

Which of those was worse?

Funny, eh? Think the saying should be things come in T's!

Hi love,

Hope your day has gone well. If not, no matter, tomorrow's another day. You've done your best!

I was thinking about what you said about other women not noticing when things are 'wrong' in a house... but you do.

It's how I've inadvertently brought you up with an awareness of what needs done, what to look out for, when to call on other folk to help if you can't do it yourself. I've had to rely on my own instincts to fix things. Other women have their Dads to sort things out. Sorry that, although your Dad is more than capable, he wasn't there much.

So I've broken the convention that men do this, women do that. Long may it continue... like the video that's going around FB/YouTube... that women can be fire fighters, surgeons, bricklayers, plumbers... or just know when things need doing.

So be happy... don't worry about getting things done... you'll get to it sometime.

Love Mum xo

Days of long hours sitting working over a couple of laptops and large screen are back. Between Skype calls, silence is broken by intermittent deep breaths and comments how bad the bandwidth is. The heavy weight of stress looms.

Those glorious, carefree nine days of our Tenerife holiday are a precious memory. We were there for 14 days but it took you five days to reconcile yourself with work, telling me all about the reasoning behind the stress. It became unimportant so no more was mentioned. You'd talked it out. I understood.

Now life for you had returned to basics that the most significant question you'd ask was "what's for lunch? what's for dinner?" So that every meal was planned in my head well in advance. I did not miss that when eating out every evening in Tenerife.

Yesterday afternoon you put your arm around me during coffee break. You'd worked out it would be our last evening together for a week and said "Let me finish off going through this presentation and we can have an evening together". Your arm was warm and comforting and the anguish I felt, diminished.

Hopes up. Dinner was planned—baked vegetables with bacon and your favourite, cheese on top. Any meal with cheese was a winner. And an apple crumble with lemon curd yoghurt to finish.

Ready by half 6, you came to down the stairs in anticipation—you weren't disappointed. After eating, you left a while later to go back to the office to "finish off"—always a bad sign. You played the guitar first. Dishes were done. And I waited. Eight came and went. Nine came and went.

I decided to heat up the apple crumble, not good to eat late so tucked in. At 9:45 you came down the stairs looking sheepish. You've that look that says "I'm not finished".

I was getting tired, too many late nights—so ready to call it quits, disappointed that the evening wasn't as expected. You heated your apple crumble up and scoffed it and licked the bowl clean with your finger, like you always do.

You went upstairs and played the guitar again for a bit before settling into work with your nerves calmed.

But I understood. I nearly always did. As I woke up at 1am I could hear your office chair squeak and roll on the wooden floor as you worked.

I wondered how many times you disappointed your wife and your daughters, when you'd actually said you'd be somewhere or do something with them but it didn't happen because of one thing or the other, though mostly because of work. Such is your appetite to finish what you've started regardless of what's been said.

But each time we've held our disappointment. Someone would roll their eyes, though accepted it. Knowing that when you did have time, you would give your 100%.

But when would you learn to not say those things you couldn't keep—the disappointment would be less and the memory not so keen.

Bandwidth is lousy throughout the resort except in reception or so I thought. I found the best way to find out where the strongest signal is, is to ask a teenager who has a device in his hand.

Proud to be asked this young teenager gave me the accurate area marking out "landmarks" to show me where to get the best signal. Precious. He wandered off to his table (no doubt, the best place) to Facetime a friend.

I wandered inside to reception to find a seat and finish off checking my email and there were three handsome, trendy lads with their devices. A young lady walked past them. They pretended all the more to view their devices but one by one I could see them stare as the "model" pranced by. I thought they're all the same! LOL!

No seats to be found so I stood by another handsome teenager–brown-eyed, hair swept back—and said "it's like watching paint dry, isn't it?" "Yes" he said "I've been trying to chat with my friend and as the signal comes and goes the conversation gets very disjointed so there is misunderstandings. So I've told my friend to wait until we see each other face-to-face". And, as I left to reduce congestion, we chuckled in understanding.

When I was a teenager I never had confidence to walk up to fellas and chat. What a difference being a middle-aged woman makes!

This song reminds me of when my daughter was little... time went so fast...

Nichole Nordeman - Slow Down (Lyric Video)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clcNB_EUao8

Cherish the moments with them, don't be thinking of work all the time like I did... they're only little for a short while.

We've listened to their 'discussions', fighting, accusing for long enough and now it's time to vote.

I can say though the only good thing about Brexit is that we don't see their faces on posters in every lamp post on every street (like every other campaign that's gone on before).

You can still get your eye poked on some of the cable ties they've used to put up the posters in the first place.

Politicians, when removing your posters, remove the cable ties. Oh sorry, your supporters don't do a good job... I wonder who they're learning from!

Now to vote...

Had a dream last night... I don't usually remember them. This one was odd considering they are only supposed to last a few seconds... lots seem to happen.

When I was visiting my father, Mark Zuckerberg (the guy who founded Facebook) called at my Dad's house. I tried to take a photo with my iPad (I don't have one in real life so not sure where that came from!). Anyway, I thought no-one would believe me that I'd met Mark, but the iPad wouldn't work.

He and I couldn't fix it so Mark spoke to one of his experts in his office in the States to see if they could fix it. I remember saying "it's great to have clever people around you".

Strange thing was, while the dream lasted, his hair went from short (the way he has it now), to curly shoulder length, to completely white and then bald! A rapid ageing process... do I do that to people!?

Couple of things I thought afterwards:

• I have really clever and reliable people around me... those I can bounce ideas of, lift the phone if there's a problem in life or in business... you know who you are! And thank you!
• be careful not to bore people... watch out for dramatic hair colour changes and receding hair line
• and most importantly, stop viewing Facebook before going to bed!

Greeting for my birthday which I confess I had to look up on wikipedia. My latin isn't good... the translation would be "pluck the day [as it is ripe]"—i.e. enjoy the moment.

And a lovely video from Evelyn in Australia, worth taking note... one is never alone:

My wish for you ... and yes... Happy Birthday

Amen!

Kenneth Dutton was his name and Lawrence was his friend. Can it be me that I remember running around trying to get close to him and maybe kiss him. Must be as it's a vivid memory.

But the oddest thing of all, I can't remember what he looked like. Only that Lawrence would make sure that he was between me and Kenneth.

Anyway the next term, Kenneth was no longer in school. His parents had immigrated somewhere far away.

Was I that bad?!

P1 didn't get off to a good start for me. My teacher, Mrs McMahon, had big hair and wore lots of makeup. Compared to my mum, she must have looked intimidating.

I think it was the first day of school so we'd only been recently introduced. All I remember was that I was lying on the classroom floor and was kicking at her desk and her shins.

Was I frightened that I felt I had to attack her? Or was it a dream? No matter, dream or not, my mum was called.

I still had her for the whole of P1.

It was P3, Mrs Glass... an elderly lady, white hair, wrinkled skin, teeth that were lovely and white, but too large for her mouth. She had a big smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I felt safe with her. She called me "Sarah suck-a-thumb". I made the mistake in telling my mum one day, who promptly made an appointment to see Mrs Glass. Even at 7 I was mortified that my mum was telling her off for calling me that.

But did Mum not know that she said it affectionately. Something that warmed me... it's not that I got that at home!

Our measure of success is how we handle disappointment.

Only failure is the failure to try.

A new book tells you how to change your habits to improve at math, science…

Here's an article about the book: How to help your mind work...

Barbara Oakey's book is called A Mind for Numbers: How to Excel at Math and Science (Even If You Flunked Algebra)

Charles Dickens, perhaps the greatest of the Victorian novelists, was a man of strict routine. Every day, Dickens would write from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. After that, he would put his work away and go out for a long walk. Sometimes he walked as far as 30 miles; sometimes, he walked into the night. "If I couldn't walk fast and far, I should just explode and perish," Dickens wrote.

Worth rethinking how we work...

OK... in amongst my work commitments...

I clean the house, make meals, wash dishes... the normal laborious chores but, beyond the norm... all I want is to not be taken for granted and to make someone else's day!

An informative talk on how we can make our speech be more effective... http://www.ted.com/talks/julian_treasure_how_to_speak_so_that_people_want_to_listen#t-66520

Honesty, Authenticity, Integrity, Love... explained and some tips to help you.

The Washington Post reported that the fish we eat are rapidly disappearing from our oceans... it has troubled ever since I read it... how can we change the way the world eats to avoid losing them altogether.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2014/06/03/the-end-of-fish/

I attended an evening recently that had been arranged by a local woman's group. Most of those who attended were in their mid-40s and upwards. It was during the "Well-being and Health" week that they had invited Aoife Toner from Bloom in dance company to lead us. Aoife, assessing our age, took us through simple exercises at first to get us to start moving muscles we hadn't moved in a while! And then through some dances that challenged some but was fun all the same.

After some gentle stretching exercises, Aoife got us to 'hang loose', walk around the room, let our arms flow and raise our heads (too often we look down at the ground while we walk) and feel relaxed. I felt like a child without a care in the world at that point. It's been a long while since I entered into something like this and got engulfed.

And at that point I looked around the hall... each one of us were also walking like children. And I thought of the life experience that each one of these women had had and when was the last time they walked without a care in the world... like children. It felt good. Think we should let go of our troubles and walk as if we hadn't a care in the world more often!

Most of us over 40 complain about not being able to lose weight easily. Well, I know I do. It's because our metabolism is slower, so we should eat less and exercise more... easier said than done sometimes.

But we should also look for things that have improved... one thing I've noticed recently is that I don't have to wash my hair every day. Normally if I didn't wash it every day, it would be a greasy mop... no longer :-)

When I see articles like this Billionaires’ map, I think about what the Bible says in the Old Testament, that every 7 years debts were cancelled, wealth was distributed… at least that’s how I remember it!

With so much poverty in this world, it would make a big difference even if a small part of each billionaire’s wealth was distributed… don’t you think?

I rely too much on Google so I agree with this article: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Google_effect

Think it’s time I started to write a novel about my life… to start to jog my memory.

Another thing I’m doing is while reading I’m trying to remember words I’ve never come across. I try and recall them the next day! Not easy but trying.

I can’t believe I did 2 hours 28 minutes 21 seconds… knocking at least 13 minutes off anything I had done previously.

A lady I only got to meet for the last five years of your life. It could’ve been longer, but alas!

I used to think that you were an affectionate busybody, but looking back you cared for all who were around you. Even when you were in hospital suffering... weak, confused and tired, you would look over the ward and ask about the empty bed across from you that once was occupied or showed concern that no one had visited a lady on another bed.

When we eventually met, you accepted me, no judgment. I loved to meet you and Bobby... you both would argue about silly things. It was a joy to listen to compared to how my own parents would communicate.

You had a special way of making things that members of your family loved. I can’t really do them as well as you can, but I try. I will need to get some of those recipes. Maybe your daughter has them.

We’d have wee chats in the kitchen when we called for tea, where you’d tell me of your concern for Bobby or incidents throughout the day. You used to walk a lot around where you lived, calling on this one and that one. I wish I knew the people you spoke about. You would say, “you know…”. If I’d known you sooner, been in your life for longer, I probably would have, but alas!

What is more poignant though is how you made people feel. You treated each person the same, making time for them, of equal value—no matter who they were. I'm sure many miss you. I, for one, do.

To the person who endures a lot, is solid as a rock and chooses to ignore the fears. Thank you.

I started this blog to see how long I could keep going… hoping there wouldn’t be a break. Alas! it’s been a year. But that’s life. Here’s to starting again.

I did run a marathon last year (refer to my last blog item in February 2011), though it was two half-marathons. Raised nearly £500 for MS. Thanks to all who donated. It was much appreciated.

I’ve been getting a lot of email recently relating to my work and found it to be quite surprising how poorly people send email and respond to my own emails. Here's an excellent article on how to use email... have a read:

https://www.lifewire.com/fundamental-email-etiquette-1171187

I agree with most of what it says. But it makes me wonder... is it just me (and this guy) and we have to get used to this demise of communication... I expect so sadly.

My running career… That’s a laugh… it’s no career, just doing it for fun. Some may say it’s not a good sport to start at my age (or any) because of the stress it puts on bones, hips, knees but I take it easy… don’t do much on tarmac or concrete until race days so lessens the impact.

Anyhow, after my successes of the two half marathons last year which I raised over £900, I’ve been considering doing a marathon. Just one… I could celebrate this my 50th year by doing it.

So I did my home work… people say the Berlin marathon course is the best for historical value as you run around the city and the way you are treated. But alas, it’s a week after the half marathon which I’ve already enrolled for in the Great North Run in September. So it’ll have to be another year… meanwhile I’m running 7 miles every Saturday and using that day to extend my distance so I’ll be prepared. I’m slow but steady.

Here goes… now what charity should I run for… you didn’t expect me to just do it for myself… did you? :-)

I find it amazing that some people who should know better type “it’s” when it should be “its”!

“It’s” is shortened for It is… like ‘I think it’s worthwhile’ which is ‘I think it is worthwhile’.

“Its” is a belonging word… it connects with the word previously mentioned like ‘The guy described his organisation and its aims’.

Oh hum…

There is one thing that melts my heart every time I see it and it’s a child’s footprint in the sand.

I don’t know why it is… something so beautiful, innocent, tender about it.

It’s amazing me recently how much we see every day like we’ve never seen before. The forest has so many gems to amaze us by like the mushrooms and toadstools growing and decaying like we’ve not seen other years… red with white spots, greys, creams, greens, yellows, tiny, massive… edible or not? I’m not trying them. They’ve been here other years but the impact has astounded me this year like never before. Then there’s the blackberries… we’ve been picking a few every morning to have in our cereal for a couple of weeks now and they seem so plentiful compared to other years.

So I ask myself… is it my consciousness improving as I’m becoming much more aware of the outdoors so I’m less a towny as time goes by? I hope so, because the forest continues to surprise me every day.

And of course, that’s only part of it—the sea is glorious to swim in. It’s so warm and clear. When I dive down, it’s like entering another room… feels like I’m intruding as the hermit carbs walk along the bottom and jellyfish drift by.

Last Friday, 21 May, I ran for 2 hours 19 mins… that should be at least 12 miles. Although it was hard at the end, I thought I must be on target for the Lisburn half-marathon on 16 June.

Today I ran for maybe 2-3 miles and feel wrecked. Does that mean I’m not ready after all? Hope not!

Now I feel just like sitting in a field of bluebells and enjoying the colour, smell and the sun. This season goes far too quickly so need to stop and stare a while!

We had a great time with friends last weekend in April… two couples who are younger than us. It was a delight to see how the guys treated their partners with a grace and respect that is not normally seen.

I caught the ‘jogging’ bug two years ago (at the age of 46 that’s something!) after suffering from sciatica off and on for years.

Thanks to two 6-week sessions with two separate NHS physios from Knockbracken and Holywood Arches Clinics (and no help from those chiropractors and physios I paid to help me), I’m cured! They showed me what the problem was, got me to do *odd* exercises, so with my determined character and a bit of discipline I got back into sport again… keeping in mind I must strengthen the ‘inner core’.

Always loved hockey, badminton and swimming, but jogging… what an uninspiring pastime… so I thought!

Well, this morning I went out for a run as I normally do a few days a week now… today was different as I extended the run. I have the half-marathon in June to prepare for… I must have done 5 miles at least. Feels good, need to extend that to 13.1 miles though… here’s to next week’s run.

So what made me go for a half-marathon (2 this year actually). Well, I put my name into a ballot for the Great North Run in September. Never thinking I would get picked, but I go over with George @mungeo to Newcastle every year, so I thought I’d try. I got selected!

So I thought I should warm up so I’m doing the Lisburn half-marathon in June as well (although it’s supposed to be hard ’cause it’s hilly :-(). In for a penny, in for a pound!

My time… that’s another matter… who cares! If I can do them in 2.5-3 hours, that would be very good for me.

‘Twas strange the other day to open my front door in a quiet street in South East Belfast to find a teenager texting her friends as she dandered to school and a man with his iPhone tracking where he was and where he should go to.

Latest technology is everywhere and available to the common man…

… my sunglasses have a tiny transmitter that gives me a camera feed at the top right of one of the lenses from my office so I know it’s safe, there’s a tiny camera in my nose piece that records who I’m talking to, and I receive sound from my ear piece which is telling me who it is I’m talking to… one day! :-)

I’ve kept this blog private up until today… most likely reason is because I am haunted by the fact that I didn’t do well at school especially in English. So when I go to write an email, blog, a report, whatever, it can take me ages and I didn’t want to start a blog and then find I had no time to enter anything! I mean who likes blogs that are old and never get new postings. But I’ve surprised myself, I’ve kept going. Some months are more active than others but that’s the way life is. So…

I gave the link to my friend in Chicago who promptly read it all… and she liked it and has encouraged me to keep writing, so there’ll be no stopping me now!

Last weekend in April, we climbed Muckish. I’ve never been a fast climber. Everyone I go with seem like mountain goats but I can’t keep up that pace. I always take a few steps then look back (exhausted!). Why rush anyway? Some fantastic views.

This weekend past I decided to extend the run for a half-marathon. When I woke up on Saturday I felt strong… always a good way to feel when you have to go for a run :-). I wasn’t sure how long I’d go for but 1.5 hours would be good, 2 hours running would mean about 9-10 miles.

It was a good morning too. All that was there to keep me company was the birds, the odd beetle, some black (and brown!) slugs. I kinda lost my way a bit and when I found were I was again, I was disappointed. Although I’d ran for 45 minutes, I thought I was further round than I was. But about half way I just felt like lead. I was conscious of every muscle (and fat!) moving. I was determined to keep going… I mean my aim is to do a marathon this year… split in two halves. This is what it’s going to feel like, I thought, it’s normal… there’ll be plenty of people to support you but you’re on your own now. So I plodded on, up steep hills and long, slight slops.

After one particularly steep hill and too far from home, I was ready for dropping, when a jogger (who looked like skin and bone!) and had met the previous week came out of nowhere and said “You’re doing rightly! Fine morning?” Boy, that made me smile. What encouragement had he given this middle aged woman who had a face like beetroot!

Though slow I kept going… knowing every turn now and knowing when the end was coming and a cool swim to invigorate. What a reward!

I was delighted… for the next two days I waited for painful muscles to kick in. Not a twitch!

... pity all this exercise isn’t improving my badminton though! :-)

Stephen Fry observes connection is what humans crave: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/legacy/digitalrevolution/2009/10/rushes-sequences-stephen-fry.shtml

How 20 years of the web have reshaped our lives: http://www.bbc.co.uk/virtualrevolution/interviews.shtml

“Congratulations! Your application to take part in the 2010 Bupa Great North Run via the general ballot has been successful.”

No stopping me now!

As the opening paragraph explains...

RDFa is an extension to HTML5 that helps you markup things like People, Places, Events, Recipes and Reviews. Search Engines and Web Services use this markup to generate better search listings and give you better visibility on the Web, so that people can find your website more easily.

Have a look at: Linked data in HTML5, https://rdfa.info/

Worth considering how your developers are developing your web site...

Since I started this blog, I’ve realised why didn’t I start this long before now!

For all the wealth of material we gather for our workshops, it’s a great place to put something that you want to refer back to later, when you’re not sure where you’ll use it!

Most Popular Social Bookmarking Websites

Our workshops are all different and it’s important to keep reviewing, improving, refining… now I’ll remember where I stored this :-)

Whether I slowly drive down the steep descent of Rocky Road or climb to the top of Cave Hill on a clear day and see the sight of Belfast stretching out over the valley, it still fills me with awe. I have a certain pride about belonging to this city… or maybe it’s just that this is what I know, it’s familiar, I feel secure in its insecurity. Despite all its troubled past and present, its landmarks, its history and the beauty beyond its hills will always be dear to me.

I think it’s the same feeling Martyn Joseph has when he sings about ‘Cardiff Bay’.

I’m reading an interesting book that has been challenging me in the way I think about myself, people, my work, everything.

One part challenges that sometimes we achieve success but is it really success. What we perceive as success, others see as only a minor achievement or nothing at all. Sometimes we are in situations that others as well as ourselves see as hopeless, but is it really that bad. There has been times in my life where I have felt the world has been taken away from my feet, been completely floored, didn’t know what way to turn… but where things that bad. Seems to me that in this recession (and earthly disasters) we shouldn’t judge ourselves, our situations, and others too harshly. And the only real answer is to look beyond our own situation no matter how bad we think it is and look around for those we need our help and be thankful.

What’s the book? Most pre-judge it when they hear the title and make some slide-remark. So you’re going to have to ask if you really want to know. :-)

Struck again this week how many working people feel they are in dead-end jobs and are quite depressed. I took my car for MOT this week and the middle-aged mechanic who took it through the various tests looked quite despondent. Spoke to him at the end when he gave me the keys back. In his twenty-fourth year as a mechanic and felt he could do more, the job offered no challenge anymore.

Let me encourage those who are out there in the same boat… first be thankful you’ve a wage coming in and have been able to support yourself and family all those years; look for opportunities that you could apply yourself to do something that you enjoy; if you’ve the courage, start your own business, plan in the evenings, start gradually, do your market research, there’s plenty of advice available; above all, whatever you do, do it well and smile you’re making a difference. People like me can’t do your job and are grateful when things are done right.

Needless to say, I’m very grateful that my car passed its MOT. With a warning from the mechanic, “those fiats aren’t good on snow and ice, so be careful out there”. Thank you.

Recently my local telephone exchange was enabled for broadband. Yesterday I ordered my line to be enabled and told that the line was ‘Amber’ and may only get 1Mbps. Kinda expected that, but then I asked for a static IP address. I was told that since we were only on 1Mbps, the line couldn’t hold an IP. After running an ISP for 10 years, I don’t think so!

Asked to speak to a member of the technical team… refused!