Moderation

Yesterday's metaphor about a private blog being like the front room in someone's house was immediately trashed by a visitor who burst into the house with a spray can and tossed my cushions around. There were accusations and allegations and far too many words. The visitor would have done well to take on board some of the helpful guidelines contained in yesterday's blogpost - including this advice: "You don't start criticising everything from the moment you walk in and you don't start taking over the conversation either."

In the fifteen and  half years that I have been a blogger, I have always refused to enable comment moderation. In fact, until a few minutes ago I did not even know how to do that. For me, it very much goes against the grain to check out  comments before they are posted. But that is what I have now chosen to do.

I apologise to regular commenters for this change and I am sorry that there will now be  some police tape between us.   An unwelcome barrier. I will try to get your very welcome future comments up for public consideration as soon as I can.

However, to the house guest who tried to trash my front room and had to be led out still raging, I want to say this: I will no longer be reading any of your comments. In the moderation process, they will simply be deleted.

I am a tolerant guy and habitually I support the concept of free speech  but you pushed it too far in your various comments after "Visiting" and became insulting to me and to some of my other visitors. Once again you wrote more words than there were in the blogpost. That itself should tell you something. In spite of your intelligence, linguistic athleticism, fluent thinking and passion for life, you have become too shouty, too judgemental and too impolite for my liking. Enough is enough.

You came into my front room and you ignored the house rules so that's that. It's  a horrible thing to have to do just before Christmas and for that I am truly sorry. Because you have so much to say, perhaps you will consider relaunching your own blog?

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/38IYL1N

A Christmas Story 1984

I have told this before but it’s well worth a repeat.

1985, I was a second year psychiatric nurse just starting my “ Long Term” placement on Action Ward at the West Cheshire Hospital in Chester which optimistically called itself a rehabilitation ward.

The patients had already been rehabilitated within an inch of their lives, and non were deemed well enough to be placed into half way house facilities in the community.

I was still very much a new boy at work, and it showed as many of the patients ran circles around me in an environment which reminded me very much of old institution and concrete thinking.

It was Christmas week and my responsibility was for an older patient called Ivy.

All I really remember about Ivy was that she always wore a smart red coat buttoned to the neck and smoked roll ups very precisely. 

She had been in hospital for neigh on thirty years and was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic 

For me , she was benign, polite and compliment with care.

An ideal patient to supervise on a winters day duty.

The Wednesday before Christmas she was allowed to withdraw ten pounds from the hospital bank and together we made a list of what she wanted to buy for Christmas. 

Her list was sparse , given that she had no known next of kin; a few toiletries, tobacco and sweets that was all. So together on a late night shopping day we caught the bus into Chester.

We went to Boots, had coffee in Marks’ cafe and finally ventured into Browns Of Chester to see the Christmas lights. 

Ivy took my arm gamely as we braved the crowds.

We looked like Gran and Grandson rather than nurse and patient.

My confidence increased.

As we passed the perfume counter , a plastic looking woman with a bottle offered Ivy a squirt 

Would Madam like to try some of this?” 

Ivy stopped for a moment and my heart froze for a second but then she smiled and holding her hand out 

Said “ Oh Yes please” 

The plastic saleswoman beamed and gave Ivy a generous squirt on the wrist which Ivy graciously sniffed saying 

“oh That’s nice what is it ?”

The saleswoman sensing a sale homed in “ Its new from Dior Madam , it’s called Poison” she crooned

Everything stopped for a millisecond 

Ivy paused, internally I panicked at just what a paranoid schizophrenic might make of this information and the plastic smile never left the plastic saleswoman’s face

A moment later Ivy nodded and seriously replied with an appropriate “ Oh it’s very nice “ 

I sighed loudly as Ivy’s pupils suddenly went a little darker 

And the old lady reached forward and touched the saleswoman on the arm 

“ I knew Hitler  you know “ she whispered loudly and as the woman made a perfect O with her lips she added cheerfully

 “ He had a gigantic cock! ” 

 

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/34z4FRt

mustard seed

 When you 

know the call

you do it

even when

i don't feel 

it's that good

Obeying you

not leaning

on my 

own understanding 

just became 

real in

this moment

so i continue

to be faithful

in the small 

So that

you are glorified

magnified

and revered

May mustard seeds

become the roots

of greatness

for the Lord

who reigns 

supreme

in my heart

from R's rue https://ift.tt/2KKMilR

Cards

The Christmas Cards have filled the living room, kitchen window and the baby blue bookcase in the living room.

This pleases me. 

I’m shallow enough to think this is a good thing.

Cards posted with care and attention mean more now I’m older.

I’m the second to last on the postman’s delivery route and he never gets by much before 3pm...so today I’ve left him some mince pies in a Christmas themed plastic food box.

Working tonight

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/2LR48E4