Fed Up.

Yep, I'm fed up.

There are some pretty odd people out there in this world and in the last few days I've found my blog title unsubtly cribbed, a blog titled and devoted to me ( although fortunately no posts, because heaven knows what exactly the author was anticipating) and lastly one of my posts copied and stuck on an offensive soft porn site.

Here are the links to the two posts;

http://wayward-wifes.blogspot.com/2009/02/read-jane-turley.html

http://newspaperadsduq.blogspot.com/2009/02/showing-pussy-on-woman-witty-ways-of.html

I guess if you put yourself in the public domain you can expect feedback which might be even in a negative fashion. I've no real problem with that although it is one of the reasons I steer away from controversial subjects like religion and politics as I had no wish for my site to go down that avenue. However, in both these cases I think the authors have overstepped the mark of good taste.

I am constantly hearing that blogging isn't "The Real World." Many people, including myself, use that term lightly but unfortunately there are others use it to abdicate responsibility for their words and actions. They forget that the people who write blogs are in fact "real" people with families and feelings.

I'm probably being oversensitive to the matter but sometimes I just wonder how if some people cannot put themselves into the shoes of others how we will ever survive as the human race. Maybe we won't. Maybe next time the Arc won't be big enough. Or maybe we will just fight over it and sink the bloody thing.

EARTH HOUR, MARCH 28 2009

Yes, the day is here, March 28th 2009. The day when ordinary people like you and I have a chance to show others less concerned or unaware of global warming how we care about our beautiful, wonderous world, the many species that inhabit it and how the time has come to preserve it for future generations.

For over 30 years, politicians have talked, argued and theorized about climate change but the truth is very little has been done to make the real and effective changes required to stem the tide of global warming.

In democracies we elected people who we thought would act in our best interests but, more often than not, those interests were submerged under a blanket of short term political and economic demands. In dictatorships the word of leaders was, and is, law; the voices of people suppressed by the will of those who govern.

But I ask you - what needs, wants, demands are more important than the survival of the human race?

Are we, the people, as guilty as our leaders? Perhaps not, but the luxuries we have enjoyed at the expense of nature be it through ignorance or greed make us all culpable to some degree. And the time has now come when every one of us has to contribute to clawing the world back from the precipice on which it now stands.

The clock is ticking.

Nature will not wait for further debate. It will not slow hand clap us as we pontificate; it will seek a bloody and exacting revenge. Millions, perhaps billions, will die if we do not halt the progress of global warming.

The clock is ticking.

We must vocalize to individuals, businesses and governments that apathy will no longer be tolerated. We must curb fossil fuel emissions, we must use and develop sources of renewable energy. We must work for the greater good of mankind.

The clock is ticking.

I urge you today to support Earth Hour by switching off your lights at 8.30pm local time. Please tell your colleagues, friends and neighbours and most importantly make people understand why you are doing it.

I leave you with these words from the inaugural address of President John F Kennedy in 1961. Whilst they are the words from another generation, they seem just as relevant today in the context of the perils we face from global warming.

Now the trumpet summons us again—not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need; not as a call to battle, though embattled we are—but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, "rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation"—a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease, and war itself.

Can we forge against these enemies a grand and global alliance, North and South, East and West, that can assure a more fruitful life for all mankind? Will you join in that historic effort?

In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility—I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it—and the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

John. F. Kennedy.

Climate change is a global problem. It is not just about freedom from communism, oppression and war. It is about the freedom from
starvation and poverty. So ask not what the earth can do for you but
what you can do for the earth. Ask not what the world will do for you,but what you will do for the survival of man.

Jane

If you would like to learn more about global warming I urge you to read Global Warning The Last Chance for Change which I review here on The View From Here Literary Magazine.

Voice Recognition Programmes II (Judgement Day)

Yes, yes I keep wasting even more time on that silly voice recognition programme! It was supposed to save me time not make me fart around all day trying to make it write "bullshit" - a task at which so far I have failed miserably.

Oh well, I might as well have another go - yes I can even type here - straight onto Blogger! Isn't that great? If it had ANY idea what I was saying...

Okay, here goes;

I am trying to save the word portion it, I am trying to say the word portion it, I am trying to say the word portion it, I'm trying to say the word portion it, I'm trying to save the world sheet, I am trying to say the word the sheets, I am trying to say the word portion it, I am trying to say the word portion it, I am trying to say the word Associates, I am trying to say the word portion it, I am trying to say the word report she.

What happened to Bolsheviks? That's what I want to know! Hmm...this morning I retrained the system back to "normal speech" from my advanced setting for super literate persons (moi, obviously) in the hope it would recognise a simplistic word like "bullshit". Obviously that's not working either.

Right, I'll just try "shit." Maybe that will work;

I'm trying to save the world sheet, I'm trying to save the world sheet, and I'm trying to save the world sheet, I'm trying to save the world sheet, I'm trying to save the world shaped, I'm trying to say the world sheet, I'm trying to say the word shapes.

Hmmm...obviously the average person isn't supposed to know the words "Bolshevik", "bullshit" or even just plain "shit". What are they supposed to say? Maybe only "Me know nothing goo, goo, ga, ga, but me gotty, sheets in my nappy wappy."

Hmm.... me thinks it times to get my rolling pin out......

Voice Recognition Programmes

I did a mad, mad thing. I fell for all that blurb on Amazon about voice recognition programmes. Yes, I fantasized about doubling, perhaps even quadrupling my writing output - dictating as I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the floor and even as I worked out on my Wii. Not only would I finish my book in a matter of weeks I would soon be working on a sequel to War and Peace.

So, having read all the customer reviews, I made a decision - I decided all the negative reviews were from people who hadn't set the programme up properly and hadn't gone through all the voice recognition tutorials. Yes, I decided that with my English accent and clear pronunciation I would be exempt from the troubles of mere amateurs.

I was completely wrong. I followed everything to the letter; I even did the advanced speech recognition programme...and yet the bloody thing is utterly, utterly hopeless.

As evidence of this I am posting my first attempt which was an email to Gary Davison. (The words in italics are the words I added afterwards so he might get a vague idea of what I was actually talking about.) I ought to point out that a serious amount of expletives were used in the making of the email...and believe me there were many, many more that you simply won't realise from the rather confusing text. In fact, at one point I was actually trying to say "cow dung" in an attempt to make Gary understand what "Bolsheviks" meant. "Cow dung" turned out to be "Carol" and "him." Bolsheviks also means the same as "proof sheets."

Okay, so here we go;

Good afternoon Gary,you'll never believe what I'm doing here! RA's just set my computer to do one of these the police recognition programs serve you probably tend to get a few words that it completely wrong. Yes I can see quite a few narrow which are already wrong. I think it's going to take quite a while before it actually costs the hang of this.style possibly in the long term it might work out quite now. Sad quite frustrating Moments because the words status just, and I've no idea why that is come up because really I speak one clearly said Gartner's (That was meant to be "God knows") wouldn't be like for someone new one has got an accident accent yes that's right the second time luckily. Is any of this making sense? Him and I think it will take some time before this works really well. I was sort of how hoping that I'd just be up to stop forking and he would more turn that absolutely perfectly but that's not going to help plan the it happened while. It because at the moment it's looking like I'm talking complete Sleep hard abortion it him him and.

While the punctuation seems to work quite well anyway. At the moment it's taking me considerably longer to do anything which is disappointing because I was hoping that this was going to work really well but it's it doesn't appear to be working that well and I've learnt to say scratch that's pretty well because scratch that is what I have to say when I want to effectively were bank something. Broadband something no no no not vote band some think it's no no no no no no no no no real need and getting very very be there be a straight frustrated.

Well my conclusion is that at present, and this is complete the world of proof sheets. It no not proof sheets are a set she it. I'll try again she know I'm trying to say Bolsheviks are we are used to the that a simple shapes. A set poll shakes P. you double out Ali sagged. I.e. I am trying to say the word Bolsheviks, no that's not the word Bolsheviks I'm trying to say the word Carol Carol Carol him him him him him. All. I'm trying to say is the words which have a remarkable similarity to handle time can come Old as a new ascertain moved more.

Flock. Fark. Talk. Fark fark fark fark fark fark fark fark not knock no room I am going to spell it helps fark fark fark for for for a give up love and the serious, entire

Macy's no Notts Macy's Macy's James Jenny's Cheney clearly him. Off the


I advise you not to buy a voice recognition programme, Gary. It doesn't recognise the words fuck and bullshit which is rather unfortunate.

Jesus what a waste of money.

Mrs Turley - which according to this software is Macy's Cheny.

Bollocks

I haven't stopped laughing reading this back - it was worth the 60 quid just for the laugh.

The Wrong Executive Decision

Have you ever made the wrong executive decision? I have. In fact I made one last Friday.

Let me explain. Well, I had a one of those annoying weeks where I just didn't get anything done so by Friday I was feeling a little down in the dumps but, nevertheless, I'd made plans to write in the morning and then go swimming in the afternoon. As lunchtime approached I was even thinking about removing all my excess body hair - cos you know it's just not acceptable for us ladies to have even a whisker of body hair in a pool - although it's perfectly acceptable for men to flaunt their body hair even if they look like an extra from The Planet of The Apes.

I don't want to lower the tone of the conversation - but there's something really unpleasant about getting a hair in your mouth in the pool isn't there? Ugh! I mean - you don't really know from whom - or even more importantly - from where it has come. On balance, I think it's worse than getting a hair in your meal at a restaurant - unless the chef's bald - and then you've got a real dilemma. Do you say "I've got a hair in my soup" and get accused of sabotaging the meal to get a free one or do you accuse the chef of cooking in inappropriate attire? Hmm. Tricky.

Anyhow, just as I was contemplating whether to use razor, wax or Immac or my personal favourite - just donning a scuba diving suit, when the telephone rang. It was the school - apparently Master Jacob had banged his knee and could no longer walk. Yes, the slight knock from the edge of a table was in fact a meteorite hurtling from outer space which had knocked him off his feet, pinned him against the blackboard and caused involuntary leg spasms and wobbly knee syndrome.

Yeah, right. Of course he couldn't walk. I can't sing either but I don't go around saying I've swallowed a set of bagpipes. Know what I mean?

Okay, I'm not saying the school have a habit of crying wolf but I spend more time at Master Jacob's school than the teachers do. He has had more bangs, scrapes, headaches and episodes of queasiness than I've had chocolate bars - so we are talking a SERIOUS amount. Frankly, readers, I nearly blew my top. In fact, I don't think there's actually been more than one occasion when Master Jacob has been genuinely ill. It's all this politically correct stuff. Yep, I can just imagine it now in the medical room...

"Now let me see, Jacob - you've stubbed your toe. Hmm...that means there is a possibility that you will have to have your leg amputated with may result in blood loss, transfusion, a heart transplant and a near death experience. Hmm...I'd better send you home."

Look, I know I don't work in the conventional sense - i.e I don't have a 9 -5 job but when are those clowns at school going to realise that I do actually do stuff that doesn't involve picking my nose between the hours of 9 am and 3.30?

Anyway, I was tad cross and Master Jacob realising that this was the last time he was going to get away with a faking offence naturally thought he'd better fake it some more. Kids' logic eh? So, by the time we'd got home, he was so poorly he had to take off all his clothes and retire to his bed to rest his leg and was suffering from an oncoming bout of dizziness. (Strangely enough he managed to take his lunch box with him.)

Okay, so soon it was time for me to pick up Master Ben from school and Master Jacob told me didn't want to come with me. (Possibly because he was now happily ensconced in his bed watching Horrid Henry.) I tried coaxing him but to no avail. So eventually I began to think that Master Jacob would be fine for 30 minutes whilst I was gone and reluctantly I made the executive decision to leave him by himself with his mobile phone, the neighbours alerted and with his solemn promise he would stay in bed watching the telly until I returned. I'd convinced myself that he was old enough and sensible enough not to get into any trouble.

Well, you've guessed it - I made the wrong executive decision. Yes, as I pulled up the drive on my return I noticed Master Jacob in the kitchen, fully dressed and doing what appeared to be...cooking.

Yep, Master Jacob was baking biscuits. Following the (dubious) success of his last attempt at cooking biscuits at school he had decided it was the time to have another bash. Indeed, by the time I'd got through the door he was already on his second batch. Sounds impressive huh? Okay let's take a look at the first batch........





Yep, that's right Master Jacob had put his biscuits underneath the grill. That's impressively awful - even by my standards.

And you know what? Batch number two wasn't looking too good either. They looked kinda... sticky.



Okay - let me say that no amount of flour could salvage the second attempt. It was one step away from just being liquid which I would have thought was pretty difficult - bearing in mind as I was cleaning up Master Jacob said;

" I know why it didn't work - I forgot to put margarine in it!"

Whaaaat? What the hell did he put in it? The contents of the washing up bowl?

And if that wasn't enough, as I returned from cleaning Master Jacob's sticky little fingers in the bathroom I discovered Master Ben trying to make biscuits too. My kitchen looked like the fallout from a nuclear war zone. There was muck, utensils and flour everywhere. And I mean everywhere.



Yep, I made the wrong executive decision. It just goes to show that should never leave a child alone, even when you think it's safe to do so - and especially if you don't set a very good example in the kitchen.

Have you ever made the wrong executive decision? If so, tell me about it and make me feel better. In the meantime, please don't report me to social services......

Chocolate Wars!

Every once in a while this dear sweet island nation erupts into furious debate. You may remember that this happened last year when tempers frayed, damning letters were written to national newspapers and news broadcasts were devoted to a matter of national importance - the state of British underpants. If you don’t recall it, you can read my post about this delicate, intimate matter here.

But now, a more terrifying, a more sinister and even more horrifying debate has arisen. Yes, I know Peter Mandelson, aka “The Prince of Darkness” has returned to government but it’s something far more dreadful than even the return of The Beast. It’s something that will bring voters out onto the streets, geriatrics out of their electric wheelchairs and babies out of their buggies!

By the by, have you noticed how old biddies in electric wheel chairs excel at knee crushing and leg crumpling? What's more, watch out for 2lbs of sausages and a tube of denture fix-it cream clouting you in the face at 30mph. Yeah, let's face it -who needs Panzer tanks and an elite SS division when a fleet of old grannies in thermal tights and tea cosy hats could overrun Poland in less than half the time it takes to cross the Rhine.

Anyway, those conniving Scots have been behaving subversively again. It's bad enough Gordon Brown infiltrating Westminster but now those rotten Celts have been trying to influence the corridors of power by suggesting ..... horror of horrors... a tax on chocolate! Yes, despite the standard tax on it already of 15% a Scottish General practitioner, Doctor David Walker, believes a further tax will help to curb the growing problem of obesity. Oh come on! Get real Mr Walker! Chocolate lovers are addicts like alcoholics and druggies! Will an extra tax stop them? NO! And why should poor hardworking housewives like Mrs T with her increasingly emptying wallet who need a small discreet choccy fix to help them through the long arduous days have to suffer so the government can make a fast buck? It's outrageous, it's heinous, it's a crime against humanity! (Well against me anyway.)

Hey, and we're not even talking about a teeny weeny tax like 1% 0r 2% but a massive, wallet crucifying 20%. Disgusting! Personally, I'm putting Dr Walker's beastly behaviour down to the long winter and the prolonged draught up his kilt.

However, on hearing this shocking news I was to forced to act quickly. Even a whisper of such a tax could not be allowed to reach the ears of The Chancellor who is renowned in the provinces for stealing from poor humble workers like Mrs T and giving to the rich. Indeed rumour has it that at he walks the streets of London preying on the collection tins of tramps and beggars, posing as a charity collector and busking in the London Underground whilst miming to "My Way."

So I mobilized my army of like minded housewives and equipped myself with my full range of Anti -Celt artillery and head to Scotland for a meeting of The British Medical Association where the evil Dr Walker and his twisted colleagues were meeting to discuss this ludicrous proposal. I put on my combat gear (Curlers, pinafore and green wellies) and loaded my armoury into my deadly CMAX (fully equipped with it's full range of anti GP missiles and the notorious 25mm custard tart launcher) and headed Up North to the land of Robbie Burns, haggis and strange bearded men in chequered skirts....

The Armoury;

Helmets - as modeled by the Master Jacob and Master Benedict. Master Jacob wears the £5.99 deluxe version available from all major retail outlets or alternatively it can be purchased online from Mrstkitchenequipment.com. Not suitable for rainy days but useful for prompt attention at the supermarket; if you feel like jumping the queue place the helmet on your head and not only will you be moved to the front of the queue you will be escorted off the premises without even paying for your shopping. Master Benedict wears the economy version which is particularly good on secret missions where you wish to disguise yourself as a potted plant, a Greenpeace activist or a Vietnamese fashion designer. Again, not particularly good on rainy days but slightly less noisy than the deluxe model when has a tendency to cause ringing in the ears.

The latest designer breast plates. Essential for any women above a size 32AA. Also double as weapons of mass destruction, bottom moulds and a portable drum kit. Can be stacked easily when not in use. Somewhat pricey but come with lifetime guarantees ensuring years of trouble free maiming.

Surface to air missiles. Easily stored deadly weapons which can cause concussion, visual disturbances and acute organ failure. Can be launched manually or using the 2009 Broomstick Lever and Rebound system. Excellent for subterfuge and particularly useful when trying to sabotage nuclear power stations, TV shopping channels and the homes of diet gurus. Maintain excellent cruise control in the air. Currently under development as a renewable energy source as a new form of wind power.

Hand to hand close combat weapons. From left to right; The Smacker, The Slicer and The Pricker. The Pricker is particularly useful for lifting the skirts of fleeing Scotsmen.

Instruments of torture; The Whisker and The Nut Cracker. Excellent for reducing grown men to tears. On the rare occasion that a man may resist it is possible to upgrade to the latest electronic versions. These are the Housewife Extraordinaire's favourite weapons of choice particularly for those more intimate and challenging moments. The Nutcracker fits nicely into a handbag which is useful for taking the enemy by surprise, especially from the rear.

So fully quipped I set off on my mission to restore common sense to the Scottish contingent....

On reaching my destination, rumours of an invading English army of housewives had already reached the ears of Dr Walker and his feeble GP colleagues who had fled fearful of the wrath of the Housewife Extraordinaire. But following a trail of haggis crumbs left by my double agent, Jacqueline Hyde, I tracked Dr Walker down to a small hovel on the outskirts of Glasgow. Knocking down his door with my breast plates, whilst my army bayed outside for his blood, I entered his miserable, tartan carpeted, abode and then.....

........ I pulled out my nutcrackers...........

Music Tuesday; An Irish Rollercoaster

I'm a bit late on my music Monday post because I'm part Irish and I thought it was Monday today when it is in fact Tuesday, March 17th, St Patrick's Day!

Of course my surname, Turley, which I acquired from the good Mr T is Irish. However, my maiden name is perhaps even more commonly known as Irish. Have a guess! Here's a clue; pick a fight with a Jack and then make peace with him and you'll get the answer. A prize of a Mrs T culinary delight, personally cooked, for the first person to guess correctly. Or if that is unappealing (though I'm sure all would be delighted at the thought of such a scrumptious meal) I will write a post on any subject matter of your choice! Wow, that's got to be a quality prize!

Well, since it's St Patrick's Day I feel we should have something with an Irish flavour so I've opted for the lovely Ronan Keating and Life is a Rollercoaster. Of course, Irish history has been a rollercoaster for centuaries but since the ceasefire and devolution life has changed so much for the better both in Ireland and England. I lived and worked in London when the IRA were active and it wasn't pleasant to live under the constant threat of terrorism. I know too that my parents, as well known Catholics in our area (living in England), contemplated changing over family surname back in the 1970s when The Troubles were rife. I'm glad that they didn't though because I am as proud of my Irish inheritance as I am of my English, Welsh and Scottish inheritance. I consider myself truly "British" and to that extent I have never understood the extreme passions of a few when so much of histories are inextricably entwined. I believe it is better to live for the future and not for the past.

In Ireland last summer, I saw for myself how much investment and optimism is changing Ireland for the better; there are new buildings, roads and the hospitality is welcoming. I only hope that the 3 brutal murders in Ireland last week which have been universally condemned will not halt the progress of peace. No one with a heart wants to live under the threat of renewed terrorism, especially in this era of more challenging global concerns. There is only one way forward and that is the road of peace, prosperity and harmony - where the only screams we hear are the ones of a theme park rollercoaster and not the rollercoaster of emotions resulting from shattered lives and broken promises.

I'm not quite sure from whom I inherited my sense of humor but one night when I was little I woke up and saw a little leprechaun sitting on the end of my bed. I pulled up my bed clothes and peered over the top at this curious creature with pointed ears, nose and a silly green hat and as he spoke my tongue began to feel distinctly strange and words began to bubble in my throat..

" My Dear Miss Jane...me boss Mister Patrick has sent me over 'ere on a very special mission. Now if you could just kiss this stone all will be revealed......."

And so began my life of blathering idiocy.

And the only reason I never found the Blarney stone last summer was because it's propping open my kitchen door.......




Coming next; Chocolate Wars; Mrs T Strikes Back.

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