In which I tell you the tale of the horror from the cocoon.
Let me tell you a true story of terror and horror, the nightmare of demonic Lepidoptera.
It was the summer of 2005; a young Lindsay Lohan was staring in Herbie: Fully Loaded, Phil Mickelson was winning the PGA championship and George W bush was telling Louisiana residents not to worry about a little storm called Katrina.
It was at this time, in a small maisonette flat in Bedworth, that a young man made a fateful decision to ‘let some air in’ and opened a window.
And let the devil in.
Continue reading “The Vampire Butterfly”
In which I tell you a tale of a dwarf who got hurt but then got better.
Here is a tale from the archives, in fact The Angry Dwarf was one of the first stories on my old site…I must add I am not feeling like this anymore, the scars have healed. So with words and pictures by Me, may I present:
The Angry Dwarf
Far away in the land of make believe there lived a dwarf, not one of the mean and nasty variety but one of the nice ones that you would take home to see your mum.
He had only one weakness.
Princesses. Continue reading “The Angry Dwarf”
In which I visualise some of my inner thoughts.
While tidying up my folders I found a number of old pictures that I drew for Angry Fairy Tales, ones I thought I had either misplaced or deleted. None are profound or particularly insightful, which I guess makes them perfect for sharing on Facebook. All they need is a minion.
Continue reading “Images of old thoughts”
In which I tell you an angry fairytale.
I had a reminder yesterday congratulating me on my five year anniversary of Geek Ergo Sum, and as per usual it reminds me that this was not my first attempt at blogging. That distinction belongs to Angry Fairytales. Although that site no longer exists I still have the old posts.
It was written at a time where the idea I would be happily married with one child and another on the way seemed like lunacy. So as the name suggests the posts were quite…bitter. Now I look back on them and it makes me laugh. So I thought to celebrate five years of shiny I would retell the story of Nice the Giant (and for the first time illustrated by my own fair hand!)
The Tale of Nice.
Continue reading “The Tale of Nice the Giant”
In which I write a sonnet to my happy life.
Life in Casa G is a little strange at the moment. The Feliciraptor is away and life all of a sudden seems very different, as though this is what it would be like if she wasn’t around all the time. Added to this I work in the centre of Birmingham so get to think about when I lived there as a bachelor. It is strange to think that my life could have quite easily have been very different.
After having a few painful failures at trying to make changes to my life I finally found the right combination of people and time to make a big difference. In my old life I would have been looking forward to a weekend playing Rock Band 4 by myself, instead I am going with my wife to London and looking forward to my daughter returning from holiday.
That’s a pretty good life to be thinking about.
Continue reading “Sonnet of life”
In which I start to turn the heat up
The weather in the UK is starting to turn and it is beginning to feel autumnal. Leaves are changing colour and back at the Castle Sum we are having that most awkward and divisive of conversations.
When are we going to start having the heating on.
It’s October so the date criteria has been met (it cannot go on any earlier) but is it just chilly or is it properly cold. Once the thermostat is set then that’s it until spring, so judging the right time is vital. For Mrs G that time is now.
Continue reading “It’s not getting hot in here”
In which I get poetical about my childhood snacks.
I became really excited about a packet of crisps (aka chips) in a local garage. They were stocking for a limited time Walkers Beef & Onion. These were my favourite flavour as a child until they were replaced by the more fashionable Steak & Onion. Like when Heinz added carrots to oxtail soup, it was too slight a change to be good.
Take all the reboots of children’s TV, the new versions are different enough that they don’t make you pine for the old version. If they had made one change it would have stirred the feelings for the old.
I guess in the end it is a question of taste. Some of the food I had as a child has either gone it is hard to find. Now there is so much choice that any flavour has a lifespan until it becomes unfashionable (looking at you Sweet Chilli).
Continue reading “Childhood : Um Bongo”
In which I sing about my home.
I have a notion that your neighbourhood is not where you live physically but where you live emotionally. I have moved around the UK but I still consider where I grew up and my family live to be home. Mrs G who has crossed the Atlantic seems to have the same feeling. She has now spent over 10% of her life in the UK but she is still resolutely a New Yorker.
The buildings and roads outside your door are just that, they are static objects with which we can imprint our feelings and memories and this is what creates that neighbourly feeling. But they are still buildings, it is the people who really make it.
Continue reading “The Ballad of being where”
In which I try to get up.
Mornings are hard, I have so much to do it can be a stretch to get out of bed. In my bachelor days all in had to achieve pre-work was getting dressed. Now I have a list of tasks to get done.
Despite having to get up earlier than ever I have the best reasons to do so. When I was single I was wondering what the purpose of working and making money was. Now I have those who I wake up to in my life it is clear why.
I do the morning because it is hard, but the rewards are great. It is the smile on their face that what I do gives us a good life, and a life worth that early morning alarm call.
Continue reading “Morning faces”
In which the humble train elicits an ode to it’s awfulness.
I start this standing on a cold platform just outside Coventry waiting with my fellow passengers for an already crowded train. In the proverbial choice I’m in the hard place.
For the past few days I’ve been able to work from the kitchen table while in keep an eye on a poorly Mrs G, the commute downstairs was stress bare but now I’m back to joining the hordes. I know this isn’t fun because I look up and can see ten faces and none of them are smiling.
Yet we all throw ourselves onto the 0714, and it is not devoid of moments of beauty.
Continue reading “Ode to British trains”