Never Complain, Never Explain

‘Nobody cares, just work harder’. I saw that written somewhere the other day and it chimed with my own sensibilities very closely. I have always believed that the more you moan about how tired/busy you are, the worse the situation appears to you. And let’s be honest, no-one really cares. I mean, the people who love and support you will empathise, of course they will. But it’s 2017 – they are busy and tired too! The whole world is busy and tired. Not in a bad way you understand, but there is just so much world available to us that everyone is up to their eyeballs with things, even if that thing is watching Netflix from dawn until dusk. ‘Nobody cares, just work harder’ has quickly become one of my new favourite mantras, second only to, ‘never complain, never explain’ – this was apparently a maxim of Disraeli, but truth be told I first read it in an interview with Kate Moss. I find people who complain often faintly amusing. I like to cock my head to one side and gaze at them with a curious fondness I also adopt for the pygmy hippos in London Zoo, before busting out a sympathetic ‘oh dear’ on a long exhale and then cracking a daft joke at my own expense to lighten things up a bit.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t talk to friends and family about how you feel. Of course you bloody well should. If you don’t, well – that way be monsters. In addition, it hardly needs to be said that the ‘never complain’ sentiment does not extend to observable injustices in the wider world, say, oh I don’t know… just off the top of my head… rampant racism, xenophobia and bigotry dressed up as legitimate legislation….

 

For my own sake however, I prefer to get my head down and keep my mouth shut when I’m up against it workwise. As you may have already guessed, this is all leading up to me addressing the prolonged dearth of new posts on this ‘ere blog recently. Well, all I’m going to say is that I had my first PhD deadline last week. End of transmission. Nobody cares, just work harder after all.

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To wrap up this brief public service announcement with something pretty; my lovely big sister sent me this last night, with the succinct, yet accurate statement ‘a bit of you’. Ah how right she is. I immediately felt that I needed to own this, you know – for sipping ominously smoking acid green cocktails by moonlight and such. After all, I have been working so very hard recently….

 

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The Fog!

John Carpenter eat your blood-curdling heart out. Richmond was one foggy mess yesterday, so I took it upon myself to trek to the Park and try to take some atmospheric photographs. Fun fact – about a month ago I spent four hours taking (if I do say so myself) some rather lovely shots of the Autumn colours before realising that I had failed to insert a memory card into my camera; a small life-lesson about living in the moment perhaps. Anyway, this time I was fully SD’d up and so made my way like a doomed Hammer Horror priest, through the ominous fog to meet my foe – the Richmond Park deer.

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The fog really was very disorientating. I know the Park pretty well and yet failed to find the two huge lakes I usually like to circumnavigate. Instead I found some completely new areas that I had never ventured upon before. Or had I? Who knew in this damned chaos?!

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The atmosphere was freezing and soggy, the landscape – alien (Captain’s log, stardate thirty-twelve-sixteen). Sounds were muffled and visibility was only a few feet. Stags silently loomed in from the mist with nothing but disdain in their eyes.

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After some time I realised that I was tipping towards being lost, and not wishing to become fog-fodder I made my way home to an even more mysterious and vengeful beast – the cat.

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Moid-er at the Manor

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Last weekend I stayed at Eastwell Manor for the purposes of dastardly moid-er. I hasten to write that I wasn’t the guilty party, I can’t even kill spiders and I would fold like a soufflé in an airing cupboard under questioning. But what I lack in criminal chutzpah I more than make up for in dogged detective work. I’m basically a licensed PI. I mean, I can solve any Jonathan Creek in a flash.

I won’t go in to the intricacies of the murder mystery itself, because A. it would be dull – like hearing about someone else’s dream and B. it would ruin it for anyone wishing to attend. But the grounds looked beautiful during my blustery Sunday morning amble, so I thought I would share them.

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Found a secret garden.

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Oh and in case you were wondering dear reader, we won. Obvs.

 

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*I may or may not have had a crime fighting  sidekick.

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