Mitchell's Musings

  Who knows how these things really get started? The finger of blame can be pointed in several directions i'll save your blushes (Paul, Scott, and Trace)  The truth is like many things it started as a joke that became a theme and suddenly before you know it you have 'Guess The Stain' and Shitty Badges. We have all missed a lot over the last year. For me I haven't worked in any way near normal, I've been cloistered in the same way as many other people. In normal times I travel frequently with my job, all over the UK and Europe, but now I'm ensconced in my old man chair next to the radiator. It has always been the comfortable spot in our house.  Where thoughts are thought, reports written, stories told knees bandaged and hearts mended. Not my normal thing.  I've done a good line in being a weekend father over the years, something I'm at ease with now and I've made peace with. My boys, grown now understand this and they've asked their questions and

  Every time I look at this photo, it makes me smile. I believe that this was the reaction that the artist who painted it was looking for.  A fox painted on a pebble, that was left on some steps a few weeks ago.  Placed randomly & deliberately to be found.   I saw it & it made me smile. After the year we have all had & in the uncertain days that we still find ourselves, a little joy can be a vital thing.  The disruption & separation that Covid has placed on us has affected everyone, I don’t know anyone that hasn’t struggled in one way or another through this. For me, at times the anxieties have been real & very present at times.  Maintaining my professional life, without being able to travel has brought its challenges. So a daily walk has become a very necessary tonic.  A simple thing that makes a big difference. There is a joy in creating something, but there is a deeper joy in sharing it, that is where the meaning is created - in its sharing. The fox was obviously

I bought a new bin.  Not the most interesting of introductions to our blog conversation & not before time according to my Mother, but there it is. Every time, I walk past the bloody thing the lid flies open. It's one of the automated ones you see, all you need to do is walk past it & the lid flies open. I bought this bloody thing because I had  hoped it would help me to finally gain at least the impression of control of  the chaos that is my kitchen. In reality all that has  happened is that it has introduced another new form of anarchy that I am not ready for.   The opening and closing of the bin lid happens in a way that I don't understand and have no control of.  All I need to do is walk past it in the vaguest way and the lid flies open in a very random & aggressive fashion reminiscent of the till in Arkwright's Store. I am reasonably certain that my younger son finds this hilarious as he breezes through the house lively and in full control of all the technol

Today's photo is of an item that every time I look at it I feel again some of the feelings I felt at the end of the Great North Run in 2014.  I've never been sporty, in fact I have always had a tendency to avoid it. Probably one of those issues that I have an unconscious chip on my shoulder about. As a child I was very clumsy and uncoordinated so sports were difficult and therefore avoided.  But, I have always thought that it's never good to allow the things that scare you or that you find difficult to prevent you from trying to achieve something. Maybe I'm just stubborn. The backdrop to to my involvement in the Great North Run that year was that some close friends were in the process of raising a huge amount of money for the RNLI. The friends I’m talking about are serious runners and have been very successful in taking part in many different events including the London marathon & have raised a lot of money in the process over the years. I began thinking that I real

Apparently, a good tale grows with the telling; this is especially true of me with my memories.  After all I do love a good story. One of my favourites is the tale I tell, when I explain to people how I met my oldest friend.  It is a good story and it contains the kind of elements that would illicit the response I tend to be looking for.   The first walk to the new school, the nervousness of being the new kid in class, the discomfort of new school clothes, meeting my new teacher, an argument with the annoying kid in class, who quickly became my best friend.    It is a nice whimsical story, but these days, if I am honest I have no idea if its true or not. This is because I was seven at the time & I have altered it many times since over the years.   I suspect Chris does not know either, but I know that his version of events will differ from mine.   It is well known that our memories are not particularly good.   The truth is, we all do this kind of thing with our memories quite a lot,

  I have struggled to write recently. There's nothing unusual in this. But I suppose in the circumstances that we're in it's happening more to us all in many ways.  It was helpful then that I have my friend Donna to bully me. She will no doubt claim that I was merely being "encouraged" to get my rear end in gear and produce something. I'm not fooled, but the point was well taken.  To ease my way back into things I thought I would revert back to the familiar.  This is my grandfather's Blowtorch, and it was one of the gifts that was passed on to me by my Aunt and my Mother. Most of the time it sits on a shelf in my living room and it has become another one of those curios that evoke fond memories. This struck me as odd when I thought about it properly, because I never actually saw my grandfather use it. So I have no real memory of it. It was just one of the items in the tool chest when it was given to me. In real terms it looks like what it is. An old tool t

This is my favourite mug. It’s the one that I always choose in preference to the other mugs in the cupboard.  The message on the side of it, now long gone used to read “Best Mum in the World” How I managed to attain this title remains shrouded in mystery, I don’t know whose idea it was, but there are a number of candidates upon whom suspicion naturally falls.  But to me the fact that I can be considered to be the best Mum in the world shows the kind of inclusiveness that really appeals to me. It was bought for me as a Mother’s Day gift several years ago now by some of my Son’s friends.  I smile at it every time I see it, which is several times per day. It’s the one I look for, I’m convinced that coffee & tea both taste better in this mug.   Maybe I am imagining this, but I am going with it.  This is the power of a simple thing to bring such joy, even if it’s only in coffee sized doses. The point is I drink a lot of  coffee and the kids that “adopted” me knew this. They did a simple