SCRIBBLER'S CORNER - Karen Mossman's Writing Corner

In Days Gone By

2012-01-29T11:30:00.024Z

The Tams - Hey Girl Don't Bother Me played on the radio this morning and it took me back to 1972 and a boy called Steve Crane. He was one of those cool guys that people looked up to and I knew very little about. He was too old for me at 17. He lived three roads up and had a younger brother called Jack. Both of them were good looking and Jack was just too young for me.

Steve, with his fair curly hair and easy smile was always friendly. He used to do this little dance with his hands as he sang Hey Girl Don't Bother Me, bit like the Tommy Cooper gesture now I come to think about it. Back then though it was cool and I liked him because he would come and talk to me.

When the song came on this morning, I thought of him. He would be 57 now and his brother about 50, they'd be middle aged guys, someone's husband, someone's dad and strangely enough they could even be granddad's too. Youth served them well, but I expect they are just two middle aged guys now. But there again, I'm a long way from the 14 year old who used to wear hotpants and think she was cool.

From this, I went off on another thought trail, my first boyfriend. As children we moved around a lot. My dad was a police officer stationed at Bootle Street, Manchester. In those days the police provided houses for their officers which they rented. My mum, who was always a bit of a wander lust regularly asked for the 'list' and if she saw something she fancied, off we went again.

We moved into a semi-detached in Whalley Range, Manchester. All the rest of the houses were big Victorian ones, so it was easy to spot ours. The house next door was occupied by another policeman, Jack MacNeal, his wife Maryl and a daughter, called Karen, who was a year younger than me. We became good friends, and I remember Karen because we used to play with our Sindy Dolls together. I had Paul, her boyfriend and Karen had Patch, her sister. I also had her warndrobe to put all the clothes in and Karen or was me had Sindy's car. I asked mum for Sindy's horse for Christmas and instead she bought me a black and white one with a cowboy saddle. i was so disappointed, but funnily it is the only think I still have from my childhood. We were also in love with Davy Jones from the Monkees and Daydream Believer takes me back to that happy time.

My brother and sister and friends played in the garden of a house at the end of the road who had foundations dug, but nothing was ever built there. One day a man came and asked if he could take our photograph. He let us have a copy and to this day I don't know who he was or if he ever used it.

That's me in the middle.

I digress again, as we were talking about first boyfriends. I was 8 and his name was Hughie Brock. A blond haired boy and I don't think we ever did anything except hold hands.

He used to stand at the end of our drive with his mate Terry Hayes and their bikes, waiting for me to come out. Mum said they were always standing together waiting for me to come out to play. I used to go to Hughie's house, one of the big Victorian ones in the next road.

This is our house in Whalley Range and it looks pretty much as it did back then in the 1960s.

Someone in Hughie's house loved train sets for I used to wait for him in the top attic, while he had his tea and I was surrounded by model railways with real looking stations and hills and those little people enthusiast put with them. Once he had finished eating, we would go off out to play usually with our bikes and often with Terry too.

Terry was a nice lad, he had the same short hair and full fringe that was the fashion back then. He had a face full of fair freckles and was a little bit chubby, but always very cute looking. Sometimes Hughie wasn't there and I just played with Terry. He had a den in his back garden that had an upstairs which was pitch black. I even used to bring my big doll Belinda there too. One day I forgot her and fretted all night that she was alone in the dark. I had to wait until after tea the next day to go and get her. It was pretty traumatic stuff then.

In the years before Facebook, remember those? I frequented Friends Reunited. I met Karen MacNeil again and now see her most days on Facebook. I also met Terry Hayes. Over the years I've thought of Hughie and the cute Terry. What became of them? I just imagined, particularly Hughie, living his life somewhere, much the same as I have done.

Terry and I began to talk and he'd joined the army and come out again, of course I wanted to know if he kept in touch with Hughie only to be told that as a teenager, Hughie and his friend took a car and drove to Blackpool, crashed it and was killed. How tragic, that made me so sad. As for Terry, well, funnily enough he told me he had a crush on a certain little girl who lived in Wellington Road.

One Wrong Word

2012-01-15T11:49:00.023Z

This picture was taken in 1993 when I was at Granada Studio tours. I'm wearing my favourite white padded jacket. It was cordinated with my then fashionable track suit.

Everyone has an item of clothing they love and this jacket was mine.

The following year I went on a day trip to Chester with my friend Carole and her two children, Gemma and Helen who were similar ages to my two, Debbie and Ian.

We were having a nice day out at The Groves, (http://www.chestertourist.com/groves.htm) which is by the River Dee. A boat trip is always a must and and the band stand takes you back to a bygone era when brass bands entertained the day trippers with their trumpets and trombones.

The suspension bridge rocks when there is a wind and I always remember my dad telling me that as a boy in the 40s, he and his brothers used to jump from the bridge into the water and swim. You couldn't do it now, both for safety reasons and of course the water is too dirty.

Helen and Gemma

Debbie and Ian on the bandstand

We were having a lovely day and the kids enjoyed running around on the cobbles and eating ice cream from the kiosks. We were crossing the road when a car went by with a group of lads in it. They opened their window and shouted at me:

"Hey, it's Mr Blobby!" It sort of spoiled the day and I never wore the coat again.

A Short Walk

2011-12-24T20:50:00.004Z

I went to the park with Jodie at 9 am and was really looking forward to it. I haven't been for a couple of weeks due to the weather, either extremely icy or extremely wet, I hadn't seen anyone one that I knew either.

Unfortunately my arthritis was really bad and I could only managed one circuit, every step painful. We only saw three dogs walking with their owner, who was chatting on her phone. I shortened Jodie's lead, just in case and she shouted over, "They're ok " and carried on talking. The three dogs totally ignored Jodie and after a couple of 'uffs' from her, we carried on walking too.

There was a man pushing a baby in a pram, he sat on a bench and made a phone call. We met a jogger who passed by and said, "Hello there." and the time I had hobbled half way round we met him again, just before he veered off and stated doing press ups.

Then just as we were about to head out Jodie decided to go round a bush and her lead got entangled. I'm glad there was no one round to me vandalising the bush to set her free.

A Walk in the Park

2011-12-17T12:27:00.006Z

Every day at lunch time, I come home from work and take Jodie to the local park. There are two big fields as well as a few nooks and crannies to wander round. At lunch time I just walk round the perimeter of one of the fields. Weekends are lovely, I go in around 9.00 and have a leisurely stroll often bumping into the same people. Then I go again mid afternoon. Weekends are usually a bit of an adventure. Something interesting always happens.

This morning, I got there about 9.15 and stepped out of the car as my foot slipped and an elderly lady fell flat on her back on the icy pavement. Jodie and I went quickly over, a man parked up in car got out, and a bloke across the road came running over. Between the three of us, we got her to her feet. Luckily she was unhurt. "Where are you going?" the man from the car asked. "Just to the precinct," she replied. "I'll give you a lift," he said and she got into the back and the second man got in the front. I hadn't even realised they were together. It struck me how my Mum always said never to get in a car with strangers, but I expect it was okay as none of them were under 65.

Jodie poo'ed as soon as she got on the grass. She must have been desperate as she never does it there. I picked it up in one of the little black plastic sacks I carry. Funny how you get used to doing that. It's a bit like changing your child's nappy. You'd hate to do anyone else's, but you and yours are okay.

A man and his shitzu were standing across the way watching. His dog who was very interested in Jodie's presence. I bid him good morning and he said it back. I decided to keep to the grass it as I'd already stepped on an ice rink and had to stand still for a moment afraid I was going to slip. We walked in the nooks and crannies, over the white hard grass. There were a few other dogs and owners stomping round, but none I knew. Jodie didn't mind where we went as she sniffed and wee'd her way round every tree and clump of leaves.

As I came back round after depositing the black bag in the poo bin, I squeezed through a hedge as an older lady with an older King Charles spaniel came through. "What's it like over there, is it safe?" she asked, "Everywhere is like a mill pond." "Oh I know, that's I'm stomping around here, yes it's fine." "That's good," she said and off she went.

I've only been a dog owner 11 months and I love that I belonged to an elite club. Other dog owners talk to me and I speak to them as if I know them. I would never do that with a stranger as we passed each other on the street. Pass a dog owner, and the least we'll say is hello.

With Hindsight

2010-09-05T13:46:00.002+01:00

Once upon a time I had two dads, one with hard brown eyes and the other with soft ones.

The dad with the hard brown eyes was a police officer who worked long shifts. He had a short temper and shouted at us for making too much noise. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, long hours, four children and a wage that was barely enough to support a family.

I hated it when mum used those immortal words, “Wait till your dad gets home!”

Then the sound of the front door closing made me dread those hard, flat, angry eyes,

“Apologise to your mother,” or “Get up to your room now!”

It was worse when I got older and I was given a curfew, all my friends were allowed to come home when they liked. Dad wanted to know where I was going and who I was going with. He disapproved of my ‘going to town’ because that was ‘his patch’ and he knew the bad pubs and clubs and without explanation banned me.

In hindsight he was being protective, but it caused a lot of conflict and I hated him laying down the law.

My other dad, with his soft brown eyes, would make me laugh. “Give me your hand and I shall tell your fortune.” Taking my palm, he peered at it, “I can see a farmhouse,” I looked closely and saw nothing but a criss-cross of lines. “And here,” he said, “is a pond.” He then spat in my hand.

“Dad!” I screamed. It was funny as I watched him do it to the others.

Holidays were fun too. We’d walk up hills and down the other side. We’d collect seashells on the beach and climb rocks. He built us not just sand castles, but racing cars with seats and a steering wheel.

He’d cover us in sand so that just our head was showing or take us to a field where we would chase moles that only he could see.

Whereever he went, we followed. He’d do silly things like walk with a limp and we’d copy him or he’d run and then walk and we’d all bang into each other.

He couldn’t tell a joke because he always forgot the punch line, or the laughter in his eyes gave it all away.

The police officer finally hung up his helmet and the hard brown eyes became soft all the time.
Now we’ve grown up and left home, dad and mum have their second family, four adopted children who have never seen the policeman with the hard eyes.

Dad may not have the energy to run along beaches any more and walks with a real limp now, but he still tells fortunes and his laughing eyes give away all jokes!

Mousey, Mousey

2010-05-01T15:24:00.003+01:00

I don’t know exactly when I became afraid of mice. Perhaps it was my mum telling me she heard a mouse trap snap in the night, then lay awake hearing the whoosh- whoosh of it being dragged across the floor.

Or it could have been my sister who kept mice as pets when she was a child. She took them to bedroom where they escaped and bred. I remember waking in the night hearing them scuttling around on the floor.

For years we had a cat, so were never troubled by them. Then one night a couple of years ago from the corner of my eye I saw something move on the carpet. There was a mouse and I instinctively drew up my legs as I screamed.

My husband, who explained that the mouse was more afraid of me, bought a mouse trap, one he is still keen to point out cost him £15. He laid it in the kitchen and I was more worried of what I might find there when it snapped. I eventually hid it in a drawer.

The other day I found mouse dropping on the kitchen work surfaces and saw a small hole under the window sill. The blighters had pulled the cord of the blind down the hole and somehow trapped it. The string was all chewed too.

Two blocks of wood and a bottle of cooking oil did the trick until it could be filled in properly.

Last night I discovered more droppings in the drawer where I keep my vegetables. That is going to be difficult to do as at this is where the stop tap is.

Then this morning I got my breakfast cereal from the top shelf of the bottom cupboard I found yet more mouse droppings. I couldn’t believe how it got up there. Did we have an infestation?

Luckily my cereal is in plastic containers, except for the porridge which I pulled out – and out shot a big brown mouse! I gave blood curdling scream as it hit the floor and I did a jig trying to get my feet off the floor at the same time.

I fled into the lounge, heart thumping, goose bumps prickling, tears streaming, hands shaking and gasping for breath.

My husband found a small hole at the back of the cupboard and under the cooker where it had escaped to. He tried to show me, but I wouldn’t go in.

Yes, I know it is more scared than me. Yes, I know if I stamp my feet while walking, it’ll hide. Yes, I’m quite aware it is irrational.

He poured my cereal and brought it to me in the lounge and then went to work – leaving me alone with it. I shut the door and lost my appetite realising as was now afraid of what lay behind it now.

Why do I fear it running over my feet? I know it would run the opposite way, but the thought of running (in my house) makes me shiver. Why am I, a grown woman, so irrationally frightened of something so tiny?

More to the point, how am I going to get out of this room now?

Holiday Blues

2010-03-23T08:29:00.002Z

I bought a neck cushion, an eye mask and some ear plugs for my up and coming coach holiday.

The ear plugs arrived, all 10 pairs. Anyone want any ear plugs?

Then my holiday was cancelled by the tour operator.

How Rude!

2010-02-10T17:17:00.003Z

Imagine that you are in conversation with someone. You are enthusiastically telling them a story of something that happened to you. All of a sudden, they put their hand up and say "Stop! Don't speak."

You wait, mouth still open....?....? ....? You're gasping to tell the punch line, you're heart is racing, waiting..waiting....

"Go," they say, "carry on."

How rude is that?

Well, that is exactly what it is like waiting at a traffic lights I turned out of my road, accelerated and changed into second gear and as Iwas about to turn right when - stop, the lights change to red.

I wanna go! I'm heading somewhere! I don't want stop because I've just got going.

Of course I do and I wait. How rude!

Don't you just hate traffic lights?

Taking a Trip

2010-01-31T12:32:00.003Z

The other day I came home from work with a headache. As Jon and I were going out for our favourite Indian restaurant and I didn't have to cook tea, I thought I would go to bed for an hour.

In the bathroom I reached into the medicine cupboard, grabbed a couple of headache tablets and went to bed. It was very pleasant after a busy day at work, just to be able to lie there as the night was drawing in listening to the sounds outside. I dozed and when Jon came in, I knew he couldn't resist and grabbed a half hour himself.

The headache had gone when I woke, but I decided not to drink and I drove there. We had a lovely meal and when we had finished I felt extremely fidgety. I put this down to eating too much and needing to get my 'comfys' on.

We walked back to the car and I didn't feel too well. I was cold too. I drove home feeling positively strange, almost disorientated at times. Perhaps I was coming down with something.

I was looking forward to the evening ahead. The second part of Silent Witness was on and The Celebrity Big Brother final, which I had followed from day one.

On the settee, I really felt cold and reached for the blanket. I didn't tell Jon that I was feeling unwell because the first thing he'd want to know was what was wrong and I really didn't know.

I'm not one for dozing off while watching the television, but I could feel sleep creeping up on me. I longed to close my eyes and knew if I did, I would miss everything. It was hard keeping myself awake and I started getting twitches. A pulse in my neck, my legs jumped for no reason and it was a peculiar sensation.

I went up to the toilet feeling quite dizzy and it was only when I sat there I remembered the two head ache pills I had popped.

I pulled them from the cupboard and realised they weren't what I thought they were. When we went to America in October, someone at work gave Jon some tablets which he said his wife takes one to help her sleep on long haul journeys. There were supposed to be herbal, but the label does say extra strength, will cause drowsiness, do not drive or operate machinery.

Oh my God, I popped two and I had driven. I wouldn't take them at the time, because I had never taken sleeping tablets before. Our holiday was great, but this was some trip I don't want to experience again!

Duh!

2009-11-08T12:23:00.003Z

Yesterday I was going to visit my mum, who lives 15 miles away and also to see my new nephew. So in preperation I went to Asda and bought some things for the baby.

It is lethal going upstairs because you have to pass the clothing area and something always catches my eye.

I came away with a new top and matching earrings. The earring were different from the dangly ones I usually wear and now because I have short hair decided to try studs. At home I put one on to see if it suited me and it looked fine. As I was wearing yellow dangly ones to match my top, I wouldn't wear the new ones yet.

An hour before I left I decided to ring my sister and catch up on the week. I used the mobile house phone and sat in my favourite chair by the window and chatted for an hour - as you do.

I picked up my children from their houses and my daughter asked why I wasn't wearing a poppy.

"I am," I told her and looked down at my coat. The £2 I had paid for my poppy now consisted of a a green stalk and a pin. Duh!

"Do you know you have lost an earring?" my mum said. My hand immediately went to my ears and sure enough only one dangled down. Damn, its so annoying when that happens. I retraced my steps and couldn't find it.

Later I went into my handbag for my mobile and instead, there was my house phone, duh. I must have dropped it in my bag instead of putting back when I spoke to my sister.

That evening as I was getting undressed to go to bed, I went to take out my one earring and their on the shelf was the other. The one I had forgotten to put back after trying on my new ones, duh!

Do you ever have days like that?

Holmes on Homes

2009-11-05T21:12:00.003Z

Mike Holmes is an American builder and his TV show helps people out with building or renovations that someone else has botched up. He is very conscientious and always leaves his customers happy.

One thing that has always irritated me about the programme is that they call it a home right off.

Now to me a house does not become a home until you make it one, yet to them all houses are instantly homes. Okay so it is probably a play on words but it's just wrong.

Then I went over to America, to Massacheusetts. All the houses I saw were well spaced apart in their own bit of land. They weren't uniform either, some were facing forward, some to the side and none of them were the same.

Travelling in the car watching the scenery go by I began to realise, they were actually homes, not just houses. Each one was an individual and looked different from its neighbour.

Perhaps Mike Holmes was right after all and it took me going over there to realise it.

NEW BLOG!

2009-10-03T18:23:00.007+01:00

I have been working on this site a lot recently and have added another blog. It is Beauty and The Beast , a passion of mine for many years.

If you are a romantic, you will love this. There are some wonderful pictures to look at that should capture your imagination as they did mine.

The fiction is a few years old now and I don't think it is my best writing, although there are some gems in there, it is readable with links to lots more fiction by other fans.

Do let me know what you think.

COMPLAINING AT ASDA

2009-09-27T13:53:00.004+01:00

Have you heard these stories of people complaining about a product and receiving a box of something in return.

If you don't contact big companies when there is something to say, you get nothing, so I thought I would give it a go.

I occasionally do my shopping on line and bought a box of green tea bags which I took to work when I realised it tasted odd.

On inspecting the packet, I saw in tiny writing underneath the words Green Tea - with a hint of jasmine.

Yuk, I threw out the box, if I'd have wanted a hint of jasmine in my green tea, I would have asked for it and cursed the picker.

I then went to Asda myself and to the tea shelf and chose one that said green tea. The following morning, I made myself a drink and realised it had an odd taste again - you've guessed it - with a hint of jasmine.

I then realised it was so easy to miss when standing at the shelf, so I wrote to Asda to complain.

They took my letter very seriously and I got a nice, if not slightly over the top one in return. It expressed sincere apologies that I wasn't happy with one of their products and they would do their utmost to rectify the situation. To compensate, they said they would send me an Asda gift card.

So I was happy, until it arrived a week later, and saw it was only for a £1.

Who said it pays to complain!

SLOP BUCKETS

2009-09-18T15:16:00.005+01:00

I read in the Daily Mail how the government are going to issue everyone with a slop bucket for collecting foodstuff that is normally thrown in the bin. What a load of tosh.

Does anyone really believe what they papers say? My guess is that someone over heard a personal comment made by an MP and blew it up out of all proportion.

If they were really serious about it then buy everyone a incinerator. I like to recycle where I can and when we had a new kitchen fitted we bought one. Perfect, now all left overs, peelings etc go straight in there and the waste goes out of water pipe.

A slop bucket is like going back to the middle ages. Follow this link to read the article.

BATHROOM ENCOUNTERS

2009-08-30T11:10:00.004+01:00

There I was 9.15 am on a Sunday mornng coming out of my bedroom at exactly the same time as my 23 year old son. We were both heading for the same place.

I'm only going to wash my face and clean my teeth, I said.

I'm only going for a wee, he replied.

For half a second we looked at one another. Who was going to be the quickest,? About the same.

He clenched his fist and said: on the count of 3.

I touched my fist to my palm three times and did 'scissors', which beat his 'rock'.

No, no, no, he said, on the count of three.

So I did it again, one, two three, scissors.

Can't you count, he said. And for a second, I thought, am, I going daft here, that was three. So we did it again before I realised, he meant - one, two and choose your weapon.

He won. I was left scratching my head on the landing.

- Paper, scissors, rock. Make a fist, slap the palm of your hand, then show:

scissors - two fingers
rock - fist
clawed hand - paper

scissors cut paper, so wins.
paper wraps rock, so wins.
rock blunts scissors, so wins.

We used to play it as children and don't know where it orginates from, but imagine our parents played it too.

SECRET UNDERWORLD

2009-08-24T19:15:00.004+01:00

I've known for a long time about the secret underworld of mobile phone jokes. When Michael Jackson died, it didn't take long for the mobile jokers to set them in motion. Some of the jokes are sick and in poor taste and no one would admit to laughing at them. They could never be broadcast because it would likely cause a public out cry.

I don't receive them, but I know several people that do and they break every diversity, racial or ethnic rule.

Just recently the news has reported that jokes have gone on to a website about a youngster who was electricuted in Liverpool. The site was titled sick jokes and I didn't take note of the address because it doesn't really interest me.

What does surprise me is that I did a search to see if I could find it because I hadn't decided whether to include it in this article. What I did find was plenty of sites offering this kind of humour. And one with a tag line of Playful paedophilia, animal sex, and dead baby jokes. Sick, obviously, but funny if you have a sense of humour and was definitely put off from venturing any further.

So perhaps the secret mobile joksters are not such a secret after all.

NEW BLOG - FICTION CORNER

2009-08-08T17:45:00.004+01:00

My fiction corner is now up and running. My latest addition is called Deja Vous - we've all had that feeling that we have been somewhere before. Well Elise didn't think she had been before, but gradually realises there is something familiar after all. This is a mystery story that should keep you guessing till the end. You will find a diverse range of genres to keep your coming back for more

CLOCKS

2009-08-07T20:25:00.006+01:00

Some people are irritated by the sound of a ticking clock and others are comforted by it. I used to be the former, but now I am the latter.

Everyone takes clocks for granted, but for most people their lives are governed by them. Time to get up, get out, get to work, time to take lunch and time to go home. Even those that don't go out to work plan their day according to the clock.

We also have an internal clock, the one that wakes us on Saturday morning even when we don't have to go work. How irritating is that?

Have you noticed how older people are always up early while younger people lie inr? That is because their internal clock is so finely tuned if won't stop. Younger people haven't got theirs to work fully yet. and often find they can't wake up on time.

The first clock was used 700 years ago but historians can't really agree on the history of it. The very first clock was the sun and when it was overhead it was noon and when it was close to the horizon it was either early morning or early evening.

Our most famous clock is Big Ben and recently Straw Ben was built in a field in Cheshire by two business and caused quite a stir.

Most people have a clock in every room in the house and in Buckingham Palace they have over 350. It has one of the largest collections of working clocks anywhere and employs 2 full-time people to wind them up every week and keep them in good working order.

So love them or hate them, we all look and use them every day. I have nine in my house, how many do you have in yours?

RACIAL ABUSE

2009-08-06T17:51:00.008+01:00

I was sitting in the car at traffic lights and next to me the road veered off to the left. In that lane was a white van at a slight angle and further forward.

My windows were closed and my radio was on when I heard someone shouting. I looked over and the guy in the van seemed to be shouting out of his window. I couldn't hear or catch what he was saying, but did turn my radio down to listen.

I still couldn't make it out but the tone of his voice was aggressive. I looked to see what he was shouting at and shocked to realise it was an asian man waiting to cross the road.

Was he racially abusing him? Do people do that? I thought about blaring my horn and the brave side of me wanted to wind down the window and shout, "Oi, big nose!"

I didn't.

It made me think about when I was growing up in the seventies where racial abuse was commen place.

We regularly used the word Paki refering to the shop in the high street run by a man of Pakistan origin and we thought nothing of it. Now it is derogatory. What the difference between everyone calling us Brits?

My police officer daughter said the word Brit was never used in a derogatory fashion, Paki was and I couldn't really argue with that.

So why did it shock me so much as I sat at the traffic lights when it didn't then?

Maybe because we are more aware these days and I only accepted it back they because it was a way of life. People were verbally abused and not just racially. You were taunted if you were fat, thin or had a big nose.

Perhaps because we are more aware now, we accepted life without question once and it shames me to think I never spoke up,, Nobody did. Perhaps if I had seen something aggressive I may have intervened, more likely I wouldn't.

Yet today was shocking to see. We supposed to me more aware and yet he thought it was okay to shout abuse at a man because of the colour of his skin.

Hindsight is always a wonderful thing, why didn't I take the number of the company, phone and make a complaint? Why didn't I blare my horn to show my disgust.

So easy to say that now, isn't it?

ALL NEW

2009-08-02T19:43:00.004+01:00

I lost my web page when I lost my internet provider and have been searching for a new one for a while.

I tried out Squidoo - which is an interesting place, but it wasn't right for me. I didn't know how to get a web page that was easy enough for me to do it myself.

So in the end I decided to stick with what I had, the google blog. I just needed to learn how to use it properly.

Col Bury, another writer has his writing on a blog, and that page looks great. So I copied it and asked him some questions and realised the Goolgle Blogger is a lot better than I initially gave it credit for.

So watch this space as I grow more and more confident. If you are looking to use it and not sure how to get started, get in touch and I shall do my best to help you out.