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Hello again

I wanted to reply to comments on my post of yesterday evening, but I can’t! Very odd. So thank-you to everyone who wrote a comment. It was enlightening, though I didn’t understand alanh’s  ref to someone who was posting at 6.46 as well, and was the faux johnmitchell comment about my lost name?

I was able to edit and put Duckham’s name back into the post. Now how did that vanish? I hadn’t realised he’d been deleted. But surely deletion is one thing. To remove his name totally, even from my post last night,  seems like Stalinist airbrushing.

See you on WordPress!

Who’s been messing with my posts?

Just logged in after an an absence, so the dashboard tells me, of a month, to find that a comment of Duckham’s that I was quite happy with, has been removed, while another, by someone else, which I tolerate, but think a tad aggressive, remains.

It seems to me that there are too many people with issues about control circulating around MyT to make it a successful and interesting site.

Lost comments

Not sure this really counts as apost, but i just clicked on the comments bit on my page as I wanted to see if there had been any more activity on thinks i’ve commented on.

‘Sorry, no comments by this user’.

That’s a new one. And a fib.

Has another glitch entered the system? Anyone else got the same message?


Graduate Exhibitions

It’s the season for graduate exhibitions, and art course shows. Here in London we are spoiled for choice. so far I’ve racked up three colleges, and I’ve just received an invitation to a private view to a fourth.

The best one so far was the furniture restoration at London Metropolitan University. A friend’s husband is studying there, and as I have a home full of crumbling furniture, it has been a mutually beneficial experience; my furniture restored, he not having to shell out to buy second hand items. I think I’ve had the better deal, but don’t tell him.

To be honest, if he hadn’t been a student there, it wouldn’t have been on my list. I went with a friend who is a clinical psychologist turned joiner. She was in raptures. Also a jolly good guide for someone as ignorant as I am. The standard of work Continue reading

New Look

I know lots of people aren’t happy with the new look here, but I think I prefer it.

The old MyT seemed more chatroom than blogsite at times, and I more or less left in February because of the unpleasant bullying tone of so many posts and comments.

The new MyT seems to be trying hard to build a bridge between the isolation new bloggers can feel on some sites and the over intimacy of the old MyT which came to be dominated by a few strident voices.

I don’t know how much time I’ll spend here. I’ve come to enjoy an prefer the quiet backwater that is my page on WordPress, but I do feel MyT is a better place already than it was before the changes.

Clean Laundry

It all rather reminded me of the first day back at school after the summer holidays; heightened levels of excitement; delighting hellos to people you’d not seen for several weeks; catching up on the news. And like at school, there were some new people too. We had to remember our manners and say hello to them as well. As usual, there were hiccoughs; mislaid name labels; things that should have been sorted out in the holidays but which got overlooked for some reason or other; glitches in the timetables and room requirements.  People had to put up their hands to say their names hadn’t been read out or didn’t appear on any list. Continue reading


When I joined this site I filled in all the boxes and followed the instructions, or so I thought, to the letter.

But it seems that all the time I was actually creating my own page.

So i have just posted a blog there. Don’t know if anyone will find it, but if any of you would care to look and let me know if you manage to locate it by leaving a comment, i’d be most grateful.

It then took me about another thirty minutes to work out how to post a blog here.

I am now completely exhausted and ready to lie down for half an hour with a damp tea-towel on my head.

Sicilian Holiday (1)

Cigno didn’t seem the most obvious name for the hotel’s female tortoiseshell cat, but with a mixture of languages and mime, the proprietor explained she was called after the swan for her elegance and beauty.

The cat’s name wasn’t the only thing that surprised me about Sicily.

When I lived in France, I met several Sicilians and they were uniformly serious and dour. So I was unprepared for the smiling, friendly attitude of the locals. My efforts at speaking Italian were met with patience.

Encouraged,  I persevered, dragging words and phrases from my memory, gradually piecing them together with a few bits oif French and Spanish like glue. My top moment was being congratulated for asking for a glass of house red wine in perfectly grammatical Italian.

Perhaps we were like the first swallows of spring. Heralds of tourists to come bringing our money to their businesses. Or maybe it was a tradition of welcome to the outsider.

Again,  Italians from the mainland had told me what a closed society Sicily was. Neighbouring villages, they said, eyed each other with suspicion, and preferred to marry among themselves.

I had visions of inbreeding, low foreheads and lower intellects.

Instead, Rumanian girls who had arrived looking for work had married the local boys. Happy families of mixed nationalities displaying no anxiety or coldness about differing cultures.

So it was a shame and a shock to meet the only miserable Sicilian of the trip on the last day, just hours before we left. He opened up the monastery for us to visit, but seemed to have left his smile at home. He glowered, arms folded, as we looked about. Maybe he had a cold in the head, but as an advert for the loving nature of God and the Christian church, he left a lot to be desired.