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a little too efficient…

I’ve moved hosting companies for rosamundi.org, to a company which was offering more web space and bandwidth for slightly less money – I kept hitting my webspace limit, which meant that when Rosafather sent me bloomin’ enormous family tree diagrams they’d fall off into cyberspace.

As a sign of my new hosting company’s efficiency, the transfer of the domain and everything has gone through already, and here’s me at work with no access to any of my passwords, files for the site or anything. Ooops.

So don’t try and e-mail me on any of the @rosamundi.org e-mail addresses, they’ll bounce. If you know me well enough, you’ll have an alternative method of contact.

The Yoof of Today…

I had a closer-than-desired encounter with a cyclist yesterday evening which left me sat on my bum in the middle of the road. I was crossing the road with the green man lit, cyclist came the wrong way down a one way street, I went flying. As a result, I am hobbling along, being overtaken by passing tortoises.

Staggering back from the bus stop with a couple of bags of shopping, I walked into the middle of a loud and enthusiastic game of football happening on the estate (a low-rise, part council-owned, part privately-owned estate in east London).

“Meep,” I thought.

“Mind the lady!” one of the lads shouted. “I said ‘mind the lady!'”

The kid with the ball stopped it dead, which was handy because it was on a direct trajectory towards me and being knocked on my bum twice in less than 24 hours would have displeased me greatly.

“You all right, Miss? Carry your shopping for you?”

My shopping was whisked off me and carried up both flights of stairs to my front door, both lads walking at the pace I can manage (which is not very fast at all).

The yoof of today are frankly not as bad as they’re painted.

Innit?

it is well with my soul

The easy rhythm of chopping and stirring, the soothing alchemy of cooking. The steam rises, carrying the scent of far-off lands. The rain lashes down outside, but inside, all is warmth and comfort.

There is a good book to hand, and wine within reach. The music plays quietly.

It is well with my soul. I am content.

Democratic Duty duly exercised

but not without some serious misgivings. Someone on Twitter said that they voted out of a sense of “stern daughter of the voice of God” duty*, and that is it exactly. I can still remember my first General Election, voting in 1997 with a sense of joy and hope.

This time, not so much. I voted out of a need to keep “Them” out, and because I cannot imagine not voting. I voted because if the Tories get in, it will be the poor that suffer disproportionately, and, as Neil Kinnock said in 1983, “If Margaret Thatcher wins on Thursday – I warn you not to be ordinary, I warn you not to be young, I warn you not to fall ill, I warn you not to get old…”

David Cameron is holding up Hammersmith and Fulham council as a ‘model’ of compassionate conservatism. Read it and weep.

Weep for the desperate, and the lonely, and the frightened. Weep for the ill, and those without hope, or education. Because they will bear the burden of a Tory government which will cut taxes for the most fortunate and pile burdens on those least able to bear them.

Weep for those who will carry the cost of the inheritance tax cut, because an increase in VAT hits the poorest hardest. Weep for the confused, and the elderly, and the ignorant.

And the polls close in two hours, so now dry your eyes and go and vote.

And yes, I am aware that I voted Conservative as my second choice for Mayor of Newham, but that was because none of the alternatives were viable candidates.

*thank you, Londiniensis

we interrupt all this holiness

To inform you that, as of the time of writing, if you’re eligible to vote, and you haven’t yet registered, you only have 15 days left to register in order to vote in the 2010 general and local council elections in the UK. Visit iVote2010 in order to find out how to register.

Well? Why are you sitting here reading this? Shoo! Go on!

People died for your right to vote. People starved themselves in prison, and faced down armed men on horseback, and fought and bled and died so that you had a chance to wander into a polling booth and put your “X” on a piece of paper every so often.

Go. Register. And then vote. And if you feel that in all good conscience that you cannot vote for any of the people on your voting paper, spoil your ballot. Spoilt ballots are counted. Sitting on your bum in front of the telly all evening? Um, not counted.

And I was really, truly, determined to not have anything interrupt this novena, but, sorry, St Dominic, this is important.

Registered yet?

Wishing you a blessed and peaceful Christmas

On the twenty fifth day of December, the twenty sixth of the moon;
In the five thousand one hundred and ninety-ninth year since the creation of the world,
when in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth;
In the two thousand nine hundred and fifty-seventh year since the flood;
In the two thousand and fifteenth year since the birth of Abraham;
In the one thousand five hundred and tenth year since the exodus of the people of Israel from Egypt under Moses;
In the one thousand and thirty second year since the anointing of David as King;
In the sixty fifth week according to the prophecy of Daniel;
In the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad;
In the seven hundred and fifty-second year after the foundation of the city of Rome;
In the forty-second year of the reign of the Emperor Octavian Augustus,
when the whole world was at peace, in the sixth age of the world,
Jesus Christ, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father,
longing to hallow the world by his most gracious coming,
being conceived by the Holy Spirit,
and nine months after his conception was born
in Bethlehem of Judah as man from the Virgin Mary.
The Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

Hooray for Science!

This made me laugh so hard.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qwBfBugo_A[/youtube]

Partly because I grew up with two Pyrenean Mountain Dogs, one of whom rejoiced in the kennel name of Inloc Electron Shell. Possibly the most badly-misnamed dog ever in the world, he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer – the great white hunter once spent half an hour stalking, creeping closer and closer to the fly on the wallpaper, and then he leapt and smacked his nose on the wall. It wasn’t a fly, it was an ink blot. And another time, he was ambling round the garden, sniffing the flowers, and he got stung by a bee. So he stuck his nose back in the flower to see what stung him and got a matching sting on the other side.