Plodding On In Life To Escape The Doomscrolling

 I don’t know if anyone is out there ? I don’t if anyone is reading this ? But you’re doing great I am doing great, I think of myself as a very much a free spirit and I will talk pretty much to anyone and anything ( cats 🐈‍⬛) . Though I will draw the exception if you look Moomins , I can not explain it but they squishy nothingness doesn’t float my boat.

But there’s always something you don’t like isn’t there, like maybe days with a y in them . I take myself to the gym and there’s one treadmill that is mine and I am lost if someone else uses it . I am a plodder and plodder gets me by just fine .

Recently I restricted my facebook usage to about an hour and it suits me fine, if I try and sneak back on it says like an angry parent “ you have had enough “

I don’t need the validation of the doom scroll. I am just a plodder and plodding keeps me calm.I am calmer than a squishy raspberry.

Hello World, Again (Apparently We’re Doing This the Old-Fashioned Way)

Hello World, Again (Apparently We’re Doing This the Old-Fashioned Way)
Hello world.
Yes, that hello world. The one people used to type when they first launched a blog, back when the internet still felt a little like the Wild West and not a giant shopping mall with fluorescent lights and an algorithm following you around asking if you want to watch another video about productivity hacks.
Anyway.
I’m back up and blogging.
Actual blogging. You know — writing. Words. Sentences. Paragraphs. The ancient ritual of sitting down, thinking about something for more than seven seconds, and then typing it out without a ring light, a jump cut, or a thumbnail of someone making a shocked face.
Once upon a time, this was normal.
Now, apparently, it’s vintage.
Which is funny, because blogging used to be the internet. Before everything turned into scrolling and swiping and refreshing — and doom-refreshing again just in case something dramatic happened in the last four seconds.
Back then you followed people because they had something to say, not because an app decided their content would perform well between two advertisements and a clip of someone power-washing a driveway.
You read posts. Long ones.
You had opinions about them. Sometimes you even left comments, which was basically the digital equivalent of yelling across a pub table — except with worse spelling and a higher probability someone would quote Nietzsche incorrectly.
It was chaotic, messy, occasionally brilliant.
And mostly it was just… writing.
Which brings us to the present moment, where the entire world seems to be operating at a speed that suggests someone leaned on the fast-forward button and then lost the remote.
Everything now is immediate.
Immediate reactions. Immediate takes. Immediate outrage. Immediate applause. Immediate hot takes about the hot takes that were posted three minutes ago.
Now now now now now.
The internet has become a place where people don’t just want information quickly — they want everything quickly. Thoughts. Feelings. Analysis. Conclusions. Preferably condensed into a short video with subtitles and background music so nobody has to endure the horrifying possibility of silence or concentration.
And in the middle of all that noise, here we are.
Blogging.
Just plain old writing.
No trending sound. No viral dance. No mysterious algorithm deciding whether this post deserves to exist. Just a page, some thoughts, and the dangerous idea that maybe — just maybe — someone might read the whole thing.
I know. Wild concept.
In a world that treats attention spans like endangered species, choosing to write something longer than a caption feels slightly ridiculous. Almost pathetic, even. Like showing up to a Formula One race with a bicycle and saying, “Yes hello, I’ll just take the scenic route.”
But here’s the strange thing.
There’s something oddly satisfying about it.
Writing slows things down. It forces a moment of thought before reaction. It asks you to actually sit with an idea for a minute instead of immediately firing it into the endless content cannon that powers the modern internet.
And maybe that’s why blogging feels different now.
Back then it was just what people did.
Now it feels almost rebellious.
Because slowing down — even a little — is practically illegal in the economy of constant attention. Everything is engineered to keep moving, keep refreshing, keep feeding the machine with more opinions, more reactions, more commentary about the commentary.
Meanwhile blogging just sits there quietly in the corner like a slightly eccentric relative who refuses to get a smartphone and insists on writing letters.
And you know what?
That might be exactly why I’m back.
Not because blogging is trendy again. It definitely isn’t. Nobody’s building billion-view empires out of long paragraphs and mild existential observations.
But writing still does something the rest of the internet often forgets how to do.
It makes space.
Space to think. Space to wander through an idea. Space to say something that isn’t designed purely for maximum engagement within the next thirty seconds.
Maybe nobody reads blogs the way they used to.
Maybe they do.
Either way, the act of writing still matters. Even if it’s just for the quiet satisfaction of putting a thought into words and letting it exist somewhere outside the endless scroll.
So here we are again.
Hello world.
The blog is back up.
Vintage internet. Old-school thinking. Plain old writing.
In a world that moves at breakneck speed, it might be the slowest thing left on the internet.
And honestly?
That sounds perfect.

When Tuesday Feels Like A Monday

 When Tuesday Feels Like Monday

Have you ever woken up on a Tuesday and felt absolutely convinced it was still Monday?

Not because you forgot what day it was, but because the feeling of Monday hadn’t quite left you yet.

That was exactly my experience this week. Monday had already been chaotic enough, and somehow the emotional hangover carried straight into Tuesday. Even though the calendar clearly said otherwise, my brain refused to move on.

It all started with something small but frustrating: I couldn’t find my keys.

You know that sinking feeling when you start checking the obvious places — the kitchen counter, the hallway table, your coat pocket — and they’re not there? Then the search expands. Bags get emptied. Drawers get opened. The sense of mild panic slowly builds.

Somehow a tiny object like a set of keys can derail the start of an entire day.

As if that wasn’t enough, there was also an unexpected mystery unfolding outside. Water appeared to be leaking into the garden. Not just a little damp patch, but enough to make me wonder if something had gone seriously wrong. My mind quickly jumped to the worst possibilities: broken pipes, expensive repairs, and a long list of problems I didn’t want to deal with.

So Monday became one of those days where small inconveniences pile up just enough to make everything feel heavier than it should.

Eventually, my husband came home and calmly worked through the chaos that had built up in my head. Within a short time, the situation looked very different.

First, the missing keys were found.

Then the mysterious leak was investigated. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything serious at all. It turned out the water was likely coming from a neighbour’s pond rather than a problem on our side. Once that was identified, the issue was quickly sorted.

Just like that, the two things that had been causing stress all day were resolved.

Problem solved.

Except my brain didn’t quite get the memo.

The next morning arrived — Tuesday — but the feeling of Monday lingered. There were no missing keys, no mysterious water, and no actual problems left to fix. Yet mentally, it still felt like the week hadn’t properly restarted.

This is something many people experience without really noticing it. When a day contains several small stressors, your brain can remain stuck in “problem-solving mode.” Even after the problems are resolved, the emotional tension doesn’t immediately disappear.

It’s a bit like a computer running too many tabs in the background. The tasks might be closed, but the system hasn’t fully reset yet.

One small trick that helps is creating a sense of closure. Sometimes it’s as simple as mentally listing the problems and acknowledging they’re finished:

Keys — found.
Leak — investigated and fixed.

It sounds almost too simple, but giving your mind that clear signal of “done” can help it let go.

Another helpful reset is marking the start of the new day with something small and intentional. A cup of tea, a short walk outside, or even just stepping away from your usual routine for a moment can create a mental line between yesterday’s chaos and today’s calm.

Because in reality, Tuesday wasn’t Monday at all.

Monday was the messy day — the one with misplaced keys and mysterious water in the garden.

Tuesday was simply the day after everything had already been sorted out.

And sometimes that’s the best kind of Tuesday you can have.

72 hours in the beautiful city of Florence what should you see ? Florence will truly capture your heart and never let it go , there is something magical about Florence it is such a vibrant city full of art culture food and wine and so very mellow well mellow as an Italian city can get! Florence is known as the birthplace of the Renaissance where there was great wealth and so began a great collection of art between the 14th and 17th century.

It pays to get the Firenze card which allows you to visit as many museums and churches etc as you can mange within the 72 hours . The card is activated as soon as you go on your first visit make sure you get your card from the local tourist information at is 10 Euros cheaper than if you buy it form a museum.

We flew straight into Florence as Mr T wanted to be nearer but there is easy access from Pisa airport and that is where most people fly into. You can get a train direct from Pisa to Florence and the Italian trains are efficient and some even have double - decker carriages.

The Magnificence Of The Medici 

The Medici ruled Florence for 300 years they had a meteoric rise to power and put their money into arts, the churches and monuments and this makes Florence a truly spectacular city.

Make your way to the Palazzo Vecchio which is the main square Piazza della Signoria. Building was started in 1299, the medieval place has a 94 -metre high tower ( which I didn't climb but let my husband and son climb though ). There is a stately room to visit which seats 500 members. The medici used to have their apartments here till the mid -1500s.





Meander then down to the Palazzo Pitti this is where the Medici came to when they had outgrown the Palazzo Vecchio ,The Palazzo Pitti soon doubled from its initial size. From the outside the Palazzo Pitti looks very much like a fortress yet when you're inside this melts away to reveal paintings by Rubens, Raphael Titan and many many more. There are so many fine rooms to see it is a veritable feast upon the eyes and there are often other exhibitions to see when we were there was one on fashion and Italian motor racing.

Right next to the Palazzo Pitti is the Boboli gardens which are fine Italian gardens and they stretch for acres upon acres they are more than just a garden they are an architectural inspiration for Florence.They are the greatest open -air museum there is in the world, they are the gardens they inspired Versailles.





David

You can't come to Florence and not see David and you find this in the Galleria dell' Accademia for almost 370 years this world famous statue stood outside Palazzo Vecchio there is a copy outside there now.




David stands 17 feet tall and weighs in at 6 tonnes and there is a lot more to see around the Galleria dell' Academia too.





Doumo

This is a must and you see tantalising vistas of this almost everywhere you go in Florence we had a view from our hotel L'Orlogia which is not far away.Admire the facade of the Duomo it took them 16  years to complete the famed Dome (in 1436).

 Then go onto the Bargello the oldest building in Florence where you will see works by Michelangelo, Cellini and Donatello’s David. Also here you can see  ceramics ,textiles tapestries and coins also there is an armoury here as well.



This is but a snippet of what you can squeeze in 3 days and if you get the Firenze card which I strongly suggest you do then there is a complete list of all the places you can visit.

Always One Glove Away From a Duel

 I am, at all times, approximately one glove away from issuing a formal duel.

Not for dramatic historical reasons. I have not been insulted in parliament. No one has slandered my family name. Nobody has stolen my horse, my land, or my prized goose.

No.

My duels are reserved for the truly serious offences of modern life.

For example: when I hold a door open for someone and they walk through without saying thank you. Not even a nod. Not even the awkward half-smile people give when they realise they’ve made eye contact with a stranger and now must acknowledge the shared burden of existing.

Just… silence.

They pass through the doorway as if the door opened automatically through the power of advanced architecture.

And in that moment my brain quietly loads the software for 18th-century honour culture.

Internally, I remove a glove.

Very slowly.

The glove is imaginary, obviously, but the intent is very real.

I drop it onto the pavement.

“Sir,” I say in my mind, to the man who has just treated my act of door-holding charity like a natural weather phenomenon, “you have wounded my honour and also slightly my wrist which has now been holding this door for seven full seconds.”

Around us, in my imagination, a small crowd gathers. A pigeon watches with interest. Someone whispers, “Good heavens.”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” I continue, “we meet behind the Tesco Express car park. Pistols at ten paces. Or, if you prefer, a strongly worded conversation about basic manners.”

Queue-related crimes are even more dangerous.

There is something about a queue that feels sacred. It is a quiet social agreement between strangers: we are all suffering together, but we will suffer in the correct order.

When someone casually drifts into the middle of the queue like a confused duck who has wandered into traffic, my brain again reaches for the glove.

I approach them mentally with calm dignity.

“Excuse me,” I imagine saying, “but I believe you have accidentally committed a queue violation of the highest order.”

The glove falls.

Gasps ripple through the imaginary spectators.

“Dawn,” I announce. “Bring a witness and a basic understanding of fairness.”

Of course, in reality, none of this happens.

In reality I simply stand there like a normal human being, smiling politely in that very British way which roughly translates to:

“🙂 I will remember this forever but do absolutely nothing about it.”

But the duel energy remains.

Because modern society runs almost entirely on tiny acts of politeness. Doors held open. Thank-yous exchanged. Queues respected. Escalators exited without stopping dead at the top like someone who has just discovered gravity for the first time.

These are small things, but they are the duct tape holding civilisation together.

Remove too many and suddenly we’re all wandering around supermarkets like confused goats with shopping baskets.

So I will continue holding doors.

I will continue respecting queues.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet duelling field behind a Tesco Express will remain permanently reserved for anyone who forgets their manners.

I already have the glove ready.

Just in case.