ADDENDUM: I've now realised that it was churlish - nay, hypocritical - of me to complain that nobody ever memes me (which is also not true, now I think about it) and then not pass on this thing to 7 other people as requested. So, I'm hereby passing it on to: Brother Tobias, GAW (here's hoping he is on the road to recovery), Brit, Ana (wherever she is), Barry Teeth, Mr Inkspot, and last-but-not-least The Dotterel.
I don’t usually do memes – mainly because nobody asks me – but now I’ve been memed by our Kevin Musgrove, thank you kindly, and must supply the information described in the title of this post. (There’s a modifying clause to this which reads “as evidenced in my blog”, but I shall ignore this: as Kevin sez that I can be counted upon to come up with something unexpected I maintain that my blog is intractable to such a coarse-grained sub-categorisation approach, even one that includes the word “quirky”).
1) I Talk to Myself: The legacy of having been a stammerer and a habit that I refuse to give up. Though actually I’m merely practicing the conversations that I’d like to have with others - it’s not the same thing.
2) I Talk to the Television: Ditto. And also I’ve found this the ideal way to relax after a long day at the office; e.g. “My grandma can sing better than that, and she’s dead!”, or “Blue trousers with an orange shirt??... what were you thinking!” or “Oi, get your hair cut!”, etc etc.
3) I Talk to Animals: Ditto friggin’ Ditto. I can practically talk a tabby cat into bed with me.
4) I Have the Most Appalling Posture Imaginable: For years - decades, even - I’ve earned a crust slumped in a chair at a computer screen and then spent the evenings at dance classes. The latter may have won my soul but the former has certainly triumphed corporally.
5) In Moments of Anxiety or Confusion I Pick My Nose: Drinkers open a bottle, smokers light a fag and Bonobo monkeys get jiggy wid it, but I find a bit of nasal excavation to be the ideal “security blanket”.
6) I Have in Me an Aching Gap where Hard, Naked Ambition Should Be: I wanted to be a dancer but started too late; I trained in martial arts but ultimately lacked the killer instinct; I wanted to be a famous poet... but, ahh, I may yet be one day - I do hate other poets and their poems sufficiently to achieve this.
7) I’m Quite Tactile: This served me rather well during the huggy-kissy “New Man” era of the 1980s but also led to episodes of “inappropriate behaviour”. Here’s Madness:
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A bit TMI on the excavation front - but I really enjoyed that list.
ReplyDeleteI find you even lovelier now that I can imagine you wittering away incessantly.
(I might not want to go on a walk with you though)
We know you're a doctor, Gadj - now we know your surname must be 'Doolittle'. And, as the great Louis Armstrong once said, 'them cats is hot...' Enjoy the tabby!
ReplyDeleteTalking to yourself is fine as long as you're not being stalked, when it gives your position away. There must be a polite way of picking the nose. How about doing it with a snot spatula?
ReplyDeleteI share your habit of talking to the TV but didn't include it as I assumed everybody did.
ReplyDeleteMy first husband had a stammer. It was the first thing that drew me to him. His grandson who he never met also has one.
Kevin got you, too, huh?
ReplyDelete:-)
I've listed seven of my quirks on my blog as well.
We must see what we can do to repay ol' Kev...
Pearl
p.s. I am a stammerer as well, but only when very upset.
I think I've sat next to you on a station bench (railway, not police).
ReplyDeleteThe poetry ambition is well within your grasp.
I think you're sending out a subliminal signal to Scarlie with that saxophone solo.
ReplyDeleteI believe he is Daphne... and it worked.
ReplyDeleteAnyhow, as long as you don't eat no.5, then all is well. And whatever you do don't pick your nose with dirty fingernails, it could lead to a nasty infected white head in a painful place. Not that I'd know.
AND I think I have memed you before... how quickly people forget...
SX
An excellent seven me lad. And we all now know not to sit next to you at the pictures. (-:
ReplyDeleteI'm not at all sure about the nasal activities but I do understand No 6. I too have long had an aching gap and, alas, nothing hard and naked to put in its place. I am also concerned about your posture. I think we girlies do like a man to be tall and stand erect.
ReplyDeleteLools, you're too kind, and I'm sure you'd also find the nasal stuff endearing when you got to know me. I am the ideal "hello trees hello sky" walking companion, though :-)
ReplyDeleteDot, I'd planned to write a Dr. Doolittle post some time, but had thought the others maybe were tired of me airing my stammering stuff. Enjoying the tabby. And "dem cats is hot", surely.
Bananas, if I do have a stalker then (s)he is surely both very quiet and very unambitious.
Ms. Pi, lovely to make your acquaintance! Some women are drwan to stammerers, it's true. I picked up mine directly from my father, but I'm impressed that your grandson has dug deep in his genes for his.
Pearly, I must revisit your blog forthwith. And we must indeed repay ol' Kev in some way; I'm thinking "name your seven favourite rap singers/skateboarders/...." something along those lines.
Brother T., I also think I've sat next to you on a bench - are you my stalker (see above)? Trouble is I'm a very sloooww poet (so was Philip Larkin, yeah, but he was a git - see now how much I hate them??)
Daphers, "sending a subliminal signal to Scarlie with that saxophone solo" is a lovely bit of alliteration, and I shall endeavour to use it in a poem.
Scarley, if anybody did meme me before it was probably you and I thank you for it :-) I never understand why anybody eats that stuff, it's worse than jellied eels.
Kevin, 'tis yourself! I once had a girlfriend who talked constantly through films (what is with women who need to provide a running commentary to everything??)
Mme Camilla, encore enchanté. An aching gap and nothing hard and naked to put in its place? Hmm, this should boost the number of comments on this post from The Lads, merci!
Honoured to be amongst Team Gadjo, sir. And now I have a more fulsome mental picture of you: a tango-dancing, crookbacked, incessantly mumbling nose-picker.
ReplyDeleteI fear for this absence of ambition. You should have one handy for emergency purposes. You never know when it might come in handy.
ReplyDeleteBrit, old chap, you're most welcome; and yes, that's me, and I think I've finally come to some sort of acceptence of myself!
ReplyDeleteMadame, I know what you mean; I do have ambition, but it's just not so quantifiable in linear terms. However, to put your mind at rest: a slim volume of verse published by Faber & Faber by the time I'm 65, and a Tuesday evening gig as guest crooner with the Cluj-Napoca Palm Court Orchestra. That ok?
No ta.
ReplyDeleteAs long as you don't talk to your bogies I think you're relatively safe to be around.
ReplyDeleteAnd even then, it's mainly when they answer back and complain about the earwax looking down on them you really have to worry.
Ok Baz.
ReplyDeleteJules, nice, that's an interesting scenerio, and an idea for a most the unpleasent horror film imaginable!
Become a welder. That will cure nose-picking. Gloves too thick and a mask in the way.
ReplyDeleteAlice, sound advice!
ReplyDeleteGadjo, thank you for tagging me. I've belatedly got round to having a go here. Unfortunately, the exercise degenerated somewhat as I made the mistake of consulting my dearest.
ReplyDeleteGotcha, Gaw, though it's easier to decipher Seven Types of Ambiguity than Seven Personality Quirks from what you wrote ;-)
ReplyDelete