tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55448692024-03-14T15:49:39.381+00:00Older, but no wiserAndy Borrows' musings on life and all its confusion, contradictions, richness and opportunitiesandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comBlogger899125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-70354698924896704622011-03-09T20:52:00.001+00:002011-03-09T21:02:33.117+00:00Its overI’m going to be closing this blog down.<br />
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I wont delete it just yet; I may wish to salvage something from it. Although I’ve already downloaded the whole thing as a pdf, that doesn’t include the comments, and they are the most valuable thing here. So although I’ll let this stand a while longer while I figure out what, if anything, I want to do with the content, this will be the last post here.<br />
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The photos will most likely be the first to go. They’re hosted for free by my ISP, but in the interests of saving money I’m likely to change my ISP, or at the very least swap to a cheaper package which doesn’t include hosting.<br />
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It was good while it lasted, but looking back it only really lived for the first couple of years; everything thereafter has been essentially life support, a series of attempts to keep a dying dream alive. So I’m going to pull the plug on that life support. I stopped having anything to say a long time ago. I wish it were otherwise, but wishing doesn’t change anything. The <a href="http://andys-other-blog.blogspot.com/">new blog</a> grew out of that wish, but has never really taken off, just proving how inadequate the wish is on its own, without any substance to support it. I doubt that one will be around for much longer, either. No regrets though, just recognition of the way things are.<br />
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What then? I’ll still be on <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/andyborrows/">Flickr</a> and <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/andyborrows">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=774149577">Facebook</a> - less demanding ways of staying connected, albeit with a connection that will never run as deep as those connections made in the early days of blogging. <br />
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It was good while it lasted. Thank you all for that.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-18784899724382944972010-08-23T21:05:00.000+01:002010-08-23T21:05:47.752+01:00A new homeAfter an inordinately long gestation period, the new blog is almost here. It has, you might say, gone into labour (or rather its creator has), and birth can be expected quite soon. Although it rather destroys the metaphor, a sneak preview may be had <a href="http://andys-other-blog.blogspot.com/">here</a>. No new material yet, but the couple of posts copied from this blog really belong in the new one.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-10026522553476056312010-07-29T13:06:00.004+01:002010-07-29T13:17:08.209+01:00At sea"A ship in harbor is safe -- but that is not what ships are for."<br /><em> ~ John A. Shedd</em><br /><br /><br />"One does not discover new continents without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time."<br /><em> ~ Andre Gide</em><br /><br /><br />"Some things cannot be spoken or discovered until we have been stuck, incapacitated, or blown off course for a while. Plain sailing is pleasant, but you are not going to explore many unknown realms that way."<br /><em> ~ David Whyte</em><br /><br /><br />"For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin -- real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."<br /><em> ~ Dr. Alfred D'Souza</em><br /><br /><br />"There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not any more what you will become. It is what you are and always will be."<br /><em> ~ John Fowles</em><br /><br /><br />"Make the most of yourself...for that is all there is of you."<br /><em> ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson</em>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-46773748382854843142010-05-23T21:08:00.002+01:002010-05-23T21:16:37.162+01:00Enforced HiatusIf blogging here is slow for a while, it's not because this new-found blogging energy has run out, just that I have 2 dead computers. Both were archaic and due to be replaced anyway, but things will be quiet until his'n'hers laptops have arrived. Such is life.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-2769890036664521982010-05-22T22:44:00.002+01:002010-05-22T22:48:19.838+01:00Whither art?It’s not that I actively enjoy suburban railway journeys – certainly not when encumbered by a heavy and unwieldy bass guitar – but I do appreciate the few minutes of guilt-free idleness. Absolutely no reason to do anything other than gaze out of the railway carriage window, following or abandoning whatever thought-paths are opened up by the ever-changing view. Today’s journey was a crossing from one side of London to the other for a bass guitar lesson with <a href="http://www.stevelawson.net/">Steve Lawson</a>.<br /><br />Much of suburban London – especially those parts seen alongside a railway line – are frankly rather ugly. I was tired on this particular journey, unable for the moment to balance the ugliness with a rational acceptance of its context, and so the ugliness rather got to me. Instead of being immersed in this noise and dirt and decay, this unkempt rubbish-tip of a city whose back yard seems to mount a violent assault on the soul, how much more pleasant to be away from all this to live somewhere surrounded by green, by tranquillity, by space. A nice safe little island of a make-believe reality we create for ourselves, shutting out the nasty bits, the bits we don’t want to see, the bits that upset or disturb us. Islands of leafy suburbia amidst urban blight; islands of national (illusory?) well-being amidst a world heading for the brink – and perhaps art itself is another form of island, created as an escape mechanism from the harsh brutality of reality.<br /><br />Does it actually matter that we act as if these islands are real? Or do we need the security they provide so that we can deal with the bigger reality that faces us when we go outside?<br /><br />If we go outside, that is.<br /><br />I sometimes worry about trying to justify art, since it sometimes seems to belong only to that artificial reality. Or more to the point, I worry about <span style="font-style:italic;">my </span>art. My music. With working hours written off as worthless, shouldn’t I be doing something of some value with the hours that remain? I over-simplify the question, of course. I can present all manner of excellent reasons why art is valuable, essential even to the advancement of civilisation. How art mirrors the depths as well as the heights of human experience. I don’t have a problem with that, either intellectually or, if you like to put it that way, spiritually. And yet I’m still left with a nagging doubt when it comes to my art. It still feels as though art – my art - is a luxury, to be indulged in only when the real work has been done.<br /><br />And this is why I miss those railway journeys: the idle thoughts and scribblings in my notebook, stimulated by nothing more than the view from the window, led me to this conclusion: the best way to deal with that question – if I accept that the ‘best’ art is not a luxury at all but an essential catalyst to the expansion of the soul – is to make sure that <span style="font-style:italic;">my </span>art can be counted amongst that which can be such a catalyst. A mighty tall order, one that sounds almost arrogant in its presumption, but nonetheless not one to be shied away from. <br /><br />In other words, to be the best musician I can be. <br /><br />It sounds a simple enough concept, and one wonders why it should take such a tortuous mental process to reach this point. However, the ramifications are only just beginning to dawn on me. Some of them are rather scary.<br /><br />I can be a creature of extremes; holding a tremendous, debilitating lack of self-confidence yet at the same time a deep and sure belief in a potential only just beginning to be tapped. I guess that’s not all bad; at least the lack of confidence prevents what self-belief there is from turning into arrogance.<br /><br />Ye gods; is the old blogger, not seen here for many a year, at last resurrected?andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-68136341307916581972010-05-21T13:46:00.003+01:002010-05-21T14:28:07.270+01:0030 Days of Music: Day 6 - a song that reminds me of somewhereWind the clock back 28 years to 1982. (Good grief, is really that long? Half a lifetime?) It’s lunch time and I’m sitting in a pub in Sutton Coldfield, just outside Birmingham, along with a few work colleagues. We’re working on installing new VHF radio transmitters at the <a href="http://www.thebigtower.com/live/SuttonColdfield/index.htm">BBC transmitting station</a> nearby. It’s a long job, running well over a year, and many weeks will find a number of us up here for much of the week, back home again for the weekend. It’s not that we’re hardened lunch-time drinkers (honest…) but with long working days up here it’s nice to get away from site for a while, just for a change of scenery. The pub doesn’t have a huge lunch-time trade, but every day we see another similar group here – tradesmen of some kind, I can’t remember what; electricians maybe – obviously in a similar position to us, taking a break from a long ongoing job. And every day, without fail, they select the same song on the video jukebox. I suppose they may have liked the music, but somehow I suspect that may not have been the over-riding reason for their choice…<br /><br /><object width="400" height="333"><param name="movie" value="http://video.libero.it/static/swf/eltvplayer.swf?id=872b664a4ebf7360fb877f2851db7d84.flv&ap=0" /><embed src="http://video.libero.it/static/swf/eltvplayer.swf?id=872b664a4ebf7360fb877f2851db7d84.flv&ap=0" width="400" height="333" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br /><br />(The <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3W6yf6c-FA">YouTube version</a> has embedding disabled, but the above link seems to work okay)<br /><br />Anyway, their job finished before ours, and for a couple of days the pub was a lot quieter at lunch time. But something was missing; it just didn’t seem the same without that video playing, so, rather sheepishly, we carried on the tradition, secretly hoping no-one else was paying close attention to our apparent tastes in music and… ahem… visual entertainment. Hence that song, for better or for worse, is inextricably linked in my mind with jumbled visions of exotic yachts, bikini-clad girls, and a very English saloon bar of a pub tucked away in a sleepy corner of the midlands.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-29568176594702995682010-05-20T20:56:00.003+01:002010-05-20T23:00:03.145+01:0030 Days of Music: Day 5 - a song that reminds you of someone.I think the 90's was the decade in which I rediscovered the music of my youth; I remember commuting up and down the M1 with the likes of Led Zeppelin blasting full volume out of the car stereo. A circumstance which of course was completely disconnected with the fact that I also turned 40 half way through that decade... There was so much good old stuff to listen to that somehow I managed to miss much of the great new music that was around. So although I'd just about heard of the <a href="http://">Crash Test Dummies</a>, I hadn't a clue what kind of sound they made; I think the name made me think vaguely of post-punk rock. (Worth clicking that link, by the way, because you get a free play of their new album).<br /><br />Enter <a href="http://didrooglie.blogspot.com/">Andrea</a>. We discovered each other's blogs, as you do, swapped stories etc, and somewhere along the line, for a reason that now escapes me, she put together a tape of various Canadian artists - which incidentally was where I first heard day 1's contribution to this series. Included on that tape was this song. I'd never heard it before - or indeed anything quite like it - and it grew and grew on me. It appeals to the slightly off-the-wall side of my sense of humour, and I think there's probably something about it which reflects a side of Andrea too. Which is why this song always reminds me of her. (And I hope it's okay to say so, Andrea, but I figured I could always seek forgiveness if I had to ;)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gkd-EJ3O4x4&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gkd-EJ3O4x4&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-43638237700748254352010-05-19T22:03:00.002+01:002010-05-19T22:13:39.536+01:0030 Days of Music: Day 4 - A song that makes you sadWhen she first recorded this song in 1992, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eva_Cassidy">Eva Cassidy</a> wouldn't have known that she was going to die of cancer just four years later. All of which renders that last line of the song all the more poignant.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ce-5OWBNGNw&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ce-5OWBNGNw&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-53373396790725161282010-05-18T19:29:00.002+01:002010-05-18T19:34:46.835+01:0030 Days of Music: Day 3 - a song that makes you happy<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7d4zt1gPeMw&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7d4zt1gPeMw&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />In spite of <span style="font-style:italic;">[insert list of gripes here]</span> it <span style="font-weight:bold;">is</span> still a wonderful world - for the moment. Unless we fuck it up irretrievably. On which day this song will instead make me very sad indeed.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-90712428357848036302010-05-17T13:22:00.002+01:002010-05-17T13:25:32.455+01:0030 Days of Music: Day 2 – Your Least Favourite SongI thought at first this one was going to be difficult; then I remembered disco… the enemy of all things musical.<br /><br />It must be the enemy, because it induces a fight-or-flight response – smash the TV and beat the remnants into a pile of dust, or stick my fingers in my ears and run, screaming, from the room. Not being the owner of the TV at the time, I chose the latter option. Inwardly, if not actually.<br /><br />But what have I done? I actually listened to a few moments of this video, and that sickening tune has insinuated itself into my brain; I even found myself involuntarily humming it in the shower this morning. Perhaps the men in white coats will come for me soon…<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-U9feOlPqhU&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-U9feOlPqhU&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-38460543938816143732010-05-16T14:25:00.007+01:002010-05-16T22:20:58.700+01:00Thirty Days of MusicThere’s a meme doing the rounds; thirty days of music. Thirty simple prompts for songs you like/dislike/make you feel happy/sad etc – you get the picture. It’s curious that music is such a big part of my life yet I rarely write about it. Since these days I rarely write about anything at all (a situation worth exploring, perhaps, but not right now), I thought it might be worth using this as a means of getting back into the habit of communicating here. Heaven knows, I don’t communicate much anywhere else.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Day 1 – Your Favourite Song</span><br /><br />Even though the very concept of a single favourite song, amongst so much great music of such variety, is one against which I instinctively rebel, nevertheless this was an easy choice. A song I loved instantly on first hearing it, and of which I never tire; a song I return to time and again when my soul needs something beautiful, something heartfelt, something deeply human.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hKSKdRhixSI&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hKSKdRhixSI&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />These words, from the <a href="http://www.dianakrall.com/music.aspx?pid=10936">description of the album,</a> from which this song is taken, give some background to the composition:<br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br />“The album closes with perhaps the most deeply felt of the self-composed titles. "Departure Bay" contains vivid and touching images of her hometown of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island but also a wrenching description of her family's first Christmas without her mother and a final verse that welcomes new love and hope for the future.<br /><br />“Musically composed by Krall alone, these songs mark a lyrical collaboration with her new husband, Elvis Costello. Explaining how they worked, Krall said: "I wrote the music and then Elvis and I talked about what we wanted to say. I told him stories and wrote pages and pages of reminiscences, descriptions and images, and he put them into tighter lyrical form. For "Departure Bay," I wrote down a list of things that I love about home, things I realized were different, even exotic, now that I've been away".”</blockquote><br /><br />This song has personal associations too - I have <a href="http://didrooglie.blogspot.com/">Andrea</a> to thank for introducing me to Diana Krall’s music, and her <a href="http://www.andreapratt.com/paintings.html">paintings</a> of the corner of Canada which form the setting for this song help especially to bring <a href="http://www.lyricsdomain.com/4/diana_krall/departure_bay.html">the words</a> alive.<br /><br />Sometimes we just appreciate a nice tune, or a beautiful voice, but, like all art perhaps, music has most effect when it touches something personal within ourselves, when the art is the bridge by which an experience can cross from one to another. This doesn’t have to be some great epiphany, some moment of immense joy or sorrow; just an empathic experience when the music puts you into the shoes of the singer or the songwriter and your world is enriched because of it.<br /><br />That, I guess, is why I call this a favourite. Yes, the tune is good; yes the harmonies are pleasing; yes, the band – jazz trio plus guitar – is as near-perfect as you could possibly hope for; ultimately though, even though the song takes its inspiration in the circumstance surrounding a death, it manages to communicate a wholeness of experience that places acceptance and hope as equal partners with sadness.<br /><br />As such, it reminds me a bit of those famous words of the 14th century mystic, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julian_of_Norwich">Julian of Norwich</a>:<br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">"…All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well"</blockquote><br />Does that seem a lot to read into a simple song? Perhaps; but then this is a personal favourite because it elicits a personal response. Your response will be different – and that’s fine. Life would be very dull if we all saw everything the same way.<br /><br /><br />Here’s the full list of 30 days’ themes if you fancy giving it a go:<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">day 01 - your favorite song<br />day 02 - your least favorite song<br />day 03 - a song that makes you happy<br />day 04 - a song that makes you sad<br />day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone<br />day 06 - a song that reminds of you of somewhere<br />day 07 - a song that reminds you of a certain event<br />day 08 - a song that you know all the words to<br />day 09 - a song that you can dance to<br />day 10 - a song that makes you fall asleep<br />day 11 - a song from your favorite band<br />day 12 - a song from a band you hate<br />day 13 - a song that is a guilty pleasure<br />day 14 - a song that no one would expect you to love<br />day 15 - a song that describes you<br />day 16 - a song that you used to love but now hate<br />day 17 - a song that you hear often on the radio<br />day 18 - a song that you wish you heard on the radio<br />day 19 - a song from your favorite album<br />day 20 - a song that you listen to when you’re angry<br />day 21 - a song that you listen to when you’re happy<br />day 22 - a song that you listen to when you’re sad<br />day 23 - a song that you want to play at your wedding<br />day 24 - a song that you want to play at your funeral<br />day 25 - a song that makes you laugh<br />day 26 - a song that you can play on an instrument<br />day 27 - a song that you wish you could play<br />day 28 - a song that makes you feel guilty<br />day 29 - a song from your childhood<br />day 30 - your favorite song at this time last year</blockquote><br /><br />Hat tip to <a href="http://www.stevelawson.net/">Steve Lawson</a> (from whom, incidentally, I’m now taking bass guitar lessons) for <a href="http://solobasssteve.posterous.com/">passing on</a> the idea.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-42758757387327373622010-03-23T22:26:00.002+00:002010-03-23T22:30:00.236+00:00Betwixt and betweenIt was when playing in the last show that a realisation clicked into place; a new frame of reference for an old perspective, a self-imposed straightjacket miraculously falling away.<br /><br />Take a typical amateur dramatic production – the cast spans perhaps 18 to 35, the band may be a bit older, and both groups with just the occasional (relatively) old ‘un. This time round, at 55 I was undoubtedly the oldest one there. I’m usually content to <em>be</em> 55, assuming I don’t really fit in a group that is mostly a generation apart. That doesn’t mean being aloof – or I hope it doesn’t. There’s no feeling of superiority by virtue of age, or anything like that – goodness, most of them, cast and band alike, are way better at what they do than I am at what I do (which if you didn’t know is play bass guitar). And I don’t really mean to emphasise age as much as I have done. The theatre set are, shall we say, quite an extrovert lot, and that also creates something of a gap between us. So this isn’t about where any of us sit on any linear scale, be that of age or ability or anything else; no, this feeling of not-really-fitting stems from an internal assumption that these differences – of age, of generation, of personality – are of necessity a divider. An intrinsic barrier, one that might be peered over from time to time, but never crossed.<br /><br />I said this minor epiphany was down to the show, yet nearly everything about this latest show was just like every other show that has gone before; a cast drawn from the same pool of north London/ home counties talent, the usual suspects playing in the band. True, ‘Rent’ was an ambitious production for an amateur group, but then this is a group used to working at the top end of the amateur range, with production to professional standards. I’ve been part of similar productions before, yet come away feeling little different to how I started.<br /><br />This time round, however, there was just one tiny difference. Usually, the band is dressed in black, hidden in the pit, essentially invisible, its presence known only by the sound. But this time, the band was to be an integral part of the show. Originally we were planned to be on stage, but space was limited so we did end up in the orchestra pit – but rather than wearing the usual black, we were to dress the part – a 1990’s New York would-be rock band. Such a trivial difference, yet I felt literally 10 years younger, or more to the point, I felt that division – be it of generation or anything else – narrow to the point almost of vanishing.<br /><br />Now, just in case your imagination is running away with itself, let me put your mind at rest - I didn’t attempt anything that would embarrass audience or myself by looking as though I was trying too hard. No black leather waistcoat open over a bare chest! In reality my chosen garb was still decidedly conservative, certainly by rock band standards. But that isn’t the point – the important difference was not actual appearance, but the fact that, in a small way, we were <em>playing the part </em>of rock musicians. Hardly acting; the audience wouldn’t have noticed anything different. But it <em>felt </em>different.<br /><br />The ‘costume’, such as it was, wasn’t so effective at the after-show party, I have to admit. No acting there, it was back to feeling like an old fart amongst a different generation. But in a way that drove the point home, a point that goes something like this:<br /><br />These years where I now find myself are the between years. Between the fiery certainty of youth and the deep wisdom of old age; between career drive and the release of retirement; between parenthood and grandparenthood. Sometimes, in these between years, you feel as though you belong to neither side, but are wandering lost in a drawn-out transition. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Instead of belonging to neither world you can belong to both, having a foot in both camps. In one moment, enjoy the exuberance of youth, in the next, share the wisdom of the years; one moment be a brother, the next a father-figure.<br /><br />I wish I didn’t keep quoting years and age. This isn’t only about age and ageing, although they provided the context for this post. No, this is about choices, about realising that there is a much wider spectrum of ways of being available to us, wider by far than the narrow confines of the persona we – or at any rate I – usually assume.<br /><br />Sometimes all it takes for this penny to drop is a black T-shirt and a crumpled denim overshirt.<br /><br /><br /><em>I’m going to start a new blog soon, once I’ve sorted out the layout, and I plan this to be the first post. I’m calling it ‘betwixt and between’, reflecting the focus on life in this period of later middle age. I've finally realised that his old blog here no longer really feels a part of me.</em>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-51145716573332298812010-02-26T13:18:00.001+00:002010-02-26T13:20:55.060+00:00VoicesThere are so many self-talk voices, some encouraging, some, perhaps most, not; sometimes they get muddled and it’s not easy to tell which is helpful and which isn’t, which should be listened to and which ignored. <br /><br />Sometimes even the true the voice of your own being can be inconvenient, telling you things you don’t know how to deal with, or don’t want to deal with.<br /><br />So, for safety, or convenience, you deliberately lock those more troublesome voices away, because you no longer trust them, or know how to trust them. Or maybe you just don’t have time to listen. All that remains are the voices of banal chatter.<br /><br />Then one day you think you want to open the door again, but it turns out there’s no-one waiting expectantly behind it, just a vacant space. Or maybe that’s the wrong metaphor, maybe it’s that the lock is seized, or maybe you lost the key. Whatever; either way you no longer have access to something which was once part of you.<br /><br />That’s how it is with this blog. Whoever it was that used to write here, isn’t the guy who sits tapping the keys which form these words. Someone else sits in his place. Someone older, emptier, more remote; someone pliable under the forces of circumstance instead of challenging them; someone, in short, with nothing much to say.<br /><br />Such does not make for good blogging.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-11101649434596191822010-01-06T21:22:00.008+00:002010-01-07T08:55:58.927+00:00Bipolar WorldA world described only by the presence or absence of its few defining features:<br /><br />White and not-white;<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/Langdale1_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/Langdale1_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_tarn_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_tarn_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sun,<br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_gill_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_gill_440.jpg" border="0" /></a></center><br /><br />and not-sun;<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/Langdale2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/Langdale2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />frozen,<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_tarn2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_tarn2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and not (altogether) frozen;<br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_gill2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/stickle_gill2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a></center><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/angle_tarn_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/angle_tarn_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />steep,<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/rosset_ghyll_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/rosset_ghyll_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and not (quite so) steep;<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/rocky_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/rocky_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />wind-cowed,<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/pavey_ark_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/pavey_ark_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and not cowed;<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/bowfell_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/bowfell_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />outside,<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/bowfell2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/langdale_dec2009/bowfell2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and not outside.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/tent_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/tent_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So much more elemental; so much simpler.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-81246131268177216272010-01-03T12:13:00.002+00:002010-01-03T12:19:34.516+00:00RememberingDinner is cooked and eaten, the washing up done. The lights are dim, I lie curled on my side, warm and snug, half dozing whilst a sultry-voiced Diana Krall sings softly to me, courtesy of the ubiquitous iPod. At this moment, there is absolutely no need to do anything else, be anywhere else, be anybody else; for a few rare moments I’m completely relaxed, at ease – happy, in fact.<br /><br />And this is in spite of the fact that underneath the down sleeping bag which keeps me so warm, underneath the two layers of sleeping mats, lies four inches of frozen snow – but snow which has gently moulded itself to my shape making this the most comfortable campsite ever – no tree roots, no stones, no hard lumps which magically grow bigger and harder and lumpier during the night.<br /><br />Beyond the thin nylon of the tent walls it’s a wild night; every so often the growl of the wind in the treetops crescendos to a menacing roar, warning of a fresh onslaught to strike the tent a few seconds later, the sides bulging inwards under the pressure. But I’ve already checked and tightened the guys, adjusted a couple pegs here and there to give the most secure anchorage; let the wind howl – I can turn up Diana’s volume, snuggle deeper under the down and idly watch the circle of light on the tent roof dance as the fabric bows under invisible forces.<br /><br />This is how evenings should be – all the hard work got out of the way during the hours of daytime, and a clear space after the final task – the preparation of the evening meal – in which to relax and reflect, to set a seal on the labours of the day before the descent into slumber.<br /><br />It hasn’t been like that for me for a long time; life has become a too-frantic bustle of never-completed activity, from the moment the alarm goes off to the moment my eyes close at the end of the day, with the only pauses forced through sheer exhaustion. I’ve never set much store by New Year’s resolutions, but if I were to make one, it would be to give myself permission to keep some time and energy free from all those pressures of the day, and remember who I am.<br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/tent_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2010/tent_440.jpg" border="0" /></a></center>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-63378674944249268412010-01-02T15:22:00.001+00:002010-01-02T15:24:49.724+00:00StartingI need to start writing again. Need to, because I need to start thinking again, otherwise the already weakened thinking muscles will atrophy still further until they wither away completely. It has become too easy just to drift through the days and years doing little more than reacting to circumstances, rarely taking the initiative, rarely engaging; just becoming sufficiently involved to muddle through the day and survive until the next. Yet the thought just manages to form itself in this treacly consciousness of mine that unless something changes, this is how it’s going to be from here on.<br /><br />This blog has stood all but abandoned for months now – the current front page contains posts dating back to September. I’ve been unable to find the energy or the will or the purpose to link a few words together. Or a few thoughts. It could really do with a major reworking – the 800 pixel wide layout is an anachronism, the blogroll is out of date – but changes there will have to wait a while. I could start afresh, but for some reason I can’t explain, the continuity of the stream of posts running back to 2003 feels important.<br /><br />I had no real intention of stopping writing, I just allowed everything else to get in the way. A day, a week, a month, letting circumstance dictate the ways in which mind and hands are employed. That’s a risky road to travel, for it leads away from opportunities for self-examination, away from prospects of growth, towards only a kind of oblivion of the soul. And yet I still can’t escape that puritanical notion that any activity whose beneficiary is the self is by definition selfish and therefore in some way bad. Heads you win, tails I lose.<br /><br />So I make no promises, either to you or to me. But taking a bit more effort to marshal a few thoughts and set down some words here would seem to be a Good Thing. We’ll see how it pans out.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-85288187076434218572009-12-25T11:30:00.002+00:002009-12-25T11:33:27.259+00:00Walking in a Winter Wonderland<center><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead1_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead1_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead3_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead3_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead4_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead4_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead5_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead5_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead8_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead8_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead7_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Berkhamstead/Berkhamstead7_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></center>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-40051194363066015862009-11-07T20:31:00.005+00:002009-11-07T20:46:44.970+00:00Looking the wrong way<blockquote style="background-color:#d4ecfb">"Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Can't you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round in front."<br /><br />- G.K. Chesterton</blockquote><br />Oh, to have the imagination to use such simple imagery to express something so profound.<br /><br />Hat tip to <a href="http://whiskeyriver.blogspot.com/2009/11/shall-i-tell-you-secret-of-whole-world.html">whiskeyriver</a>.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-11546264485562216922009-10-30T13:41:00.001+00:002009-10-30T13:42:29.257+00:00FiddlingWith so much potential on so many fronts for global catastrophe, doing anything other than something which just might help avert just one of the doomsday scenarios feels like fiddling whilst Rome burns.<br /><br />We wring our hands helplessly, and carry on fiddling.<br /><br />Work continues to be as purposeless and unfulfilling as ever. But I dutifully fiddle nonetheless. It seems the only option.<br /><br />I gaze longingly at the crate of rock climbing gear in the garage and wonder if I’ll ever use it again. But anyway, it would only be fiddling.<br /><br />My bass guitar looks at first sight like a metaphorical fiddle. Yet art – even apparently banal musical shows - has a way of touching the soul. So in spite of the pressure it brings to a self-doubting musician struggling to master his instrument, and the single-minded focus it requires, this is one form of fiddling of which I’m not ashamed.<br /><br />I reckon kids growing up and leaving home is the biggest life transition I’ve encountered so far. Adjustment is proving surprisingly difficult, in ways I’m only just beginning to notice, let alone comprehend. This is the most real thing in my life today. In the final analysis, family trumps global catastrophe.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-6871926267017627772009-10-23T13:58:00.003+01:002009-10-23T14:10:00.193+01:00ChangeI might change my Internet Service Provider. It would be a worthwhile cost saving, but I'd lose the hosting service for the photos which appear on this blog, so all that would be left would be those little squares marking the place where something's missing. The blog's a mess anyway - the template was designed in the days when 800 x 600 pixel screens where commonplace. It's obvious too that I have very little to say these days; I've changed, I'm not the person I was when I began blogging. I'd delete the whole thing and forget about it, except for one thing. The comments. If I look back over old posts, it's not what I've written that matters, it's the conversations that have ensued, the connections, the friendships - although to my shame I've let those lapse. But I'm not quite ready yet to cut adrift from all that, so this broken space can stand a while longer while I figure out what to do with it.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-9493671030646724012009-10-09T20:16:00.001+01:002009-10-09T20:18:06.462+01:00Maybe......I should just acknowledge that I can't do this any more.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-61086684587642787832009-09-27T21:36:00.002+01:002009-09-27T21:41:08.942+01:00Sidestreet<a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Bury_St_Edmunds_800.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Bury_St_Edmunds_440.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A chance snapshot in Bury St Edmunds at the weekend.andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-54982609863229902282009-09-17T22:45:00.001+01:002009-09-17T22:47:39.082+01:00A brief interval of abundance<span style="color:#666666;"></span><br /><br />Shout these words from <a href="http://thearchdruidreport.blogspot.com/">the Archdruid</a> at any government you like, and you can be sure they’ll clap their hands over their ears and sing “LA, LA, LA; I CAN’T HEAR YOU” :<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="color:#666666;">“The difficulty here is that faith in the prospect of a better future has been so deeply ingrained in all of us that trying to argue against it is a bit like trying to tell a medieval peasant that heaven with all its saints and angels isn’t there any more. The hope that tomorrow will be, or can be, or at the very least ought to be better than today is hardwired into the collective imagination of the modern world. Behind that faith lies the immense example of three hundred years of industrial expansion, which cashed in the cheaply accessible fraction of the Earth’s fossil fuel reserves for a brief interval of abundance so extreme that garbage collectors in today’s America have access to things that emperors could not get before the industrial revolution dawned.<br /><br />“That age of extravagance has profoundly reshaped – in terms of the realities of human life before and after our age, a better word might be “distorted” – the way people nowadays think about very nearly anything you care to name. In particular, it has blinded us to the ecological realities that provide the fundamental context to our lives. It’s made nearly all of us think, for example, that unlimited exponential growth is possible, normal, and good, and so even as the disastrous consequences of unlimited exponential growth slam into our society one after another like waves hitting a sand castle, the vast majority of people nowadays still build their visions of the future on the fantasy that problems caused by growth can be solved by still more growth.”</span> </blockquote><br /><a href="http://thearchdruidreport.blogspot.com/2009/09/daydreams-of-destruction.html">[more...]</a><br /><br />And if unlimited growth really isn’t possible, what then?andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-84065131016638255862009-09-15T12:36:00.002+01:002009-09-15T12:47:06.275+01:00A momentOnce in a while, in a moment of inattention, I may teeter on the brink of understanding. Not head-understanding, but heart-understanding. Something unexpected lifts my mind out of its weary circles and shows me a place where the patterns of the world shape a different frame, where values and fears and goals and ever-so-important banalities are supplanted by a vision, a certainty, a rightness you always knew to be true but had forgotten. Teeter, out of balance, with the sense of a tipping point almost emerging from the chaos - but then the weight of the old balance reasserts itself. Ever-present threat; dull, numbing dread; gnawing guilt; the questions weigh in once more.<br /><br />A chance meeting with a total stranger was one such moment last week; finding this poem, posted today on <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.panhala.net/Archive/Terns.html">Panhala</a>, is another:<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Terns</strong><br /><br />Don't think just now of the trudging forward of thought,<br />but of the wing-drive of unquestioning affirmation.<br /><br />It's summer, you never saw such a blue sky,<br />and here they are, those white birds with quick wings,<br /><br />sweeping over the waves,<br />chattering and plunging,<br /><br />their thin beaks snapping, their hard eyes<br />happy as little nails.<br /><br />The years to come -- this is a promise --<br />will grant you ample time<br /><br />to try the difficult steps in the empire of thought<br />where you seek for the shining proofs you think you must have.<br /><br />But nothing you ever understand will be sweeter, or more binding,<br />than this deep affinity between your eyes and the world.<br /><br />The flock thickens<br />over the roiling, salt brightness. Listen,<br /><br />maybe such devotion, in which one holds the world<br />in the clasp of attention, isn't the perfect prayer,<br /><br />but it must be close, for the sorrow, whose name is doubt,<br />is thus subdued, and not through the weaponry of reason,<br /><br />but of pure submission. Tell me, what else<br />could beauty be for? And now the tide<br /><br />is at its very crown,<br />the white birds sprinkle down,<br /><br />gathering up the loose silver, rising<br />as if weightless. It isn't instruction, or a parable.<br /><br />It isn't for any vanity or ambition<br />except for the one allowed, to stay alive.<br /><br />It's only a nimble frolic<br />over the waves. And you find, for hours,<br /><br />you cannot even remember the questions<br />that weigh so in your mind.</span><br /><br />~ Mary Oliver ~</blockquote>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544869.post-89504069717303871902009-08-25T22:02:00.001+01:002009-08-25T22:05:03.042+01:00Zambezi sunset<a href="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Africa/zambezi_sunset2_1024.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://www.theborrows.plus.com/2009/Africa/zambezi_sunset2_440.jpg" border="0" /></a>andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07999208979898688085noreply@blogger.com