SAW IT. THOUGHT OF YOU: A Cornucopia of Delightfully Entertaining Complete Bollocks

Hello, You! Yes, You! Long time no blog: I've missed you, you know. No, that's the wrong way round, isn't it? It is you who should have been missing me, being as this is my blog and all. But then, you haven't clamoured for your occasional dose of Mu-Nonsense, so I conclude that my first statement was correct. It is I who have missed you. Commence talking bollocks...

because you know I love Science and shit

A few things have happened that have made me want to bite on spoons again, but there's no need to dwell on those. If I were to write a blog on Why Fifty Shades In Any Of Its Forms Is A Pile Of Fucking Old Wank*, well, I may as well write a blog on Why Hurting Kittens Is Mean. 
I had a birthday; birthdays are not my favourite, but some of you did give me very lovely presents. Thanks ever so much! You are far more generous than I deserve.

because you know I love Octopuses and crazy undies

But no. Instead of spoon-chewing, or birthday gifts, I'm going to share a collection of pictures and clips that you've been sharing with me, in those saw-it-thought-of-you moments. You do know me: lately it's been Chemistry; Bosoms; Grammar; Fancy Shoes; Swearing; Filth; and Octopuses. Sometimes you tell me that I've been in one of your dreams! I LOVE that! And they've all been really cool dreams too, making me quite envious that I wasn't actually there... there was the holding-hands-on-the-bus one; and the carrying-my-luggage-in-LA one; and the drinking-tea-with-Russell-Brand one (no-one's hinted at anything too filthy. That's probably a good thing. But, you know, if it ever happens, keep it to yourself, there's a love. And besides, I'd feel sorry for you). 

because you know I love a bit of Filth

Whenever anyone sends me something like this, though - some little inconsequential item which brought me into their minds - I'm always immensely happy. Perhaps that makes me needy; rather, I hope it means I look for pleasure in small things. If that's true, it means you've seen it too. Thank you. Here they are, dotted about - just a few recent ones. 

There's also this song,which I love, and this blog post, which is just delicious. I want to be her.

www.thebloggess.com

Okay - one spoon-biting moment. For undisclosed reasons, I've been obliged to make my Instagram account private. A private IG profile! Oxymoron much? There hasn't been a greater vehicle for displaying images of narcissistic optimism since the Great Pyramids of Giza. I'm rather fond of my IG account, and I post in there quite frequently. There are many others which would register far higher on the -ometers of Art, Poetry, Beauty, baked goods and Ass-Selfies; still, if you don't already follow me, I'd love it if you would. Otherwise, you won't be able to see my pretty stuff. And that would be a shame. 

Instagram. It makes your eyes go funny

*That's not to say that much has not been written on this subject that isn't well-presented and valid. Here's my favourite. Plus there's this, which about sums it up:

YES, I FOUND THE MARBLE. THIS IS WHY I'M LOSING IT AGAIN

 CHARITY AUCTION. THAT'S THE POINT. 

JUST SO YOU KNOW.

The signed print. In my hands. Retail value $75. Limited edition of three prints, and the only one available to buy

A while ago I published a blog called 'The Best Photo I Never Took', or something like it, I can't remember, anyway, it's here, but no need to look, there wasn't much in it, and the photo is below so don't bother. Come back to me. Thank you.
It featured a single photo of a marble I found in my bed. I don't know where it came from, or how it got there. I accept it's not an impossible thing to happen, but generally I can follow the logic of random bed-finds. This was different: I have no recollection of anyone playing marbles in my bed, and the mystery remains. I held it up to the light, and my little daughter pressed the button on my phone to take a picture. 

Photo: Tiny Sprig

I really love that picture. It makes me think of so many things, so many worlds, Universes, possibilities... captured in the morning light by a sleepy child. Shall I get to the point? Because I'm about to lose my marble...

SOMEONE CLOSE TO ME has recently received a diagnosis of Alzheimer's. I don't really know what that means. That is to say, we all have an idea, or we think we do... we all say 'what did I come upstairs for?' twenty times a day, then laugh and say 'It's my age!' - Well, I suspect the journey of finding out what Dementia really means is about to begin. I'm a little bit frightened. I wonder if my Someone is, too.

NOT LOST: the Marble

I LIKED THAT MARBLE so much that I had it caged and fastened round my neck. I shall certainly not lose it, like that. But now I am choosing to donate it, for whatever it is worth, to the annual charity auction at the Discworld Hogswatch celebrations later this month. Yes, perhaps it is a symbolic gesture. Perhaps it's somewhat flippant. But I think you know me, by now. I choose, symbolically, to lose my marble, in the name of charity.

The necklace is not all. You may also be aware of some fundraising activity I undertook a mere matter of weeks ago.

Skin Deep Tattoo Magazine

In case you haven't been keeping up, take a look at another blog entry, in which I provide details of my giant tattoo in aid of Dorothy House Hospice Care and Depression Alliance. Those were the two chosen charities of the British Beard and Moustache Championships 2014, which I co-hosted back in September (go on, go and have a look). The event raised a total of £5000 - over a quarter of which came from donations to my tattoo fundraiser. Well done, you fine people, and thank you. 

Brian Kesinger's 'Otto & Victoria'

Brian Kesinger, who did my tattoo artwork, sent me three signed prints of the design. I have kept one. The second has gone to my Mamma, who loves Shakespeare even more than I do. The third will be auctioned off at the end of the month, at the Hogswatch celebrations, in aid of RICE - the Research Institute for the Care of the Elderly. 

Yes, I'm being Victoria. And there's Otto

The purpose of this blog is not to ask for donations again, though of course you can give if you want to - go here.  Just have a look at the photos and, if you want to put in a bid for the print, or even for the necklace, just drop me a line.

Photo: SteelJam

I SHALL BE PERFORMING in my usual outrageous capacity at the Hogswatch celebrations. Come and see me.  Come and bid on something unique. Come and join the family of Bloody Loonies. It's all right, we are, and we know it. Terry says so.

Brian Kesinger's artwork for my tattoo. Bid on this - A3-sized signed print

The Blue Marble from my bed; My necklace. Own it

  

The finished piece. Not included in the auction. You cheeky monkeys.

HE THAT HATH NO BEARD IS LESS THAN A MAN

I'm doing this in the car. Bear with me. Hyperlinks will go in later: they're proving to be a f**king fanny on a Samsung Galaxy S4 mini. Any photographs I manage to upload are by Bertrand Vessier.

FIRST THINGS FIRST – THE FUND IS STILL OPEN, so if you want to donate you still can.  Let me remind you who you’re supporting: the two chosen charities of the British Beard and Moustche Championships, which are Dorothy House and Depression Alliance. I maintain that there is not a person in the UK right now who will not, at some point, need the services of one charity or the other; or have a loved one who will. Give some money at Mu's Big-Ass Charity Tattoo - if you give £25 I’ll send you the signed photo of my –

- Never mind. I’m getting to that. This is what happened.
Somehow (I know not how) I made the decision to get a tattoo. Not my first; though I may be forgiven the youthful foolishness which planted a marsupial on my backside like a little ass-hickie. No, this would be my first proper, serious, grown-up tattoo.

But I can’t tell you all that, either. Because I told it to the editor of Skin Deep Tattoo Magazine after I had the almighty front to send him an email containing the following - just days after being introduced to him at the Great British Tattoo Show:

“Let me get to the point: In a nutshell (deep breath), do you think [the magazine] would consider it a matter of sufficient interest to feature between its covers the occasion of my inking? I should simply adore it if you would.

Good God, I shock myself sometimes. If I thought it would sway you, I’d send you a picture of the proposed canvas; but fortunately, I actually do know when to wind it in. Sort of.”

Obviously, I’d explained about the charity fundraiser as well. So that makes it perfectly ok*.  But you can read the full story in Issue 241, out in September.

THE OUTCOME

• So far, £1820 donated to the cause. 
• A total of 7.5 hours of tattoo work by a woman I admire so very, very much – I hope I may be allowed to call her a friend. 
• Genuinely the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I’ve had two children. 
• A nude photoshoot with a photographer I trust completely, and whose work I love. 
• Countless messages of love and support from all over the world.

This year has brought yet more wonderful people into my life, and I am constantly overwhelmed at the capacity of ordinary people to act kindly for others. Thank you, all of you, who have supported me in my hare-brained scheme to raise money and promote the Beard Championships. And yet it’s so much more than that: I feel as though I have a new friend. 

William Eight-Speare. He’s got my back.

*No it doesn’t. Siôn, I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, based on an hour’s acquaintance. Sorry. Sorry.