Pip: thenotsomightyom is out here asking the big questions — meaning of life, the nature of reality — and somehow landing on coffee.
Mara: That's actually a fair summary. The posts move through existential territory: ancient mysteries, ego, vanity, and what we choose to hold onto. Let's start with those big questions and where they lead.
Existential Questions
Pip: The frame here is deceptively simple — what is the meaning of life, what makes you question reality — but both poems treat those questions as something you live sideways into, not solve head-on.
Mara: "Ectoplasm" sets the terms early. After running through philosophy, justification, and fear, it lands here: "It all comes down to ectoplasm."
Pip: Which is either the most honest answer to the meaning of life or the most honest admission that there isn't one. Either way, the dog knows more than we do, apparently.
Mara: The poem does lean on that — the hound understands "ancient lore" while we're busy accumulating thoughts with lots of noughts. There's something genuinely deflating about that image, in a useful way.
Pip: It punctures the whole enterprise of grand explanation without being nihilistic about it.
Mara: "The coffee….." takes a similar angle but from the inside out. The question there is about a moment that made you question reality, and the poem works through ego, shame, crime, wealth, and vanity — not as a catalogue of disasters, but as things the speaker has genuinely moved past.
Pip: The lines "I've managed to crack that ego thing / After all it's just drug dealers bling" do a lot of work in very little space.
Mara: And then the poem pivots hard. After all that clearing away — the relationships, the possessions, the entitled faces on television — the moment of reality-questioning turns out to be a grapefruit rind and a cup of bland coffee at breakfast.
Pip: With a footnote admitting the coffee was actually fine.
Mara: Which is the point, really. The poem earns that landing because it did the philosophical work first. The mundane detail doesn't undercut the reflection — it's the destination of it. Presence over performance, breakfast over vanity.
Pip: Both poems use humor as a delivery mechanism for something that would be insufferable if it were sincere all the way through.
Mara: That balance — earnest question, wry answer — is consistent across both pieces. The small absurdity at the end is what makes the larger observation stick.
Mara: What stays with me is that both poems arrive somewhere grounded after starting somewhere vast.
Pip: Big questions, small landings. There's probably a philosophy in that. Next time, we'll see what other territory comes up.
Thanks to Laura Bicker , China Correspondent and BBC Online News.
I was fascinated to learn that the Chinese Government , using a Government Structure which allows them to pass a Law making it compulsory for all school children to learn Mandarin. It was passed without any opposition through the National People’s Congress in Beijing which was inevitable as this structure is basically a rubber stamp.
To be honest all Governments work this way, if they have a Policy that they want to implement , it will go through in a way that means it will be passed. We all know that even in our Government, Bills have been pushed through, stopped and even Budgets allocated through Fast Track Systems which later seemed erroneous.
However, this particular Law , is to force everyone to learn and use Mandarin which is the language used by the dominant “Han” culture in China. “Han” Chinese make up more than 90% of the 1.4 billion of the population of China. Surprisingly, my experience is that they can try and make people learn something but there is no guarantee they will be able to and also if as they say knowing Mandarin( much like knowing English over here )will help them interact more in a Society dominated by “Han” Chinese what indeed is the problem? Well the problem might be Mandarin itself. Not an easy language to master I would think.
The UK’s crazy reform loving ” send them back where they came from” brigade believe that not speaking English is tantamount to not wanting to integrate. Those who have no interest in speaking English and wish to maintain their cultural heritage whatever it is” can go back home” . So I really see a double standard here.
The Chinese are saying that Mandarin is compulsory because it is necessary in a Country where 90% of the population speak and write it. Language and Culture can be maintained and survive where the will is there. Irish Gaelic has thrived , yet it is spoken alongside English and the same applies to the Welsh and there are probably many examples throughout the World of peoples keeping their languages and dialects alive through usage.
In our increasingly digital world and our need to predict people’s behaviour which has become part and parcel of the Silicon Valley Dream World; is it so strange that China would seek to achieve a 100% Mandarin fluent population , to make sure every Citizen can operate fully in their Country.
Will they really use heavy handed techniques to force high grades of achievement on the children who are struggling, will they blame their parents? Reality says I think that is highly unlikely, but there will be clever children who realise that learning a language does not stop them from knowing their culture or indeed knowing many languages. So in essence I don’t find this a scary, autocratic option , but actually quite rational. I wish them success .
Thanks to ITV News and Jonathon Brown for the Headline
I have absolutely no idea while Monaco living , Football Club owning Billionaire British Knight is concerning himself with the lower echelons of society who are scrubbing around at the bottom of the woodpile trying to get by. If that means they are economic migrants than so be it. What else are they supposed to do?
Sir Jim Ratcliffe is a self-made Chemical Company business entrepreneur, he really is pretty unique and his like are not two a penny.Not many will live the life he has been fortunate to lead. He has sort of apologised to some people (the ones he offended and cannot reply presumably) for his use of language and I would agree with him that it was insensitive and that his choice of words were ill advised and he just couldn’t help himself but what was he trying to achieve by his careless use of words? A change in Government policy. A Trumpian ICE brigade roaming the streets sorting out these ne’er do wells who are living for free of hard earned tax payers money.” Dear Jim, do you pay tax?” is a question I’d like to ask him. Increasing poverty for people who are already struggling and simply cannot cope with what life throws at them. Does Sir Jim, give much to Charity and if so what Charities?
The profile of Manchester United Football Club is huge and Sir Jim has used it as a platform to do some poor people bashing. Anyone who can afford to go to a football match nowadays is pretty well off, so perhaps he thought he was talking to the converted and would gain a wave of support from the supporters. Thankfully he was told in no uncertain terms (that the Manchester United Supporters Club saw his comments as “very ill advised ” and “an embarrassment”, which really is Mancunian for “stupid old fool, keep your mouth shut if your brain isn’t in gear.”
So there we are Sir Jim , what you said was unecessary and remember posterity will remember you as a man who had no empathy for the poor , judging the misfortune of others and trying to use your influence as the owner of a very popular football club to basically hurt people who in reality are struggling to help themselves. They are actually a minority and we have enough resource to look after them as long as people like you pull your weight.
My little dog had too big a drink of water before he went to bed as he woke up at 3.00am in the morning wanting to be let out.
Dutifully my partner in crime got up and put his jacket over his pyjamas and tried to put the harness and lead on the dog, who never stays still when you are trying to put these things on.
I got up to see them go out and they disappeared out the front door. It was ghostly quiet and there was frost on the ground. The LED street lights gave the street a strange glow and there were some lights on in the house opposite us.
I went into the the kitchen for a glass of water and as I came back out.
I heard the most horrible barking. I knew it was my dog and in the silence of the night it was awful.
I opened up the front curtains, I could see nothing, the barking had stopped and then it started again . I couldn’t see anything.
It stopped again and I thought was it two dogs, did they give each other a fright?
All I could do was wait to see when they got back what had happened.
They were at least ten minutes, which seemed like an eternity, but eventually I heard the click of the back door key.
They were back .
My little dog came running towards me and my partner was laughing.
“What happened ?” I asked him.
“He was in the middle of his wee and a fox ran by him at speed being chased by a cat, the fox nearly ran into him , the fox was inches away.
The fox and the cat disappeared down the alleyway ; but of course muggins here had to do a “pawtrol” and follow them slowly. They had long gone.”
My little dog was all hyped up after his experience and took a while to settle down, but eventually we all went back to bed and settled down in the warmth again.
Simon Paddlebuck was born in 1685 and died in 1762 at the splendid age of 77, he had lived a good and prosperous life, never married but had many relatives and friends who kindly arranged when the time came for him to have a lovely plot in the graveyard of St Bostsophine’s Church in the Parish of Winterstone and there he lay for many years undisturbed.
He had indeed not really lay there all his death, in truth he wondered around a lot. He never lost his zest for life and truthfully Heaven , where everyone actually ended up, was actually quite boring . Sometimes when he was required by the rules, to take a statutory break; for what seemed like an eternity; he went up to Heaven to have his soul MoT’d. This was a necessary part of being part of Heaven, some took longer to pass than others, but everyone passed eventually.
After the break and achieving the required certificate , Simon would return to his usual routine, listening in to everything that was going on around him where he used to live and sleeping at night in his favourite place, his grave.
Simon had been an industrious chap all his life and liked to stay busy , so he was quite happy to go back down and potter around his old town and see what was going on, visit old friends incognito, keep an eye on Council meetings and on a weekly basis watch the various competitive games of darts, cribbage and quoits that were played in the local pubs. He even liked watching television although he got frustrated that he couldn’t change a channel himself.
At night he’d slip into his grave and fall asleep, it was very comfortable and quite quiet, and to him it was warm as he didn’t feel the cold now at all. He also had no concept of darkness as he could see through everything. He would listen to everything around him, it was so much more interesting than boring ol’ Heaven.
It was in the 1970’s that Simon began to notice something rather unpleasant happening in the Church Yard.
People were walking their dogs, lots of them, some of the dogs were allowed to run around and weed and pooed wherever they wanted, some were on lead and the owners would follow them and let them do their business anywhere and although some of them cleared up the mess a lot of the people didn’t.
Unfortunately as dogs are pack creatures, once the pack leader had decided on a spot , all the dogs followed and the dogs had decided on the spot right beside Simon’s headstone.
Simon was not happy, he still had a strong sense of smell and he wasn’t able to sleep at night, not to mention the unsightly look of his grave. He was not going to allow this sacrilege to continue.
At first he’d thought he’d highlight it to the vicar. He decided a bit of telekinesis might help, he had permission to use telekinesis on his Heaven MoT Certificate so he began moving the offending article of poos to the entrance of the Church.
On a Saturday night he would move two or three particularly gross turds onto the pavement close to the door of the Church. Sunday would come and the congregation would be treading carefully up the path. The vicar couldn’t help but notice the waft of dog excrement as he started his sermon.
There was talk among the parishioners of how inconvenient it was and how they hated sitting at Church knowing that their shoe had dog poo on it. No matter how hard they tried to scrape it off on the grass outside before they entered the Church, it always seemed to stick and the smell never seemed to go away.
The Vicar heard the murmurings, but what could he do, he’d put polite notices up, but it was a Country Parish, most people had dogs. One of his parishoners had told him that
“It was perfectly natural and anyway her dog always did it in the bushes, not on the path.”
He had proposed to the Bishop putting a poo bin up in the Church Yard which The Vicar felt this might solve the problem . The Bishop, unfortunately , declined his request saying that it would cost too much money and anyway who would empty it?
So things continued as they were for a while. Simon felt he had no choice but to take things himself in hand the telekenisis had worked a treat, but perhaps he needed to up it a gear and do a little proper ghost work.
He would however, have to make a brief visit up to Heaven and to gain some extra permissions to do some extracurricular activities. He’d have to give his reasons why he needed these “extras” and there would be a lot of paperwork to fill in. Simon though was determined and his plans were becoming more concrete and it didn’t take too long getting the extra permissions to “speak” “appear” ” glow” and “limited poltergeistism”. Armed with his certificate of achievement and a pledge not to bring Heaven into disrepute he hurried back to the Church Yard and was dismayed to find the mess and smell around his headstone. He knew where he had to start.
The worst offending dogs were the ones that roamed around the Church Yard at night by themselves. They were a rough lot and often got into scrapes such as escaping from their gardens and stealing food and bringing it to the Church Yard to have a party. The leader Shane was most disrespectful, Simon hated the sound of Shane cocking his leg on Simon’s Headstone and overtime the Headstone was beginning to turn green.
Simon settled down for a nap, it wasn’t long before the village dogs arrived. They were their usual noisy, messy selves with Shane as their leader showing the worst example of all. Leaving food wrappers and dog excrement everywhere. Simon could stand it no longer.
He shot out of the grave in full glow. The dogs were stunned they couldn’t believe their eyes. Shane the bravest began to bark, but Simon leapt at him and though his hands went through Shane, the movement was enough to make him jump back in horror, he knocked over another smaller dog as he did so, who ended up in a heap .The other dogs looked on in disbelief and began to run away down the path. None of them were brave enough to hang around.
With Shane in front they ran down the path and to the front gate of the Churchyard, it was locked, they ran back , but they had to go by the ghostly figure again , who using his telekinesis began to pelt them with dog poo. They just kept running and didn’t stop until they had all made it home. Shane was shaken and when he got back ,his owner was very puzzled as he was trembling.
” What have you been up to my lad , you look like you’ve seen a ghost and my you stink, have you been rolling in fox poo, you smell terrible. Come on out to the shed and I’ll wash and shampoo you!” Shane was just grateful to get home, so dutifully followed his master out to the shed. Shane never went near the Church Yard by himself again, not even during the daytime with his owner. Shane would shiver and shake when he reached the gates of the Church Yard, so eventually his owner gave up and avoided the Church Yard.
Simon felt he had done a good nights work and after moving all the dog poo to the compost heap at the end of the Church Yard with his telekenisis, he settled down to have a sleep. He was very comfortable and he knew he’d have to wait until Saturday night for the next bit of his plan and it was only Wednesday. He ticked off his calendar and slept soundly.
Simon had just woken up and was ticking Friday off, when he had a sudden thought. The Bishop, maybe needed a bit of persuasion to help the Vicar. Perhaps a good ol’ haunting would do the trick. At 10′ o’clock that night Simon made his way to the Bishop’s Palace and when he arrived he found the Bishop in bed asleep, he set to work.
First he opened the windows, so the cold would wake the Bishop up. Then he started to wail and move things around in the room. The Bishop who was a sound sleeper , began to stir and when he opened his eyes, he saw a figure holding a piece of paper on which was written the following.
” I hereby allocate the necessary funds to provide two poo bins in the Churchyard of St Bostophine’s Church . One bin at the front entrance to the Church path and one at the back gate exit and to ensure that the bins are maintained and emptied on a regular basis. “
“Sign, Sign” Simon wailed and handed the Bishop a pen.
The Bishop signed the paper and then immediately fainted. Simon thought he had done enough and pulled the cord for the Bishop’s butler to come and revive the Bishop who in truth had turned quite pale. With a very rapid telekinesis, Simon tidied the room and closed the windows and disappeared the signed piece of paper in hand. When the butler arrived he found a very pale Bishop shivering in bed. He got him a hot drink and some medicine as he thought he might be coming down with the flu.
Simon posted the piece of paper into the Vicar’s letterbox and headed off for a rest. His plan for Saturday night would keep him busy, and he was sure that would be the end of it, Heaven would be happy if he didn’t need to extend his “extra powers”
The next morning the Vicar looked at the piece of paper that had came through the letter box, he was absolutely delighted and tried to ring the Bishop to thank him, but he was told the Bishop was indisposed and so he left a message.
The Vicar got everything underway with ordering the poo bins and he decided that he would employ a part-time gardener who would be responsible for the maintenance of the Church Yard, well the Bishop hadn’t been very specific with the budget and the old adage give an inch take a mile came into his mind. This would be good news to tell his congregation on Sunday.
Saturday night came and Simon was ready to follow through on the rest of his plan. He had a list of parishioners who were the worst offenders when it came to not picking up after their dogs. Between 7 O’clock and ten O’clock at night , they routinely walked their dogs, sometimes in the Church Yard and sometimes in town. He followed them all.
Each time any dog stopped and the owner didn’t clear up the mess. Simon would appear in front of the owner saying.
“Pick it up! “
If they didn’t have a poo bag , Simon would magically telekenise them one. The dog couldn’t see Simon, and each dog was pleasantly surprised when the owner turned and cleared up the mess as the dogs knew people weren’ t happy with them when they left a mess. This went on all night and amazingly the owners were not frightened out of their wits, because Simon was using his ghostly powers just to look like a normal human being, they didn’t register that he has appeared from nowhere , they didn’t argue as Simon used his special persuasive hypnotism to make them agree.
When Sunday arrived and the Vicar was standing at the door to greet his Parishoners, the Vicar was relieved not to see the usual dog mess. A lot of the Parishioners were talking about meeting a man the previous night who told them very nicely that they needed to clear up after their dogs mess and that actually it was a very good idea. They were doubly pleased when the Vicar told them that the Parish had been given the go ahead to order the poo bins and also employ a part- time Gardener. They all promised to each other to stock up on poo bags.
Simon could relax now, and when he was having a rest in his grave , he could smell the wildflowers again and he was happy. He sent all his paperwork back to Heaven as agreed and hoped he would never need to use his “extra” haunting skills again. Shane’s owner too was happy as Shane paid a lot more attention to him now and Shane didn’t go running off by himself. They had more fun together.
Thank you to Suzanne Leigh and BBC Online News for the Headline
I choose not to continue the media hype, it’s a case currently highlighted and does not need me to further publicize the complainant.
Frankly when the incidents occurred that caused this debacle, the lady concerned was 15 years old, so I cannot see how you can argue that she was capable of making a decision that would mean her Citizenship of the UK would be revoked. So personally I think the Government is trying to defend that which cannot be defended.
However, as the Media (probably the liberal media) has taken hold of this and has made two films about it, with a lot of discussion in newspapers and television about the case. The said young woman now is in a refugee camp in Syria with no nationality as her Bangladeshi parentage does not entitle her to live in Bangladesh either, the Bangladeshi’s have refused her entry to Bangladesh.
She was born in the UK and has up until she left the UK at 15 only ever lived in the UK. Went to school here. So refusing her reentry and encouraging her to go to Bangladesh, stinks of the worst drunken pub rascist saying ” go back to where you came from” to someone who is a second generation Britain , but who is not as white as said rascist.
This was our Government then and it seems our Government now wants to follow through on that line. Which absolutely seems incredible to me and strikes me as desperation for votes from the quiet majority of homespun supremacist’s who crawl out of the woodwork to vote in elections that matter to them. Anything to do with race or the death penalty.
I have no idea what the Security Forces know about this woman and if there are concerns about her motives. The reality is that if she does return to the UK then she should be closely monitored and it must be quite clear to her that if radicalisation is still part of her make up , then that is a criminal offence and will be treated as such. We are not powerless, and we need to be able to deal with that should it occur, using the Criminal Laws of this Country.
What I find unacceptable is the emphasis on her appearance and this hair, makeup and sunglasses idea , it shouldn’t matter what she looks like. She was born in the UK and she is our problem or if the Human Rights Lawyers and Her Media Supporters are right our solution , not anyone else’s.
Yes she may need financial support when she comes back, let’s face it with youth unemployment in the UK as bad as it is , she may have needed that anyway if she stayed. What is everyone so scared of , do we not think we have the resource to deal with her. I actually think if we continue to disown her and leave her in what is the maelstrom of the Middle East that we may turn her completely against any chance of leading a humane life. She was misguided at 15, I’m sure lots of people have made mistakes at 15 , and wouldn’t expect to pay for that mistake for a lifetime. If she has committed international crimes try her, but to continue denying her rights that she was born with , is basically wrong and makes the Government look foolish.
This is an AI generated image which represents the fear of the unknown.
Sad to say we have moved on from mud ridden Santa’s Grottos and overly thin reindeers needing a good worming treatment wandering around waiting to be petted with no hand washing facilities and the risk of e-coli infections ever present.
Ah yes, Commercial Christmas’s answer to making a quick buck has moved on. We now have what could be , if well orchestrated a wonderful show that would make everyone’s eyes light up in the glow of LED’s . Ginormous reindeers filling the sky with red noses , followed by Giant Snowman floating across the stratosphere and a soundtrack bellowing out the story to bring it all together. How wondrous, what could go wrong in a field in Sussex?
Well quite a lot actually, basically a lot of the drones failed to work, so the light display looked like few LED’s randomly moving through the sky; the display was like nothing really ;and so detached from the deep masculine voice generating the obviously digitised soundtrack, as to make no sense at all to the parents , never mind the poor freezing children standing in the mud and wondering why they hadn’t stayed at home and watched “Frozen” on their bedroom television.
Guilt ridden parents headed for the food outlets , only to find that they were vastly over priced and of inferior quality to what they could make at home.
Anyway by that time the children were demonstrating their lack of faith in their parents choices and screaming to go home.
Even the promised visit to Santa at his Grotto was a disappointment. Santa didn’t seem very enthusiastic to be associated with this bunch of amateurs and actually seemed quite curt. The presents he gave out, for the £20 cost of the ticket , were left unopened and given to their mothers to carry. Santa had said it couldn’t be opened until Christmas Day.
Understandably the parents were suspicious and sneakily checked what it was, a £5 bit of cheap plastic in the guise of a tractor, made in China .It would be best thrown out as the paint(probably lead) was peeling off and those bolts were a choking hazard. The parents thought about which rubbish bin it would go in, plastics or metals and if disposing of lead paint was allowed. Perhaps they would have to ring the Council.
The promised Christmas Market had been cancelled and for that the Parents were incredibly grateful, but the children kicked off as they had been given “pennies” to spend by their Grandparents and there was nowhere to spend them and they were never doing this again and what a waste of time it was. The Parents had to agree, but were very hurt when they said that “Johnny and Maggie’s parents had taken them on a trip to Lapland to see the real Santa, ride on a horse and play in the snow”. Thanks Mum and Dad.
And so everyone went home and hoped they could claim a refund for the” Christmas Disaster.” The older children retreated to their bedrooms, and the younger ones did the usual of getting their nappies changed or sitting on their potties and once ready for bed having a story read to them. Tomorrow the baby would have a slight cough which would turn into a full blown cold which would last a week and would make preparing for Christmas relatives “difficult”. The thought of chasing a refund for the “Disaster ” was paling into insignificance.
Such is the expectations and disappointments of Christmas. Still it is the make or break time for “Seasonal Business”, don’t worry it will soon be January.
Namaste and Thank You for reading. 🙏
NB If you haven’t guessed already I use the images generated by AI, and I must admit this one is a little bit scary , but obviously a poorly lit drone show is not yet in AI’s digital memory bank.
thenotsomightyom 