A wise man once paraphrased this about success:
"Success is failure turned inside out"
In essence, is all about perspective and a subjective matter. I like this one ;-)
Reared on a diet of sports, travel and bad TV.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Oralio. A. Salmon- a loss words cannot express
One minute, I'm enjoying my usual low key Friday night: 7.30pm and suckling on cue to property programmes, good food, some wine or cider with my laptop on and books strewn around me on the sofa. The next it's 8pm, the phone is on its second ring when my mum answers. I don't pay attention, assuming it's relatives in Jamaica who were due to call back. All my friends would call my mobile. Only when mother let out a stomach churning shriek, do I immediately jump up. Did she say 'Uncs'? I thought I heard her say the name of my Uncle Sammy. No. It couldn't be that call. I want to dismiss the feeling, but I recognise this call. The phone becomes a placid distributor of irrevocably bad news. This call was to say that someone had died. In all my 29 years, I did not expect to hear that call, at this time, for our dear beloved Uncs.
It's now Tuesday, and I won't pretend to be writing this with my usual glee. But having spent the day trawling through the possessions of a private man, I felt the need to mark this moment, this sad passing, and reflect on the generosity and cherished spirit of a unique man.
Oralio Alberto Salmon was a man of faith and the Law, more of a calling than mere profession. Such dual strengths also made him a gifted orator, known for delivering a sermon or eulogy with a vigor and tenacity that flickered the imagination and had his audience hanging on every word. He committed his passion and belief to defending the rights of the under served citizen with legal representation and assistance in the best way he could. No issue too big or too small; "Ori" would help. My mum, brother and I today unearthed so many letters and correspondence argued on behalf of tenants, fellow workers and those in the wider South West London community. The ongoing progress of an injustice or other was often mentioned on his visits, not to mention his central role as chief arbiter in dealing with any legal problems for the family both in the UK and in Jamaica. He enjoyed the debate, the intellectual challenge of approaching a decision from a new angle.
He was well loved and fondly regarded in his apartment block of 20 years, with neighbours expressing their sorrow that he is gone: 'he was like an uncle to me', 'such a sweet man', 'he was my best friend' being common quotes. As for the surrounding area? He loved Brixton. The hustle and bustle suited him, the extensive tube and bus network cursing through London, the mix of nationalities, religions and races all grounded by a sense of old fashioned inner city London community (which maybe outsiders never understand). Belonging, but still an individual.
Oralio was a man of people. In fact, I really think he enjoyed the contradictions of people and how we live. Maybe he saw parts of himself in others, but whatever the explanation, he was also guided by a strong and unswerving faith in God. He remained curious about life and its various stages, about achieving goals and even more so about his faith. Uncs always encouraged any kids he knew to try their best and pursue their dreams, even when those kids became adults. His visits were reassuring, if too sparse, and was like a cultural exchange of care packages from the maternal side of the family (us, led by his sister) and the paternal (him): we'd cook fried fish, and fill his bags with clothing, toiletry and food top ups, while he delighted the children in brother and I with D&G soda pops, the softest hard dough bread (it's a Caribbean thing! For the uninitiated https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmpL7tUpRf2op5P1uOu2v5_Rqiu6TlLVldx1HD_zZQLTFw7sTwhMuq0JU6g_uaWtnTlJBJmQtdbMiyzu-5ln7XFpN9RdOuQMdOfvEyTZCFqi7I8M3KXHyus9VxA-QxYnSrejDhRR0fxE/s320/ItemHardoBread.jpg), Captain Morgan rum and other yummy foods)
It's impossible to describe the impact of my uncle, my mothers brother and one of six sons to Alma and Norman Salmon. He was 71 years young, a sprightly man and neigh on sprint-walker until illness shortened his pace. He was known by many a nickname, but whichever term is used, his family and friends will remember the wry knowing chuckle, the Phileas Fogg 'tache, his love of good radio talkies and the English language that had long enchanted him through the books he read, his penchant for a good rum or a Guinness, his utter stubbornness countered by his never ending kindness and sweet nature and his ability to produce pithy proverbs that seem to sum up the moment just so, none more than these last words on every visit 'Uncle Sammy Loves You'.
Rest in Peace, dear uncle
Oralio A Salmon- 8.09.37- 5.08.09
It's now Tuesday, and I won't pretend to be writing this with my usual glee. But having spent the day trawling through the possessions of a private man, I felt the need to mark this moment, this sad passing, and reflect on the generosity and cherished spirit of a unique man.
Oralio Alberto Salmon was a man of faith and the Law, more of a calling than mere profession. Such dual strengths also made him a gifted orator, known for delivering a sermon or eulogy with a vigor and tenacity that flickered the imagination and had his audience hanging on every word. He committed his passion and belief to defending the rights of the under served citizen with legal representation and assistance in the best way he could. No issue too big or too small; "Ori" would help. My mum, brother and I today unearthed so many letters and correspondence argued on behalf of tenants, fellow workers and those in the wider South West London community. The ongoing progress of an injustice or other was often mentioned on his visits, not to mention his central role as chief arbiter in dealing with any legal problems for the family both in the UK and in Jamaica. He enjoyed the debate, the intellectual challenge of approaching a decision from a new angle.
He was well loved and fondly regarded in his apartment block of 20 years, with neighbours expressing their sorrow that he is gone: 'he was like an uncle to me', 'such a sweet man', 'he was my best friend' being common quotes. As for the surrounding area? He loved Brixton. The hustle and bustle suited him, the extensive tube and bus network cursing through London, the mix of nationalities, religions and races all grounded by a sense of old fashioned inner city London community (which maybe outsiders never understand). Belonging, but still an individual.
Oralio was a man of people. In fact, I really think he enjoyed the contradictions of people and how we live. Maybe he saw parts of himself in others, but whatever the explanation, he was also guided by a strong and unswerving faith in God. He remained curious about life and its various stages, about achieving goals and even more so about his faith. Uncs always encouraged any kids he knew to try their best and pursue their dreams, even when those kids became adults. His visits were reassuring, if too sparse, and was like a cultural exchange of care packages from the maternal side of the family (us, led by his sister) and the paternal (him): we'd cook fried fish, and fill his bags with clothing, toiletry and food top ups, while he delighted the children in brother and I with D&G soda pops, the softest hard dough bread (it's a Caribbean thing! For the uninitiated https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmpL7tUpRf2op5P1uOu2v5_Rqiu6TlLVldx1HD_zZQLTFw7sTwhMuq0JU6g_uaWtnTlJBJmQtdbMiyzu-5ln7XFpN9RdOuQMdOfvEyTZCFqi7I8M3KXHyus9VxA-QxYnSrejDhRR0fxE/s320/ItemHardoBread.jpg), Captain Morgan rum and other yummy foods)
It's impossible to describe the impact of my uncle, my mothers brother and one of six sons to Alma and Norman Salmon. He was 71 years young, a sprightly man and neigh on sprint-walker until illness shortened his pace. He was known by many a nickname, but whichever term is used, his family and friends will remember the wry knowing chuckle, the Phileas Fogg 'tache, his love of good radio talkies and the English language that had long enchanted him through the books he read, his penchant for a good rum or a Guinness, his utter stubbornness countered by his never ending kindness and sweet nature and his ability to produce pithy proverbs that seem to sum up the moment just so, none more than these last words on every visit 'Uncle Sammy Loves You'.
Rest in Peace, dear uncle
Oralio A Salmon- 8.09.37- 5.08.09
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
"Meerkat Manor" - the best of reality TV combined!
Move over Fiver, Living and More 4 with your 'real life' shockumentaries and spawn of relationship reality tv (Jon and Kate/Big Brother/Jade Goody...): bring on the MEERKATS!!
I already assumed this furry breed of cat was funny- if you've ever seen Alexandre from the Compare the Market insurance spot, you'll know http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0mXUC0cUPg ("SIMPLES!").
They look so cute and nibley (don't ask, not sure this is even a word?) with impressively good posture, but oh no. This brigade are like a pack of sheep followers led by two brawlers combining to make an almighty fierce reigning duo in a never ending territorial battle with competing packs!
Over on Animal Planet, Bill Nighy calmly informed that 'Lola', the former Mama B meerkat of the Zappa group had just been banished from the group and questioned whether she could survive in the wilds on her own - cue nighttime shot of sad and injured Lola hiding under a rock; pondering her fate. So who turfed her ass out? Her SISTER! On the beat-down chat show rickter scale, this was Ricky Lake.
Now hooked, I sat rooted hoping Lola was going to mount a come-back. Isn't Animal Planet in the Disney family? Surely there must be a happy ending! Maybe she'd wait until traitorous sister, 'Punk', left to get her manicure done and she'd mount her own coup? Not so in the survival of the wilds.
Here things in 'The Manor' get all Jeremy Kyle good- Punk makes a move on Lola's man, chief stud Frank, and he gave it up. SHUT. UP! This creeped me out a little, because Frank's supposed to be older than Punk and the Lolita scenario comes to mind. Truthfully, Punk is more like Natalie Portman's Anne character in The Other Boleyn Girl, aggressively pursuing fat old Henry VIII.
But Frank is no lean Eric Bana with thighs of steel, and no sooner has he gotten used to the attentive tongue of Punk (the tramp!), in steps his prodigal brother, Houdini. Ohh... Houdini is a young buck, a maverick meerkat after sassy Punk's own heart, and when the two bro's tussle for alpha supremacy of the pack, there could only be one winner...Punk <3 Houdini
I haven't seen a betrayal this big and a tussle this good since the old days of Jerry Springer. Have to say, it was mighty satisfying.
Something seems wrong about Lola losing her power, and forced to watch the younger Punk munch on a milipede at dinner, the very symbol of supremacy. *Crushed*
I <3 Lola
Monday, 3 August 2009
Name Stealers on Twitter and Facebook
That title is somewhat misleading. I know it. But when you finally decide to join twitter a million lightyears behind the rest of the txterati and t'internet literate, you don't expect to have your sign up process held up because...'your name is not available'. What? VAAAAT??
For as the blog name suggests, I am Missy G, and we (me and my nickname) really haven't had much experience of our name not being available. So I didn't react too well. In fact, I opened up a new tab and vamosed over to the url of my twitter namesake, hereby known as Missy_Wanna_G, to see what's up. Who is this chick? She better represent the name well (thief!!). Turns out MWG doesn't even have a public profile. PAH, the cheek of this girl! Here I am ready to sign up and update my little thoughts to the wide oasis of outthere, a public profile no less, and my name stealer has hijacked a perfectly great alterego nickname for the benefit of only 4 people?
Feel a little like Ross from Friends when a work colleague steals his delicious sandwich for lunch, and the dude doesn't even eat all of it http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2xi7B3mkr0
Moral of the story: one lady's lacklustre twitter name, is another woman's sandwich, dammit. Don't waste it, Missy_Wanna_G. Do not waste it.
Anyhoo, I have time on my hands, which is what prompted the twitter registration. I have the joys of job hunting having enjoyed two weeks hiatus since leaving my last job as a bored Corporate Assistant. Ah, to be a temp. Swimming and diving were fun, not least with prime eye candy in the shape of Signor Ryan Lochte to oggle *coughs* support and need to decide on a few things like- where in Spain or Italy shall I move to next February? If Italy, I need to polish up my rusty command of la bella lingua. If Spain, then dammit that is work. The basics won't cut it. But, you gotta start somewhere, and this is part of the adventure I'm looking for.
Ordinarily, I travel around Europe and the States like the Littlest Hobo with my brother or a friend or two for company, watching some sport whilst there. But the odd sejourn out of LDN is no longer cutting it.
Big changes and big decisions await. Tweet that, MWG...
For as the blog name suggests, I am Missy G, and we (me and my nickname) really haven't had much experience of our name not being available. So I didn't react too well. In fact, I opened up a new tab and vamosed over to the url of my twitter namesake, hereby known as Missy_Wanna_G, to see what's up. Who is this chick? She better represent the name well (thief!!). Turns out MWG doesn't even have a public profile. PAH, the cheek of this girl! Here I am ready to sign up and update my little thoughts to the wide oasis of outthere, a public profile no less, and my name stealer has hijacked a perfectly great alterego nickname for the benefit of only 4 people?
Feel a little like Ross from Friends when a work colleague steals his delicious sandwich for lunch, and the dude doesn't even eat all of it http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2xi7B3mkr0
Moral of the story: one lady's lacklustre twitter name, is another woman's sandwich, dammit. Don't waste it, Missy_Wanna_G. Do not waste it.
Anyhoo, I have time on my hands, which is what prompted the twitter registration. I have the joys of job hunting having enjoyed two weeks hiatus since leaving my last job as a bored Corporate Assistant. Ah, to be a temp. Swimming and diving were fun, not least with prime eye candy in the shape of Signor Ryan Lochte to oggle *coughs* support and need to decide on a few things like- where in Spain or Italy shall I move to next February? If Italy, I need to polish up my rusty command of la bella lingua. If Spain, then dammit that is work. The basics won't cut it. But, you gotta start somewhere, and this is part of the adventure I'm looking for.
Ordinarily, I travel around Europe and the States like the Littlest Hobo with my brother or a friend or two for company, watching some sport whilst there. But the odd sejourn out of LDN is no longer cutting it.
Big changes and big decisions await. Tweet that, MWG...
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