Creeping time

It always seems at this time of year that the future is catching up with us, that tomorrow is a whole year in the future and that we said we would have achieved ‘who knows what’ by then, thinking it far away.
Time doesn’t in fact make massive jumps forwards, it creeps forwards so slowly that we pay no attention to its passing, while we’re brushing our teeth, deciding what to have for dinner, smiling to ourselves about a joke that ceased to be funny long ago. Time creeps on unaffected and unappreciated.

Life is full of “It’s been too long since” and “I only just” and “how long till”s that we find ourselves living outside if the moment, constantly looking forward or back.

Our present was our future once and we were looked forward to it.  We exist only in the present, so why not spend some time here?

Happy New Year Brookfield bloggers, the party is at the lodge and entrance is by imagination only.


P.s. was reading this a good use of your time?

Ad Idem


This time of year comes too often for my liking. As much as I like Christmas, it makes me feel like the time in-between has passed too quickly.

I hope the writers and readers of this blog have a truly happy, passionate, safe, loving and unforgettable Christmas.

Each passing year makes the next more precious.

A very cheesy musical once said “it wasn’t the year I made the most money, or had the most friends, it wasn’t when I was the most successful, but it definitely was My Favourite Year.”

In response to this one of the wise gentlemen is this blog said “I hope to never look back in my life and decide which was my favourite year, I wish to constantly say ‘next year shall be my favourite year'”.

Merry Christmas.

22nd December 2011

Today is the 22nd of December 2010,

Yesterday my family were given some news that by this time next year one of us won’t be with us anymore.

As a family always to defy the odds and stay positive, next year on the 22nd of December we shall be celebrating defying the doctors!


All things fade in time

It is the sad and comforting truth that even the mightiest mountains of emotion will in time be worn down to the molehills of apathy.

Love, excitement, passion are the worst when they are gone.

But in time one comes to recognise the forgiving nature of forgetting. How even, pain, hate and anger get worn down to a dull throb, and the slight shame that once encounters in having felt so strongly about a subject now forgotten.

I was listening today to Cirque Du Soleil, as I do in times of reflection and (aptly so) meditation came on. The words to which are:

Love is beautiful, fierce and strong,

an insatiable consuming fire, a lion pacing on the red hot embers of desire.

Love is a thirst that can’t be quenched, a sacred flame that can’t be drenched by icy showers of sobriety, or a society strangled by nations of propriety.

So what kind of love is this, this love that dares not speak its name, this love that hangs its head in shame.

Is this so called love even worth of it’s name.

True love doesn’t lie, it doesn’t hide and it will never be denied the right to sing its furious song in the sad empty streets from dusk till dawn,

Love laughs at fear and cries out it’s name for all to hear.

Love is beautiful fierce and loud, but most of all love is proud.

The Jewish festival Chanuka finishes tomorrow, the story of which (in brief) is about a fire that remains lit long after the oil fuelling it should have run out.

I realise that life is the opposite, a flame that will not be quenced is not significant because the nature of flames is that they will inevitable go out. It is the re-ignition of them that is significant.

All things fade in time, love and passion, hate and anger. These are only important if they return time and time again. I know I love my girlfriend because I fall in love with her every moment I see her, not the same love I felt when I first met her but a new love each day.

I made my mind up a little while ago to leave the theatre and pursue a different line of work, and since making that decision I avoided the theatre like the plague. I risked going to see a play a few weeks ago since which the flame inside has sparked, fizzled and re-lit itself.

Why are the Brick walls there… to show us how much we want something.

Why is there darkness… so that we may appreciate the light.

Happy to rEport… I‘m Back