Iestyn Edwards is...what?

    We've all been tempted.  I for one sit there sighing many times a day, 'Please make Google Search Console love me, I have a book to sell here!' The bottom line?   I remind myself that, as Google's algorithms track clicks onto my page, they track clicks away from my page, as well as the time lapse between.  If it's mere seconds, then Google pulls some sort of computerised sneer of contempt. Which is far, far worse, apparently, than when you search YouTube for Judge Judy episodes and get the 'Sorry, guys...click the description...' message.  Google Bears Grudges!   Not to mention that Google's grudge is held so long it made me think of the Yorkshire saying, 'Keep a stone in your pocket seven years, turn it, keep it another seven years, then throw it at your enemy.'   Don't risk it.   No, step away from going through all your blog posts and adding, thrice times three times: 'I Committed Trans-Cistic XXX Fisting Adultery i...

It's hard at times to - and we know we should - just get straight to that work. Focus, go for goal.       There are rewards, other than Angel Delight.

  Holidays, you'll agree, can be fraught with families. I can hear your teeth gnashing, some of you.  I've written on this before. See:  I'll Be Lone for Christmas...You can Envy Me!   Now...here's a holiday bucket list idea for some me-time.    I don't have those gardening tips, ideas for stately homes to visit, how to D.I.Y., how to master whatever high quality backlinks may be, cheap deals on seaside getaways, recipe ideas, last minute city breaks, deals on the Eurostar, cheap theatre tickets, last minute hotels...   Bottom line?   I have this:                                          Audiobook: My Tutu Went AWOL      Produced by Oliver Nelken at Mornington Media.  Self-narrated, including opera as sung privately for Her Majesty, ad libs, extra material and bloopers. By which I mean that Oliver left ...

By clicking here...   I also meant that I'm hearing from people - chuffed - who say they've listened to the book scouring the bath - all part of the art of tidying up, apparently - while being careful to never miss leg day, in M25 traffic, as part of their hula hoop 15 minutes a day regime, being part of the makeup revolution (decanting what's still useful of older products), varnishing a yacht, on guard duty, in daily ballet class, before Matins (in a convent, sister?) and trying to make out the lyrics to the on hold music while waiting to talk to HMRC.   Tell me where you listen. I feel a thread coming on.

 ...preferably not offending sixteen retired Admirals...                                                             At a happier occasion...   I sang "The Holy City" in Aldeburgh Catholic Church at the funeral of Gerard Minden's Great Uncle Jasper.   Gerard introduced to both me and this blog here...     There had been a muted scandal some years before.   Gerard explained, ‘Uncle Jasper would say that, being Catholic, we all have our peculiar use for rosaries...'    Jasper's mother, for one, told his aunt during the second world war that a cyanide capsule was a vitamin pill.    'Anyway, Great Uncle Jasper was telling his specific Rosary while he taught English...hand in trouser pocket fuddling his privates.  At times of high stress (possibly an Emily Dickinson)...

  Stacks, Royal Marine, inherited his love of music from his granny. Sadly no longer with us, she was a church organist.   Until one Easter.   As Stacks tells it, 'She was playing for Devotions.  One hymn every hour, on the hour. The churchyard gate was opposite the Dog and Feathers and she was going over there in the interim. The head verger had to help her up into the organ loft for "There is a Green Hill.." He decided after that she was better left. And left.  And left. Christ had long since risen while she was still beer-snoring.'

    Clearly, we're not expecting out front at Stanford's that Dagenham stag do, the shopping channel staff on a corporate bonding night, or the congregation of St Peter's as officiated over by the non-elected Dean of  Bocking...   At the Woman's Insitute, Ear Soham, Celia was the only member wearing her name badge. Coming into the Green Room (village hall kitchen) she said if I was going lower than knickers-on level, I should go into the ladies' as she had to be in the kitchen just then to meld her mini-pavlovas.   During audience questions, she asked how I'd gained early experience working a crowd.   'I was working at the Walworth Road McDonald’s during sixth form to pay for singing lessons after my tuition grant passed its use-by date.'   The chemist in East Lane couldn't give me enough hours.  Not to mention that on my first day a woman came to the counter with something wrapped in tin foil.   'Sonny, you’re new.  What are you ...