You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. ~Maya Angelou

This blogging every day thing is going to be a bit problematic... What to write about when every day is almost exactly the same as the day before... I wake up, think about getting up... for a long time... then finally when mum calls drag myself out of bed, get dressed and head to her place for breakfast and that all important first cup of coffee.


A very short walk to work, turn the computer on - wait for it to heat up - so a little bit of work, break for coffee, lunch at mums between 12 and 1, then back to work and depending on the pressures of the day.. back home again usually before 5pm, go and shop, if nothing has been planned the previous night for dinner, cook dinner, watch the news, watch tv, go on the net and then to bed.. ready for another start to the day.. Some of this is ofcourse interspersed with washing, walking the dog, dishes etc - you know the general dull every day sort of stuff...


So given that this is what life is - I asked Olga for inspiration - after all she hinted on the challenge that I decided to accept.  Apparently the idea for today on that website that is there to inspire daily webloggers is where were you born, how far away is it from where you live today and how did you get there?.  


Well..... I was born on the hospital up on the hill.... It's probably about a kilometre away from my house.  How I got to where I am today is a long long long journey, a fun one, and would take far to much time but maybe, bits of it will be the bits that I use to fill up this coming month of what will no doubt be the most boring blog in the world - all about me me me me me... and maybe a few of the people that I have met along the way.  So perhaps this will be my March theme.  My life in a nutshell... hmmm... yep gonna be dull


So.... on the 13th of October 1962, I was forcefully brought into the world, with the help of induction drugs, forceps and whatever else was available to folk back in those days, in the hospital up on the hill.  Apparently I was 2 weeks over due, mum was fed up and begged to be induced.  They relented and I was born - a very very large baby, with long black hair and long fingernails.  I have a photocopy of the hospital records for my birth - which also show all the drugs that mum was given, but no time of birth - and so all my star charts are always wrong as I am not sure that mum in her drugged out state actually really can remember the time....


I was the tail end of a family that already consisted of three boys and a girl.. the youngest by 6 years... My eldest brother was 12 and probably thought that enough was enough already... 


I have very few memories of my first five years of life and I am not sure if the memories are mine or ones I have created from all the stories that I heard growing up.. I know that I had quite a few accidents that resulted in head injuries of one sort or another - most involving lots of blood, stitches and Bjarni Har (from the shop across the road) driving me and mum up to the hospital on the hill for stitches.   


I think I was a fairly happy child here in the hood, had my friends that I probably bossed around, I had a cousin that was a dog called Snoddas, elder siblings that had to look after me and family (of the human variety) all around me.  I have memories of this house that I live in now, my sister and I shared a room and one distinct memory I have is of her and her best friend eating jarred baby food  - banana - and I so wanted some - but did they share with me - nah.... strange the things that stick in your mind.  I also remember the róló - the playground that is just behind my house, it's still there - and I look forward to taking Henry there when he grows up.  I promise though that when I teach him to swing I won't let go and see him flying off to hit his head on a rock.....(trip number 1 to the hospital)....


I think that this will do for now.... have all of March to bore you with more reminiscing......