The Home of Comical Suicide


True to form; I was well over a month later than I planned in getting ‘this’ started. Please allow me to waltz on in whilst trying to not attract too much attention.

I’ll begin by welcoming you: the good colleagues, family, friends, readers, likers & followers; that have stumbled across this metaphoric humble abode.

Come on, I’ll show you around.

Picture a grandiose building, like a stately home; enter the front door into a Reception area.
The Reception is the hub of this home. A foundation; for as long as I can remember, many have positively commented on things that I have written. So gather round…

From a primary school teacher who, in my last year of infants, realised that I actually was a real little person – with a brain, to adult friends commenting on my “way with words”.

As a sensitive teenager approaching my exams, it was expected that I would be a straight A student.
However, life morphed me into a right stroppy bugger & the best result I got was 2 C’s in English & English literature.

From about 13, I harboured a secret ambition wanting to become a journalist or reporter. Back then though, unless you were a MENSA member with the Guinness Book of Records entry of World’s Highest IQ, only the Silver-Spooned went to University.
So that idea went down the pan along with being an impressionist, comedienne, veterinary surgeon, astronaut, lawyer, BBC Holiday Presenter, FBI Agent & Rock Star.

Finally, ‘this’ is being developed after years of planning.
Casting aside the anxieties such a project can cause, boldly facing the fears that such a project instils.

In my early 20’s; after being diagnosed with Clinical Depression, Stress & Anxiety, I found my passion for writing again.
Trouble was, unless I wrote without stopping to sleep, by the next day, I could not find my flow.
Started so many little projects, had so many ideas… all on a hard drive that has been destroyed when the computer I had at the time died a very tragic, horrible death.

Across the rear wall, there is a row of doors which in turn; left to right, each door holds a message for you.
The message is always underlying, it is how the message that is interpreted that will guarantee that this metaphorical building shall withstand the toughest of elements.

This has taken me 20 years to get to this Introductory Post.
20 years of nagging doubts and zero confidence in my ability to entertain you, the follower… so here it is.

Out in the garden behind is where each seed of your acknowledgement, your assent, your smile, your relief when something resonates with you & your laughter is planted.

What will grow from these seeds is anyone’s guess as whilst there is a long-term plan, no one can predict the future.

And that is the point… we cannot predict it, yet we can shape it.

Thank you for reading x

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