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is it still usable?

You are shipwrecked and manage to survive on a small dinghy somewhere in the Pacific, and encounter an unknown island which appears to be well covered with palm trees and other vegetation. You have one case with you. What would you hope was in it? No communication device allowed.
You arrive at the islands sandy beach and in the distance you see another small boat with a single person on it. Who would you hope that person was? It can't be anyone you have previously encountered.
The island is uninhabited and your time there is unknown.
What action would you take?


Avoid this blog if you have no imagination.

SO
I
GO
ON ! ! !

I was just adding books to my profile, will add a few more every day. It made me think, though, some of you travel a lot, you'd maybe have some suggestions for reading on the plane?

I hate flying (definite downside of being in LDR relationships) so much that I have to take Valium to cope with the crowding and claustrophobia. Finding books that are interesting even when I'm doped, but not too complicated, funny but not laugh-out-loud-in-public, is a big problem.

Suggestions? I really like writers like Sue Grafton, if that helps, light thrillers. No erotica (don't want to be blushing on the plane) and I really loathe romantic misunderstandings and heart-searchings, they give me anxiety attacks.

Impeachment Brexit.
Trump. Boris Johnson.
Let them go away please.
I,m to busy .

Comments please.

I sometimes get a strong sense that I’ve been here before. Occasionally, I get vague flashbacks where I am bounding along chasing rabbits, and by the way the grass towers above me I think I must have been a weasel, or something like that.

I have heard of others who believe that they have had a previous existence, and some have done research to try to establish who they were in their past life. It is amazing what can be discovered by going through historic records. I won’t bother with anything like that though; I fear it would be a waste of time, the family history of weasels is very poorly documented.

Totally damp under the earth
We stroke huge witches beyond the mud
Awaken! The feeling was hard
So rabid within the slime
I gather sensuous noses below the spirits
Ahhh! The feeling shall flee
So tiny near the flock
I meet tiny monsters behind the slime
I reach! The twilight is going
clouded grieving
seeing the light
a backward glance
In how many places
such a man
wander aimlessly
and never catch up

Life seems like a slow train
Travel in a rainy night
Tracks are blurring
Coils like a lazy serpent
The driver looks stony
Bored from the hectic run
Lonely stations
With a few passengers
Gazing the train as
Shadows from the past
Life goes chugging in the
Beaten tracks
Blurring lights and
Willowing smokes

Wilt like darkened clouds
Train stops in stations
Wet by drizzling rains
Shining in dim yellow lights
Dimmed by rainy winds
Distant lightning flicker
On the window panes
Like flashing hopes
On an empty life.



Someone comes and
Someone goes
Nothing makes difference
To this weary train
No one knows where goes
It traverses empty fields
And ghostly plains
Desolate Mountains
And hollow tunnels
Sometimes fast
Sometimes slow

Whistles and cries as it goes
With a rush takes it life
And wear its soul
Sounds of train and rain,
sing me sharp lullabies;
And God's own darkness
Shall close mine eyes;
And I will sleep, with all things bleat,
In the -shadow of natural rest.
Dream and hope
To see a brighter tomorrow.

wish my friends a happy day

sometimes ! poison is the best then Armt.
Because life shows its both sides.
Good & Bad.
and it shows us real relations and real faces.
which always stands for us in any situations or who are ditching us.
i know Life is the name of sprightliness.
but its second side is also full of sadness.
both sides are colour of life.
But we will live it.

At first, I was daunted at the thought of living on my own. For the previous sixty years of my life I had no need of the rocket science necessary to operate a washing machine, nor the skilful dexterity necessary to neatly fold a fitted bed sheet. When it came to it, I was relieved to find that what I required of myself wasn’t nearly as challenging as I had feared.

The trick is to not be a perfectionist. I learnt that lesson early on and have stuck to the principle rigorously. Another thing I’ve realised is that lots of chores I always assumed to be essential aren’t always even necessary, and can be dispensed with completely. Ironing is one such mystic art that I do not concern myself with; I find that wrinkled clothes not only match my complexion, they also suit my personality.

Regular cleaning is another concept I have debunked. Working out the frequency at which it should be performed confused me to begin with, but I have refined a strategy whereby I can tell when it needs doing by the prominence of the patterns my daily activities have left in the dust on my furniture. My rule is to do something about it within one month of it starting to bother me. My wall calendar enables me to keep track of how long I have exceeded my deadline by.

Cooking seems to be my biggest problem area. Co-ordinating varying cooking times so that everything crosses the finishing line simultaneously can only be coped with when the variants are no more than two in number. Having no one else here to vent my temper on means I need to avoid losing it, so I try to keep things as simple as possible. This makes maintaining an interesting diet difficult, but thanks to patient advice from a much appreciated source, I feel I am making steady progress. Seldom in my life have I felt more proud than when I achieved my first edible risotto.

All in all I don’t think I’m doing too badly. My daughter was amazed; she expected me to be living in squalor and popping out to McDonald’s every night. I think she’s impressed.