From the Vault: Blinking cursor

So for some reason this morning I was looking at the drafts on wordpress and noticed several posts which for whatever reason, didn’t get posted. This one is from 4 years ago at the start of when I was having issues. It wasn’t long after, months, that I had my first stroke.

I find it offensive that the boinking cursor stares at me while I type this. Blinking. Waiting for instruction; words to form a sentence only to be autocorrected as type them. Almost rude in a way. Sort of a passive-aggressive demand for words. Blink. Blink. Got something to say? blink. blink.

Of course, I’m sane.

I spoke with the Dr today. I’ve been referred to a neurologist tomorrow afternoon. Well. A phone call. Which is better than nothing and hopefully productive. The Dr also told me to have some video evidence of me just falling asleep randomly so will be searching through that. S has ASD and B has, we think, ADHD so we have a camera in our lounge to film the outbursts to show their Drs. Because otherwise, they give the generic response of “I’m fine”.

I now have three referrals on my NHS app. Respiratory medicine for the face you can hear me breathing a mile away. Plus the weeping doesn’t help anyway. I acquired a blue and brown inhaler so I use them twice a day when I remember. Would be nice to get them officially prescribed rather than shelling out £20 an inhaler.

I guess this is a moaning post again. I have no plans, subtext, or story, Just what m =y brain and heart want to say. I’m so tird it actually hurts to look at the screen type, anything else is pure pain, I can’t see the screen right so I’ll have fun editing this

my balance is off a the moment, I banged my

There are quite a few typos but I thought I would leave them in there. My how things changed since then. I also found one from 2009 but I’ll save that for another day. Ben doesn’t have ADHD. I got prescribed inhalers for asthma. My ‘weeping’, wheezing, still happens but that’s now fixable with a quick blast of the inhaler.

Hope you are all having an amazing day.

Oh and in other news I bought my christmas present, a cigar for christmas day. I have one every year, just one and that’s it. So I do look forward to it. I know they are bad for you but I enjoy them. Once a year can’t be too damaging.

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MiniDisc Log: Stripping Back the Signal Chain

Time to call a halt on overcomplicating the audio setup. Sometimes the simplicity and reliability of MiniDisc is exactly what you need.

I’ve spent the last week trying to build a Swiss Army knife when all I actually need is a pocket knife. I was trying to fuse two completely different jobs into one over-engineered monster. The first was routing high-fidelity vinyl off an LP player via optical cables. The second was capturing raw, quick audio logs for the blog.

Trying to solve both at once just creates a mess of wires and brain-melting technical friction. So, I’m splitting the mission down the middle:

  1. The Hi-Fi Dream: The standalone LP record player and optical setup can sit on the long-term wishlist. This will be for proper vinyl listening sessions.
  2. The Blog Field Rig: A portable Sony MZ-series recorder fed through a simple, bulletproof 3.5mm AUX line-in directly from my phone. Plug it in, hit record, done.

No DACs, no optical converters, no unnecessary headaches. Just a clean, physical recording workflow.

I’ve thrown the exact Sony unit I’m aiming for onto my [Amazon Wish List]. The link is sitting right there in the blog sidebar and footer if you want to have a nosey. Once I get that unit in hand, the real audio logs start dropping. However, it might have to be the new year as the kids come first.

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Small Victories, Starbucks, and Sunday Bacon

Thursday’s coffee run was a textbook lesson in why I set strict boundaries—and why my internal warning system doesn’t care about being polite when I get freaked out. In many ways, it was one of those Small Victories that remind me why boundaries matter.

The senior carer and I hit Starbucks, but the trip got chopped short. The place was buzzing, and I couldn’t land a table with my back to a wall. If you’re running on PTSD, sitting out in the open like that feels like standing in the middle of a firing range with a neon target painted on your spine. My brain immediately locked into hyper-vigilant perimeter-scanning mode, and then the familiar pre-seizure static started buzzing in the background. Calling a tactical retreat before a full system crash hit wasn’t optional; it was pure self-preservation. Nevertheless, the fact that I made it out the door at all is another one of those Small Victories.

I got back to the flat, bolted the door, and dropped anchor with a book until the physical noise settled down. Reflecting on moments like this, I realize that cherishing Small Victories keeps me motivated to try again.

Fast forward to today: Ben is currently out in the front room demolishing a mountain of air-fryer bacon and pan-fried eggs. Teenagers are basically black holes for pork products. While he’s refueling, I’ve staged a quiet retreat back to the bedroom. I’m double-fisting a brew and a coffee alongside a couple of biscuits, taking a proper bit of calm while the flat is warm and safe.

But you know what? I did it. I left the house, I lasted 45 minutes in the real world and next week I’ll do the same. Small Victories like these matter more than most people think.

Small Victories
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The Sixty-Minute Boundary

Friday carries a very specific weight today. It marks my first proper outing with the senior carer—a strictly calibrated, non-negotiable one-hour trip to a local coffee shop. This outing represents The Sixty-Minute Boundary in action.

They originally pushed for a longer trip, but standing my ground on that sixty-minute limit was a necessary boundary. In fact, The Sixty-Minute Boundary is essential when your internal operating system runs on a low battery and high physical noise, because an hour is plenty. Any longer and the social friction starts wearing thin.

The photo today captures the general mood of the week: quiet, cold, and reliant on hot liquids to keep the system running. Stepping out of the flat for sixty minutes is a small, calculated risk, but it’s better than staying entirely frozen in place under a blanket fort. Ultimately, The Sixty-Minute Boundary helps maintain a feeling of control.

One coffee, sixty minutes, and then back to the flat, the birds, and the quiet. Truly, The Sixty-Minute Boundary defines the delicate balance between routine and risk for me.

According to the tracker app on my phone, I haven’t left the flat in 66.5 days. Pathetic. Too scared to even go to the bins so the carers take care of it.

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A Quick Note: Wish List & Ways to Support

A few people have asked over time if there’s a way to support the blog directly or help out with bits for the flat, retro projects, and the birds. I’ve put together an [Amazon Wish List] with zero pressure attached.

I’ve also added the link straight into the bottom of the regular email updates, so it’s sitting quietly in the footer if you ever want to have a nosey down the line.

Writing Frogs are Evil every day is a massive part of my grounding routine, and simply having you here reading, commenting, and following along means the world to me. Thank you as always for keeping me company on here.

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The Gothic Phantom of North Wales: Exploring Hafodunos Hall

There is a specific kind of magic to summer days during uni break—the long, empty hours where you end up driving down back roads near the farm looking for something strange. Back in the summer of 2003, my brother and I went hunting for a local legend tucked away in the trees near Llangernyw: Hafodunos Hall.

We slipped in through the main gates, instantly stepping out of the summer sunshine and into something that felt like a set from a hammer horror film. That strange, almost gothic energy could only come from a place like Hafodunos.

The Grand Venetian Gothic Exterior

Walking around the outside, the place was overwhelmingly atmospheric. It wasn’t just old; it was aggressively, dramatically Gothic—towering stone, intricate carved inscriptions along the exterior walls, massive heavy doors, a imposing central tower, and wild, sprawling grounds that had long since surrendered to nature. The grandeur of Hafodunos surrounded us at every turn.

A Brief History: From 1600s Roots to a Venetian Masterpiece

The original Hafodunos estate dates back to the 1600s, but the grand structure we were staring up at was built between 1861 and 1866. Designed by the legendary Victorian architect Sir George Gilbert Scott for the Sandbach family, it was built in a stunning Venetian Gothic Revival style. The distinctiveness of Hafodunos makes its history especially fascinating.

Over the decades, the hall lived several completely different lives. After the family left in the 1930s, it served as a girls’ boarding school for decades, then later an accountancy college, and eventually a care home before being abandoned in the 1990s. By the time we turned up in 2003, it sat completely desolate, rotting quietly in the woods, a true relic of Hafodunos lost in time.

Stepping Inside: Rotting Floors and Haunted Shadows

We managed to find a way inside, moving as quietly as possible. The primary rule of urban exploration is not getting caught, but here, the bigger danger was underfoot. Decades of damp meant the floorboards were severely rotting away in places. Every step had to be tested before putting weight on it—one bad tread and you were going straight through into the void below. It’s adventures like exploring Hafodunos that really define that summer for me.

The interior was vast and unnervingly quiet. We navigated echoing corridors, grand reception rooms with peeling wallpaper, and down into the pitch-black basement level. Down there, hidden in the shadows, was an old prayer room that sent absolute chills down your spine. The whole place radiated a heavy, lingering haunted energy, a signature atmosphere of Hafodunos.

The Mystery Tunnel

While exploring the grounds outside, we stumbled across something straight out of a gothic novel: a stone tunnel leading from the gardens back towards the house. Looking down into the dark opening, the passageway looked partially caved in and blocked by debris. Whether it was an old service conduit, an escape route, or an underground access tunnel for servants, staring into that dark hole was one of the highlights of the explore. It was the mystery at the heart of Hafodunos that kept us wondering long after we left.

Tragedy and Rebirth: The Fire and Restoration

Looking back, our 2003 visit happened in the absolute nick of time. Just a year later, in October 2004, tragedy struck Hafodunos Hall. A devastating arson attack tore through the empty building, gutting the roof, collapsing the internal floors, and leaving Scott’s Venetian masterpiece as a hollowed-out, blackened shell. Few sites in North Wales evoke as much emotion as Hafodunos after the fire.

For years, it sat as a tragic ruin. But in 2010, a private buyer bought the estate with a vision to bring it back to life. Over the last decade, an ambitious restoration project has been underway—stabilising the masonry, rebuilding the roofs, and preserving one of North Wales’ most incredible architectural treasures. Hafodunos is finally emerging from the ashes.

Our trek through those rotting halls in 2003 remains one of my favourite urban exploration memories with my brother—a snapshot of a lost giant right before it nearly disappeared forever. Hafodunos will always be a part of our story.

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QotD: Coping Mechanisms and Cold Starts

I woke up freezing today. Not just a bit chilly, but the specific, biting physical cold that immediately triggers my PTSD and drags up flashbacks of things I would rather leave buried. When the brain decides to ambush you with unwanted memories, the only logical defense is to physically barricade yourself. Incidentally, this morning’s qotd could easily be about how the cold can stir up old memories.

I set up camp on the sofa under a mountain of blankets, surrounded by a liquid perimeter of tea, coffee, and water. To get my head straight, I put on YouTube videos of Alaskan supply runs. Not ice road truckers, but farmers making their massive, once-a-year pilgrimage to Costco and Walmart to stockpile for the winter. There is something incredibly grounding about it—it reminds me of winters back at the farm. Back then, we used to get snowed in and had to make sure we were fully provisioned before the weather completely turned. Additionally, watching those videos might just be another answer to today’s qotd, as they help me cope with stressful memories.

Bye Halloween

I also need to pack away the Halloween decorations today. This was the first year I actually bought some, and having them up was a genuinely nice change of pace in the flat. Now, the countdown is on until December 1st. On that day, the Christmas ones take over.

Currently, I am completely hidden under my blanket fort. The birds, Blobette and Mojo, are happily tweeting and singing along to the random YouTube noise, completely unaware of my presence. The problem is, if I suddenly move, it’s going to jump-scare them both into next week. Therefore, to prevent giving them tiny avian heart attacks, my current plan is to gently play ‘Ave Maria’ from my phone as a warning soundtrack before I emerge. By the way, sharing stories like this makes for a perfect qotd when reflecting on odd ways we handle stress.

Which brings me to the question of the day. We all have bizarre ways of handling the heavy days. Mine is currently hiding under a blanket watching Alaskan grocery hauls. Also, I am preparing to serenade my pets with classical music just so I can stand up.

What is your highly specific, entirely illogical coping mechanism when your brain throws a bad flashback? Feel free to answer in response to this qotd if you like to share.

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The Weekend Report (On a Tuesday)

Publishing a weekend report on a Tuesday tells you exactly how my last few days have gone. My brain has been operating at the speed of a 1998 dial-up connection, and my body has spent the majority of the weekend randomly force-quitting without my permission.

Because my internal hardware was glitching so violently, I made the miserable call to cancel my son coming over. The guilt of it is heavy, but when you are unexpectedly passing out and waking up at 7:00 AM with the ‘big light’ still blazing, isolation is the only sensible choice. He is 14. He shouldn’t have to spend his weekend on standby in case his dad abruptly blue-screens mid-conversation.

Bad ASDA!

The weekend then became a strict medical lockdown. It started with the absolute betrayal of the Friday Asda click-and-collect. After surviving a week-long stomach rebellion, I was looking forward to one specific treat: a Starbar. Instead of a substitution, they just refunded it. Leaving a man high and dry on the chocolate front when he is trapped in the house is just poor form.

To counter the sheer disappointment, I decided to throw money at Amazon and ordered 12 large bottles of flavoured water. It feels like an extravagant waste when the tap works perfectly fine, but right now, I am absolutely willing to buy a little bit of joy in a plastic bottle.

Trick or treat

Halloween was a complete non-event on the doorstep. I didn’t get a single trick-or-treater, so I just watched a few horrors on my own. So I ended up giving my stash of sweets to the carers, who were more than happy to take them, and whatever is left is going straight to the carer office with the senior carer next time they visit.

I have also switched up the evening routine and started reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to the birds. It turns out Jules Verne isn’t exactly their demographic, as they are fully asleep within five minutes, but I’m actually really getting into it. When I’m not reading, I am working my way through my bulk-download of Star Trek: The Next Generation, watching it in honour of Sir Patrick Stewart.

So here we are on Tuesday. I am still nursing a heavy medication hangover, but the fridge is stocked, the sweets are gone, and the flavoured water is officially en route. Sometimes, just surviving the weekend is enough of an achievement.

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The Great Minidisc Rabbit Hole: Pricing a 90s Obsession

My brain is currently acting like a corrupted hard drive, constantly threatening to crash. When the internal system fails and the dizziness kicks in, the only logical coping mechanism is to hyper-fixate on obsolete 1990s audio equipment. Welcome to the great world of Minidisc, an absolute rabbit hole.

I want the tactile satisfaction of a physical format again. I want the mechanical clunk of a disc locking into place. And most importantly, I want to record my own music like it’s 1998, rather than letting an algorithm spoon-feed me. So, I took to eBay to figure out exactly how much this nostalgia trip is going to cost me, all in the pursuit of Minidisc magic.

The Hardware: The Sony Recorders

If you are going to do this, you need a machine that actually records. No basic playback-only nonsense. We are looking at the vintage Sony MZ-R series—specifically something like the MZ-R70 or MZ-R410 which were among the iconic Minidisc recorders of the era.

These things are built like miniature silver tanks. The going rate on eBay for a fully tested, working recorder right now is anywhere between £50 to £100, depending entirely on whether the seller thinks they are sitting on the Crown Jewels.

The Ammunition: Blank Discs

You can’t record without the media. The absolute beauty of Minidiscs was the little plastic caddies they lived in—basically indestructible floppy disks for audio, which is why Minidisc still has so many fans today.

Buying sealed, brand-new blanks will cost around £15 to £30 for a 5-pack. Alternatively, if you are willing to buy a bundle of used discs and overwrite whatever terrible late-90s trance compilations the previous owner recorded, you can grab a job-lot of 20 for about £35 and experience that Minidisc nostalgia in full.

The Holy Grail: Blur on Minidisc

Here is where the financial reality hits you like a wet fish. I wanted to see what it would cost to just buy an original, pre-recorded album—specifically, Blur’s music on the elusive Minidisc format.

Whether it’s the self-titled album, 13, or The Best Of, buying Britpop on Minidisc in 2026 is aggressively expensive. Because the pre-recorded format is so incredibly rare, original Blur Minidiscs are going for £70 to £150 a pop. At that price, Damon Albarn himself had better come over to Bolton and press play for me.

The Source Engine: The CD Player

To get that crisp, perfect digital recording onto the Minidisc, you need a source engine. An old portable CD player with an ‘Optical Out’ port is the absolute necessity here, allowing a direct, lossless digital-to-digital transfer via an optical cable—just what a Minidisc collector needs for high fidelity.

A reliable vintage Sony Discman with an optical out will set you back about £40 to £60.

The Verdict

So, what is the total damage for this mid-week hyper-fixation? Investing in Minidisc nostalgia isn’t cheap, but it sure is satisfying.

  • Sony MZ-R Recorder: ~£75
  • Job-lot of Blanks: ~£35
  • CD Player (Optical Out): ~£50
  • Original Blur Album: ~£100 (if I completely lose my mind)

Total Setup: Roughly £160 to build the recording rig and blanks to make my own, or £260 if I succumb to the Britpop holy grail. In either case, the charm of classic Minidisc audio can’t be denied.

The conclusion? I am absolutely hunting down a silver Sony MZ-R recorder. The prices aren’t exactly cheap, but buying a piece of heavy, mechanical nostalgia that stops me staring blankly at a screen is probably cheaper than therapy. Let the bidding wars begin, and long live Minidisc!

I’m hoping to have enough saved up by the new year but I have a sneaking suspicion that the gas and electric people will have other ideas. Meanwhile, my Minidisc dreams will have to wait.

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QotD Random Photos

Share a few recent shots from your camera roll, no context needed.

For today’s QotD I present to you a random selection of photos with no context from my phone. They are a random selection but all have a story behind them. Mostly rubbish stories BUT I have omitted anything dodgy looking. Not that my phone is full of dodge but mostly memes that I have saved up I’ll try and update the gallery page with them instead. By the way, if you enjoy these updates or find the qotd section fun, stay tuned for more updates.

Today has been an odd day. I woke up in a bad mood, feeling rough and hungover from the diazepam that I had to take yesterday. So naturally I took more today to reset my mood but no. It just made me very tired. And lazy. And so I have sat watching random paranormal stuff on youtube. That is a bad habit. In my defense they are amusing. Oh. Halloween. I watched texas chainsaw massacre, the first one from the 70’s. So I actually had to mute it because OMG the lead character would not stop screaming every second. I get it. A man running after you with a chainsaw might cause you to scream but please have so tact and decency and die without screaming so much. Just accept your fate you know… And yes, despite all this, I still plan to write a new qotd soon—stay tuned!

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