The Paradox of Now

Capital Q’s and Lower-Case X’s

I was overwhelmed with the responses from last week’s newsletter. Not from people saying they enjoyed it - don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, my inbox was littered with justifications of their tasty alphabet selections.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, I can hear you already: ‘Scott, the least you could then do is thank us?’

‘Where are your manners?’

‘Where are your P’s & Q’s?’

P*ss off! I’m more interested in Q’s and x’s, if you really must know.

Let me explain firstly through reminding you of last week's question:

Answer of the Week:

“A capital ‘Q’ because it reminds me of a deformed Hula Hoop that you get if you’re lucky #fire”

“Lock me in for lower-case ‘x’ due to how it reminds me of the ultimate sandwich cutting method. Undeniably the best sandwich technique and it’s transferable to toast too.”

Sam Hendon, 2025.

Now that’s all sorted, I’ll give you a taste of what's to come:

• Big moose doing big things in Wales

• Reading braille at a wedding?

• Watching people dancing with some dishwater

🥚Eggstra News🥚

Your weekly dose of some provoking procurements:

• I Was Alive – by Beartooth: A song that made me cry the first time I listened to it. A rock track with a poignant message. Hit me right in the feels.

• Ella Purnell Alphabet Absurdity: If you enjoyed our alphabet chat last week, you've got to see this clip! Ella's hilarious moment from Off Menu left me in a daze.

• Bigmoose: Here's the reality check - 36 week waiting list for mental health therapy in Wales, but bigmoose gets you help within a week. Worth checking them out if you or someone needs support.

The Paradox of Now

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You forgot it was Valentines Day next week didn’t you?

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Message me on socials if you’d like to feature in this section. 🙂

Who Wants to Talk About Braille? 🦮

Poppi, Italy. July 14th. 35 degrees.

The heat grows closer to your internal body temperature and so feel at one with the world around you. The idea of grounding comes to mind, but the floor is too hot to even consider it.

You are at the poolside. Sun cream applied (and reapplied because you have respect for the elements).

It’s peaceful, or quiet – that is yet to be decided in your mind.

You watch a young Italian family play in the pool. They laugh and smile and play. They even have their Golden Retriever with them.

He’s keeping guard in the shade, barely, with one eye open.

The perfect family. No need to be on high alert.

A 2-litre bottle of water taken from the freezer by your side. The outsides melting, but the core of ice stands proud, for now, in the centre.

It knows it won’t win the battle against its arch-rival, but it always puts up a fight in your honour - to keep you cool and hydrated.

It reminds you of the boiling summers in primary school. Fresh cut grass, old footballs and Clarks shoes.

Jumpers for goalposts.

Not a care in the world other than scoring the best goal you could that lunchtime.  

You think about reading your book, but your attention and mind is somewhere else. You want a small distraction, but nothing more. Just enough to take you away from where you currently are.

A Rubix Cube is your answer. A comfort. A challenge, but one you know you’ve completed hundreds of times before.

The peace remains outside. The birds sing. The children laugh.

But inside you see the storm over the horizon.

You’ve been here before.

The low-pressure – feelings of gratitude and appreciation you get to be in a wonderful country and nowhere else you need to be. Grateful for the fresh bread you had that morning and the fan for helping you secure a good night’s sleep.

The high pressure – feeling like the loneliest person on the planet, despite the greatest family and friends you could wish for. The bed you slept in was comfortable. But it was also the biggest you have seen. And this exasperated the loneliness.

The pressures collide. The rumbles begin. The clouds start to form.

You walk back to your apartment to shower, before the heavens open.

You have a wedding to go to…remember?

*

*

You write this in your journal, poolside. A different one this time. It’s busy, chaotic in fact. A live DJ and saxophonist playing summer songs you know every word to.

Drinks are flowing, laughter all around and even a man doing headstands and juggling. A dream scenario for you – surely?

And yet you lie in the shade, on the floor. In the shadow of your parents.

Writing. Just writing.

You take a sip of your beer. You don’t really want it. You think:

‘If I have one more sip then maybe I’ll join in?’

You know this never to be true. Not for now anyway.

A man named George comes up and asks:

“What the f*ck are you doing?”

‘Great question’ – you think…because you’d ask the same thing.

You feel your hand cover the writing on the page. It’s indented. You feel where you have maybe pressed harder on the paper than you have before. Or maybe you have just never felt where pen touches paper.

Why would you?

You like the sensation either way and you start thinking about braille.

Something you only ever recall seeing in lifts. Or maybe on medication.

You don’t know how much time has past since the initial interaction.

George is called over by a man with an impeccable moustache waving a champagne bottle in his right hand.

A far better time to be had over there.

Moustache is unlikely to start the conversation talking about braille.

George leaves. Rightfully so.

You put the journal away. The heat is overwhelming. Maybe a dip in the pool isn’t such a bad idea. Your cousin and her husband are there.

They are some of the only people at this party that see you. Other than your parents of course.

You seek comfort in their presence knowing that you can be your authentic self. No games, no acting. Unequivocally you.

It’s easy.

It reminds you of the person you know you are and know you can be. That flow-state feeling.

You remind yourself of this. You use this as your map to guide you out the eye of the storm.  

You don’t thank your cousin, but maybe you should. Or maybe you could thank them in your own way in the future?

You know leaving the storm takes a long time. But you have no choice.

You remind yourself that it gets easier every time.

So long as you learn. So long as you listen. So long as you pay attention.

You take the first step. It’s heavy. The weight of your mind in the wrath of gravity’s clutch.

You remind yourself the loads will lighten each time.

You remind yourself that the wounds heal quicker each time.

You remind yourself this painful process shortens each time.

And trust me, it does.

Haiku’s Haiku 🐥

Haiku’s here looking a little different this week, but still ready to send some sexy syllables your way:

Palm Tree Euphoria 🌴

I love an idiom... there I said it. Shoot me!

In the book I'm reading at the moment, 'The Science of Storytelling', it speaks of how, on average, we use a metaphor every ten seconds of speech or written word.

We're literally creating stories using language to better understand the world around us all the time.

I thought, well if that's the case, why not make up some of my own idioms?

Dancing with the dishwater

Definition: To keep yourself busy with pointless tasks to avoid doing actual work.

Now it’s your turn!

Send me your own idioms and their definitions by email or socials – your answers may feature next week!

And if you've found that reading this newsletter has led you to 'dance with the dishwater', come and waltz on over to my socials for more insights, weirdness, and everything else in between.

See you dashing ducks over there! 🐥 

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