Rolling pins: them, me, and the ancient argument as to what constitutes a ‘pin’.

I appreciate there are going to be some alternative definitions from my own, as to what constitutes a ‘pin’. I also know that some of these are going to be ‘factual’.

But what pride themselves on in terms of correctness, they more than let themselves down in accuracy.

A pin is something that you can pin with. If a thing cannot pin, a pin it is not.

Rolling pins – they’re not pins. They’re my ultimate bed fellow of the realm we can all relate to: something you enjoy having around, regardless of its purpose.

I can picture a medieval woman, house-bound, subjugated and bored, being told the local ravishers are on their way to commit their namesake.

Thankfully, she has a rolling pin, which must, simply ‘must’, have been used at least once in human history to defeat the bad guy.

Got yourself a villain? Bop him on the head with a rolling pin.

Got a yourself a villain nearby but just out of reach? Throw a rolling pin at him, the distant git.

Baking?

Baking and interrupted by a villain?

Bop him about the head and neck with a rolling pin, before returning to the esoteric application of a rolling pin outside of villain-bopping and household defence (plus all around justice): somehow flattening dough.

I’ve never really been able to use a rolling pin for anything other than a really good time thrashing it about and some amateur Morris dancing (I haven’t landed a paid Morris-dancing gig yet, but I hear its all about persistence. Keep at it and eventually someone will pay you to leave. They won’t threaten – you’ve got a rolling pin and a fucking hanky.).

When at school I put the rolling pin to dough and nothing really happened – certainly not cakes or bread or whatever it was I was being taught. Least of all flattened dough.

As I got older I treated myself to a basic, this’ll-do, rolling pin, in preparation for the day in which I’d be bopping anti-social behaviour in the face.

I’ve still got it. My wife uses it for cooking every now and again (and bloody again), whilst I prefer to chase my children with it – so the whole family gets good use out of it.

In the event of a fire, or perhaps some near-world-event, if I’ve time to grab something from the house before dashing for the village hall, I’m grabbing my rolling pin. And kids.

And people at the village hall would be pleased, commending me for bringing so jolly-decent a thing as a rolling pin to the end of the world that the whole Parish can find some relief from.

I don’t know if it would necessarily aid in clearing rubble in search of wounded, or be massively handy when it comes to building a new basic infrastructure system once the fallout has cleared, but it wouldn’t half give me confidence in the new world.

Such confidence, that in fact it would aid in clearing rubble, and in developing basic infrastructure. Because we’ve got a rolling pin.

But it’s still not a ‘pin’.

Spur of the moment, I’m going to rename them to “Oods”.

I like that, it works, and I like that and it works.

And even if it doesn’t work, you can’t deny I like that.

Sam


Meditation and Home-Defence.

How do you make a donkey reverse? You make the carrot frightening.

Anyway…

I’ve had an urge, for a long while now, to arm myself with something beyond the pale of civilised means- such as doorlocks and kung fu.

Hence, I’ve now a bow and set of arrows lying atop my coffee table- making it a much more appreciated ‘bow and arrow’ table- which I hope to make available soon in a superstore near you.

Why would I acquire a bow and arrow?

Big cats.

Where I live, a county called Kent in England, we have ourselves a local legend about a puma-like big cat- that people of the area see the arse-end of as it, yet again, disappears- or they find the wreckage of a partially eaten, mostly dead chicken.

And, obviously, I need a new rug/pet and so will be seeking this massive feline out so as to ‘achieve’ it as such (I feel that ‘achieving’ could be a much more possessive and aggressive act…”I achieved you mum”), as well as to have some degree of vengeance for the chickens that I’ll never get the chance to meet.

Hunting. I’m here to hunt.

I have to admit that I’m much more of a gatherer though. I tend to pick up things as I make my way around the Earth, and then leave a little trail of items I’ve discarded owing to a matter of lacking pocket space.

However, the natural instinct that I feel within me to hunt is potent, and enjoyable.

Hunting. It makes eating a little spookier owing to the activity frequently revolving around murder and digestion in the forest. Not only this, but it also tends to mean you can wear what was your dinner after eating it.

This is harder to do as a gatherer in the more-traditional sense; wearing what you find, as opposed to wearing what you’ve killed, doesn’t work so splendidly.

Doing that with watermelons is frowned upon by most people who have a brow to frown with. Why? Because helmets, which is at the most what a watermelon can be, are only supposed to go on your head. Maybe feet. Not buttocks. Not testicles- no matter how scared you are of sudden impact to potential descendants, and dick/and/or/vagina.

I like hunting and, though my current kill rate is zero, my aim is improving.

My current aim tends to be at suburban pigeons, and they are as surprised as sweet hell to find an arrow swishing past them. They don’t need to dodge it, but they move anyway. There’s nothing quite like making a pigeon’s eyes widen.

Naturally, in the same fashion as in the United States, my weaponry is for hunting, but it undoubtedly has a practical purpose in defending my property and wife.

I would like people, and yes…of course…zombies, to know that if they should attempt to crash through my door as part of the massive horde…then they be met with a volley of whatever I can find when I’ve let loose all my arrows. Probably the longer items in my cutlery collection- meaning that people, and yes…of course…zombies, will find themselves impaled by the most mundane of domestic items.

And that’s why we need to relax.

Zombies at your door with a collection of arrows and broom-handles sticking out of where you aimed should not be something to look forward to for such a collection of us as we are.

Why do we feel the need to do this? Why do we feel as though we need a zombie apocalypse?

A chance to start anew.

Year zero.

From the moment that begins, you’re are 90% more interesting because finally something happened to you- and you’re likelihood of being some sort of hero in your own story is multiplied to a degree that matters to you.

Credit history lost, the waste of years lost, all that time in traffic gone, no longer such a thing as a migraine because you don’t have time…

With less people, you feel like this Earth is suddenly a whole lot larger and the chance of you making it yours are finally nearer to that 100% that you have always secretly craved.

And though this is not a flawed feeling, it is a lack of understanding.

The chance for you to rule the Earth is perpetually immediate, although obviously easier for some than others- but still ‘achievable’ (growl).

You just needed to meditate first…and then move along with the home-defence.

Ten minutes a day of silence, eyes closed, lovely posture and a focus on what you want is a way towards the wonders that you are meditating for. You will think more clearly, and you will be more self-aware and open to whatever comes your way, you will be willing to start something…a challenge is an opportunity to become and to learn. As for the soul, and all that…whatever- I feel it is a placebo that works for the personality.

The only aside of this from home defence is that you allow people in as freely as a public park- possessions will fuck you over and eliminate your pocket space. So let them go, in and out, forget your things so as to remember your people and yourself.

If you’re being attacked- then be equally violent back: meditation is a personal thing that is relevant to whatever you conjure up in your life. If your decision is to punch a violent attacker, then maybe a little mediation will aid you and your knuckles.

Defend yourself- certainly, and hunt often, but do not be prepared to shut yourself down and away as though the rest of the world is contaminated.

As much as we are our own species greatest predator, when one of us is endangered or infected, we are all our saviour and our cure.

I have a bow and arrow, for home-defence, hunting, and for acquiring that enormous feline that makes myths about my locality.

I also have a C# key, liberated from an abandoned glockenspiel.

I have realised that when creating a great impact with this key- it makes a deep vibrating sound much like that of a Buddhist gong

This reminds me of the time I travelled in Northern India, Himachel Pradesh, Dharamsala, McLeod Ganj, and I am temporarily transported to that place, by the temple, over-looking the valley of the lower Himalayas, and I am peaceful.

I am also ready to defend myself- which I had to as was attacked by monkeys shortly before hand, which is far less amusing than you are probably imagining right now. You might find it slightly funnier now though, as I tell you that they attacked whilst I interrupted their oral sex.

Fucking tourist.

So when I am attacked- I have a meditative aid to deliver a blow to the forehead of my unfortunate aggressor. It goes “Dong”, whilst the forehead makes an altogether crunchier sound.

What home-defence offers you is a feeling of preparation to deal with what is coming in your life. Meditation is an actual way of preparing to deal with what is coming in your life.

Mediation is a means of defending your true home- your mind, and herein is the link between the two, but the distinction between them is still constant: home defence encourages keeping others out whilst mediation espouses a yearning to enjoy other people so as to either invite them in or knock on their door.

Prepare your mind, not your doorstep, unless you are expecting some of those guests you’ve gone and acquired.

Host the world, neighbour to all.

Sam