Saturday, 30 May 2009

And You Called It What?

Defective Tykewriter.
Those two words that sit at the top of this blog. They may give you pause, you may think I've misspelt my title or you may think that my self esteem has hit a low point and that it would be wise to give me a call and see if I'm okay.
I'm okay, you don't have to worry about that.
Let's take the second word first, start with something easy.

No, it's not a typo, I didn't mean typewriter. For those unfamiliar with ther term 'tyke' here is the Chambers Dictionary definition:
tyke noun 1 a dog, especially a mongrel. 2 Brit colloq a rough or coarse person. 3 Brit colloq a small child, especially a naughty or cheeky one • Stop pulling the cat's tail, you little tyke. 4 Brit colloq someone who comes from or was born in Yorkshire. 5 Austral & NZ offensive slang a Roman Catholic. tykish adj
I fit at least one of those definitions. Which? Here's a clue; I'm neither canine nor Catholic. I was going to call the blog just 'Tykewriter' but that's a name already taken by a writing group in this city. (Although they may be defunct at this point.) It's also the name of a Mac software program and various other things. I don't care, I'm using it anyway.

So, defective. Do we need a dictionary look-up for that? What the hell, have one anyway.
defective adj imperfect; having a defect or defects. defectively adverb. defectiveness noun

Defects, we all have them, some more than others. I have my own problems, my own eccentricities. I'm quite an odd person. I don't think how other people think and I don't quite see the world how others do. It's taken me a lot of years to accept that I think differently and see things differently. Not wrong, not weird, not sub-standard, just different. It makes me very good at seeing the ins and outs of a situation, I'm a good observer, a good advisor. On the other hand, I'm really really terrible at map-reading. And maths. And following instructions. And grammar.

And then there is the black dog. Not my own black dog, who is a sweet and slightly bonkers rottie cross, but a metaphorical mutt at my heels. I believe it was Churchill who named his depression this way. It's been a beast in my life since my early teens and twenty years later, I'm still battling it. I doubt I shall ever be completely free and I'm coming to terms with that too.

So there you have it, Defective Tykewriter, an explanation.

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