Finding The Magic


“Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.”~ Nora Roberts

How do you see the world?

Do your eyes simply see what’s there or can you see beyond it?

I see beyond what’s there, I always have.

What is magic?

To some people magic is merely the art of illusion.

It’s Dynamo walking on water outside the Houses of Parliament or David Blaine whacking somebody’s mobile phone into a bottle of beer. These magicians conjure up the impossible with the art of deception. To others, magic is Harry Potter whipping out his ward to fend off the Dementors but the real magic is in J K Rowling’s writing which comes from her extraordinary imagination.

There is another kind of magic which it’s all around us if only we take the time to look.  It’s is the magic that makes you happy even when you’re doing the most mundane of tasks, like cleaning the loo.

For those who are still with me (the others having long since hit the X button thinking ‘Off you go, Nutjob’) allow me to explain…

The magic that I’m talking about is a feeling. All you have to do to feel the magic is open your mind to the possibility of it.

It’s about taking the mundane and giving it some sparkle and who doesn’t like a bit of sparkle?

Household Tasks

Washing the dishes is a mundane task. It’s a job that OH hates so much that he actually bought a dishwasher so he wouldn’t have to, the lazy git! I do use it to do the heavily soiled stuff but most days I fill the washing up bowl with bubbles and add a few drops of essential oil. I use grapefruit because it’s uplifting. A few sniffs and my mood lifts and I lose myself in the suds. It puts me in an almost meditative state and what was once a boring job has become a pleasurable experience.

Meditation isn’t all about sitting cross-legged and omming, y’know. 😉

The trick is to be in the present. I try not to think about anything except what I am doing. Though my mind naturally wants to wander ( I have major mind traffic) I consciously drag it back the now. When I’m done faffing, I leave the water in the bowl to allow the essential oils to keep doing their stuff.

Similarly I clean the bathroom with a few drops of oil. I use lemon myrtle spray around the toilet (and up the walls) as the males of the house seemingly have out of control hose-pipes for penises and are prone to missing the entire toilet! Inhaling man wee makes me feel grumpy (not to mention, squiffy) but after a few squirts of my myrtle, it’s like they’ve never been in.

OK, maybe loo cleaning is stretching the concept of magic a bit but it is definitely an improvement, no?


I read books that inspire me and if the cover is aesthetically pleasing, then all the better! All part of being a visual person..

I like books that have me thinking long after I’ve turned the last page. I imagine how the characters look and for that reason I tend not to watch the films because they so often disappoint me. The Harry Potter books are an exception as the films actually do justice to J K Rowling’s excellent writing.

I don’t believe in the kind of magic in my books. But I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book. ~ J K Rowling


I listen to music that speaks to my soul, whether it’s rock, pop or classical. I allow my imagination to run riot with music where there are no lyrics to influence my mind. As far back as I can remember this has been the case.. as a little girl I used to listen to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake and images would flow uninterpreted into my mind, I could lose myself for hours this way..

Music is the strongest form of magic. ~ Marylin Manson

Mazza, you may scare small kids with your face but you are absolutely right!

Film and TV

I believe I have a mild form of synaesthesia and this would explain why I am unable to watch horror. All violence affects me but I can’t cope with watching horror films. If I see an upsetting image, it affects me for weeks or months after and I never forget it. For this reason I stay away from the news as much as possible. Similarly, I am just as deeply affected by good news and feel good films and TV.

I like to watch films that remind me of how fortunate I am to be alive and which inspire me to be a better person.

One of my all time favourites is Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life  because it reminds me that as insignificant as we think we are, our lives have purpose. It’s a timeless classic that leaves it’s mark on each generation.

Each man’s life touches so many other lives, and when he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he? ~ Clarence, the angel in It’s A Wonderful Life

See The Magic

We come into the world with our magic buttons switched on. We find joy in the simplest of things and everything is new and magical but somewhere along the way we lose it. We allow other people’s world views to influence our own, even if it’s not what we truly believe. We allow stress to take over and before we know it we are weighed down with worry and the magic is long forgotten.

I’m not saying that we should all abandon our common sense and call ourselves Moonbeam (although if calling yourself Moonbeam floats your boat, then you should go ahead and call yourself Moonbeam and bugger what people think) it’s just that a little sprinkling of magic makes life more bearable.

In it’s simplest terms, it’s about finding meaning to life.

Some people believe life has no meaning and if that’s you – fair enough – but there is just too much going on for me to ever agree with it.

For me, it’s about seeing and feeling beyond what can be physically seen and felt.

Sound wanky?

Maybe but it works for me.

That magic button? It’s still there. You just need to turn it back on.

To remind yourself of how it’s done – watch your children because they see the magic that is all around them.

Children see magic because they look for it. ~ Christopher Moore

Image Credit OUCHCharley Via Creative Commons

A Bit Of Everything



Blyton Revisited

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Once upon a time, there was a lady who wrote enchanting fairy tales which fired the imagination of children all over the world. Her name was Enid Blyton.

My first taste of Blyton was The Faraway Tree and I became hooked. The anticipation of reading her stories made going to school more bearable as escapism was only ever a few hours away. Hurrah!

All too soon, puberty arrived and I considered myself too old for Blyton. I gave away my books. I deeply regret doing that now because they were originals not the bastardised ones that have been trawled out since the PC brigade got it’s claws in.

I feel that adapting her work in general to fit into 21st century is wrong. Enid’s writing is reflective of the time that she lived in. Isn’t it insulting to children to presume that they won’t be able to appreciate that fact?

Some aspects are undoubtedly racist and while I’m sympathetic to those changes I don’t think it’s fair to judge a woman who lived in a very different society by today’s standards.

Should we edit all the nasty stuff out of the history books? And what of the other authors of Enid’s time. Why does their work remain untouched while hers is changed so dramatically?

One such example being The Faraway Tree.

The characters Fanny and Dick have been changed to Frannie and Rick because of their “unfortunate connotations.” with genitalia.

I’d rename them Nokia and Chezney. Chav em up a bit. Make em more street.

Dame Slap was also given a makeover because, well, she liked thrashing kids. With thrashing rights revoked, Dame Snap now gives naughty kids a darn good telling off while they flick her the V’s, threaten her with Esther Rantzen and smoke her fags. Ha!

I don’t condone smacking children but when this book was written, corporal punishment was accepted. Her stories reflect that. It’s part of our history. It’s certainly part of mine.

Malory Tower’s act has also been cleaned up with no more spankings. Instead children are scolded. That’s a bollocking to you, kids.

Now then, Mr Pink-Whistle..

As a child, I had a soft spot for this half-man, half-brownie. To the 44 year old me, he looks decidedly iffy, appearing in children’s bedrooms, bribing them with cats and his never ending bag of peppermints. Oh dear, Mr Pink-Whistle!

Noddy didn’t escape either. The PC brigade considered his and Big Ear’s ‘improper relationship’ too much for children. No more “gay times in the woods” for those two and separate beds if you please!


What about the woman behind the typewriter?

Enid wasn’t the warm loving, maternal person I’d expected her to be. She had a string of affairs including a lesbian encounter. I SAY, ENID!!

Her husband, Major Hugh Pollock, (I keep seeing Huge Pillock) wasn’t without his failings either. As a married man, he started a relationship with a young writer by the name of Ida Crowe. He found out about Enid’s affair with Darrell Waters and threatened to divorce her but according to Crowe’s memoir, Pollock agreed that Blyton would present the petition and in return he would be granted access to their daughters. Enid broke her promise and made it increasingly difficult for him to see his children.

Well that’s just not cricket, Enid old girl.

When her daughter, Imogen, wrote A Childhood at Green Hedges in 1989, she totally shattered the illusion that her mother’s idyllic stories in any way reflected their home life. She states, “The truth is, Enid Blyton was arrogant, insecure, pretentious, very skilled at putting difficult or unpleasant things out of her mind, and without a trace of maternal instinct”. Her sister, Gillian, painted a more favourable picture of their mother.

Enid herself had a difficult childhood. She and her mother didn’t get on. She adored her father and was heartbroken when he shacked up with another woman shortly after her 13th birthday. Enid’s relationship with him broke down and later she all but ceased contact with both parents. She didn’t go to their funerals. You know you’ve properly pissed your kids off when they don’t come to your funeral!

Enid initially had trouble getting pregnant and was told by a gynecologist that she had a uterus, “like that of 12-13 year old girl”. It’s as if her emotional development froze the day her father walked out. It excuses nothing but explains a lot.

It’s fair to say that Enid has her critics but love or loathe her, she was a genius and part of that was in the simplicity of her writing and the ability to think as a child. She wrote more than 600 books for children. At her peak, writing 10,000 words a day. She was the JK Rowling of her time. Similarly, JK hasn’t been without her critics having been accused of promoting witchcraft. I wish! I still can’t do the Expelliarmus spell on my other half to get him to let go of the TV remote!

I have re-bought nine Blyton books so far, all original text. I’m not interested in the edits. I want spankings, Fanny and Dick. Oh, and lashings of ginger beer – not that she never wrote that. Just testing.

Yes, the originals are flawed by today’s standards but they were books of their time. It’s important to remember that.

Enid might not have been a great mother or a particularly nice person but nobody is perfect and it doesn’t alter the fact that she wrote great stories.  I owe my love of reading to her and can’t imagine a childhood without some Blyton make-believe in it.

“I don’t believe in things like that – fairies or brownies or magic or anything. It’s old-fashioned.’
‘Well, we must be jolly old-fashioned then,’ said Bessie. ‘Because we not only believe in the Faraway Tree and love our funny friends there, but we go to see them too – and we visit the lands at the top of the Tree as well!” The Folk From The Faraway Tree ~ Enid Blyton

~The End~