There is no consistent theme to this one sided conversation. A mixed bag of family stuff, cycling, fleeting interests, photos, poorly thought out opinions, reflective pondering, reactionary rants and righteous posturing.
My blogging has gone through a few iterations in terms of name and platform since my first go at it in 2000. BongoTwisty 1 2 on Hugo is the latest. Previous incarnations under different names have been hosted on Standard Notes Listed, Wordpress, Blogger and way back when, Homestead. Posts have been migrated from one to the other over the years.
I don’t write to perform; I write as a by-product of my own curiosity. The posts here are simply part of a personal journey, capturing thoughts and experiences as they unfold rather than polished tales of daring-do or any supposed wisdom.
My life is, for the most part, reassuringly mundane, and there is a contentment in that. It’s a foundation from which to explore the occasional quiet challenge, found in reflection, self directed learning, and the hills and hedgerows of winding country lanes.
Keeping a blog is a means for self-expression. Quality just happens to be incidental. It’s a scrap book. A record of moments and thoughts I sometimes look back on, and which I have chosen to share. It’s a point of connection despite the poor signal. I can’t fathom why but it can feel quite rewarding.
Thank you for visiting. I’m pleased you did.
The earliest memory I have of being called Bongo goes back to early infancy. My sisters used to call me Ali. We had a red revolving see-saw in the garden with white plastic seats on either end. I recall a day when I was on one side and my older brother was on the other. I remember him calling out “Aliiiii”, each time his side went down and I went up, then “BONGO!” when I bounced up from the seat as the see-saw bottomed out on his end. A lot of laughs at the time. As an aside there was a popular TV magician called Ali Bongo back in those days, which I guess is why the words came to my brother’s mind. After that day my brother called me Bongo pretty much all the years we grew up together. The name caught on with all his mates. On the very odd occassion we meet now, my brother and his old friends still call me Bongo when they see me. ↩︎
When I left school I worked at a print shop. The boss read a book with a character in it called Colonel Twisty Turner. The colonel had a twisted bowel and farted a lot. My boss thought that was hilarious and as my surname is Turner decided I should also be known as Twisty. I mentioned this name to my friends and they thought it was a great fit. Not because I farted a lot but because of my ways as a teenager. A little bit dodgy sometimes. Again the name stuck and travelled with me into my early twenties during the time I trained as a mental health nurse. I’m still called Twisty now by friends from those years that I have maintanined contact with. ↩︎