Tinman

TinmanTinman is the winner of Vol 2-11. Follow him at his blog and on Twitter. He says:

I’m in my 50′s, live in Greystones, Ireland, and work in Dublin city centre. The name Tinman18 (now just shortened to Tinman, like Madonna, or Tarzan) came from the fact that I have a pacemaker, and from the fact that in 2007 my heart once stopped for 18 seconds which, well, is why I have a pacemaker (you can read the whole thrilling tale by clicking the “The Birth of Tinman” link in the categories section on my blog, Worth Doing Badly). I’m engaged in a long-term prize-fight against Depression. Generally I kick its ass, but occasionally it wins a couple of rounds. At the moment I’m suffering from Derealisation, a condition where I feel like I’m in a bubble and everything seems to be happening a slight distance away. It’s like being permanently drunk, and this is not as much fun as it sounds.

In short (oh, I’m quite short too), I’m a mess.

But on the other hand…

I have a lovely wife (the long-suffering Mrs Tin), and three wonderful teenage Tinkids, I own my own house, I have a job and workfriends that I really like, a local pub that is the source of both companionship and material, and the realisation that on balance I’m well ahead.

My blog title is from GK Chesterton’s saying “Anything worth doing is worth doing badly”.

I think the blog is worth doing, so I’m doing it as badly as I can.

♦♦♦♦♦

Skyfall

Bond had been sent on this mission with just two days to go to retirement which, as any cop in any film could have told him, made him practically a walking gravestone.

So it’s no surprise that as he parachuted in over the Alps he was held up by the thermals, and so overshot Blofeld’s secret base and plummeted instead into a dense forest.

He hit a tree with all the force of Wile E Coyote hitting a canyon floor, then pinballed from branch to branch, each one slapping his face like some beautiful spy that he had slept once with and then left.

Luckily his plunge was halted just five feet from the ground, and he swung gently, like a Christmas bauble poked by an enraptured child.

The elderly Bond had dressed warmly, lest he catch his death, and was being held up by the thermals.

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