Tom Railin - Life in the Blogoverse

Saturday, 6 December 2025

"Trash Islands": The Truth Behind the Pacific Ocean's Growing Garbage Patch.

A REVISITED POST FROM JULY 2013.

Today I felt I needed to post on a topic I touched upon back in 2013, which sadly didn't seem to get much traction. It's a topic that once looked into, does one of two things: rocks you to the core and drives a person to do something positive, or turns you away, either through sheer shock, disgust and disbelief - sadly, some folks choose a third route of action/reaction - to bury their heads and pretend the issue does not exist.

With the prevalent rise of waste, not only on land, but more worryingly, in our oceans, and private water companies within the UK not fulfilling their water treatment directives, and flushing more, and more raw sewage into our waterways, I thought now would be a time to revisit this post, and hopefully remind folks what a terrible thing we've done, and continue to do, against our planet, our oceans and Mother Nature.

If this does move you to do something, then talk to people, discuss, bring attention to this ongoing issue, maybe even show them this posting.

"If I Could Tell You" - by W. H. Auden.

As I write this, it's already getting dark outside, and the rain has been a persistent, steady downfall, its sound ever present in the background - an ideal setting for this beautifully narrated poem.

I stumbled across this late last night whilst browsing YouTube for music for future posts. I couldn't resist but to hit play - I'm so glad I did.

The narrator, Tom O'Bedlam - an alias, I've found out - has a wonderfully rich, warm, and textured voice that carries you along effortlessly. Fantastically soothing, with a dash of melancholy. Coupled with the hauntingly beautiful music by Jóhann Jóhannsson, entitled: 'Flight From The City', is wonderfully sublime, and so fitting.

Before I go further, I have to add: All Rights Reserved by the channel creator: John Cogs.

Clicking on any of the highlighted names will take you to those respective YouTube channels.

Now sit back, put your headphones on, hit play, close your eyes and enjoy the journey.

Thursday, 4 December 2025

From Mark Kelly to Tom Railin: Why I Blog Under a Pen Name.

It's 23:50hrs and I'm sat here tapping away at my keyboard in an effort to rationalise - and in some respects, remind myself - as to why I chose to post on my blog under the pen name of 'Tom Railin'.

Why do this? Primarily to remind myself it's my way of escaping the 'clone zone' on the internet - in terms of my birth name, 'Mark Kelly'. I also feel anyone arriving on my blog, be it intentionally (bless you for doing so), or accidentally (Please stay! I beg of you! Stay! - only pulling your leg.), deserve an explanation. Relax, I'm not laying low from any Law Enforcement or other Government body - but in today's social media climate within the UK, you never know?

So, back to my 'name clones' - below is a short list of the most popular 'Mark Kelly's' as revealed by the wonderful ChatGPT at my request. Hopefully this will highlight my dilemma:

Guild Wars Reforged: A Visual and Audio Refresh for the Beloved Original Classic.

So here I am, swearing, spitting and wanting to punch my monitor in utter frustration, just like a Gen Z's little brat child throwing a tantrum down a supermarket aisle filled with biscuits and sweets. Why?

People constantly typing and referring to the Guild Wars MMORPG as, “GW1”!? There is no such thing, you lunatics. Allow me to clarify.

Guild Wars was and IS the ORIGINAL game. Never touted as the first in a series or a sequel, and it certainly wasn’t meant to be suffixed with a ‘1’ — just as humans were never meant to declare redundant/useless pronouns in emails or on name tags.

GWs versus GWs2 — simple as that. Yet here we are, with people slapping a “1” on it like it clarifies something. It doesn’t. The second game, even though it lacked GvG (Guild vs Guild — the very reason the original was called Guild Wars), was suffixed with ‘2’ purely as lazy marketing: ride the success of the original without confusing the MMO crowd by giving it a unique name.

And it’s not just games — films, books, music, originals never needed a tacked-on “1.” Try it yourself: say your favourite classic movies, albums, or novels out loud with a “1” added, and you’ll hear how ridiculous it sounds. If you played the original, you know. If you didn’t… the original is still the original. It never needed a number.

Shadows, Silhouettes and Lights

As we wander through the years of our life there comes a time when your brain pauses. Questions slowly permeate to the surface of things never thought previously.

Existential concepts rise from their chair making their presence felt, whilst preconceptions, who had hogged the limelight for such a long time, now look nervously about before sitting down quietly.

Could it be considered an awakening? Possibly. Insecurity? Doubtful. Or is it just the veil slipping from your eyes exposing the view of the world around you, and of those moving through it - allowing a peek as to what it all means o you and the path upon which you've been blindly treading?

In my case I feel I view people more clearly now. Those of my past and those of my present. Those whom I have loved and lost, those incidentals passing through on their own trajectory as it crosses my own, and gone just as quickly. Or those who introduce themselves and settle down, whom you get to know, and over time meander to a different path, gradually fading from view. And the ones who stay.

Friday Micro-Fiction

JINK

Little Ben toddled into his parent's bedroom, sippy cup held in both hands, as he headed for his mother's side of the bed where she lay silent, eyes shut.

A slice of morning sunlight caressed the three-year-old's cherub-like cheeks as it filtered through the partially drawn curtains of the bay-fronted bedroom, illuminating tiny dust motes as they swirled with the toddler's eager padding footsteps.

Ben stopped at the bedside, gazing at his mother's pale face. He tentatively patted her hand as it lay upon the bed sheet, fingers partially curled as if holding something precious and fragile.

Raising his sippy cup, Ben carefully pressed the mouthpiece to his mother's ashen lips, as any three year old could, and said, "Mama jink," but the watered juice simply trickled from the corner of her mouth and down her cheek.

Ben didn't understand. The look of bewilderment and confusion etched into his little face crushed Ben's father's heart as he gently picked up his son hugging him tightly, tears running down his face.

"Mama's gone to heaven, Ben... no more wake up."

I leave you with the brilliant Lewis Capaldi and "Fade".

Monday, 17 November 2025

When the World Sleeps.

When the house sleeps and the streets lie still, midnight arrives like a tide, carrying memories I never outgrew. There is a strange kind of mysterious magic surrounding the midnight hour. On one hand it's the beginning of the new day, but on the other it's the dead of night.

Some regard it with superstition, others consider it the 'hour of magic', a crossroads between today and tomorrow. Although midnight wears the witching-hour badge in many old stories, the veil between midnight and 4 a.m. is often said to be thinnest, when the night is ‘up to no good.’

For me it is a place of calm and inner peace, when the rest of the household is settled and asleep. No disturbing TV noises, no traffic droning by, no dogs barking in the distance, and best of all, night's blanket of silence laid over a sleeping world.

Friday Rain, Dark and Dreary. What to do?

In the muted half-light allowed by the canvas of a grey palette, otherwise called the sky, the soft hiss of rain blown against my window vies for attention over the gurgling of running water flowing out of the downpipe from the roof guttering. Every so often an audible 'splat' of excess water hitting the garden paving stones below my window tells me one of two things: it's really chucking it down outside, or my guttering needs unblocking. I opt for a third reason - it's a combination of both.

Work at the clinic this morning was enjoyable. It's lovely to have people in for treatment who you find yourself aligning with on so many levels, and as a result, the conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated with laughter - which, during a sports massage session, when trigger pointing someone's piriformis, is no mean feat.