I have become consumed by thread, stitches and pattern. I do eat of course, and the dog still gets a walk, although he spends time watching me with yarn and sticks with an accusatory look on his face, "you know, we could like, walk and shit".
Once upon a time knitting was what every girl was taught to do by her granny, some boys got taught too. Then feminism happened and we got far too busy being 'men' to do anything as pointless as knit. It kinda died out. I must've thrown out a whole bunch of needles and patterns in my thirties assuming that I wouldn't need them anymore, cos like, I'd have a career and be far too busy.
Well, I was wrong about the career (I have a job. Sort of.) and i was wrong about the knitting too. As I'm now time rich and cash poor my plan is to knit for christmas, the logic being that if family members get a handknitted item, they will be able to overlook the cheap bit of the present because they'll be in awe of the labour involved. So, two scarfs, one everlasting shopping bag and socks later you'd think I would be getting bored. But maybe the click of needles gives me an endorphin rush, as I seem to be addicted and looking for my next pattern as I cast off the last stitch.
I think it might be the rhythm and the repetition - its sort of like a three dimensional mantra, knit purl knit purl, yarn over, knit two together, repeat until calm. If you're stressed, pick up some needles, yarn and a granny (you'll need to learn the basics) and knit your way to Zen.
]]>In some ways I kind of feel sorry for him - he might well be a caring sharing chap, but unfortunately he's the head of party that doesn't really do nice, or society, or fairness. Let me drag you back to the last time the Tories were in power? Did you get the impression that they were concerned for your welfare? Or did you feel that they might have been power crazed, selfish, money mad monsters? Even 'that nice' John Major was the one responsible for delivering our current unworkable privatised railway system.
What's the alternative I hear you say? Labour have hardly been a shining example of socialism and Gordon Brown kinda took his eye off the ball while chancellor - letting laissez faire economics run riot and clearly giving the bankers the impression that they could do what they liked (and what they liked was to screw you). The rest of the Labour team are so on message all the time that they give the impression that they are totally toothless. The Compass group don't seem set fair to rescue the programme either, bless them.
But here's the thing - when we finally get to the next general election there are only three real choices. Vote Labour again and hope that they clean up their mess and discover their balls. Vote Liberal Democrat and waste your time. Vote Tory and hope against hope that 'that nice' Mr.Cameron isn't the lying, posturing, old Etonian, died in the wool Tory that I suspect he might be.
Are you going to be a turkey voting for Christmas? If you don't have a higher than average income, a tiny mortgage, a great education set up for your kids and a private healthcare plan you shouldn't vote for David Cameron and his Conservative party.
Gobble gobble.
]]>Do you ever feel that modern life, or possibly grown-up life is lived on fast forward? I'm 47 now and 48 in a few weeks time - 50 in a couple of years. God, how did that happen. I don't care if 50 is the 'new' 40, it all seems bloody old to me. I haven't even managed to put together a proper career yet and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm running out of time. Senior jobs seem to be occupied by kids (in reality twenty-somethings) and I find myself wondering when policemen got so young.
I started a Masters degree with OU in 1997 and what with one thing and another, failed to complete it. I thought I might have another bite at the cherry and sent off for confirmation of my partial qualification, it arrived today and this is probably why I feel a bit melancholy. 1997 doesn't seem so long ago when you say it does it, but written down on a piece of paper with my name on it, I realised that 1997 was 12 years ago. More than a decade in fact. Where does the time go when its not around here?
]]>Now, we have a large mortgage and a moderate income, and we're convinced that it's right for our children to have a great education, but the next decade is still going to be tough for us financially. So what I wonder is, if you are from a lower income family without a history of further education and a justified fear of debt, are you going to consider university at all? And let's just say, for the sake of argument, that the university fees go through the roof because they need the money and it won't come from anywhere other than the students - you end up looking at the prospect of nearly 30 grands worth of debt with a decreased prospect of a job at the end. What would you do then?
The CBI (it stands for the confederation of British Industries apparently - but it seems to me that 'C' could equally well stand for 'c*nts") has proposed that the money needed to prop up the universities should all come from students by hiking the fees to astronomic heights. They're not too keen on the student loan system either.
I have an alternative plan. It goes like this. Proper progressive taxation - more revenue for the government, who then spend it on universities, just like public money gets spent on schools and colleges through (local) taxation. This way the rich folk who use further education more get to pay a fair whack and those who don't use as much (i.e the poor) don't have to pile up the personal debt.
You could also introduce a graduate tax - earn more pay more. But why fiddle with these taxation bits and bobs when thoroughgoing progressive taxation would hit the target without complications?(And there's the added bonus of losing more idiots like Phil Collins who object to paying out any of their hard-earned to the country that made their success possible)
While the (fucking) CBI are having a whinge about students, tax revenue is being lost to the government by tax benefits for private schools. Charitable status my arse. I notice that the (fucking) CBI didn't complain about that did they? I assume that they don't want their private school fees to go up?
It's about time Labour realised that playing the lame game of out-torying the tories is pointless - they're fucked at the next election anyway. So why not actually push forward some nice radical Labour policies - even if its only for the fun of watching the tories having to dismantle them.
Here's a few:
Get rid of bloody Trident and cut defense spending...
Bring home our troops abroad, cut the armed forces and retrain the soldiers. After all wars are merely groups of working men killing each other over arguments devised by the ruling classes.
Progressive and agressive taxation to promote redistribution of wealth.
Nationalise - transport and utilities obviously - but what about the banks - we kind of own them already?
Ban private schools (or at the very least get rid of their charitable status).
I won't be asked "what's for lunch" by a grown-up with two of his own hands, two legs and a plethora of qualifications (which indicate he has got a brain..)and if I want to watch TV in the middle of the afternoon, I won't have to ask permission from Mr.Lanky sprawled on the sofa (watching endless re-runs of Torchwood). Yes, I have the house to myself for the first time since May. May. MAY!
It was then that my oldest left school and started 'study leave' - which in his case was more 'thinking about study' leave, then (it seemed like a week but was in fact two) months later his baby brother joined him.
I work from home, and this is not a secret I keep with the dog, it's a household fact. That didn't stop either youth playing discordant guitar or Radiohead (often amounting to the same thing) throughout the day. It didn't mean that I could rely on another soul to walk the dog (and thereby stop said pooch from lying on the bed behind me, with sad and regretful eyes, sighing as each walk-less hour past). Cups of tea were made and welcome, but cups were never washed, washing never unloaded and dried, carpets went unhoovered and the kitchen sink became a sink-hole of unwashed dishes and scraps of food.
I love my teenagers and miss the one that gone off and left me for university (where he washes up, goes to the supermarket and cooks), but I am enjoying the sound of the fridge and the quiet of the house.
]]>Lots of stuff to be angry about - where to start?
Gordon Brown is still at the helm of an increasingly fed-up looking Labour party while David 'Love me please' Cameron is looking increasingly like our next Prime Minister. Not because he has good policies, sensible proposals or sound knowledge of the politics, economics and history of the country. No it's because he talks the talk...with a nice posh accent. Jee-suz.
The NHS v US Privatised healthcare. The Americans are stupid. We kinda knew that, but did you think that they were THAT stupid. Nope, neither did I.
Fascists in Britain. Worried about the rise of Islam in the UK? No they're not. They hate brown people and they are racists. But the press have now given them the oxygen of publicity they need to feel self-important. Ignore them and eventually they'll slink back to the their cellars.
The summer. Rubbish. Only one more barbeque than last year. Something should be done.
]]>So here are some random good things that make bad feelings recede into the middle distance.
1. Having a full tank of petrol and the feeling that if you wanted, you could just drive off where ever the hell you liked.....
2.Finding a tiny baby green tomato on your precious tomato plants
3.Ditto courgettes.
4.The sun is shining...and the weather forecasters predicted rain.
5. Nick Griffin got pelted with eggs!!!!!!!!
6. Madonna got her baby - I know we're all supposed to hate her guts because she 'swans' in, waves her magic wand and runs off with a baby - but I've watched hundreds of hours of footage of starving babies and always wanted to do exactly the same thing. Great big house, big pile of money, you would wouldn't you - and you know that the baby will be happy and healthy (until obviously it hits its teens and then no doubt it'll go all Hollywood and drug shaped, but till then, yay Madonna, two words that I never thought I'd put together in a sentence).
7. The press have stopped banging on about Gordon Brown etc, expenses, bankers, swine flu - for now. I think they feel a bit guilty about contributing to the whole BNP mess - and they should.
8. It's still sunny!!!!
9. The Guardian had its first headline worrying about inflation - weird reason to be happy I suppose but if you read between the lines its because the economy is reluctantly picking itself up after its bruising encounter with the w/bankers. Naturally the Guardian doesn't want to go all mushy and optimistic so it's whinging about inflation....but still.
10.........not sure there are ten good things to be happy about but hey, having nine good things is good enough for me!
]]>The rise of the British National Party is a huge embarrassment for the country; we like to think that we're all rather lovely and tolerant, and the existence of this piece of political excrement and their popularity with voters kinda proves that we're not!
In my own family I have occasionally come across casual racism in the past - and I've been quick to condemn it. But my in-laws are frequently guilty of the same stuff, and for family peace I'm obliged to tolerate it. But it makes me sick.
One of the things that makes me equally sick and shamed of racism etc is that, working class people - ie my class, are the most frequent perpetrators. But then perhaps it's the folk down at the bottom of the pile who like to have someone to kick?
There's no excuses for it though, and no excuses for the BNP either - we are no more overwhelmed in this country than any other in the EU and many parts of the UK rarely see black or brown faces even now: go to the working class areas of Scotland or the prosperous villages of England and try and spot anyone African or Asian. You'll struggle.
Freedom of movement around the globe is one of the marks of a civilised nation and a modern world, you can't start erecting walls the way the Israeli's have or like the one in Berlin without causing untold oppression and pain. No-one in the UK can insist that we close our doors to people who want to improve their lives - especially if the country they come from is in a mess primarily because of our historic interventions (would Pakistan be the country it is without Partition? Would India have the pockets of poverty it endures if we hadn't colonised it? And what about our role in Africa? If you want to sleep nights it's best not to consider British history abroad).
The BNP insist they are vilified and maligned - they are not, we all know that they are racists and the people who voted for them probably chose them on that basis.
At the next election, no matter how bitter you feel about the Labour government, don't decide to stay home, because your good sensible vote for the Tories, Liberals or even Labour keeps the BNP where it should be - in the trash can of history.
]]>I was talking to a chum recently about politics - she reads the Mail and can't name a single member of the cabinet, when pressed she can't come up with any Tory policies either (there's a good reason for this though - they're aren't any) but she likes David Cameron. She says things like 'don't get me started on benefit scroungers' in total seriousness and thinks that the country has never been in a worse state than it is now. She genuinely believes that we need a change of government to sort it all out. Fine, but people much stupider than her get to vote; she has degree and a good job, she actually reads a paper that sometimes reports on politics, not just on Big Brother and big tits, she is caring and when you argue your point she listens. People who are deciding the fate of your mortgage and your livelihood are not necessarily as smart, or indeed nowhere near as smart. Be afraid, be very afraid.
We were out of the country for several years: one of the reasons we left was because we had a mortgage we could barely afford - largely because of the interest rates. The last Tory government were responsible for interest rates climbing into double figures, and if you have a mortgage that is three times your income that is hard. So we voted in the 1997 election and buggered off, relieved that we no longer had to worry about all that.
The Labour party meanwhile set about fixing the country - they increased public spending, made the country prosperous, got us talking to the rest of Europe and tried to fix crime and poverty. They haven't succeeded of course because Rome wasn't built in a day and neither of these issues has any easy or voter friendly solutions: crime is probably the product of inequality, poverty is the product of capitalism. But we came home to a country that seemed a lot happier with itself - although the press seemed to be getting restless...
And then the banking system fell apart: Brown stepped up, and to more or less world-wide acclaim starting coming up with solutions - you can see the results of this fix already with a few tiny green shoots. Then came the expenses row - orchestrated by tax evaders (Telegraph owners,the Barclay brothers don't bother with tax, they live in the Channel islands and give their address as Monaco) and happily seized upon by the Tories as somehow a problem with the Labour party (although their MP's happily fleeced the country too).
The result is this - you and I are now looking at rule by a party led by an old Etonian and designed to promote the values of capitalism - welfare issues are much less of an issue than getting and spending. Well don't say I didn't warn you.
]]>Well, the newsprint press haven’t exactly helped; they seem to be intent on acting as enablers for the upcoming Tory government. The newspapers have leapt from one moral panic to another with the sort of puppy-like enthusiasm which would make one smile indulgently if it wasn’t going to lead the country straight into the hands of the Eton-lead, right-allied Tory party (or indeed the more malevolent forces of BNP and UKIP).
Stanley Cohen wrote about folk devils and moral panics in the 1970’s – the press seemed to have viewed this as a handbook in the manipulation of popular culture. The last few years have seen them lurching enthusiastically from folk devils to moral panics in a matter of weeks – knife crime, social workers, bankers, government. And in between times they scream ‘Panic’ over various different end-of-the-world scenarios (which never actually materialise) bird flu, Sars, swine flu.
If I were given to paranoia I would speculate that the largely Tory run press are running a campaign to get their government of choice back in power (they flirted with the Labour party when the Tories were so hapless that they voted for William Hague ....William Hague!), and that the current Telegraph run expenses row was a ploy to take the heat off the finance world (let’s face it, Sir Fred could’ve bankrolled the house of Commons out of his private jet fund). The Telegraph is owned by a pair of slightly odd brothers who live on their own private tax-free Channel island and whose address is given as Monaco – their motivation for releasing details of MP’s expenses (with Labour party first of course) should be viewed with suspicion...
If it’s not about conspiracy, maybe the problem is the near hysterical search for a ‘story’ and the belief that you have to compete with the products of your competitors – the Labour Party are getting the sort of treatment that Majors government enjoyed, not because that group of MP’s were any more shockingly hopeless than previous incumbents, but simply because the press were bored and fancied a change of direction, a different narrative flow as it were. And now poor old Gordon and his pals are on the receiving end of the same.
I don’t believe that all journalists are scum, heaven forbid, but I do wonder at the motivation of a group of people that can happily work for the Sun, the Mail, or dear God, the Express. I mean, don’t they ever wonder whether ceaseless stories about Maddie, Diana and Big Brother interspersed with vilifying immigrants was what their degree in English or journalism is ‘for’. The Guardian is the only paper that I can read these days and even then their blind compulsion to follow the same old tired tracks of their peers (the expenses row, swine flu) when they can ‘do’ proper investigative journalism (off shore banking and tax evasion) is a bit depressing. And don’t even get me started on the fault-blindness that they exhibit with Mr. David Cameron (he mis-used the expenses system too, and you’d think a centre left paper would be hot on his tracks....but no...)
I don’t think that the press are the source of all our problems, but with their ceaseless whining and nay-saying they come pretty close; if they have to chose between good news (the curlew is off the endangered list) or bad news (the cuckoo is on the list) they’ll always lead with the bad. This country had never been safer, cleaner, healthier or more prosperous than in the last few years, but all the press still managed to give the impression that we were afflicted with continual youth crime, ill-health, litter and poverty all the time.
Australians assume that Australia is the best bloody country on the earth – and their enthusiasm is so infectious that hundreds of British folk hike over there every year (to a county that institutionalises racism, pollutes like a bastard and is largely made up of inhospitable desert) – we have a gorgeous country that we largely protect, we agonise over whether windmills are better than wave power and our health and education systems are still the envy of most of the world (including Australians – they invariably have to consider private healthcare/education to compensate for poorly funded public versions, they don’t have maternity leave either). Perhaps, just for one week, we could try talking up the country, loving-it-up, extolling its virtues and downplaying its faults – maybe that would keep BNP et al where they should be, in the rubbish bin of history.
]]>Stephen Fry has gone on record to say that MP's being criticised by journalists for being venal is laughable and I would tend to agree. This is the ultimate case of pots calling the kettle black.
Think about it... actually think, have you met your MP? I have and I have rarely met a more hard working, modest, and well-intentioned bloke in my life. I had complained to him about a NHS issue and he took the time to meet me, speak to my doctors and intervene in the case. He votes sensibly in parliament and scuttles backwards and forwards between my hometown and London. He does the right thing. He gets an above average wage, but it's by no means excessively high (compared to, ooh, let's think about, oh yeah, bankers, footballers, barristers/ solicitors, GP's, dah-di-dah) and he has to maintain two homes with it. I assume he will be making allowance claims but let's face it, how could he do his job otherwise, have you seen the rents and house prices in London?
Most of our MP's are decent people, if the system allows them to top up their income they will do so and most will stay within the bounds of reason. Some will not. I can say this with some confidence because MP's are people and most people behave well, some do not.
If we start thinking of our MP's are largely untrustworthy people, our democracy won't work, because we will opt out and stop voting, or start voting for the wrong reasons. Our government is not corrupt - it is considered to be one of the most open in the world - take a look at Italy? It's run by a millionaire media mogul who owns most of the TV and newspapers and has a shady financial past (possibly related to the Mafia). His media outlets do not allow criticisms of Silvio so all the gaffs and idiocies that we are all too aware of, are passing the Italians by. TheUnited States is largely run by lobbyists in the pay of big business (as poor old Barack is rapidly discovering) and Spain was disfigured by a culture of brown envelopes - the current socialist government is desperately trying to undo the damage caused to their country by years of corruption.
We have become cynical about our MPs and this is not healthy. Let me be clear, I am not saying that we should become as meek and accepting as lambs, we should have a little healthy scepticism about anything we are told, and we should always make use of our critical faculties. But that is rather different from assuming that everything that our government and it's representatives say and do is bad, and that they all have their noses in the trough. If MP's wanted to get rich they wouldn't be MP's, they would have worked at Lloyds Bank.
If you watch "The thick of It" or " In the loop" by all means have a laugh, Chris Langham and Armando Iannucci are very funny writers - but they are not MP's with a special insight into government, they are comic writers .....cynical comic writers. Journalists are men and women after a story - they are not people campaigning to save you... the story and their living is their primary interest. if some good occasionally comes out of it, well and good, but if lots of bad stuff happens, well, shit, it's not their fault.
We are sleepwalking to another potentially disastrous Tory government in this country because we have become a nation of idiots: we believe the press, we watch crap "reality" TV, we want 'change'. Actually we don't want change - we have a country led by a group of people who usually have the majorities best interests at heart (honestly they do, they've just been distracted by money markets - look at your parks, schools and hospitals and try and remember what Thatcher did to them). Cameron and his shadow cabinet are old school Tories and when in power they will ensure that people like themselves will prosper and devil take the hindmost. By the way, that's you!
Read the newspapers with
]]>Flu kills thousands of people worldwide every year and it's clearly been a scourge in the past (post first World War it killed an estimated 17 million), but can I point out that after the last two panics of a similar nature, our government stockpiled tonnes of anti-virals and with proper treatment this particular outbreak will do no more than make you feel a bit peaky for a few days.
And even if the virus does mutate and we are facing a Survivors/I am Legend/apocalypse scenario, can I suggest that the press going into full PANIC mode is a less than helpful response anyway?
]]>The problem with this drug is it stops fat being absorbed by the gut, but the fat has to go somewhere, so it goes out. Quickly, without warning. In your pants. Now obviously you should eat a low fat diet while taking the drug, but in that case, why not just eat a low fat, low calorie diet and get slim that way?
The 'secret' to weight loss is to use more calories than you eat. So if you want to eat three thousand calories you had better be fell running or swimming for miles, or having sex 15 times (if you do it right). if you want to be a fat blubbery bastard (which is the technical term for the obese) - eat three thousand calories and drive to work, sit a desk, drive home, eat in front of the TV and go to bed... to sleep.
But seriously. There can't be anyone who doesn't know this by now. As a teenager I could recite the calorie content of thousands of foods, and give a rough estimate of how much exercise I would need to burn them off (half an hour on a bike going uphill to get rid of a thin slice of chocolate cake). I was only a borderline anorexic, and that was in the eighties. Teenagers must be able to give you a calorie in/calorie burn estimate for each individual mouthul in these skinny-minny obsessed times?
It's not lack of knowledge that makes people fat, it's lack of motivation, lack of resources, lack of good role models. And lack of money is a big factor surely? You only need to look at the inhabitants of NYC compared to the fat schlubs elsewhere in America to see that plenty of money and lots of hope makes it easier to be skinny -and let's face it the fat bellied, big bottomed folk you see on our streets are not likely to be bankers, CEO's and aristocrats are they? Nope. Buying good quality protein and fresh veg (from Waitrose) costs. Twenty high fat ready meals from the Basics section of Lidl is cheap, cheap, cheap.
In my Scottish families little 'village' (actually a very large and very disadvantaged council housing estate) there are two supermarkets. One is the size of my lounge, the other specializes in cheap booze, dog food and freezer products. You don't get thin on the contents of this supermarket. And quite frankly if you give up eating and drinking in this sort of place, what are you going to do for fun? Theatre? Nope. Cinema - nope, shopping? Nope. Sports? Nope. Live music? Nope. You CAN do - drugs, drink (especially Buckfast wine), chips and custard creams.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't do anything about obesity, course we should. But if anyone imagines that a pill will do it, or patronising ads on the telly, or more 'information' they're being foolish. People need to enjoy sport and healthy activities for its own sake, they need access to good food, they need normal role models of sensible weights (who are not pilloried by fatuous magazine because they have a tiny muffin top) - they need a reason to be healthy. And we are not going to get that from a pill.
]]>I think that some christians imagine that there is a new movement out there - headed up by Dawkins and Hitchens - that is somehow 'taking them on'.
Here's the thing. Atheism is simply not believing in a god - it's not about setting up an alternative or following in the footsteps of some guru or other - it's just that you don't believe in the imaginary friend. And it's not new - lots of folk must've had questions in the past (probably got burnt for it) - and its not A- theism - it's just atheism - small 'a', the default position, where we started off before we had questions that needed an easy answer. It's my hope that at some point it'll be the default position again - when we realise that a big old 'god' myth is not necessary or helpful for explaining 'stuff' and often gets in the way of human beings being fully adult.... or, in many cases, humane.
]]>Google searches, social network sites, blogs, twittering even - all of them have been gathered into the gaping maw of modern knitting - and turned into a new and (whisper it) sexy hobby. Yes, it's still about needles and yarn, but now it's also about cashmere and lingerie, socks and silk, lace and weird and wonderful new fibres.
And there's some great voices out there - tired of dull political blogs and celebrity sniping? - try Yarn Harlot - the writer is very nearly an industry now but still retains that authentic feel. Like y'know she writing to YOU and she understands you, and you could be, like, friends.
Ravelry plays with social networks and knitting - finding patterns is a piece of cake (last month saw a free pattern run like viral fire through the world of knitting - look up the February lady sweater and wonder how you can get that many hits).
The patterns themselves are exciting of course, but that's just a part of the whole appeal, you don't knit to make a cheap jumper. You do it because of the challenge of a three dimensional puzzle, the recognition of centuries of history being called up by your fingers and the sheer sensuality of wrapping those silk and wool, mohair and bamboo fibres around your fingers and creating something. It's all good.
]]>I went to a few shops and tried on many, many versions of the same blasted thing (black, plainish with 'tummy' control) and bought the only one that didn't make me sick (and handed over rather a lot of money for the dubious pleasure).
I'm 46 and not in great shape I admit (but I've got lots of great excuses - see above) but getting undressed in front of full length mirror and squeezing that too, too solid flesh into swimming costumes was way beyond my tremulous self belief. I literally wanted to cry (but didn't because it was all a bit public).
Women are pounded on all sides by images of young gorgeous models advising the old and flabby on ways to avoid the signs of aging. That's demoralising of course, but eventually you also end up with no idea of how bodies should look when they get to 40-odd. Media and celebrity are no help; Madonna has no flab but then she has no shortage of gym hours and on-call plastic surgeons either. Helen Mirren recently got papped wearing a bikini and looking super, but she is obviously a demi-goddess and not a realistic role model. You see plenty of flesh in Heat etc - lots of wobbles and what not, but young fat ain't the same as old fat. I should know. I used to rubbish the concept of cellulite, now I seem to be the living embodiment of it (if you'll excuse the inadvertent pun).
Is it too late to put in the gym hours and get that flesh toned? Would a diet help (or would that give me the skin of sadly deflating balloon) - does it matter anyway? If the spouse still seems happy with the tits and ass, and it all works (more or less, see above) should it be a problem that the rare displays of flesh on the beach and in the pool are offensive to the sensibilities of the young, toned and pretty. Should I get a big t-shirt with "my brain is still fit, so fuck off" written on it?
Oh, it's all so hard isn't it?
]]>Or consider how they demonise
women like Carr, Mathews and McCann
whereas weekly domestic violence and murder
finds the inside pages, if that, because its a man.
Brand and Ross play silly games
a couple of people complain
the Daily Mail, scenting moral panic take aim
the BBC is hobbled - where's the gain?
The editors, bored with Labour, need a story
Cameron, Eton educated, polished but dim
is pumped up and gilded for future glory
but a few years hence they'll be sick of him.
Britain is a fair country with plenty to prize
with the shaming exception of our press,
with their half truths, corruptions, fables and lies.
Anyway the toilet seat is beside the point. It seems that, like a lot of people, both men and women want to use vagina when they mean vulva. I don't know whether this is ignorance (probably), or a dislike for the name (it does sound like a Swedish car manufacturer) - but most probably it's because the vagina is seen as a the equivalent of the penis - the chap has a sticky out bit, the lady has a sticky in bit. But, though the vagina is a jolly useful organ in many ways - handy for wrapping the penis in a warm hug, jolly efficient of conveying sperm to egg and allowing some pleasant feelings for its owner, the clitoris might be a better candidate for the title of prime sexual unit in women - this is the place where the orgasms get generated after all. But there's also a good argument that the vulva is the partner to the penis for women, as the whole area is sexual - the labia, the clitoris and the vaginal orifice (not too mention the vestibule) all become plump, moist and sensitive during sexual arousal. (Next time - take a closer look)
If all this seems a bit pedantic - the practical implications of getting your nomenclature wrong are not trivial. You should know what your bits are called - whether you want your doctor to clear up that annoying itch or for your significant other to give the correct spot a rub. Another issue - and I accept this is a bit woolly - is that the vagina is a hole or space, something to be filled, the vulva is a presence with lots going on (if you care to look). Tell women that their sexuality is bound up with waiting to be filled and its all rather passive, but the vulva is just as inviting and active as the penis (though cunningly hidden).
PS. The Vagina Monologues are a laudable exercise but naturally they should be called the Vulva and Vagina monologues.
PPS And guys, just in case you think all of this is just so unimportant - imagine how you'd feel if sex was always just about having your testicles squeezed and your breasts rubbed? Dontya think that you'd want to bring folks attention to your willy?
]]>I CANT GET OUT! With my limpiness still an issue (particularly on declinations) going for a walk is not going to happen. This week saw me taking my car for an inaugural drive - but said motor is now at the bottom of a driveway which looks like it's auditioning for some part in Ski Sunday. My spouse buggered off to London for a jolly this morning and I have teenage boys to 'help' me so I suspect that the driveway will not be cleared and salted.....possibly ever. DAMN, BLAST, HECK AND BUGGER.
I am generally a bit of a homebody - knitting, cooking and jig-saws are hobbies of choice, so knocking around the house isn't usually a problem. But, as with most things, its one thing to volunteer to stay home, quite another to 'have to'. I have been prowling the house like a slightly mangey tiger with a limp - the dog hard at my heels, wondering when his walk will happen. (NB - the dog doesn't like snow but he forgets this small detail every day and still stands at the front door with a wistful expression on his face).
It's at times like these that the fridge becomes strangely attractive - twice this morning (and it's only ten) I've found myself staring at its contents without really being aware of just how I came to be there. This is how one finds oneself on the wrong side of ahem-stone without apparently over-eating. There are mini-cornish pasties in the fridge, and mini-eggs, probably all manner of mini things in fact. But add them all together and they are likely to result in a maxi-me.
I feel old today - I feel old most days to be honest. I haven't been able to eradicate the grey from my hair (due to difficulties caused by my, well, you know...), my eyebrows have gone crazy (I get them groomed in Selfridges - without lots of discipline they get totally out of control) - my body is scarred, peeling and droopy from lack of exercise, and, to add insult to injury - Madonnna has published some new photos (http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/jan/20/madonna-fashion). I know that they've been photo-shopped to death and she is 1 part Madonna to 5 parts silicon and botox, but it's not helping.
]]>But, putting aside a return to the sort of landscape we enjoyed during the Thatcher years, every cloud has a silver lining. This one has a green tinge. If tree-huggers were frightened by the speed of industrial development globally... sorted. If they wanted to take some of those pesky cars of the roads... done (Land Rover! Big fat cars with 4WD, even better). Less folk taking to the skies? Well, if redundancies materialise at the rate predicted, packing your tent into your backpack, donning a pair of sturdy boots and heading for the (suddenly overcrowded) hills is going to be much more popular than Benidorm this year. Similarly, fuel bill anxieties are going to keep people a good deal more keen to use those energy saving bulbs and TURN THAT BLOODY HEATING DOWN!
Naturally there is a teeny downside for those of an environmental ilk - if your food budget has shrunk to DSS proportions, not even cheery Jamie Oliver is going to persuade you to buy an organic free range chicken. In another couple of years, said chicken might well have better prospects for a jolly life than the whey-faced potential purchasers trooping past the meat section of the supermarket on their way to the 'reduced' and damaged section. Growers of organic celeriac and salsify might as well accept that spuds, turnips and, er, more spuds (grown with lashings of cheap chemicals) are the future.
Another silver lining? Sarah Beeny off the telly (actually nothing against her, more her smug and stupid protegees) and Anne Maurice (the bitchy but painfully accurate "House Doctor") back on. Can I just point out that the time distance travelled between Ann Maurice being on the telly, going off the telly and coming back on the telly was more or less a decade? Anyone (like Sarah and her acolytes) who thought that property was a safe bet for one's pension or income must have a. a fucking short memory and b. a sick feeling in their stomach as their buy-to-let becomes roughly equal in price to an organic, free range chicken.
]]>Now if there is one thing you know about me by now - it's that I have a low tolerance for things related to the worship of imaginary friends. As parts of the world go to 'hell' in a handcart (this weeks human disaster - Gaza and Israel), the part organised religion and religious belief plays is always significant. In this case it's the historic background to ages old hatreds rather than evangelical crusading, but do away with religion, and what have you got? Instead of a righteous battle of Jews against Islamic terrorists - you've got a big old country using its US sponsored might to terrorise an impoverished neighbour (while the world governments look on silently - shame on you).
So please if you have an axe to grind about God, do it on someone else's blog page (or at the very least do it in English so I can deconstruct your arguments)! Thank you!
]]>Apparently they like to get you off the crutches before you get reliant on them - y'know, before they become a 'crutch' (tee hee) of the emotional variety. The stick does feel altogether more wobbly and as its just a classic bit of wood, it's also a bit lo-tech - too damn tree-y by half- none of that sleek, medical, metal feel.
I have a couple of weeks to persuade my knee that bending - properly - is not optional, it's a necessity. I don't know what the 'or' is if it fails to bend, but I suspect that it will be nasty. At the end of the next two weeks I get to go back to work, so being able to stick my leg under a desk with a degree of comfort is more or less essential.
Reminding myself how to walk is pretty tricky too. My speciality had been limping for so long that a lop-sided gait comes easily. I have to keep on telling my self to bend my knee, and at the same time, try and figure out what constitutes normal walking. Virtually everything you do with your body is second nature - my right leg no longer remembers what normal is. Its only just figured out that when I give it a hard stare and twitch the toes, that means I want it to raise. In hospital I would make various constipated faces, work the musculature all the way down the leg - and it would just lie there doing NOWT. It was a bit scary, I can tell you.
The next thing will be getting around without the stick, I guess - I would like to report that this will be a blow, as I have enjoyed a degree of care and courtesy from passersby and fellow pavement users . Huh. Folk are just as likely to barge you with crutches - as without. I have been given lots of super insights into how horrid life must be for permanently disabled people - toilets, stairs, parking, shopping - all have proved to be bloody awkward. A temporary blue badge would have been ace - but my council, Bury, are tighter than a gnats chuff - blue badges are not given out temporarily (moron!!). But then my council don't provide many sort of disability aids apparently - a 5 quid leg-lifter (lifts legs, funnily enough) or a cheap as chips picker upper, dohn mattah - yo'not'gettin'it.
]]>To celebrate I bought a selection of Richard & Judy approved murder books: it's nice to curl up on a winter's day and read about gruesome slaughter isn't it? For more than a month I didn't manage to read at all - the Guardian front page and the TV guide on Sky, that was about it. I think the handfuls of codeine was, ahem, impairing my concentration a little. Once I started phasing out some of the painkillers (necessary to avoid exploding due to constipation ....something else the medics didn't warn me about!), I gently got myself back to reading-fitness with a couple of laps of "the Lord of the Rings" (I've read it so often - I almost don't have to look at the words anymore.. I can just turn the pages and think of Viggo). But now I'm back up to speed and ready to take on any gut-wrenching, blood-fest that R&J can throw at me.
I took up sock knitting to fill up the empty days - I've finished about a dozen pairs (excellent Xmas presents - lumpy hand-made sweaters with unfortunate patterns are always dodgy gifts, and even Nigella can't make edible pressies that anyone would actually want, but everyone wears socks don't they?) - I find it a daily surprise that no matter how many times I turn a heel and finish a toe its still a thrill. But then, as I have mentioned, I don't get out much....
I've just completed a set of baby socks - tiny, milky white and soooo cute that even Labrador puppies in hats wouldn't compete. Now my babies are great, galumphing teenagers with attitude, it's tricky to think of them as ever having been infants, but these tiny socks would've drowned their little newborn feet, which if I remember rightly, were about the size of my thumb. I keep on having sickly thoughts like this - I think it's because my first born is preparing to up and leave the nest this year (with unseemly enthusiasm I might add). Oh dear, oh dear ....there's going to be buckets of tears.
]]>In some ways my lack of patience is a good thing, it makes it easier to get off my arse and do the physiotherapy exercises - staying marooned on the sofa while life happens outside the front door, is not an option! But cajoling or coercing my knee to bend as per requirements is NOT FUN, it makes a terrible fuss about the slightest thing! By the evenings I feel sore, cranky and very fucking old indeed.
I have a lovely big scar down the front of my knee - about 6 inches or 16 cm - now, I never harboured any illusions about the loveliness of my legs, they have always struck me as being eminently suitable for walking, not too plump and not too veiny. Now, of course, one of them is a bit lacking on any cosmetic appeal. I realise that I am being embarrassingly shallow, but I kinda wish I had the old one back again - it was shonky for walking far much nicer to look at.
No, of course I'm not serious, I know that it will "all be worth it in the end" ! When I'm leaping tall buildings and ice-skating across the Arctic I know I'm going to look back at these few months of sofa warming with a wry smile and a nod of my head at my foolishness, but......
There is an upside. But it's a tiny one. At 46 I am youngish for this op - almost everyone that I meet at physio is a great deal older than me - the other day I was younger by about two decades! For a couple of hours a week I get to feel, comparatively, young. Small consolation, you betcha, but you takes'em where you finds'em.
]]>As she took the familiar route back to the caves she wondered about the overheard conversation. Much of it hadn’t made any sense to her but she thought she understood the reference to “coming round’. The man had to be like her - another one who had began to wake up from the drug induced trance. What didn’t seem to make any sense was the obvious sadness and regret in the voices. It was as if they cared what happened to these Termites. It didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the picture.
She made it back just as the cave people were sitting down to eat, so she slid into a seat and picked at the usual white stuff. It was as tasteless as ever and stuck in her throat, making her want to vomit. She had a drink of the ubiquitous brown drink and managed to keep the food down somehow. Her mind seethed with questions and she was determined to get Peter to talk to her.
After dinner unfortunately Castor grabbed her elbow and steered her to his tent. “What happened? Did they see you? “
Aspen saw yet another opportunity to speak to Peter slipping away and pulled away angrily from Castors grasp, “no they didn’t, do you think I’d let them?” she hissed back.
“Did you see them, did you see who it was?” she asked, Castor nodded ‘it was just a couple of matrons, luckily for you, not the police.”
Aspen sat down heavily on the bed. She held her head in her hands. What was going on?
The matrons clearly were aware of the workers waking up on occasion. They must be on the look out for signs of consciousness, so she was lucky to have escaped from them.
She was not surprised that someone who had woken up would despair after a few days of growing awareness. It was confusing, scary and lonely. She wondered whether the worker had hidden his pills and then taken them together to deliberately kill himself, or perhaps he had simply imagined that to get back to the safety and comfort of his sleepwalking life he had to take all the pills he’d missed.
But it was the exchange between the Matrons that was most mysterious. The Cavedwellers seemed to believe that the managers and matrons were the enemy, but it was them who had mourned the death of the worker. Castor had simply been keen to get away as fast as he could.
The simplistic them and us model of the world in which they lived did not fit the facts. The fear of the enemy – the managers, matrons and the police made life exciting for scavengers like Castor but in truth nobody really seemed to be very bothered by the existence of the cave dwellers.
Aspen needed to talk to someone. She needed to pin down Peter and finally get some answers.
Then on one of their trips – for more sheets, it was astonishing how many of them they got through – they unexpectedly came up against a lone worker lying on his bed in the shadows of the dormitory.
They had gone into the dormitory confidently. In all their trips into the termite world he had rarely encountered any trouble. Once or twice they had mistimed their expeditions and found themselves on the streets when they were full of workers and had had to creep back into the darkness of the alleyways until the dormitories were clear and the offices had absorbed everyone. So when Aspen and Castor came across the sleeping worker in the otherwise empty dorm they were rather taken aback and unsure what to do.
Castor immediately wanted to leave. “The police or the matrons will be along to get rid of him, to make him disappear. If we are here we will disappear too, we should go now!”
But Aspen was as curious as ever and oddly reluctant to leave. She was also wondering if this was another potential recruit to the caves. The worker might be someone who had decided to stop taking his pills and stop toeing the line.
“You go if you want to but I’m going to stay and find out what’s going on with this worker, I’ll follow you back later”. Gallantry was not a feature of cave or termite life so Castor simply nodded and took off, stopping only to heft another couple of bundles of sheets as he went.
Aspen quietly approached the sleeping workers bed. As she approached she became uncomfortably aware of a peculiar stillness and silence that seemed to almost embrace the space. There was no sound, no breathing. As she got closer she could see the workers face in the half light of the dorm; it was a Jon and his skin was pale, blueish and waxy. His eyes were half open and yet unseeing. He was dead. Gently Aspen closed his eyes and on impulse stroked his cool unyielding cheek. Then she pulled the sheet over his face.