Friday, 30 November 2007
Comments
I haven't changed the comments setting - anyone can comment, including Anonymous. I don't know why anyone should have any difficulty but, if you do, helpless apologies and email your comment for me to publish.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
I may be alone in this, but I think Ms Gibbons has behaved foolishly
Last spring, Dilly invited several small children and their mothers to come and play. One little girl was clutching her favourite doll. Someone asked its name. "Jesus" she said. The mother was embarrassed. "Sorry, I know it's wrong" she said, "but it was a Christmas present and, of course, we'd been talking about Baby Jesus for weeks, and then she had a baby doll given to her and we couldn't talk her out of it."
No one thought it was blasphemous, but they agreed that it jarred - and none of those young women is a churchgoer, though they had all been brought up in a broadly Christian tradition, if with little or no religious faith.
I think there's general agreement that the teacher who agreed to call a teddybear 'Mohammed' meant no harm, and neither insult nor blasphemy. But what sort of idiot thought it could be appropriate? She was newly in the country, new to the school - didn't it occur to her to run it past the headteacher? She's supposed to be an experienced teacher - I'm not a teacher, but I've spent enough time in schools to know the way one should think. So I'd not say "you are bad" but "you have behaved badly" - not "you have failed" but "this is not an acceptable standard". If it's not up to scratch, there's "room for improvement." And one never uses an absolute about expectations in ways of life, for one always considers the effect on a pupil whose parents may have a lifestyle about which one needs to speak tactfully. Of course, you are constantly aware of people of a different religious or cultural background from yourself, because that is polite as well as sensible and politically correct.
If there were a class teddybear at the village school, I am sure the teacher would think twice before naming it Jesus, Moses, Buddha, Shiva or any other name with a similarly strong religious connotation. And this woman is in a rather unstable Muslim country. I trust that the judiciary will realise that she is stupid (for which, of course, please read the euphemism "naïve") rather than anything else, and let her go, but when she's chucked out of the country, she may not find it that easy to get another job. I think she will need to go on a couple of training courses first.
No one thought it was blasphemous, but they agreed that it jarred - and none of those young women is a churchgoer, though they had all been brought up in a broadly Christian tradition, if with little or no religious faith.
I think there's general agreement that the teacher who agreed to call a teddybear 'Mohammed' meant no harm, and neither insult nor blasphemy. But what sort of idiot thought it could be appropriate? She was newly in the country, new to the school - didn't it occur to her to run it past the headteacher? She's supposed to be an experienced teacher - I'm not a teacher, but I've spent enough time in schools to know the way one should think. So I'd not say "you are bad" but "you have behaved badly" - not "you have failed" but "this is not an acceptable standard". If it's not up to scratch, there's "room for improvement." And one never uses an absolute about expectations in ways of life, for one always considers the effect on a pupil whose parents may have a lifestyle about which one needs to speak tactfully. Of course, you are constantly aware of people of a different religious or cultural background from yourself, because that is polite as well as sensible and politically correct.
If there were a class teddybear at the village school, I am sure the teacher would think twice before naming it Jesus, Moses, Buddha, Shiva or any other name with a similarly strong religious connotation. And this woman is in a rather unstable Muslim country. I trust that the judiciary will realise that she is stupid (for which, of course, please read the euphemism "naïve") rather than anything else, and let her go, but when she's chucked out of the country, she may not find it that easy to get another job. I think she will need to go on a couple of training courses first.
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
The cobwebs are reprieved
A committee member rang this morning to ask if the meeting could be at his house as his wife will be at work and he needs to babysit. Fine by me.
One of the committee is, in her day job, a funeral director. Today, she was discussing a funeral with a vicar (not one I know). He's a little concerned about it, partly because it will be a service conducted at the graveside rather than in the church and December weather doesn't really lend itself to open-air events, and partly because the dead man's partner is also a man. "I really want to be supportive to the bereaved chap" he said plaintively, "but I'm rather more comfortable with Adam and Eve than Adam and Steve."
Tonight's host provided wine, coffee and mince pies. Everyone had two out of three of these treats. You already know the two I chose.
One of the committee is, in her day job, a funeral director. Today, she was discussing a funeral with a vicar (not one I know). He's a little concerned about it, partly because it will be a service conducted at the graveside rather than in the church and December weather doesn't really lend itself to open-air events, and partly because the dead man's partner is also a man. "I really want to be supportive to the bereaved chap" he said plaintively, "but I'm rather more comfortable with Adam and Eve than Adam and Steve."
Tonight's host provided wine, coffee and mince pies. Everyone had two out of three of these treats. You already know the two I chose.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
Z ate early, so as not to be tempted by sweets
Now I have reports or minutes to write up from five different meetings and two more meetings to prepare for, as well as work to do. And the church quinquennial inspection report has arrived, which mentions £10,000 to be spent on repair work within 18 months or so and another £25,000 in five years. It is my job to explain this to the PCC, who are expecting to fund a benefice project next year as well.
Right. Now I'm off to get the room ready for the churchwardens' meeting. Tables, chairs, glasses and jugs of water and bowls of sweets. I have brought in the tables from the bier shed already, which was very smart of me, and there isn't coffee tonight.
I prepared for this deficit with a glass of cabernet sauvignon, am I not a sensible woman?
Update, 4 1/2 hours later
Now, am I not a daft woman? It transpired that the secretary had had to give her apologies at the last, for it is her birthday and her husband had arranged a Surprise Night Out. Would someone else take minutes, please? ... Well, I'd already noted who was present and who had sent apologies and no one else offered. The PA would type them up, added the Rector, helpfully. So I spent a page or more writing neatly, concisely and, too, precisely. Then I had to speak (I get compelled that way) and started to have to scribble odd notes.
There's a committee meeting here tomorrow night. Yesterday, I noticed a cobweb draped prettily along the drawing room ceiling. Maybe some preliminary housework would be in order.
I set out six bowls of sweets and I didn't touch a single one. I came home and drank some more wine and ate a clementine. I shall now read the paper and feel slightly lonely.
Right. Now I'm off to get the room ready for the churchwardens' meeting. Tables, chairs, glasses and jugs of water and bowls of sweets. I have brought in the tables from the bier shed already, which was very smart of me, and there isn't coffee tonight.
I prepared for this deficit with a glass of cabernet sauvignon, am I not a sensible woman?
Update, 4 1/2 hours later
Now, am I not a daft woman? It transpired that the secretary had had to give her apologies at the last, for it is her birthday and her husband had arranged a Surprise Night Out. Would someone else take minutes, please? ... Well, I'd already noted who was present and who had sent apologies and no one else offered. The PA would type them up, added the Rector, helpfully. So I spent a page or more writing neatly, concisely and, too, precisely. Then I had to speak (I get compelled that way) and started to have to scribble odd notes.
There's a committee meeting here tomorrow night. Yesterday, I noticed a cobweb draped prettily along the drawing room ceiling. Maybe some preliminary housework would be in order.
I set out six bowls of sweets and I didn't touch a single one. I came home and drank some more wine and ate a clementine. I shall now read the paper and feel slightly lonely.
Monday, 26 November 2007
Z is free, but absurdly expensive
Oh dear. Planning time for the event to come in four weeks and one day. At least I haven't done anything foolish like buying presents or writing cards, but the Carol Service preparations are under way.
In the post today I received an interesting padded envelope from the company that insures the church which, amongst other useful information, included a small phial of liquid which is meant for security-marking valuable items. It is visible under UV light, but the interesting thing to me, who did not know such a thing was possible, is that it is postcode specific. So one only needs to dot it on one's valuables and their provenance can instantly be proved - assuming the item is recovered at all, of course. But isn't it clever? I'm not sure, since it referred to 'your' - ie my - postcode, whether this is un petit cadeau for me, or whether I should dance merrily round the church, dotting it on useful items. Since the church is always unlocked, most things are put away, but the fine eagle lectern and such things are not movable, of course.
It's all meetings for the rest of the week, which is a bit of a bugger. Sometimes, I think I should have got a proper job years ago. In fact, I'm a bit late. We talked about it when I was rising 40 and decided to carry on as we were. I regretted that decision later, but by then circumstances didn't allow - whatever the status quo was, it had to stay. Anyway, I value my time too highly. I'll give it, but it's ludicrously expensive to buy.
In the post today I received an interesting padded envelope from the company that insures the church which, amongst other useful information, included a small phial of liquid which is meant for security-marking valuable items. It is visible under UV light, but the interesting thing to me, who did not know such a thing was possible, is that it is postcode specific. So one only needs to dot it on one's valuables and their provenance can instantly be proved - assuming the item is recovered at all, of course. But isn't it clever? I'm not sure, since it referred to 'your' - ie my - postcode, whether this is un petit cadeau for me, or whether I should dance merrily round the church, dotting it on useful items. Since the church is always unlocked, most things are put away, but the fine eagle lectern and such things are not movable, of course.
It's all meetings for the rest of the week, which is a bit of a bugger. Sometimes, I think I should have got a proper job years ago. In fact, I'm a bit late. We talked about it when I was rising 40 and decided to carry on as we were. I regretted that decision later, but by then circumstances didn't allow - whatever the status quo was, it had to stay. Anyway, I value my time too highly. I'll give it, but it's ludicrously expensive to buy.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Splendid!
London was nice. I walked everywhere on Friday, which was vastly pleasing. I trotted along to the National Gallery, the National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum and Sir John Soane's museum, which I'd never visited before. The Boy charmed me entirely and bought me tea. Then I met El and Phil and we had dinner in a splendid restaurant which I think is called The Chancery ... hang on, I'll look it up ... yes, here you are. We keep an eye on Top Table for the half-price offers, being frugal types. We'd been to their 'sister' restaurant, the Clerkenwell Dining Room, so thought it was worth trying, and had an excellent meal with very good service. I'd sensibly (oh lord, stop making me sensible) skipped lunch to allow for three courses.
My daughter had suggested it to a friend, and she had been the night before. Her party had to wait for half an hour to be served, so they were sat down in the bar with a free bottle of champagne. I think she will be recommending it too...
On Saturday, we went to the current exhibition at the Hayward Gallery and then walked and talked. El lent me a coat, as I was slightly underdressed for the cold. I am an obsessively light traveller as I can't bear to be cluttered. I realise that it's a reaction against the overpacking of my mother who, equally but oppositely, hated to be caught wanting something. Spare underwear and a toothbrush will do me nicely - it's a waste that I've never been a girl for the one-night stand, as I would always be quite comfortably equipped, and since I always look slightly scruffy, my next-day appearance would receive no second glance at all.
My daughter had suggested it to a friend, and she had been the night before. Her party had to wait for half an hour to be served, so they were sat down in the bar with a free bottle of champagne. I think she will be recommending it too...
On Saturday, we went to the current exhibition at the Hayward Gallery and then walked and talked. El lent me a coat, as I was slightly underdressed for the cold. I am an obsessively light traveller as I can't bear to be cluttered. I realise that it's a reaction against the overpacking of my mother who, equally but oppositely, hated to be caught wanting something. Spare underwear and a toothbrush will do me nicely - it's a waste that I've never been a girl for the one-night stand, as I would always be quite comfortably equipped, and since I always look slightly scruffy, my next-day appearance would receive no second glance at all.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
From Town to country
I'm home, darlings, having had an entirely jolly time. I'm going to bed now, though.
Thank you, E & P, for looking after me so well.
Do you know, they charmingly escorted me back to the station. And, since a bus came promptly and we were early, bought me half a pint to send me cheerily on my way.
Thank you, E & P, for looking after me so well.
Do you know, they charmingly escorted me back to the station. And, since a bus came promptly and we were early, bought me half a pint to send me cheerily on my way.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
The town celebrates
Tonight was Bungay's late-night shopping evening, with the switching-on of festive lights. Last year, Al opened just to join in with the spirit of things, but this year Dilly has been making some jewellery - just necklaces and suchlike with beads and things - and so he transformed half the shop into a showroom for her, and the Sage borrowed some turned wooden bowls from a couple of his wood club friends, and they joined in that way.
My meeting went on until 4.40. I'd forgotten how early it becomes dark, and it was. I rather long for Scottish independence, in part because then there could be a genuinely free vote in Parliament about sticking to Summer Time all year round. I found it needed a certain hardiness to brave the late afternoon traffic on a bike in the dark, although I was gratified to find myself treated with consideration, in that cars didn't pass me if the road was narrow and, once I was out of town, oncoming cars dipped their headlights.
I gave the babies tea and then their other granny and their aunt arrived, so I left them to deal with bedtime. I went into town.
There were loads of people, the Town Reeve in her robe and chain and the Mayor in his, various other people dressed up and all the shops decorated and lit. Lots of people, who were having a lovely time. There was a dance display under the Buttercross and an announcement that there would be live music on the Castle hill, where there was also a hog roast and beer tent. There were other amusements too, and shopkeepers were sending out trays of wine, mulled cider, mince pies and other goodies. It was sheer old-fashioned pleasure.
Now I must check out what's on in London - being a dull sort of fart at heart, I mean of a cultural rather than festive nature. I have a day to enjoy tomorrow - particularly because I hope to meet, at last, the Boy. I've emailed the other people who said they might be around, but haven't had replies yet, which is my fault for leaving things so late...I explain to those people who say "You're splendid, you're so spontaneous" that this is only a polite way of saying 'disorganised and unprepared'. Not too late, however, I'll be here until 8 tomorrow morning and would, with a blithe heart, ditch the best of exhibitions.
My meeting went on until 4.40. I'd forgotten how early it becomes dark, and it was. I rather long for Scottish independence, in part because then there could be a genuinely free vote in Parliament about sticking to Summer Time all year round. I found it needed a certain hardiness to brave the late afternoon traffic on a bike in the dark, although I was gratified to find myself treated with consideration, in that cars didn't pass me if the road was narrow and, once I was out of town, oncoming cars dipped their headlights.
I gave the babies tea and then their other granny and their aunt arrived, so I left them to deal with bedtime. I went into town.
There were loads of people, the Town Reeve in her robe and chain and the Mayor in his, various other people dressed up and all the shops decorated and lit. Lots of people, who were having a lovely time. There was a dance display under the Buttercross and an announcement that there would be live music on the Castle hill, where there was also a hog roast and beer tent. There were other amusements too, and shopkeepers were sending out trays of wine, mulled cider, mince pies and other goodies. It was sheer old-fashioned pleasure.
Now I must check out what's on in London - being a dull sort of fart at heart, I mean of a cultural rather than festive nature. I have a day to enjoy tomorrow - particularly because I hope to meet, at last, the Boy. I've emailed the other people who said they might be around, but haven't had replies yet, which is my fault for leaving things so late...I explain to those people who say "You're splendid, you're so spontaneous" that this is only a polite way of saying 'disorganised and unprepared'. Not too late, however, I'll be here until 8 tomorrow morning and would, with a blithe heart, ditch the best of exhibitions.
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
Functions and dysfunctions
I was double-booked again today - I'd said I'd work for Al in the morning, but then the meeting I'd expected to be in the afternoon was set for 10 am. So, being endlessly good-natured, Al agreed that we could go in early so that the main work would be done in time for me to set off for the high school.
The meeting, which was the head's performance management, was productive and finished by 12.30. It was, in the end, as well that it was a morning meeting as Dilly had asked me to babysit Pugsley (the baby, a boy) while she took Squiffany (the toddler, a girl) to her dance class. Tilly (the dog, female) did not require a babysitter.
When I arrived, Dilly was cleaning the carpet. "We've had a bit of an accident. I took his nappy off, but he hadn't quite finished." I was glad I hadn't been any earlier.
The Sage offered to mind the baby while I cycled into town. I'd only just come from there, but the rule is that I shop by bike. When I got back, half an hour later, Pugsley was spread-eagled asleep on top of the Sage. He slept until his mother arrived home.
Before the meeting, one of the governors told me that his wife had had a visit to hospital yesterday. She had suddenly felt ill and breathless at work and, realising it was an allergic reaction, drove herself (yes, not the wisest thing, but the quickest) to hospital. She was treated quickly but went into anaphylactic shock - my friend said that it was very frightening, especially when the consultant was evidently concerned. The odd thing was that she had not eaten anything she was allergic to. She'd had a banana and felt that it didn't taste right, but she might already have been affected by something else. Two other people in the office were eating nuts, but not near her.
The consultant wanted to keep her in for observation, but there were no beds. I see on the news tonight that that hospital has declared a state of emergency, because there are more casualties arriving than there are places to treat them. People were being treated in the ambulances as there were no beds, even for emergency admissions, which meant that people dialling 999 were having to wait, however ill they were. This hospital is only a few years old and was deliberately built with fewer beds than the one it replaced. Furthermore, the Primary Care Trust is closing beds in the local cottage hospitals, which means that people who do not need to be in the Norfolk & Norwich but still need nursing care can't leave and so block beds for new admissions.
Last night, I was out with friends when the Sage rang, at about 10 o'clock. "Didn't want you to worry," he said, "but I'm going round to the H's - they've a bit of a problem. I'll take your car." He arrived home at about half past midnight. The husband has a kidney or bladder (didn't ask for details, but I know he's had it for some while) problem and is very prone to infections. He'd started to pass blood and rang the doctor, and was told to come to the medical centre some 10 miles away for antibiotics. He and his wife are nearer 80 than 70, she doesn't drive and he was in no condition to. No one was available to come out. Just what has been done to our National Health Service?
The meeting, which was the head's performance management, was productive and finished by 12.30. It was, in the end, as well that it was a morning meeting as Dilly had asked me to babysit Pugsley (the baby, a boy) while she took Squiffany (the toddler, a girl) to her dance class. Tilly (the dog, female) did not require a babysitter.
When I arrived, Dilly was cleaning the carpet. "We've had a bit of an accident. I took his nappy off, but he hadn't quite finished." I was glad I hadn't been any earlier.
The Sage offered to mind the baby while I cycled into town. I'd only just come from there, but the rule is that I shop by bike. When I got back, half an hour later, Pugsley was spread-eagled asleep on top of the Sage. He slept until his mother arrived home.
Before the meeting, one of the governors told me that his wife had had a visit to hospital yesterday. She had suddenly felt ill and breathless at work and, realising it was an allergic reaction, drove herself (yes, not the wisest thing, but the quickest) to hospital. She was treated quickly but went into anaphylactic shock - my friend said that it was very frightening, especially when the consultant was evidently concerned. The odd thing was that she had not eaten anything she was allergic to. She'd had a banana and felt that it didn't taste right, but she might already have been affected by something else. Two other people in the office were eating nuts, but not near her.
The consultant wanted to keep her in for observation, but there were no beds. I see on the news tonight that that hospital has declared a state of emergency, because there are more casualties arriving than there are places to treat them. People were being treated in the ambulances as there were no beds, even for emergency admissions, which meant that people dialling 999 were having to wait, however ill they were. This hospital is only a few years old and was deliberately built with fewer beds than the one it replaced. Furthermore, the Primary Care Trust is closing beds in the local cottage hospitals, which means that people who do not need to be in the Norfolk & Norwich but still need nursing care can't leave and so block beds for new admissions.
Last night, I was out with friends when the Sage rang, at about 10 o'clock. "Didn't want you to worry," he said, "but I'm going round to the H's - they've a bit of a problem. I'll take your car." He arrived home at about half past midnight. The husband has a kidney or bladder (didn't ask for details, but I know he's had it for some while) problem and is very prone to infections. He'd started to pass blood and rang the doctor, and was told to come to the medical centre some 10 miles away for antibiotics. He and his wife are nearer 80 than 70, she doesn't drive and he was in no condition to. No one was available to come out. Just what has been done to our National Health Service?
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Hair today - but gone tomorrow?
Today's lecture was about modern art and artists - as usual, it fell to me to give the vote of thanks. I'd spent the first few minutes of the talk feeling quite anxious - what on earth was I going to say on a subject I had studied so little? However, it was an enthralling lecture with wonderful pictures, and I found I had to condense my enthusiastic reactions to fit the customary couple of minutes.
But there was one question that I had to pose - and the lecturer didn't know the answer. Check, if you please, this link, scroll down to 'Divided Self' and, if you wish, click on that to enlarge. It is a still photo from a ten-minute film of the artist, D0uglas G0rd0n, wrestling one arm with another. He has shaved one of his arms - if you saw the film without realising that, you would think it was two people fighting - maybe a man assaulting a woman and she fighting back.
So, what I want to know is - after filming, did the artist shave his other arm, or did he go around like that for months? I really need to know. He'd be a fabulous living art exhibit with arms like that, but creepy, dreadfully creepy. Quite difficult to cope with I should think, making every shop assistant, waiter, passing stranger, squeak and recoil with horror whenever they saw his hands. And the grow-back, ew, stubbly.
But there was one question that I had to pose - and the lecturer didn't know the answer. Check, if you please, this link, scroll down to 'Divided Self' and, if you wish, click on that to enlarge. It is a still photo from a ten-minute film of the artist, D0uglas G0rd0n, wrestling one arm with another. He has shaved one of his arms - if you saw the film without realising that, you would think it was two people fighting - maybe a man assaulting a woman and she fighting back.
So, what I want to know is - after filming, did the artist shave his other arm, or did he go around like that for months? I really need to know. He'd be a fabulous living art exhibit with arms like that, but creepy, dreadfully creepy. Quite difficult to cope with I should think, making every shop assistant, waiter, passing stranger, squeak and recoil with horror whenever they saw his hands. And the grow-back, ew, stubbly.
Monday, 19 November 2007
Trifling
El rang tonight, having just got back from a long weekend in Derbyshire. Apparently, there was snow - two inches of it. Gosh.
She has booked a table for Friday evening at a restaurant not far from St Pauls, so we'll meet there I should think - her office is in Mayfair and Phil's is in Islington. I get into London at half past ten in the morning, so I'm fancy-free for the day.
I babysat this evening, which was very quiet. I arrived while the children were having their nighttime beakers of milk and once they were in bed they fell asleep and didn't make another sound. I read, watched television, and fell asleep myself in the middle of Nigella. I was a bit underwhelmed by her crumbling bought cake, pouring ginger wine over it, whipping a lot of cream and dumping it on the cake, cutting up underripe passion fruits and scraping them on top and calling it a trifle that all her friends thought she had slaved for days over. They were being polite, darling. I'm sure it tasted good, but they all knew what you had done.
She has booked a table for Friday evening at a restaurant not far from St Pauls, so we'll meet there I should think - her office is in Mayfair and Phil's is in Islington. I get into London at half past ten in the morning, so I'm fancy-free for the day.
I babysat this evening, which was very quiet. I arrived while the children were having their nighttime beakers of milk and once they were in bed they fell asleep and didn't make another sound. I read, watched television, and fell asleep myself in the middle of Nigella. I was a bit underwhelmed by her crumbling bought cake, pouring ginger wine over it, whipping a lot of cream and dumping it on the cake, cutting up underripe passion fruits and scraping them on top and calling it a trifle that all her friends thought she had slaved for days over. They were being polite, darling. I'm sure it tasted good, but they all knew what you had done.
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Telephone calls
It is something that only becomes apparent as time passes, but having children is not about bringing up babies. It's about the people that they become. Now that mine are all adults, I appreciate them all the more and love who they are - what they have made themselves.
But then, we've all been lucky. Not everyone is. We had two phone calls yesterday, with bad news.
The first one was the Sage's sister, who rang to tell us that her daughter Sarah's husband had died suddenly of a heart attack. Their 5 year old son was with him when he collapsed and they have a 9 year old daughter too. Jonathan was 68, considerably older than Sarah and had not been too well for some time, largely with circulatory problems caused, they were told, by his lifetime of heavy smoking, but this was completely unexpected.
Later, the Sage rang a family friend to tell her, but the information was overshadowed by her own family problem and he didn't say anything. She was almost too upset to speak, but it seems that her son is in prison. We don't know what for, and we don't know if he's been charged, whether bail was refused or even what he's supposed to have done - the Sage said he simply couldn't ask her questions as she wasn't fit to answer them. I'll ring her in a little while, she might be able to talk to me. Although he is, in many ways, a likable young man, he has been the reason for anxiety and grief to his mother and late father since they adopted him at the age of 3. He had been badly treated and it wasn't surprising that he found it hard to trust and be trustworthy but, again, this is right out of the blue.
But then, we've all been lucky. Not everyone is. We had two phone calls yesterday, with bad news.
The first one was the Sage's sister, who rang to tell us that her daughter Sarah's husband had died suddenly of a heart attack. Their 5 year old son was with him when he collapsed and they have a 9 year old daughter too. Jonathan was 68, considerably older than Sarah and had not been too well for some time, largely with circulatory problems caused, they were told, by his lifetime of heavy smoking, but this was completely unexpected.
Later, the Sage rang a family friend to tell her, but the information was overshadowed by her own family problem and he didn't say anything. She was almost too upset to speak, but it seems that her son is in prison. We don't know what for, and we don't know if he's been charged, whether bail was refused or even what he's supposed to have done - the Sage said he simply couldn't ask her questions as she wasn't fit to answer them. I'll ring her in a little while, she might be able to talk to me. Although he is, in many ways, a likable young man, he has been the reason for anxiety and grief to his mother and late father since they adopted him at the age of 3. He had been badly treated and it wasn't surprising that he found it hard to trust and be trustworthy but, again, this is right out of the blue.
Saturday, 17 November 2007
Maybe it's because..
...I'm a Londoner!
This will surprise no one.
Thanks, lovely Orangeblossoms.
| You Belong in London |
 You belong in London, but you belong in many cities... Hong Kong, San Francisco, Sidney. You fit in almost anywhere. And London is diverse and international enough to satisfy many of your tastes. From curry to Shakespeare, London (almost) has it all! |
This will surprise no one.
Thanks, lovely Orangeblossoms.
Well played, Sharon
Our friend Jamie called round this morning, to say he has found a possible new gardener for us - someone newly retired, who has just moved here from London. Jamie was driving a car considerably smarter than we've ever seen him in. It's an 18 month old VW Passat. "Nice car?" we enquired...
His wife goes to Bingo twice a week with a friend - the two of them have been having these girls' nights out for years, and always share their winnings. A few weeks ago, she won the jackpot - £45,000. She didn't hesitate. A cheque for £22,500 was given straight to her friend.
They've never had this sort of money in their lives before, they've always lived in rented houses and have brought up their four children on something of a shoestring. Jamie's always worked hard and will always help a friend without a moment's thought. I think more of him than almost anyone I know, though I've only ever known Sharon to pass the time of day with. But isn't she lovely?
She won the mid-week jackpot. "It'd be a pang to let half the Saturday jackpot go," said Jamie ruefully. "With £100,000, we could have got a mortgage."
His wife goes to Bingo twice a week with a friend - the two of them have been having these girls' nights out for years, and always share their winnings. A few weeks ago, she won the jackpot - £45,000. She didn't hesitate. A cheque for £22,500 was given straight to her friend.
They've never had this sort of money in their lives before, they've always lived in rented houses and have brought up their four children on something of a shoestring. Jamie's always worked hard and will always help a friend without a moment's thought. I think more of him than almost anyone I know, though I've only ever known Sharon to pass the time of day with. But isn't she lovely?
She won the mid-week jackpot. "It'd be a pang to let half the Saturday jackpot go," said Jamie ruefully. "With £100,000, we could have got a mortgage."
Z would like to get her hands dirty
I went to see the newly-built Skills Centre in the next town, which will serve three local high schools and teach them 'vocational' qualifications, such as building, hairdressing, car mechanics and engineering. The pupils who opt to go there are, on the whole, the less academically able and would do one of these subjects as the equivalent of two GCSEs, as well as the core subjects of English, Maths and Science. They go one day per week and do the written part of the course at school as well as their other lessons.
It's very well designed and equipped and the pupils are mostly very keen. I rather wished I could have joined them there. I'd not be interested in the cookery (I can cook already) and hairdressing, but I'd have loved to have a go at the bricklaying, carpentry and car maintenance.
It's very well designed and equipped and the pupils are mostly very keen. I rather wished I could have joined them there. I'd not be interested in the cookery (I can cook already) and hairdressing, but I'd have loved to have a go at the bricklaying, carpentry and car maintenance.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
Z is wreathed in fir
One of my most disliked jobs of the year is making holly wreaths for Al to sell. There are some very gorgeous ones out there, which I don't make - a wire double ring, a base of fir and well-berried holly wired on is as much as I can put up with. At that, I spend a couple of hours most evenings from late November onwards working on them.
Apart from the rings and wire, the rest is pretty well free, as friends are willing to let the Sage prune their holly and conifer bushes, and we give them a wreath as thank-you. So it's a good earner for Al, but he hasn't possibly got time to make them himself. When he started the shop, in September five years ago, I declared that it was one job I would never help with, but the next year I just got on with it.
I've got going early this year with the bases and made the first eight this evening. I want to have some ready for him for late-night opening next Thursday.
Tomorrow, I'm off to the high school to the music department for the first lesson. There may be a frost, apparently, but I hope it will have gone by 8.45ish, when I wobble off on two wheels. I actually didn't mind the trip to town and back this afternoon, which is slightly worrying, as I don't want to enjoy this cycling nonsense. Pleasure won't last, surely, with winter still to come.
When we had our sort-out of the church last weekend, I banished a rather horrid (in both the modern and the Latin sense) carpet from the vestry. I've been meaning to look for a new rug, but haven't got around to it yet. Dilly offered to lend one, which she took up in their living room a while ago as the children kept tripping on it. Squiffany was taken aback. "But it's mine, I want it!" I explained how much it would help me and that it was a short-term loan and she was half-way placated. A suggestion that she should come with me to the church to put it in place, and that she could ride in the wheelbarrow settled it and she was cheerful again.
Apart from the rings and wire, the rest is pretty well free, as friends are willing to let the Sage prune their holly and conifer bushes, and we give them a wreath as thank-you. So it's a good earner for Al, but he hasn't possibly got time to make them himself. When he started the shop, in September five years ago, I declared that it was one job I would never help with, but the next year I just got on with it.
I've got going early this year with the bases and made the first eight this evening. I want to have some ready for him for late-night opening next Thursday.
Tomorrow, I'm off to the high school to the music department for the first lesson. There may be a frost, apparently, but I hope it will have gone by 8.45ish, when I wobble off on two wheels. I actually didn't mind the trip to town and back this afternoon, which is slightly worrying, as I don't want to enjoy this cycling nonsense. Pleasure won't last, surely, with winter still to come.
When we had our sort-out of the church last weekend, I banished a rather horrid (in both the modern and the Latin sense) carpet from the vestry. I've been meaning to look for a new rug, but haven't got around to it yet. Dilly offered to lend one, which she took up in their living room a while ago as the children kept tripping on it. Squiffany was taken aback. "But it's mine, I want it!" I explained how much it would help me and that it was a short-term loan and she was half-way placated. A suggestion that she should come with me to the church to put it in place, and that she could ride in the wheelbarrow settled it and she was cheerful again.
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
A weight is off in Z's mind
I was vastly encouraged yesterday, when I stepped on the bathroom scales for the first time for several years. I had received something of an unpleasant surprise when, against my protests, the doctor weighed me and I was several pounds heavier than I'd expected. Ro appropriated the scales some years ago and, since they only depressed me, I didn't miss them. But I thought I'd check - and I was about where I had thought I would be before I was forced into a position of complete embarrassment. Now, I appreciate that the doctor's scales are more likely to be accurate than mine, but that's not the point; it's that I hadn't put on, unexpectedly, the worst part of an extra half stone.
Having faffed around fluffily on Monday, I am well behind with the week's work, and I'll be out most of tomorrow. I'll catch up, of course, because I have deadlines next week and time expands most helpfully just before a deadline, usually into the early hours of the morning, but how easy life would be if one just got on with the bloody work and then went out and enjoyed oneself, rather than wasting time and feeling no satisfaction at all. I'd completely screwed things up today in any case, by saying I'd babysit in the morning and then realising I'd be out at a lecture I couldn't miss. Fortunately, by going in early with Al to set up the shop, he was able to leave at 8.30 to babysit and I waited for Tim and then left at 9.
When I arrived home in the evening, I went to see Dilly and the children and was met by Pugsley walking across the room. Until today, he hasn't managed more than a few steps without holding on to something, but now he can do corners and everything. Squiffany wanted to turn somersaults, and I put the cushions from ths sofa on the floor for her. As I put the last one down she said "Good, now we've got a rectangle." I was impressed. "Do you know the difference between a square and any other rectangle?" asked her mother. Squiffany drew shapes with her fingers to try to show the difference. I picked up another cushion. "What shape is this?" "It's a square", she said, correctly.
When her father arrived home, we told him. He wasn't surprised. I suppose I shouldn't have been either. When he was ten and his little brother was two, Al used to teach him addition and subtraction, in the greenhouse, using flowerpots.
Having faffed around fluffily on Monday, I am well behind with the week's work, and I'll be out most of tomorrow. I'll catch up, of course, because I have deadlines next week and time expands most helpfully just before a deadline, usually into the early hours of the morning, but how easy life would be if one just got on with the bloody work and then went out and enjoyed oneself, rather than wasting time and feeling no satisfaction at all. I'd completely screwed things up today in any case, by saying I'd babysit in the morning and then realising I'd be out at a lecture I couldn't miss. Fortunately, by going in early with Al to set up the shop, he was able to leave at 8.30 to babysit and I waited for Tim and then left at 9.
When I arrived home in the evening, I went to see Dilly and the children and was met by Pugsley walking across the room. Until today, he hasn't managed more than a few steps without holding on to something, but now he can do corners and everything. Squiffany wanted to turn somersaults, and I put the cushions from ths sofa on the floor for her. As I put the last one down she said "Good, now we've got a rectangle." I was impressed. "Do you know the difference between a square and any other rectangle?" asked her mother. Squiffany drew shapes with her fingers to try to show the difference. I picked up another cushion. "What shape is this?" "It's a square", she said, correctly.
When her father arrived home, we told him. He wasn't surprised. I suppose I shouldn't have been either. When he was ten and his little brother was two, Al used to teach him addition and subtraction, in the greenhouse, using flowerpots.
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
On the buses - and off again
When Ro started his new job, he intended to travel to Norwich by bus each day. There's a service every hour. Within the first couple of days, he knew he wouldn't be able to stick to it.
This morning, he left the house at 7.12, for a brisk 15-minute walk to the bus stop, which is 1 1/4 miles away. The bus will have left at 8.30 and reached the bus station in Norwich at 8.25 for him to reach his desk at 8.30.
Tonight, he'll finish around 4.30, catch the bus at 5, and get home about 6.30 - it often leaves late, though there's never an explanation.
Contrast this with the car. Leave home 7.55, be at his desk, after walking from the car park, at 8.30. Leave work at 4.30, be home, allowing for traffic, before 5.15. That's a difference of two hours per day...ten hours every week of time wasted.
He quite appreciates that the bus has to take longer, but what he can't understand is why every bus meanders through the villages, where it neither takes on nor drops off any passengers. It comes from Halesworth, and almost all people get on in Yagnub and in Poringland - all on the main road. Why, he wonders, is there not a commuter bus that goes direct?
At least, I'd said before he started, he wouldn't have the stress of driving in rush-hour traffic. But he says that the buses are cold and uncomfortable and he can't relax anyway. Yesterday, the company sent a coach, and it was quite a pleasant contrast.
It isn't even cheap. Buying a daily ticket is £4, and a season ticket would work out at £2.80. He reckons the petrol would cost £3 per day, even at over £1 per litre, which is what it costs now. At present, he's looking for someone to carshare with, but otherwise his employers will let him have a parking permit and he'll drive himself.
It seems to me that those in charge, while extolling the benefits and virtues of public transport, actually don't have much regard for the people who use it. They think that it's only for pensioners (who don't pay), children and the poor, none of whom, they think, matters. The only thing they can think of is to impose congestion charges and higher car park charges, while not addressing the actual reason people don't want to use the bus.
I have long believed that all people who are in charge of running the country should be obliged to use public transport. Not just in the major cities, where buses, trams, the underground, are the obvious ways to get around (not, I suspect, that they do), but everywhere. No chauffeur-driven car to pick them up from the railway station. No allowances made for the amount of stuff they have to carry, nor for any disabilities that do not qualify them for a disabled parking badge. We'd soon have an excellent public transport system which people would actually use.
This morning, he left the house at 7.12, for a brisk 15-minute walk to the bus stop, which is 1 1/4 miles away. The bus will have left at 8.30 and reached the bus station in Norwich at 8.25 for him to reach his desk at 8.30.
Tonight, he'll finish around 4.30, catch the bus at 5, and get home about 6.30 - it often leaves late, though there's never an explanation.
Contrast this with the car. Leave home 7.55, be at his desk, after walking from the car park, at 8.30. Leave work at 4.30, be home, allowing for traffic, before 5.15. That's a difference of two hours per day...ten hours every week of time wasted.
He quite appreciates that the bus has to take longer, but what he can't understand is why every bus meanders through the villages, where it neither takes on nor drops off any passengers. It comes from Halesworth, and almost all people get on in Yagnub and in Poringland - all on the main road. Why, he wonders, is there not a commuter bus that goes direct?
At least, I'd said before he started, he wouldn't have the stress of driving in rush-hour traffic. But he says that the buses are cold and uncomfortable and he can't relax anyway. Yesterday, the company sent a coach, and it was quite a pleasant contrast.
It isn't even cheap. Buying a daily ticket is £4, and a season ticket would work out at £2.80. He reckons the petrol would cost £3 per day, even at over £1 per litre, which is what it costs now. At present, he's looking for someone to carshare with, but otherwise his employers will let him have a parking permit and he'll drive himself.
It seems to me that those in charge, while extolling the benefits and virtues of public transport, actually don't have much regard for the people who use it. They think that it's only for pensioners (who don't pay), children and the poor, none of whom, they think, matters. The only thing they can think of is to impose congestion charges and higher car park charges, while not addressing the actual reason people don't want to use the bus.
I have long believed that all people who are in charge of running the country should be obliged to use public transport. Not just in the major cities, where buses, trams, the underground, are the obvious ways to get around (not, I suspect, that they do), but everywhere. No chauffeur-driven car to pick them up from the railway station. No allowances made for the amount of stuff they have to carry, nor for any disabilities that do not qualify them for a disabled parking badge. We'd soon have an excellent public transport system which people would actually use.
Monday, 12 November 2007
Z is a Noisy Noise
Sorry, darlings, three posts in day is absolutely too many, but bear in mind that one is simply a link and another is unreadably long, and take this as the daily doings of Z.
I learned something new this evening - and how does one learn, except by doing it? Paul the Fish calls on a Monday, and today he had oysters. It occurred to me that Ro likes oysters and the Sage likes unidentifiable roes, and neither likes what the other does, so dinner could be arranged in two easy stages. I like and eat everything, of course - albeit not much at a time, but nevertheless it has evidently caused my present problem.
Anyway, I bought half a dozen oysters for Ro, never having opened any before and not owning an oyster knife. How hard could it be?
Well, I broke the tip off my shortest thickest knife on the first oyster. After that, I realised that the hinge has to be broken before you prise, and after the second, it went quite well. I stole an oyster, and we companionably spat bits of shell out together (yes, I could have cleaned them more efficiently) as we chomped our salad...mine undressed.
We discussed the killing of the poor creatures beforehand, and Ro said that it's easier when someone else has done the deed. I think one should face up to that sort of thing, though molluscs are easier than mammals, and I hardened my heart.
In other news, turkeys fifteen miles away have bird flu. This time, they are free range so the cause may not be the lack of hygiene that there was at the Bernie Matthewman (almost) plant down the road from here, which was disgracefully not properly examined for fear of upsetting new EU members. I will get the biggest greenhouse ready for our chickens tomorrow. They were very happy in there last winter and they can settle in there, where they will be sheltered and, I hope, safe.
I learned something new this evening - and how does one learn, except by doing it? Paul the Fish calls on a Monday, and today he had oysters. It occurred to me that Ro likes oysters and the Sage likes unidentifiable roes, and neither likes what the other does, so dinner could be arranged in two easy stages. I like and eat everything, of course - albeit not much at a time, but nevertheless it has evidently caused my present problem.
Anyway, I bought half a dozen oysters for Ro, never having opened any before and not owning an oyster knife. How hard could it be?
Well, I broke the tip off my shortest thickest knife on the first oyster. After that, I realised that the hinge has to be broken before you prise, and after the second, it went quite well. I stole an oyster, and we companionably spat bits of shell out together (yes, I could have cleaned them more efficiently) as we chomped our salad...mine undressed.
We discussed the killing of the poor creatures beforehand, and Ro said that it's easier when someone else has done the deed. I think one should face up to that sort of thing, though molluscs are easier than mammals, and I hardened my heart.
In other news, turkeys fifteen miles away have bird flu. This time, they are free range so the cause may not be the lack of hygiene that there was at the Bernie Matthewman (almost) plant down the road from here, which was disgracefully not properly examined for fear of upsetting new EU members. I will get the biggest greenhouse ready for our chickens tomorrow. They were very happy in there last winter and they can settle in there, where they will be sheltered and, I hope, safe.
Words
Blue Witch is marvellous. She searches out things for our education and edification and has come up with this.
Rice is sent to people in third world countries when you play - I'm not sure how long you have to keep going to make a square meal, as it is counted in grains.
You can get up to level fifty - in theory. I couldn't.
Rice is sent to people in third world countries when you play - I'm not sure how long you have to keep going to make a square meal, as it is counted in grains.
You can get up to level fifty - in theory. I couldn't.
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