We've just come back from running Race for Life again.
This year, I ran with the big ones, while my friend's mum walked with the little ones. As it turned out no 3 ended up running with SOF and her daughter.
It was hotter then last year, and bleeding disorganised, so we didn't set off till 11.34, but...
Am very pleased to report that no 1 for the first time didn't need me to motivate her. She got round with the help of her ipod and lashings of determination. In fact she left us at the halfway point and stormed in two minutes ahead of me and no 2. Go no 1 as all my girls would say.
No 2 having been really enthusiastic last year, flaked out a bit in the heat, but she ran all but the last kilometre, and had to be bullied to the finish line. I did manage to get her to run the last bit though....
No 3 walked/jogged all of it and no 4 walked the lot.
They all did fantastically well and I am dead proud of them.
Roll of honour goes:
No 1 41 mins
Me and No 2 43 mins
No3, SOF and daughter 55 mins
No4 and friend's mum, 1hr 10 mins
Way to go girls!!!!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
All. Partied. Out.
Although my meticulous family planning has ensured that my children were born two years apart, it wasn't quite meticulous enough to ensure that the birthdays were evenly spaced throughout the year. So nos 1-3 have their birthdays within six weeks of each other (all I can say is I must have been having a lot of fun in August when I was in my thirties, but I can't quite for the life of me remember any of it now...)
So since May I have hosted a party for 12 year olds (barbecue, several 12 year olds sitting around pretending to be grown up while the others ran around like lunatics in the garden, fairly easy); one for ten year olds (party food, karoake, and much pet stroking. Apart from one drama queen child, also fairly easy); and yesterday we had the eight year olds.
Now no 3 in general is a fairly well behaved and biddable child. She has invited the same group of friends since reception, and they have also always been fairly well behaved and biddable.
Lulled into a false sense of security by the generally good behaviour at the 10/12 year old events, I forgot that 8 year olds probably need a bit more structure. Ok, actually, the real truth is I was all partied out, and far too complacent about Having Done This Before (ad nauseam, I might add).
First mistake I made was not to have organised games when they arrived. I suggested to no 3 they do some dancing in the lounge, and no 1 put Amy Winehouse on very loudly (it is a truth unviersally acknowledged that music at children's parties gets less and less appropriate for the younger ones as their older siblings grow up). By now mil had arrived, and was sitting in state in a straight backed chair we have for her as its more comfortable. I made her a cup of tea and realised, that while there was music playing very loudly, children were there none. They'd all gone mental and run in the garden.
Fair enough, I thought, then realised half of them didn't have their shoes on. Given that foxes are a bloody nuisance round here (bring back hunting, say I), my offspring are unfortunately banned from going shoeless in the garden. I instructed no 3 to tell them to put their shoes on. She came back wailing that no one would listen. I then went down and told them all to get their shoes on. After much moaning most of them complied bar two. One is the daughter of my RforL running buddie from last year, the other is the daughter of my Super Organised Friend who regularly saves my life. SOF's daughter thinks she's at home in my house, which is rather flattering, until you realise that this manifests itself into very lippy behaviour. So we had to have Words on the subject of her shoes and she and RforL friend's daughter ended up sulking on the swing seat.
No 4 (who does a fine line in telling tales) then came to inform me that three kids were on the trampoline, which is two more then there should be. I went to tell them off, and witnessed one child suddenly collapsing on the floor clutching her leg, which is precisely the reason I NEVER wanted a sodding trampoline in the first place. Said child then limped for the next HOUR, and complained that she couldn't straighten her leg. Why couldn't one of mine have injured themselves?? (Terrible the way as a parent you'd ALWAYS rather have your own child injured on your watch then someone else's...)
No 3 by now was getting grumpy that none of her friends wanted to play games, so I suggested we did the Treasure Hunt which I had scrabbled together about five minutes before all the guests arrived. I've done Treasure Hunt's before, but I have to confess this wasn't my finest hour and the clues were, well , rather crap. So the children had found the treasure in next to no time. The treasure was in the form of little boxes of smarties and prompted two children to inform me they couldn't under any circumstances have chocolate, one child that she was banned animal fat plus I knew a fourth was diabetic, so I had to watch her sugar intake. I'm sure things were simpler for my mother...
By now Pizzas had arrived, so all the children sat down to eat, and I tried to ensure that no one was too greedy, no one had too much coke (and in the case of the diabetic that she ONLY had diet coke), while checking surreptitiously on the injury and hoping against hope that it wasn't serious.
As soon as food was done and dealt with I suggested they sang karaoke, which only met with approval from half of the guests who piled down the garden again to play in the fort Spouse lovingly built the children a few years back.
At this point no 3 who is absolutely knackered (see previous post) totally lost the plot as she wanted them all to play games. I cunningly got her wayward friends back inside by dint of producing the birthday cake, but then remembered once I'd got them all to sing Happy Birthday that no 4 and one of her friends were playing upstairs. As she'd had a paddy on a previous occasion that we'd sung Happy Birthday without her, I stopped no 3 from blowing out her candles, and got her to do it again. Cue no 3 bursting into tears again, as I'd accidentally given her relighting candles so they popped back into life again anyway. One of her friends then helpfully offered to blow them out again, which caused a veritable flood. By now no 4 had come down, we sang Happy Birthday again, but no 3 refused to blow the candles out and no 4 then burst into tears because she'd missed it all, and I chucked all the flaming candles into a bowl fo water.
I hastily persuaded no 1 to organise a game of Dead Lions (only now of course you have to call it Sleepy Lions) - through which no 3 sobbed uncontrollably. This was followed by Tongue Murder (same as Murder in the Dark, but the murderer sticks out his/her tongue at people, and then they die). Most of no 3's friends hadn't played it before, so it took a while to get the instructions sorted - in fact in the first game half the victims thought they'd been murdered when they hadn't, but hey, it kept them quiet for ten minutes, so I wasn't complaining.
I took this opportunity to retreat into the kitchen and cut and wrap cake, willing it to be 6.30 so the party would be over. I can honestly say the last quarter of an hour was one of the longest of my life.
To my relief, no one was late for pick up, the three children I took home were all despatched without a murmur, limping child miraculously recovered well enough to walk through her front door, and I sat down to a large glass of wine safe in the knowledge that I don't have to do that again till next February...
So since May I have hosted a party for 12 year olds (barbecue, several 12 year olds sitting around pretending to be grown up while the others ran around like lunatics in the garden, fairly easy); one for ten year olds (party food, karoake, and much pet stroking. Apart from one drama queen child, also fairly easy); and yesterday we had the eight year olds.
Now no 3 in general is a fairly well behaved and biddable child. She has invited the same group of friends since reception, and they have also always been fairly well behaved and biddable.
Lulled into a false sense of security by the generally good behaviour at the 10/12 year old events, I forgot that 8 year olds probably need a bit more structure. Ok, actually, the real truth is I was all partied out, and far too complacent about Having Done This Before (ad nauseam, I might add).
First mistake I made was not to have organised games when they arrived. I suggested to no 3 they do some dancing in the lounge, and no 1 put Amy Winehouse on very loudly (it is a truth unviersally acknowledged that music at children's parties gets less and less appropriate for the younger ones as their older siblings grow up). By now mil had arrived, and was sitting in state in a straight backed chair we have for her as its more comfortable. I made her a cup of tea and realised, that while there was music playing very loudly, children were there none. They'd all gone mental and run in the garden.
Fair enough, I thought, then realised half of them didn't have their shoes on. Given that foxes are a bloody nuisance round here (bring back hunting, say I), my offspring are unfortunately banned from going shoeless in the garden. I instructed no 3 to tell them to put their shoes on. She came back wailing that no one would listen. I then went down and told them all to get their shoes on. After much moaning most of them complied bar two. One is the daughter of my RforL running buddie from last year, the other is the daughter of my Super Organised Friend who regularly saves my life. SOF's daughter thinks she's at home in my house, which is rather flattering, until you realise that this manifests itself into very lippy behaviour. So we had to have Words on the subject of her shoes and she and RforL friend's daughter ended up sulking on the swing seat.
No 4 (who does a fine line in telling tales) then came to inform me that three kids were on the trampoline, which is two more then there should be. I went to tell them off, and witnessed one child suddenly collapsing on the floor clutching her leg, which is precisely the reason I NEVER wanted a sodding trampoline in the first place. Said child then limped for the next HOUR, and complained that she couldn't straighten her leg. Why couldn't one of mine have injured themselves?? (Terrible the way as a parent you'd ALWAYS rather have your own child injured on your watch then someone else's...)
No 3 by now was getting grumpy that none of her friends wanted to play games, so I suggested we did the Treasure Hunt which I had scrabbled together about five minutes before all the guests arrived. I've done Treasure Hunt's before, but I have to confess this wasn't my finest hour and the clues were, well , rather crap. So the children had found the treasure in next to no time. The treasure was in the form of little boxes of smarties and prompted two children to inform me they couldn't under any circumstances have chocolate, one child that she was banned animal fat plus I knew a fourth was diabetic, so I had to watch her sugar intake. I'm sure things were simpler for my mother...
By now Pizzas had arrived, so all the children sat down to eat, and I tried to ensure that no one was too greedy, no one had too much coke (and in the case of the diabetic that she ONLY had diet coke), while checking surreptitiously on the injury and hoping against hope that it wasn't serious.
As soon as food was done and dealt with I suggested they sang karaoke, which only met with approval from half of the guests who piled down the garden again to play in the fort Spouse lovingly built the children a few years back.
At this point no 3 who is absolutely knackered (see previous post) totally lost the plot as she wanted them all to play games. I cunningly got her wayward friends back inside by dint of producing the birthday cake, but then remembered once I'd got them all to sing Happy Birthday that no 4 and one of her friends were playing upstairs. As she'd had a paddy on a previous occasion that we'd sung Happy Birthday without her, I stopped no 3 from blowing out her candles, and got her to do it again. Cue no 3 bursting into tears again, as I'd accidentally given her relighting candles so they popped back into life again anyway. One of her friends then helpfully offered to blow them out again, which caused a veritable flood. By now no 4 had come down, we sang Happy Birthday again, but no 3 refused to blow the candles out and no 4 then burst into tears because she'd missed it all, and I chucked all the flaming candles into a bowl fo water.
I hastily persuaded no 1 to organise a game of Dead Lions (only now of course you have to call it Sleepy Lions) - through which no 3 sobbed uncontrollably. This was followed by Tongue Murder (same as Murder in the Dark, but the murderer sticks out his/her tongue at people, and then they die). Most of no 3's friends hadn't played it before, so it took a while to get the instructions sorted - in fact in the first game half the victims thought they'd been murdered when they hadn't, but hey, it kept them quiet for ten minutes, so I wasn't complaining.
I took this opportunity to retreat into the kitchen and cut and wrap cake, willing it to be 6.30 so the party would be over. I can honestly say the last quarter of an hour was one of the longest of my life.
To my relief, no one was late for pick up, the three children I took home were all despatched without a murmur, limping child miraculously recovered well enough to walk through her front door, and I sat down to a large glass of wine safe in the knowledge that I don't have to do that again till next February...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
You know it's nearly the end of term when...
... You need an explosion to get everyone out of bed.
... Your six year old reverts to baby mode and needs help getting dressed.
... Your nearly eight year old suddenly wimps out on you and announces she needs a day off school
... and your ten year old loses her shoe (just one) five minutes before it's time to leave for school, at the same time as the six year old demands you find clips to put in her hair (what has happened to the ones you were wearing yesterday? You might well ask, but you'd be asking in vain...)
... you realise when you DO get to school you are nearly last in the playground for the second day running (and only the second time all year).
Roll on the holidays....
... Your six year old reverts to baby mode and needs help getting dressed.
... Your nearly eight year old suddenly wimps out on you and announces she needs a day off school
... and your ten year old loses her shoe (just one) five minutes before it's time to leave for school, at the same time as the six year old demands you find clips to put in her hair (what has happened to the ones you were wearing yesterday? You might well ask, but you'd be asking in vain...)
... you realise when you DO get to school you are nearly last in the playground for the second day running (and only the second time all year).
Roll on the holidays....
Monday, June 23, 2008
Dr Who: Turn Left
I loved this episode so much I watched it twice...
This was Russell T Davies at his sheer brilliant best. I love parallel universe/time slip/what if? kind of stories, and one of my favourite things about New Dr Who is the way they've played around with Timey Wimey stuff.
The idea that simply by turning right instead of left Donna not only changed the course of her own life, but that of the world's because she never got to meet the Doctor, so wasn't there to save him from drowning when he defeated the Racnos was fabulous. I also liked the way all the companions and people associated with the Doc kept popping off while trying to sort out all the problems that he would have solved in the alternate reality.
I also really liked the parallel with story from series one when Rose tried to save her dad and couldn't. This time around she was unable to save Donna, who's only means of reverting the fateful decision she made was to throw herself under a truck, thereby causing a traffic jam and making her other self turn left as she was supposed to.
Rose herself was something of a revelation. Maybe it's the fact we've got used to her not being around, but boy had I forgotten how good Billie Piper was. She really is an almost impossible act to follow (though against my initial reservations I think Catherine Tate has been pretty good this series, particularly when they stop her shouting) I know there's been some mocking about her speech impediment, but that aside I loved new tough Rose, and the look of pain in her face when she realised she'd come too late to save the Doctor/and Donna asked if they had had a thing going on was a reminder of the power and pathos she brought to the role. The kids are all clamouring for her to come back now, and I can't say I disagree. Shame Billie Piper is so sodding talented she presumably has lots more fish to fry. But hey if she pitches up occasionally from her parallel universe I don't care.
Am absolutely dying to see how it all pans out next and hope that the series finale doesn't end up feeling as much of an anti climax as last year, but retains the power of The Parting of the Ways (my favourite episode from Series One) and Doomsday (which made no 3 cry for weeks afterwards).
Also wondering what the Darkness is and whether I'm right that the ghosts that the Torchwood team see are in fact coming through the Rift from parallel universes (which was how I thought Rose was coming back). My guess is that she will keep appearing and disappearing but that she and the Doctor will never meet properly - or meet and not be able to touch or some such poignant thing. My money is also now on Donna making some big sacrifice to save the Doctor as she knows how important it is to keep him alive, and that Rose already knows this....
And if I've got that all wrong I don't really care anyway because that means RTD has pulled an unexpected rabbit out of the bag, which is much more fun.
Last year I ended up reading far too many spoilers, so I really really don't want to find out what happens next, if only to replicate that moment on Saturday when Donna repeated the words, BAD WOLF.
I so didn't see that coming.
This was Russell T Davies at his sheer brilliant best. I love parallel universe/time slip/what if? kind of stories, and one of my favourite things about New Dr Who is the way they've played around with Timey Wimey stuff.
The idea that simply by turning right instead of left Donna not only changed the course of her own life, but that of the world's because she never got to meet the Doctor, so wasn't there to save him from drowning when he defeated the Racnos was fabulous. I also liked the way all the companions and people associated with the Doc kept popping off while trying to sort out all the problems that he would have solved in the alternate reality.
I also really liked the parallel with story from series one when Rose tried to save her dad and couldn't. This time around she was unable to save Donna, who's only means of reverting the fateful decision she made was to throw herself under a truck, thereby causing a traffic jam and making her other self turn left as she was supposed to.
Rose herself was something of a revelation. Maybe it's the fact we've got used to her not being around, but boy had I forgotten how good Billie Piper was. She really is an almost impossible act to follow (though against my initial reservations I think Catherine Tate has been pretty good this series, particularly when they stop her shouting) I know there's been some mocking about her speech impediment, but that aside I loved new tough Rose, and the look of pain in her face when she realised she'd come too late to save the Doctor/and Donna asked if they had had a thing going on was a reminder of the power and pathos she brought to the role. The kids are all clamouring for her to come back now, and I can't say I disagree. Shame Billie Piper is so sodding talented she presumably has lots more fish to fry. But hey if she pitches up occasionally from her parallel universe I don't care.
Am absolutely dying to see how it all pans out next and hope that the series finale doesn't end up feeling as much of an anti climax as last year, but retains the power of The Parting of the Ways (my favourite episode from Series One) and Doomsday (which made no 3 cry for weeks afterwards).
Also wondering what the Darkness is and whether I'm right that the ghosts that the Torchwood team see are in fact coming through the Rift from parallel universes (which was how I thought Rose was coming back). My guess is that she will keep appearing and disappearing but that she and the Doctor will never meet properly - or meet and not be able to touch or some such poignant thing. My money is also now on Donna making some big sacrifice to save the Doctor as she knows how important it is to keep him alive, and that Rose already knows this....
And if I've got that all wrong I don't really care anyway because that means RTD has pulled an unexpected rabbit out of the bag, which is much more fun.
Last year I ended up reading far too many spoilers, so I really really don't want to find out what happens next, if only to replicate that moment on Saturday when Donna repeated the words, BAD WOLF.
I so didn't see that coming.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Time of Singing
Elizabeth Chadwick is a writing friend who like me uses rock music to inspire her writing. In her case, it inspires some rather fine writing set in the mediaeval period. I have yet to read a book of hers I haven't enjoyed, and I long to emulate her ability to write bitter/sweet tragedy. She writes fabulous heroes and wonderful love scenes - the most tender and senuous lovemaking I have ever read takes place in Shadows and Strongholds, William Marshall, hero of The Greatest Knight and the Scarlet Lion is incredibly inspiring, and Elizabeth's grail mystery book, The Daughters of the Grail (written long before The Da Vinci Code and heaps better then Labrynthe) is one reason I am excited about going on holiday to the South of France this year. We're planning to visit Mont Segur and Carcassone, home of the Cathars who were ethnically cleansed by the Catholic Church in the 13th century. Spouse has long been interested in their story, but Daughters of the Grail really pulled me in.
Elizabeth's latest book, The Time of Singing isn't coming till October, but she's just posted this rather brilliant teaser ad on You Tube, which has ensured that The Time of Singing is top of my Christmas wish list (Spouse thoughtfully provided an Elizabeth Chadwick box set last year). I'm fairly sure that the castle in the pics is Framlingham - whose history I know from a later period as the home of the Howards, the slippery Catholic Dukes of Norfolk, some of whom escaped Tudor wrath, but one or two of whom lost their heads. Elizabeth's story is set in a much earlier period, as it is the story of Hugh Bigod, First Earl of Norfolk - about whom I know very little apart from things Elizabeth's mentioned - so I am looking immensely to finding out. Elizabeth's books are now so highly regarded that at least two Phd students are studying them, which I think is the epitome of cool for a writer.
And if you read her books it's not hard to understand why...
Elizabeth's latest book, The Time of Singing isn't coming till October, but she's just posted this rather brilliant teaser ad on You Tube, which has ensured that The Time of Singing is top of my Christmas wish list (Spouse thoughtfully provided an Elizabeth Chadwick box set last year). I'm fairly sure that the castle in the pics is Framlingham - whose history I know from a later period as the home of the Howards, the slippery Catholic Dukes of Norfolk, some of whom escaped Tudor wrath, but one or two of whom lost their heads. Elizabeth's story is set in a much earlier period, as it is the story of Hugh Bigod, First Earl of Norfolk - about whom I know very little apart from things Elizabeth's mentioned - so I am looking immensely to finding out. Elizabeth's books are now so highly regarded that at least two Phd students are studying them, which I think is the epitome of cool for a writer.
And if you read her books it's not hard to understand why...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
It's summertime and the livin' is easy...
Actually it's not if you're a mum of four. I thought I hated the run up to Christmas more then the endofyearitis which is currently afflicting me, but at this precise moment I think the summer term is much much worse.
Basically work has already stopped. No one is studying very hard. The kids are all knackered. And every week there seem to be a plethora of events I have to attend.
Some of it's my fault. Last week I mistakenly offered to help on a school trip to Wisley. I have offered my services three times this year and every time there have been enough mums so I've not been needed. Trust me to draw the short straw and get the six year olds. Never. Ever. Go on a school trip with six year olds. They're not nearly as malleable as reception children and haven't learnt to behave as well as Year 2 children. Consequently the majority of the day was spent running after/shouting at small children as they legged it in different directions all round Wisley which has vast and beautiful gardens which are like a red rag to a bull to small people let off the leash.
This week I have a school open day on Thursday, next week it's Sports Day for no 4 on Monday, plus the same DAY as Race for Life no 1 has to rehearse all afternoon for Under Milk Wood and nos 2&3 have a picnic at their school. I've been asked to do face painting, but am probably going to decline. Much to her annoyance we've already missed no 4's Summer Event (when no 1 started school there was an unwritten code that the junior school put on a summer event and the infant school put on a Christmas event, now they both ... do both. Which is fun.), as it coincided with her granny's birthday and no 1&2 taking part in a cooking competition for Guides.
I am beginning to hate Guides and Brownies with a passion. Apart from my natural antipathy to women in uniform, I find the amount of paperwork both activities seem to generate, and the demands that are put upon me in order for the sprogs to take part are tedious in the extreme.
I spent most of yesterday morning fruitlessly trying to buy kit for nos1&2 to go to Camp at the weekend. You'd think they were going away for a week the amount of gear they have to bring. All clothing has to be blue, but no jeans as they are difficult to dry. Do you know how difficult it is to BUY blue trousers that don't look like they should be worn by someone who normally wears their trousers halfway down their bum? Nearly impossible in my town I'd say.
I also have to provide two groundsheets, two mats, nappy pins (you ask me), kit for them to wear if they get wet, different kit (presumably not blue) for them to wear for the disco on Saturday evening... The list is endless and I can't fulfil most of it. Plus I don't really have time to try. Argos didn't have groundsheets, nor did Millets. I couldn't find any mats, so ended up with two apparently selfinflating airbeds. Except when I got home they didn't. Inflate I mean. I also managed to rip the bag putting the sodding thing back together, but luckily when I snuck it back into Argos today they didn't notice. I tried to go for camping mats again, to discover there was only one in stock. Someone is trying to tell me something.
I was frustrated ENOUGH about all this last night, I can tell you, and then I took no 3 and her friend to Brownies. Last week I remembered at the last minute that there was a big Brownie and Guides barbecue on 4 July, was about to take the form with me, but had no money to pay for it. Never mind, I thought, I'll do it next week. Wrong. I presented the form and the wretched £3 to be told I was too late, the forms had gone off and there was no way they could fit one extra child in. No 1 has been to this great event for the last two years and the WHOLE of the district goes. I have to fess up here and say I was a tad stroppy, and have probably been struck off from Brown Owl's Christmas Card list now (slightly better then the response I got from no 4's intimidated - by me, apparently - ballet teacher last year who practically accused me of verbal assault, but that's another story), but what the hell. I DO appreciate all these people give up their time etc etc, but I wish THEY'D appreciate that I have a little bit more to occupy my brain then what is going on at Brownies in any given week...
The upshot of it is that no 3 can't go, while nos 1&2 can (as I had £6 on Thursday when they went to Guides). As that night also coincides with their end of year Drama performance I think I decided this morning I'd vote with my feet and send them to that instead, except now No1 wants to go to the barbecue and no 2 wants to go to the performance. Never a dull moment in my house I can tell you.
To make my life even more complicated then it already is, we (that is nos1,2 and I) have just joined a fledgling Ladies Cricket Team, which takes place AFTER Brownies has finished and no 1 has had her swimming lesson, which makes Tuesday evenings a bit tight. But what the hell it is enormous fun, and after the day I had yesterday it was great to vent my frustration with a cricket bat. I have only ever played cricket in the back garden with my brothers (one of whom is a pretty talented cricketer), but to my surprise last week I discovered I was reasonably ok at bowling and batting. I even got a wicket. Last night I got three (including no2 - oh dear. I don't think one should really bowl out one's daughter). The best thing about it though is, sharing an activity with the sprogs, and watching no 1 get engaged with sport in a way I have never seen before (one year at secondary school and she's already gone off it. I despair.)
However, yesterday being a bad day, I also managed to pull one of my quad muscles, so now I am limping about and hoping that it will be better by next week so I can still do Race for Life. Mind you... if I'm not, I suppose that's ONE less thing to do in June...
Basically work has already stopped. No one is studying very hard. The kids are all knackered. And every week there seem to be a plethora of events I have to attend.
Some of it's my fault. Last week I mistakenly offered to help on a school trip to Wisley. I have offered my services three times this year and every time there have been enough mums so I've not been needed. Trust me to draw the short straw and get the six year olds. Never. Ever. Go on a school trip with six year olds. They're not nearly as malleable as reception children and haven't learnt to behave as well as Year 2 children. Consequently the majority of the day was spent running after/shouting at small children as they legged it in different directions all round Wisley which has vast and beautiful gardens which are like a red rag to a bull to small people let off the leash.
This week I have a school open day on Thursday, next week it's Sports Day for no 4 on Monday, plus the same DAY as Race for Life no 1 has to rehearse all afternoon for Under Milk Wood and nos 2&3 have a picnic at their school. I've been asked to do face painting, but am probably going to decline. Much to her annoyance we've already missed no 4's Summer Event (when no 1 started school there was an unwritten code that the junior school put on a summer event and the infant school put on a Christmas event, now they both ... do both. Which is fun.), as it coincided with her granny's birthday and no 1&2 taking part in a cooking competition for Guides.
I am beginning to hate Guides and Brownies with a passion. Apart from my natural antipathy to women in uniform, I find the amount of paperwork both activities seem to generate, and the demands that are put upon me in order for the sprogs to take part are tedious in the extreme.
I spent most of yesterday morning fruitlessly trying to buy kit for nos1&2 to go to Camp at the weekend. You'd think they were going away for a week the amount of gear they have to bring. All clothing has to be blue, but no jeans as they are difficult to dry. Do you know how difficult it is to BUY blue trousers that don't look like they should be worn by someone who normally wears their trousers halfway down their bum? Nearly impossible in my town I'd say.
I also have to provide two groundsheets, two mats, nappy pins (you ask me), kit for them to wear if they get wet, different kit (presumably not blue) for them to wear for the disco on Saturday evening... The list is endless and I can't fulfil most of it. Plus I don't really have time to try. Argos didn't have groundsheets, nor did Millets. I couldn't find any mats, so ended up with two apparently selfinflating airbeds. Except when I got home they didn't. Inflate I mean. I also managed to rip the bag putting the sodding thing back together, but luckily when I snuck it back into Argos today they didn't notice. I tried to go for camping mats again, to discover there was only one in stock. Someone is trying to tell me something.
I was frustrated ENOUGH about all this last night, I can tell you, and then I took no 3 and her friend to Brownies. Last week I remembered at the last minute that there was a big Brownie and Guides barbecue on 4 July, was about to take the form with me, but had no money to pay for it. Never mind, I thought, I'll do it next week. Wrong. I presented the form and the wretched £3 to be told I was too late, the forms had gone off and there was no way they could fit one extra child in. No 1 has been to this great event for the last two years and the WHOLE of the district goes. I have to fess up here and say I was a tad stroppy, and have probably been struck off from Brown Owl's Christmas Card list now (slightly better then the response I got from no 4's intimidated - by me, apparently - ballet teacher last year who practically accused me of verbal assault, but that's another story), but what the hell. I DO appreciate all these people give up their time etc etc, but I wish THEY'D appreciate that I have a little bit more to occupy my brain then what is going on at Brownies in any given week...
The upshot of it is that no 3 can't go, while nos 1&2 can (as I had £6 on Thursday when they went to Guides). As that night also coincides with their end of year Drama performance I think I decided this morning I'd vote with my feet and send them to that instead, except now No1 wants to go to the barbecue and no 2 wants to go to the performance. Never a dull moment in my house I can tell you.
To make my life even more complicated then it already is, we (that is nos1,2 and I) have just joined a fledgling Ladies Cricket Team, which takes place AFTER Brownies has finished and no 1 has had her swimming lesson, which makes Tuesday evenings a bit tight. But what the hell it is enormous fun, and after the day I had yesterday it was great to vent my frustration with a cricket bat. I have only ever played cricket in the back garden with my brothers (one of whom is a pretty talented cricketer), but to my surprise last week I discovered I was reasonably ok at bowling and batting. I even got a wicket. Last night I got three (including no2 - oh dear. I don't think one should really bowl out one's daughter). The best thing about it though is, sharing an activity with the sprogs, and watching no 1 get engaged with sport in a way I have never seen before (one year at secondary school and she's already gone off it. I despair.)
However, yesterday being a bad day, I also managed to pull one of my quad muscles, so now I am limping about and hoping that it will be better by next week so I can still do Race for Life. Mind you... if I'm not, I suppose that's ONE less thing to do in June...
Monday, June 16, 2008
Race for Life
It's now two weeks till the girls and I do the next Race for Life. Life being what it is, though I am managing to run in the week, I've only done one run with the girls, so I fear rather more walking then running will be involved, but hey ho.
I don't want to do a hard sell on this, but... it is for charidee. And Cancer Research is an incredibly worthwhile one. I doubt that any of us have been untouched at some time or another by this dreadful disease, and the more that can be done to find a cure the better.
There are two people I think about when I do RforL, both of whom died far too young. Maybe if we can keep raising money, the people who follow on will have a better chance of survival then they did.
So... if you can spare a few pennies, the girls and I will be incredibly grateful. And if not, think of us on 29 June, and pray it isn't too hot. The first year I did it with no1 it was boiling, the event organisers ran out of water, and my friend and I were nearly demented by the end as our daughters griped the whole way round...
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/julesandgang
I don't want to do a hard sell on this, but... it is for charidee. And Cancer Research is an incredibly worthwhile one. I doubt that any of us have been untouched at some time or another by this dreadful disease, and the more that can be done to find a cure the better.
There are two people I think about when I do RforL, both of whom died far too young. Maybe if we can keep raising money, the people who follow on will have a better chance of survival then they did.
So... if you can spare a few pennies, the girls and I will be incredibly grateful. And if not, think of us on 29 June, and pray it isn't too hot. The first year I did it with no1 it was boiling, the event organisers ran out of water, and my friend and I were nearly demented by the end as our daughters griped the whole way round...
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/julesandgang
Monday, June 09, 2008
Age Banding and Children's books
A subject that is much discussed in children's editorial departments is how to get the right books to the right children at the right time. When I was at Scholastic we discussed it endlessly. Children don't learn to read in a linear fashion. You cannot say at the age of 7 all children should be reading Enid Blyton say, because child a might not have progressed beyond picture books yet, and child b might have already found Roald Dahl. (That's true of all sorts of other things - no 1 was slow to learn physical skills but she's caught up in the end).
The general consensus has always therefore been that age ranging children's books is a bad idea, because older kids who are struggling to read will be put off reading books they perceive as being for younger readers. As these are generally the readers who need the most help in finding suitable books in the first place, this can only be a bad thing.
This could be all about to change as there is a move afoot to age range children's books. With my commercial hat on I can understand the thinking behind this move. With the growth of supermarkets as an outlet for books, new markets are opening up, and books are being bought by non traditional bookbuyers. There is a shocking statistic that less then 10% of the population actually go into/use traditional bookshops. Many feel intimidated by them, and the supermarkets have allowed them access to books in a way that was previously lacking. This in my view is a very good thing (and as one who's made most of my sales on Pastures New via the supermarkets I'm not complaining).
One of the downsides of the new markets is that alot of the punters come in not having a clue what is a suitable book for little Johnny aged 6 or little Jane aged 10. In a normal bookshop, the books are shelved according to age/suitablity, and there will usually (certainly in decent bookshops) be someone knowledgeable on hand to give you helpful advice. But if you aren't a regular bookbuyer, and buy your books in Asda, that particular option is closed to you. Age ranging books is the solution the industry has provided for the reality of the new world we are living in.
Undoubtedly this WILL give grannies and aunties and uncles who haven't a clue a much much better idea of what to buy little Johnny and little Jane and may well pull in more sales,
But...
And this is a big big but, it is going to do nothing at all to encourage kids to read. We are currently in the National Year of Reading. A laudable enterprise to get more kids reading. I don't think it, or age banding books is going to make one iota of difference to getting kids reading books. In fact I think the age banding is going to be positively detrimental.
As well as angsting about age ranging on books, children's editorial teams are always searching for the Holy Grail, namely books that boys will buy.
I am a mum of four girls, all of whom luckily are good readers. But I know plenty of friends with boys who don't/can't read. They are poorly poorly served by my industry. Partly it's the lack of men in it - publishing doesn't pay very well. Children's publishing pays even less. If you are an ambitious male you aren't going to hang around long. There aren't that many men in publishing in the first place, let alone on the children's side. I think this doesn't help in the search for books that boys will enjoy.
From what I have observed in the last eight years since my oldest daughter started school, the educational system doesn't help either. There are far too few male teachers in primary schools, and however well meaning and dedicated the female ones are, from what I have seen they fail to understand often that boys don't want to sit around reading a book, when they could be out climbing trees, kicking a football etc. So very often it is boys who are failing to progress through the education system and who fall badly behind with their reading. And what does my industry have to offer them? Not a great deal. I have a good friend whose son struggled through the primary school system. He's a bright lad but not hugely good at academic stuff - when he was eight or nine years old, he was still coming home with books about Floppy the Bunny. Kill Floppy the Bunny, became his mother's motif for a while.
Boys like him, are not going to be enticed to read a book which is their reading level, but has a big number on it proclaiming it to be suitable for a child two years younger then they are.
I still edit children's books for an educational company, and am currently working on a series for reluctant readers. It's edgy, contemporary, and I hope will give weaker readers something to get their teeth into , which is actually relevant to them. I would absolutely hate to see them age ranged as I think it would be patronising beyond belief to kids who need to be encouraged not discouraged.
During my time at Scholastic I was privileged to run the Point Horror list, which at the time was the top selling list for teenagers, although it was read by kids as young as 8/9 and as old as 14 - hence my point about the wide ranging nature of children's reading abilities. We sold over 7 million copies of Point Horror in my time at Scholastic across 50 or so titles. I regularly got letters which began, I never liked reading till I found Point Horror. For a while there, I genuinely felt we were making a difference. But, I quickly discovered when I went into schools, there were kids for whom even a Point Horror was too difficult. I always wanted to edit them down and present a version that a reluctant reader could have picked up with pride, but it was hard to know how to present it without them feeling they were being patronised. Plus, the feedback I always got from our sales department was that the reluctant reader market was too small and not worth the candle.
I firmly believe it is worth the candle. There are kids out there who are leaving school at eleven unable to read. They come out of the school system at 16 already disenfranchised and disadavantaged. To break that cycle we need desperately to get them while they are young, and provide them with reading material which is relevant and fun. I don't think they should all be reading Dostoevsky (we don't after all expect all our children to be David Beckham), but they do need to be literate to cope with the real world.
And that's why I'm against age ranging. While it may help parents find suitable books, their children will reject them if they perceive they are being given a book too young for them. Instead, I suggest, this age ranging experiement is linked simply to supermarkets, and doesn't become generic. Or, the supermarkets themselves need to work a bit harder at employing people on the shopfloor who actually understand books, and can offer proper advice, so that the right books do get to the right children.
This issue is being hotly debated right now by a number of writers, librarians, teachers at al, and they've launched a protest/petition which you can find out about here. I urge you to do so, because, though I can see the reasons why age ranging is being suggested, in my view it's going to do more harm ultimately then good. Which would be a great pity.
http://www.notoagebanding.org,
The general consensus has always therefore been that age ranging children's books is a bad idea, because older kids who are struggling to read will be put off reading books they perceive as being for younger readers. As these are generally the readers who need the most help in finding suitable books in the first place, this can only be a bad thing.
This could be all about to change as there is a move afoot to age range children's books. With my commercial hat on I can understand the thinking behind this move. With the growth of supermarkets as an outlet for books, new markets are opening up, and books are being bought by non traditional bookbuyers. There is a shocking statistic that less then 10% of the population actually go into/use traditional bookshops. Many feel intimidated by them, and the supermarkets have allowed them access to books in a way that was previously lacking. This in my view is a very good thing (and as one who's made most of my sales on Pastures New via the supermarkets I'm not complaining).
One of the downsides of the new markets is that alot of the punters come in not having a clue what is a suitable book for little Johnny aged 6 or little Jane aged 10. In a normal bookshop, the books are shelved according to age/suitablity, and there will usually (certainly in decent bookshops) be someone knowledgeable on hand to give you helpful advice. But if you aren't a regular bookbuyer, and buy your books in Asda, that particular option is closed to you. Age ranging books is the solution the industry has provided for the reality of the new world we are living in.
Undoubtedly this WILL give grannies and aunties and uncles who haven't a clue a much much better idea of what to buy little Johnny and little Jane and may well pull in more sales,
But...
And this is a big big but, it is going to do nothing at all to encourage kids to read. We are currently in the National Year of Reading. A laudable enterprise to get more kids reading. I don't think it, or age banding books is going to make one iota of difference to getting kids reading books. In fact I think the age banding is going to be positively detrimental.
As well as angsting about age ranging on books, children's editorial teams are always searching for the Holy Grail, namely books that boys will buy.
I am a mum of four girls, all of whom luckily are good readers. But I know plenty of friends with boys who don't/can't read. They are poorly poorly served by my industry. Partly it's the lack of men in it - publishing doesn't pay very well. Children's publishing pays even less. If you are an ambitious male you aren't going to hang around long. There aren't that many men in publishing in the first place, let alone on the children's side. I think this doesn't help in the search for books that boys will enjoy.
From what I have observed in the last eight years since my oldest daughter started school, the educational system doesn't help either. There are far too few male teachers in primary schools, and however well meaning and dedicated the female ones are, from what I have seen they fail to understand often that boys don't want to sit around reading a book, when they could be out climbing trees, kicking a football etc. So very often it is boys who are failing to progress through the education system and who fall badly behind with their reading. And what does my industry have to offer them? Not a great deal. I have a good friend whose son struggled through the primary school system. He's a bright lad but not hugely good at academic stuff - when he was eight or nine years old, he was still coming home with books about Floppy the Bunny. Kill Floppy the Bunny, became his mother's motif for a while.
Boys like him, are not going to be enticed to read a book which is their reading level, but has a big number on it proclaiming it to be suitable for a child two years younger then they are.
I still edit children's books for an educational company, and am currently working on a series for reluctant readers. It's edgy, contemporary, and I hope will give weaker readers something to get their teeth into , which is actually relevant to them. I would absolutely hate to see them age ranged as I think it would be patronising beyond belief to kids who need to be encouraged not discouraged.
During my time at Scholastic I was privileged to run the Point Horror list, which at the time was the top selling list for teenagers, although it was read by kids as young as 8/9 and as old as 14 - hence my point about the wide ranging nature of children's reading abilities. We sold over 7 million copies of Point Horror in my time at Scholastic across 50 or so titles. I regularly got letters which began, I never liked reading till I found Point Horror. For a while there, I genuinely felt we were making a difference. But, I quickly discovered when I went into schools, there were kids for whom even a Point Horror was too difficult. I always wanted to edit them down and present a version that a reluctant reader could have picked up with pride, but it was hard to know how to present it without them feeling they were being patronised. Plus, the feedback I always got from our sales department was that the reluctant reader market was too small and not worth the candle.
I firmly believe it is worth the candle. There are kids out there who are leaving school at eleven unable to read. They come out of the school system at 16 already disenfranchised and disadavantaged. To break that cycle we need desperately to get them while they are young, and provide them with reading material which is relevant and fun. I don't think they should all be reading Dostoevsky (we don't after all expect all our children to be David Beckham), but they do need to be literate to cope with the real world.
And that's why I'm against age ranging. While it may help parents find suitable books, their children will reject them if they perceive they are being given a book too young for them. Instead, I suggest, this age ranging experiement is linked simply to supermarkets, and doesn't become generic. Or, the supermarkets themselves need to work a bit harder at employing people on the shopfloor who actually understand books, and can offer proper advice, so that the right books do get to the right children.
This issue is being hotly debated right now by a number of writers, librarians, teachers at al, and they've launched a protest/petition which you can find out about here. I urge you to do so, because, though I can see the reasons why age ranging is being suggested, in my view it's going to do more harm ultimately then good. Which would be a great pity.
http://www.notoagebanding.org,
Dr Who: The Forest of the Dead
This is a quickie as much else to do...
But I thought this was great. I was genuinely spooked by Donna getting stuck in the virtual world, and spent half the episode not knowing whether Dr Moon was a benevolent presence or not. Even by the end when I know he was an antivirus programme, I thought not, really. There was something a bit too creepy about him... I loved Donna getting suspicious and then being sucked back into it too. AND, the fact that she met and lost the love her life in the blink of her eye. And the business with the kids was heartbreaking.
As for Alex Kingston. Oooh she was awesome. She punched the Doctor! She tied him up! She sacrificed herself for him... Am rather hoping he will come up with a better solution to saving her then bunging her in a virtual reality world though. I don't think that's my idea of heaven.
I did think they woefully underused Steve Pemberton though. He could/should have been creepy. But I loved Miss Evangelista's mixed up face, and I liked Cal having a tantrum and nearly destroying everything, and I particularly loved the Doctor/Donna exchange How are you? Alright. What, is alright Time Lord Speak for not being alright? How are you? Alright.
Kids were all on the edge of their seats, no 3 was thoroughly confused by the end, and no 1 admitted for the first time ever she'd gone to sleep with the lights on after an episode of Dr Who.
I thought it was fantastic.
Roll on Stephen Moffat's tenure at the helm of the franchise. I think we might all be doing quite a lot more hiding behind the sofa....
But I thought this was great. I was genuinely spooked by Donna getting stuck in the virtual world, and spent half the episode not knowing whether Dr Moon was a benevolent presence or not. Even by the end when I know he was an antivirus programme, I thought not, really. There was something a bit too creepy about him... I loved Donna getting suspicious and then being sucked back into it too. AND, the fact that she met and lost the love her life in the blink of her eye. And the business with the kids was heartbreaking.
As for Alex Kingston. Oooh she was awesome. She punched the Doctor! She tied him up! She sacrificed herself for him... Am rather hoping he will come up with a better solution to saving her then bunging her in a virtual reality world though. I don't think that's my idea of heaven.
I did think they woefully underused Steve Pemberton though. He could/should have been creepy. But I loved Miss Evangelista's mixed up face, and I liked Cal having a tantrum and nearly destroying everything, and I particularly loved the Doctor/Donna exchange How are you? Alright. What, is alright Time Lord Speak for not being alright? How are you? Alright.
Kids were all on the edge of their seats, no 3 was thoroughly confused by the end, and no 1 admitted for the first time ever she'd gone to sleep with the lights on after an episode of Dr Who.
I thought it was fantastic.
Roll on Stephen Moffat's tenure at the helm of the franchise. I think we might all be doing quite a lot more hiding behind the sofa....
Friday, June 06, 2008
Ooh another inspirational song...
Which really really should have gone in the spring time list, but due to a slight aberration of my brain cells it slipped my mind. Can't think why as I've been listening to it endlessly thanks to Radio 2...
Anyway. Here's another singer who I'd dismissed as a 70s no hoper. It's all those terrible shirts, which apparently, so he now says were a joke that went badly wrong...
And. I've talked before about songs inspiring me, catching my emotions, but this one suddenly ripped right through to the heart of a character who wasn't even going to have much of a role originally. Then I heard this and thought, WOW... that's who Noel is.
If I tell you I've also been watching It's A Wonderful Life, you might guess where I'm headed with this.
So hear for your delectation and delight is Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond. I don't think you have to be religious to get it. And as a bonus as this is from Jonathan Ross you also get Love on the Rocks, which I thought was really naff as a teenager. Which just goes to show you need to grow up sometimes to understand some things...
Anyway. Here's another singer who I'd dismissed as a 70s no hoper. It's all those terrible shirts, which apparently, so he now says were a joke that went badly wrong...
And. I've talked before about songs inspiring me, catching my emotions, but this one suddenly ripped right through to the heart of a character who wasn't even going to have much of a role originally. Then I heard this and thought, WOW... that's who Noel is.
If I tell you I've also been watching It's A Wonderful Life, you might guess where I'm headed with this.
So hear for your delectation and delight is Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond. I don't think you have to be religious to get it. And as a bonus as this is from Jonathan Ross you also get Love on the Rocks, which I thought was really naff as a teenager. Which just goes to show you need to grow up sometimes to understand some things...
With a skip, a jump and a hop...
When I was a child, my mother would never let us have pets. I always thought this was most unfair. Until now...
We have acquired a pet. Two to be precise, a bunny called Dandelion and a guinea pig called Marmite. This despite dire warnings from my Super Organised Friend who suffered for years as sole carer to pets while her offspring wandered by regardless.
Well all I can say it wasn't MY idea...
We have had a pet before - a hamster called Georgie who we inherited from the nanny and who went to Hamster Heaven quite some time ago now. I was quite fond of Georgie, who wasn't too much trouble, (until the end of his days, when he got grumpy and bit me) but I was quite content not having another pet. Spouse, however, made the fatal mistake of promising replacement.
No 1 would like a cat. So would I. Far less work. Spouse isn't keen on cats.
Nos2&4 would love a dog. I am terrified of them. I've learned to control my phobia over time, but it remains nonetheless, and the thought of being alone in the house with a canine is more then I can bear to contemplate, even if I've known it from a puppy.
No 3 is semi keen on a pet, but not sure quite what.
So we've ended up with Dandelion and Marmite.
I hate them already.
Don't get me wrong. They're cute. Dandelion has a sweet way of rubbing his nose with his paws, Marmite on first discovering the ramp that went down into the run was charmingly skittish.
It's just... the MESS they make.
I was nearly demented on Sunday when the sprogs (who are over the moon and spent the whole day in and out of the run) were tramping straw and god knows what else over the house. But that was nothing to my maniacal behaviour last night when it came to cleaning the hoppers out.
We'd had one go on Monday, but since then it's rained really heavily, so despite my clever wheeze of lining the roof of the run with black plastic, they seem to have spent two days pooing in their bedroom. Which was nice.
So yesterday it was clean up time.
The children have all assured me solemnly they'll help. But it isn't quite as easy as I thought.
For starters, we're currently having to keep the animals on the patio as they're too young yet to eat grass. Apparently the rabbit could get a very bad tummy bug, and SOF tells me this is to be avoided at all costs...
The patio also contains: a large swing seat, a huge wooden table, and an even bigger paddling pool (of course the minute we got it out the sun disappeared), and now a hutch which Spouse has cunningly attached to the pen he made, together with a little ramp the hoppity things can skip and jump down.
The hoppity things seem to think there is nothing more fun then bringing all the straw/hay from the hutch down into the run, where it can get stuck in the chicken wire which protects them from foxes (they also have to have to be covered up at night otherwise we might find dead bunny in the morning - apparently seeing a fox can induce a heart attack, and the chances of that happening in our garden are 100% likely. Bring back hunting say I.)
In order to clean out the bottom area we encourage the hoppers back into the hutch, lift the whole thing up, shake as much hay off the bottom as possible and then move it all to one side, so we can sweep the rubbish off the side of the patio into newspaper. So far so good...
Last night Spouse got as far as the first bit before taking nos1&2 off to guides, while nos 3, 4 and I were left to do everything else.
Underneath the hutch is a tray which catches all the straw, bedding and crap. In theory, this makes for easy cleaning. You simply remove the tray, tip it out, clean it and put it back. Which would be a piece of piss if we had the run separate from the hutch, as we could put the animals in that while we clean out the rest of it.
Unfortunately, thanks to a piece of fiendishly brilliant, but rather impractical, engineering/carpentry on Spouse's part, it's all one thing. So while I was pulling out the tray, no 4 was holding up the ramp to stop the animals getting back in the hutch, as there is a neat guinea pig sized gap at the bottom once the tray's removed.
On top of that the tray itself is long and wide, and I was now working in an area of about one square inch, trying to stop no 3, who helpfully kept offering me hay from wandering into all the crap and straw in her flip flops. (Why is it only me who seems to get that this is all rather unhygienic?)
In the meantime, no 4 managed to drop the ramp on the animals who nearly jumped out of the pen. Then she couldn't hold it up anymore, so they both escaped into the hutch. No 3 being more antsy round animals then her sister, stood dancing about saying, I can't get them, while I was stuck to my armpits in poo and couldn't reach them either without letting go off the huge parcel of crap I was rolling, so no 4 came marching round, straight through my huge parcel, and all was merry mayhem.
I was screaming like a banshee throughout most of this, I believe my six year old was probably heard by the neighbours to say This is shit (she was not wrong) on more then one occasion, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the language I let fly.
By the time we were done it was half past eight, way past their bedtime, and I then had the fun of dumping everything in the incredibly full compost bins (Spouse had just mowed the lawn), which were now buzzing with flies, to make my cup of happiness complete.
When the others arrived home I was frazzled beyond belief and cursing the day we'd bought the wretched animals. We've only had them a week, god knows how I'm going to feel in a year's time.
On the upside, I do have now a rich seam to mine for book 3, although I'm not quite sure its worth it...
Rabbit pie, anyone?
We have acquired a pet. Two to be precise, a bunny called Dandelion and a guinea pig called Marmite. This despite dire warnings from my Super Organised Friend who suffered for years as sole carer to pets while her offspring wandered by regardless.
Well all I can say it wasn't MY idea...
We have had a pet before - a hamster called Georgie who we inherited from the nanny and who went to Hamster Heaven quite some time ago now. I was quite fond of Georgie, who wasn't too much trouble, (until the end of his days, when he got grumpy and bit me) but I was quite content not having another pet. Spouse, however, made the fatal mistake of promising replacement.
No 1 would like a cat. So would I. Far less work. Spouse isn't keen on cats.
Nos2&4 would love a dog. I am terrified of them. I've learned to control my phobia over time, but it remains nonetheless, and the thought of being alone in the house with a canine is more then I can bear to contemplate, even if I've known it from a puppy.
No 3 is semi keen on a pet, but not sure quite what.
So we've ended up with Dandelion and Marmite.
I hate them already.
Don't get me wrong. They're cute. Dandelion has a sweet way of rubbing his nose with his paws, Marmite on first discovering the ramp that went down into the run was charmingly skittish.
It's just... the MESS they make.
I was nearly demented on Sunday when the sprogs (who are over the moon and spent the whole day in and out of the run) were tramping straw and god knows what else over the house. But that was nothing to my maniacal behaviour last night when it came to cleaning the hoppers out.
We'd had one go on Monday, but since then it's rained really heavily, so despite my clever wheeze of lining the roof of the run with black plastic, they seem to have spent two days pooing in their bedroom. Which was nice.
So yesterday it was clean up time.
The children have all assured me solemnly they'll help. But it isn't quite as easy as I thought.
For starters, we're currently having to keep the animals on the patio as they're too young yet to eat grass. Apparently the rabbit could get a very bad tummy bug, and SOF tells me this is to be avoided at all costs...
The patio also contains: a large swing seat, a huge wooden table, and an even bigger paddling pool (of course the minute we got it out the sun disappeared), and now a hutch which Spouse has cunningly attached to the pen he made, together with a little ramp the hoppity things can skip and jump down.
The hoppity things seem to think there is nothing more fun then bringing all the straw/hay from the hutch down into the run, where it can get stuck in the chicken wire which protects them from foxes (they also have to have to be covered up at night otherwise we might find dead bunny in the morning - apparently seeing a fox can induce a heart attack, and the chances of that happening in our garden are 100% likely. Bring back hunting say I.)
In order to clean out the bottom area we encourage the hoppers back into the hutch, lift the whole thing up, shake as much hay off the bottom as possible and then move it all to one side, so we can sweep the rubbish off the side of the patio into newspaper. So far so good...
Last night Spouse got as far as the first bit before taking nos1&2 off to guides, while nos 3, 4 and I were left to do everything else.
Underneath the hutch is a tray which catches all the straw, bedding and crap. In theory, this makes for easy cleaning. You simply remove the tray, tip it out, clean it and put it back. Which would be a piece of piss if we had the run separate from the hutch, as we could put the animals in that while we clean out the rest of it.
Unfortunately, thanks to a piece of fiendishly brilliant, but rather impractical, engineering/carpentry on Spouse's part, it's all one thing. So while I was pulling out the tray, no 4 was holding up the ramp to stop the animals getting back in the hutch, as there is a neat guinea pig sized gap at the bottom once the tray's removed.
On top of that the tray itself is long and wide, and I was now working in an area of about one square inch, trying to stop no 3, who helpfully kept offering me hay from wandering into all the crap and straw in her flip flops. (Why is it only me who seems to get that this is all rather unhygienic?)
In the meantime, no 4 managed to drop the ramp on the animals who nearly jumped out of the pen. Then she couldn't hold it up anymore, so they both escaped into the hutch. No 3 being more antsy round animals then her sister, stood dancing about saying, I can't get them, while I was stuck to my armpits in poo and couldn't reach them either without letting go off the huge parcel of crap I was rolling, so no 4 came marching round, straight through my huge parcel, and all was merry mayhem.
I was screaming like a banshee throughout most of this, I believe my six year old was probably heard by the neighbours to say This is shit (she was not wrong) on more then one occasion, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the language I let fly.
By the time we were done it was half past eight, way past their bedtime, and I then had the fun of dumping everything in the incredibly full compost bins (Spouse had just mowed the lawn), which were now buzzing with flies, to make my cup of happiness complete.
When the others arrived home I was frazzled beyond belief and cursing the day we'd bought the wretched animals. We've only had them a week, god knows how I'm going to feel in a year's time.
On the upside, I do have now a rich seam to mine for book 3, although I'm not quite sure its worth it...
Rabbit pie, anyone?
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Not quite the soundtrack for spring, but...
It's not one of my seven, but bubbling away in the background for a book that may or may not ever see the light of day. It's quite different to anything I'm currently writing being a time slip/parallel universe darkish fantasy. So there's going to be lots of fighting probably, and this song sooo fits. Well the song does. Not sure about the video which probably demonstrates why most pop artists don't write novels, but I do love these lines:
Come ride with me on the veins of history
I'll show you a god, falls asleep on the job
and
Don't waste your time or time will waste you...
which always sends shivers up my spine - one of my criteria for having a song on my book playlist. The others so far for this book are: Blackeyed Boy by Texas, Somewhere Only We Know by Keane and Who Wants to Life Forever by Queen.
But for now I leave you with Knights of Cydonia by Muse. Enjoy....
Come ride with me on the veins of history
I'll show you a god, falls asleep on the job
and
Don't waste your time or time will waste you...
which always sends shivers up my spine - one of my criteria for having a song on my book playlist. The others so far for this book are: Blackeyed Boy by Texas, Somewhere Only We Know by Keane and Who Wants to Life Forever by Queen.
But for now I leave you with Knights of Cydonia by Muse. Enjoy....
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Music Meme
Lovely Persephone who hangs out at: postitnotesfromhades.blogspot.com, and with whom I have regular Dr Who discussions on other people's blogs has just tagged me for this music meme...
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.
Well, music as I've mentioned before plays a big part in my creative processes, and I'm currently dabbling round the edges of book 3 before diving in. So my first choice is an incredibly cheesy and most unspringlike Last Christmas by Wham, as a) it's the title of the book and b) I am trying to get myself sufficiently Christmassy to write about it in the summer. Bloody hard I can tell you...
Next is The Hills are Alive from The Sound of Music, which we saw last week. Emily, the heroine of Strictly Love is a fan, and I nearly came a cropper having another character quote from it. (I shall be blogging about our trip over at the Other Place)
Thirdly, well... not exactly the sound of my springtime, but more like part of the soundtrack of my life, which Terry Wogan played first thing this morning. Another cheesy one, but it was the song Spouse first asked me to dance to, far too many years ago to care to contemplate. I had pitched up very late to an end of term disco, and was in blissful and ignorant conversation with him, not realising his friend was poking him in the back, saying, Go on, ask her to dance... Had we known then that here we'd be over twenty years later with four children, I think we might both have run a mile...
Anyway it's Drive by the Cars. Check out that mullet... Weren't the eighties fab?
Fourth, is Behind Blue Eyes by the Who. We've managed to watch and video the same documentary on them twice in the last couple of weeks, and this song always makes me weep.
Fifth is a song for the new book. I wasn't a fan of the BeeGees and disco in the seventies, but nostalgia is a wonderful thing and they've grown on me. And it wasn't till I heard this song, that I realised just what a talented bunch they were. This is Where I Come In is from the album of the same name, which is the last they made before Maurice's untimely death. I love it, and it's perfect background for the mood of this book...
Sixth, thanks to Persephone I found this by the Mumm-Ras which was driving me mad...It's called She's Got You High and is the perfect song for describing falling in love. So here are the Martha and Doctor again (any excuse to show pictures of David Tennant on this blog I can tell you...)
And finally. My musical tastes are not my own anymore. Thanks to the children I get to hear all sorts of things I wouldn't otherwise. I absolutely LOVE Mercy by Duffy....
Oh and the other part of the meme is that I have to tag people, so....and apologies for not doing the links properly. Still have trouble with that, and at the minute I don't QUITE have time to do it properly. So... Here goes, I tag, Liz Fenwick, Nic, Expatmum, Dulwichmum, Amy Appleton, Rivergirlie and Mad Twin (I know you don't have a blog MT, but you can leave your comments here... instead)
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.
Well, music as I've mentioned before plays a big part in my creative processes, and I'm currently dabbling round the edges of book 3 before diving in. So my first choice is an incredibly cheesy and most unspringlike Last Christmas by Wham, as a) it's the title of the book and b) I am trying to get myself sufficiently Christmassy to write about it in the summer. Bloody hard I can tell you...
Next is The Hills are Alive from The Sound of Music, which we saw last week. Emily, the heroine of Strictly Love is a fan, and I nearly came a cropper having another character quote from it. (I shall be blogging about our trip over at the Other Place)
Thirdly, well... not exactly the sound of my springtime, but more like part of the soundtrack of my life, which Terry Wogan played first thing this morning. Another cheesy one, but it was the song Spouse first asked me to dance to, far too many years ago to care to contemplate. I had pitched up very late to an end of term disco, and was in blissful and ignorant conversation with him, not realising his friend was poking him in the back, saying, Go on, ask her to dance... Had we known then that here we'd be over twenty years later with four children, I think we might both have run a mile...
Anyway it's Drive by the Cars. Check out that mullet... Weren't the eighties fab?
Fourth, is Behind Blue Eyes by the Who. We've managed to watch and video the same documentary on them twice in the last couple of weeks, and this song always makes me weep.
Fifth is a song for the new book. I wasn't a fan of the BeeGees and disco in the seventies, but nostalgia is a wonderful thing and they've grown on me. And it wasn't till I heard this song, that I realised just what a talented bunch they were. This is Where I Come In is from the album of the same name, which is the last they made before Maurice's untimely death. I love it, and it's perfect background for the mood of this book...
Sixth, thanks to Persephone I found this by the Mumm-Ras which was driving me mad...It's called She's Got You High and is the perfect song for describing falling in love. So here are the Martha and Doctor again (any excuse to show pictures of David Tennant on this blog I can tell you...)
And finally. My musical tastes are not my own anymore. Thanks to the children I get to hear all sorts of things I wouldn't otherwise. I absolutely LOVE Mercy by Duffy....
Oh and the other part of the meme is that I have to tag people, so....and apologies for not doing the links properly. Still have trouble with that, and at the minute I don't QUITE have time to do it properly. So... Here goes, I tag, Liz Fenwick, Nic, Expatmum, Dulwichmum, Amy Appleton, Rivergirlie and Mad Twin (I know you don't have a blog MT, but you can leave your comments here... instead)
Monday, June 02, 2008
Dr Who: Silence in the Library
I appreciate I have been rather silent of late... but it's been half term, so I have a bit of catching up to do.
I know I don't always blog Dr Who episodes, but... ooh, I had to blog this one.
For a start it's by Stephen Moffat who writes all my favourite episodes, but also, it was properly scary this time.
I can remember the very very first thing that ever scared me on television. I was about five years old, so old enough to vaguely understand that not everything I saw on the screen was real, but young enough to be convinced if something was realistic enough that it must be true. Predictably, it was a Dr Who episode which did for me. Can't remember the series, but I think it was Jon Pertwee days. Anyway. The daleks had invaded Earth, like they do. And part of the episode featured a news flash and pictures of the daleks going across Westminster Bridge. It was the news flash that did for me, adding an authenticity to the whole thing which made me miss out on the whole wobbly sets, it's really only the same two actors going round and round in a metal dustbin reality of it all. I was truly truly terrified, and I can remember taking some convincing that the daleks weren't about to pop up in my bedroom...
There is something very satisfying about being scared in the comfort of your own home (or from behind the sofa), so from that point of view, this week's episode was great. I always like my horror films to leave a lot to the imagination (Angel Heart remains the scariest film I have ever seen, mainly because you don't actually SEE anything, but imagine so much) - and The Silence in the Library, worked brilliantly. What was scary here was not just the dark - not just every shadow - any shadow where the eebie jeebie parasitic things live. So you never quite know what to trust, or where the next pirhana like attack is coming from.
But not only was it really creepy (if owing a little too much to the equally brilliant Blink), there was so much going on in this episode, it nearly made my head explode. Who is the little girl with a library in her head? Is the psychiatrist treating her benign or evil? Who is Dr River Song, and how does the Doctor know her? I'm not even convinced she's totally on his side. Is Donna dead? Can she escape from being a head on a stick? Is Proper Dave going to kill them all with his spooky-dark-swarm-inside-his-helmet-which-has-eaten-his-flesh-off-leaving-only-a-skeleton -with-zombielike-strength?
For the first time in a long time on Dr Who I really haven't got a clue how it's going to end. Which given all the injokes about spoilers (dontcha hate them? I know I do. I really regretted finding out online last year that Mr Saxon was in fact the Master.) It's so much more fun when you don't know what's going to happen next. I enjoyed this episode so much I watched it twice, and I had no more clue at the end then I did at the beginning, which was really great.
So roll on next week say I... Even if I do have to watch from behind the sofa.
I know I don't always blog Dr Who episodes, but... ooh, I had to blog this one.
For a start it's by Stephen Moffat who writes all my favourite episodes, but also, it was properly scary this time.
I can remember the very very first thing that ever scared me on television. I was about five years old, so old enough to vaguely understand that not everything I saw on the screen was real, but young enough to be convinced if something was realistic enough that it must be true. Predictably, it was a Dr Who episode which did for me. Can't remember the series, but I think it was Jon Pertwee days. Anyway. The daleks had invaded Earth, like they do. And part of the episode featured a news flash and pictures of the daleks going across Westminster Bridge. It was the news flash that did for me, adding an authenticity to the whole thing which made me miss out on the whole wobbly sets, it's really only the same two actors going round and round in a metal dustbin reality of it all. I was truly truly terrified, and I can remember taking some convincing that the daleks weren't about to pop up in my bedroom...
There is something very satisfying about being scared in the comfort of your own home (or from behind the sofa), so from that point of view, this week's episode was great. I always like my horror films to leave a lot to the imagination (Angel Heart remains the scariest film I have ever seen, mainly because you don't actually SEE anything, but imagine so much) - and The Silence in the Library, worked brilliantly. What was scary here was not just the dark - not just every shadow - any shadow where the eebie jeebie parasitic things live. So you never quite know what to trust, or where the next pirhana like attack is coming from.
But not only was it really creepy (if owing a little too much to the equally brilliant Blink), there was so much going on in this episode, it nearly made my head explode. Who is the little girl with a library in her head? Is the psychiatrist treating her benign or evil? Who is Dr River Song, and how does the Doctor know her? I'm not even convinced she's totally on his side. Is Donna dead? Can she escape from being a head on a stick? Is Proper Dave going to kill them all with his spooky-dark-swarm-inside-his-helmet-which-has-eaten-his-flesh-off-leaving-only-a-skeleton -with-zombielike-strength?
For the first time in a long time on Dr Who I really haven't got a clue how it's going to end. Which given all the injokes about spoilers (dontcha hate them? I know I do. I really regretted finding out online last year that Mr Saxon was in fact the Master.) It's so much more fun when you don't know what's going to happen next. I enjoyed this episode so much I watched it twice, and I had no more clue at the end then I did at the beginning, which was really great.
So roll on next week say I... Even if I do have to watch from behind the sofa.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Living with a twelve year old....
... has its ups and downs.
For a start you have HORMONES. So a child who is normally quite calm and collected will get temperamental and teary for NO REASON AT ALL.
Then you get the whole, I don't want to grow up/take responsibility for anything, but you treat me like a child type thing. Treat you like a child? Now there's a thing...
And on top of that as Mum, you are expected not only to know EXACTLY what said child needs at any given moment in the day, and drop absolutely everything to deliver it (lucky I work at home, huh?), but the lack of responsibilty thing also extends to remembering where you have left keys/homework/phone/take your pick.
Thus it was Monday morning found no 1 barging in when I was on the loo (if I do that to her all hell breaks loose) demanding to know where her hoodie was. No idea, I said, why? It's got my phone it, she wailed, and you're bound to have put it in the wash. Dearie me, how thoughtless. I might have actually CLEANED some of your clothes????
Well it wasn't in the wash.
Have you tried your bedroom? I suggested helpfully. Cue lightbulb moment. I never thought of that, she said... Why would you when your mum does all the thinking for you?
Two minutes later, Found it! she says triumphantly (oh and thanks, Mum for helping me - oh sorry was that a pig that just flew past?), not in her hoodie of course, but in her bag.
By now it is time to leave for school.
Where's my black folder?
Which black folder?
You know. My black folder? My English one? You've moved it haven't you?
Now let me think... did I perchance move all the folders you dumped on the hall table to your bedroom WHERE THEY BELONG, so we could have a tidy house for your birthday party yesterday? I really am the most inconsiderate mother in the world...
I remember moving some folders, but not a black one. Cue hormonal moment, twelve year old collapsing into tears on hall chair because she clearly has the cruellest mother in the world, and me abandoning sandwich making (which I was supposed to be doing) to search her bedroom, where there was nary a sign of a black folder.
Was that the one you took in on Friday? I asked, trying to be helpful.
Nooooo, she says in her best Kevin manner, that was my red French file.
Of course. Silly me.
By now it's five to eight, and she's going to be late, so like the sap I am I offer to give her a lift to school, but give her a stern lecture about taking responsibility and that this time I am not planning to bail her out with her English teacher by writing a note to explain the inexplicable temporary mislaying of the file.
On the way to school she suddenly announces that she may, perhaps have left her folder in her locker...
I think my response was very restrained considering.
Having put me through all of that before 8.30 on Monday morning, I have to say things didn't bode well for the week.
But then. Like I say, life as the parent of a twelve year old is full of ups and downs.
Last night she took part in a school concert for Year 7. For years I have watched no 1 in shows and concerts, and she's had, maybe one or two lines. She's never been chosen for a lead, or asked to sing or anything. But this time she not only was asked to sing a solo, she also played the piano too.
The piano playing, I have to say was not exactly of the highest standard as she lost her place a bit, thought she did recover well eventually.
So when it came to her solo performance I felt really nervous for her. I hear her frequently practising the piano and guitar which she has recently taken up, but I never hear her sing, though I know she has a nice voice.
Actually, she doesn't just have nice voice, she has gorgeous voice. And she stood up and sang Second Star to the Right beautifully, without putting a note wrong. I was reduced to jelly natch, but it was wonderful to hear her doing something with such confidence. She's had to grow up a lot in the last year and it hasn't always been easy.
Being the parent of a twelve year old is full of ups and downs. But the highs when they come are very high indeed...
For a start you have HORMONES. So a child who is normally quite calm and collected will get temperamental and teary for NO REASON AT ALL.
Then you get the whole, I don't want to grow up/take responsibility for anything, but you treat me like a child type thing. Treat you like a child? Now there's a thing...
And on top of that as Mum, you are expected not only to know EXACTLY what said child needs at any given moment in the day, and drop absolutely everything to deliver it (lucky I work at home, huh?), but the lack of responsibilty thing also extends to remembering where you have left keys/homework/phone/take your pick.
Thus it was Monday morning found no 1 barging in when I was on the loo (if I do that to her all hell breaks loose) demanding to know where her hoodie was. No idea, I said, why? It's got my phone it, she wailed, and you're bound to have put it in the wash. Dearie me, how thoughtless. I might have actually CLEANED some of your clothes????
Well it wasn't in the wash.
Have you tried your bedroom? I suggested helpfully. Cue lightbulb moment. I never thought of that, she said... Why would you when your mum does all the thinking for you?
Two minutes later, Found it! she says triumphantly (oh and thanks, Mum for helping me - oh sorry was that a pig that just flew past?), not in her hoodie of course, but in her bag.
By now it is time to leave for school.
Where's my black folder?
Which black folder?
You know. My black folder? My English one? You've moved it haven't you?
Now let me think... did I perchance move all the folders you dumped on the hall table to your bedroom WHERE THEY BELONG, so we could have a tidy house for your birthday party yesterday? I really am the most inconsiderate mother in the world...
I remember moving some folders, but not a black one. Cue hormonal moment, twelve year old collapsing into tears on hall chair because she clearly has the cruellest mother in the world, and me abandoning sandwich making (which I was supposed to be doing) to search her bedroom, where there was nary a sign of a black folder.
Was that the one you took in on Friday? I asked, trying to be helpful.
Nooooo, she says in her best Kevin manner, that was my red French file.
Of course. Silly me.
By now it's five to eight, and she's going to be late, so like the sap I am I offer to give her a lift to school, but give her a stern lecture about taking responsibility and that this time I am not planning to bail her out with her English teacher by writing a note to explain the inexplicable temporary mislaying of the file.
On the way to school she suddenly announces that she may, perhaps have left her folder in her locker...
I think my response was very restrained considering.
Having put me through all of that before 8.30 on Monday morning, I have to say things didn't bode well for the week.
But then. Like I say, life as the parent of a twelve year old is full of ups and downs.
Last night she took part in a school concert for Year 7. For years I have watched no 1 in shows and concerts, and she's had, maybe one or two lines. She's never been chosen for a lead, or asked to sing or anything. But this time she not only was asked to sing a solo, she also played the piano too.
The piano playing, I have to say was not exactly of the highest standard as she lost her place a bit, thought she did recover well eventually.
So when it came to her solo performance I felt really nervous for her. I hear her frequently practising the piano and guitar which she has recently taken up, but I never hear her sing, though I know she has a nice voice.
Actually, she doesn't just have nice voice, she has gorgeous voice. And she stood up and sang Second Star to the Right beautifully, without putting a note wrong. I was reduced to jelly natch, but it was wonderful to hear her doing something with such confidence. She's had to grow up a lot in the last year and it hasn't always been easy.
Being the parent of a twelve year old is full of ups and downs. But the highs when they come are very high indeed...
Monday, May 19, 2008
Dr Who and the Great Dame
Oh dear, could there ever have been a better fit for me in a Dr Who episode? I fell in love with genre fiction aged 12/13 when I first encountered Agatha Christie. I used to read her voraciously, and thought I'd read everything she's written (but I've just gone on to wikipedia and I clearly have missed a fair few). So to match the Great Dame with Dr Who was just like sending me to heaven really.
I know know the plot was utterly preposterous:
Alien from another world, who just happens to take the form of a giant wasp - why??? - impregnates posh lady who gives birth in secret, and baby/wasp is given up for adoption unaware of his parentage, till a fit of fury makes him discover it, so from being a mild ginger haired vicar he turns into a buzzing hornet who goes round murdering people who piss them off. He does this in the manner of an Agatha Christie novel, as by chance his mother has been reading one and fingering the telepathic necklace her waspy lover gave her which has a mental connection to our stripy friend, who then goes around thinking that he has to reenact Agatha Christie type murders...
It was gloriously stupid, in a way that only Dr Who can be, and I enjoyed every minute. I especially enjoyed spotting Christie references (By the Pricking of my Thumbs/The Mirror Crack'd/Murder on the Orient Express... and I'm sure dozens I missed), the fact that Donna gave her Miss Marple, and the way the Doctor admitted he'd worked out the mystery in nearly every one. The thing about Agatha Christie is, it's not really the crimes you read her for - the bit they got spot on was that she was a wonderful observer of people and I think it was that as much as anything else that drew me into her world. And I also have belatedly realised, that she also was a huge influence on my latent romance writing tendencies. There are always star cross'd lovers in Agatha Christie, and I enjoyed that too. And in this Dr Who episode, that aspect of the great Dame was gloriously subverted into a doomed homosexual love affair.
I think they could have gone for another Agatha Christie book for inspiration though (Appointment with Death? Death on the Nile? They Came to Baghdad anyone?) - because Death in the Clouds is probably the silliest of her novels (murderer goes round popping people with a blowpipe and a wasp sting... I kid you not) So this probably made for the most silly Dr Who episode ever,which may have been the point. And I enjoyed it enormously, so what the hell...
I don't get round to reviewing the good Doctor every week as I don't always have time, and I know from others who do there has been a mixed reaction to this series. But I have to say I think I'm enjoying it more then last time, and Catherine Tate is really growing on me.
And we haven't had Stephen Moffat's episodes yet...
I know know the plot was utterly preposterous:
Alien from another world, who just happens to take the form of a giant wasp - why??? - impregnates posh lady who gives birth in secret, and baby/wasp is given up for adoption unaware of his parentage, till a fit of fury makes him discover it, so from being a mild ginger haired vicar he turns into a buzzing hornet who goes round murdering people who piss them off. He does this in the manner of an Agatha Christie novel, as by chance his mother has been reading one and fingering the telepathic necklace her waspy lover gave her which has a mental connection to our stripy friend, who then goes around thinking that he has to reenact Agatha Christie type murders...
It was gloriously stupid, in a way that only Dr Who can be, and I enjoyed every minute. I especially enjoyed spotting Christie references (By the Pricking of my Thumbs/The Mirror Crack'd/Murder on the Orient Express... and I'm sure dozens I missed), the fact that Donna gave her Miss Marple, and the way the Doctor admitted he'd worked out the mystery in nearly every one. The thing about Agatha Christie is, it's not really the crimes you read her for - the bit they got spot on was that she was a wonderful observer of people and I think it was that as much as anything else that drew me into her world. And I also have belatedly realised, that she also was a huge influence on my latent romance writing tendencies. There are always star cross'd lovers in Agatha Christie, and I enjoyed that too. And in this Dr Who episode, that aspect of the great Dame was gloriously subverted into a doomed homosexual love affair.
I think they could have gone for another Agatha Christie book for inspiration though (Appointment with Death? Death on the Nile? They Came to Baghdad anyone?) - because Death in the Clouds is probably the silliest of her novels (murderer goes round popping people with a blowpipe and a wasp sting... I kid you not) So this probably made for the most silly Dr Who episode ever,which may have been the point. And I enjoyed it enormously, so what the hell...
I don't get round to reviewing the good Doctor every week as I don't always have time, and I know from others who do there has been a mixed reaction to this series. But I have to say I think I'm enjoying it more then last time, and Catherine Tate is really growing on me.
And we haven't had Stephen Moffat's episodes yet...
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Romantic Novelist's Association New Writer's Scheme Winner
This time last year, I was up for a book award. It's open to anyone who is a member of the RNA and has been through their New Writer's Scheme. Sadly, I couldn't attend the Summer Party where the award is announced, and even more sadly I didn't win. (However, I do know last year's winner, and she deserved it so I don't have any sour grapes, honest...)
Happily this year my friend Giselle Green was up for the prize. Again, I couldn't make the party as it was no 1's birthday, but I was delighted to learn yesterday that Giselle won it with Pandora's Box. Which is nearly as good as winning it myself.
Giselle and I both share an editor and an agent, so I am doubly pleased as it's great for them too, and they both deserve it. She is also the mother of six boys (count them. I did say six) and I really don't know how she does it.
I haven't had a chance to read Pandora's Box yet, but I did see an early draft of the beginning and it was brilliant, so I know this is a thoroughly well deserved win, and I can't wait to read it in it's entirety.
Happily this year my friend Giselle Green was up for the prize. Again, I couldn't make the party as it was no 1's birthday, but I was delighted to learn yesterday that Giselle won it with Pandora's Box. Which is nearly as good as winning it myself.
Giselle and I both share an editor and an agent, so I am doubly pleased as it's great for them too, and they both deserve it. She is also the mother of six boys (count them. I did say six) and I really don't know how she does it.
I haven't had a chance to read Pandora's Box yet, but I did see an early draft of the beginning and it was brilliant, so I know this is a thoroughly well deserved win, and I can't wait to read it in it's entirety.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Virtual Book Tour: Out of a Clear Sky by Sally Hinchcliffe
As promised, today I am hosting a leg in Sally Hinchcliffe's virtual book tour to celebrate the publication of her book, Out of a Clear Sky. It seems like an interesting virtual experiment, and who knows, I may try the same for Strictly Love when it comes out in September....
My contribution to the tour is a review of the book followed by a question and answer session with Sally about her inspirations, for what frankly is one of the most unusual settings I've ever come across for a thriller.
Out of a Clear Sky is a tense and sometimes claustrophobic thriller, set in the rather unlikely world of bird watching. It starts with the heroine, Manda, alone in a mountain bothy. We learn that she was not alone orginally: at the foot of the mountain, lies the body of a man who was stalking her, and as she destroys the evidence of why they were both there, we are left wondering, how someone, who by their own admission, "had never killed anyone before", came to be in this postion. As the story unfolds we gradually learn what brought Manda to the mountain, and how the secrets of her past have bled uncompromisingly into her present.
Manda is struggling to come to terms with the fact that her boyfriend, Gareth, has left her, and their mutual birdwatching friends, no longer seem to want to have anything to do with her. She is also made uneasy by the presence of a fellow birder, David, who mysteriously appears every time she goes out birdwatching. What at first seems mere coincidence, gradually becomes something more sinister as Manda realises her computer programme is being hacked into, her garden is being infiltrated, and she is being watched.
Slowly, she starts to unravel as the pressure from the present brings back memories from the past she has tried so hard to suppress, and she realises that she is a dangerous person to be around.
This is a brilliant and absorbing thriller, tense and uncompromising, and often very uncomfortable to read. Iwould thoroughly recommend it, and look very much forward to Sally's next book.
Interview with Sally Hinchcliffe:
JH Bird twitching is something I tend to associate with Bill Oddie and Springwatch, so it was a big surprise to find it at the centre of your novel. Are you a twitcher yourself, or did it just strike you as an interesting theme?
SH I do enjoy birdwatching, or birding ('twitcher' is a little derogatory...) and so it made an obvious background to the book. The fact that programmes like Springwatch and so on are so popular has helped - people I think are a little more open to the idea of birdwatching now, whereas it was bracketed with trainspotting when I was younger. And when I was doing my MA I road-tested a few chapters on my fellow students and regardless of whether they enjoyed watching birds or not they were all enthusiastic about the bird aspects of the novel. The best thrillers always take you into a different world, I think, and using something I was familiar with and other people weren't meant that I could write about it from within, without having too much heavily-worn research.
JH It seems to me that each chapter has been carefully chosen with a particular bird in mind. The ravens in chapter one are a fairly obvious choice, and I can see the connections with the more exotic birds (the parakeets/the kingfisher) with Manda's past, but is there some meaning in dunnocks, skylarks and starlings? And did the story come from the birds, or did you weave them into it?
SH How a chapter got its bird (or a bird its chapter) was an organic process. Sometimes it was hard to choose one bird for a chapter title, and interestingly enough this was often those chapters that weren't working very well themselves. Once I sorted the chapter out, the bird would as often as not just drop out nicely as well. Mainly I tried to choose birds that people would mostly have heard of and which had some sort of cultural resonance as well as a resonance with the plot. In all cases (except for the firecrest which, like Manda, I've never seen) it was a bird I myself knew well and had observed. Some of the birds - swifts for example - are simply among my favourites and I've self-indulgently included them. Others, like the dunnocks, were important to the plot, because of their exotic sex life (and if that doesn't sell the book, I don't know what will!) and some, like starlings, are under-rated birds which people overlook and I wanted to give them a little moment in the sun.
JH The descriptions of bird watching are so vivid and intense, at times I felt I was almost there with the characters. Is this something you have experienced at first hand, or did you have to do alot of research?
SH A bit of both. I've drawn most of the observations from life where I could, but I also went back and checked the facts, particularly for things like breeding times and details of calls and habitats. There was a lot of stuff that I thought I knew, but I wanted to be certain and make sure I was as accurate as possible. My feeling was that Manda herself was a very accurate and precise person when it came to birds, and I needed to have the confidence that I was getting my facts right.
My contribution to the tour is a review of the book followed by a question and answer session with Sally about her inspirations, for what frankly is one of the most unusual settings I've ever come across for a thriller.
Out of a Clear Sky is a tense and sometimes claustrophobic thriller, set in the rather unlikely world of bird watching. It starts with the heroine, Manda, alone in a mountain bothy. We learn that she was not alone orginally: at the foot of the mountain, lies the body of a man who was stalking her, and as she destroys the evidence of why they were both there, we are left wondering, how someone, who by their own admission, "had never killed anyone before", came to be in this postion. As the story unfolds we gradually learn what brought Manda to the mountain, and how the secrets of her past have bled uncompromisingly into her present.
Manda is struggling to come to terms with the fact that her boyfriend, Gareth, has left her, and their mutual birdwatching friends, no longer seem to want to have anything to do with her. She is also made uneasy by the presence of a fellow birder, David, who mysteriously appears every time she goes out birdwatching. What at first seems mere coincidence, gradually becomes something more sinister as Manda realises her computer programme is being hacked into, her garden is being infiltrated, and she is being watched.
Slowly, she starts to unravel as the pressure from the present brings back memories from the past she has tried so hard to suppress, and she realises that she is a dangerous person to be around.
This is a brilliant and absorbing thriller, tense and uncompromising, and often very uncomfortable to read. Iwould thoroughly recommend it, and look very much forward to Sally's next book.
Interview with Sally Hinchcliffe:
JH Bird twitching is something I tend to associate with Bill Oddie and Springwatch, so it was a big surprise to find it at the centre of your novel. Are you a twitcher yourself, or did it just strike you as an interesting theme?
SH I do enjoy birdwatching, or birding ('twitcher' is a little derogatory...) and so it made an obvious background to the book. The fact that programmes like Springwatch and so on are so popular has helped - people I think are a little more open to the idea of birdwatching now, whereas it was bracketed with trainspotting when I was younger. And when I was doing my MA I road-tested a few chapters on my fellow students and regardless of whether they enjoyed watching birds or not they were all enthusiastic about the bird aspects of the novel. The best thrillers always take you into a different world, I think, and using something I was familiar with and other people weren't meant that I could write about it from within, without having too much heavily-worn research.
JH It seems to me that each chapter has been carefully chosen with a particular bird in mind. The ravens in chapter one are a fairly obvious choice, and I can see the connections with the more exotic birds (the parakeets/the kingfisher) with Manda's past, but is there some meaning in dunnocks, skylarks and starlings? And did the story come from the birds, or did you weave them into it?
SH How a chapter got its bird (or a bird its chapter) was an organic process. Sometimes it was hard to choose one bird for a chapter title, and interestingly enough this was often those chapters that weren't working very well themselves. Once I sorted the chapter out, the bird would as often as not just drop out nicely as well. Mainly I tried to choose birds that people would mostly have heard of and which had some sort of cultural resonance as well as a resonance with the plot. In all cases (except for the firecrest which, like Manda, I've never seen) it was a bird I myself knew well and had observed. Some of the birds - swifts for example - are simply among my favourites and I've self-indulgently included them. Others, like the dunnocks, were important to the plot, because of their exotic sex life (and if that doesn't sell the book, I don't know what will!) and some, like starlings, are under-rated birds which people overlook and I wanted to give them a little moment in the sun.
JH The descriptions of bird watching are so vivid and intense, at times I felt I was almost there with the characters. Is this something you have experienced at first hand, or did you have to do alot of research?
SH A bit of both. I've drawn most of the observations from life where I could, but I also went back and checked the facts, particularly for things like breeding times and details of calls and habitats. There was a lot of stuff that I thought I knew, but I wanted to be certain and make sure I was as accurate as possible. My feeling was that Manda herself was a very accurate and precise person when it came to birds, and I needed to have the confidence that I was getting my facts right.
JH The lushness of the African part of the story forms a wonderful contrast with the alien landscape of England to which the teenage Manda is sent - is this also drawn from personal experience? And if so, did you, like Manda come eventually to appreciate the English countryside?
SH I did spend part of my childhood in Tanzania, yes, and remember the shock of the cold after the warmth of the tropics. I had at least lived in the UK before, so it wasn't quite as alien to me, but it took me a long time before I really felt properly at home in this country. And, like Manda, learning to appreciate the birds has been part of that journey
JH What drew you to Manda's story? Was there one specific starting point, or did it evolve over time?
SH In a sense, I started with the ravens, that whole opening scene on the mountain, although it's hard to know just when an idea for a scene like that crystallises into one for a book. From there, the story unfolded - both the main stalking plot, which was there from the start, and the back story which came later.
JH This is at times a claustrophobic and uncomfortable novel to read, did you experience any of those feelings while you were writing it?
SH The finished book is in a way a distillation of what I originally wrote in my first draft. The editing process has boiled it down, sharpening up the plot and concentrating on the essentials of the story. So the claustrophobic feel sort of crept up on me during the rewriting process, rather than being there from the start. But I did find that Manda's voice made its way into my head and was a constant presence especially in the later stages. It's quite nice now to be able to go birdwatching without her...
JH What drew you to this genre? Is it one you read yourself?
SH Yes and no. I have always devoured straight crime novels - from Josephine Tay to Ian Rankin, and all points in between. But I'm an omnivorous reader and enjoy Nicci French, for example, and some of the other more thoughtful psychological thrillers. It's a genre that crosses over most easily into literature, I think. Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow, for example, is one of my favourite books, utterly gripping and compelling yet fascinating too. And Ronan Bennett's books which are both thrillers and something much darker and bleaker. And of course with the plot I had, it was crying out to be written as a thriller, so the book in the end dictated the genre.
JH What are you planning to write next? And will it feature bird watching...
SH It's a bit early to say at this stage, although it won't be about birds. It will be in the same genre though - pacy and plot driven but hopefully a little thoughtful too.
JH I look forward to reading it, and wish you every luck with this one!
JH What drew you to Manda's story? Was there one specific starting point, or did it evolve over time?
SH In a sense, I started with the ravens, that whole opening scene on the mountain, although it's hard to know just when an idea for a scene like that crystallises into one for a book. From there, the story unfolded - both the main stalking plot, which was there from the start, and the back story which came later.
JH This is at times a claustrophobic and uncomfortable novel to read, did you experience any of those feelings while you were writing it?
SH The finished book is in a way a distillation of what I originally wrote in my first draft. The editing process has boiled it down, sharpening up the plot and concentrating on the essentials of the story. So the claustrophobic feel sort of crept up on me during the rewriting process, rather than being there from the start. But I did find that Manda's voice made its way into my head and was a constant presence especially in the later stages. It's quite nice now to be able to go birdwatching without her...
JH What drew you to this genre? Is it one you read yourself?
SH Yes and no. I have always devoured straight crime novels - from Josephine Tay to Ian Rankin, and all points in between. But I'm an omnivorous reader and enjoy Nicci French, for example, and some of the other more thoughtful psychological thrillers. It's a genre that crosses over most easily into literature, I think. Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow, for example, is one of my favourite books, utterly gripping and compelling yet fascinating too. And Ronan Bennett's books which are both thrillers and something much darker and bleaker. And of course with the plot I had, it was crying out to be written as a thriller, so the book in the end dictated the genre.
JH What are you planning to write next? And will it feature bird watching...
SH It's a bit early to say at this stage, although it won't be about birds. It will be in the same genre though - pacy and plot driven but hopefully a little thoughtful too.
JH I look forward to reading it, and wish you every luck with this one!
Friday, May 09, 2008
Race for Life
For the last two years I have been taking part in a Race for Life event on the racecourse. Last year Nos 1&2 joined me, and this year, we're doing it again, with the littlies who are going to be walking with a friend.
I appreciate there are lots of calls on people's money, but if anyone perchance felt like sponsoring us, I've set up a webpage here at:
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/julesandgang
I have been a bit iffy about running of late, because the last two runs I've done with my running mum chums for last year have been terrible, but this morning I actually managed just over ten minute miles, which is quite miraculous for me, and I'm feeling better about it.
I have also decided (subject to Spouse's approval) I am finally going to pluck up courage to do a triathlon. There's one in Ardingley on 1 June, and I reckon I could manage the sprint distance now (500m swim, 24k bike and 10k run), though the swimming will be my best bit. But lots of people find the swimming tough, so it may give me a minute advantage. There's also one in Brighton I'm extremely tempted by as it's a sea swim and I love swimming in the sea. But again, I need to consult the oracle first.
It's taken me two years to crack it, but from being able to manage two lengths of crawl when I started I now regularly swim 70 on a Monday evening when I train. If I only had a bit more time I might get reasonably good for my age at it, though I'm never going to be super fast. But it has been a satisfying experience learning a new skill at my age and just goes to show - you're never to old too learn...
I appreciate there are lots of calls on people's money, but if anyone perchance felt like sponsoring us, I've set up a webpage here at:
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/julesandgang
I have been a bit iffy about running of late, because the last two runs I've done with my running mum chums for last year have been terrible, but this morning I actually managed just over ten minute miles, which is quite miraculous for me, and I'm feeling better about it.
I have also decided (subject to Spouse's approval) I am finally going to pluck up courage to do a triathlon. There's one in Ardingley on 1 June, and I reckon I could manage the sprint distance now (500m swim, 24k bike and 10k run), though the swimming will be my best bit. But lots of people find the swimming tough, so it may give me a minute advantage. There's also one in Brighton I'm extremely tempted by as it's a sea swim and I love swimming in the sea. But again, I need to consult the oracle first.
It's taken me two years to crack it, but from being able to manage two lengths of crawl when I started I now regularly swim 70 on a Monday evening when I train. If I only had a bit more time I might get reasonably good for my age at it, though I'm never going to be super fast. But it has been a satisfying experience learning a new skill at my age and just goes to show - you're never to old too learn...
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Virtual Book Tour
A blogging friend of mine, Sally Hinchcliffe, is having a virtual book tour over the next few weeks to launch the publication of her debut novel, Out of a Clear Blue Sky, which publishes next week. I'm always interested by the possibilities of online viral marketing, so I have offered to host a day here next Wednesday, 14 May.
Not only is Out of a Clear Sky a very fine, tautly claustrophobic thriller, Sally wrote it as a result of taking a Creative Writing Course at Birkbeck College. By happy coincidence, this is where my father took his English degree many eons ago, so it has been an added bonus in taking part in a really interesting experiment.
I will be reviewing the book here next Wednesday as well as posting an interview I've had with Sally about the motivations and inspirations of the novel, which rather unusually (but brilliantly) is set in the world of birdwatching.
If you want to follow her progress, Sally's book is also going on tour on the following blogs:
MoobsWriting Neuroses
Caroline Smailes
Roger’s Plog
The Man Who Fell Asleep
Down by the River
My Boyfriend is a Twat
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Meet the new boss...
... Who actually IS rather different from the old boss at the moment, but let's see what four years in power will do, eh?
Bloody hell, though. BORIS as Mayor of London. Who'd have thunk?
I think Political Umpire and are I are the only people on the planet who seem at all pleased by the demise of Red Ken, but there you go. As a Londoner by birth I'm not even sure that we need a mayor - we seemed to manage quite well till eight years ago, but in the interests of democracy I think it's a good thing that Ken has been voted out. Whether the Boy David will be so grateful come the next General Election remains to be seen. Boris could well end up stymieing the Conservative surge and giving Gordon his best ever opportunity to be the Comeback Kid, but we won't know that for at least two years.
In the meantime I sympathise with all the labour voters who are no doubt feeling thoroughly bruised after the events of last week and rejoice in the return of cut and thrust politics. At last, we're going to have an election where unless something changes drastically we should have a decent fight on our hands. And I do hope if the Tories do make it back to Downing Street next time, they don't get a huge majority. The story of politics in this country since 1979 has been governments having too much of a mandate, and it makes them think they're invincible and detaches them from the people who brought them into power.I'd really like to see an end to the arrogance of the people who've governed us since before I was old enough to get the vote. We need to keep our politicians on their toes, I think. That's where true power to the people lies...
Bloody hell, though. BORIS as Mayor of London. Who'd have thunk?
I think Political Umpire and are I are the only people on the planet who seem at all pleased by the demise of Red Ken, but there you go. As a Londoner by birth I'm not even sure that we need a mayor - we seemed to manage quite well till eight years ago, but in the interests of democracy I think it's a good thing that Ken has been voted out. Whether the Boy David will be so grateful come the next General Election remains to be seen. Boris could well end up stymieing the Conservative surge and giving Gordon his best ever opportunity to be the Comeback Kid, but we won't know that for at least two years.
In the meantime I sympathise with all the labour voters who are no doubt feeling thoroughly bruised after the events of last week and rejoice in the return of cut and thrust politics. At last, we're going to have an election where unless something changes drastically we should have a decent fight on our hands. And I do hope if the Tories do make it back to Downing Street next time, they don't get a huge majority. The story of politics in this country since 1979 has been governments having too much of a mandate, and it makes them think they're invincible and detaches them from the people who brought them into power.I'd really like to see an end to the arrogance of the people who've governed us since before I was old enough to get the vote. We need to keep our politicians on their toes, I think. That's where true power to the people lies...
Friday, May 02, 2008
Won't Get Fooled Again...
I love election nights, even if (as last night) I can 't actually vote. (We got to vote for Surrey councillors at the last General Election, and for own local council last year).
Being a sitting on the fence kind of girl, I am I suppose what you'd class as a floating voter. Instinctively I'm with the Lib Dems - well I was before they turned into a bunch of liberal fascists, and I've not really got on with them since Paddy Pantsdown left. Had Vince Cable gone for the leadership, I think I might have been tempted back, but Nick Clegg hasn't yet convinced me.
I have actually voted for all the three major parties on different occasions. I used to vote Lib Dem automatically, then moved here and realised the sitting MP had such a huge majority it was pretty much a waste of a vote. I could, I suppose, have spoilt my ballot paper, but given the struggle so many people endured (particularly women - I live up the road from the hospital Emily Davison died in, it concentrates the mind rather come election time) to get me one, that always goes against the grain.
So for a couple of elections I half heartedly voted Tory - so half heartedly in 1992 I do remember standing in the poll booth for about half an hour trying to make my mind up - because though I wasn't a fan of Margaret Thatcher or John Major, Neil Kinnock never seemed a credible alternative either. I did have a moment in 1997 when I thought I could vote Labour, but thinking that was a wasted vote in my area, I voted Lib Dem instead. To my amazement when the results came out the total of Lab/Lib Dem votes would have voted out our horrendously out of touch Tory MP, which would have been an upset on a similar scale to Southgate.(coincidentally where I grew up. How I cheered when Portillo went...)
Locally I tend to vote Lib Dem, but more recently have also voted Labour as several of my neighbours have stood for the local council, and I'd rather have them in then the arrogant Resident's Association lot who inexplicably keep getting voted in here, and seem to think it's their right to govern.
We also now have a brilliant constituency MP in Chris Grayling (Shadow Secretary for State and Pensions), so I regularly vote for him, less on Tory policies and more because he is incredibly effective locally, you actually SEE him in the town, and he has pursued an energetic and determined campaign to retain our local maternity services and children's ward against huge odds.
Last night, like I say, I couldn't vote. But it was bloody exciting none the less. I know it's not a general election, and anything can change between now and 2010, but I think the Labour party are exhibiting the same arrogance and dismissive attitude towards the electorate that the Tories showed in 1997. It is time they were booted out, and if the Boy Dave can do it next time, I will be pleased.
A very troubling by product of the catastrophic failure of the Tories to become electable again has been that their natural voters have become disenfranchised, and have been tempted towards the extremes like the BNP (who would have EVER thought the BNP would get any votes, let alone seats on councils). I think at a time where the British sense of fair play and tolerance has been stretched to breaking point by this government's determination to skew things in favour of every minority going be they pink, yellow or a three headed alien from Mars, this is an extremely dangerous development. A resurgent Tory party gives the disenfranchised voters somewhere to go to register their protest. This can surely only be a good thing, even if you hate the Tory party.
So I must say I found watching the country turning blue, and seeing things swing away from Labour to the Tories, was dead exciting last night. At the last General Election I was so depressed that despite Iraq Teflon Tone looked set to stay, I retired to bed early and listened to Jeremy Vine's analysis of the situation on the radio instead. He even played Won't Get Fooled Again, and I thought but sadly, we seem to have been...
Last night Jezza was taking up his newish role of filling in Peter Snow's shoes. Awful Texan accents aside, I do enjoy his mix of the lighthearted and serious in his approach to politics, and his analysis of the results as they came in was highly entertaining.
More entertaining still was seeing Polly Toynbee (she of the mirthless grin) squirming, first on Question Time (the only one on the panel apart from Des Brown,trying to defend the indefensible, namely the 42 day detention law), and later trying to make out it wasn't a bad night for Labour.
In the end it got late and we went to bed, but had the telly on as we watched what was happening. I dozed off but woke around 2.30 to hear poor Pol (I did almost feel sorry for her at that point, but then I remembered she'd evaded Richard Littlejohn's pertinent questions about where she sent her children to school earlier on, and stopped) miserably rubbing her hands at the thought that the country was turning blue, and Boris was looking very strong in London. I actually thought in my sleepy state that Boris HAD won at that point (I still think it's too close to call myself), but was sadly disabused of that notion when I woke up this morning.
I would like to see Red Ken out, because I think he treats London as his own little kingdom , shows scant regard for the voters, and has dubiously moral tastes in some of the people he's prepared to meet in his mayoral capacity. But I also have serious doubts about Boris, much as I like him. In order to win this race, he's had his wings clipped horrendously by the party machine - what we all like about Boris makes him unelectable, so that's had to go, which is a shame I think.
Having said that, even if Boris were allowed to be Boris, I don't really think he has the capacity or the ability to run London, and despite his carefully chosen black spokesman speaking earnestly about his accessibility last night, I don't really buy it. The only thing that he'd probably do is get a bit more sympathy for the Home Counties - this Labour government seems to think anyone living out here in the sticks must be a rich, several home owning, capitalistic bastard (class envy, alive and well? Discuss.) - when actually that is so far from the truth as to be risible.
Yes, we are lucky out here, we have in the main decent schools (though one local one I have mentioned before has been put in special measures - SIX years after they implemented a policy of only being open four days a week because they couldn't afford the staff - would this scandalous situation have been allowed in Hackney? I think not.), we have a good hospital (which this government has done everything in its power to close), but housing is hugely expensive, and to be a first time buyer around here for a two bedroomed house, the like of which we bought for £84000 twenty years ago would now set you back a tidy £350000. People here do struggle. Although I know many people, who are fortunate as I am to be able to live a good standard of life, I also know many more living in rented accommodation without any expectation ever of owning their own property. If Boris gets elected, maybe those people's needs might start to be taken into consideration.
Whoever does end up sitting in the Mayor's seat at the end of the day, at least the contest has been closely fought. I don't want Ken to win, but if he comes back with his majority significantly reduced, he might actually have to start listening to the electorate. Boris is an unknown quantity, who might be a lot of fun to have around, but I'm not really convinced he'd do much for London. Whatever happens now though, I think last night was a good day for democracy, because people have gone out and voted with their feet. One hopes Gordon Brown might actually start listening now...
Being a sitting on the fence kind of girl, I am I suppose what you'd class as a floating voter. Instinctively I'm with the Lib Dems - well I was before they turned into a bunch of liberal fascists, and I've not really got on with them since Paddy Pantsdown left. Had Vince Cable gone for the leadership, I think I might have been tempted back, but Nick Clegg hasn't yet convinced me.
I have actually voted for all the three major parties on different occasions. I used to vote Lib Dem automatically, then moved here and realised the sitting MP had such a huge majority it was pretty much a waste of a vote. I could, I suppose, have spoilt my ballot paper, but given the struggle so many people endured (particularly women - I live up the road from the hospital Emily Davison died in, it concentrates the mind rather come election time) to get me one, that always goes against the grain.
So for a couple of elections I half heartedly voted Tory - so half heartedly in 1992 I do remember standing in the poll booth for about half an hour trying to make my mind up - because though I wasn't a fan of Margaret Thatcher or John Major, Neil Kinnock never seemed a credible alternative either. I did have a moment in 1997 when I thought I could vote Labour, but thinking that was a wasted vote in my area, I voted Lib Dem instead. To my amazement when the results came out the total of Lab/Lib Dem votes would have voted out our horrendously out of touch Tory MP, which would have been an upset on a similar scale to Southgate.(coincidentally where I grew up. How I cheered when Portillo went...)
Locally I tend to vote Lib Dem, but more recently have also voted Labour as several of my neighbours have stood for the local council, and I'd rather have them in then the arrogant Resident's Association lot who inexplicably keep getting voted in here, and seem to think it's their right to govern.
We also now have a brilliant constituency MP in Chris Grayling (Shadow Secretary for State and Pensions), so I regularly vote for him, less on Tory policies and more because he is incredibly effective locally, you actually SEE him in the town, and he has pursued an energetic and determined campaign to retain our local maternity services and children's ward against huge odds.
Last night, like I say, I couldn't vote. But it was bloody exciting none the less. I know it's not a general election, and anything can change between now and 2010, but I think the Labour party are exhibiting the same arrogance and dismissive attitude towards the electorate that the Tories showed in 1997. It is time they were booted out, and if the Boy Dave can do it next time, I will be pleased.
A very troubling by product of the catastrophic failure of the Tories to become electable again has been that their natural voters have become disenfranchised, and have been tempted towards the extremes like the BNP (who would have EVER thought the BNP would get any votes, let alone seats on councils). I think at a time where the British sense of fair play and tolerance has been stretched to breaking point by this government's determination to skew things in favour of every minority going be they pink, yellow or a three headed alien from Mars, this is an extremely dangerous development. A resurgent Tory party gives the disenfranchised voters somewhere to go to register their protest. This can surely only be a good thing, even if you hate the Tory party.
So I must say I found watching the country turning blue, and seeing things swing away from Labour to the Tories, was dead exciting last night. At the last General Election I was so depressed that despite Iraq Teflon Tone looked set to stay, I retired to bed early and listened to Jeremy Vine's analysis of the situation on the radio instead. He even played Won't Get Fooled Again, and I thought but sadly, we seem to have been...
Last night Jezza was taking up his newish role of filling in Peter Snow's shoes. Awful Texan accents aside, I do enjoy his mix of the lighthearted and serious in his approach to politics, and his analysis of the results as they came in was highly entertaining.
More entertaining still was seeing Polly Toynbee (she of the mirthless grin) squirming, first on Question Time (the only one on the panel apart from Des Brown,trying to defend the indefensible, namely the 42 day detention law), and later trying to make out it wasn't a bad night for Labour.
In the end it got late and we went to bed, but had the telly on as we watched what was happening. I dozed off but woke around 2.30 to hear poor Pol (I did almost feel sorry for her at that point, but then I remembered she'd evaded Richard Littlejohn's pertinent questions about where she sent her children to school earlier on, and stopped) miserably rubbing her hands at the thought that the country was turning blue, and Boris was looking very strong in London. I actually thought in my sleepy state that Boris HAD won at that point (I still think it's too close to call myself), but was sadly disabused of that notion when I woke up this morning.
I would like to see Red Ken out, because I think he treats London as his own little kingdom , shows scant regard for the voters, and has dubiously moral tastes in some of the people he's prepared to meet in his mayoral capacity. But I also have serious doubts about Boris, much as I like him. In order to win this race, he's had his wings clipped horrendously by the party machine - what we all like about Boris makes him unelectable, so that's had to go, which is a shame I think.
Having said that, even if Boris were allowed to be Boris, I don't really think he has the capacity or the ability to run London, and despite his carefully chosen black spokesman speaking earnestly about his accessibility last night, I don't really buy it. The only thing that he'd probably do is get a bit more sympathy for the Home Counties - this Labour government seems to think anyone living out here in the sticks must be a rich, several home owning, capitalistic bastard (class envy, alive and well? Discuss.) - when actually that is so far from the truth as to be risible.
Yes, we are lucky out here, we have in the main decent schools (though one local one I have mentioned before has been put in special measures - SIX years after they implemented a policy of only being open four days a week because they couldn't afford the staff - would this scandalous situation have been allowed in Hackney? I think not.), we have a good hospital (which this government has done everything in its power to close), but housing is hugely expensive, and to be a first time buyer around here for a two bedroomed house, the like of which we bought for £84000 twenty years ago would now set you back a tidy £350000. People here do struggle. Although I know many people, who are fortunate as I am to be able to live a good standard of life, I also know many more living in rented accommodation without any expectation ever of owning their own property. If Boris gets elected, maybe those people's needs might start to be taken into consideration.
Whoever does end up sitting in the Mayor's seat at the end of the day, at least the contest has been closely fought. I don't want Ken to win, but if he comes back with his majority significantly reduced, he might actually have to start listening to the electorate. Boris is an unknown quantity, who might be a lot of fun to have around, but I'm not really convinced he'd do much for London. Whatever happens now though, I think last night was a good day for democracy, because people have gone out and voted with their feet. One hopes Gordon Brown might actually start listening now...
Thursday, May 01, 2008
The Hour of the Pig
I realise I have been a tad quiet of late... This is mainly as a result of the late Spring holiday this year, coupled with an urgent need to finish the second round of rewrites on my next book, Strictly Love (about which more over on the other place shortly).Anyway. Recently BBC4 have been running a rather brilliant mediaeval season, which unfortunately I keep missing due to other commitments.
I was however rather pleased to come home from my swimming session on Monday night to discover that a film which Spouse and I have only ever seen once, but has gone down in legend among a select group of friends for being rather barkingly brilliant. It's called The Hour of the Pig (or The Advocate in America), and stars Colin Firth as a city lawyer from Paris who goes to a small French village for what he thinks is going to be a quiet life, only to discover that life in the country is anything but. There's murder, intrigue, lots and lots of raunchy sex (this film is not for the faint hearted, and I won't be recommending it to my mother as I mistakenly recommended American Beauty without having seen it...), a whole lot of corruption and Colin Firth in his prime. What more do you need?
[Spoiler Alert]
The first time I saw this film, was one Boxing Day in the early nineties. At the time we were living in our first home, in that prehistoric age before we had children. So we'd invited a whole gang of our mates from our fine local hostelry (which makes an appearance in Strictly Love in not very clever disguise if you're interested), for a drinks and nibbles thing. Of course we all drank far more then we nibbled and I ended up watching the film in a rather drunken haze. In fact, I realise now I must have been so drunk I think I fell asleep as a lot of the film when I watched in Monday was completely new to me.
The premise of the story is that Richard Courtois (Colin Firth) is the defence lawyer for the village. It is based in part on genuine mediaeval cases where lawyers had to defend animals, and Courtois's introduction to the village is to see a donkey being let off a charge of having had sex with a villager, on the basis that as a dumb animal she had no opportunity to say no and therefore technically it was rape. This sets the scene for the whole film. Like I say, it's not for the fainthearted...
Initially Courtois feels he can run rings round the prosecuting lawyer, Pinchon (played brilliantly by Donald Pleasance), getting his first client off a charge of murder. But when he has to defend the local witch, he discovers a very dark side to the way law is meted out in Ponthieu. Courtois' horror when he realises that rather then getting her off as he had assumed, the witch is going to hang, is extremely well observed. Before too long he is uncovering all sorts of nefarious goings on, as he seeks to find justice for a pig accused of murdering a young boy. The pig happens to belong to a group of Gypsies and though Courtois initially refuses to take the case, his curiosity about the secrets of the town and his attraction to the engimatic Gypsy, Samira (Amina Anabi), leads him to take the case.
My main memory of the film is of waking up in all the rude bits, of which there are many. Courtois not only gets to shag Maria (Sophie Dix) the maid at the inn he is staying in (which isn't actually an inn - he belatedly discovers courtesy of his more knowing clerk (Jim Clark) it's a brothel), but he also tumbles Samira too. Not only that, he's being set up to get married to the daughter of the local seigneur (Nicol Williamson), who has an annoying braying laugh, and of whom Willamson delivers the immortal lines (which have remained as legend to this day, among the select group of friends with whom we watched the film originally)"she's moist between the hams".
Watching it all the way through, and not in a drunken haze, I was actually really struck both by the brilliance of the script and the wonderful performance of Colin Firth. He is about a thousand times better here then he is as Mr Darcy. His character starts off as an idealistic and rather callow youth, a little full of his own self importance, but as the film unfolds he emerges as the only person of integrity in the town, standing up always for the oppressed and the poor. Though Samira offers him a delicate choice - as an Egyptian she is seen as almost less then animal, and Courtois struggles with his attraction to her - in a scene that sends shivers down my back he rescues her when the seigneur is about to let his soldiers loose on her. I never really bought into Colin Firth as Darcy heroic, but boy is he heroic here. It's absolutely fabulous. And the way he works out a cunning plan worthy of Baldrick to get the pig off at the end is hilarious.
Ultimately of course, he can't stay with Samira, because as she points out to him, she is just too different and almost animal like to him, despite his ability to look beyond the prejudices of the other villagers. And Pinchon makes him see that if he stays in Ponthieu, Courtois will end up as corrupt as the rest, so in the end, he heads back to the city wiser, his integrity still intact.
Ultimately of course, he can't stay with Samira, because as she points out to him, she is just too different and almost animal like to him, despite his ability to look beyond the prejudices of the other villagers. And Pinchon makes him see that if he stays in Ponthieu, Courtois will end up as corrupt as the rest, so in the end, he heads back to the city wiser, his integrity still intact.
There's a great twist at the end, which was also one of the key things I remember . The witch doesn't curse the town before she's hung, but tells them a great blessing will come in the shape of a knight in armour. So when a crusader rides into town, everyone rushes to greet him, only to discover he carries the plague...
It is often the case that you watch something again and it disappoints, but this didn't. Watching it sober, meant I actually saw the whole thing and understood what had been going on. I have no idea how accurate it is historically, but it's great fun and gives a wonderful flavour of the times.
The only annoying thing was having waited all those years to see it come back on tv (it is quite hard to get a DVD version that isn't American), we'd saved it on our dvd player, only for me to wipe it accidentally.
Guess who's going to be trawling Amazon then...
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Flame, Fury and Farce
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth, Act V, Scene V
I'm in two minds about the Olympics. From a sporting perspective, I love it. I enjoy the drama and the spectacle and the ridiculous sense that you get for five minutes that maybe in some small way it does the world good to come together for such a great sporting occasion. But then the drugs cheats rip right into that idealistic notion, and part of me thinks it's just a tawdry sideshow.
On top of all that, this time we have the knotty problem that is the fact that the IOC in their wisdom decided that China was fit to host the 2008 Olympics. The IOC of course have a fine history of giving the Olympics to dodgy nations (see Munich 1936, Moscow 1980) and of course in theory, politics and sports shouldn't mix.
I know six or seven years ago, or however long ago it was that China was awarded the Games, the IOC might have been forgiven for thinking that China was changing, becoming more consumerist, more western, more democratic, more like US perhaps, but hell do they pay no attention to human rights abuses?
The persecution of Tibetan monks isn't something that started a month ago, it's been going on for decades. And Chinese determination to destroy Tibetan culture is a bit of ethnic cleansing every bit as unpleasant as what happened in Bosnia. Tianamen Square happened less then twenty years ago, and I imagine (though I don't know enough about it to be sure) that plenty of its architects still have positions of power. Certainly from my quick trawl through wikipedia it appears that the Chinese government have all but wiped out reference to it from their history books, and a whole generation has grown up knowing nothing about it. They are benefitting from China's growing prosperity and presumably a lot of them are unaware of the brutality of a regime which is currently presenting a smiling face to a world that knows better.
So, I don't think China should ever have been allowed to host the Olympics, and I was pretty horrified when I heard the Olympic flame was coming to London. Personally I think Gordon Brown should have fudged it, sod whether or not we're hosting in 2012, it's about time our politicians showed some moral fibre. But hell, no one said anything about Zimbabwe or the Sudan till it was too difficult to ignore, why should they say stir up things with China? Because China are simply too necessary for us now. Where would we all be without their cheap goods flooding the market? And how long would our economy survive without their input?
And that is the nub of the problem. Jim White pointed out (rightly, I think) in yesterday's Telegraph that it isn't fair just to target the Olympics/sports people for getting into bed with China to suit their own purpose, we are all complicit to a degree.
I was initially against the likes of Sir Steve Redgrave, Paula Radcliffe and so many of my other sporting heroes/heroines carrying the torch through London, as it did seem that they were condoning what is happening in Tibet and elsewhere. But presumably when this was decided, the situation hadn't escalated the way it now has. What looked like a reasonable proposition even six months ago, looks very different now. Besides, as Sir Steve said on Sunday, he thinks protests against the flame should happen. By allowing the procession to go ahead and descend into the farce it has done, while it may damage the Olympic ideal etc (Olympic ideal, not already tarnished beyond all measure anyway? Discuss.), actually allows the wider voice of the protestors to be heard. I really really hope the Chinese government has been thrown into turmoil by the pictures beamed round the world of protestors trying (and succeeding yesterday in Paris) to extinguish the Olympics flame. And the banners already aloft on the Golden Gate Bridge make it all too abundantly clear what the rest of us think about Chinese abuses in Tibet.
I'm not normally a fan of civil disobedience, as I don't think ultimately it achieves all that much, but I have to admit to cheering when I heard yesterday that the flame had been extinguished, and the procession abandoned. No clearer message can have been sent to the Chinese government than that.
I also feel immensely sorry for the athletes involved. They train four years for the Olympics, they might only have one shot at it. They cannot be expected to bear the burden of feeble politicians' lack of spirit. And I think the people who carried the flame on Sunday in incredibly difficult circumstances deserve our respect. For people like Tim Henman and Paula Radcliffe to be booed (something I don't incidentally condone) must have been a bitter pill to swallow, but they could have easily opted out. The fact that they carried the flame and took the flak allowed the protestors to make their point.
I suspect this Games is going to be horribly controversial and leave us all with a bitter taste in our mouth. But now I think, yes, it should go ahead, because I hope it will become a focal point for people's anger at what is happening in Tibet, and though ultimately their sound and fury may signify nothing, it is, I think very much worth the candle.
Monday, April 07, 2008
My Perfect Weekend
So Dr Who's back. And oh what fun we had...We enjoyed (to my surprise) Catherine Tate.
We loved Super Nanny Sarah Lancashire.
We laughed at The Doctor and Donna missing each other at the beginning.
Spouse and I particularly enjoyed the Bernard Cribbins cameo (and for me there was a particular sweetness about the fact he had an allotment).
but we thought on balance the adipose aliens were just a bit crap. No2 in fact thought they were the most rubbish aliens since the Absorbalof, and as she pointed out, THAT was designed by a nine year old, what's the Dr Who team's excuse hmm? All that CGI and that was the best they could do?
Having said that, it does hearken back to the pre CGI era, because let's face it, to those of us of a certain age most of the aliens (daleks and cybermen excluded) were a bit crap when we were growing up. And the sheer silliness of Dr Who sometimes is part of its perennial appeal. So I can put up with crap aliens for the enjoyment of Donna and the Doctor racing around, and having lots of good jokes. I particularly liked the one about journalists, and the mating one at the end.
And I did enjoy seeing a lot of him... (goes without saying)
And I was genuinely surprised to see something of her... which is nice and intriguing. My theory has been since Rose got trapped in the parallel universe that she is going to find a way through parallel universe Torchwood Cardiff rift, and make her way into our world as a ghost. It will be fun to see what they are going to do with it.
So that's my family's Saturday night sorted for the next twelve weeks. Haven't DARED tell them that Dr Who is off air for most of next year.
And if the return of the good Dr wasn't enough. We also wokeon Sunday morning to a blizzard, so we hotfooted it up the Downs (why aren't they called Ups? No 1 has been asking this question for years and I really have no idea), where we tried (and failed) to use plant trays and wash baskets as sledges - though luckily we met some friends who generously shared their proper sledges, the girls made snow angels, a really decent snowman for the first time ever, we had a snowball fight, and Spouse's fingers nearly fell off because he made the mistake of leaving his gloves in the car.
Once everyone was quite cold enough we went home to hot chocolate and hotcross buns, and all the kids put their pyjamas back on as they decided it was cosier.
Aaah. Dr Who, and snow. What a perfect way to spend the weekend. (Ok, Persephone, if you're reading this, I'm sure you won't have the same sentiments, it just doesn't happen to us very often!)
By the afternoon the sun had come out and the snow had melted as if it had never been.
I wonder if we perchance strayed into a parallel universe for the morning?
Friday, April 04, 2008
London Marathon
And they're off. Well nearly... On Sunday 13 April thousands of the terminally insane, otherwise known as marathon runners will be pounding the streets again for FLM 2008. I so wish I was one of them. (Don't tell Spouse but I am hoping to be again next year, as the charity I ran for, Tadworth Court Children's Trust is the official FLM charity next year. Any brave souls out there reading this might like to know that they are hoping to field a thousand runners to celebrate. Go on, you know it makes sense...Anyway, it being a while since I've mentioned this:
coupled with the fact that someone picked up one of my You Tube videos and asked me to post it on the ITV grassroots website, I took the opportunity to do a little tinkering, and have come up with this:You can see it on the site at:
http://www.itvlocalgrassroots.com/Clip.aspx?key=FD822F4E01B754BB
And I've just posted the Pastures New one (unaltered though) here:
http://www.itvlocal.com/anglia/locallife/?player=ANG_LocalLife_15&void=173052
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