A lifetime's not too long to live as friends...

so the song goes anyway. At this time of year, I find my thoughts turn to friends. Christmas usually equals family, but New Year equals friends, for some reason. Maybe because in my young adulthood, new year celebrations were something I had more control over, and chose to spend with friends. Word arrived today that the funeral of a (not especially close, but still one nonetheless) friend is to take place tomorrow, and that has caused me to ponder anew  the power that is friendship.

I am blessed to have friends who put up with a lot. I am doubly blessed to have many friends who have endured much, one notable even going back to Primary School. Many date from secondary school and youth years. In my own case, transplanted from my home turf, the internet has been valuable in providing a reunion of sorts with many I hold dear. It's fascinating to try to work out what makes friendships tick. Why is it that we do not see certain people for years, but when we do, it's straight back into 'as if we've never been parted' mode?  Why do some friendships fall into the 'no explanations necessary' category, and others are hard work but very rewarding? I am further  convinced that certain friendships come into our lives for a limited period, meet needs of either or both parties, then move on, and knowing when to move on is an art in itelf, but that doesn't make those friendships any less valuable or lovingly remembered. The subject is intriuging, maybe more so because it isn't an exact science; it is unpredictable, fraught with danger, but when the concept works- so valuable, rewarding, and fulfilling.

There is one aspect of friendship on which I am rigid- that of betrayal, or loss of trust.By nature, I am probably too trusting; having been betrayed in my marriage, I am possibly too hard on disloyalty, but that's how it stands. A wise person said to me at one point in my marriage 'whilst I don't doubt you can and will work hard to repair things, the problem you have now is that the trust is gone- and without trust, what do you have?'  and, imho, think the same applies to friendship. Does friendship without trust relegate that friendship to that of  an acquaintance? Neitzsche said:  'I'm not upset that you lied to me- I'm upset that from now on, I can't believe you', which hits the nail on the head.  

There's another favourite quote which goes along the lines of 'A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked'. We're all slightly cracked, in different ways. At this time of year, my cup runneth o'er with gratitude for those friends who mop up the spills from my cracked shell, and stick me back together again to fight another day. Thank you, so much!

Predictable as always, here's the link to the song. Enjoy!

The art of being idle

Christmas is over, the sales began days ago in this credit- crunchy- recession- hit year, and a new year beckons. This is the time for year for resolutions, for pondering the past year, wondering what I could have done better, and working out how I can improve in the year ahead.

All those self help books say that you need a life plan; plan your work, work your plan, and everything comes right in the end. So every year I try that, buoyed up with expressions of goals and striving to do and be a better person, and every year someone else throws a spanner in the works to thwart me.

This year I have just one goal: consume less. By consume, I don't just mean what I personally eat (although that could do with some reduction after the festive period, but anyway). I mean all areas of life- do I need that article of clothing just because it's in a sale, or those shoes, or that bag?  can I get my act in gear sufficiently to remember to take the lifelong shopping bags to the supermarket, or my shopping trolley, instead of grabbing a handful of carrier bags? Why buy jars of sauces when I can make my own much cheaper?  Do I need the heating on full whenever I am home?  Walk away from the home improvements magazines and be grateful for that which I have instead of buying into a culture of dissatisfaction. Don't worry about the effects of the credit crunchy, because que sera anyway and it can't be helped.Stop beating myself up about the things I haven't been able to provide for my family, and take the time to enjoy that which I have- rejoice in their achievements, enjoy their company. Relax, take time to literally smell the flowers and the fresh air and kick the leaves and all those things I always tell myself I have no time to do. 

Give more, and consume less.

And indulge in 'creative idleness'. That appeals!

Happy New Year.

because it's that time of year....

no, not *that* time if year, we're not there yet! It's another 'that' time of year, a time of the year when a couple of my favourite musicians departed this mortal coil. So, because the other 'that' time of year means that we might forget, here's some links:

Kirsty MacColl 10 Oct 1959- 18 Dec 2000

a part of me always wanted to be Kirsty MacColl, I think. Talented, funny, comfortable in herself and in a good place in her life when she met a tragic end (see Justice for Kirsty Campaign). Many of her songs are on youtube; at this time of year her Christmas song with the Pogues gets much airplay. My favourite Kirsty song is the first I heard, 'They don't know'; ( 'I get a feeling when I look at you, wherever you go now I wanna be there too') my favourite Kirsty performance is in Billy Braggs' video for  'Sexuality'.

 Joe Strummer 21 Aug 1952- 22 Dec 2002

there's not much that can be added to the torrent of words written about this man. I still have all my Clash vinyl albums: a vivid memory is listening to the original Clash album, lent by a friend, sitting torn between disapproval of punk rock, and thrilling at the energy and the lyrics. It will come as no surprise that my favourite Clash song is 'London Calling'; back then, I lived by the river, and spiritually and emotionally, maybe, that's still the case. Favourite performance: 'Safe European Home' which starts at 2.16 into that link. It would have been the Rock Against Racism 1978 Victoria Park gig version of 'White Riot' had Jimmy Pursey not joined in and wrecked it, but that one is worth youtubing. However, whilst digging out this links for this entry, came across a live clip of  'Garage land',  from Oct 1977, with (imho) all time greatest Clash lyrics:

"I don't want to know about what the rich are doing

I don't want to go to where, where the rich are going

They think they're so clever

They think they're so right

but the truth is only known by guttersnipes".

if you can't judge a book by it's cover...

should you judge a person by their books? 

My 'library' (use the term loosely) is currently in my bedroom, for various reasons- pending redecoration of living room, but also because dearest daughter deemed the uneven multicoloured spines 'too untidy' (however the arrival of Pumpkin and all his stuff has rendered that argument obsolete). It's interesting though- the first thing visitors would do was  peruse the shelves, to see what sort of books I read, and presumably make some sort  of initial judgment on me based on that info, and I of course do the same when visiting others. (However it could be argued that discussion of reading material is also interesting conversation). Anyone visiting me just now would assume I never picked up a book in my life....whereas the opposite is pretty much true.

This is not an exact science- using libraries is more economical, eco friendly and supportive of community resources, thus preserving same from possible closure- so one could assume a person never read, whereas the books were all safely returned before the fine due date arose. I have friends who buy a book from charity shops, read and donate to another charity shop- avoiding clutter.

Anyhow that's the question I shall ponder today. The greater question of how far should we judge another at all, will have to wait until my brain resumes full functioning capacity :-)

Oliver Postgate

today the world is a poorer place for the loss of Oliver Postgate, by all accounts a man as kind and gentle as his voice indicated. For those of us who watched Pogles' Wood on Watch With Mother after dinner (as lunch was called in those days), Ivor The Engine or Noggin the Nog immediately before the news every night immediately prior to the News and teatime, his voice is one of the most comforting and reassuring on the planet. It takes me back to the days when life was simple- and children's tv progammes had some substance, and his stories were more substantial than most.

It has been interesting today to read of his lifestyle,beliefs and principles, and comforting to know that a voice I trusted as a child, remained steadfast and true to himelf.

on a sadder note, and watching and reading tributes today, I wonder what will happen come the (inevitable, but please long way off) day that Brian Cant leaves us. An entire generation will require therapy, and demand a day of mourning declared.


click on 'play intro'

http://www.pogleswood.org/

blogging at 5am

is what happens when you wake up at 4am with a raging sore throat, a temperature, a brain that won't switch off, and a general feeling of blah. Radio 4 is still broadcasting the world service, jolly folk that they are, but they're not John Humphrys or the rest of the Today programme bunch, it's cold but I'm too hot to put the heating on, I've knocked back so much echinacea and vitamin C that to consume more would be disastrous to my digestive system, and I feel broken. And I want to be better, and to feel better NOW!

I'm getting better at it, but, like Katy Carr in What Katy Did, patience is not one of my natural virtues.

So, to cheer self up, I went hunting for virtual fresh air and space and tranquility. Anyone want to come too?!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/dec/08/budget-hostels-uk-ireland

maybe one day...

many years ago now, too many to mention but enough to make her alarmingly prescient, a friend who was leaving for different climes gave me a goodbye card which contained a piece of artwork, which I still own. The paper was divided in two, diagonally, and one side had a 'conventional' scene- and the other was coloured black with fireworks and zingy zappy cartoony type symbols. Her written message encouraged me not to allow the conventional side of my character to suppress the less conventional. I considered myself diligently conventional, so thought she was wrong- but thanked her for the thought, and the time she had taken over my gift.



I realised this week she was right all along, and evidently understood me better than I did myself.



Three times this week I have been grocery shopping, this song has come on the various supermarket radio stations,and each time I looked around hopefully for someone else to "get it".

Maybe one day...

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=u2hYn_4yuhc

Interlude: "Smiling, regardless" week

Somewhere, once, I read that one of the best things we can do for our bodies, physiologically, is to smile. Smiling, apparently, has various good effects on our physical, emotional and mental health, whilst making others feel good. So, this week, dearest daughter and I have embarked on 'family smiling, regardless' week. Half way through- it's good. My greatest concern (being a person who takes things Far Too Seriously at times) has been that my smile is genuine, not fake- it isn't 'grinning maniacially' week; so looking for reasons to smile to allow my smile to be genuine, is very rewarding in itself. Other benefits arise too: a bus driver I smiled at on Monday stopped his 18 bus on Tuesday evening to let me get on at a zebra crossing. Coincidence? I think not.

The greatest challenge to my efforts so far has been Diego Maradona....but then he will always remain a challenge for some of us; but even that obstacle was overcome by the Today programme this morning with a poem by Elvis McGonagall. Whenever I think of the 'Hand of God' in future, I'll think of that poem and smile. When they put the poem on iplayer, I'll trancribe it and share.

edit: found it!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_7736000/7736264.stm

Words Week 2- 2

every line of this one, it would be wrong to try to single one out.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=My9I8q-iJCI&feature=related

Words Week 2 - 1

Brian Wilson is a genius, pure and simple. Went to see him in concert and it was the greatest concert I've ever seen, no equal. However this lyric in "Cottonfields" is just so simple, but so true:

'you know, there's just no place like home'

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=K8NkQQ6oMtc

Words Week -2

who doesn't know this feeling? so true.

I can't sleep tonight
Everybody saying everything's alright
Still I can't close my eyes
I'm seeing a tunnel at the end of all these lights

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=8vIHsKKv_CI&feature=related

Words Week -1

Technically, they are lyrics, but on a Monday morning my alliterative skills aren't up to much.

So, I was singing with Pumpkin yesterday, and having exhausted nursery rhymes, turned to youtube for inspiration, and found myself singing songs with/to him which have lyrics which make me go 'aaaaahhhhhh'.

Here's the first of the week. So simple, yet so...um...'aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh'.

(btw, the instrumental on this song is also an 'aaaahhhhhhhhhh'- but that doesn't count)

'Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you, dear'

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=-praJ5iqaG8

We will remember them

The Memorial to The Missing, Tyne Cot Cemetery and Memorial, Ieper

Commemorated here is Corporal Frederick Henry Murphy of the Royal West Kent Regiment, killed in action at Passchendaele on 20 September 1917, aged 32. He left a mother, a widow, and three children under the age of 5.

A clerk in a shipping office in peace time, resident in a small terraced house in Tooting, London, my grandmother's first husband was typical of his time- a quiet man whose letters home show he missed his family, protected them from the horrors he was experiencing, was commended in writing by his commanding officer for his bravery and example of leadership, gave his life in a conflict which had little bearing upon his immediate circumstances, and was denied the privilege of burial as his remains have not yet been identified.

I stand in awe of him, and of the millions like him; and also of the wives and mothers and sisters and daughters who watched their menfolk march away, not knowing if they would ever return.

The Best of the BBC...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/spooks/

nothing else on telly makes me gasp, laugh, scream, wince, or cry as much as an hour long episode. Brilliant stuff.

little things for ittle minds

Today, I discovered iGoogle. My life is now complete, no more jiggling between tabs to check gmail or hotmail (the latter mostly rubbish) or facebook (when applicable) or the news or youtube or whatever. So much simpler to duck on and off if I need to when at work (not that that ever happens, of course, not ever).

Adding the 'Autumn' header, provides a little family of what could pass for racoons, possibly beavers (being a city girl, je ne sais pas) who seem to be working on their autumnal tasks. Earlier today they were clearing leaves, just now they are sitting drinking juice. Having set my time zone, the sun appears to be working it's way across their sky in my real time (more than it has been visible here for weeks).

It may be difficult to tear myself away from my new pet family to go to work, or do boring things this coming week.I hope no-one tries to hunt them down and kill them.

The folk at google are astoundingly clever, and I am geekily grateful for their talents.

a fuzzy piece of softness and fluffyness

For 8 weeks, little David has dictated our every move. It's a constant wonder to me that something so tiny can create such chaos, such disruption, generate such emotion, and inspire such love and hope. There's something about new babies which is balm for the soul.

a return to sanity?

I'm also troubled by, not what Sen. McCain says, but what members of the
party say. And it is permitted to be said, such things as, "Well, you that know
Mr. Obama is a Muslim." Well, the correct answer is, he is not a Muslim, he's a
Christian. He's always been a Christian. But the really right answer is: What if
he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country? The
answer's no, that's not America. Is there something wrong with some 7-year-old
Muslim American kid believing that he or she could be president? Yet I have
heard senior members of my own party drop the suggestion, "He's a Muslim and he
might be associated with terrorists." This is not the way we should be doing it
in America.

-Colin Powell

hold me back....

Several news media cause me to sigh wearily on a regular basis. Rarely do they make my blood boil, but today the Daily Telegraph online managed it, with one quote.

The article, entitled 'Financial crisis- how we're learning to love austerity' started harmlessly enough. A 40 year old mother of three (administrator by profession; hubby is a civil servant) is musing on the fact that, despite the credit crunch (IMHO, aka Robert Peston led doom and gloom), the inhabitants of Wandsworth High Street (which, in my day, was a dump) seem to be coping as usual. Says Mrs Jones:

"..the shops are still busy, everyone's wearing shoes, and no one's chopping up
furniture for firewood."

(no, that wasn't the quote that got me, although it is Telegraphian enough to send the humours into imbalance). She does however, plough on relentlessly, slowly displaying her attitude to finance, thus:

"for families like the Joneses, with apparently stable jobs and a
relatively small mortgage, the menace is harder to pinpoint. "Our pensions have
been clobbered, but we don't plan to cash them in for at least 20 years," says
Mrs Jones. "I'm finding all this doom-mongering hard to take."
In fact, Mrs
Jones is more prepared than she realises. "My friends and I do talk about the
shocking rise in food prices, how a £75 Ocado shop buys you half what it did a
year ago. We used to roast an organic chicken once a week; now it's once a
month.
"These days, I scrutinise price labels and mend clothes rather than
throw them away. It's actually very satisfying. I look back at how we were
living with meals out, five-star holidays, weekly manicures and I feel slightly
sick at our decadence. I feel I should have been storing the cash away for a
crisis, except it seems there is no safe storage place." "

So the blood temperature is starting to rise, slowly, as Mrs Jones' profligacy and self absorbed lifestyle starts to become evident.

The article continues, explaining that sales of sewing machines have shot through the roof, and they bring on one of my heroes, good old money saving expert Martin Lewis (here I must declare a conflict of interest- never a day goes by without I visit his site. It is a lifeline). He explains that collecting vouchers to reduce the cost of spending has become fashionable, morally acceptable, challenging. So far, so good. As the facts and figures are disclosed, the article closes with the quote that sent me over the edge. No disrespect to Martin Lewis for this. I am sure he speaks the truth.

"Not being able to feed your children, worrying about job security and
whether your savings are safe is hell on earth," says Martin Lewis. "But for
many of the post-Thatcherite generation who never learned to reuse or recycle, a
bit of austerity can be fun. They feel they've mastered a new skill."

Let's reflect on the last two sentences. For many of the post- Thatcherite generation, a bit of austerity can be fun.

Fun. Let us not forget that it is the "post- Thatcherite gimme- it- now- how- much- can- I- get?' generation which has created this mess in the first place, with it's selfish values, desires for more money, immoral bonuses, bigger houses, faster cars, plusher lifestyles. It's the post- Thatcherite generation which has brought the banking and financial systems of this country to it's knees, ensuring another recession (I've lost count in my lifetime) threatening pre- Thatcherite levels of unemployment, and will bring misery and hardship to millions in this country in the months ahead, as homes are repossessed, families are thrown onto the streets as the post- Thatcherite generation saw no need to replenish the social housing stocks so willingly sold off, and public services are inevitably cutback.

Those, whoever, who deserve to suffer most, will not, because to those people, austerity is not a necessity, or a lifestyle, but is fun. Good-oh.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/financetopics/financialcrisis/3225886/Financial-crisis-How-were-learning-to-love-austerity.html

finding my way back...

so after a twelve week absence, the reason for which will become evident when my camera battery is recharged, I'm finding my way back verrrrry slowly. This story caught my eye today, because when I was 4, I asked for one of these for Christmas-specifically the BMW Isetta, although I didn't know that was the full title then, obviously. It was just a 'pretty bubble car'. For some reason, Father Christmas failed to deliver. Maybe he has a 'Lost property' box somewhere....it's worth asking.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/3212786/Bubble-car-auction-80-cars-up-for-sale.html

Human nature

My attention has been drawn today to two news stories,which show two very different sides of human nature.

The first was the story of Lance Corporal Matthew Croucher, who threw himself onto a grenade in Afghanistan in an attempt to save the lives of his comrades. He survived, and has been awarded the George Cross.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/west_midlands/7521221.stm


The second story was the story of Anne Darwin, found guilty of fraud after helping her husband fake his death, then claimed the insurance, and moved to Panama where the couple started a life together. Bad enough until you realise she led her sons to believe that their father was dead, despite the fact he was living in a secret cubby hole in their home whilst they mourned his loss.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/tees/7520803.stm


Human nature, the magnificent and the sad.

save, save, save!

I sat and wrote a post this evening, based on my day pondering an article in The Times today entitled "50 'wish you'd been there' moments " I then discussed the events I wish I'd witnessed, previewed to make sure the spelling and grammar was acceptable- and lost it all. Lesson for today: save, save, save.

As for my 'wish I'd been there' moments....another time. I'm too cross with myself just now :-)

bother, bother, bother

...such was the cry of one of my (once) very small charges, Joel. When anything went wrong for him, he would mutter 'bother, bother, bother' very softly. If the situation proved critical, we might be treated to an 'OH.....' prefacing the cry of despair. I've employed the phrase several times today. I despise incompetence; before I left home this morning I had conversations with two organisations who had failed to deliver services they had promised, failure due entirely to their inefficiency.

This evening I was playing around online,and went hunting for news of my favourite building on the planet, currently under threat: Battersea Power Station. Unused for years, victim of several failed attempts to rejuvenate the area, it falls slowly into disrepair. Concrete rot is damaging the iconic chimneys. Looking for word on the latest bid to redevelop, I came across the fact that a public consultation meeting takes place in London tomorrow- with a tour of the building included for those who attend. Too late.

A case of 'OOOOOOOOOHHHHH bother, bother, bother'.

hey ho!

Thou shalt not covet (i)

I treated myself to one of those "interiors/you too could live like this if you got your act together and somehow managed to raise an unattainable amount of money and were in hock until your heirs pay off your debts" magazines yesterday. I know I shouldn't, because at the moment life feels so uncertain, with so much going on and little resolved. However, occasionally it is pleasant to look, appreciate...and covet. It's not even big things which get me. I read one makeover by a lady who lives in the town most of my father's ancestors come from. Such is my desperation to "return" there, and my feelings of one with the place, I have seriously considered buying a beach hut, and living in it year round. Anyhow, this lady had moved into the town on a whim, paid a vast amount to buy one of the fisherman's houses overlooking the sea, renovated and decorated on a huge budget, and displayed it for the world to see. My resentment was almost at fever pitch until I saw the item which sent me over the edge.

Several different branches of my family tree were original part owners of the Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company. And so, when I saw this, all I could think was 'I want one'. Envy is a disconcerting trait. My waking thoughts today have been focussed solely in this item.

awestruck

I am, frankly, in awe of women (in particular) who lead busy and productive lives as wives, mothers, grannies, aunts, daughters, nieces, best friends, care givers, workers and employers, and yet who still find time to blog. I am in awe of their ability to think coherently and then express themselves in such a way that I think 'oh my'. I am envious of the skills they display, and their commitment to share. Once upon a time I had original thoughts, the ability to communicate the same, and the confidence to express the same. If a talent is not used, we are told, it is lost; so welcome to my initial faltering attempts to regain that which I once had.

"Aging is not 'lost youth' but a new stage of opportunity and strength" -Betty Friedan