Current Issues - Past Thoughts

I've noticed on the television lately the new advert encouraging people to become organ donors by gentle manipulation of the 'you'd take an organ, so consider giving one' stance.

Being reminded of a blog post I wrote over a year back I realised I need to register - I lost my donor card ages ago. It's funny how things come back to you and remind you to take action. 

Snowacise

Walking in the snow with a four year old in a buggy is surprisingly good exercise and should help keep one trim.

Shovelling snow from your road is good exercise and should help keep one trim.

Going to aqua when you've done the walking and shovelling is good exercise and should help keep one trim.

Now, where's that doughnut?

I've no idea where I'm going wrong.

Winding up the kids

I love winding the kids up with a goofy tale now and then.

This evening while sharing a tray of cheesy salsa nachos I entered into a conversation with Andy about how years ago, did he remember the scientific experiment held on a group of cows who were fed cocoa beans with their usual diet to see whether they would ferment in their udders to create chocolate milk?

Quickly catching on, he embraced the joke and heartily agreed it was a great experiment.  The children were fascinated.  Seeing them being gullibly drawn in I then extended the story  to include the cows that were found munching in a strawberry field, and how scientists were so impressed with the results of the cocoa bean batch they wondered if strawberry milk could be yielded from this group.

I was doing well, I was keeping a straight face.  It was a struggle.

I crumpled when I told them the banana experiment went wrong because the cows couldn't peel them with their hooves.

I adore their faces when they realise they've been pulled a fast one.

Reflections

For my first post of 2010 I'd like to think I can write something worthwhile, but at the moment life is just so hectic my time for reflecting and posting on said reflections is limited.

2009 was a difficult year.  Not only for me, but for my family.  Broken marriage, fixed marriage, heartbroken children, happy children, financial strangulation, financial aid, broken friendships, strengthened friendships, trusts broken, trusts established.  A real roller coaster of a year.

So I enter 2010 with caution.  Not a pessimistic half glass empty type, but more of a slower paced, take everything in and evaluate it as I go along type of caution.  I enter it with a hope of strengthening my family.  Having us spend more time together larking around, parenting them wisely, watching my eldest son start senior school, watching my youngest son start infant school and watching my girls spend another year blossoming into beautiful young ladies.

I enter 2010 with a renewed vigour for my faith.  I swept a lot of cobwebs away last year and it's time to open the windows and let a bit of sun shine in. 

As for resolutions - I don't go in for them now.  In the past I've made the usual list of getting fit, losing weight, reading more, start this, give up that, blah blah blah.  But now, for myself, I find them foolish.  Waiting until a certain day of the year to establish something I should have started when I first thought of it seems a little pointless.  If something is worth starting, changing or ceasing, I'm erring towards feeling I'll be much more successful if I do it when it's appropriate.

Therefore today I started the year no different to any other day.  Time home with my family, bit of housework, watching tele and generally pootling about.  I have no hopes or dreams for 2010.  God will lead me through it, give me what I need and what will be will be His will, not mine.

I feel peaceful.

I feel good.

Happy New Year

Diversity

I work in a job where I deal with many different people throughout the day - usually by telephone as the staff I'm responsible for work overseas. It's a daily occurrence to ring my colleagues in India, to e-mail the office in Nairobi, send some money to the man in Sri Lanka and make sure the man in Iran orders his new uniform each winter. In Israel the staff are a mixture of Arab Christians, Muslims, modern men and the odd Bedouin. They're a varied group and we get along well. But dealing with them has so much complexity attached. In Israel we can only locally employ a Christian Arab on our administrative staff. If we employ a Jew, the Muslim staff will not be happy and they will not deal directly with them. In Jakarta if we employ Christians they are in danger. In India the managers speak and write fluent English, but some of the gardeners are illiterate. It's not unusual for us to send translated documents to them that have to be read out and to then receive their acknowledgement of receipt back in the form of a fingerprint.

In Northern India, a very tribal and at times hostile environment, the managers are much more in tune with modern thinking. To them I'm Karen. In the south the Regional Manager is quite westernised and to him I'm Karen too. To the other managers my salutations range from Respected Madam to Mrs Karen. Similarly, I respect their salutation preferences and they range from first name basis to being addressed as Mr ....x.... Again, in Northern India, tribal dominance is incredibly important. In the areas we operate the powerful Angami tribe are influential in all areas of business. Anyone employed in the region must belong to this tribe or one approved and on good relations with them, such as the Lotha tribe. All men who work there must have Naga citizenship. If we advertise outside their region such as Delhi, Kolkata, Madras or Kirkee, we must state they should have a Nagaland work permit - to omit this would be foolish and ignorant on our part. It is their culture and their heritage and we have to respect that.

In Japan our manager is learning English. It's a standing joke in the office that when he calls he addresses our colleague Hilary as 'Hairy'. But in our laughter we respect the fact that his English is far superior to our Japanese. Sometimes on the phone it's great to hear him and Hairy laughing over some of the items he's written on his accounts.

In Cannakale our manager is a French guy. We've never quite worked out why he applied to work there - but he's loving it. The staff have welcomed him with open arms and he's making welcome changes to the way they work. We have a Welshman in Israel overseeing Arabs, Christians and Muslims. Last year I retired our man in Singapore who returned to his native home in Malaysia.

In Nairobi, our office administrator has had to take days off work due to local riots along the main road she takes to the office. I ring her occasionally, just to see how she's doing. Sometimes, again due to language barrier we can spend quite a while sorting out accounts as we can't always understand each other. In Gaza we keep a special eye on our men out there when hostilities rise up. At times we've had to pay them salaries months in advance due to blocks on currencies imposed by the government. Last year we sighed sighs of relief when the bomb that landed in the cemetery didn't harm anyone. We marvelled at the humanity of their neighbouring colleagues in Israel who clubbed together to buy sweets for the children and supplies for their colleagues and arranged for the Defence Attaché to take stuff across the border for them as they knew times were hard. Their nations were at war - they weren't.

With my job I feel very privileged. I feel honoured to be able to participate in the lives of so many people across the world who experience different faiths, whose skins are all different colours, who speak various languages (some of them four or five even!) Some who can read and write, some who can't. Some who are single and some who have ten or more children. Some who live in relative luxury, others who report to us that their mud hut home has been washed away in the monsoon. We have staff who are young and fit and others who are getting elderly and not so fit.

In the office we have two men in wheelchairs. One who has never walked - one who has succumbed to the ravages of MS. They're not treated any differently. When the non-smoking ban was introduced, one of them had to wheel himself outside in the cold and rain just like his walking colleagues - he didn't expect to be treated any differently. But in this, we're still mindful that when the lift only has room for one more, he gets to go in it and us lazy lot have to take the stairs.

I remember a few years back at work going on a Diversity course and the woman running it had wild hair with streaks of purple running through it. Dressed like a warlock and really rather zany. Imagine somebody like that running a course encouraging everyone to accept each other and engage with one another when the directorship is made up of over 400 combined years of civil servitude that has generated from the origins of a military set up!

But I digress. On this course we discussed issues such as race, religion, gender, sexuality, tattoos, body piercing etc and we were shown a series of images. From these images we had to say whether we thought the person was nice, friendly, warm, hostile, criminal etc. Then the images were enlarged to show the whole picture. The one that stuck with me most was a picture of a fierce, huge bald man with tattoos all over him looking menacingly at the camera. To me he looked like a naked Hell's Angel. On panning the picture out he was cradling a newborn baby in his arms. How wrong was I?!

At church we're just entering a series on Diversity. I missed the first one but I'm looking forward to the rest. I'll be honest when I first heard what the series was - I sighed and thought, oh for goodness sake, it's rammed down our throats by the media, we're constantly told to be pc about this and that, I'm faced with thinking about it every day at work, the children have it stuffed in their faces about fairness, bullying, don't pack nuts in lunch items - I don't need five weeks of this.

But I do.

It's not right for me to be complacent about it just because I work in an environment where it's normal to deal with different people. I shouldn't look for a cosy escape outside the office. I worship in a church that has all manner of people and each one, created by God, LOVED by God and cherished by Him. Is it too much to ask that I stand in line with my black friends, take time to talk to the blind couple as they can't seek me out, to stand in front of my deaf friend so she can read my lips, to rejoice in the numerous multi-cultural marriages? I love it when my white English friend turns up to church wearing a Ghanian outfit, sharing the cultural dress of his wife. I adore seeing the little girl in church with Down's Syndrome eagerly tottering her way to creche along with all her other knee high friends, holding her Daddy's hand all the way. Then I feel bad that I haven't even bothered to find out her name.

It's fantastic. So I stand humbled now and a little ashamed that I had a grumble and I look forward to hearing more about how I can be open to change, to grow in my love for people different to me, to break down my barriers of ignorance and be a part of a united church just as Jesus intended it to be.

Moving On Up

Joshua's tour of possible secondary school choices ended last night and finally he's made his selection and order of preference. Now all I have to do is fill in the forms and send them off.

It's been interesting watching him throughout his deliberations. Seeing him form opinions before he's even seen some schools, reasoning that certain schools are worth a visit for this reason, why this school seems good for that reason and why some schools are just a plain no-go in the first place.

Having been encouraged by his form teacher to sit the local grammar school exam, Joshua's first reaction was to completely balk at the idea and protest because everybody would think he was a geek if he went there. Until that is, he found out that three other boys in his year group at school were also being persuaded by their parents to sit the exam. All these boys being non-geeks in Joshua's opinion.

So, the visit to the school was arranged, with Joshua moaning fervently in the back of the car that the children would all be Tefal headed, goofy teethed mad professor types with middle partings and how his future as a normal kid was doomed. He wanted a school where he could hang out with his friends, come home on his bike and do just enough homework to get some good grades at GCSE. He has no intention of university because apparently nowhere offers a BA Chef's degree!

But the view was to be quashed when moving around the school he met and spoke to schoolmasters and current pupils who explained things to him, who engaged him in conversation, invited him to take part in experiments and went through puzzles with him. His utter joy at seeing the football posts relegated to the side of the field to see the older boys playing the only game worthy of a ball - his beloved rugby!

His assessment at the end - school choice number one - both because the criteria for entering grammar school is based on it being first choice on the council application and because, 'Actually, it looks really good Mum, and they don't all walk around with jam jar glasses holding their fingers in the air shouting Eureka!'

School choice number two has turned out to be the local catchment comprehensive. I am not qualified to comment as his father viewed this one with him, but having heard back from both of them that it is indeed pretty impressive, with an outstanding Ofsted, I have to back down from my original opinion of it being a cattle market due to the sheer volume of pupils on the roll. It has a proven record - I can't argue with that.

Number three is another local comprehensive that specialises in Computing and Maths, one which Joshua spent a maths day at earlier this year and thoroughly enjoyed.

It's difficult knowing whether the choices we make for him are right. But I hang my head in shame knowing that his deliberations at the age of 10 were far more mature than mine at that age. I had a choice of the local comprehensive mixed school or the single sex one nearby. My sole reason for going to the mixed was because I didn't like the fact the headteacher at the girls school was so strict and the uniforms were ugly.

The Whirlwind of Summer

I must admit to opening up this site a few times over the Summer Holidays, only to close it down again as I've had no desire to post.

I've got masses of pictures of days on the beach, birthdays, crafts etc that the children have taken part in, but at the end of an exhausting day out with them, or an exhausting day in, the desire to post left me.

I felt a little guilty at one point for neglecting my site, but then that guilt turned to satisfaction as I realised that my time was spent with my children doing the fun stuff.

So, over the next few days I will post about what we got up to and load in some pictures. It will be a nice way for me to recap the six weeks the children have been home and to remind myself what a great little bunch of people I share my life with and the fun we can have together.

The Plight of the 'Gifted' Child

I'm a Facebook addict. I love the site and spend a fair amount of time chatting to friends, sorting out socials and generally just catching up with the lives of the friends I don't get to see often.

I resist joining groups on it though as most of them are totally pointless. But I have been skating on the rim of one for a few months now. Wondering whether to join or not. Primarily because I think the person who joined it has a bit of a beef about the fact his child has not been identified as 'Gifted' or 'Talented'.

I have a personality weakness. I'm opinionated. I've learned over the past few months to think long and hard before commenting on things. So, I've thought long and hard about responding to this group and today I felt it was right to post my views.

I don't know your thoughts on the whole 'Gifted and Talented' child phenomena that is sweeping modern education. I have a child on it. I'm proud of him. But equally if he wasn't on it, I wouldn't be too bothered and I doubt he would be either. He knows he's on it and never mentions it. I think therefore, it is more a problem for the parents. I'd be interested to know whether my views are relevant or whether I've missed the point. Do let me know. Feedback is always good.

So, here it is.

I think it's a shame that this group has been set up at all. As parents we should be encouraging our children and those of our friends and family to do the very best they can with the abilities they hold. It's not our job to criticise parents because they strive to achieve the best for their child.

In the UK parents do not succeed in getting their children put on the gifted and talented registers at school. It is a requirement of participating schools to select the top 5% achieving pupils within a certain area and to notify parents of that fact.

My son was selected for his maths ability. He was selected at Year 4 as he was working way ahead of his peers. He worked way ahead of the year group above him. Yes, he is VERY gifted at Maths. I make no apology to anybody for that. As such, he was noted and the placing on the register has merely led to him having opportunities to partake in mathematical activities at levels higher than those of his friends.

His friends don't resent him or shun him. He doesn't go around with an air of superiority either. He just happens to be better than them at Maths. Yes, I'm very proud of him. My daughter is working 3-4 years ahead with her writing and reading and yes, again I'm very proud. I'm not going to apologise for my children's achievements, but similarly I'm not going to parent them beyond their years. They are still children. They are encouraged to be just that, young people who enjoy the company of their peers, who still enjoy watching cartoons, to be children. It is possible to parent a gifted child and not have a rod stuck up your backside doing it. It would do parents of the so called non-gifted children to realise this and not think that every achievement of another child is an educational stab in the back.

We should embrace our children's strengths, enjoy their skills, note their talents and encourage them when they struggle or fail, whether they are 'gifted' or not.

You Know You've Been Snowed Under When....

You realise it's been over a month since you last blogged!!

I'm still around. The children are keeping me busy. Work is keeping me busy. School is keeping me busy.

I'm just too busy. I need time out.

When The Scales Balance

You ring the tax office to declare that you're no longer living as a single parent.

Your tax credits reduce DRASTICALLY.

You worry momentarily and wonder how on earth you'll meet the bills.

You realise the second income is back.

You worry as prices are increasing.

You open your mortgage letter.

You pray a prayer of thanks when the variable interest rates work in your favour.

You open the chocolate cake you saved for pudding for the children to eat right away as it's good for them to have a nice surprise too.

Letting Them Be Little

Andy and I received confirmation from the LEA last week that Samuel has a full time place at school next April.

I'm not sure whether I'm glad or not.

I'm glad because it means he'll be at school, learning to read and write and do all the things he sees his older siblings do. He's keen to go. He loves coming to school to pick them up as he can play on the monkey bars and mess around with the other little brothers and sisters there.

I'm glad because I'm selfish and it means not having to do additional trips to Mum's and to nursery to pick him up en-route from work. I can just drive to work and drive back. I haven't been able to do that for ten years now.

But I'm sad too.

Sad that my little baby is growing up. I'm sad that my 8lb 15oz chubba bubba is now no longer a baby. He's no longer Turbo Toddler either. He's a little boy. He's my last baby and I can't pickle him to preserve him. I can't stop him growing. I can't keep him to myself anymore.

I'm sad that my Dad will no longer see him everyday. I'm sad that my Dad, who worked while the other three stayed with Mum will have his bond with Sam broken. They go everywhere together. It's both amusing and heartwarming to see a 3½ year old walking hand in hand with a giant of a Grandad who's 6' 2" tall. It's been amazing to see the hard hearted man who I never got on with during my childhood have a child the height of his kneecaps mellow him. It will be sad that they can't take advantage of Dad's free OAP bus pass to travel round half of Berkshire finding new playgrounds to visit, new climbing frames to master and new ponds with ducks to feed.

If you've got children, don't wish their time away. Don't wish for them to reach milestones just because another parent bleats on about how their child is 'forward' at achieving goals. Don't feel bad when other children walk and talk before your child does. Cherish every cuddle. Don't be too quick to wipe away the sloppy kisses. Be glad that they haven't grown out of their little clothes too quickly and don't be hasty to push them to the next level.

Because before you know it, they'll be going to school and you'll have an army of 'experts' delighting in pushing your child, reporting on their achievements, or lack of achievement, picking up their errors, placing them on gifted programs, accelerating their learning and making them grow up way too quick.

Let them be little, just a bit longer

Small Gestures - Big Impact

My Mum has, after many years of groaning, finally persuaded my Dad to clear out his loft. He's not the sort of person that keeps absolutely everything, but there is a lot of stuff up there that needs to go and he's recognised this.

He called me this week to ask if I had use of some kilner jars. I haven't really if I'm totally truthful, but they evoked many happy memories. I can still picture him sitting in the kitchen surrounded by piles of pickling onions spending hours peeling them and pickling them in the giant glass jars. I think he used to get them from the local sweet shop - the proper solid glass ones with the roses chocolates lids. I couldn't bear the thought of them being dumped somewhere so I've taken them off his hands and decided to use two of them straightaway. One to fill with 5p pieces and one for coppers.

When Andy and I showed the children the jars I casually mentioned to them that I was going to try my best to fill the coppers jar up by Christmas. A kind of mini challenge. I gave myself to Christmas as the size of the jar means an awful lot of 2p and 1p pieces going in there.

So I was really touched when they all announced that they had lots of coppers in their piggy banks and that they wanted to put them in the jar. Within minutes Eleanor and Sam were both heaving their full up piggy banks down the stairs and willingly volunteering all the contents. They didn't hesitate to sort out their silver and brown coins and cheerfully enjoyed the clink clink of the coins falling in. Joshua put in the few that he had in his wallet and Maddie even put in a few she could find.

I'm now looking at a jar that is nearly three quarters full. We're going away for a week in August and while it won't hold a fortune, I've decided that whatever is in the jar when we go away will be banked up and used for a small treat, even if it's just enough for us all to have an ice-cream on the beach.

It's times like this I'm really proud of my children. Really proud that they enjoy being part of a family and working together to achieve a small goal. To be selfless in what they do, knowing it's helping somebody else complete something they've set out to do. It was a big thing for them to hand back the endless small coins I've handed them each week and it was even bigger for them to do it with absolutely no knowledge that they're going to benefit. In the great scheme of things it wasn't a huge gesture, but the sentiment behind it is my point.

It makes me hopeful about the future of this world. Not all children are selfish and insular. Sometimes we don't give our children credit for their credible actions. And sometimes, we have to admit, their attitudes put us adults to shame.

The Folly of Expenses

Along with 99% of the population I've been less than impressed with the latest MP scandal of over-rated expense claims.

But my failing trust in our blighted leaders was replaced with hearty (and a little cruel) laughter at the list produced by The Sun of all MPs who had been caught with their little fat fingers in the sweetie tin. (I add an aside here that yes, I do read The Sun online - it makes for an entertaining five minutes!)

And where were my chortles directed? At the bold statement that John Prescott had claimed amongst other things, two broken toilet seats.

It's good to see it's not just the economy straining under the pressure.

Note To Self

When you have an itchy eye, remove your glasses before you rub it. Then you won't get a big finger smudge on the lens and scratch the side of your nose with the bridge support.

Prayer and Fasting - The Novice's Approach

At church we are embarking on four days of prayer and fasting. Sitho asked all bloggers on Sunday to write about it and so here I am, writing about something I know pretty much nothing about. Well, the fasting bit anyway. It's a part of Christian life that was never taught to me in great depth, never encouraged and never partaken by any previous church I've attended.

So, here I sit. A total novice with limited knowledge and absolutely no authority on the subject at all.

But, in myself I don't feel inadequate. I don't feel pressure to suddenly leap into 40 days with sack-cloth on my head resisting the tempation of every jammie dodger that passes my eyes, or the nasal allure of the chippy on the way home. I'm entering this with an open mind, no expectation and a huge amount of humility and uncertainty. To the more experienced Christians it may well be a doddle to get on with it (or maybe not) and enjoy the time with God, but to me it's pastures new and I'm viewing it as another step on my journey with God. Another step towards achieving a closeness that was suppressed for many, many years.

By nature I am not an immediate 'doer'. I like to know why I'm doing something. Who said I had to do it and how do I do it right? I don't fall in with the crowd and I don't follow the leader. Well, not to start with anyway. There are times when I do, like leafletting for the church healing meeting this week. We all delivered hundreds of leaflets. It was good to do. Although I admit, it wasn't so great being allocated the road I'm certain had the most number of 'Beware Of The Dog' signs this side of Watford. I also admit to a certain amount of trepidation treading the path to the front door of one house that looked like it could well have housed the HQ for the chainsaw massacre fan club! I'm sure they were lovely people really! But I felt led to do my bit. I had a responsibility and a duty to minister this way and serve God. It was simple and needed no explanation. This probably isn't my best example of my point, but I'm presuming you're getting my drift here.

With this frame of mind came all sorts of enquiries when I first learnt of the prayer and fasting this week. Not the praying side. All Christians can pray, note I say 'can', not 'do'. There are plenty out there failing in this and while I'm in no position at all to criticise it's not something that comes easy to some people, even the most 'experienced' Christians may well admit to days where it's near impossible to come near to God because of time, wrong attitude, guilt etc. Heck, even some non-Christians pray and they don't believe in Him. It's amazing how life's extremities can lead to a momentary chat with God even when you're an unbeliever. Prayer's hard. It requires time, silence, discipline and humbleness. Sometimes I feel like I'm a flippant prayer because I talk to him all the time, but not always in great depth, just a bit of chit chat here and there. The children often ask who I'm talking to in the car on the way down the M4. To the guys driving by years ago I would have looked a loon talking to myself - now they just think I'm on hands-free. But in essence I am, on the direct line to God. Yay!!

But I'm digressing...

But fasting? The word itself caused a momentary panic. No food! Aaarrggh!! How long should I fast? What does fasting involve? No solids? No liquids? What if I fast too long? What if I don't fast long enough? How long is right for me? Do I avoid ALL food preparation? Heck, who's going to feed the children?!! Do I pray when I would ordinarily handle food? Can I fast at work but not pray during the day as I'm working and still pray later in the day and be OK skipping breakfast and lunch too? Or should I only fast when I'm praying or pray when I fast?

Questions, questions, questions. Typical me. Present me with a situation, ask me to do something and I come up with 101 questions. It's part of my processing nature. Part of me that's not happy to embark on anything until I have made investigations, sorted my doubts, sourced my answers and evaluated the results. Only then, will I be content to take part.

Maybe this seems evasive, arrogant even. I assure you, it's not meant to be. But, in reverence to God, I am not doing this if I am ignorant to the facts. I am not going to dishonour Him by starting it with the wrong attitude and mental approach. I want to be right with Him. So, yesterday, instead of fasting I continued to eat and drink and spent the day asking Him at intervals what I should do? I don't even know if that was right. Maybe I should have fasted anyway and made that my prayer. But like I say, total novice. Just as a parent doesn't yell at a toddler for stumbling when making their first steps, I know God won't view me with displeasure at my faltering steps when making a first approach to fasting. As a parent guides and encourages, I know He'll guide and encourage me and He'll teach me where my 'right' is.

So, today I know how I want to do this. I'm not sharing here. It's between me and God. Just as prayer and fasting is between each Christian and God. It's personal. That's what makes it so amazing. I've learnt there is no right or wrong way to do it and as I've said before, He'll teach me my 'right' and I'm certain He'll also point out my 'wrong' too! What I also know is that the time I spend with Him will be sincere. It will be my uniterrupted time with God and I'm really looking forward to it.

Which leads to my next question. How on earth do I find the time to be alone with God? With four young children demanding attention from the moment they wake (well, from the moment I wake - we all know that early mornings do not exist in my time clock), school run to take on, dash off to drop off Sam, day at the office with 30 minute lunch break (open plan office, so no time alone), home, chores etc, dinner. Where is my time? This is the one fundamental thing that people fail to appreciate for a working mother. There is no 'me' time. I know that stay at home Mums have the same problem. Constant desired attention from their children, chores to do, errands to run..... where can we go to be alone? If I do get time alone, I'm burst in upon and asked if I'm OK. Why are you on your own Mummy? Can I sit on your lap Mummy? It's long been known that the best way to get your child's attention is to sit down and look relaxed!! It's something I struggle with. I long for just a day sometimes where I can book a day off work and be alone, but it's not something I can plan just now. So, at the moment I'm finding it hard to find the time to pray alone. To get time to earnestly put my mind at ease, rid it of errant thoughts here and there and to purely focus.

But on a more light-hearted note, if I manage to get through the day without nibbling or snacking it will be nothing short of a minor miracle! But again, testimony, I know, that He's carrying me through this as I must be one of the planet's most prolific between-meal nibblers. For me not to snack is rare - to skip a meal - unheard of, unless I'm ill. But I'm enjoying this. Not to prove myself to anyone, not to show that I'm resilient, not to prove a point, but to spend time with the God I love, putting His needs before my own during a time when I'd ordinarily be satisfying my own needs through the solace of food.

Plot 51

There is something therapeutic about digging soil. I get a sense of achievement from seeing a barren well trodden, firm piece of scrubland suddenly become alive, look fertile and ready to receive crops.

A huge part of my allotment is yet to be cultivated and it's going to be a good two or three years before I'm finally on top of it. It's a massive task and quite daunting. The plot is 25m x 10m and it's huge. But seeing the progress made already is inspiring me to continue. Having my friend Michaela to help is fantastic. She's an avidly keen gardener and has always wanted her own allotment, but the waiting list for her area is 2-3 years. So what better arrangement than for her to have the spare key to my plot, share working the land I rent and share the harvest? We get to spend time together and spend hours just plodding away, stopping for a chat and a diet coke, then getting down to some hard graft again. We've laughed together while we've dug, we've moaned together while we've dug and we've planned days out while we've dug. It's a good place to sort your life out. When we're not together I'll go down alone and at times she'll be there by herself and it's the perfect time to spend time to yourself or praying or just pondering life itself.

I specifically like the fact that the time we spend together there costs us next to nothing. It's good fresh air, exercise and company. But, don't get me wrong. I do also like to get dressed up, whack on some 4" stilettos, bung some slap on my face and hit the town, but my love is for the more earthly things in life. I just desire more time to do them.

So last night, after Michaela had been chugging away for a couple of hours I met up with her and we managed to work some more of the ground. The area for the runner beans is ready now and I just need to dig the trench, work in the organic matter and make the supports. The tomatoes are planted and caned and the fruit bushes are flourishing, although my five donated plants are looking a bit sorry and may not survive their transplantation.

A pathway has been built in front of the compost bins using old paving slabs and the boundary fence to the entrance side is about to be constructed.

Love it, love it, love it.

Somewhere Else

It's beautiful sunny days like these that I wonder how on earth I came to be in a job where I'm shoving paperwork from one side of my desk to another. I'm 36 and I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up.

But I do know that today, I don't want to be here. I want to be outside, digging my allotment and planting my spuds and other veggies. Moreso because the forecast for the weekend is heavy rain.

It would be lovely just to book the afternoon off and head down there and lose myself for a few hours. I can do that when I'm there. It's a lovely place to be. You can hear the birds singing and although the main road is not far off, you can't hear the cars zooming by. It's lovely to hear the distant whirr of rotovators and strimmers and the trundle of wheelbarrows up and down the path to the skip.

It's lovely to talk to Sid the farmer on the corner and the man opposite who gives you his leftover onion sets because he's bought too many. It's great to see that for Bob's 90th birthday the allotment holders all clubbed together and cleared the rubbish from his plot so he could plant his much loved runners and give him a new lease of life. He's marvellous. It's wonderful to see him stop every five minutes for a sit down and chat with Tony next door.

The lovely Tony who when I joked that his raspberries encroached my plot last year, said I could have the ones that had grown outside his fruit cage and promptly dug up five of them to add to my plot, so now my four have expanded to nine. The same Tony who taught Joshua how to safely use a sithe and every so often glady sharped it for him and supervised him while the rest of us dug away.

The comradeship there is warming. The friendliness overwhelming. I don't mind coming back from there looking like Worzel Gummidge and aching from head to foot because it's worth every back breaking minute. Although my friend Michaela will confess that it has been noted that I do spend an inordinate amount of time down there socialising, but that's part of it.

It's much better than being stuck in an office where the windows are locked, the air conditioning units are condemned and the accounts are rolling in. Oh well.....

When Your Cup Overfloweth

One for the ladies methinks.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8039332.stm

I should think so too!!! Good grief.!! M&S putting £2.00 on the cost of a larger bra - well, that's nothing short of boob tax! Why should ladies pay more just because they are more endowed than others? Do we see Top Man increasing the price of men's pants just because some of them have bigger bottoms than others? Absolutely not!

And what's more alarming is the recent promise to extend a 25% discount on all bras until 25 May. But is the discount only limited to the DD and above range? No, it's not. All the ladies with the little perty racks smaller than this are going to benefit from the efforts of their melon-chested sisters.

I sympathise with both camps. During my life I have sat both sides of the fence, both pre and post surgery. I can empathise with the mammary madness of this world.

Emmeline Pankhurst would turn in her grave if she knew women were being treated like this and I'm sure had she been around in the 1960s she'd have waved her bra above the fire and set it alight along with the rest of them.

Them Things That Irk

There's not much that irks me these days. I might have a little nag and moan at the other half now and then and bug the children to clear up their mess, but other than that I'm pretty mellow.

Apart from these.

1. The proliferation of newsletters from school. I have three children in the same school. I don't need three copies of the same letter. In fact, I don't need paper copies at all. Why oh why can't they transfer to e-mail all those parents opting to be on a distrubution list and send all attachments that way too? It's not difficult to set up newsletters as .pdf docs and e-mail them to a suppressed list - is it? And permission forms can be attached as standard word docs that can be input and mailed back - can't they?

2. Permission forms. Am I just being picky or does it appear now that schools have to have parental permission for just about every single thing a child does on its premises? My latest beef - my children have to have a signed note from me saying they have permission to use their swimming goggles during lessons. WHY??!!!!!!

3. Photography and video restriction. Now I may open up a can of worms here, but I have a fairly straightforward view on this. When my child is in a school production on stage for all to see, they're in the public domain. If I want to take pictures of MY child I shall. If other parents don't want their child photographed - DON'T PUT THEM UP THERE!!!! I'm not going to zoom in on my child just because your little cherub is two feet away from them and ruining my shot!

Over and out.

And now to work

It's not often where I work and what we do hits the news, but this is getting pretty major coverage today.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8032908.stm