Need a Gripe

So today hasn't been that great so far.   I'm shattered and it's only 4 o'clock.

No particular reason, you understand, just today I found my tether was well and truly stretched.
It started out OK. Went into work, as I do every day, with a plan of action. I cleared my inbox of the immediately pressing and then settled down to work on an on-going (and going and going and going) project.  It was alright.

Then after a quick break for lunch everything went rapidly downhill.  My bosses boss questioned something I was doing and I spent an hour taking him through some complex rationale for decisions taken 6 weeks ago, racking my brain to recall previous conversations through the stress induced slight fug that seems to affect me occasionally and possibly cyclically.  Got back to my desk where my phone rang continuously. I alternated between answering it and helping an apparently endless queue of people who seemed to appear at my desk one after another and loom imperiously over it until I had responded to their query.  

I heard my nemesis colleague over the way speaking on the phone.  "Oh you need to talk to Ariel, thing is, I'm not sure what time she's leaving, she usually leaves early.  Ariel what time are you leaving today?"

I replied fairly shortly "the usual".

I didn't add, that this is my contracted time, that I have no option but to leave to leg it to school to start shift number two, nor that I am actually on a part-time salary, a fact conveniently forgotten by my department (except of course on pay-day).  The trials and tribulations of a working mum.

Arrived at school in a sort of daze.  Saw my son come out of his classroom and felt the usual warm glow at seeing his little face.   He gave me a quick hug and then disappeared among the throng.  I tried to field the various mummy conversations around me whilst desperately searching him out and eventually located him.

Walking home we have the following conversation.

 "I want to marry Sarah, but she says she doesn't want to marry me" (feigns weeping).

  "Oh dear, why not?"

 "She wants to marry Chloe, but anyway she can't because girls can't marry girls can they mummy?"

I pause, I have no option but to contradict him in this day and age, but still wearily know that this will lead to more questioning.

"Well they can if they want to."

"So I can marry Robert? Hurray I'm going to marry Robert!"

"Well"  I say, "usually your friends stay your friends, but you marry the person you fall in love with.  I thought you were going to marry Trudy....."

Walk on, thinking "please change the subject".

Happily, up ahead are the speed bumps in the road and beyond this the haven that is the sweet shop.

"Ooh look, the sweet shop" I say.  "Can we go over the bumps?" "Yes of course"  "Hooray!"

Hooray indeed!

Good Sunday

My husband had a idea.  Why not cycle the 5 odd miles from our village into town along the river.  We could have lunch, mooch a little and then wend our weary way home to curl up and watch a dvd.  Sounds fab?  It does for 2 adults.  But for our little 5 year old who has only been cycling since November?

Well we did it and he was wonderful.  Little tot cycling alongside his dad chattering his little head off.   "Why are these boats here?  Who lives in them? What if their clothes fall in the river? Why are people cycling on the 'no cycling bridge'?  That's naughty!"  Stopping every 5 minutes to scratch his bum and with a brief winge about cold hands he was nevertheless an absolute trooper.  I am so proud of him.

We bought Ice Age 3 Dawn of the Dinosaurs in town.  My hub and I were looking forward to getting home in the warm and snuggling down with our intrepid explorer for some quality family time with pop-corn before hopefully an early night.

Think none of it - animated Tarzan was on when we turned on the telly.  Cue my boy stripping to his pants and jumping around the room belting his little chest.  His energy knows no bounds.  Wish I could say the same for us!

He is now finally in bed asleep and so I am signing off now to go watch Ice Age 3 (or  Top Gear) with my husband and some popcorn......

Tired but happy.

Antigone -- Respect!

So I became a vegetarian aged 11.  My thinking was that I loved animals and cared not so much about killing them to eat -- after all plenty of animals kill for food.  It was more that it was wrong to keep animals solely for the purpose of making a profit from them and then ending their lives in a way that would induce suffering. 

This I imagined would generally involve a trip in a van  followed by slaughter that would be incredibly stressful.  Poor animals suffering adrenaline inducing fear with nowhere to expend it.  At least an antelope can use its survival instinct to run away I argued and if caught will have died trying to escape.  The horror of a flock of sheep in a van going off to slaughter still fills me with revulsion.

For a while I put this to the back of my mind and stood by the argument that it is fine to eat well kept animals who have had the dignity of a good life so between the age of 20 and 22 I ate organic meat, delighting in the opportunity to slow roast and stew and indulge my palate for that deeply savoury, richness that can only come from red meat.

However, I wasn’t comfortable with myself and from 22 to 40 I was once again a lacto/ovo vegetarian.  

What happened at 40? 

Well I became mum to my wonderful strapping son and being a new mum to a much wanted child who hadn’t been easily come by I was determined to do all I could to nuture him according to the super dooper fantastic mummy manual – the one we all read and then threw at the wall 6 weeks down in disgust because the baby wouldn’t follow it.  

So I breast fed my boy on the hour for 40 minutes at a time.  When there was no more to give I would put him in his pram and walk for an age to get him to sleep.  Then we’d arrive home and the cycle would start again seemingly without break, day into night, into day.   About  6 weeks into this I saw an advert on the telly for steak and my exhausted, iron depleted body roared like a lion.  We had steak and chips that night and boy did I need it.

Well 5 years on and I’m not nearly as exhausted and ready to think about resuming my meat free life.   There are many reasons, and I wont blog them now, that wasn’t my intended point.

My point was to rail at the utter crass stupidity of some of my noxious work colleagues.  I happened to mention that I’d become veggie again and wondered aloud whether the scotch broth served in the works canteen that day was meat free. 

I was instantly subjected to an aggressive attack along the lines of “oh I couldn’t do that”, “rather you than me”, “do you eat fish though?”, “ah but aren’t you wearing leather shoes?”    I hadn’t invited commentary on my lifestyle simply by asking if the soup was veggie. I regret the query, to put it mildly!

When I was 16 we studied Anouilh’s Antigone for French A Level.  I massively identified with the anti-heroine.  A young girl who stubbornly insists that she will stand up for what’s right, even if it does no-one living any good.   There’s a wonderful scene in which she describes the stupidity of her guards, with their chapped hands and bovine looks, drinking and thinking of nothing but playing cards.

Antigone  - respect!!!

Then and now.


Unfortunately I have to work with their ancestors :(

Angry and Sad

I'm hesitant to start this one because of the anger I feel over it.

On a Saturday morning my child goes to football.  He goes together with many of his friends from the local primary which is a delightful mix of multiple nationalities.  We are fortunate that he has the benefit of growing up with friends whose parents hail from countries near and far including China, India, Pakistan, Japan, Cameroon, Poland, Ireland, France, Iran.

My take on this is completely positive.  I am so pleased that in his formative years my boy will get the chance to form real friendships with children who have a different cultural heritage.   We are lucky in our little Southern English village to have this level of diversity and only good can come of it in my opinion.

An incident was reported on Saturday whereby a team manager had told a non-Caucasian boy that he wasn't listening, which was true enough.  The man then suggested that the child would be more attentive if he was spoken to in his mother tongue and proceeded to annunciate some pigeon rubbish, presumably meant to mimic.

Apparently casual racism is alive in the eastern counties and there is no shame in directing it at young children.  

What's worse is this person will likely be known among the community as a nice chap and anyone calling him on his behaviour would be told he meant no harm, it was just a joke.  Some of my best friends etc......

Not acceptable, not acceptable at all.

The child happily was oblivious.

I am getting worked up again thinking about it.

When you think to yourself about having kids and bringing them up there are things that you don't want to consider.  Having to teach children how to deal with racist bigotry from adults entrusted with their care is one of them.

In Defence of the Cyclist

So tonight I cycled in to yoga.  It was wet, cold, dark.  I didn't mind the ride.  As fore-mentioned, I quite enjoy it.   Tonight something spoiled it - a not uncommon incident.

I confront a busy main road at rush-hour.  To my left is a convenient pelican crossing which I use to cross the road safely.  Having crossed, my destination lies approx 100 metres ahead located off a side street to the right. I can't cycle on the road now  - I'm on the wrong side .  However, there is a wide pavement, easily able to accommodate the sparse pedestrian population and a bike.  Particularly when a cyclist as careful as I am is using it.  So I ride slowly, and mindfully past an oldish lady, dressed head to toe in fur (extraordinary, but that for another day).

"Cyclists should be on the road" she spits at me full of ire.  So much so,  it takes all I have not to be really rude back.  The point is, I know strictly speaking, the law is on her side.  However, there are times when it would be so easy for pedestrians and cyclists to share the byways.  Particularly when they would generally accommodate a double decker bus.

In many cases now councils have made this legal by the painting of one half of the pavement red denoting a cycle area.  I often encounter pedestrians on my side - am I rude to them - no I'm not, I simply cycle round them carefully.

This is worthy of note because I come across the attitude a lot and I don't understand it, particularly yelled out of car windows, as happened just before Christmas.  There's a lot of anger directed at cyclists by pedestrians and car users alike.

Most of us are harmless, just wending our way in as green and as non-aggressive a fashion as one can imagine.  We really don't deserve it!

Time on my hands

What are you doing at the weekend?

On Friday mornings I do the school run and I’m often asked this question.  It will likely be asked tomorrow.  Quite often I say "nothing".  Quite often too I feel compelled to think of "something" fun we can do, because after all it is the weekend. 

On Saturdays generally, up at 6 as usual and following the usual round of breakfast and general domestics I leave the house. I cycle the 5 odd miles to the yoga studio and do a 90 minute yogaflow class,  whilst my hub takes our son to his football session.   I cycle home, get lunch and then after a flurry of general tidying, throwing a wash in, and maybe ironing the uniform for the following week we might go to meet my friend in the country park for a wander and a natter with the kids.   It’s nice.

However it is a busy day in a similar way to the week.  Up, school, work, school, home, cook, son's bedtime and either I go out to yoga or my hub goes out to some sort of exercise. 

There's not much time to do nothing. Let alone read, think, or do some of the things I'd quite like to explore before I "croak" as my dear brother would so eloquently put it. 

I'm out to dinner with some work colleagues this weekend.  I turned down an evening out next week because it feels a thing too much, but I did feel guilty about doing that. 

Sunday past, unusually,  we didn't do much. We stayed home and spent the morning playing with paints in our pyjamas.  In the afternoon my son and I set up an "art gallery" in our kitchen.  We had music on, we both hummed along.  My hub got a bit of time to himself and  I realised how much I need that day really to prepare for the week ahead, practically, emotionally and mentally.   

It would be good to do that again this week.  

Dragons and Halflings

So, if you should find yourself in the company of a dragon and a halfling, remember you do not have to fight the dragon...... you just need to outrun the halfling.

This was written on the front of the t-shirt of the guy in front of me in yoga class.  I read it upside down whilst he was lying on his back and pondered, then he sat up and the punch line was on his back.  It made me smile.

Then it made me wonder.  I'm never that person.  I would always, always, stand and fight the dragon.  Sometimes this has got me into trouble and more worrying I may have put other people at risk.   It brought to mind an old memory.

I recalled hearing a woman screaming in a public toilet off a main road. It was 11am on a Sunday.  People hurried by looking shifty and a bit concerned.  I was astounded that this was possible. So approaching a "respectable" looking, biggish, chap who was at least looking as if he heard the sound, I asked "shall we do something?" in a tone that brooked no argument.

We approached the building, "you go in first and shout if you need me" he said.  I went in.  The screaming came from a local, well known, dosser warming herself underneath the hand dryer.  It was a distressing sight, but not in the way myself or my fellow bypasser had suspected.  I came out, "it's just a bag lady".  "Oh" says the guy looking very relieved and then shouts out "stop making that noise".  We part company, both feeling we've done our bit.   We hadn't of course.  What could we do?

On the subject of doing ones bit, and off at a tangent,  this blog is hard to keep up.  I know its early days and I want to keep trying.   However, it is so hard to find a right time to fit it in what with work and wife-hood and motherhood and friends to see sometimes and trying to keep my yoga habit up to some extent. I have a feeling that I really need this though, so I need to keep trying.

This is written on the hoof whilst my son, is baying for "information" from the internet, by which he means pictures of carnivorous animals which he can take great pleasure in reproducing.  There's little time to think much or just to be quiet......

ho hum

Blissed Out

Monday nights go like this.

Beloved arrives home from work and takes over as primary parent for a while.  I kiss goodbye and hop on my bike into the cool, dark night. Cycle the 5 odd miles into town come rain or shine mulling over events of the day. I like this quiet thought time.

Arrive at the yoga studio and go in to claim a space.  The room is hot and sultry, lit only by candles and the several wall mounted heaters which give off a gentle heat and a twilight glow.  The room becomes very full, very quickly.  It is also quiet.  There's something of the spiritual in the room without a doubt.

The fabulous teacher starts to talk through the sequence - it's the same each time.  26 postures performed twice on each side of the body.  It is rigorous, demanding in the heat, and yet fills me with a profound calm.

90 minutes later rejuvenated, wrung out, washed clean and re-enthused for life my middle aged body unlocks my middle aged bike and we head home together in a fabulous daze.

I feel younger than 45.  Partly because I wanted to never lose the wonder and tenacity of the questioning child I was, I think.  But these Monday nights are another reason why.

Odd

Unremarkable day for me.  Up at 5.45 - the usual...

The "news"  media are running the story of a celebrity chef who has been shoplifting from his local Tesco.   On all the programs I heard, the discussion is remarkable in its lack of condemnation.  The consensus seems to be that because he could obviously afford his shopping , he must have been stealing due to some life trauma, depression, or problem for which he needs help.   He didn't need to steal and therefore it's forgiveable.

Seems strange to me.  Today I also read about parents in Athens who are handing their children over to charity organisations to care for because they cannot afford to feed them.

The two stories have nothing in common.  However, it did make me think that people are often more likely to condemn those who act out of genuine physical need, that those who don't.

As if people think its easier to deal with having too little food or money than too much?

Odd.

First Sunday

So, part of my resolve for this year was to create a space where I could come on a regular basis to let off steam a bit about things that get my goat but don't seem to bother my peers that much.  Generally these "things" relate to pop culture which I find increasingly sexist and disrespectful to the female of  the species.

This bothers me particularly because having grown up in the South of England in the 70s I saw horizons clipped for girls.  They broadened throughout the 80s and 90s.  It seems to me for whatever reason that the tide is turning again and I'm so depressed at the fact that many of the 80s generation perceive feminism as a dirty word having benefited so much from the sheer grind of the 70s feminists who went before.

I hope somehow I can unpack these thoughts here, and just articulate some of my unease.  I don't have the time or desire to join a group.  My beloved husband deserves a break:)  My dear friends often have other (more pressing) concerns.  However, this may just save me from packing my facebook status with an ire from which I can't ever return. I'm dangerously close.

Resolves early on are i) keep the blog anonymous at all costs, this is a space where I can say what I think without the risk of offending someone close to me; ii) try to keep it on a regular basis for a year at least; and iii) wait and see if it is beneficial or if it just becomes a chore.

Have to say it feels a bit odd at the moment, maybe it will get easier?......

Starting Out

So, my first blog post.  2012 is the year I get a create a safe rant space for myself. Not typing much for now, cos I'm not sure how this works. Will post and see....

A bientot (maybe!)