Category: Modern Life

Mostly…

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I have decided I am definitely the bad seed. Why? Well, for starters, I am soooo…grumpy!!  If the gods that currently prevail – Internet, Mammon and Ohm..or is that OMG! I’ve won a computer for being the 1,001,979th person on the internet!!! – were to conduct a poll, they would find that my responses could be filed in the ‘mostly’ category. As in ‘Mostly Grumpy’…

It’s true. These days. Mostly. I’m grumpy! I’m writing an Msc dissertation. It’s a big deal. I’m sleep deprived… It’s important to me. It makes me like a bear with a sore head. Grizzly! Still, there are floods in Pakistan and terror in the Western World.  I have no excuse other  than nature. Yep, it happens to be genetic!  My sisters and I share a common characteristic. We are not what you would call ‘morning’ people…We wake up, we nod, we need our tea… Beyond that, if you are expecting erudite conversation – forget it!!  That is a pleasure only scheduled for p.m. hours and good lovers…

This is a familial trait that has been commented on by boyfriends (ex and present), husbands, friends and our own mother, who (bless her cotton socks) has been gifted with an astounding ability to be alert at 5.30 a.m….Yes readers, you heard me right – 5.30 a.m.!! Before sparrows have a chance to break wind, never mind sing!!  How on earth has she coped with a family of Owls? 

Now don’t get me wrong…if there is a special purpose we – my siblings and I –  can gee ourselves up to be ‘ok’ in the morning. We’ve climbed mountains, trekked Nepal and surfed South America on this particular vibe… but otherwise – WE JUST NEED OUR SPACE !  AND OUR TEA!!  AND TO BE LEFT ALONE!!! My long-suffering brothers-in-law J and M will be nodding at this point!

Clearly my sisters and I have inherited the paternal gene.  Though of course this is now spreading through the family – apparently my lovely nephew is also grizzly in the a.m….hmmm, he sort of looks like me…Is this Karma keeping time?  I wonder!  Mostly.  But not often…

Private view…

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Tonight I was invited to a private view by a former client. A small and bespoke exhibition of ceramics and glass in the chichi part of Marylebone. Beautiful. Exclusive. Champagne and Canapes. Two of my most favourite pastimes.  As is customary for a girl about town, I walked into a room full of strangers. At least I had heels and matching underwear! I’m the shy and retiring type (yes, really!!) but I can usually do the business networking thing, so the evening was a cinch. Conversation flowed. Business cards were exchanged and… mine (being unusual) garnered particular comment.  All good.

Back on the highspeed home, I couldn’t help wondering about our own ‘private views’.  Those glimpses of ourselves that we allow other people. The thoughts we have in a solitary moment. The inexplicable joy we feel when no one is looking. The raw honesty that lives beneath our image in the morning mirror.  Since we aren’t Tracey Emin or Jeff Koontz these pictures of our psyche remain under the surface of our skin. In reality, most of us are not creating a persona to win the Turner prize.

These views are fleeting and rarely shared – only revealed to those we trust or love. Not the whole of us, but like an iceberg…a significant part of who we are. Sometimes nothing is stranger than being oneself. Perhaps if we invited others in, we would be surprised to find that what we conceal is most treasured.

Apathy…

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Apathy really is the enemy.  And as the UK election looms, I find myself becoming more and more outraged at the number of people who ‘don’t vote’ because they ‘just can’t be bothered’.  For me, this really is unacceptable.  Tonight, a BBC journalist was interviewing voters in the Pennines.  Cue young mother with child. ‘Oh’ she said, ‘I don’t vote…’  Well, I’m sorry missus, but why did you get permission to breed! If that sounds strong, it’s meant to be.  If you choose to be a parent, you owe your children a future. For me, that means you exercise your right to be a citizen – you vote!  Because if you don’t, you will get the politicians you deserve.  And frankly, if you haven’t voted then you have no right to complain when they claim your first born as cannon fodder for another illegal war or declare your left-handed children second class citizens and send them to live in a ghetto. If you think that is far fetched, just read an account of the Holocaust.

In the UK we really are spoilt by democracy (OK, you could debate ‘democracy’ as a term, but for now lets assume it’s the norm here).  Basically you can vote across the spectrum from Green to BNP and all creeds in between, which can’t be too shabby. Still, I think it has lulled us into a false sense of security.  It’s not the same in other countries. Saudi Arabia don’t have elections. In Burma, they held elections in 1990 – the first elections since 1960 – a gap of 30 years in which the military junta had ruled and still do.  The point is, we are privileged to be able to make a mark on a piece of ballot paper and make history by shaping governments. 

I come from a country where the majority of people were denied a vote until very recently, so are wildly excited when there is an election. And why not? Politics influences everything from health policy to pensions. It is deeply important!  I contrast this with the cynical view that many Brits take about politics –  OK, so the expenses scandal has discredited government as a whole – but that makes it even more important to vote for fresh thinking and new blood. If you want change, it’s vital to exercise your democratic right to make that change.

There is a part of me that thinks we should make voting compulsory in the UK, the way it is in Australia. I know, that sounds un-democratic, but there is a rider. If you think all political parties who are standing are just rubbish, I do support the notion that individuals can ‘opt out’ or deem their ballot ‘spoiled’ – but I think they should be compelled to do so. In the UK, it’s not just who forms the next government that is pivotal. Without a decisive victory for either Labour or the Conservatives, we really are in danger of losing our AAA credit rating – a hung parliament (which cannot be ruled out) would be an economic as well as social disaster for Britain. With a massive deficit from bailing out the banks, this is something we really cannot afford.  It’s not too late – if you haven’t yet registered to vote, you can do it online.  JFDI!!

Trigger finger…

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I used to be a real hot-head when I was in my twenties, but somehow I’ve managed to temper my temper and keep that short fuse well hidden as I’ve got older. This is probably also known as ‘becoming English‘ since I’ve lived in Blighty long enough for some of that British reserve to rub off.

Of course, my genes are totally against me – I have an Irish and Italian background so the lovers and the fighters are equally represented when I get very angry. Not to mention the stroppy South African contingent who tell it like it is and not how others like to hear it.  Perhaps this is why I’ve recently morphed into a sailor with Tourettes, replacing adjectives with expletives. Not terribly lady-like I know, but ever so satisfying to say when confronted by the idiocies of modern life…automated call systems, for instance.

Picture the scenario – you have a problem and need to speak to a human being.  You dial the number of the helpdesk that promises ‘extraordinary service’. You get…some disembodied tinny recording saying ‘press one for query X, press two for query Y…’ Then, you get a recorded message that says…’your call is important to us, please hold’.  By now 15 minutes have elapsed while you’ve waited for the cyber-operator to do its best to deter you from actually speaking to a  real person. God forbid!  More time goes by while you listen to Yamaha’s interpretation of rock classics and then you get a message saying…’we’re sorry, we can’t speak to you right now. If you’d like to leave your number, press one for…’

Instead of using my finger to dial a number, I’m beginning to think it would be simpler to use it to put a bullet in the head of the idiot management consultants who think automation is synonomous with customer service. Who hires these turkeys? Yep, stuff like this really brings out the anarchist in me, and I find I become prone to small acts of civil disobedience…

Next time you get one of those voice activated systems that asks you to ‘speak your postcode’  my advice is to just keep saying f$&K and B*£££r – you’ll get put through straight away!

Size matters…

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Apparently hand size is really important if you’re a bloke, but presumably not if you are an accountant as they always seem to have small digits…The better to count money with, albeit no guarantee of romantic success.  Being an accountant, I mean!  

The fact is most men are of average endowment regardless of how big other parts of them are. And that includes their egos… No, I haven’t been using a tape measure, I have this on good authority from a friend who is a nurse! Sorry chaps, but not everyone can be Ron Jeremy, and not every woman wants someone who needs longer shorts because of their shoe size!

I will admit that size matters to me.  But before all the men who read this go scurrying off to stroke their…um…egos, let me just say that I’m talking cerebrally here!  Like most of the independently-minded women I know, there is a list of desireable characteristics that make the difference between Mr Right and Mr Wrong-on-so-many-levels…you know, the ones that we tick off mentally before the man in question has had the time to open his mouth and ruin it all.  

My requirements are fairly simple…tall…younger…own hair and teeth…you get the picture.  But my particular kryptonite happens to be intelligence.   For me, brains and all the above in one package is a particularly devastating combination.  Add a fair dollop of wry humour and a generous spirit, and I’m probably putty by the end of the evening…or slutty…but only if they happen to have a six-figure IQ!

Howl…

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I was up all night finishing an assignment and happened to check my inbox as part of my ‘work avoidance strategy’, which usually alternates with the ‘I must-clean-the-bathroom-strategy’ at times of academic duress.

One email.  From a friend who is grieving a parent. My own dad died when I was sixteen and my sisters were much younger, so I’m familiar with the emotions. It happened at a fairly critical time in our lives and we all had to grow up quickly…but it’s a long time ago now, and although it hurts from time to time, we’ve adjusted to life with loss and carried on living because that’s what you do to thrive in the present.

Still, as I read the words on my screen, I felt tears stinging my eyes and running down my cheeks. Everyone deals with sadness in their own way, but somehow this note made me want to howl and sob. I couldn’t stop myself.  Of course, I know it’s more than just an empathetic reaction to a friend’s bereavement. And though I could put it down to sleep deprivation, the real reason my heart aches is that I’ve lost someone too.

There is grace in grief, and strength in allowing yourself to mourn. Absent friends. A much-loved pet. Dreams that have passed their sell by date. There’s also a time to wipe your tears away and make a conscious choice to savour every moment.  I’m going to do that today.

Unintended consequences…

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I woke up this morning feeling a little fuzzy headed after a night on the tiles. Whether it’s the morning after the night before, or just the events of the preceding evening, I’m in reflective mood. Well, they do say for every action there is an outcome, so it probably follows that if you drink lots of red wine, you will get a hangover…But what about outcomes we don’t intend? 

I sometimes think if we had sufficient information, we would be more prescient – able to predict the consequences of our actions.  But would this be a good thing?  If we knew, I mean – absolutely –  knew what would happen if we followed our hearts’ content, if we said what we really felt, if we kissed the friend we’d loved from afar, or took a job on the other side of the world…Would we still do it?  Or would all that knowing paralyse us and simply leave us wondering …‘what if’?

In the silence between our words, we litter our conversations with unspoken longing.   Often we don’t say what we mean or withhold information for fear of being made vulnerable. We may be intelligent apes, but it is not our language that give us away. When we don’t intend to reveal what we are really thinking, it is our hearts that betray us more eloquently than speech.

Shoot from the lip…

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As little girls we are taught that sugar and spice is nice, the emphasis on the sugar, the implication being that ‘nice’ girls never express their opinion. Yeah, right…! Still, this anachronism was brought home to me this week in a most  unexpected place… my Msc class.  

I know! University is meant to be a place of free expression, debate and argument.  If not, what on earth is the point?  For my sins I’m doing a post graduate degree in Corporate Governance and Ethics. It’s true I have given up self improvement, but I love learning…probably serves me right. Anyway, in one of my classes,  I made an off-the-cuff remark about arms dealers in Africa.  Sardonic, yes.  Serious…? Hardly!! Clearly, I was being ironic when I said that manufacturing in Africa would grow if local people made guns – well, let’s be honest, of the known conflicts in the world, the majority take place across the central belt of Africa – why not exploit the market?  Among my many flaws I am a free marketeer.

At this point, horrified hisses in class…H.a.l.l.o people! Get real…would I actually be doing a class on Corporate Responsibility if I felt that poor African farmers should give up their maize and cows and start assembling Kalashnikovs? Oh puh-leeze!  I even got accused of being a Daily Mail reader.  That was bad, but it was not the final straw.

What really got to me was that this class of  young people in their 20s and 30s  had sacrificed their sense of humour and opinions on the altar of political correctness. Somehow it was anathaema that I had expressed an opinion (albeit ironically) that went against the general consensus. Hmmm, and 200,000 lemmings must be right too!  I’m sorry, but when did it become ok to have a focus on not expressing one’s views? Un-opinioned and bland is the enemy of progress to my mind.  And yes, I do have one!  I’m not afraid to use it. That’s one of the benefits of being sapient…

Still, I’m old enough for this not to matter overmuch. But consider this blog fair warning to those po-faced political correctoids…Get over it, or get over yourselves! I am opinioned woman, and I will roar.  Whether you like it or not!

Porn again…

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When I was younger, I spent a year in a mid-Western town in the US.  Its claim to fame – other than being cheerleader central  – was that the KKK were as active as the local Baptists. They also happened to have a XXX-rated drive in.  Yep, no kidding.  They liked abbreviations with three consonants! You could see the screen from miles away… Well, it was flat and there were loads of corn fields….but still. Personally, I never got the appeal of driving down the road to watch silent movies!  I also never could reconcile the hypocrisy – god fearing by day, deeply disturbed by night.  You get the picture…

I must admit, I struggle with pornography. I think it exploits the weak…and the weakness in others. It’s one thing to explore when you are an hormonal adolescent male, quite another when you are a grown man. In an internet age, it is on-line and on-demand. It’s in your face and up for grabs.Travel on business today and most hotels will offer you a selection of ‘adult’ movies, which aren’t itemised on your hotel bill. It gives men unrealistic expectations, and puts additional pressure on women. Surely the Hollywood wax was not invented until some male director thought it made for better viewing on camera? And as for those terminally pert, pneumatic boobs..not to mention male enhancements? Ouch!

I am not a Puritan. Nor am I anti-eroticism.  I’ve done my fair share of wild living.  And I recognise pornography is nothing new. Netsuke sculptures from Japan, the Kama Sutra from India, Victorian postcards.  Human sexuality is part of society. And for some people, watching it is a turn-on. I get that.  We are all consenting adults and for the most part are allowed our peccadillos…as long as they don’t involve children or animals!. Nevertheless, for me it’s a bit like sailing – I’d rather be doing it than watching other people do it!  And my ‘turn on’ is definitely cerebral – to get into my knickers, you have to access my mind first!

In the running…

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It was one of those days that I took a very hard look in the mirror and knew that something fundamental had to change. So, instead of drowning my sadness in a glass of red wine (usually my preferred option) I put on my trainers and went for a run…

What makes this blogworthy, is that I’ve discovered that I can actually run 5 miles (about 8 km) without stopping.  Slowly. Steadily. A small, but significant accomplishment. Especially since I’m not exactly built like an athlete.  Well, I have a pair of legs, but that’s where the similarity ends…

More surprisingly, I’ve discovered that I really enjoy running. O.M.G.!  did I actually write that?  OK, let me be honest here…the first 20 minutes are always agony and I keep hoping that the NRLI will actually ignore the drowning people and be on standby in case I collapse outside the lifeboat station… No such luck!

Still, once I get past that landmark, and head along the open stretch of coast between my home town and the next village, my head empties and I actually begin to enjoy the experience. I know it’s probably the endorphins kicking in, but somehow running makes me feel good in a whole new way.  For an hour, I can forget about my worries, and just be. Nothing but me, the sea and my iPod.

Of course, being a goal-oriented individual, I’ve decided that 5 miles isn’t enough, and I’m now in training to see if I can actually reach the 13 mile (20 km) mark.  Who am I competing against?  Myself. Will I get there?  Your guess is as good as mine.  I’m in the running… And I am definitely going to have a good time trying.