Category: Modern Life

Premature election…

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So, now we know what desperation feels like. Our foul government (foul, because they have turned our country into a sewer) clinging to office like a mistress embracing a dying lover. 

I’m not sure who I detest more. Our Prime Minister (un-elected, lets just remind ourselves) or his party of lunatics. Peter Mandelson, who with each passing trade machination resembles Iago more closely. John Prescott, who is beginning to look like a rather large Cumberland sausage or Alistair Darling whose ‘safe pair of hands’ has cost taxpayers a £75.2bn deficit, one my generation will struggle to pay back within the next decade or three…

Frankly, the country has gone to the dogs. The total government debt is equivalent to 49% of gross domestic product. Britain has the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe and a Child Poverty level which exceeds that of some third world countries.  On a daily basis Gordon and his cronies, these  self-styled ‘guardians of the nation’s moral compass’ reveal their utter contempt for the voters who brought them to power in the first instance. If it’s not the expenses scandal – which discredits politics as a whole –  it’s the own goal of going on television and crying in front of the nation to get votes. Man up, Gordo…everyone knows we don’t do PDA!

So far, Labour have refused to fix a date for the election. Legally these moribund men are compelled to do so within the next few months, but they are dragging it out to the last possible minute. ‘Can’t peak too early’, they say… ‘Hurry up and finish’…I say.  Presumeably they want the experience to last, so they can chuck another few ill-conceived policies our way and really cock it up for the party that will inevitably succeed them. Unfortunately for the Government, electoral viagra hasn’t been invented yet.

As for me, I’m going to use the only preventative measure I can in this instance- my vote!

Star Trek…

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I adore Science Fiction. So much so, I even studied it at Uni as part of my degree. Bug-eyed Monsters, The Green Lantern and Bladerunner all have a special place in my heart. Now before you get completely the wrong idea, I’m not quite ready to don lycra and attend conventions as a warrior queen from the planet Zorg. Still, it’s fair to say this intergalactic love affair started young.

When I was a kid, Betamax and VHS were vying for supremacy, but for those of us whose parents hadn’t quite got round to getting a video machine, there was always cine film.  I’m not quite sure whether Star Trek was the only thing you could hire during the cultural boycotts of the apartheid years, or if my dad was secretly modelling himself on Captain Kirk…, but one thing I do know.

My sisters and I always looked forward to Saturday, because this would mean a trip to our local corner shop, for crisps and a cooldrink, a weekend treat.  Then….’un-bear-able’ excitement as my dad picked up the hire projector and ‘shorts’, and turned our lounge into a cinema.  We would help to move the Tretchikoff picture off the wall, and arrange ourselves neatly in front of the sofa.  Anticipation mounted.  And as the projector began whirring, Gene Roddenberry would transport us to a world of space age heroics and alien encounters.

Like me, Star Trek made its debut 43 years ago.  Roddenberry wanted his series to show mankind what it might develop into, if only it would learn from the lessons of the past, most specifically by ending violence. Of course, this was lost on me at the time, but it makes sense now.  Star Trek was fairly progressive – many of the original episodes were allegories for the issues of the time in which it was made.

These cinematic adventures made a lasting impression.  As far as I was concerned Star Trek had it all – a racially diverse cast of strong alien and human characters, diabolical villains and groovy music.  And let’s not forget my ultimate favourite gadget – a transporter!  Gotta have me one of those. Just so you know… I’ll be first in line if they ever invent a safe way to beam me to another dimension.  Now, where did I put that light sabre…?

Half-hearted…

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I shared a low-key but lovely Valentine’s weekend with an old friend. We meet periodically so we can put the world to rights over a bottle of wine and some good food.  This weekend, as we walked the beach in Margate and passed the lovers’ umbrellas and heart shaped lanterns adorning the harbour wall cafe, we agreed  ice-cream is a lot like love…

If you are going to have it, there’s no point in being a wimp. Why settle for vanilla when you can order that Knickerbockerglory with the whipped cream and crazy toppings? I know far too many sensible women, who got so tired of waiting for ‘Mr.Right’ to show up that they capitulated when ‘Mr.So-So’ entered the room. They aren’t enjoying their ice-cream, because they live a half-life – stuck in bland relationships with lovers who can’t quite commit to a flavourful partnership.What’s the point of that?

If you are going to love someone, then love generously and enjoy the experience. Life is too short for emotional parsimony. Giving only half of your heart because you are afraid of getting hurt, or worried about what the world might think, crushes real affection and robs the soul of joy. These days I really can’t be doing with any of that iffy, ambivalent stuff.  And in this, I am definitely with Frank Sinatra…‘no messing with Mr In-Between’ for me.  Of course, my ‘Mr Unique’ might be turn out to be just that – a one-off treat … ! At least I get to have cherries and chocolate sprinkles…

Killer App…

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I love my ipod Touch.  Not only can I load all of the 500 CDs I own onto this small object of beauty, I have discovered a new source of pleasure. Apps!  Who knew there were so many ways to channel one’s inner geek…

I sail, so I have the ‘Tidal prediction’ App, which shows tide tables for every known port in the world.(You never know when your ship might come in, but I’m holding out for the Bahamas). And I’m a practical kinda gal so I have the ‘Spirit level’ App (Yes, that would be my Virgo tendencies emerging). Of course the ‘Measurement conversion’ App really does sort the Dicks from the Toms and Harries.(Gosh darling, didn’t realise 6 centimetres was the same in inches!)

Actually, after recent romantic misadventures, I’d like to see the istore create the ‘Manometer’.  This is an App which emits a loud warning siren when you are in close proximity to a narcissistic egomaniac who thinks he’s god’s gift to womankind. Works just the same for habitual philanderers! And, it comes preloaded with a ringtone that sounds curiously like your mobile phone, allowing you to exit stage left when the dire conversation makes you want to stick needles in your eyes rather than continue smiling through gritted teeth. Handily, this App can also scan any prospective romantic interest and tell you whether he’s all mouth and no trousers, or whether the attributes match the patter. Now that really is an App to die for…

Chilcot…

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I am so enraged by the public inquiry into the legitimacy of the Iraq invasion. Yes, you heard me right when I said invasion. When you cross the borders of another sovereign state bearing arms it’s usually consistent with an act of hostility. Especially since the rationale for the persistent and senseless killing of our soldiers turns out to be WMD with special properties – dangerous arms that also have the capability of evaporating into thin air – perhaps we’ll call them Weapons of Mass Disappearance, shall we?

At UK taxpayers expense (we don’t yet know how much as our govt is keeping this under wraps until the final report is published) Sir John Chilcot is conducting a ‘public’ inquiry. To establish whether a war that has cost UK taxpayers an estimated £7 billion, left the families and friends of 176 British soldiers grieving, and killed an estimated 95,158 Iraqi civilians – was legally justified.  Iraq continues to be the non-state terrorism capital of the world, suffering more deaths from such attacks than any other country.  And the UK continues to be a more dangerous place thanks to the actions of Blair and Bush.

All this is bad enough, but what has really made me very angry, is that on Friday, Tony Blair took the stand – not to apologise, or even show one shred of remorse for the people who have died as a result of this conflict.  No, instead he was there to tell – in that faux sincere voice which makes me want to slap him – to tell, the inquiry panel how he was absolutely justified in going to war – thereby ignoring a UN resolution and acting against the advice of the finest legal minds in the UK.

Blair and Bin Laden share common ground. Both have ambitions to leave a world legacy. Blair wants the ‘Faith Foundation’ to be how he will be remembered, no doubt Bin Laden’s aspirations stretch in a similar religious direction. They are dangerous men.  What makes them so is not that they have blood on their hands. Or even that they feel no remorse for their actions.  They are dangerous because of the shared conviction they have God on their side.

Ghost Dog…

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Today I went for one of my habitual walks on the beach.  These walks are usually a solitary pursuit – time to myself to think and not think. Wind, waves and the yearning cries of the gulls and guillemots. On my part of the coast,the forbidding British Winter has granted us a sunny reprieve – it’s been clear and crisp – blue sky, and so icy that the seafoam has frozen and the chalk cliffs sparkle with frost. Beautiful, but only crazy people and dog owners are out on the beach. And me…

I must confess I have always been a cat person. However, since dogsledding in Finland I have returned home as a husky whisperer (yes, I know what you are thinking, but no…I don’t have a premium phone line. If I did I’d be stinking rich and living in Hawaii!) It’s just that somehow I’ve acquired an affinity with dogs. I don’t know how. Or why. Perhaps they have an affinity with me… probably more like it, because judging by my personal life its the mutts and the strays who think they have a chance…

Anyway. I’ve noticed something really odd on my walks along the beach.  Dog owners, who are of course a breed unto themselves, keep chatting to me.  Now in and of itself, that would not be weird (It’s England after all and everyone talks to you)…but they all stop and ask where my dog is…like I have a dog! Car keys? Check!… Ipod? Check!… Attitude? Check?… Canine…erm, no!

When they ask me, my defense is to say that I am walking my dog of special breed – the ‘invisible’ dog. Of course this is patently an excuse, as it’s perfectly clear I’m walking myself, but it seems to keep the dog owners happy. And their dogs don’t  mind either.  I’m even contemplating carrying a tennis ball  and a leash – just to look the part!

Still, I can’t help wondering if they see a ghost dog. An invisible mutt.  Now I just need to work on the invisible man. Ha! That leash may come in handy after all.

Dharma…

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The one thing that nobody tells you about being an adult is how hard it is to do the right thing.  Matters that were really clear cut when I was younger have somehow developed blurred edges and hues of grey, as I become more of a grown up and less of the shy, spider-legged girl I used to be.

So, what does doing the right thing mean?  Hard to say as its different for each of us. For me…well, I’ve learnt not to judge people any more. (I of course would make an exception for those who would harm children or animals!) Still, everybody has their own spiritual journey, and you never really know what is going on in someone’s head or indeed their heart.  As adults, we become very good at dissembling truth. Grown ups lie for all sorts of good reasons.  Guilt. Fear. Love. Still, I wish people were more honest and up front with eachother. It might not lead to world peace, but it would save a lot of time and agony.

The right thing can also mean knowing when to walk away, and when to stand and fight for what you are passionate about. On balance, I think it is always better to act out of great love rather than great fear. I don’t think it is possible to love what you fear, though perhaps love can turn into hate. Or maybe we just fear the consequences of what we do and think. Another lesson that comes with being an adult.  Taking responsibility. And, knowing when to take a chance. For change. For happiness. For success. Sometimes the right thing, and the hard thing are the same thing.

Common language…

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Just finished reading my local paper and spotted something that really annoys me…

No, it’s not the story about feral youth setting the dustbin on the corner of Queen and Main Street alight (btw, that is the the only thing that qualifies as crime in this area, thankfully). And no, not the story of Ambrose, the cat of the week, who needs a new home because their owner mistreated them (poor pussy). The offensive statement was in fact in a half page ad –  ‘Wedding Fayre’ – fair, spelt with a ‘y’ and an ‘e’ on the end.

Honestly! we’re not living in ‘ye olde worlde’ any longer. Brides are not bartered for three sheepe and a cowe. Speak English for god’s sake! It’s like seeing ‘shoppe’ pollute the signage of our local villages. Eeuw! Not erudite (which does have an ‘e’ on the end). Just silly. Frankly the only place where rogue ‘e’ belongs is at a rave.

And please, don’t – whatever you do – call it the ‘specific’ ocean in front of me. It’s ‘P’ for ‘Pacific’ (as in peaceful), not ‘specific’ (as in particular). Of course, if you are referring to a particular ocean, then have the decency to use it’s proper name. You know…Indian. Atlantic. That sort of thing.

We may have spell-checker on our e-mails, but why do we have no common sense when it comes to our own language?

‘Stationary’ does not refer to envelopes and notebooks, unless they are standing still.
Doing something ‘on principal’ is likely to rile the school governors and get you on the sex offenders register.

And a final warning from the blog… if you end up lost in the ‘dessert’…make no mistake, you will be eating custard on your way back to the oasis!

Knickers…

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This is just a bit of fun that’s been inspired by the revealing confessions of Facebook friends…

Facebook is running an app that detects the colour of your underwear. Well, I think I can go one better. I’ll tell the nationality of my knickers. At this point in time my underwear just happens to be French. Oui. They may have a president with a Napoleon complex, but they do know their ‘entre’ from their ‘nous’ when it comes to undergarments. Can’t wait for another shopping spree at the Galleries Lafayette!

When I was growing up, one of my mom’s maxims was always to wear clean underwear ‘in case you get hit by a bus’. Yep – I could be bleeding to death on the pavement as long as the underwear was clean…or, in my case, matching.  At the time it didn’t seem that important, but as I become more grown up, I realise having a bra and knickers that go together is as essential as clean teeth and brushed hair. And anyway, if full body scans become mandatory at Heathrow those who are sartorially challenged will need to rely on our underwear to prove our lack of terrorist credentials. ‘I’m a lover not a fighter, guv!’

My friend Lucy Bucket (not her real name) places great store by the concept of matching underwear. It’s not so much that you could get hit by a bus, but you could hit it off with someone yummy  – and so, just as our mothers advised – best be prepared for every eventuality.  I’ve been known to bottle great romantic moments because on the night the knickers were just not right! His, not mine I hasten to add. (And if you were wondering, Y-fronts and Calvins needn’t bother to apply!) Conversely, matching underwear may also be to blame for some of the other predicaments I’ve got myself into, but that (ahem) is the subject of another blog entirely.

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Lost luggage…

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Semi- useful facts about Finland.  1. Population 4.5 million. This makes Finland the most sparsely populated country in Northern Europe 2. Home of the Nokia and the Northern lights. Phones and fun, but not necessarily in that order 3. Part owner of the world’s worst airline. Yep, the Finnish government has a majority stakeholding in Finnair – 55.8% to be exact.

Semi-useful facts about Finnair.  1. They carry approximately 8.8 million passengers per year.  2. They manage to lose luggage on a regular basis.  This week, they even managed to lose my bags twice!  Annoying, yes.  Life-threatening…? well, probably only for the customer service department at Helsinki airport.

As I stood waiting next to the carousel for a suitcase that was not coming, I got thinking about our attachment to ‘stuff’.  Why do we get upset when our luggage goes astray or our things don’t end up where we are? And as I defrosted the car and began a long, wintry drive home, I wondered about the other baggage we carry so freely. You know, the stuff we think is invisible to others (it’s not by the way), the stuff that nevertheless weighs us down, because it stops us from seizing the opportunity to shine as ourselves.  Why don’t we get upset about that 20kg of emotional baggage that we’d be better off losing if we are to journey lightly through life? Perhaps it’s better to travel without possession.  People matter far more than ski boots and souvenirs.