No, this is not what happened to me yesterday. It's the subjects I'm revising for tomorrow's Criminal Law exam. Sorry if you came to read this expecting some interesting stories filled with police, a battle between good and evil, a fight for life, some vigilante justice and hero of the She-ra variety.
Unfortunately, I am not She-ra. I am just Lau-ra. And I am spending today in my front room, which is kind of like a dungeon now. Curtains always closed (so I don't see the outside world and feel tempted to go for a walk or anything). No music allowed because it distracts me. Empty water bottles, mugs, containers that once held food and little scraps of paper are scattered around everywhere. I have some relatively serious hand cramp issues. For your information only, I also stopped brushing my hair a few days ago and will change out of my pyjamas only when I leave the house to go to exams. When I walk down to the deli to get food, I often just throw a jumper on over my jarmies and hope no-one will notice. (They do.) One positive development has been that I have stopped living off cake and muffins. A move toward the salad/quiche/proper meals section of the deli has improved matters. I no longer enter and pick up a jar of peanut butter and scurry off home with it hoping no-one sees me and judges me.
I've eaten maybe a hundred oatcakes this week. I get funny addictions when I'm in a situation of stress. Like last year, when I got really ill and had the emergency operation (C is for), I got really addicted to Top Gear. There are a billion episodes being repeated constantly and I was just all over it! I'm not into cars at all, I don't drive and now that I'm well again, I've got no idea what was going on because I've never ever watched it again, since getting better. Top Gear?! Jeremy Clarkson?! And that other one who had the crash and almost died, what's his name? Richard something?
So anyway, my exam addiction is anything of the oatcake/cracker variety. It's puzzling.
I am also addicted to making flashcards. I think flashcards make the world a better place actually. We should all try making some.
By the way, there are no stories from yesterday's Equity and Trusts exam really. There was an essay question which I had suspected might come up but hadn't had time to do as much preparation for it as I would have liked. But no major disasters. I don't think there were anyway!
Thursday 31 May 2012
Wednesday 30 May 2012
Freedom Literature
The next installment in the guest blog series on freedom. Enjoy!
After Freedom Rules, Freedom Music & Freedom Art we now come to Part 4 which I’m calling Freedom Literature.
Once again this is a vast subject and I can only take a brief look at it. Hopefully it may prompt a few thoughts in your mind. I’m going to take just a couple of examples and, as in previous pieces, ask some questions. Let me start with: how is freedom portrayed in literature? And what sort of freedom? There are plenty of biographies about people who have fought for causes to free others or for their own freedom. There are those written about bringing new freedoms to situations or to countries where they don’t have them. I’m going to take just a couple of examples from novels to illustrate how a couple of writers have treated the subject. You may have others you feel illustrate the point as well.
Let’s begin with Indian-born George Orwell (1903-50, real name Eric Arthur Blair) and his novel Nineteen Eighty-Four (1948). In the land of Oceania The Party rules and Winston Smith imagines how he could rebel against Big Brother. Once again the loss of basic freedoms is apparent from very early on as we see how the society works. The rebel, the main protagonist, in this book and in Bradbury’s below, is a heroic figure battling the discriminatory dictatorship ruling his world. As soon as we read of his situation we want to side with him and see him victorious. We want to see the lost freedoms he is fighting for restored.
Next, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (1953) written just 8 years after the end of WW2; a film followed in 1966 and it’s well worth catching if you can. Like Orwell’s book Bradbury’s has been described as a dystopian novel and, at times, has also been banned or considered “intellectually dangerous to the public” (Wikipedia). It looks at American society in the future where books have been banned; the freedom to read taken away and, in this case, replaced by the government’s TV broadcasts. However not only are the books banned but they are burned by the authorities. The people employed to do the burning are called “firemen”. (Throughout history the burning of books has been undertaken by various regimes or groups within a society as a means of control.) The aim is simply to stop the spread of ideas contrary to what those in power want. In Bradbury’s novel the burning campaign is quite extensive. Even so, the firemen are always looking for more books to destroy and for people who may not be obeying the rules. Given the risk of being discovered some individuals, who oppose the government policy, come up with a plan: they will preserve the content of the books by memorising them. They have to move out of the city to somewhere in the countryside to avoid detection. One person, in the group, memorises one book, another person another book and so on. Although the book is gone, the knowledge of that book will not be lost to future generations.
The freedom to write whatever you want is probably epitomised by the content & style of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake (1939). Most readers of more than just a few pages, without a commentary or notes on it, will struggle to remember what they’ve read and what might it mean.
Nonsense verse has a number of famous examples. For just a couple, think of Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, (begins 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe) and Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat,(begins, The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea, In a beautiful pea green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note). The Mayor of Scuttleton by Mary Mapes Dodge and Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly by Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz (Douglas Adams) add to the list of meaningless poems. So freedom may produce nonsense; interestingly forms like this do, however, use a regular form of poetry to do it – hmm..).
The minute we move into the controversial areas of politics, religion & sex in literature we come to that, now familiar, territory of whether I should consider if I am causing someone, who reads my writing, to be offended. Should I care? Or should they just “Get over it”? Does the society I live in have the right to legislate about what I can write? Do we need censorship & specific rules to govern the publishing process? If we don’t have them what happens?
Among the many books which speak of freedom, you may be surprised to know that The Bible has these words, (in the book of Galatians): “..do not use your freedom as an opportunity to do wrong but through love serve one another.” Here the emphasis is very much on the responsibility that comes with having freedom. This has to be a vital element in the smooth functioning of any society. If individuals don’t take responsibility for the consequences of their actions it will be a very selfish society that is created – a sort of “I want whatever I want - no matter what you think.” Not good.
I wonder what you or I would do if we had to take charge of the publishing industry. What would we allow into print? And what not? It’s tough isn’t it. If we allow anything, we could easily be accused of letting corrupting influences take hold; if we restrict, we may be accused of being too negative or censorial in our attitude. Should publishers be accountable to the society they release material into? Are there books you would not like your children to read? Why?
There are so many questions because it’s such a difficult area. Perhaps you’d like to make a comment on a blog. If the blogger doesn’t like it, it won’t show or will be taken down if already posted. Is even that restricting your freedom? The further you look into it the harder it gets.
Should revealing details of the operations of the military and security services, in print, be banned? Just this last week, it was reported in the UK press, that the Ministry of Defence tried to block a book written about British forces in Afghanistan. The author said, of those responsible for the situation: “To paraphrase George Orwell, if liberty means anything at all, it means the freedom to tell people things they don’t want to hear….” Is the author right?
As with the other areas, Freedom Literature seems to raise more questions than it answers. Surely somewhere along the line there must be some form of literature control otherwise anyone could publish whatever they want about whatever subject or person they choose? And then we run into the scenario in the poem at the end of my previous Freedom Art blog that morality ceases to exist in this area. Can that be right?
Interestingly, this day (30th May) in history has not been kind to writers:
1. In 1593, English dramatist, Christopher Marlowe died.
2. In 1744, English poet, Alexander Pope died.
3. In 1788, French writer, François-Marie Arouet de Voltaire died.
4. In 1960, Russian poet & novelist, Boris Pasternak died.
Finally, in 1431, although not a writer as such, Joan of Arc died. (She wrote a number of letters to various groups & people.) She is most famously remembered for the bringing of freedom to the city of Orleans which had been under siege by the English, 1428-9. (This eventually led to the restoration of the monarchy under King Charles VII.)
After Freedom Rules, Freedom Music & Freedom Art we now come to Part 4 which I’m calling Freedom Literature.
Once again this is a vast subject and I can only take a brief look at it. Hopefully it may prompt a few thoughts in your mind. I’m going to take just a couple of examples and, as in previous pieces, ask some questions. Let me start with: how is freedom portrayed in literature? And what sort of freedom? There are plenty of biographies about people who have fought for causes to free others or for their own freedom. There are those written about bringing new freedoms to situations or to countries where they don’t have them. I’m going to take just a couple of examples from novels to illustrate how a couple of writers have treated the subject. You may have others you feel illustrate the point as well.
Let’s begin with Indian-born George Orwell (1903-50, real name Eric Arthur Blair) and his novel Nineteen Eighty-Four (1948). In the land of Oceania The Party rules and Winston Smith imagines how he could rebel against Big Brother. Once again the loss of basic freedoms is apparent from very early on as we see how the society works. The rebel, the main protagonist, in this book and in Bradbury’s below, is a heroic figure battling the discriminatory dictatorship ruling his world. As soon as we read of his situation we want to side with him and see him victorious. We want to see the lost freedoms he is fighting for restored.
Next, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (1953) written just 8 years after the end of WW2; a film followed in 1966 and it’s well worth catching if you can. Like Orwell’s book Bradbury’s has been described as a dystopian novel and, at times, has also been banned or considered “intellectually dangerous to the public” (Wikipedia). It looks at American society in the future where books have been banned; the freedom to read taken away and, in this case, replaced by the government’s TV broadcasts. However not only are the books banned but they are burned by the authorities. The people employed to do the burning are called “firemen”. (Throughout history the burning of books has been undertaken by various regimes or groups within a society as a means of control.) The aim is simply to stop the spread of ideas contrary to what those in power want. In Bradbury’s novel the burning campaign is quite extensive. Even so, the firemen are always looking for more books to destroy and for people who may not be obeying the rules. Given the risk of being discovered some individuals, who oppose the government policy, come up with a plan: they will preserve the content of the books by memorising them. They have to move out of the city to somewhere in the countryside to avoid detection. One person, in the group, memorises one book, another person another book and so on. Although the book is gone, the knowledge of that book will not be lost to future generations.
The freedom to write whatever you want is probably epitomised by the content & style of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake (1939). Most readers of more than just a few pages, without a commentary or notes on it, will struggle to remember what they’ve read and what might it mean.
Nonsense verse has a number of famous examples. For just a couple, think of Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, (begins 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe) and Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat,(begins, The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea, In a beautiful pea green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note). The Mayor of Scuttleton by Mary Mapes Dodge and Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly by Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz (Douglas Adams) add to the list of meaningless poems. So freedom may produce nonsense; interestingly forms like this do, however, use a regular form of poetry to do it – hmm..).
The minute we move into the controversial areas of politics, religion & sex in literature we come to that, now familiar, territory of whether I should consider if I am causing someone, who reads my writing, to be offended. Should I care? Or should they just “Get over it”? Does the society I live in have the right to legislate about what I can write? Do we need censorship & specific rules to govern the publishing process? If we don’t have them what happens?
Among the many books which speak of freedom, you may be surprised to know that The Bible has these words, (in the book of Galatians): “..do not use your freedom as an opportunity to do wrong but through love serve one another.” Here the emphasis is very much on the responsibility that comes with having freedom. This has to be a vital element in the smooth functioning of any society. If individuals don’t take responsibility for the consequences of their actions it will be a very selfish society that is created – a sort of “I want whatever I want - no matter what you think.” Not good.
I wonder what you or I would do if we had to take charge of the publishing industry. What would we allow into print? And what not? It’s tough isn’t it. If we allow anything, we could easily be accused of letting corrupting influences take hold; if we restrict, we may be accused of being too negative or censorial in our attitude. Should publishers be accountable to the society they release material into? Are there books you would not like your children to read? Why?
There are so many questions because it’s such a difficult area. Perhaps you’d like to make a comment on a blog. If the blogger doesn’t like it, it won’t show or will be taken down if already posted. Is even that restricting your freedom? The further you look into it the harder it gets.
Should revealing details of the operations of the military and security services, in print, be banned? Just this last week, it was reported in the UK press, that the Ministry of Defence tried to block a book written about British forces in Afghanistan. The author said, of those responsible for the situation: “To paraphrase George Orwell, if liberty means anything at all, it means the freedom to tell people things they don’t want to hear….” Is the author right?
As with the other areas, Freedom Literature seems to raise more questions than it answers. Surely somewhere along the line there must be some form of literature control otherwise anyone could publish whatever they want about whatever subject or person they choose? And then we run into the scenario in the poem at the end of my previous Freedom Art blog that morality ceases to exist in this area. Can that be right?
Interestingly, this day (30th May) in history has not been kind to writers:
1. In 1593, English dramatist, Christopher Marlowe died.
2. In 1744, English poet, Alexander Pope died.
3. In 1788, French writer, François-Marie Arouet de Voltaire died.
4. In 1960, Russian poet & novelist, Boris Pasternak died.
Finally, in 1431, although not a writer as such, Joan of Arc died. (She wrote a number of letters to various groups & people.) She is most famously remembered for the bringing of freedom to the city of Orleans which had been under siege by the English, 1428-9. (This eventually led to the restoration of the monarchy under King Charles VII.)
Tuesday 29 May 2012
Another revision day
I was trying to think of non-exam things to write about so my blogs don't get repetitive and boring. But unfortunately, I can't. Implied Trusts of the Home is filling my entire brain space. I don't even have any good stories from the land law exam yesterday. I just went in, wrote, then left. I didn't feel any strong surges of emotion in any direction really, once I'd finished it.
I guess there was one minor thing which went a bit wrong, because it looked messy. I got mid way into discussing the requirements for easements and then got caught up in the moment and moved straight on to how the easements were acquired, without finishing my requirement checklist. So I finished the checklist and put an arrow back up to where it needed to go in and some little squiggles so the marker knew where to look for the next bit. So then I had to do another squiggle to match up the bit above with the bit about acquisition underneath. And another one because it wasn't clear. And soon it was squiggle mania and starting to get quite humorous. Because they had to be different squiggles so that it was clear what bit to look at next. I did a star, a blob and a triangle. It looked like a child had grabbed my paper and drawn all over it.
O well. All the information was in there. Just not necessarily in a very clear way.
Ok. Equity and Trusts exam tomorrow. I'm realising that I spent quite a long time studying for my land exam and a bit worried that I only really have today to do this one.
Also, my 'snack tab' at the deli is getting huge. I should start eating proper meals again....
I guess there was one minor thing which went a bit wrong, because it looked messy. I got mid way into discussing the requirements for easements and then got caught up in the moment and moved straight on to how the easements were acquired, without finishing my requirement checklist. So I finished the checklist and put an arrow back up to where it needed to go in and some little squiggles so the marker knew where to look for the next bit. So then I had to do another squiggle to match up the bit above with the bit about acquisition underneath. And another one because it wasn't clear. And soon it was squiggle mania and starting to get quite humorous. Because they had to be different squiggles so that it was clear what bit to look at next. I did a star, a blob and a triangle. It looked like a child had grabbed my paper and drawn all over it.
O well. All the information was in there. Just not necessarily in a very clear way.
Ok. Equity and Trusts exam tomorrow. I'm realising that I spent quite a long time studying for my land exam and a bit worried that I only really have today to do this one.
Also, my 'snack tab' at the deli is getting huge. I should start eating proper meals again....
Monday 28 May 2012
What is going through my mind right now
Land Law exam starts in just over three hours.
Why have I never heard of Dyce v Lady James Hay if it's such an important case?
Will I remember Barclays v O'Brien in relation to undue influence in mortgages?
My granola tastes funny. I think the milk might be a little bit off.
Ed Sheeran is good study music.
Why is the computer going so slowly?
Just get through the next few days.
There's just no way I can remember all this stuff. It's impossible.
My tooth hurts.
Had a weird dream about filming a music video and there was a really powerful wind machine which just blew upwards and I had to float around in mid-air doing Cheryl-Cole-esque poses.
Why have I never heard of Dyce v Lady James Hay if it's such an important case?
Will I remember Barclays v O'Brien in relation to undue influence in mortgages?
My granola tastes funny. I think the milk might be a little bit off.
Ed Sheeran is good study music.
Why is the computer going so slowly?
Just get through the next few days.
There's just no way I can remember all this stuff. It's impossible.
My tooth hurts.
Had a weird dream about filming a music video and there was a really powerful wind machine which just blew upwards and I had to float around in mid-air doing Cheryl-Cole-esque poses.
Sunday 27 May 2012
Things I can't wait to do after my exams
(Just a short one today as my brain is crowded out with statutes and case names...)
- Wake up just one hour before work, instead of two.
- Read novels. Or in fact anything which is not a textbook.
- Have spare time and just watch TV or sit in the garden.
- Be able to hold conversations that are absent of any mention of revision.
- Go for long walks.
- Say yes to social engagements.
- Eat properly and have separate meals instead of one long snack-fest.
- Sit somewhere apart from the front room.
- Not have scraps of notes or random textbooks on every surface.
- Take time to make myself look presentable.
- Wear clothes instead of pyjamas.
PS. Why do we say we 'can't wait'? That's silly, isn't it? Of course we can. We have to. That's just how time works. You can't make time move any faster than it does. Therefore, regardless of whether we want to wait or not, we have to. It's not a question of 'can't'. You just have to.
- Wake up just one hour before work, instead of two.
- Read novels. Or in fact anything which is not a textbook.
- Have spare time and just watch TV or sit in the garden.
- Be able to hold conversations that are absent of any mention of revision.
- Go for long walks.
- Say yes to social engagements.
- Eat properly and have separate meals instead of one long snack-fest.
- Sit somewhere apart from the front room.
- Not have scraps of notes or random textbooks on every surface.
- Take time to make myself look presentable.
- Wear clothes instead of pyjamas.
PS. Why do we say we 'can't wait'? That's silly, isn't it? Of course we can. We have to. That's just how time works. You can't make time move any faster than it does. Therefore, regardless of whether we want to wait or not, we have to. It's not a question of 'can't'. You just have to.
Friday 25 May 2012
Diary of a desperate student
Now, I'm quite a strong willed person. I can put my mind to most things and can be strict with myself when necessary. The fact that I get up at 4.30am when I don't need to attests to this fact. The following is a diary of what a law degree can do to a person in just one day.
07:40 - Woke up. Felt ok. Did twenty minutes of yoga and got ready for my day.
08:05 - Went to the deli in my pyjamas to collect some ripe bananas to make banana bread with. Decide to do it tomorrow. Today I will be focussed and will become the master of Land Law!
08:20 - Had some breakfast. Arranged my notes into a neat pile. Read over the notes I made yesterday.
09:00 - Did the dishes.
09:30 - Put the dishes away.
10:00 - Read over my notes again.
10:45 - Sat down with a question from last year's exam paper about mortgages. Set myself an hour and got writing. Started out well. Felt good.
11:15 - Got disheartened when I didn't really know how to move forward with the question. Got up to make a cup of tea. Checked Facebook. Ate a few Ryvita whilst in the kitchen.
11.30 - More Ryvita. More despair.
11.50 - Straightened my hair.
12:00 - More Ryvita.
12:20 - Finally finished all I could on the question on mortgages. The last bit had confused me so I didn't attempt it. I thought I'd listen to the online lecture to see how to do it. Listened to the whole thing, only needing the end. Four minutes from the end, while finally addressing the bit I needed help on, it stopped, for no discernible reason. I became depressed and went to make tea. I found some hazelnuts and almonds whilst there and ate them all.
12:40 - Started a practise question on freehold covenants and felt overwhelmed just ten minutes in. Found the online lecture instead and figured I'd take extensive notes and try again later. I find the lecture and immediately tune out and start looking for things to buy on Amazon. Ate some dried figs and pecans from the kitchen.
13:00 - WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME! I HAVE EXAMS IN THREE DAYS! CONCENTRATE, LAURA!
13:01 - My concentration is broken by a large fly. I chase it around for ten minutes and eventually kill it with a study book. Also ate a yoghurt.
13:20 - I debate whether to get dressed.
13:21 - I decide against it. I eat a muffin instead.
13:30 - Finished the Ryvita. Found some walnuts and finished them too.
14:10 - Took up coffee drinking, which has never happened in my entire life.
14:25 - Made eggs and bacon and more coffee.
14:50 - Drew fake tattoos on my hands and legs for fun. Mostly pictures of catterponies galloping through forests. Ate some sunflower seeds and a muffin.
15:03 - Laughed because the lecturer said 'argubably' by mistake.
15:10 - Tuned in briefly to the online lecture which was running and heard him say something about 'Prunella's cows' and realised, with amazement, that I hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
15:30 - Something clicks, I sit down with some cases to read and a highlighter and suddenly my concentration arrives out of the blue and, with the help of two cups of coffee and nine cups of tea, stays with me for a few hours.
16:50 - My hand/eye co-ordination fails me as there isn't room for it to continue operating whilst my brain is attempting to remember everything. I spill tea down my front and all over my leg and textbook.
17:25 - Still reading and highlighting. Have now eaten all the goji berries and pumpkin seeds.
18:00 - It was around this time that I lost the ability to spell or write legibly.
20:45 - Finally finished reading cases and had a barbecue to celebrate...
21:00 - Enjoyment guilt set in and I picked up my case book and kept reading til 22:45.
Vital stats from my day.
Amount of hot drinks I consumed = 21.
Amount of water I drank = approx. 2.5 litres.
Amount of ingredients I have left to put in cakes = 0
Amount of food left in the fridge = a few strawberries, blueberries and a jar of marmalade.
Amount of weight I estimate I put on = half a stone, easily.
Amount of times I checked Facebook = approx. 4000
Amount of times I checked my emails = approx 200
Percentage of time I spent despairing = 50%
Percentage of time I spent feeling ready for exams = 50%
POINTS TO NOTE -
1. I did not change out of my pyjamas all day.
2. I caught sight of myself in the mirror before I went to bed and I looked pretty rough.
3. I created 41 possible alternative careers for myself during this revision day.
07:40 - Woke up. Felt ok. Did twenty minutes of yoga and got ready for my day.
08:05 - Went to the deli in my pyjamas to collect some ripe bananas to make banana bread with. Decide to do it tomorrow. Today I will be focussed and will become the master of Land Law!
08:20 - Had some breakfast. Arranged my notes into a neat pile. Read over the notes I made yesterday.
09:00 - Did the dishes.
09:30 - Put the dishes away.
10:00 - Read over my notes again.
10:45 - Sat down with a question from last year's exam paper about mortgages. Set myself an hour and got writing. Started out well. Felt good.
11:15 - Got disheartened when I didn't really know how to move forward with the question. Got up to make a cup of tea. Checked Facebook. Ate a few Ryvita whilst in the kitchen.
11.30 - More Ryvita. More despair.
11.50 - Straightened my hair.
12:00 - More Ryvita.
12:20 - Finally finished all I could on the question on mortgages. The last bit had confused me so I didn't attempt it. I thought I'd listen to the online lecture to see how to do it. Listened to the whole thing, only needing the end. Four minutes from the end, while finally addressing the bit I needed help on, it stopped, for no discernible reason. I became depressed and went to make tea. I found some hazelnuts and almonds whilst there and ate them all.
12:40 - Started a practise question on freehold covenants and felt overwhelmed just ten minutes in. Found the online lecture instead and figured I'd take extensive notes and try again later. I find the lecture and immediately tune out and start looking for things to buy on Amazon. Ate some dried figs and pecans from the kitchen.
13:00 - WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME! I HAVE EXAMS IN THREE DAYS! CONCENTRATE, LAURA!
13:01 - My concentration is broken by a large fly. I chase it around for ten minutes and eventually kill it with a study book. Also ate a yoghurt.
13:20 - I debate whether to get dressed.
13:21 - I decide against it. I eat a muffin instead.
13:30 - Finished the Ryvita. Found some walnuts and finished them too.
14:10 - Took up coffee drinking, which has never happened in my entire life.
14:25 - Made eggs and bacon and more coffee.
14:50 - Drew fake tattoos on my hands and legs for fun. Mostly pictures of catterponies galloping through forests. Ate some sunflower seeds and a muffin.
15:03 - Laughed because the lecturer said 'argubably' by mistake.
15:10 - Tuned in briefly to the online lecture which was running and heard him say something about 'Prunella's cows' and realised, with amazement, that I hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
15:30 - Something clicks, I sit down with some cases to read and a highlighter and suddenly my concentration arrives out of the blue and, with the help of two cups of coffee and nine cups of tea, stays with me for a few hours.
16:50 - My hand/eye co-ordination fails me as there isn't room for it to continue operating whilst my brain is attempting to remember everything. I spill tea down my front and all over my leg and textbook.
17:25 - Still reading and highlighting. Have now eaten all the goji berries and pumpkin seeds.
18:00 - It was around this time that I lost the ability to spell or write legibly.
20:45 - Finally finished reading cases and had a barbecue to celebrate...
21:00 - Enjoyment guilt set in and I picked up my case book and kept reading til 22:45.
Vital stats from my day.
Amount of hot drinks I consumed = 21.
Amount of water I drank = approx. 2.5 litres.
Amount of ingredients I have left to put in cakes = 0
Amount of food left in the fridge = a few strawberries, blueberries and a jar of marmalade.
Amount of weight I estimate I put on = half a stone, easily.
Amount of times I checked Facebook = approx. 4000
Amount of times I checked my emails = approx 200
Percentage of time I spent despairing = 50%
Percentage of time I spent feeling ready for exams = 50%
POINTS TO NOTE -
1. I did not change out of my pyjamas all day.
2. I caught sight of myself in the mirror before I went to bed and I looked pretty rough.
3. I created 41 possible alternative careers for myself during this revision day.
Things I believed as a child
A girl who lived on my road told me that sometimes flies can burrow through your scalp and get into your brain.
She also told me that if you swallow chewing gum it can go into your insides and wrap around your heart.
When a plane flies overhead, if you wave to it and it flashes its red light, it means the pilot has seen you and is letting you know.
If the wind blows while you're doing a stupid face, it will stick that way.
My parents once convinced me that my birthday was on April 25th (it's not). I remember being extremely doubtful at first then thinking it must be true because they were so convincing.
You never digest sweetcorn! It stays in your tummy FOREVER!
A teacher at school when I was about eight told us that there are lots of little men living inside your body, making sure it works properly and when you feel ill, the baddies were winning. If you take a little nap, it means the goodies can concentrate on fighting the baddies and making you feel well again. I think she meant it symbolically but I was fascinated for many years afterward about this whole little-men-living-inside-me thing.
This one is from infant school. A rumour flew around that when you moved up to junior school, if you wore glasses, the big kids would call you 'four-eyes.' We were quite intimidated by this rumour. I've no idea why it made such an impact on me as I've never worn glasses.
If you step on the lines while walking down the corridor at school, you fancy Marvin! (If you were a boy, I think you were told you fancied Hayley.)
When you're a grown up, you wear make-up. That's just what all grown-up women do. When the girl who lived on my road, and who told me about flies and chewing gum, said she wasn't going to wear make up when she grew up, I was shocked.
My dad once told me that if you eat the instant custard powder straight from the jar, you have to be careful because it would get to your stomach and form a big lump of custard that would get stuck there.
If you sit too close to the TV, your eyes will go square. I was pretty terrified of this one because sometimes my dad would say, 'O they're already changing a little bit! Be careful! You'd better sit back!'
Thursday 24 May 2012
The comedy dog
When my friend, Lucy, and I moved to Namibia, we went to work on a volunteer-run project that has been going for years. It is a bit strange because, just before you arrive, fresh-faced and excited, the volunteers from before you, worldly-wise and infinitely superior, leave and you just step straight into their shoes. You inherit everything from their life; their home, their friends, their job, their pets....
As so when we turned up with our backpacks as big as ourselves at the door of our new home, we were greeted enthusiastically by a big golden floppy-eared dog called Diaz. It was lovely. I'd only ever had a dog once and that lasted for about a week. (I'll admit that it's because I was terrified of it so I think my parents had to return it to the pet shop. As I recall, my brother was having great fun with it.)
She was so funny. Her personality was a cross between a small child and an old lady. Before we had become aware of her peculiarities, she would fall asleep on the floor, her legs twitching in her dreams. We'd be going 'ah, look, she's so cute.' Then she'd urinate. It must have been something about the cold tiled floor or something. She didn't do it when she slept outside. We'd be reading books in the front room, enjoying a mid-afternoon siesta, perhaps. She'd sneakily fall asleep without us noticing. And she'd do it again. Our mop was well-used, let's put it that way. I don't even want to go into the time when she fell asleep on the sofa....
One time, we had been asked to house-sit for a friend who was going out of town for a few days. She had three dogs. We knew Diaz wouldn't get along with them so we thought we would leave her behind. She was prone to staking out the school where we worked and barking incessantly so we knew we couldn't let her see where we were going. As she was originally a street dog and adopted by the volunteers at the project a few years before us, she was more than adept at fending for herself. Plus, everyone knew she was the volunteer dog and when they saw her around town, she would get fussed over and sometimes fed better than us! We'd be munching through our fiftieth plate of rice and sweetcorn and Diaz would be getting fed burgers at a restaurant in town.
So anyway, we thought we'd leave her behind. Easier said than done. We shut the door which led down the steps into the garden and started walking down the road. It was only to the end of the road, then up the little hill half way, then a right. Very close. We'd be there in two minutes. We got four steps into our journey and Diaz was there next to us, panting away, her excited eyes asking where we were going.
"No, Diaz," we told her and opened the door to the garden. She ran in and we locked the door again. We started walking, and again she was next to us. She could jump over the garden wall.... This time, we locked her in the garden and ran for our lives, hoping to get away before she got over the wall. She got over, of course, saw us and came along for the run. This was proving very difficult.
We eventually employed a technique which consisted of throwing sticks and things for her to fetch then ducking around corners and hiding inside porches. We must have walked halfway around the town trying to lose her! We kept on thinking we'd done it, she'd found another dog to play with, we'd get on our way again and then we'd see her rounding a corner in front of us and we'd have to backtrack quickly and hide inside someone's porch or a shop for a while, waiting for her to pass. Needless to say, we were late to our friend's house and Diaz found us anyway.
As so when we turned up with our backpacks as big as ourselves at the door of our new home, we were greeted enthusiastically by a big golden floppy-eared dog called Diaz. It was lovely. I'd only ever had a dog once and that lasted for about a week. (I'll admit that it's because I was terrified of it so I think my parents had to return it to the pet shop. As I recall, my brother was having great fun with it.)
She was so funny. Her personality was a cross between a small child and an old lady. Before we had become aware of her peculiarities, she would fall asleep on the floor, her legs twitching in her dreams. We'd be going 'ah, look, she's so cute.' Then she'd urinate. It must have been something about the cold tiled floor or something. She didn't do it when she slept outside. We'd be reading books in the front room, enjoying a mid-afternoon siesta, perhaps. She'd sneakily fall asleep without us noticing. And she'd do it again. Our mop was well-used, let's put it that way. I don't even want to go into the time when she fell asleep on the sofa....
One time, we had been asked to house-sit for a friend who was going out of town for a few days. She had three dogs. We knew Diaz wouldn't get along with them so we thought we would leave her behind. She was prone to staking out the school where we worked and barking incessantly so we knew we couldn't let her see where we were going. As she was originally a street dog and adopted by the volunteers at the project a few years before us, she was more than adept at fending for herself. Plus, everyone knew she was the volunteer dog and when they saw her around town, she would get fussed over and sometimes fed better than us! We'd be munching through our fiftieth plate of rice and sweetcorn and Diaz would be getting fed burgers at a restaurant in town.
So anyway, we thought we'd leave her behind. Easier said than done. We shut the door which led down the steps into the garden and started walking down the road. It was only to the end of the road, then up the little hill half way, then a right. Very close. We'd be there in two minutes. We got four steps into our journey and Diaz was there next to us, panting away, her excited eyes asking where we were going.
"No, Diaz," we told her and opened the door to the garden. She ran in and we locked the door again. We started walking, and again she was next to us. She could jump over the garden wall.... This time, we locked her in the garden and ran for our lives, hoping to get away before she got over the wall. She got over, of course, saw us and came along for the run. This was proving very difficult.
We eventually employed a technique which consisted of throwing sticks and things for her to fetch then ducking around corners and hiding inside porches. We must have walked halfway around the town trying to lose her! We kept on thinking we'd done it, she'd found another dog to play with, we'd get on our way again and then we'd see her rounding a corner in front of us and we'd have to backtrack quickly and hide inside someone's porch or a shop for a while, waiting for her to pass. Needless to say, we were late to our friend's house and Diaz found us anyway.
Wednesday 23 May 2012
Freedom Art
After Freedom Rules and Freedom Music we now come to Part 3 and Freedom Art. Thanks to Therabbitholez for last week’s comments on areas I’d not had space to include.
Much has been written on the way art embraces or represents freedom. I’m not going down those roads particularly or into the work of individual artists’ (save one) as there just isn’t the space. What I want to do is ask, in the context of our approach to the previous two subjects, should art and artists be governed by any kind of rules? Throughout history there have been many “schools” or groups in art who have sought to “push the boundaries” of taste, decency & style. Here are just some with an example of one who painted in that style: Impressionism (Monet), Fauvism (Matisse), Cubism (Picasso), Surrealism (Magritte), Abstract Expressionism (Jackson Pollock), Pop Art (Warhol) and finally the anarchists of early 20th C Dadaism who challenged the established ways of painting or presenting art. Artists claim they want to have the freedom to paint or draw whatever they want. Should they?
How many of you would, for instance, want a young child to see pictures like those displayed in the 2004 Biennial International Exhibition in Liverpool by Yoko Ono? In the town centre, in the main shopping area, pictures of women’s breasts and crotches were displayed on large posters hanging from lamp posts – one picture, from the local press at the time, shows 10 down the side of just part of one street. Despite many complaints from parents concerned about these images being displayed where the very young could see them the exhibition went ahead. Is this the type of freedom you want? A repressive political regime restricts those under it but, in this case, a town council forced its people to look at images which many did not want to see. (There have been many other examples across the UK.) So what happened? Locals complained; visitors to the city complained; objections were overruled; objectors were vilified as “stick-in-the-muds”, frumps or puritans. Is that freedom or repression? Can you see the problem? Once again we have a situation where people who want one form of freedom override others who want a different sort of freedom.
If we talk about TV, books or exhibitions then the answer is clear – if you’re offended, turn it off or don’t look at or buy them, or don’t go to them. You are not forced to see these things just so you can complain. However, in the Liverpool example, in public streets with so many pictures, it’s difficult to avoid seeing what you’d rather not see!
If we introduce rules to keep “offending” material out of public areas then, providing it is legal, it will be shown at galleries or maybe in private exhibitions. That’s all well and good but are we then creating a kind of underground class of avant-garde arty types? – Do they become the ones who want to accept what the wider society rejects? Of course that division already exists and probably has done for hundreds of years. You can choose to be part of it. You can choose to reject it. At least you have the choice – the freedom to choose! In a public place you don’t.
The website Blurb.com has an interesting book from 2008, entitled Freedom & Art. The look inside preview is excellent and well worth a visit. (I’d be interested in any comments you may have on the individual quotes.) It is “dedicated to Nobel Peace Prize winner Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and is a fundraiser for Amnesty international. 74 international artists from 27 countries have donated art and written about the synergy of freedom.” (The Burmese pro-democracy leader had been under house arrest for 15 of the 21 years between 1989 & her release in Nov 2010.) It contains quotes from each of the artists who work is featured in the book. I can’t remember any which particularly acknowledge any responsibility being attached to the perspective on freedom which they espouse. Once again much of it seems to be mostly about the “me-me” view and not about whether my freedom has any effect on yours. It’s dangerous territory! It means that I, as an artist, am entitled to force my work into the public domain and you can’t stop me because then you will be limiting my freedom. Are you ok with being forced to see stuff you don’t really want to see? Is that the price of having a “free” society?
I hope you’ve spotted a key element in each of these lines of thought – offence. Without going too deeply into it – perhaps a topic for further investigation – it’s another difficult area isn’t it? I’m offended by something which you’re not; you’re offended by something which I’m not. Is either of us right? In a democratic society is it the majority that is right? Or do they just get their way because there are more of them? So 51% = right, 49% = wrong?
Just as with freedom in music so we face a similar problem with freedom in art. I suspect you can now see that freedom as a concept is becoming slightly more difficult to define - amorphous even. If freedom were a tree it would have many branches: political, religious, societal, musical, artistic etc. The trouble is these branches do not grow independently outwards and upwards. They are intertwined and, at times, may appear almost symbiotic. Trees, in the natural world, grow by a process called photosynthesis. An outside agent (in that case, the sun) provides the means by which they, and other plant life, grow. Where are we going to find the photosynthetic agent, if there is one, for our freedom tree? How does it or can it grow in the future? And who says whether my freedom tree is better (or more worthy) than yours?
Perhaps we’ve set out on an impossible journey. Perhaps the key is finding out how personal freedom is possible without infringing someone else’s but living within the laws of a society where the rights of the individuals in it are acknowledged and respected. Can those free-thinking inhabitants of “Art-Land” show us the way? Realistically, how can art help us in our quest especially when its practitioners seem to reject the very idea of rules governing what it & they can do?
Here’s a thought from A.P. Herbert (1890-1971):
“As my poor father used to say,
In 1863,
Once people start on all this Art,
Good-bye moralitee!
And what my father used to say,
Is good enough for me.”
Much has been written on the way art embraces or represents freedom. I’m not going down those roads particularly or into the work of individual artists’ (save one) as there just isn’t the space. What I want to do is ask, in the context of our approach to the previous two subjects, should art and artists be governed by any kind of rules? Throughout history there have been many “schools” or groups in art who have sought to “push the boundaries” of taste, decency & style. Here are just some with an example of one who painted in that style: Impressionism (Monet), Fauvism (Matisse), Cubism (Picasso), Surrealism (Magritte), Abstract Expressionism (Jackson Pollock), Pop Art (Warhol) and finally the anarchists of early 20th C Dadaism who challenged the established ways of painting or presenting art. Artists claim they want to have the freedom to paint or draw whatever they want. Should they?
How many of you would, for instance, want a young child to see pictures like those displayed in the 2004 Biennial International Exhibition in Liverpool by Yoko Ono? In the town centre, in the main shopping area, pictures of women’s breasts and crotches were displayed on large posters hanging from lamp posts – one picture, from the local press at the time, shows 10 down the side of just part of one street. Despite many complaints from parents concerned about these images being displayed where the very young could see them the exhibition went ahead. Is this the type of freedom you want? A repressive political regime restricts those under it but, in this case, a town council forced its people to look at images which many did not want to see. (There have been many other examples across the UK.) So what happened? Locals complained; visitors to the city complained; objections were overruled; objectors were vilified as “stick-in-the-muds”, frumps or puritans. Is that freedom or repression? Can you see the problem? Once again we have a situation where people who want one form of freedom override others who want a different sort of freedom.
If we talk about TV, books or exhibitions then the answer is clear – if you’re offended, turn it off or don’t look at or buy them, or don’t go to them. You are not forced to see these things just so you can complain. However, in the Liverpool example, in public streets with so many pictures, it’s difficult to avoid seeing what you’d rather not see!
If we introduce rules to keep “offending” material out of public areas then, providing it is legal, it will be shown at galleries or maybe in private exhibitions. That’s all well and good but are we then creating a kind of underground class of avant-garde arty types? – Do they become the ones who want to accept what the wider society rejects? Of course that division already exists and probably has done for hundreds of years. You can choose to be part of it. You can choose to reject it. At least you have the choice – the freedom to choose! In a public place you don’t.
The website Blurb.com has an interesting book from 2008, entitled Freedom & Art. The look inside preview is excellent and well worth a visit. (I’d be interested in any comments you may have on the individual quotes.) It is “dedicated to Nobel Peace Prize winner Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and is a fundraiser for Amnesty international. 74 international artists from 27 countries have donated art and written about the synergy of freedom.” (The Burmese pro-democracy leader had been under house arrest for 15 of the 21 years between 1989 & her release in Nov 2010.) It contains quotes from each of the artists who work is featured in the book. I can’t remember any which particularly acknowledge any responsibility being attached to the perspective on freedom which they espouse. Once again much of it seems to be mostly about the “me-me” view and not about whether my freedom has any effect on yours. It’s dangerous territory! It means that I, as an artist, am entitled to force my work into the public domain and you can’t stop me because then you will be limiting my freedom. Are you ok with being forced to see stuff you don’t really want to see? Is that the price of having a “free” society?
I hope you’ve spotted a key element in each of these lines of thought – offence. Without going too deeply into it – perhaps a topic for further investigation – it’s another difficult area isn’t it? I’m offended by something which you’re not; you’re offended by something which I’m not. Is either of us right? In a democratic society is it the majority that is right? Or do they just get their way because there are more of them? So 51% = right, 49% = wrong?
Just as with freedom in music so we face a similar problem with freedom in art. I suspect you can now see that freedom as a concept is becoming slightly more difficult to define - amorphous even. If freedom were a tree it would have many branches: political, religious, societal, musical, artistic etc. The trouble is these branches do not grow independently outwards and upwards. They are intertwined and, at times, may appear almost symbiotic. Trees, in the natural world, grow by a process called photosynthesis. An outside agent (in that case, the sun) provides the means by which they, and other plant life, grow. Where are we going to find the photosynthetic agent, if there is one, for our freedom tree? How does it or can it grow in the future? And who says whether my freedom tree is better (or more worthy) than yours?
Perhaps we’ve set out on an impossible journey. Perhaps the key is finding out how personal freedom is possible without infringing someone else’s but living within the laws of a society where the rights of the individuals in it are acknowledged and respected. Can those free-thinking inhabitants of “Art-Land” show us the way? Realistically, how can art help us in our quest especially when its practitioners seem to reject the very idea of rules governing what it & they can do?
Here’s a thought from A.P. Herbert (1890-1971):
“As my poor father used to say,
In 1863,
Once people start on all this Art,
Good-bye moralitee!
And what my father used to say,
Is good enough for me.”
Tuesday 22 May 2012
The worst manager I've ever had
A little while ago, I worked in a shoe shop. It was not a good job. Well, let me qualify that statement. It was an alright studenty job but the manager was… I’m thinking of a polite way to put it. She was just a bit rubbish really.
You know when you can’t understand how someone got to the position they did. It was like that with this manager. I was constantly puzzled by her. She was confident and took charge etc. She just didn’t seem to understand things people said. Simple things. And she was quite rude, but I think we call that being ‘a bit rough around the edges’ nowadays.
Anyway, I should have sensed all would not be rosy in the world of shoes in my initial interview. You know how, usually, the interviewer will direct questions at you and it’s for you to answer, talk about yourself, your knowledge, sell yourself a bit? Well, in this interview, she talked for probably 60% of the time. Now that’s wrong isn’t it? She already doesn’t get what the interview is for.
Almost at the end of the interview came the killer question that should have told me not to accept the job when she called to offer it. She said something along the lines of “Can you tell me about an experience you have had of receiving bad customer service.”
And I replied that, since I’ve worked with the public for years, I know that often it’s nothing to do with the actual customer, it’s the one before who annoyed you, or something just happened elsewhere, you just broke a plate, or you’re tired. There are plenty of reasons why someone’s grumpy. So when I go somewhere, if I don’t get good service, I don’t take it personally really.
She looked at me, blankly. She didn’t know what I was talking about. So she said to me, in a let-me-slow-this-down-because-you’re-too-thick-to-understand voice, “No darlin, it means when you’ve got bad customer service somewhere else. Not when you’ve given bad customer service.”
I wanted to say ‘YEH I KNOW YOU STUPID WOMAN! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME.’
Instead I said, “Yeh, I mean I don’t really remember negative customer experiences because I don’t take it personally. I’ve worked with the public for ages so I know what it’s like and sometimes you don’t give your best customer service and it’s nothing to do with the customer.”
“No, okay,” she says, taking a deep breath, “What it means is, you’ve gone somewhere else to buy something and the person doesn’t give you good customer service. Not when you’ve given someone else bad customer service. Do you see what I mean?”
It was un-be-liev-able! She was really really talking down to me. I could see her mind ticking away, thinking, ‘how am I going to make this girl understand the question? I was like, I DO! I’M ANSWERING YOUR QUESTION! It’s that YOU don’t understand ME. But, of course, I’m in the interview, I want the job, the only way to explain properly is by being rude to her, which I can’t do. I was about to start my second year of a postgraduate course that was costing me a lot of money so I thought it would help to just have a little extra coming in. It had been advertised as 8 hours a week. Easy peasy.
So instead of trying to explain again, as she apparently couldn’t hear (maybe she left her ears at home, maybe that’s the problem), I just went, “No, I don’t remember receiving bad customer service.”
I mean, what did she think I thought was happening? Did she really think that I thought she was saying to me, ‘Have you ever given bad customer service?’ and I was going ‘Yes, all the time, because sometimes you have bad days, dont you?’ As if, in an interview, you’d really be asked that! And as if I’d really answer in the positive. When I’m interviewing for a job!
She was just plain rude sometimes too. She was fitting a little girl for some school shoes and the girl had hold of the one shoe which was from the shop floor and she was saying to the manager, in her little five year old voice, “But there’s only one of these.” As five year olds do, they don’t understand the ins and outs of how buying shoes works. And the manager, super irritated, snapped at her “Yeh! I’ll get the other one from the stockroom!” At a five year old! Ridiculous.
She would also sometimes ‘teach’ me things, to train me. She would ask me how I would usually do something, register a transfer of stock to another store, perhaps. I would tell her my version, which was guesswork as no-one had taught me properly, and it obviously wasn’t right. She’d go, “No, ok, we’re going to start again. What’s the very first thing you do? You’ve got to transfer shoes to the Notting Hill branch. What’s the first thing you do?” I’d say whatever I did, which was wrong. And she’d go “No, what do you do first, before that?” And I didn’t know. So I’d say it again.
She wouldn’t stop this and go, ‘Right, well let me show you how to do it properly, then you’ll know.” She just kept saying, “But what do you do before that? First?”
Inevitably, during this nonsense version of a training session, a customer would come over needing help, she’d run off and do that and we’d never revisit the problem.
When I finally left, six weeks later, the assistant manager said I was their shortest staff member ever. I was shocked, six weeks felt like a lifetime, I didn’t know how all the others coped being there longer.
I had asked for a day off the following Monday, which was about a week and a half away. My official days were Tuesday and Wednesday so I was actually doing extra hours that day. Given that it was about nine days away, I thought it was more than enough time for a place which has about twelve members of staff, all pretty flexible. At the end of my shift I approached the manager and said the following Monday would be a problem and would I be able to get it off?
“Nope!”
I’m sorry. I didn’t really know what to do with that answer. I just kind of stood there. There was no way I could work and even if I could get out of the other thing, I didn’t really want to go to the shoe shop. By this point, I was starting to dread it.
“It’s too late notice!” she said. “Can’t do that. No.”
The assistant manager, who was standing next to her, tried to be helpful. “Maybe Rachel could do that shift?”
“No, Drew. People should be allowed their days off. I can check the rota later,” she said, in her most doubtful voice, “but for now, it’s a no.”
I couldn’t believe it. I just kind of nodded and, as it was the end of the shift, got my bag and left. I went home, checked my contract for my notice period, and wrote my letter of resignation straight away, which said something about the ‘inflexibility of the shift patterns’ and that I ‘had not enjoyed my experience of working here as much as I had expected.’ I gave some obligatory nonsense at the end about my school year starting again and too much work but I just put that in for politeness sake.
What an awful awful woman. She used to tell me about her and her boyfriend going motorbiking at the weekends and she wore those fit-flop things which are the most hideous things ever.
She also called me Lauren the entire time I worked there.
You know when you can’t understand how someone got to the position they did. It was like that with this manager. I was constantly puzzled by her. She was confident and took charge etc. She just didn’t seem to understand things people said. Simple things. And she was quite rude, but I think we call that being ‘a bit rough around the edges’ nowadays.
Anyway, I should have sensed all would not be rosy in the world of shoes in my initial interview. You know how, usually, the interviewer will direct questions at you and it’s for you to answer, talk about yourself, your knowledge, sell yourself a bit? Well, in this interview, she talked for probably 60% of the time. Now that’s wrong isn’t it? She already doesn’t get what the interview is for.
Almost at the end of the interview came the killer question that should have told me not to accept the job when she called to offer it. She said something along the lines of “Can you tell me about an experience you have had of receiving bad customer service.”
And I replied that, since I’ve worked with the public for years, I know that often it’s nothing to do with the actual customer, it’s the one before who annoyed you, or something just happened elsewhere, you just broke a plate, or you’re tired. There are plenty of reasons why someone’s grumpy. So when I go somewhere, if I don’t get good service, I don’t take it personally really.
She looked at me, blankly. She didn’t know what I was talking about. So she said to me, in a let-me-slow-this-down-because-you’re-too-thick-to-understand voice, “No darlin, it means when you’ve got bad customer service somewhere else. Not when you’ve given bad customer service.”
I wanted to say ‘YEH I KNOW YOU STUPID WOMAN! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME.’
Instead I said, “Yeh, I mean I don’t really remember negative customer experiences because I don’t take it personally. I’ve worked with the public for ages so I know what it’s like and sometimes you don’t give your best customer service and it’s nothing to do with the customer.”
“No, okay,” she says, taking a deep breath, “What it means is, you’ve gone somewhere else to buy something and the person doesn’t give you good customer service. Not when you’ve given someone else bad customer service. Do you see what I mean?”
It was un-be-liev-able! She was really really talking down to me. I could see her mind ticking away, thinking, ‘how am I going to make this girl understand the question? I was like, I DO! I’M ANSWERING YOUR QUESTION! It’s that YOU don’t understand ME. But, of course, I’m in the interview, I want the job, the only way to explain properly is by being rude to her, which I can’t do. I was about to start my second year of a postgraduate course that was costing me a lot of money so I thought it would help to just have a little extra coming in. It had been advertised as 8 hours a week. Easy peasy.
So instead of trying to explain again, as she apparently couldn’t hear (maybe she left her ears at home, maybe that’s the problem), I just went, “No, I don’t remember receiving bad customer service.”
I mean, what did she think I thought was happening? Did she really think that I thought she was saying to me, ‘Have you ever given bad customer service?’ and I was going ‘Yes, all the time, because sometimes you have bad days, dont you?’ As if, in an interview, you’d really be asked that! And as if I’d really answer in the positive. When I’m interviewing for a job!
She was just plain rude sometimes too. She was fitting a little girl for some school shoes and the girl had hold of the one shoe which was from the shop floor and she was saying to the manager, in her little five year old voice, “But there’s only one of these.” As five year olds do, they don’t understand the ins and outs of how buying shoes works. And the manager, super irritated, snapped at her “Yeh! I’ll get the other one from the stockroom!” At a five year old! Ridiculous.
She would also sometimes ‘teach’ me things, to train me. She would ask me how I would usually do something, register a transfer of stock to another store, perhaps. I would tell her my version, which was guesswork as no-one had taught me properly, and it obviously wasn’t right. She’d go, “No, ok, we’re going to start again. What’s the very first thing you do? You’ve got to transfer shoes to the Notting Hill branch. What’s the first thing you do?” I’d say whatever I did, which was wrong. And she’d go “No, what do you do first, before that?” And I didn’t know. So I’d say it again.
She wouldn’t stop this and go, ‘Right, well let me show you how to do it properly, then you’ll know.” She just kept saying, “But what do you do before that? First?”
Inevitably, during this nonsense version of a training session, a customer would come over needing help, she’d run off and do that and we’d never revisit the problem.
When I finally left, six weeks later, the assistant manager said I was their shortest staff member ever. I was shocked, six weeks felt like a lifetime, I didn’t know how all the others coped being there longer.
I had asked for a day off the following Monday, which was about a week and a half away. My official days were Tuesday and Wednesday so I was actually doing extra hours that day. Given that it was about nine days away, I thought it was more than enough time for a place which has about twelve members of staff, all pretty flexible. At the end of my shift I approached the manager and said the following Monday would be a problem and would I be able to get it off?
“Nope!”
I’m sorry. I didn’t really know what to do with that answer. I just kind of stood there. There was no way I could work and even if I could get out of the other thing, I didn’t really want to go to the shoe shop. By this point, I was starting to dread it.
“It’s too late notice!” she said. “Can’t do that. No.”
The assistant manager, who was standing next to her, tried to be helpful. “Maybe Rachel could do that shift?”
“No, Drew. People should be allowed their days off. I can check the rota later,” she said, in her most doubtful voice, “but for now, it’s a no.”
I couldn’t believe it. I just kind of nodded and, as it was the end of the shift, got my bag and left. I went home, checked my contract for my notice period, and wrote my letter of resignation straight away, which said something about the ‘inflexibility of the shift patterns’ and that I ‘had not enjoyed my experience of working here as much as I had expected.’ I gave some obligatory nonsense at the end about my school year starting again and too much work but I just put that in for politeness sake.
What an awful awful woman. She used to tell me about her and her boyfriend going motorbiking at the weekends and she wore those fit-flop things which are the most hideous things ever.
She also called me Lauren the entire time I worked there.
Monday 21 May 2012
What runs through my head when I'm falling asleep
This is specific to last night -
Gosh I’m tired. I wonder if I remembered to do everything at work today? Bins out? Yes. Lights out? Yes. Yeah, I did everything. O wait, I didn’t leave the air con on! O no. Dammit.
Is my alarm set? What should I make tomorrow? Banana bread probably. Muffins maybe.
Ok, mini self test. Criminal law. Theft. Where’s the definition found? Erm. Erm. Sleepy. Section 1. I think. Section 1 of the Theft Act. 19 something. Brain slowing down. 1968 I think. That’s all it can handle. Self test over.
Just remembered, I did leave the air con on at work. Phew.
I wonder where my trainers are. I haven’t seen them in days.
My phone needs charging. Too lazy to get out of bed and get the charger.
O no. I need a wee. If I go to sleep really quickly, maybe my body will forget then I can just go in the morning. Nope, I still need one. Ignore it.
Did I turn the oven off? I think so. Mmm, dinner was tasty this evening. Salmon. Mmm. I think I’ll do something chickeny tomorrow for dinner.
Should I try and remember something about mortgages? Stack v Dowden. And Tulk v Moxhay. Hmmm. I don’t remember why they’re important though. O well. Sleep time.
You’ll always be a part of me… I’m part of you indefinitelyyyy… Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me… Oo darlin cause you’ll always be me babyyyyy… What on earth? Go away Mariah.
I can’t wait til my exams are finished.
I wonder if it might be sunny tomorrow.
I love cake.
Gosh I’m tired. I wonder if I remembered to do everything at work today? Bins out? Yes. Lights out? Yes. Yeah, I did everything. O wait, I didn’t leave the air con on! O no. Dammit.
Is my alarm set? What should I make tomorrow? Banana bread probably. Muffins maybe.
Ok, mini self test. Criminal law. Theft. Where’s the definition found? Erm. Erm. Sleepy. Section 1. I think. Section 1 of the Theft Act. 19 something. Brain slowing down. 1968 I think. That’s all it can handle. Self test over.
Just remembered, I did leave the air con on at work. Phew.
I wonder where my trainers are. I haven’t seen them in days.
My phone needs charging. Too lazy to get out of bed and get the charger.
O no. I need a wee. If I go to sleep really quickly, maybe my body will forget then I can just go in the morning. Nope, I still need one. Ignore it.
Did I turn the oven off? I think so. Mmm, dinner was tasty this evening. Salmon. Mmm. I think I’ll do something chickeny tomorrow for dinner.
Should I try and remember something about mortgages? Stack v Dowden. And Tulk v Moxhay. Hmmm. I don’t remember why they’re important though. O well. Sleep time.
You’ll always be a part of me… I’m part of you indefinitelyyyy… Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me… Oo darlin cause you’ll always be me babyyyyy… What on earth? Go away Mariah.
I can’t wait til my exams are finished.
I wonder if it might be sunny tomorrow.
I love cake.
Sunday 20 May 2012
Budgeting in Laos
A few years ago, some friends and I were travelling around South East Asia. We had just crossed the border from Thailand into Laos and were staying in the capital city called Vientiane, on the banks of the Mekong River.
When we first arrived there, I think we had come in by coach and it was quite late in the evening. We just wanted to drop our stuff somewhere and go and eat. We weren't really big on the whole planning-ahead scene. We loved the carefree nature of just turning up and seeing what we could find. So we hardly ever pre-booked hotels or anything. Sometimes it ended us in some pretty sticky situations but, on the whole, we preferred it. It suited us because we didn't always know when we would be moving on, or where to.
So this time, we got off the coach, wandered along the front and saw somewhere which looked quite nice (we usually made do with 'a bit grotty' but this time we went for 'quite nice' because we were too tired to keep looking).
We go in, ask for a room for three and are taken to a really nice, quite plush room with wooden furnishings and a generally lovely ambience. It was a bit pricey but we agreed that we would just stay one night and find somewhere cheaper the next day. We still had a few weeks of travelling left and not a lot of money to do it on.
So the next day, around midday, we packed up our bags again, shouldered our weights (mine was getting ridiculously heavy by this point as I kept collecting books faster than I could read them and pass them on), paid our bill and told the owners we were leaving. As we stepped outside of this lovely comforting enticing hotel, the heavens opened....
We trudged the streets, getting more and more soaked, looking in any hostels, B&Bs or hotels we could find. We walked for maybe an hour and found a hostel with a room for three people which already had five hundred fleas in it, another place with a cockroach in the bath and some other places more expensive than the one we just left. I think we saw a few which just looked quite old and about to fall down. The entire time, it rained.
Fed up and getting quite grumpy by this point, we stopped in a little cafe to dry off and get something to eat. The afternoon was arriving and we hadn't had anything, having not suspected that finding a room would prove so difficult. We started arguing a little bit with each other. This person needed to stop being so fussy, they were only fleas. And that person needed to relax about the big crack down the wall, what's the problem, it probably only lets a little draft in. What's a cockroach in the bath? We won't bathe then, no big deal. And who cares if the room smells like urine? You're getting too fussy, we're on a budget here!
After skirting around the obvious for a long while, we eventually all admitted it. We had nowhere else to go but back to the same hotel we left an hour ago. We'd come full circle in our search and as we left the cafe, we realised that we were just around the corner from the hotel.
Sheepishly, we shuffled around the corner and approached the hotel. We sneaked a look in the front and, sure enough, the same people were at the desk. Earlier, they had asked us why we were leaving and we had explained that we were students on a budget, we needed somewhere more affordable.
We hung around outside for a few minutes, deciding who should lead the walk of shame back to the reception desk. I think I was nominated in the end and we re-entered the hotel, quietly explaining that we would like 'a room for three, please.' Of course they recognised us. With huge smiles on their face, they took down a key and lead us back to the exact room we had left an hour ago and told us to make ourselves at home....
When we left the hotel a few minutes later, desperate to put some distance between ourselves and our shame, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. And it stayed pretty sunny for the rest of our stay in Vientiane at that hotel.
When we first arrived there, I think we had come in by coach and it was quite late in the evening. We just wanted to drop our stuff somewhere and go and eat. We weren't really big on the whole planning-ahead scene. We loved the carefree nature of just turning up and seeing what we could find. So we hardly ever pre-booked hotels or anything. Sometimes it ended us in some pretty sticky situations but, on the whole, we preferred it. It suited us because we didn't always know when we would be moving on, or where to.
So this time, we got off the coach, wandered along the front and saw somewhere which looked quite nice (we usually made do with 'a bit grotty' but this time we went for 'quite nice' because we were too tired to keep looking).
We go in, ask for a room for three and are taken to a really nice, quite plush room with wooden furnishings and a generally lovely ambience. It was a bit pricey but we agreed that we would just stay one night and find somewhere cheaper the next day. We still had a few weeks of travelling left and not a lot of money to do it on.
So the next day, around midday, we packed up our bags again, shouldered our weights (mine was getting ridiculously heavy by this point as I kept collecting books faster than I could read them and pass them on), paid our bill and told the owners we were leaving. As we stepped outside of this lovely comforting enticing hotel, the heavens opened....
We trudged the streets, getting more and more soaked, looking in any hostels, B&Bs or hotels we could find. We walked for maybe an hour and found a hostel with a room for three people which already had five hundred fleas in it, another place with a cockroach in the bath and some other places more expensive than the one we just left. I think we saw a few which just looked quite old and about to fall down. The entire time, it rained.
Fed up and getting quite grumpy by this point, we stopped in a little cafe to dry off and get something to eat. The afternoon was arriving and we hadn't had anything, having not suspected that finding a room would prove so difficult. We started arguing a little bit with each other. This person needed to stop being so fussy, they were only fleas. And that person needed to relax about the big crack down the wall, what's the problem, it probably only lets a little draft in. What's a cockroach in the bath? We won't bathe then, no big deal. And who cares if the room smells like urine? You're getting too fussy, we're on a budget here!
After skirting around the obvious for a long while, we eventually all admitted it. We had nowhere else to go but back to the same hotel we left an hour ago. We'd come full circle in our search and as we left the cafe, we realised that we were just around the corner from the hotel.
Sheepishly, we shuffled around the corner and approached the hotel. We sneaked a look in the front and, sure enough, the same people were at the desk. Earlier, they had asked us why we were leaving and we had explained that we were students on a budget, we needed somewhere more affordable.
We hung around outside for a few minutes, deciding who should lead the walk of shame back to the reception desk. I think I was nominated in the end and we re-entered the hotel, quietly explaining that we would like 'a room for three, please.' Of course they recognised us. With huge smiles on their face, they took down a key and lead us back to the exact room we had left an hour ago and told us to make ourselves at home....
When we left the hotel a few minutes later, desperate to put some distance between ourselves and our shame, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. And it stayed pretty sunny for the rest of our stay in Vientiane at that hotel.
Saturday 19 May 2012
The return of the caterpony
In Z is for… I played around with some animal combinations and the most popular seemed to be the caterpony. (Should I put another ‘t’ in there so it is clear how it should be pronounced? Catterpony?)
So I thought I’d revive the caterpony today and see what I can get from it. Ok, here goes.
The beautiful little caterpony was the loveliest creature in the whole forest. He was kind hearted and everybody loved him.
He was sometimes unhappy, though, as he had such short legs that he couldn’t keep up with the other animals. When they played football, he couldn’t run very fast so often he was not passed the ball even once! He also wasn’t tall enough to reach the tree branches to talk to his friends who lived up there. He felt very left out and small and slow.
He shuffled around, thinking about his dilemma. It made him very tired to think about it for a long time so he decided to have a little sleep. He felt a bit cold so he gathered dry grass and leaves and built a small comfortable room, just big enough for him to fit in.
Then he got in and had a little rest. Days later, after his friends had been looking and looking for him, extremely worried, he emerged.
But he felt different. The ground didn’t feel so close. He had an urge to leap very high into the air.
And that’s when he looked down and realised what had happened.
He had turned into a beautiful butterhorse! He went to show his friends and they all wanted him on their side for football. He could run faster than anyone else in the forest with his lovely long legs. He could also see right into the trees and talk to his friends. And sometimes, when he wanted to see his friends who lived further away, near the sea, he could fly there and stay for tea.
THE END.
So I thought I’d revive the caterpony today and see what I can get from it. Ok, here goes.
The beautiful little caterpony was the loveliest creature in the whole forest. He was kind hearted and everybody loved him.
He was sometimes unhappy, though, as he had such short legs that he couldn’t keep up with the other animals. When they played football, he couldn’t run very fast so often he was not passed the ball even once! He also wasn’t tall enough to reach the tree branches to talk to his friends who lived up there. He felt very left out and small and slow.
He shuffled around, thinking about his dilemma. It made him very tired to think about it for a long time so he decided to have a little sleep. He felt a bit cold so he gathered dry grass and leaves and built a small comfortable room, just big enough for him to fit in.
Then he got in and had a little rest. Days later, after his friends had been looking and looking for him, extremely worried, he emerged.
But he felt different. The ground didn’t feel so close. He had an urge to leap very high into the air.
And that’s when he looked down and realised what had happened.
He had turned into a beautiful butterhorse! He went to show his friends and they all wanted him on their side for football. He could run faster than anyone else in the forest with his lovely long legs. He could also see right into the trees and talk to his friends. And sometimes, when he wanted to see his friends who lived further away, near the sea, he could fly there and stay for tea.
THE END.
Friday 18 May 2012
Asparagus fingers
Blu, Buster and Beckham. These are all names of children in stories in the Chat magazine. Ridiculous. I'm now getting a good idea of who reads these magazines. They name their children Blu and Buster, call the fire brigade when baby gets a toilet seat stuck on his head and they send their stories in to Chat. Maybe you get paid well for your story? That's why you get nonsense that's not stories at all. The '13 day pregnancy' in this issue wasn't that at all. It's just that she found out she was pregnant quite late in the day, and gave birth 13 days later. It's not really a 13 day pregnancy, is it?
So anyway, I was thinking to myself, maybe I'll send in a story. I could book myself a nice holiday if it pays well.
Ok, now what could I write about? I need a dramatic title. Erm.
"Death by ravioli!" for example. Or "I found an ear in my cake!" Or maybe a disease? Something obscure and probably not real. Like "Rare disease turns my fingers into asparagus spears."
Ok, let's run with that one. I could do a photo of me looking sad...
"It all started when I was 14," I could write. "I've always loved asparagus. If I'd have known what it was going to do to me, I wouldn't have eaten a single one."
"Then, when I was 20, I started to notice the skin on my hands was changing. I thought it might be because I had recently started to work in a kitchen so my hands were exposed to different temperatures a lot. I thought they might just need moisturising. But it made no difference. In fact, my skin was feeling slightly rubbery so didn't absorb the moisturiser at all.
"One day, whilst biting my nail, I noticed it had a funny taste. And the texture was different. And that's when I realised it... My fingers had turned into asparagus!
"I called in sick that day, terrified that I might accidentally cut off one of my own fingers whilst preparing food. I went to A&E with a long sleeved coat on, too embarrassed to show my hands...
"When the nurses asked me to fill out the form, I tried but couldn't pick the pen up. I heard a few nurses gasp and there were whispers of "asparagus fingers" and giggles. I felt so ashamed.
"When the doctor saw me, he said I have a rare disease called vegetablefingeritis. It can happen when someone eats a lot of one vegetable. He said I should be grateful I hadn't chosen to eat carrots, like this poor person...
"I've learned to live with my disease now, and give motivational talks to youngsters about living through adversity and about varying their vegetable intake. Although I struggle to do almost anything which requires the use of hands (most things) I refuse to be defeated by my asparagus fingers and have learned how to do other things which do not require hands. I am extremely adept at turning on the TV using my nose, and watching daytime TV. Rikki Lake is my favourite."
And at the end there could another photo of me, with a different vegetable, a mushroom perhaps. And the caption could be "Laura stays away from asparagus now!"
What do you think? Should I send it in? I think it's got potential.
So anyway, I was thinking to myself, maybe I'll send in a story. I could book myself a nice holiday if it pays well.
Ok, now what could I write about? I need a dramatic title. Erm.
"Death by ravioli!" for example. Or "I found an ear in my cake!" Or maybe a disease? Something obscure and probably not real. Like "Rare disease turns my fingers into asparagus spears."
Ok, let's run with that one. I could do a photo of me looking sad...
"It all started when I was 14," I could write. "I've always loved asparagus. If I'd have known what it was going to do to me, I wouldn't have eaten a single one."
"Then, when I was 20, I started to notice the skin on my hands was changing. I thought it might be because I had recently started to work in a kitchen so my hands were exposed to different temperatures a lot. I thought they might just need moisturising. But it made no difference. In fact, my skin was feeling slightly rubbery so didn't absorb the moisturiser at all.
"One day, whilst biting my nail, I noticed it had a funny taste. And the texture was different. And that's when I realised it... My fingers had turned into asparagus!
"I called in sick that day, terrified that I might accidentally cut off one of my own fingers whilst preparing food. I went to A&E with a long sleeved coat on, too embarrassed to show my hands...
"When the nurses asked me to fill out the form, I tried but couldn't pick the pen up. I heard a few nurses gasp and there were whispers of "asparagus fingers" and giggles. I felt so ashamed.
"When the doctor saw me, he said I have a rare disease called vegetablefingeritis. It can happen when someone eats a lot of one vegetable. He said I should be grateful I hadn't chosen to eat carrots, like this poor person...
"I've learned to live with my disease now, and give motivational talks to youngsters about living through adversity and about varying their vegetable intake. Although I struggle to do almost anything which requires the use of hands (most things) I refuse to be defeated by my asparagus fingers and have learned how to do other things which do not require hands. I am extremely adept at turning on the TV using my nose, and watching daytime TV. Rikki Lake is my favourite."
And at the end there could another photo of me, with a different vegetable, a mushroom perhaps. And the caption could be "Laura stays away from asparagus now!"
What do you think? Should I send it in? I think it's got potential.
Thursday 17 May 2012
The Hairy Dogmother
I haven't done one of these in ages, so I thought it was time to check in with everyone's favourite magazine. You guessed it! Chat!
You know it's going to be a good one when the front cover has stories such as 'Bow WOW! My dog's got wheely ace skills' (next to a picture of a dog on a scooter), 'Filmed on the loo by PERVERT in LADIES' PANTS' and '13 DAY PREGNANCY THEN I HAD TWINS!'
I've noticed they've got a real thing about animal stories. They ran a 'Mystic Mutt' feature for a while, which was amazing. The psychic dog would answer letters from troubled animals, who wrote in about their problems. That's right. You read it right. Animals. Would write in. To a magazine. And the psychic dog. Psychic, that's right. Psychic dog. Would answer them. With advice. Or messages from the other realm.
This week's Chat has the fairly standard stories, you know, a sex change here, a brutal attack there, girl kept in a cage, I'm in love with my granddad, I've got/had a rare disease but am not giving up hope, all those type of things. But by far the best this week is a story called 'Hairy Dogmother To Cute Cubs,' and the summary is "Abandoned by their real mum, I've adopted a trio of tigers." I read on, expecting it to be about a woman who was in Thailand on holiday, maybe, at an animal sanctuary or something, she loves animals, there were some tigers, she loved them, she stayed and adopted them and now they are her life, she loves them.
I'm reading...
"'Meow,' the hungry bundle of fluff beside me cried. I nudged their striped fur and gave them a lick.."
Hold on, she's going to get fur in her mouth, that's gross, that's how diseases spread. Silly woman...
"You see, I'd recently given birth to a litter of pups, so I had lots of milk to go around.."
Wait a minute!! Woah there! The penny drops! It's not a woman writing this! It's a dog! Well, it's not really. Obviously. But the article is written from a dog's point of view!
This is mental. It's mental. What was the author thinking. When I look to the end of the article, sure enough, there it is. "By Duoduo the dog, from Qingdao, China."
So not only can the dog apparently write, he is also bilingual! He's a Chinese dog who has written an article for an English magazine.
He's also a funny dog. Check these little puns out = "You may think I'm barking mad..." "It could have been a complete cat-astrophe."
I'm sorry, I can't write anymore at the moment. My mind is reeling. I need to get a cup of tea and sit still for a while.
You know it's going to be a good one when the front cover has stories such as 'Bow WOW! My dog's got wheely ace skills' (next to a picture of a dog on a scooter), 'Filmed on the loo by PERVERT in LADIES' PANTS' and '13 DAY PREGNANCY THEN I HAD TWINS!'
I've noticed they've got a real thing about animal stories. They ran a 'Mystic Mutt' feature for a while, which was amazing. The psychic dog would answer letters from troubled animals, who wrote in about their problems. That's right. You read it right. Animals. Would write in. To a magazine. And the psychic dog. Psychic, that's right. Psychic dog. Would answer them. With advice. Or messages from the other realm.
This week's Chat has the fairly standard stories, you know, a sex change here, a brutal attack there, girl kept in a cage, I'm in love with my granddad, I've got/had a rare disease but am not giving up hope, all those type of things. But by far the best this week is a story called 'Hairy Dogmother To Cute Cubs,' and the summary is "Abandoned by their real mum, I've adopted a trio of tigers." I read on, expecting it to be about a woman who was in Thailand on holiday, maybe, at an animal sanctuary or something, she loves animals, there were some tigers, she loved them, she stayed and adopted them and now they are her life, she loves them.
I'm reading...
"'Meow,' the hungry bundle of fluff beside me cried. I nudged their striped fur and gave them a lick.."
Hold on, she's going to get fur in her mouth, that's gross, that's how diseases spread. Silly woman...
"You see, I'd recently given birth to a litter of pups, so I had lots of milk to go around.."
Wait a minute!! Woah there! The penny drops! It's not a woman writing this! It's a dog! Well, it's not really. Obviously. But the article is written from a dog's point of view!
This is mental. It's mental. What was the author thinking. When I look to the end of the article, sure enough, there it is. "By Duoduo the dog, from Qingdao, China."
So not only can the dog apparently write, he is also bilingual! He's a Chinese dog who has written an article for an English magazine.
He's also a funny dog. Check these little puns out = "You may think I'm barking mad..." "It could have been a complete cat-astrophe."
I'm sorry, I can't write anymore at the moment. My mind is reeling. I need to get a cup of tea and sit still for a while.
Wednesday 16 May 2012
Freedom music
It's part two of my regular guest blogger's thoughts on 'freedom.'
Popular music, through the last five decades or so, has, in certain ways, reflected what the young see as their desire for and, in some ways, their definition of freedom. It will only be possible to take a few examples as there are so many songs could fall into this category. I hope they will illustrate the point.
In 1965 the Rolling Stones recorded a song I’m Free To Do What I Want. The lyrics also tell of being free to get what “I want”. In other words it’s actually talking about probably the most selfish sort of freedom you can imagine: the freedom to do, get or possess whatever you want. The song makes no reference to any effect on anyone else. From the writer’s point of view I don’t think he has even given that any thought. What’s behind the words then? I think simply a rebellion of youth against what it saw, in those days, as the rules or way of life of the older generation. Is that the freedom you’re seeking – to choose to do & to get what you want?
Are you attracted by that archetypical image of the apparently free-roaming hobo riding the freight trains across America taking him wherever they’re going? Or the “southbound odyssey” of Steve Goodman’s song The City Of New Orleans, (recorded by Arlo Guthrie on his album Hobo’s Lullaby, & by a number of other singers).
Perhaps the Easy Rider type of journey appeals – on your motorbike, travelling free. The 1969 film is described in its Wikipedia entry as “the story of two bikers….who travel through the American South-West and South with the aim of asserting their freedom”. The song The Ballad of Easy Rider contains the aspirational phrase, “all they wanted was to be free”. The film certainly kicks off with a great travelling anthem as the opening credits roll (btw some 7 minutes into the film!): “Get your motor running, head out on the highway, looking for adventure and whatever comes our way”. Towards the end, after they’ve made their money (illegally, remember), they’re sat round the camp fire talking. Billy (Dennis Hopper) is rejoicing – “you go for the big money and you’re free”; Wyatt (Peter Fonda) says they blew it. Presumably, to him, they didn’t have the sort of freedom he thought they would.
Van Morrison has a song called You Make Me Feel So Free speaking of how another person can give you a sense of freedom. From his mid-eighties album No Guru, No Method, No Teacher, one song speaks of going to a town called Paradise “where we can be free”.
Some years later, Oasis spoke of freedom in their 1994 song Whatever (I’m Free). They wanted the freedom to say whatever they liked. Worryingly, they go further by not caring if it’s wrong or if it’s right! Fellow blogger, therabbitholez, made a comment on last Weds’ Freedom Rules piece which I agree with. If you have a look at that, I hope you can see there’s more to freedom than just the “I want” part which Oasis focus on. The B-side of that record, (It’s Good) To Be Free speaks of it being good to be free in the context of living where they want. Of course for those living under oppressive regimes the choice to live where they want is not an option. Popstars have enough money to be able to make the choices which make them happy. Others, less well off, don’t.
In case you think it’s only modern(-ish) songs that take this a theme – it isn’t. There is, for example, a 1933 Jimmy Rodgers song (also recorded by a number of others) called I’m Free From The Chain Gang Now. It has these words, by an innocent man, in one of the verses:
“Back home, I was known and respected then one day I was wrongly suspected,
So they put me in chains in a cold freezin’ rain but I’m free from the chain gang now.”
Much further back in history, there are examples of songs written in the 18th C about freedom & liberty. Some of those include a call to men to lay their lives down for the cause of freedom. Have a think on the last verse of American Hero (by Andrew Law, 1748-1821):
“Life, for my country and the cause of freedom,
Is but a trifle for a worm to part with;
And if preserved in so great a contest,
Life is redoubled.”
Of course there are many other songs referring to the freedom from oppression sought by people in various nations, not just the USA. Also, the verse above could apply equally to those who gave their lives in the two World Wars of the last century so that succeeding generations could be free from the control of a tyrannical invading power.
In Freedom Rules, I gave the 4 types of freedom specified by Roosevelt which, he said, should exist for everyone around the world. Gary McGrath at mcgrath.com/freesongs puts it this way:
“Freedom is the absence of forcible constraint on actions which do not violate the rights of others.”
Another good definition. It highlights what I think most people believe – that an individual’s freedom must incorporate an acceptance by that individual of responsibilities to the wider society. Our societies today focus very much on personal rights but not so much on those personal responsibilities. I wonder why?
The UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights begins with these words: “recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world..” Article 1, of the same document, opens with “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.”
I think that enshrines much of what we would like to go into a definition of freedom.
However, when we look at the record of some countries, within the UN, who’ve signed up to this there’s a big question – how, in reality, can it be enforced? And will it ever be?
Popular music, through the last five decades or so, has, in certain ways, reflected what the young see as their desire for and, in some ways, their definition of freedom. It will only be possible to take a few examples as there are so many songs could fall into this category. I hope they will illustrate the point.
In 1965 the Rolling Stones recorded a song I’m Free To Do What I Want. The lyrics also tell of being free to get what “I want”. In other words it’s actually talking about probably the most selfish sort of freedom you can imagine: the freedom to do, get or possess whatever you want. The song makes no reference to any effect on anyone else. From the writer’s point of view I don’t think he has even given that any thought. What’s behind the words then? I think simply a rebellion of youth against what it saw, in those days, as the rules or way of life of the older generation. Is that the freedom you’re seeking – to choose to do & to get what you want?
Are you attracted by that archetypical image of the apparently free-roaming hobo riding the freight trains across America taking him wherever they’re going? Or the “southbound odyssey” of Steve Goodman’s song The City Of New Orleans, (recorded by Arlo Guthrie on his album Hobo’s Lullaby, & by a number of other singers).
Perhaps the Easy Rider type of journey appeals – on your motorbike, travelling free. The 1969 film is described in its Wikipedia entry as “the story of two bikers….who travel through the American South-West and South with the aim of asserting their freedom”. The song The Ballad of Easy Rider contains the aspirational phrase, “all they wanted was to be free”. The film certainly kicks off with a great travelling anthem as the opening credits roll (btw some 7 minutes into the film!): “Get your motor running, head out on the highway, looking for adventure and whatever comes our way”. Towards the end, after they’ve made their money (illegally, remember), they’re sat round the camp fire talking. Billy (Dennis Hopper) is rejoicing – “you go for the big money and you’re free”; Wyatt (Peter Fonda) says they blew it. Presumably, to him, they didn’t have the sort of freedom he thought they would.
Van Morrison has a song called You Make Me Feel So Free speaking of how another person can give you a sense of freedom. From his mid-eighties album No Guru, No Method, No Teacher, one song speaks of going to a town called Paradise “where we can be free”.
Some years later, Oasis spoke of freedom in their 1994 song Whatever (I’m Free). They wanted the freedom to say whatever they liked. Worryingly, they go further by not caring if it’s wrong or if it’s right! Fellow blogger, therabbitholez, made a comment on last Weds’ Freedom Rules piece which I agree with. If you have a look at that, I hope you can see there’s more to freedom than just the “I want” part which Oasis focus on. The B-side of that record, (It’s Good) To Be Free speaks of it being good to be free in the context of living where they want. Of course for those living under oppressive regimes the choice to live where they want is not an option. Popstars have enough money to be able to make the choices which make them happy. Others, less well off, don’t.
In case you think it’s only modern(-ish) songs that take this a theme – it isn’t. There is, for example, a 1933 Jimmy Rodgers song (also recorded by a number of others) called I’m Free From The Chain Gang Now. It has these words, by an innocent man, in one of the verses:
“Back home, I was known and respected then one day I was wrongly suspected,
So they put me in chains in a cold freezin’ rain but I’m free from the chain gang now.”
Much further back in history, there are examples of songs written in the 18th C about freedom & liberty. Some of those include a call to men to lay their lives down for the cause of freedom. Have a think on the last verse of American Hero (by Andrew Law, 1748-1821):
“Life, for my country and the cause of freedom,
Is but a trifle for a worm to part with;
And if preserved in so great a contest,
Life is redoubled.”
Of course there are many other songs referring to the freedom from oppression sought by people in various nations, not just the USA. Also, the verse above could apply equally to those who gave their lives in the two World Wars of the last century so that succeeding generations could be free from the control of a tyrannical invading power.
In Freedom Rules, I gave the 4 types of freedom specified by Roosevelt which, he said, should exist for everyone around the world. Gary McGrath at mcgrath.com/freesongs puts it this way:
“Freedom is the absence of forcible constraint on actions which do not violate the rights of others.”
Another good definition. It highlights what I think most people believe – that an individual’s freedom must incorporate an acceptance by that individual of responsibilities to the wider society. Our societies today focus very much on personal rights but not so much on those personal responsibilities. I wonder why?
The UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights begins with these words: “recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world..” Article 1, of the same document, opens with “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.”
I think that enshrines much of what we would like to go into a definition of freedom.
However, when we look at the record of some countries, within the UN, who’ve signed up to this there’s a big question – how, in reality, can it be enforced? And will it ever be?
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Photo diary of my first wedding cake
Due to a torrent of requests (one) I have decided to bow to public pressure (a few Twitter comments) and make today the photo diary of my epic adventure into the world of wedding cakes.
It started with an offer to bake the cake for a friend’s big day. It was only a small affair so nothing amazing was expected. The friend runs a gallery and requested a cake which looked like a picture frame. Ok, I thought, and got to work with my imagination. I got fancier and fancier. A visit to the cake shop had me with armfuls of stuff to put on.
I dipped into the best cake cookbook I know, from the Hummingbird Bakery and decided on two types of cake, in case I just did one and they hated it. It was like a back up option, to have two! I did a red velvet cake (but not red) and a kind of carrot cake but without carrots and with bananas, pineapples and pecans instead. With cream cheese frosting.
And so it started.
I made lots of little chocolate truffles. I coated some in white chocolate but ended up using the plain ones instead. They’re so simple – oreo biscuits in a food processor then cream cheese added and whizzed until it’s all chocolate coloured and sticking together.
I made cream cheese frosting. 50g butter and 300g icing sugar mixed together then 125g cream cheese. Whisk until light and fluffy, about 5 mins.
Then made the red velvet cake. I left out the red partly because I didn’t think it would go with the cake’s colour scheme and partly because I’d run out of it. If you’ve never had red velvet cake, the reason it’s so amazing is that it’s the loveliest, softest cake ever. I think it’s because it has buttermilk in it but that’s just me guessing. Try one. It’ll blow you away.
Then I made the fruity nutty cake, which was unusual because it doesn’t have butter. It uses sunflower oil instead, and has 3 bananas, some chopped pineapple and loads of pecans. It tastes really soft and decadent.
I then cut them so the inside edges were straight and put a layer of the frosting down the middle and stuck them together to make a square.
I covered the whole thing with the frosting…
…And put the decorations in the middle, worried that if I did the outside decorations first I might knock them while working on the middle bit.
Next I put the gold paint into the remaining frosting… And disaster! It didn’t look gold at all! I looked kind of dark and un-food-like. I panicked and ran to the cake shop and burst in, explaining my dilemma. “Yeh it’s really hard to make frosting gold.” It wasn’t the thing I really wanted to hear. Their answer? Gold leaf! Ok. I’ve never worked with it before but I was prepared to give it a go. Back home, I piped on the not-gold frosting in the shape of the frame….
…And put some of the edible red carnation petals together with a blob of melted white chocolate to keep them in place…
I then covered the darker area in the gold leaf. I must add that I said the word ‘shit!’ quite a lot during this period because it went absolutely everywhere except where I needed it – on the cake! I covered some of the truffles in gold too.
Then, to cover a mistake in the bottom left hand corner, I put some little white hearts and the petals in the opposite corner. I then dotted a few of the gold truffles on, there wasn’t really space for more. And it was ready!
The groom seemed pleased with how it looked so hopefully it tasted ok too. Fingers crossed.
Things I learned from this experience -
Gold leaf is hard to work with.
Get extra of everything.
It is good to have a cake shop near to your house.
If anyone wants any of the recipes for the cake, just let me know and I’ll post them up.
It started with an offer to bake the cake for a friend’s big day. It was only a small affair so nothing amazing was expected. The friend runs a gallery and requested a cake which looked like a picture frame. Ok, I thought, and got to work with my imagination. I got fancier and fancier. A visit to the cake shop had me with armfuls of stuff to put on.
I dipped into the best cake cookbook I know, from the Hummingbird Bakery and decided on two types of cake, in case I just did one and they hated it. It was like a back up option, to have two! I did a red velvet cake (but not red) and a kind of carrot cake but without carrots and with bananas, pineapples and pecans instead. With cream cheese frosting.
And so it started.
I made lots of little chocolate truffles. I coated some in white chocolate but ended up using the plain ones instead. They’re so simple – oreo biscuits in a food processor then cream cheese added and whizzed until it’s all chocolate coloured and sticking together.
I made cream cheese frosting. 50g butter and 300g icing sugar mixed together then 125g cream cheese. Whisk until light and fluffy, about 5 mins.
Then made the red velvet cake. I left out the red partly because I didn’t think it would go with the cake’s colour scheme and partly because I’d run out of it. If you’ve never had red velvet cake, the reason it’s so amazing is that it’s the loveliest, softest cake ever. I think it’s because it has buttermilk in it but that’s just me guessing. Try one. It’ll blow you away.
Then I made the fruity nutty cake, which was unusual because it doesn’t have butter. It uses sunflower oil instead, and has 3 bananas, some chopped pineapple and loads of pecans. It tastes really soft and decadent.
I then cut them so the inside edges were straight and put a layer of the frosting down the middle and stuck them together to make a square.
I covered the whole thing with the frosting…
…And put the decorations in the middle, worried that if I did the outside decorations first I might knock them while working on the middle bit.
Next I put the gold paint into the remaining frosting… And disaster! It didn’t look gold at all! I looked kind of dark and un-food-like. I panicked and ran to the cake shop and burst in, explaining my dilemma. “Yeh it’s really hard to make frosting gold.” It wasn’t the thing I really wanted to hear. Their answer? Gold leaf! Ok. I’ve never worked with it before but I was prepared to give it a go. Back home, I piped on the not-gold frosting in the shape of the frame….
…And put some of the edible red carnation petals together with a blob of melted white chocolate to keep them in place…
I then covered the darker area in the gold leaf. I must add that I said the word ‘shit!’ quite a lot during this period because it went absolutely everywhere except where I needed it – on the cake! I covered some of the truffles in gold too.
Then, to cover a mistake in the bottom left hand corner, I put some little white hearts and the petals in the opposite corner. I then dotted a few of the gold truffles on, there wasn’t really space for more. And it was ready!
The groom seemed pleased with how it looked so hopefully it tasted ok too. Fingers crossed.
Things I learned from this experience -
Gold leaf is hard to work with.
Get extra of everything.
It is good to have a cake shop near to your house.
If anyone wants any of the recipes for the cake, just let me know and I’ll post them up.
Monday 14 May 2012
The strange English language
The following is a guest blog from RuthJ at caderyan.com and was submitted to me via myblogguest.com. Enjoy!
The English language is a strange little thing. It contains the most words out of any other language, and though it is widely spoken throughout the world, it is actually one of the most difficult languages to learn.
Most other languages have rules associated with why the language is the way it is. Sentences are laid out to make sense and phonetics are easier to dissect. In English, there is no rhyme or reason to the way certain things are spelled or pronounced, and some of the words we use today don’t make sense as to why.
Languages were invented, which leaves it susceptible to error and confusion, and the English language is no exception. If we could go back in time when the English language was being created, we would have plenty of questions.
Did you ever notice that certain words would make more sense if used correctly with its counterparts? For example:
1. Why do we drive on parkways, yet park on driveways?
2. Why do we use garment bags to pack suits, yet we use suitcases to pack garments?
3. How come we play at a recital, yet we recite a play?
4. How come when we move something via a ship it’s called cargo, yet when we move something by car it’s called a shipment?
5. Why do we call people who ride bikes cyclists, but people who ride motorcycles bikers?
For the English language to make perfect sense, you would think that we would drive on driveways and park on parkways and that we would call those who ride bikes bikers and those who rode motorcycles cyclists. Instead, we do things backwards.
Then there are those items that involve numbers that simply don’t make sense. For example:
1. Why is it called a pair of pants when you only get one?
2. Why is first-degree murder worse than third-degree murder, but first-degree burns are less serious than third-degree burns?
3. Why do we call it a television set if we only get one?
We also have words that follow one rule but not for others. For example:
1. How come the day breaks but never falls, yet night falls but never breaks?
2. How come a king rules a kingdom, but a queen doesn’t rule a queendom?
And then there are just certain questions we wish we had answers to, including:
1. Why does the word lisp have an s in it? Was it some type of cruel joke?
2. How come there is no synonym for the word synonym?
3. Why are deer and moose the same for both singular and plural versions?
4. What was the purpose of spelling read and read or lead and lead the same but making them have two different phonetics?
5. How come you can turn a light on, off or out, but you can’t turn it in?
6. How can you be head over heels? Aren’t you already head over heels? Shouldn’t it be heels over head?
7. Why can -ough be pronounced seven different ways?
Unfortunately we may never know the answer to some of these questions, and the English language will continue to be a mystery to everyone.
Robert Hunt is a writer and linguist. He has studied the forms and details of many different languages. Robert has recently enrolled in Accent Pros accent classes to learn how to pronounce words with different accents.
The English language is a strange little thing. It contains the most words out of any other language, and though it is widely spoken throughout the world, it is actually one of the most difficult languages to learn.
Most other languages have rules associated with why the language is the way it is. Sentences are laid out to make sense and phonetics are easier to dissect. In English, there is no rhyme or reason to the way certain things are spelled or pronounced, and some of the words we use today don’t make sense as to why.
Languages were invented, which leaves it susceptible to error and confusion, and the English language is no exception. If we could go back in time when the English language was being created, we would have plenty of questions.
Did you ever notice that certain words would make more sense if used correctly with its counterparts? For example:
1. Why do we drive on parkways, yet park on driveways?
2. Why do we use garment bags to pack suits, yet we use suitcases to pack garments?
3. How come we play at a recital, yet we recite a play?
4. How come when we move something via a ship it’s called cargo, yet when we move something by car it’s called a shipment?
5. Why do we call people who ride bikes cyclists, but people who ride motorcycles bikers?
For the English language to make perfect sense, you would think that we would drive on driveways and park on parkways and that we would call those who ride bikes bikers and those who rode motorcycles cyclists. Instead, we do things backwards.
Then there are those items that involve numbers that simply don’t make sense. For example:
1. Why is it called a pair of pants when you only get one?
2. Why is first-degree murder worse than third-degree murder, but first-degree burns are less serious than third-degree burns?
3. Why do we call it a television set if we only get one?
We also have words that follow one rule but not for others. For example:
1. How come the day breaks but never falls, yet night falls but never breaks?
2. How come a king rules a kingdom, but a queen doesn’t rule a queendom?
And then there are just certain questions we wish we had answers to, including:
1. Why does the word lisp have an s in it? Was it some type of cruel joke?
2. How come there is no synonym for the word synonym?
3. Why are deer and moose the same for both singular and plural versions?
4. What was the purpose of spelling read and read or lead and lead the same but making them have two different phonetics?
5. How come you can turn a light on, off or out, but you can’t turn it in?
6. How can you be head over heels? Aren’t you already head over heels? Shouldn’t it be heels over head?
7. Why can -ough be pronounced seven different ways?
Unfortunately we may never know the answer to some of these questions, and the English language will continue to be a mystery to everyone.
Robert Hunt is a writer and linguist. He has studied the forms and details of many different languages. Robert has recently enrolled in Accent Pros accent classes to learn how to pronounce words with different accents.
Sunday 13 May 2012
A book and free time
I was away on holiday recently. It was nice. There was sun (sometimes), a swimming pool, a lovely group of people and some children to liven the mood, lots of water parks, beaches, shops, restaurants. All the stuff that you do for fun on holiday.
Except that I didn't really need any of those things. I just need a good book and to not have anything to do. I'm quite self conscious about my type of fun, as it's a bit antisocial and doesn't involve screaming and laughing and splashing around in cold water, playing water polo or something. It doesn't make me look like much fun.
While the others ran toward the oncoming waves and squealed and ran back when the freezing water hit them, and laughed together, I sat on a towel with a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's short stories and had the time of my life. I don't hate running in and out of the water, it's quite good fun sometimes. I also like sitting in a cafe with an espresso (at no other time in my life do I drink espressos, in fact I really dislike the taste of coffee. I think I do it in cafes when I'm in public to feel grown up). I like taking a lovely walk down the twisty roads, seeing the trees and rosemary bushes and wildlife. All these things I like doing. But if I'm totally, truly honest with myself, I don't actually need any of those things. I just need a good book and a place to sit and to have nothing on my mind (hence, I did zero studying on holiday...).
So they ran in and out of the water, shivered, laughed, played together. I took photos from my vantage point on the towel and read the Pat Hobby stories. It's not that I don't like people, but I spend the whole year being force-fed big fat textbooks and cases and statutes and no time for choosing something nice to read. So when I'm away from the textbooks, that's what I most want to do.
Until recently, I would just wait and read later and spend more time doing group things, things that are fun together. But I read a book about being honest with yourself about the things you find fun and that's what I find fun.
I'm not about to forgo hot air balloon rides over the desert or mountain trekking in exotic places, in the name of reading books, because that's 'my' type of fun! I'd like to think I still do exciting things, but in a more everyday way, I'd just like a book and free time please.
P.S. 15 days till first exam. Today's revision topic is Constitution in Equity and Trusts Law.
Except that I didn't really need any of those things. I just need a good book and to not have anything to do. I'm quite self conscious about my type of fun, as it's a bit antisocial and doesn't involve screaming and laughing and splashing around in cold water, playing water polo or something. It doesn't make me look like much fun.
While the others ran toward the oncoming waves and squealed and ran back when the freezing water hit them, and laughed together, I sat on a towel with a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's short stories and had the time of my life. I don't hate running in and out of the water, it's quite good fun sometimes. I also like sitting in a cafe with an espresso (at no other time in my life do I drink espressos, in fact I really dislike the taste of coffee. I think I do it in cafes when I'm in public to feel grown up). I like taking a lovely walk down the twisty roads, seeing the trees and rosemary bushes and wildlife. All these things I like doing. But if I'm totally, truly honest with myself, I don't actually need any of those things. I just need a good book and a place to sit and to have nothing on my mind (hence, I did zero studying on holiday...).
So they ran in and out of the water, shivered, laughed, played together. I took photos from my vantage point on the towel and read the Pat Hobby stories. It's not that I don't like people, but I spend the whole year being force-fed big fat textbooks and cases and statutes and no time for choosing something nice to read. So when I'm away from the textbooks, that's what I most want to do.
Until recently, I would just wait and read later and spend more time doing group things, things that are fun together. But I read a book about being honest with yourself about the things you find fun and that's what I find fun.
I'm not about to forgo hot air balloon rides over the desert or mountain trekking in exotic places, in the name of reading books, because that's 'my' type of fun! I'd like to think I still do exciting things, but in a more everyday way, I'd just like a book and free time please.
P.S. 15 days till first exam. Today's revision topic is Constitution in Equity and Trusts Law.
Saturday 12 May 2012
"I'm alright"
I have a friend who doesn't understand why I say this when I do. Actually, neither can I. But I say 'I'm alright' as a reply to questions quite often. Examples are:
Friend: "Laura, would like a cup of tea?"
Me: "I'm alright."
Friend: "This programme is a bit boring. Would you like to watch something else on TV?"
Laura: "I'm alright. I'm studying anyway."
Friend: "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
Me: "I'm alright, thanks. I'd better get home and study."
I'm alright?! How is that synonymous with 'yes' or 'no'? I use it to mean 'no' but why? Why is telling someone what your mood is like the same as saying 'no, thank you'? The friend who gets annoyed always replies with, "Yes, I know you're alright. But would you like a cup of tea?" He says that unless I'm really crying or have mentioned that I'm not feeling good for any reason, he can presume that I'm alright. But that's not the conversation he was having. He's asking me if I want something.
But I can't help it. It just comes out when I'm answering a question. 'I'm alright,' I say, as if it's an answer. I guess it means, 'I'm alright without it.' That's still not satisfactory because lots of things I'm 'alright' without but I still want them. I'm 'alright' without the cup of tea, no big disaster is going to happen, but that doesn't mean I don't want one. So no, it doesn't really make a lot of sense, no.
I definitely used to say 'I'm good' to mean the same thing. I remember being on a driving lesson and saying it. Driving instructor said something about lessons next week, was I going to book an extra one, or something, and I said, 'I'm good' to mean no.
It's like there are two different conversations going on. One person is saying, 'I'm asking you if you want something,' and you're saying, 'Let me tell you about my behaviour/mood.' It's quite rude really, just interrupting their conversation and starting a different one. Imagine if that's how all conversations went:
"Hi, how are you?" "I love cricket."
"Do you want to meet up for a coffee?" "Did you know my middle name is Louise?"
"I'll call you later." "I must remember to pick up the dry cleaning."
We wouldn't get very far in our interactions, would we? We'd all just be going on about random things whilst in the company of other people.
I must try using 'yes' and 'no' more often, I guess.
P.S. 16 days til first exam. Today's study topic is Formalities in Equity and Trusts Law.
Friend: "Laura, would like a cup of tea?"
Me: "I'm alright."
Friend: "This programme is a bit boring. Would you like to watch something else on TV?"
Laura: "I'm alright. I'm studying anyway."
Friend: "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
Me: "I'm alright, thanks. I'd better get home and study."
I'm alright?! How is that synonymous with 'yes' or 'no'? I use it to mean 'no' but why? Why is telling someone what your mood is like the same as saying 'no, thank you'? The friend who gets annoyed always replies with, "Yes, I know you're alright. But would you like a cup of tea?" He says that unless I'm really crying or have mentioned that I'm not feeling good for any reason, he can presume that I'm alright. But that's not the conversation he was having. He's asking me if I want something.
But I can't help it. It just comes out when I'm answering a question. 'I'm alright,' I say, as if it's an answer. I guess it means, 'I'm alright without it.' That's still not satisfactory because lots of things I'm 'alright' without but I still want them. I'm 'alright' without the cup of tea, no big disaster is going to happen, but that doesn't mean I don't want one. So no, it doesn't really make a lot of sense, no.
I definitely used to say 'I'm good' to mean the same thing. I remember being on a driving lesson and saying it. Driving instructor said something about lessons next week, was I going to book an extra one, or something, and I said, 'I'm good' to mean no.
It's like there are two different conversations going on. One person is saying, 'I'm asking you if you want something,' and you're saying, 'Let me tell you about my behaviour/mood.' It's quite rude really, just interrupting their conversation and starting a different one. Imagine if that's how all conversations went:
"Hi, how are you?" "I love cricket."
"Do you want to meet up for a coffee?" "Did you know my middle name is Louise?"
"I'll call you later." "I must remember to pick up the dry cleaning."
We wouldn't get very far in our interactions, would we? We'd all just be going on about random things whilst in the company of other people.
I must try using 'yes' and 'no' more often, I guess.
P.S. 16 days til first exam. Today's study topic is Formalities in Equity and Trusts Law.
Friday 11 May 2012
Cake talk
Today, I have a day off work, so my brain has gone into meltdown. I'm not very good with time off. So I make jobs for myself. I have made a cake this morning already. I have also done a bit of Land Law revision. It's mortgages today. Not the most fascinating thing I can think of. With the brain in meltdown, I'm not very good at thinking what to blog about. So I'm just going to blog what's on my mind.
The biggest thing is planning a wedding cake. Not for me, I might add! Someone else is getting married and I'm doing their cake. (Me? Getting married? What a hilarious thought!) I had trouble falling asleep last night because I was planning it in such detail. I love a foodie project. Yesterday I went into the cake supplies shop and was just out of control. It's like someone had unleashed the mad woman that I usually keep under wraps and told her to get one of everything! It's not like I went in with a plan in mind and got things which fitted with my plan. Instead I looked in great detail at absolutely everything in the shop and thought about how I could possibly use it, picked it up and kept moving. Occasionally I placed things back when I'd re-made the plan after looking at the next item but my arms were still pretty full by the time I got to the till (maybe an hour after entering the shop).
When I was falling asleep last night I was running through, over and over again what I was going to do, whether I should put this here or that there. What type of cake should I do for the cake bit? I also took the momentous step of finally purchasing a piping bag, which is a thing I've always felt like I should have but was quite intimidated by, like muslin cloth. I now have both. I think I should practise piping things first because I can just see a big disaster happening on the actual cake.
Now I don't want to jinx things by talking about it too much and I hope Mr/Mrs Soon-To-Be-Married don't stop by this blog before the big day but here's the plan. Opinions please.
He owns a gallery and requested a cake in the shape of a picture frame. So I'm going to do a square/rectangle cake with gold frosting for the frame bit. Then inside the frame there'll just be white frosting and I got two little silver letters for their names.
Oo! I've just thought! Gold framing and silver letters?! It's not going to go together. Dammit. Should I go and get gold letters instead? Or will that be gold overload?
Anyway, two letters for names, whichever colour they end up being. Then I have edible red carnation petals that I thought I'd make a little flower out of for one corner and two small white icing hearts for the opposite corner. I've got two teeny tiny mini champagne flutes to put in the middle and thought I'd make some really small white chocolate truffles to either put on the board around the bottom of the cake or to put round the edge next to the flower, so it looks like part of the pattern on the frame.
It will probably change tomorrow, and the next day, so I'm going to start making little sketches or something so I remember each idea before I change it. Actually, here's the one for what my current idea is... (Obviously my artistic skills are somewhat lacking and the proportions will no doubt end up completely different.Those little blobs in the two corners are the mini white chocolate truffles.)
Anyway, that's the main thing on my mind this morning. Other thoughts are:
'I'd better try and finish revising mortgages today as the exams are really close..'
....and 'Omygoodness I ate a lot at the staff meal out last night, I should probably try to do a long walk or something to balance it out...'
...and 'I want to make the truffles for the cake today.'
Thursday 10 May 2012
Why do I always say things twice? Why do I always say things twice?
I've got this thing about repeating myself. I haven't worked out why I do it. My biggest one is when I agree with someone, or answer in the positive.
Example:
Customer: "Can I pay with my card here?"
Me: "Yes! Yeh. That's fine."
Customer: "Do you have a toilet here?"
Me:Yes, yeh, we do."
Customer: "Do you sell chocolates?
Me: "Yes, yeh, they're just over there."
Why 'yes' AND 'yeh? Sometimes it's 'yes' and 'yep'. Or 'yeh' and 'yep'. I've tried to stop it but it's like alcoholism or something. I just can't stop. I can see the problem but I'm too addicted. It's something I have no control over. I just wait for the next person to ask me something so I can answer twice!
"Hi! I'm Laura and I answer twice!" I'd say at the Answering Twice Anonymous. Or ATA, as they'd be known.
Sometimes I do it when I think I've skipped over the point too quickly and maybe the person listening might have missed it.
Example:
Friend: "Are you nervous about your exams?"
Me: "Well, it's not that I'm nervous as such. I'm studying all the time and I feel ok about them. You know, so I wouldn't say it nerves. More just getting them over with. I've been studying a lot. I feel ok about them."
I could really save a lot of time by just saying things once. But as fellow members of the ATA will know, sometimes you just want to make extra sure the person is keeping up with what you're saying, by saying it twice. I know it doesn't actually work, but I sort of think it does when I'm doing it.
Example:
Customer: "Can I pay with my card here?"
Me: "Yes! Yeh. That's fine."
Customer: "Do you have a toilet here?"
Me:Yes, yeh, we do."
Customer: "Do you sell chocolates?
Me: "Yes, yeh, they're just over there."
Why 'yes' AND 'yeh? Sometimes it's 'yes' and 'yep'. Or 'yeh' and 'yep'. I've tried to stop it but it's like alcoholism or something. I just can't stop. I can see the problem but I'm too addicted. It's something I have no control over. I just wait for the next person to ask me something so I can answer twice!
"Hi! I'm Laura and I answer twice!" I'd say at the Answering Twice Anonymous. Or ATA, as they'd be known.
Sometimes I do it when I think I've skipped over the point too quickly and maybe the person listening might have missed it.
Example:
Friend: "Are you nervous about your exams?"
Me: "Well, it's not that I'm nervous as such. I'm studying all the time and I feel ok about them. You know, so I wouldn't say it nerves. More just getting them over with. I've been studying a lot. I feel ok about them."
I could really save a lot of time by just saying things once. But as fellow members of the ATA will know, sometimes you just want to make extra sure the person is keeping up with what you're saying, by saying it twice. I know it doesn't actually work, but I sort of think it does when I'm doing it.
Wednesday 9 May 2012
Freedom rules!
It's another post from my regular guest blogger today. Enjoy!
Another possible oxymoron? How can there be freedom and rules together? Surely freedom means not having rules? Or might it just mean freedom is the best thing? Obviously it won’t be possible to do in a few blogs what philosophers and the rest of mankind have pondered over for thousands of years but let’s see if we can discover anything of interest. I’m going to do a quick general overview for this opener. Next time I hope to do something on the concept of freedom as found in popular music, then literature/films and for part 4 maybe tackle, in more detail, the awkward bit about the rules and their interpretation.
On 6th Jan 1941, Franklin D. Roosevelt spoke about looking forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms:
1. The freedom of speech and expression – everywhere in the world
2. The freedom of every individual to worship God in his own way – everywhere in the world.
3. The freedom from want – everywhere in the world.
4. The freedom from fear – anywhere in the world.
I wonder if you remember when you were younger words or phrases that were used to extol the perceived virtues of say footballers, singers or other heroes from the past and present.
Many who passed through the student ranks of tertiary education will remember the ubiquitous and iconic red & black “Che” poster which adorned the walls of theirs, or their friends’, rooms or the T-shirt which adorned the budding Marxist chest. Ernesto (Che) Guevara (1928-67) was a Cuban Marxist revolutionary - a ‘hero’ to many; he represented the way to fight for freedom from an oppressive regime. The Bolivians didn’t agree. Their armed forces captured and killed him in 1967. (He had been trying to stir up the Bolivian people up to rebel against their government.) On 9th Oct 1967, in La Higuera, Bolivia I wonder if Che realised that, co-incidentally & quite bizarrely, Engelbert Humperdinck was at the end of a 5-week run at No.1 in the UK Charts, with the song The Last Waltz? (Its first line reads “Should I go or should I stay?”) Probably he didn’t! Dodging bullets was definitely a higher, but unachievable, priority.
As I grew up, I remember seeing instances of graffiti, on walls, bridges and flyovers with the words “Liverpool or LFC Rules, ok!” or “Everton or EFC rules, ok!” or “Kenny (as in Dalgleish) rules, ok” and a number of others. They all wanted the viewer to know that their team or hero is the best.
Another type was painted by people who felt injustices had been done to an individual or group of people through a court sentence: for example in the UK, “Free the Birmingham Six” (given life in 1975 but freed after an appeal in 1991) and “Free the Guildford Four” (life sentences in 1975, freed after appeal in 1989). In these two examples the freedom is clearly from a prison cell; for Che & Fidel Castro it was freedom from the rule of a government they did not agree with.
Perhaps you hanker after a freedom closer to home: freedom from parents, parental control or from a bossy sibling. Would you like there to be more freedom in your school or place of work because you feel too restricted the way things are? We’ve seen in the press over many years cases where a pupil in a school wants the freedom to wear something or follow a fashion trend which flouts the school uniform rules. Should they be allowed to? Shouldn’t they? They want to break the rules, often in the name of freedom?
There are also cases of religious objections. For example, here in the UK, a Sikh can by law, wear a turban whilst riding a motorcycle instead of a crash helmet. A number of Christians have been in the news because of clashes with their employers about wanting to wear a crucifix (cross), as a symbol of their faith, in the workplace. And so it goes on with many different cases on our TV screens and in the press. Does this mean religious freedom trumps the law of the land? Sometimes, it does! Is it right to do so? I’ll leave that one with you.
Suppose you own your own house. Do you have the freedom to do whatever you want either with the building or in terms of the activities that take place there? Clearly not. For instance, you cannot play your music at full volume. Why? Because it causes a nuisance to neighbours. In other words there are rules! You cannot use it for business unless it has been authorised. Why? Because the rules say you can’t. What about your neighbour’s freedom to have peace and quiet? Do you see the problem? The use of your freedom may infringe someone else’s. Maybe that’s where the rules come in but who enforces them?
Think of those early pioneers in the 1960s Hippie movement. Freedom from society and its restraints was at the top of their list. However it doesn’t take long to figure out that this is an impossible lifestyle without money. If they work they follow the rules of their employers, if they don’t work they get benefits but either way they need and obtain money to fund their alternative lifestyle. Freedom costs!
Remember the bravado in words of the chorus to the song, “Society” about being free to go it alone, from the biopic, of Christopher McCandless’s life (1968-1992), Into The Wild:
“Society you’re a crazy breed
Hope you’re not lonely without me.”
Are you beginning to see the problem? Freedom does not, and cannot, mean freedom to do anything you want; and it cannot be achieved without monetary resources of some kind. Now what sort of freedom do you really want for yourself and others? What types of freedom are actually possible across the world? More importantly what are you, and others, willing to give up in order for more freedom to exist?
Another possible oxymoron? How can there be freedom and rules together? Surely freedom means not having rules? Or might it just mean freedom is the best thing? Obviously it won’t be possible to do in a few blogs what philosophers and the rest of mankind have pondered over for thousands of years but let’s see if we can discover anything of interest. I’m going to do a quick general overview for this opener. Next time I hope to do something on the concept of freedom as found in popular music, then literature/films and for part 4 maybe tackle, in more detail, the awkward bit about the rules and their interpretation.
On 6th Jan 1941, Franklin D. Roosevelt spoke about looking forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms:
1. The freedom of speech and expression – everywhere in the world
2. The freedom of every individual to worship God in his own way – everywhere in the world.
3. The freedom from want – everywhere in the world.
4. The freedom from fear – anywhere in the world.
I wonder if you remember when you were younger words or phrases that were used to extol the perceived virtues of say footballers, singers or other heroes from the past and present.
Many who passed through the student ranks of tertiary education will remember the ubiquitous and iconic red & black “Che” poster which adorned the walls of theirs, or their friends’, rooms or the T-shirt which adorned the budding Marxist chest. Ernesto (Che) Guevara (1928-67) was a Cuban Marxist revolutionary - a ‘hero’ to many; he represented the way to fight for freedom from an oppressive regime. The Bolivians didn’t agree. Their armed forces captured and killed him in 1967. (He had been trying to stir up the Bolivian people up to rebel against their government.) On 9th Oct 1967, in La Higuera, Bolivia I wonder if Che realised that, co-incidentally & quite bizarrely, Engelbert Humperdinck was at the end of a 5-week run at No.1 in the UK Charts, with the song The Last Waltz? (Its first line reads “Should I go or should I stay?”) Probably he didn’t! Dodging bullets was definitely a higher, but unachievable, priority.
As I grew up, I remember seeing instances of graffiti, on walls, bridges and flyovers with the words “Liverpool or LFC Rules, ok!” or “Everton or EFC rules, ok!” or “Kenny (as in Dalgleish) rules, ok” and a number of others. They all wanted the viewer to know that their team or hero is the best.
Another type was painted by people who felt injustices had been done to an individual or group of people through a court sentence: for example in the UK, “Free the Birmingham Six” (given life in 1975 but freed after an appeal in 1991) and “Free the Guildford Four” (life sentences in 1975, freed after appeal in 1989). In these two examples the freedom is clearly from a prison cell; for Che & Fidel Castro it was freedom from the rule of a government they did not agree with.
Perhaps you hanker after a freedom closer to home: freedom from parents, parental control or from a bossy sibling. Would you like there to be more freedom in your school or place of work because you feel too restricted the way things are? We’ve seen in the press over many years cases where a pupil in a school wants the freedom to wear something or follow a fashion trend which flouts the school uniform rules. Should they be allowed to? Shouldn’t they? They want to break the rules, often in the name of freedom?
There are also cases of religious objections. For example, here in the UK, a Sikh can by law, wear a turban whilst riding a motorcycle instead of a crash helmet. A number of Christians have been in the news because of clashes with their employers about wanting to wear a crucifix (cross), as a symbol of their faith, in the workplace. And so it goes on with many different cases on our TV screens and in the press. Does this mean religious freedom trumps the law of the land? Sometimes, it does! Is it right to do so? I’ll leave that one with you.
Suppose you own your own house. Do you have the freedom to do whatever you want either with the building or in terms of the activities that take place there? Clearly not. For instance, you cannot play your music at full volume. Why? Because it causes a nuisance to neighbours. In other words there are rules! You cannot use it for business unless it has been authorised. Why? Because the rules say you can’t. What about your neighbour’s freedom to have peace and quiet? Do you see the problem? The use of your freedom may infringe someone else’s. Maybe that’s where the rules come in but who enforces them?
Think of those early pioneers in the 1960s Hippie movement. Freedom from society and its restraints was at the top of their list. However it doesn’t take long to figure out that this is an impossible lifestyle without money. If they work they follow the rules of their employers, if they don’t work they get benefits but either way they need and obtain money to fund their alternative lifestyle. Freedom costs!
Remember the bravado in words of the chorus to the song, “Society” about being free to go it alone, from the biopic, of Christopher McCandless’s life (1968-1992), Into The Wild:
“Society you’re a crazy breed
Hope you’re not lonely without me.”
Are you beginning to see the problem? Freedom does not, and cannot, mean freedom to do anything you want; and it cannot be achieved without monetary resources of some kind. Now what sort of freedom do you really want for yourself and others? What types of freedom are actually possible across the world? More importantly what are you, and others, willing to give up in order for more freedom to exist?
Tuesday 8 May 2012
The stupidest day ever?
When I lived in Namibia, I did different things and one of the things I did was worked as a travel consultant for some friends at their travel business. A friend of mine had come out to visit and we took a ten day trip around the country together, which was part-holiday, part-educational for me, to visit places we sold holidays to. It was one the best, but most disaster-prone, holidays I've ever been on.
One day, we were staying in a little desert homestead out in the middle of nowhere. (The night before, by the way, I had been driving in the dark because we got lost, which is extremely dangerous, and had hit a small deer. Already the disasters have started.) We decided to go and see the sand dunes the next day. The highest in the world, they are, very exciting. We'd been before but it was amazing so we were excited to go again. We jumped in the car and sped off. You might think I mean, we got ready, got our stuff together, packed a little bag, got in the car and drove there. No. What I literally mean is, 'We jumped in the car and sped off.'
We got to the reserve and went into the little hut to get our permits to drive in. We had hardly any money between us and no ID. Of course, you need ID and money to get your permit. So we cobbled together enough for the entrance and managed to just talk the lady into letting us both in on the strength of my bank card! Ridiculous. It was just a card with a name on. I didn't have anything else on me to prove whether I was the person who's name was on the card or anything!
So we're in, phew, we won't be that stupid again. Never again. no, not us. We've learned our lesson. We get to the car park and park up. There's a shuttle service out to the dunes. Which costs money. Of which we have almost none. We gingerly approach the shuttle driver man and present our measly few coins, not enough to cover the cost of taking one of us. I say I am a travel consultant and travelling around, experiencing Namibia, etc blah blah, you can imagine the nonsense I was talking. And talk ourselves onto the shuttle bus!! Great, we're in! Phew, enough stupidity for today, we say to each other, rolling our eyes, and thinking how silly we are.
We arrive at the dunes. We can't wait to climb Big Daddy, as the biggest one is affectionately known. We kick off our shoes and socks and dive in. Climbing it is taking forever, we're hot and exhausted. I can feel my skin prickling in the burning sun, and that's when I realise it, we didn't bring any suncream! We came into the desert, on a burning hot day, and we didn't bring any suncream. I'm also massively thirsty.... Well if we didn't bring anything else with us, why would we have brought water?
Let's get this straight. We've come to a reserve that you have to buy permits to enter. Which has a shuttle bus service. In the desert. In the morning sun. Without any money, ID, water or suncream. Ok. Are you with me? So you see what I mean about 'We jumped in the car and sped off.' Four stupid points to us.
We press on, reach the top of the sand dune, wow, amazing. Let's jump down! This is SUCH good fun. Swimming in it, rolling, hilarious. I'm so at one with the world and with nature. I just love life so much. This is amazing. Everything's amazing. Ahhh!
We get to the bottom, walk to the shuttle bus, sit in the back, sand is in every possible space, we laugh and joke about what a great time we've had. I'm digging my hands in my pockets, laughing about how they're full of sand, and that's when I realise it... my bank card isn't in my pocket anymore.... it's in that MASSIVE sand dune. It's buried in the biggest sand dune in the world, that took me an hour to climb, and of course I wouldn't have any idea which exact bit I was on. Five stupid points. I'm gathering them at an alarming rate.
Then my friend says to me, "Have you got the car keys?"
And I just knew.
I didn't even put my hand in my pocket to check. I just knew. And that's when I uttered the infamous words that she still reminds me of to this day: "We'll deal with it when we get there." And then I looked around at the lovely view and pretended it wasn't happening. We'd be fine, my young confident self thought. It would alllll be fiiiiine.
We managed to get into the car easily. It was old enough that someone with the same make of car just put their key in and opened it! Then he tried his key in the ignition and it started! How lucky. You could take the key out and it would still run so I was ready to drive off straight away and head for the nearest town to get a new key fitted but the man wanted to check something. He turned off the engine. Then it wouldn't start again. The steering wheel had locked too.
The shuttle bus drivers told us not to worry, they knew how to hot wire a car (comforting thought) and would just take off the casing around the steering wheel and get it started that way. Until no-one had the right shape screw driver. It was rapidly turning into a nightmare. We were stuck in the dessert with no money, no ID, no water, no suncream, no keys, no bank card, and a car we couldn't start. Eventually some French tourists drove in and had the right shape screw driver and the bus drivers did their thing and showed me how to start it without the keys. I just needed something which had the right shape and I could start it up. Great. We were off.
The next day, nearing a town where we could get it all fixed, I stopped off for petrol. We couldn't get into the petrol tank, could we? Because we didn't have the keys. I also didn't have a bank card to withdraw any money to pay for it. Thankfully, my nice friend put her bank account at our disposal for the remainder of the trip as I was financially stranded. A man from the garage came with a massive crow bar and levered the cap open so we could fill it. As we were getting ready to go, I put my house key into the dodgy unhooked ignition on the car, and the little piece of plastic in the barrel broke........
I thought I was going to lose it. I felt like lying on the ground in the dessert and waiting for hyenas and lions to come and fight over my dried-up, un-watered, un-suncreamed body. I forget how we made it to the next town, I think the madness settled in and I blacked out for a day or two.
PS 20 days till exams. Still on Theft.
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