As the regular football season for under-8s heads towards its end, FootballCoach and I are entering our boys for various tournaments through the summer. Being the reliable, dependable, sensible one from our coaching team, this task falls to me. Also, I can spell.
Most of the tournaments we enter are other local, grassroots clubs running local, grassroots tournaments. This year, however, we're entering a tournament arranged by a Proper Football Club. So they have a Proper Website for registering and paying entry fees. Which is a lot easier than some of the arcane forms that other local, grassroots clubs manage.
But... the Proper Website of Proper Football Club only appears to have one design of application form, and that form is the same if you're booking a team into a tournament, or a child onto a course, or a player in for a trial. The form is therefore quite long, and a surprising number of the fields are mandatory and are completed only by selecting from a menu of pre-approved answers.
Which is how I ended up confirming that I'm a right-footed right-back with no tendon or ligament damage within the last six months.
I'm looking forward to my call up to Proper Football Club any day now...
Sunday 16 February 2020
Wednesday 12 February 2020
Mild ranting
LittleBear is, as the perspicacious amongst you will have noticed, in primary school. As such, he has lessons; he learns things. This is quite definitely a Good Thing. Occasionally I am in the fortunate position of LittleBear actually telling me some of the things about which he is learning. This is not an everyday occurrence I should point out. Usually our conversations go something like this:
Me: Did you have a good day?
LittleBear: Yes
Me: What did you do?
LittleBear: Stuff
Sometimes we shake things up a little, and LittleBear's final response is, "I can't remember."
But sometimes we actually manage some quite detailed conversations about what they've been doing at school, and it's incredibly illuminating. For the most part I am impressed by the depth and range of things they learn at school compared to my own, admittedly hazy, recollections of primary school. But occasionally I am left dumb-founded.
Take English for example. The children are being taught how to use a wider range of vocabulary and sentence structures in their writing, to move away from simple declarative sentences to richer, more descriptive prose. What term do you suppose is used to describe this process?
Are the children improving their writing? Are they extending it? Are they enriching, deepening, broadening, expanding, strengthening, enhancing, growing, developing or widening their use of language?
No.
They are "up-levelling".
Up-levelling???
Given the richness and variety available within the English language, does the world of education* choose to revel in that language; or do they choose to chew it up and spit out an obnoxious, contorted neologism that fails to exhibit any of the properties that the process it purports to describe is promoting?
I know that every trade, and every industry, has its own jargon. I know I lack any training in pedagogy. I do not, however, know how anyone with a scintilla of love for the English language can, with a straight face, use the term "up-levelling" when teaching children to write doubleplusgood OldSpeak.
* I am unable to determine where exactly this term comes from, but it is certainly not exclusive to LittleBear's school.
Me: Did you have a good day?
LittleBear: Yes
Me: What did you do?
LittleBear: Stuff
Sometimes we shake things up a little, and LittleBear's final response is, "I can't remember."
But sometimes we actually manage some quite detailed conversations about what they've been doing at school, and it's incredibly illuminating. For the most part I am impressed by the depth and range of things they learn at school compared to my own, admittedly hazy, recollections of primary school. But occasionally I am left dumb-founded.
Take English for example. The children are being taught how to use a wider range of vocabulary and sentence structures in their writing, to move away from simple declarative sentences to richer, more descriptive prose. What term do you suppose is used to describe this process?
Are the children improving their writing? Are they extending it? Are they enriching, deepening, broadening, expanding, strengthening, enhancing, growing, developing or widening their use of language?
No.
They are "up-levelling".
Up-levelling???
Given the richness and variety available within the English language, does the world of education* choose to revel in that language; or do they choose to chew it up and spit out an obnoxious, contorted neologism that fails to exhibit any of the properties that the process it purports to describe is promoting?
I know that every trade, and every industry, has its own jargon. I know I lack any training in pedagogy. I do not, however, know how anyone with a scintilla of love for the English language can, with a straight face, use the term "up-levelling" when teaching children to write doubleplusgood OldSpeak.
* I am unable to determine where exactly this term comes from, but it is certainly not exclusive to LittleBear's school.
Tuesday 11 February 2020
I'm not your mother
Every now and then, BigBear and I discuss the possibility of moving overseas. The idea of escaping the growing racism, intolerance, isolationism and false sense of superiority in this country. If I'm honest, the major reason for not upping sticks and leaving is my own anxiety, specifically my anxiety about my LittleBear and how he would cope with being uprooted. And if I'm really, really honest, I'm mostly certain that he would cope a great deal better than I would, but he's a handy peg to hang my neurotic hat on.
That is all somewhat by-the-by, however. The point of that preamble is that I was talking about the idea of moving to my colleagues. My young, naive colleagues. My young, naive colleagues who are young enough to be my children (if I'd started very early). I had mentioned that Germany and the Netherlands were the most obvious options given the combined linguistic skills and professional expertise of BigBear.
Their response to this idea flummoxed me.
They started to discuss in some detail how easy it would be for me work remotely, and perhaps "pop" back from time to time.
At no point did it seem to occur to them that emigration could equate to me resigning from my job. I am clearly such an immutable part of the company that their dear, fragile little minds were unable to conceive of the possibility that Mummy might leave one day.
I found this both profoundly endearing and utterly alarming at the same time.
That is all somewhat by-the-by, however. The point of that preamble is that I was talking about the idea of moving to my colleagues. My young, naive colleagues. My young, naive colleagues who are young enough to be my children (if I'd started very early). I had mentioned that Germany and the Netherlands were the most obvious options given the combined linguistic skills and professional expertise of BigBear.
Their response to this idea flummoxed me.
They started to discuss in some detail how easy it would be for me work remotely, and perhaps "pop" back from time to time.
At no point did it seem to occur to them that emigration could equate to me resigning from my job. I am clearly such an immutable part of the company that their dear, fragile little minds were unable to conceive of the possibility that Mummy might leave one day.
I found this both profoundly endearing and utterly alarming at the same time.
Monday 10 February 2020
My tribe
Over the years I've known many people who've talked about the importance of finding your tribe - of the people with whom you have a natural affinity; a shared set of values; a common heart. And while it is also true that there are times when it is important to widen your horizons, to seek out and speak to those who don't necessarily think the same as you; there are indubitably times when there is great comfort and safety in knowing that you are not alone.
This weekend, my small group of old school friends and I had our annual lunch. We pick February because it's cold, and wet, and miserable and a nice, cheering get together is just what we need. We certainly did a good job of picking cold and wet, with Storm Ciara battering the country, and most of us being soaked in the short walk from various car-parks to the restaurant we were meeting in.
I spent a while after leaving school remembering only the down sides, and holding onto a deep and lasting hurt that still hurts, despite my efforts to let go. But then we started to arrange these reunions, and, after many years spent actively not seeing my school friends, I was given the chance to rediscover why we were friends in the first place. And discover that, even at the tender age of eleven, I had been able to find my tribe. I'm not sure what it was in those eleven-to-eighteen year old girls that clicked, or what we saw in each other then that has matured into the compassionate, decent women my friends now are. But I am deeply grateful to still know these women. To know that across all the years, and the different paths we have taken, there is a common thread of humanity, and empathy and goodness that runs through all of them. I am proud to think that these women are my tribe.
My friends run food banks; they're social workers for those struggling with substance abuse; they're judges on benefit tribunals, trying to see justice done; they're teachers; they're psychologists working with young adults with special educational needs. They're people who give to the world. They're people who see inequality and want to erase it. They're people who strive to leave the world a better place than they found it.
I found this weekend a reassuring and uplifting experience. My tribe are good people.
This weekend, my small group of old school friends and I had our annual lunch. We pick February because it's cold, and wet, and miserable and a nice, cheering get together is just what we need. We certainly did a good job of picking cold and wet, with Storm Ciara battering the country, and most of us being soaked in the short walk from various car-parks to the restaurant we were meeting in.
I spent a while after leaving school remembering only the down sides, and holding onto a deep and lasting hurt that still hurts, despite my efforts to let go. But then we started to arrange these reunions, and, after many years spent actively not seeing my school friends, I was given the chance to rediscover why we were friends in the first place. And discover that, even at the tender age of eleven, I had been able to find my tribe. I'm not sure what it was in those eleven-to-eighteen year old girls that clicked, or what we saw in each other then that has matured into the compassionate, decent women my friends now are. But I am deeply grateful to still know these women. To know that across all the years, and the different paths we have taken, there is a common thread of humanity, and empathy and goodness that runs through all of them. I am proud to think that these women are my tribe.
My friends run food banks; they're social workers for those struggling with substance abuse; they're judges on benefit tribunals, trying to see justice done; they're teachers; they're psychologists working with young adults with special educational needs. They're people who give to the world. They're people who see inequality and want to erase it. They're people who strive to leave the world a better place than they found it.
I found this weekend a reassuring and uplifting experience. My tribe are good people.
Wednesday 5 February 2020
Simmering
In the post-election aftermath of accepting what a thumping Tory majority led by a man with no moral compass would mean, I had allowed my rage and despair to ebb away. Or perhaps I had simply stopped feeding the fires, and was able to ignore the glowing embers of my fury.
I thought that the days of rage-blogging about politics would ease into the past.
But honestly, I can't really be silent about the contempt I have for the Prime Minister, or his minions/puppetmasters*.
During the election campaign, Johnson hid in a fridge to avoid being questioned by ITV's Good Morning Britain, not renowned for its hard-hitting political edge. During the same campaign, Johnson took a journalist's phone and put it in his own pocket to avoid looking at a photograph of a child lying on a hospital floor, to avoid actually having to answer questions about the consequences of his own party's past nine years in power.
In December, the Prime Minister** banned his ministers from appearing on the BBCs flagship political radio show, the Today programme.
Two days ago, Johnson excluded two political sketch-writers from one of his speeches, on the grounds there "wasn't enough space". There were two empty rows of chairs.
On the same day, Number 10 attempted to hold a selective lobby briefing, refusing entry to representatives of those news organisations that didn't meet with their favour***. To their credit, the remaining lobby journalists refused to be part of this restriction and walked out. I can only hope they continue to show the same backbone if Number 10 tries that again.
Yesterday it came to light that Number 10 are issuing language guidance to the Foreign Office to ensure that they comply with the government's desire to manipulate public perception of Brexit. The memo to the FCO started with the following:
Other demands include not referring to having any kind of "partnership" with the EU, especially not one that is either "deep" or "special". If the Foreign Office must say anything positive about our future relationship, they are instructed to “Stick to the phrase ‘friendly cooperation between sovereign equals’.” Which I think tells you all you need to know about Johnson's intentions regarding any future relationship.
I have a deep, deep distrust of any politician or government that attempts to restrict access of a free press to said government, and an even deeper distrust of any politician or government that seeks to dictate the language that independent, politically-neutral civil servants are allowed to use. In my view, the only way to fight back against such arrogance is to deliberately, and repeatedly, draw attention to it. To deliberately, and repeatedly, refuse to comply with linguistic restrictions of this type.
I easily fall prey to hyperbole, to exaggerating any peril or ill, to seeing the worst in a situation, and particularly to assigning the most nefarious motives to politicians who I don't support. Even in light of knowing all that about myself, and recognising my own visceral reactions to the current political climate, I am going to point my finger at this despicable, arrogant, posturing, bullying, ignorant Prime Minister and his acolytes and accuse them of dragging us ever deeper into an Orwellian nightmare of Newspeak and Doublespeak. They are attempting to control the press, and to control the very language the government uses about Brexit. And I for one am not going to sit down and shut up about it.
I shall not stop referring to the ongoing machinations as Brexit, for that is what it is. I shall not refer to an "Australia-style deal", but instead call it what it is - no deal. I shall not refer to "Boris" as though he's some inoffensive, cuddly buffoon - he is Johnson or the Prime Minister. And he is contemptible.
* I am still unsure whether there is in fact a "power behind the throne" in the odious Dominic Cummings, or whether he is simply a symptom. Are the machinations, distortions and thuggery of Number 10 coming from Johnson, or from Cummings? In the end, it doesn't matter. Johnson is Prime Minister; the buck stops with him.
** As per my previous footnote, I hold Johnson responsible for decisions made in his name. If he is too lazy or too weak to control the actions of his staff on issues like this, then he needs to be responsible for that failing too.
*** Attempts were made to claim that this selective briefing was perfectly normal, and it was standard to have such briefings solely for expert journalists in a specific field. This was a general briefing and all the journalists were generalists, not specialists. Lies piled upon abuse of power.
I thought that the days of rage-blogging about politics would ease into the past.
But honestly, I can't really be silent about the contempt I have for the Prime Minister, or his minions/puppetmasters*.
During the election campaign, Johnson hid in a fridge to avoid being questioned by ITV's Good Morning Britain, not renowned for its hard-hitting political edge. During the same campaign, Johnson took a journalist's phone and put it in his own pocket to avoid looking at a photograph of a child lying on a hospital floor, to avoid actually having to answer questions about the consequences of his own party's past nine years in power.
In December, the Prime Minister** banned his ministers from appearing on the BBCs flagship political radio show, the Today programme.
Two days ago, Johnson excluded two political sketch-writers from one of his speeches, on the grounds there "wasn't enough space". There were two empty rows of chairs.
On the same day, Number 10 attempted to hold a selective lobby briefing, refusing entry to representatives of those news organisations that didn't meet with their favour***. To their credit, the remaining lobby journalists refused to be part of this restriction and walked out. I can only hope they continue to show the same backbone if Number 10 tries that again.
Yesterday it came to light that Number 10 are issuing language guidance to the Foreign Office to ensure that they comply with the government's desire to manipulate public perception of Brexit. The memo to the FCO started with the following:
“Brexit is completed. So do not use the term ‘Brexit’, save as a historical event that took place on 31 January 2020”Because we've all noticed how Brexit is "completed" haven't we? Furthermore, the FCO are not to refer to leaving with a deal or with "no deal"; instead they are to refer to leaving with a Canada-style deal or an Australia-style deal. That would be the Canada-EU trade deal that took 7 years to hammer out, when we have a mere ten months, or the Australia-EU trade deal that doesn't exist, so is in fact, erm, how shall I put this? No deal.
Other demands include not referring to having any kind of "partnership" with the EU, especially not one that is either "deep" or "special". If the Foreign Office must say anything positive about our future relationship, they are instructed to “Stick to the phrase ‘friendly cooperation between sovereign equals’.” Which I think tells you all you need to know about Johnson's intentions regarding any future relationship.
I have a deep, deep distrust of any politician or government that attempts to restrict access of a free press to said government, and an even deeper distrust of any politician or government that seeks to dictate the language that independent, politically-neutral civil servants are allowed to use. In my view, the only way to fight back against such arrogance is to deliberately, and repeatedly, draw attention to it. To deliberately, and repeatedly, refuse to comply with linguistic restrictions of this type.
I easily fall prey to hyperbole, to exaggerating any peril or ill, to seeing the worst in a situation, and particularly to assigning the most nefarious motives to politicians who I don't support. Even in light of knowing all that about myself, and recognising my own visceral reactions to the current political climate, I am going to point my finger at this despicable, arrogant, posturing, bullying, ignorant Prime Minister and his acolytes and accuse them of dragging us ever deeper into an Orwellian nightmare of Newspeak and Doublespeak. They are attempting to control the press, and to control the very language the government uses about Brexit. And I for one am not going to sit down and shut up about it.
I shall not stop referring to the ongoing machinations as Brexit, for that is what it is. I shall not refer to an "Australia-style deal", but instead call it what it is - no deal. I shall not refer to "Boris" as though he's some inoffensive, cuddly buffoon - he is Johnson or the Prime Minister. And he is contemptible.
* I am still unsure whether there is in fact a "power behind the throne" in the odious Dominic Cummings, or whether he is simply a symptom. Are the machinations, distortions and thuggery of Number 10 coming from Johnson, or from Cummings? In the end, it doesn't matter. Johnson is Prime Minister; the buck stops with him.
** As per my previous footnote, I hold Johnson responsible for decisions made in his name. If he is too lazy or too weak to control the actions of his staff on issues like this, then he needs to be responsible for that failing too.
*** Attempts were made to claim that this selective briefing was perfectly normal, and it was standard to have such briefings solely for expert journalists in a specific field. This was a general briefing and all the journalists were generalists, not specialists. Lies piled upon abuse of power.
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