Age is just a number

But sometimes it seems like a dauntingly big number.

Take 9 for example.

My little baby is 9 years old today. Half way to being allowed to vote. Potentially half way to moving away from home.

It's a terrifying thought, especially as I look around and see my cousins' children attending university, setting off on gap years, launching themselves into their adult lives when it barely seems moments ago that they too were round-cheeked little moppets, earnestly explaining their imaginary worlds to me.

A month ago we knew what we were doing for LittleBear's birthday - today would have been a football match against the toughest team in his league, and tomorrow would have been a friendly football match arranged amongst players only from our own club as a substitute for a party. Parties were banned in covid-land, but football matches weren't, and since there's nothing a Bear loves more than playing football with his friends, I was making use of one of the only perks of being a football coach and arranging a match for him.

But here we are, back under lockdown, where not only parties are verboten, but so are football matches. Unless you're being paid millions of pounds and then you can still play football, because covid recognises pay cheques.

It was not, therefore, quite the birthday he had dreamed of, or we had planned, but (I hope) it was still a fun one. And what was perhaps most striking was just how many good friends my little boy has. Friends who walked, drove, or cycled round to our house in the pouring rain to deliver cards or presents. Friends who called by video, or sent emails. Even a friend who came out and played football in the park in the rain*. I think, and slightly hope, that LittleBear takes it all in his stride that he has such good friends rather than being surprised by it. But I was genuinely touched by the consideration, kindness and love from his friends and their parents that helped make his birthday a day filled with surprises and happiness.

There are many things in the world that are dark and miserable at the moment, including today's weather. And yet today was filled with all that was good about the people in the small corner of the world we occupy. And cake.

A successful birthday present

* LittleBear and LittleFriend will never let rain come between them and football. And to keep within the covid-rules, they met up on their own as "two individuals from different household exercising together" while I ran and walked round and round the park. In the rain.

10-Day Challenge: Day #10

Well, here I am at the end of my 10-day challenge to write short, positive blog posts in an attempt to force myself to see the good in life even in times of stress and distress.

Has it worked?

I wouldn't say I have become entirely upbeat, but I have definitely forced myself to make an effort not to wallow as much as perhaps is normal. There isn't exactly much reading-between-the-lines required for anyone to spot that there have been down days, even in the span of only 10 days. But I have managed to find one bright spot each day, even if that solitary bright spot is cheese. Cheese can be surprisingly therapeutic - as evidenced today by my making a special outing at lunchtime to the only shop within easy range that sells cheese suitable for raclette. By which means I have given myself and LittleBear something to look forward to at the weekend*.

But having molten cheese to look forward to is not my happy thought for the day, it's just a nice coincidence. 

I am not sure whether this technically counts as a happy thought, but it is certainly a moment of self-awareness, and a progression from the foul mood of yesterday. It all starts with a meme that I saw, and (for the second time in the last 5 years) posted on Facebook.

I have the innate ability to imagine situations that haven't even occurred and get fucking furious about them. I basically think myself into a bad mood.

It was true five years ago, and it's true now. I spend far too much time inside my own thoughts, getting myself more and more angry and upset about things that exist only inside my own head. And, aside from the minor impact of every news article I might look at, yesterday was largely down to "thinking myself into a bad mood". With a certain amount of effort; stern internal talking-to; and a clear-eyed look at my lovely husband, son and friends, I managed to talk myself back into a more reasonable frame of mind.

And for me, that's a massive achievement. I feel genuinely proud of myself for getting out of the funk I'd got myself into. And maybe, just maybe, the previous nine days of making an active choice to see the good in life did help.

* It is an enduring mystery to me and LittleBear that BigBear is not a huge fan of raclette. We choose not to question this position too closely, as it simply means more cheese for us.

10-Day Challenge: Day #9

I have been seriously tempted to scrap today's entry. To simply write, "life is shit and I have nothing positive to say." But instead, I'm going to try and be honest about that, and to try and be honest about the struggle to find something, no matter how small, to be happy about. 

I don't want this Challenge to turn into some kind of Pollyanna-ish fa-la-la about life being fully of fluffy kittens and joy, when the very point is that it isn't, but that even when that is the case, it is possible to find something, anything, that might raise a smile, or perhaps provide comfort.

And today, that has been harder than usual. I have been bad-tempered more or less from the moment I awoke until now. I have hated more or less everything. I have had arguments in my head with more or less everyone. I have not been a joyous person, and have almost certainly not provided my LittleBear with a happy half-term Tuesday.

But...

My LittleBear is a dear, sweet, soft bundle of cuddles, and despite my crabbiness, he has been funny, and gentle and entertaining for most* of the day.

And even though life isn't full of fluffy kittens and joy, there is this...

 

And finally, this is the thought I genuinely had as I cooked dinner and wondered what I had to feel upbeat about. I have five types of cheese in the fridge and have eaten three of them today. And, honestly, some days, having plenty of cheese available is the level of positive I can manage.

* He's eight. I may love him dearly, but I'm not so blinkered as to claim that he's been perfect for a whole thirteen hours.

10-Day Challenge: Day #8

Today's moment of good cheer is the extraordinary power of everyday people saying, "enough" in large enough numbers that they make a difference.

You would perhaps have to have been living under a rock not to have noticed there is a certain amount of kerfuffle over the fact that 340 MPs voted against providing free school meals to children living in poverty through this half-term and the Christmas holiday. Apparently, this would be a mere sticking-plaster and therefore unhelpful. I don't know if any of these MPs have ever had a minor, bleeding injury, but there are times when a sticking-plaster is exactly what's needed. In this case, no, it should not be necessary for the government to provide food for children. No, it should not be acceptable that 1.4 million children are in danger of not receiving enough food. No, as a country, we don't want our population to have to need vouchers to provide enough food for their families. And yet. Here we are. Maybe it has something to do with a global pandemic following hot on the heels of 10 years of austerity? 

However, this is supposed to be a positive light shining in the darkness, not a political polemic.

The positive today is just how many cafes, restaurants, charities and individuals have stepped forward to make sure none of the children who need food are going to go without. 

My own village swung rapidly into action, a volunteer group contacted the heads of the three schools (Infant, Junior and Secondary), discovered how much money was required to fund meals for their in-need pupils through half-term, and decided to ask the people of the village to step up. Within 12 hours of bank account details being published, £2,375 of the £3,100 needed had been donated.

Meanwhile, the local bakery is offering no-questions-asked free sandwiches for children's lunches throughout this week. The local branch of the Salvation Army has more food than they can give away and is redirecting it to other areas. They're also running a "Pop-Up Pantry", allowing people who need help to come along and pay only what they can afford, or nothing at all, for essential groceries.

This is not something unique to my village, it is a story being repeated over the length and breadth of the country, as good people refuse to sit back and see others suffer.

These are the people I want to share a country with. These are the people who can stand up and make a difference; who can reshape the future to reflect a kinder, gentler, more humane world than our elected representatives seem to see.

We can make the world a better place.

10-Day Challenge: Day #7

There are advantages to being a football coach. Advantages that go beyond having my car turned into a mobile kit-room, or my spare bedroom housing spare sets of kit for four different age groups, or turning out several times a week in almost inevitable rain through the coldest and most miserable months of the year.

One of those advantages is the occasional day where the sun shines, and we can get ten small boys together for a friendly match, and they can spend a morning running themselves ragged and hoofing the ball at each other without a care in the world.

The joy of children is a wonderful thing. 

The joy of a sweetly struck ball is a wonderful thing. 

LittleBear in action

How could I not find the positive in sunshine, football and small boys?

10-Day Challenge: Day #6

Today is.... <drum-roll>... half term!

That's right, we've made it all the way through a full seven weeks of school. Seven weeks in which no child in LittleBear's school had a positive covid-19 test. Seven weeks in which no class in LittleBear's school had to be sent home to isolate. Seven weeks in which LittleBear was able to receive some actual, genuine teaching, surrounded by his friends.

If that's not something to feel positive about in these times, I don't know what is.

And to celebrate this momentous occasion, what did we do? Absolutely nothing. It was great. 

I say "nothing", but LittleBear and I have started a "Half-Term Tournament" of board games, taking it in turns to chose the next game. Taking a leaf out of the newly-restarted Six Nations tournament, we are awarding 3 points for a win, 1 point for a draw, a bonus point for a thumping victory and a loser's bonus point for a narrow defeat. LittleBear has cruised to an early lead, to nobody's surprise. 

Meanwhile, since I couldn't really be bothered to cook, and the next grocery delivery isn't until tomorrow, we had takeaway curry for dinner. Which involves ordering on my laptop, paying by Paypal, and then cycling down into the village to pick it up from outside the front of the restaurant. And as I peddled home in the dwindling twilight I realised how incredibly lucky I am to be able to do that. To have the money to casually order a takeaway on a whim, to have a well-organised local restaurant that I trust, to be able to collect my meal by bicycle, to have a loving little family to share it with, to have security, and comfort and safety.

Today was definitely a day to count my blessings.

10-Day Challenge: Day #5

After two days in which it was a genuine struggle to force myself to look for and find the positive in the day, today has been so much easier. I even have more than one positive! And though it is tempting to keep one in reserve for tomorrow, in case I have a bad day, I'm going to blow it all today and make myself find a new positive tomorrow. Which is a bit of a high-risk strategy, but feels like keeping to the spirit of my plan.

So my first positive for the day is the immense power of friendship, and the importance of maintaining connections, of responding, and of reaching out. I took an hour and a half off work and I met some friends for a coffee outside our lovely local cafe. We mostly wore masks, except for the actual coffee-drinking part, and we just had a chance to sit and talk. And it was lovely. I had nearly turned the invitation down, as I struggle to justify taking time off work for anything other than looking after LittleBear during school holidays. But sometimes cementing the bonds of friendship matters more than an over-developed sense of responsibility towards my job. And it was H's birthday, and to be able to be with her and share a drink, even on a damp bench on a chilly-but-sunny October morning was worth it.

Having been reminded how much it lifted me up that my friends had reached out and invited me for coffee, even though they knew I would almost certainly decline, I in turn reached out to other people in my life today, and was rewarded with warmth and friendship in return. And I was reminded that as tired as I am, and as loathe to stick my head out of my nest and make an effort, and as hard as I sometimes find interacting with people, the same is true for a lot of other people too. There is nothing to be gained from walling myself off and then wondering why people aren't reaching out to me. As much as I need people to smile and offer the hand of friendship, others need that too, and sometimes I need to be the smile and the proferred hand.

Meanwhile, I was rescued from my despair over the government's attitude to providing meals for children living in poverty by the response of large swathes of the population. Not only have multiple councils up and down the land pledged to provide meals for children during the school holidays, but cafes, restaurants and charities all over the country are stepping in and offering their services to provide free food through the holidays. There are people who do care. Not because they're trying to score political points, not because they're trying to win re-election, but because they have been moved to act for the good of those less fortunate than themselves.

On which similar note, I've now reminded myself I have a third thing to be positive about. Three things! On one day! I was enormously heartened to read that football fans from a variety of clubs (included the beloved Burnley) had balked at the idea of paying £15 to watch one football match on a pay-per-view basis at the weekend and had decided instead to give that sum to their local foodbanks. There is no greater sacrifice for a football fan than missing a chance to watch their team. That so many fans chose not only to miss a match as a protest at the price being asked, but then didn't keep their money to themselves in a time of hardship, but gave it to those suffering greater hardship is another sign of the number of genuinely good people there still are in the country.

Life is about friendship, about community, about caring, about supporting each other, lifting each other up, helping each other. Our government may be failing us, but there is still hope when each of us little people link together, forge bonds, and make life better one tiny act at a time.

10-Day Challenge: Day #4

And I thought yesterday was hard to find the positives in...

I'm going to start with something that could so easily be a complaint, a way of seeing the irritations of life and the casual way in which it's possible to be taken for granted. But I'm not going to focus on that, I'm going to focus on the fact that I'm awesome, that I can be left in the lurch and still come out smelling of roses.

We're making a rather curious scientific instrument for a rather curious scientific Russian customer. We first made this customer an instrument twelve years ago, and the new one is a complete replacement, with better performance and more interesting features plus a collection of spares and extra bits for the old instrument so it works better. On Friday, our curious Russian customer informed us that he needed all of the spares and extra bits this week. Immediately. Or we wouldn't get paid. Dealing with Russia can be a bit like that. 

Now, for Various Reasons That Escape Me, my colleagues didn't tell me this, and as far as I was aware, these spares and extras were due to be sent to Russia in the middle of November. It was only at 11am that I was told that the spares and extras were in a box, awaiting a collection by DHL, but that they couldn't ship without a manual, so could I please write one? 

And thus it was that in a mere two hours I produced a manual, including annotated photographs of the original instrument showing where to fit the new parts, diagrams, explanations and detailed instructions. Even my colleagues were impressed at what I managed to pull out of the bag with so little warning.

I am bloody good at my job, and some days I need to sit back at the end of the day and remember that.

10-Day Challenge: Day #3

I may have had the foresight not to commit to 100 days of positivity, but I genuinely didn't imagine that it would be hard to get beyond day 2. Today has been distinctly challenging. 

However, there is little point in trying to improve my outlook, if I instantly give in and start cataloguing the negatives of the day. So instead, here's a little bright spark...

Throughout my early childhood, my parents owned a super-8 cine camera, and my father used to film family holidays, outings and occasions. These would be trimmed and editted down to (mostly) only contain those events that had successfully been captured in focus and with the light meter set correctly. Every now and then we would have a "film night" at home, and set up the projector and screen to re-live family highlights. I still remember the flickering click as the tail of the film flew threw the feed reel and spun frenetically until the projector was switched off.

A few years ago* I found a local video editting company who were able to transfer these old cine films to a digital format, and I've had the digital files sitting on my computer ever since. I have finally got round to copying these onto a memory stick to send to BrotherBear. This has necessitated me watching clips of the old films, just to make sure the copying has worked properly, you understand. Which is how I came to watch my own first birthday - opening presents in bed while a black-and-white cat played with the wrapping paper. More or less the same as my forty-sixth birthday in truth, except I didn't chew any of my birthday cards this year.

Aside from the enormous joy and privilege of having a moving record of my own family's life from 1975 onwards, this has given me a moment of pure gold that I feel I should share with you. I am six months old.

My mother has always claimed that I was only reaching for her beer because I had just come out of hospital after surgery for congenital hip dislocation. Sadly, this excuse doesn't stand up to scrutiny, as further clips at ever increasing ages can attest.

* I admit, from looking at the dates on the files, "a few" appears to be "ten".

10-Day Challenge: Day #2

As previously mentioned, it was my birthday at the weekend. And one of the presents I was given was a pair of gloves. This may not, at first, sound like a particularly exciting present. But, oh, these gloves. They are a work of art. They are gloriously, fabulously extravagant gloves. They are velvet, with a bold flower pattern on a dark green background. 

Gloves from heaven

 

These are the kind of gloves that I have spent most of my life marvelling at, but never being brave enough to wear. In retrospect, I have spent a disappointingly large portion of my life hiding myself in shapeless, formless, colourless clothes. Oversized, charcoal-grey, men's jumpers and jeans constituted a large portion of my wardrobe through my teens and early twenties. It is only in the last decade and a half* that I have begun to find the confidence to wear colours and patterns. Now, I am happy to wear a yellow pinafore dress with dinosaurs on, or a tweed cape with a magenta silk lining. I would not describe my dress sense as particularly flamboyant, nor eccentric (aside, perhaps, from the aforementioned cape). But I rarely now fall in love with an item of clothing but think to myself, "I could never get away with that." Yet that was very much the story of my younger years. Now, my taste and my confidence are much more closely aligned, so it is only finances or common-sense** that now come between falling in love with clothing and wearing it

So my positive thought for today is how much better life is now that I can just be me, now I can wear things that I love and not be afraid of judgement, now that I can smile to myself just at the thought of a beautiful pair of gloves.

* See also changes experienced between the ages of 30 and 40

** This is not entirely true. Common-sense was not in evidence when I bought a blue and gold brocade corset in the middle of a global pandemic. Because I have had so many opportunities for glamorous evening wear this year.

10-day Challenge: Day #1

Because I find myself sinking into a funk; because I look at how infrequently I've been blogging this year; because I need a focus; because the world is full of depressing crap...

I'm going to try an experiment.

A few years ago, I undertook a Facebook challenge of posting something positive every day for 100 days. Prior to that, as I emerged from post-natal depression, I had my Happy Book, and I wrote in it every evening before bed, but only allowed myself to write about the good things from the day. I made myself acknowledge, and remember, and enjoy the good moments with my BabyBear, rather than think only of the tears, or the frustrations, or the fatigue.

I'm sure that every self-respecting therapist will be totally unsurprised to discover that both these processes genuinely helped me feel more positive. If you dwell on the negative it feeds into a negative spiral; but if you focus on the positive, you can improve your own state of mind. 

Given my current apathy and propensity for a negative outlook, I don't feel quite up to committing to writing something positive every day for a hundred days. That in itself is quite telling, and possibly a sign that it's time I found a way to focus on the positives. But I really can't face setting myself another goal that I'm going to fail at. At the moment, writing ten, short, positive posts in ten days seems like a big enough challenge.  

So, I shall start with today.

Today I took a morning off work, and I had my hair cut, in a well-organised, well-ventilated, covid-secure salon, by my lovely hairdresser with whom I can have an intelligent, well-informed chat about politics, society, covid, children and all manner of other topics. 

It was only the second "non-essential" commercial outing I've been on (I'm counting having to buy a car when mine died mid-lockdown, and having to replace LittleBear's too-small, disintegrating shoes as "essential", along with the more normal grocery shopping expeditions). It was odd to be out doing something so normal, and yet at the same time so un-normal, with the masks, and sanitiser stations, and scant handful of people in a huge room, and locked door but open windows. It was refreshing to talk to someone from outside my usual social and professional circle, and to find my views, my fears and my hopes are not strange outliers. And she's a fantastic hairdresser.

So now I feel uplifted about humanity and considerably less bedraggled.

 

Everything and nothing

Writing has become too much of an effort of late. I have too much happening in my head, and not enough brain-effort to be able to distill it into anything coherent. My mood oscillates between rage, depression, anxiety and apathy, and none of those states of mind are conducive to writing measured and well-balanced blog posts. Instead I've been confining myself to ranting on Facebook and WhatsApp, interspersed with posting pictures of my cat. Everyone know the internet is largely for pictures of cats and pornography. I'm only aiming to supply one of those niches.

Shall we all just take it as read that I feel intense loathing and contempt for our government, and in particular for the fool masquerading as a Prime Minister?

His character is, in many respects, that of a highly obnoxious anti-hero. As well as his gluttony, he is also obtuse, lazy, racist, nosy, deceitful, slothful, self-important and conceited. These defects, however, are not recognised by Bunter. In his own mind, he is an exemplary character: handsome, talented and aristocratic; and he dismisses most of those around him as "beasts".

Technically this is a description of the character of 'Billy Bunter' culled from Wikipedia, but it's too apt not to be stolen.

I'm going to make an effort to write the odd thing here that isn't about politics, because otherwise I'll either write nothing, or launch into epic rants about the insanity and idiocy of the donkeys who lead us.

So, here are today's random musings...

At Christmas I started feeding the birds in the garden. Initially we only saw sparrows and pigeons feeding from the new bird feeders. Then the odd blue tit. And now, though we haven't seen everything necessarily on the bird feeders, we have spotted a wren who appears to be nesting in the fuchsia; we stopped to watch and listen to a goldfinch singing its heart out on top of the house; and the patio is scattered with snail shells from the song thrush who keeps popping in to feast on them - pursued today by a somewhat vexed blackbird.

Just those few little feathered visitors have lifted my mood enormously.

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.

Old friends

For once, I shall be taking a break from writing about football, despite the fact that my weekend featured large quantities of it. Nor shall I be writing about work, despite my week featuring a certain amount of vexation and exasperation. Nor shall I be writing about politics, despite the quite extraordinary quantity of politics about which I could write. (Never mind the quality, the sheer volume is staggering).

No. Because this weekend featured a rather more unusual event. I actually socialised with some of my old university friends. To be fair, I do stay in reasonable contact with Tigger and Piglet and their families, but I have let a great many other people drift away, through lack of time, inconveniences of geography, laziness and then finally an unwillingness to get back in touch because it's been "too long" and I feel bad.

Piglet is more organised than me though. And she invited one of our old friends, plus spouse and children to stay. I haven't seen OldFriend since our average-fortieth birthday party five years ago, and I had a few qualms about how much we may have drifted apart. I needn't have worried. We went round to Piglet's house for an early dinner, and the menfolk took all five children off to play in the clunch pit while me, Piglet and OldFriend nattered as though we last saw each other a week ago. Come dinner and we managed to cunningly seat all the children round one table in the garden while the adults congregated a safe distance away. I had a couple of glasses of Prosecco with dinner, which turned out to be a less than stellar idea after having spent most of the day in the sun undertaking various forms of football-related activity.

Today both tribes came for lunch here. The consumption of Prosecco had led to evening somnolence yesterday, which in turn had led to an utter failure to make the puddings I had intended to make, which in turn meant that despite starting cooking at 9:30, I hadn't exactly finished preparing lunch when they arrived. This wasn't, to be fair, entirely helped by the fact that BigBear was with LittleBear at a party, thus removing both the helping hands and the minor impediment from the house. Nor, to be completely honest, was it helped by the fact that when parboiling the potatoes to roast I overcooked one pan full, many of which duly turned to mush, so I had to peel, chop and cook some more. However, being the kind of friends that they are, I handed Piglet a mixing bowl and after some debate between Piglet and OldFriend about suitable weights and volumes, she whipped up a crumble topping for the apple, while MrOldFriend helped get the extra chairs required to seat eleven for lunch out of the loft.

And mostly our children disappeared off and played, while we sat and carried on catching up. SmallerChild happily settled in to play with one of LittleBear's favourite games, and then begged OldFriend to buy it for his birthday (in three days time). Fortunately, it turns out she already has. Just as it also turns out that we own and play many of the same board games. Just as it turns out our bookcases are heavy with many of the same books. Though, just to be certain, OldFriend took reference photographs of the bookcases to make note of some new authors for future purchases. Because all of the reasons we were friends twenty years ago are still there, and we still enjoy the same things, laugh at the same things, read the same things.

So perhaps I really shouldn't leave it another five years before seeing OldFriend again. And perhaps, if life gets in the way, and we do leave it too long before catching up, I should remember that time doesn't actually erode lasting friendships.

Over the finishing line

Tonight has seen my completion of my FA level one training course, and I am now a fully qualified level-one football coach. Given that I've still never played a game of football in my life, there is a large part of me that feels that this is an utterly fraudulent claim, but I am determined to make up in enthusiasm what I lack in footballing talent.

Having been through the doldrums of questioning my ability and suitability for the role, I was overwhelmed by the number of friends who reached out to me, not just with words of comfort, but with practical and sensible advice. I am enormously grateful to have the kind of friends who know both when to be the shoulder to cry on and when to provide solid foundations for me. That advice, and support, has let me step back and think again about how best to be me in my new role, not how best to become the role, and it has lifted a weight from my shoulders. Knowing me as well as I do, that weight will return at times, as will the self-doubt, and the uncertainty and the stress, but I will be a little bit better prepared to handle it now than I was a week ago.

Among the things that I took away from the advice you lovely people gave me was the fact that Coach is just as new to having an assistant as I am to being an assistant, and that we will need to spend a while working together to find out how to make the best use of our abilities. That thought alone has made me stop and think about how I'm viewing our interactions and how much blame I'm shouldering for every occasion where things don't go smoothly.

The second significant point that I am absorbing is that I need to be me more than I need to be anything else. Raw football skills are not my key strength. Physical fitness is not my best area (LittleBear and I ran in a 3km together on Monday. He finished 1min40s ahead of me...) But, in the FA's "Four Corner" model of developing a player, technical skills and physical fitness are only two of the corners. Equally important are the psychological and social development of that player. So at LittleBear's match on Saturday, I made sure I got chatting to my boys when they were on the bench. I found out little bits here and there about their lives. I discovered which school the new boy goes to, and which subject Coach's son enjoys most at school. I discovered that one of my boys doesn't like maths; but he doesn't like it because it's boring and too easy. In increments I am getting to know the little people that they are, not the footballers.

During the match, I found individual things to praise in each boy, and when training came around this week, I tried to reinforce the praise when I saw them doing the same thing well again. I gave two of my boys individual challenges to try to achieve during the match, and was delighted when one of them really worked hard to manage his.

I may not be able to do a bicycle kick or a Cruyff turn, but I can make a reasonable fist of being a caring, interested human being, and I think there's probably a place for that in under-7s football.

Meanwhile I will leave you with some facts and figures.

There are over 70,000 qualified football coaches in England. The ratio of men to women is 91:9 (in September 2018). There are about six and a half thousand female football coaches in England.

There are approximately 2,200 Fellows of the Institute of Physics. The ratio of men to women is 10:1. There are about 200 female Fellows of the Institute of Physics.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the uptake of football coaching among female Fellows of the IOP may be relatively low. In fact, in the Venn diagram of life, I suspect I may be on my own in the middle...

All by myself?

A poem.

I Am Angry

I am angry
Really angry.
Angry angry.
I'm so angry I'll jump up and down.
I roll on the ground.
I'll turn books into pulp.
I'll rip up kelp,
pull up trees,
Explode all the peas.
Crack stones.
Open up bones.
Tip up school lunch.
Throw you in one dump.
Cut classrooms in half
Put cats in the bath.
Repaint the classroom into a enormous green frog,
Turn you into a big round cog.
Chase bees.
Make you eat pooed on beans.
Boil books.
Squash cooks
Squirt paint.
Rip bait.
Crack cubes
Mush moons.

By
LittleBear

All spelling, punctuation etc reproduced accurately from the original. 

I think this was an exploration of expressing feelings through poetry. I don't think my boy was actually angry at school last term!

 

MPP: Holiday!

So, here I am, sitting on holiday, glass of wine by my side, small boy asleep in bed, exhausted by running around in the rain. And I thought, "Aha! I shall write a blog about the soul-restoring properties of lovely holidays with lovely friends in a lovely place doing lovely outdoorsy things."

And then I realised I was still so tired from work, and life, and work, and wrangling small boy, and driving from one end of the country to the other, and work, and wrangling small boy, and, and, and, and... that I'm more or less incoherent.

So I shall simply put it out here that I'm very happy and very lucky to have the chance to climb cliffs, leap across stepping stones, eat chocolate biscuits while sheltering under a tree from a passing rain squall, run, jump, chase and giggle with the best and most beautiful boy in the whole world.

I might write more when I can make more sense.

MPP: Always look on the bright side of life

Despite feeling thoroughly dejected (still) about work, there are some bright shining lights in my life.

My former colleague, and perhaps the man best positioned to know exactly how I feel at work, sent me a message sympathising and asking the Bear family round for a barbecue.

LocalFriend emailed me and empathised.

Tigger sent me a text message telling me how awesome she thinks I am.

Piglet phoned and suggested I pop round for a cup of tea this evening.

I must try not to let work dictate how I feel about all aspects of my life. I have a wide array of lovely people in my life, who reach out to me when I'm in need, who love and appreciate me, who pick me up when I'm down, and laugh with me when I'm not.

There is so much to be grateful for, and happy about.

The counter-argument

Because no day is wholly bad, and LittleBear can always find ways to rejoice my heart...


I may be wallowing in the treacle of a project at work, but I have a job and I'm paid to do something that mostly I enjoy, among people I mostly like, in a mostly incredibly supportive environment.

I am battling trying to sleep in a house that persistently remains above 26C inside, but I have a warm, dry house that is, above all else, a home.

I have volunteered for a task that requires me to approach virtual strangers and ask for donations, but I've done so because my friends suggested I could, and they believe in me even when I don't believe in myself, and are helping me now I've had the guts to admit I'm struggling.

I have invited friends round for a drink later in the week. This will be a relaxed and enjoyable thing to do. I have friends. They like drinking wine. What's wrong with that?

I am meeting my old school friends for a reunion this weekend. The fact that I have friends that I first met 32 years ago is pretty cool. And I don't think we'd have lasted this long if they didn't find something of value in my company.

And, worst of all, yesterday and again this morning, my beautiful, clever, funny, loving, wonderful LittleBear told me, "I feel as though I should be on the cloud every day because I'm a horrible person". But today he asked me, "Mummy? Will you still be going to work when I start going to work?" When I assured him that I would be (because which of us can honestly afford to retire?) he replied, "That's good, because when I go to work, I want to come and work at the same place as you." I shall gloss over the fact that he also said he didn't think he'd be very good at it, and instead rejoice in the fact that, among a host of lovely things, his first ever school report said that he was growing in confidence, and that he was kind, and that he has good friends. And if those things are true, then I can't be getting everything wrong.

And today, we didn't spend an hour after school with LittleBear running around like a lunatic with his friends getting exhausted, or play football to add to the exhaustion. We came home and we played ludo, and I positioned all my pieces where LittleBear could jump on them, and I avoided jumping on his, just so he could have a happy, peaceful game, and we had a lovely, cuddly, happy time together. And I put him on the rainbow.

MPP: it's never all bad

There are days when it's harder to think of something positive. Days when I'm hot and tired and crabby, and I've just had to throw in the towel on part of a design at work and commit to another month of delay while I get a new precision part machined and electron-beam welded. And even then I don't know if it's going to work. But at least I tidied my desk today. Not that that's my Positive Thought for the day.

Today I'm wearing a bracelet. I don't usually wear bracelets, not because I don't own them, or because I don't like them, but because I generally stumble through life wearing my wedding ring, engagement ring and watch and forget to open my jewellery box and get anything else out. But today I thought it would be nice to wear something nice. So I chose this:

It's not made of precious metals, or studded with gems. It's not flashy or gaudy. But it has a story, and one I can be grateful for.

It was my thirtieth birthday present from BrotherBear. And we chose it from a stall on the Street of Facades in Petra. I've written before about the distress and misery that aspects of that holiday caused, but actually, this bracelet reminds me of the things that were awesome too. About how mind-blowing it was to walk the collonaded streets of an ancient Roman city, about how utterly, stunningly beautiful Petra was, and how unbelievably lucky I am to have been there. About my first (and only) experience of scuba diving. About the fact that my family are actually really rather nice, even though sometimes BrotherBear does try and wind me up on purpose. He's my brother, it's virtually part of the job description.