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.

 

Getting older

Today I turned forty-six. Though I choose instead to adopt the age one of my football team guessed, and claim a splendidly youthful thirty-two. Thank you L!

This evening, after a meal out for the first time since BigBear's birthday in March, I am putting some effort into focussing on the positives of the day, and of my life. Mostly because this morning I was not doing a good job of doing so...

This morning, everything felt sad and empty and overwhelming. In the past 7 months only two pairs of feet other than those belonging to us Bears have set foot in this house - PigletBoy sat inside the patio doors with LittleBear yesterday afternoon playing with lego, and MrsBuilder inspected the leaking roof two weeks ago. That's it. A ten year old and a builder in seven months. No family, no friends. Life feels empty of laughter and camaraderie. The friends I used to talk to outside school every day are now just a passing wave from behind a mask as we collect our children on a strict rota, each class five minutes apart from the next. The friends who live more than a five-minute cycle ride from my house may as well be in a different continent*. Even my nearest and dearest friend, a mere ten miles away, I have seen only twice(?) in this whole car-crash of a year. The ones who are in Cheshire, Derbyshire, Surrey, Kent, London, Devon? There is only so far that technology can hold us together. Facetime and Zoom and WhatsApp have kept me sane, but they haven't kept me whole.

I'm forty-six and I feel broken. I seem to give and work and strive and run out of time without reaching any of the goals I'm aiming for. I don't manage to be the mother, sister, daughter, wife, friend, physicist, football coach, mentor or volunteer that I want to be. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe there are too many things I'm trying to be, and not enough me to go around. I'm tugged in every direction, and stretched so thin that I snap. I shatter. I splinter into sharp, angry, weeping shards that help no-one.

I'm forty-six and my baby isn't a baby any longer, and every time I look he seems older and more serious. Responsible beyond his years. Aware of a global pandemic and the manner in which our lives are being shaped by that in ways I wish I could protect him from, but I can't. I am not ready to lose the little bundle of warmth that still climbs into my lap for cuddles, not even when some of those cuddles are just an excuse to delay bathtime.

I'm forty-six and my mother is ageing, and becoming weaker and frailer. I've seen her once since February and I miss her. I miss seeing her as we all are now, but I also miss being young and being looked after. I miss knowing that she could drop everything and rush to my aid, no matter what mess I'd got myself into. I don't need her to rescue me, but I miss knowing that she could. 

I'm forty-six and the world I see around me just looks shit. It's filled with selfishness, and racism, and arrogance, and ignorance. People who won't stop to consider anyone except themselves, or their concerns and views. People who have lost all trace of empathy for those with nothing. Meanwhile politics appears to be dominated by fools and charlatans; men (and a few women) who place self-interest, personal advancement, and public adulation ahead of leadership, intelligence, honesty, integrity, decency or even just Doing The Right Thing. I genuinely despair, not simply of how we got here, but of how we claw our way to a better future. I cannot see it with our electoral system, our press or our current crop of politicians.

This morning, all of that was too much for me. All of that meant I struggled to see and feel the good in my life, and the love that surrounds me. This evening (aside from writing about all of that) I have tried to move the good things to the front of my mind, and to remember that even in amongst the storms that rage in my mind and in the world, there is good. There are people who will strive to do what's right, for no reason other than it's right. There are people who offer up their love and their friendship unconditionally. There is light in the world, and for as long as that is true, it is always worth adding my tiny candle flame of light to the world, to keep on keeping on. To keep giving and working and striving for the world I want for my baby-who-isn't-a-baby.

So here's the other view of today...

Today my boys gave me a lie-in, followed by breakfast and presents in bed. 

Today my gorgeous little boy was as full of cuddles, and love, and compassion and helpfulness as he always is. 

Today I had a birthday cake that Piglet made for me, chosen specifically to be a variety the rest of the bear household don't eat (coffee and walnut, since you ask), so that I could have a cake all to myself. 

Today my lovely friend C, and her little boy, cycled round with a card and a jar of home-made jam, also that the rest of the bear household don't eat (blackcurrant, since you ask), so that I could have the whole jar to myself. 

Today my lovely friend H hand delivered a card, and just snuck it through the door, though I'm sure she knows she would have been welcome to ring the doorbell for a chat. 

Today I had messages from friends in Alberta, Victoria, Singapore and Rotherhithe (among other places). 

Today I was able to talk to my mother on a screen, share a crossword, laugh and smile, though miles separate us. 

Today an adorable band of five-year old boys and their parents sang "Happy Birthday" to me at the end of the under-6 football training I'd been helping out at.

Today I went out for dinner with my two bears, and we had a nice, quiet, civilised meal together, filled with smiles, and laughter and silly jokes.

Today, totally out of the blue, a friend offered to lend me her home in London while she's away for a month in case we wanted a covid-safe place to stay away from home.

Today I was reminded of the love and warmth of friendship.

Today I turned forty-six in a home filled with love, and my two favourite people in the world, and a slightly annoying cat.

Today the sun broke through the clouds.

* Some of them are, but that's not the point.

A vision for the future

I was delighted to discover yesterday that the Conservative Party, for once in my life, shares my vision for the future. The Prime Minister gave a speech to the virtual Conservative Party Conference, during which he espoused the view that we could not return to the old status quo after this crisis ends, that we must build a better future. As is his (extremely tedious) wont, he harked back to the second world war, and to how we worked together through the dark times, and rebuilt the country in the immediate post-war years, having defeated the filthy Boche etc etc. This is his vision - that we emulate the leadership and outcomes of the war-time and post-war years.

I'm sure a man with such a solid grasp of history, with the aid of all those splendid statues around the country teaching us our splendid history, will have recalled the salient features of the governance of this country during, and immediately following, the war. But for those of you who perhaps haven't remembered the details of how the country was run during, and restructured after, the last massive crisis to face us, here's a summary.

During the war, we had a government of national unity, not a Conservative government.

In the 1945 General Election, the Labour Party swept to power in a landslide, gaining 237 seats and utterly trouncing the Conservatives under Churchill. Clement Attlee was seen as more competent to lead the country outside wartime, and better suited to avoiding a return to the mass unemployment seen under the Conservatives in the 1930s. 

Under the Labour government, led by Attlee, the National Health Service was formed. 

Under the Labour government, National Insurance was introduced, leading to universal access to pensions, sickness benefit, unemployment benefit, funeral benefit and child benefit. 

Under the Labour government, a  million new homes were built, of which 80% were council houses. 

Under the Labour government, the rights and protections of women and children were extended under the Married Women (Restraint Upon Anticipation) Act of 1949, the Married Women (Maintenance) Act of 1949, the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act of 1950 and the Criminal Justice Act of 1948, among others. 

Under the Labour government, the Fair Wages Resolution of 1946 protected the wages of those engaged in working on public projects, while the Shops Act of 1950 ensured that shop workers couldn't be forced to work more than 6 hours without a break, and that all were entitled to a lunch break. Then there was the Fire Services Act 1947, the Electricity Act of 1947, the Workers' Compensation (Supplementation) Act of 1948, the Merchant Shipping Act of 1948, the Merchant Shipping (Safety Convention) Act of 1949, a Miner's Charter in 1946, a Colliery Workers Supplementary Scheme in 1948 and the creation of an Agricultural Wages Board in 1948, among a whole host of others, all of which were designed to protect the rights, safety, health and pay of ordinary working men and women.

Are you getting the picture yet? 

It was a socialist government that looked after the best interests of the working people of this country. It was a socialist government that gave us the NHS, state pensions, unemployment benefits and workers rights.

It is a Conservative government that has seen the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer. It is a Conservative government that has seen money pour out of the exchequer, not into education, or healthcare, or social care, or employment protection, but into the pockets of management consultants trying to handle the shitshow that is a Tory Brexit. Into the pockets of Tory chums who fail to provide a functioning test, track and trace system during a global pandemic. Into the pockets of Conservative party donors who can't make functioning ventilators. Into the pockets of friends of Special Advisors who don't provide the PPE they're contracted to provide. All without public tender, and all without Parliamentary scrutiny.

So, yes please, Mr Johnson, I'll take your vision of the future. I'll take a government of national unity, followed by a socialist landslide in which we return to being led by men and women who want to lift the people up, not those who want only to feather their own nests. If you see yourself as Churchillian, Mr Johnson, I'll take Keir Starmer as Attlee, and let's get going towards 1945.

Let me get this straight...

 I've had a bit of a hiatus here, but honestly, our government of utter cockwombles is forcing me out of my hole again.

We have three important law officers in the UK - the attorney general, solicitor general and advocate general for Scotland – who are required to ensure that ministers act within the law. 

Personally, I think it's a good idea that ministers act within the law, and fortunately I'm not alone in that, because there's such a thing as the Ministerial Code, which defines what ministers should and shouldn't do. This code, astonishingly, was only actually written in 1997. Obviously, up to that point ministers were deemed decent and honourable enough not to need to have these kinds of things written down. The tail end of the Tory administration that ended with Tony Blair's first election in 1997 firmly put paid to that idea. However, back to that code...

In 2010, the wording of the code was that there was an “overarching duty on ministers to comply with the law, including international law and treaty obligations, and to uphold the administration of justice and to protect the integrity of public life”.

Pretty clear, huh?

But, obviously, it's important to maintain wriggle room for ministers to do whatever the hell they want, so under David Cameron's watch, this wording was reduced to an “overarching duty on ministers to comply with the law and to protect the integrity of public life”.

Because we have a variety of people who don't like our government trying to sneak extra powers for themselves, this change was challenged in the courts, on the grounds that it had not been debated in parliament and was illegal. In 2018, the government defeated the case in the court of appeal. But... in that judgment, although finding in the government's favour, the court also found that despite the change in the wording, the “overarching” duty to comply with the law included international law and treaty obligations.

Now, where were we? Oh yes, our three law officers expressing an opinion on what ministers are and aren't allowed to do.

All three officers were unanimous in their view that the UK internal market bill (the one which is aiming to override parts of the Northern Ireland protocol if there is no trade deal with the EU) would amount to a “clear breach” of the withdrawal agreement and international law.

Got that? The three officers whose duty it is to ensure that ministers act within the law are firm that what is proposed is a clear breach of international law.

Only the Scottish advocate general has the balls to say that ministers should be bound by international law and treaties. The advice letter these three noble officers have written states, “It is the opinion of the advocate general for Scotland that the terms of the ministerial code expressly reflect a constitutional convention that ministers shall act in accordance with the rule of law, which in his view includes international law. In his opinion, that includes the obligation under international law to act in good faith with respect to the UK’s treaty obligations."

The craven boot-lickers* representing the English and Welsh arms of the law, however, don't think that the explicit ruling of the court of appeal as to the meaning of "overarching" has any weight. “In contrast, the attorney general and solicitor general are confident that there is a strong legal basis ... which separate the rule of law into its domestic and international spheres. In their view, the reference to ‘law’ in the ministerial code can only be a reference to UK law and UK constitutional principles.”

The court of appeal ruled in 2018 that this was explicitly not the case and that "overarching" includes domestic and international law. And yet here we are.

I have no idea what kind of a stupid game Johnson, Cummings et al are playing with the UK Internal Market Bill, or whether it's just another dead cat, distracting us from their real purpose. But whatever it is they're doing is definitely making us look like utter shit-weasels to the rest of the world. Always a good basis for trying to negotiate new international treaties and trade deals...

* To be fair, I know absolutely nothing about the Solicitor General, but Suella Braverman, Attorney General is a despicable, incompetent, unprofessional, political toady. Think of her as the UK's very own Bill Barr.

Hiding behind a mask

Right back at the start of lockdown, I did my usual thing when faced with an unknown or scary situation - I panic-read. I read all about masks, about the pros and cons of wearing them, and in great detail about how to make various designs of mask. And I rummaged around in my (embarrassingly large) collection of bits of fabric, and I set to work experimenting with different designs. The first mask was a pleated design and was laborious and frustrating to make. It's wearable but a bit scruffily finished. The next three were all variations on a shaped mask, and none of them fitted either BigBear or me. At this point I more or less gave up in disgust at my incompetence. Spending hours of my precious free time (and it took hours to make a single mask at the start) was just a bit too demoralising.

But then I watched another YouTube video on mask-making, and I decided it was absurd to have all the materials for making masks, and to want to have masks and not have another go at making them.

So I knuckled down and made some more.

I knew I could manage the pleated version, and had realised I could do it more efficiently if I made more than one at a time - cutting eight; stitching eight; pressing eight; pleating eight and over-stitching eight took maybe double the length of time that it took me to make the first one. So away I went. And then, buoyed on by my success, I returned to a different pattern of shaped mask with considerably more success. And then I realised that I'd made rather more masks than the three of us needed. So I offered them to a handful of friends. And then more friends asked for some, so I made some more. And then my in-laws wanted some too. And then a friend-of-a-friend. Which is how I've ended up making 30+ masks for friends, relations and hangers-on.

Being the kind of people that they are, my friends all offered to reimburse me for my efforts, but I'd seen Unicef running a "make one, give fifty" campaign, encouraging people who made masks to do so in return for donations to Unicef that could then fund masks for healthcare workers in areas of extreme poverty around the world.  Every £5 donation would buy 50 masks. So, hopefully, not only have I provided masks to those near or dear to me, but I have indirectly done so for those I will never see or know.

I've spent weeks not writing this post, as it feels all a bit smug and "la-la, look at me, aren't I philanthropic?" or, to use LittleBear's phrase, it's a bit showy-offy. But, on the other hand, it's what I've spent a lot of my evenings doing, and I have very little else to write about. Also, wearing masks is looking like a good idea all round, so in the spirit of pour encourager les autres, I can assure you that with the right pattern and right equipment, they're quite easy to make.

"Mass" production

And if you can't make them, and live close enough to me that dropping them round or posting them isn't absurd... I could make some for you, in return for a donation to Unicef.


Footnote: for those who care about such things, the masks are multilayer, with the inner layer being a non-woven synthetic fabric and the outer layers being tightly woven cotton. They have a flexible metal nose bridge to improve fit and elastic loops over the ears. The shaped masks come in three sizes, from one that fits LittleBear all the way up to one that fits BigBear, via a middling one for me.

 

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.