Shouting at the TV

We don't watch much TV.  We got the TV back last year for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Olympics.  Prior to that we'd not had a TV in the house for 7 years.

There are many reasons for this:  the decline in the quality of the programmes, the targeting of children by the commerical channels, the mindless inconsequential violent content of children's 'entertainment', and the fact that without the box in the corner of the room you can do so much more with your time....

I don't watch films on the commercial channels - I can't stand them being interrupted by the advertising, losing the flow, spoiling the moment, and elongating the viewing time unnecessarily in my opinion...   We have a stack of DVD's, which, much like our bookcases are things we'd like to watch(read) when we have the time.

So we're back to time.  And the value I place on my time is something that I really don't want wasted by unintelligent wallpaper.  I'm willing to invest my time in TV carefully. Yes, I will watch 'entertainment' if the quality is there, and there's nothing wrong with that.  So you will catch me watching 'Grand Designs', 'Top Gear', 'Graham Norton' and 'QI'.  I've channel surfed through the multitude of other channels, and generally come back to the good old reliable BBC.  But my viewing experience this week shows that even they can get it wrong.

Of the two BBC programmes I chose to watch this week, one when broadcast, one on iPlayer to catchup, one had me shouting at the screen.  Both documentaries, both ancient civilisations, both presented by women.  So far, so good.

Ancient Egypt: Life and Death in the Valley of the Kings - presented by Dr Joann Fletcher. (BBC2)

I'd heard the presenter interviewed on Women's Hour on Radio 4, and mentally made a note to watch because she'd devoted her life to the subject since she was aged 6.  I'm fascinated by people who have that sort of vocation, mainly because it's something lacking in me.

Dr Fletcher was dressed all in black, with a black umbrella to shield her from the sun, her abundant red hair and pale skin the reason for the umbrella.  She spoke directly to camera, interviewed local experts, took us around the ruined village and explored tombs and temples and museum exhibits with equal simple direct passion, and enthusiasm. She had an enquiring approach which drew you in, and her knowledge was evident and used well to illuminate the subject. The re-enactments of life in Egyptian times were few and well placed.

By contrast, the progamme which had me shouting at the screen, was:
Pompeii: The Mystery of the People Frozen in Time - presented by Dr Margaret Mountford. (BBC1)

This was packed with special effects (volcanic eruptions), re-enacted scenes of people living in and fleeing from Pompeii, and the presenter, Dr Mountford, who kept telling us that they were going to reveal what really happened, and then went back over what she'd already told us.  They cut and chopped and edited 30 minutes worth of content to elongate it into a one hour programme, packed with repetititive scenes of the volcano, people hiding or running, a dog getting covered in ash, and the presenter telling us the same narrative again and again.

On the positive side there were a couple of facial re-constructions, with an expert, building up virtual skulls on screen with his portable x-ray machine, and then building a 3-D lifelike representation of a presumed wealthy young woman and a male worker.  That was the best bit.

The rest of it, in my opinion, was TV for the generation with no attention span.  TV for the channel hoppers, TV for the dumbed down majority who need the message spoon fed over and over because they don't understand anything unless they've heard it 20 times.  This was marketing TV which over sensationalised the subject, and it made me mad!

'You've already said that', 'Not again!', 'You said that before', I cried at the screen.  The programme title had promised so much and then delivered so little. It wasted my time and insulted my intelligence.   I wish I'd not bothered.

There,  I feel better for that.  Anyone want a TV critic out there?!!!

Have a good day y'all.  :)  Kat

Did you miss me?

Ah me. The (dis)advantage/joy of having children in private education is the extended holidays they enjoy. There must be some discrepancy there in paying for our children to go to school for less time than the state sector... No, actually, they're taught a longer day, so in the end I'm sure it all adds up, but it does make things difficult when it comes to childcare.

So our two have already had a week off school - most of the (state) schools round here finished yesterday (Maundy Thursday).  I'd hung onto my leave, and have managed to only spend around £100 on childcare for  Tom this Easter. So to make the most of the opportunity we went to the caravan in Carnforth.

Of course.  My parents' static caravan is now the 'family' caravan, administered/organised by my sister and brother, and we took advantage of the early week to go and explore the South Lake District.  When I say we, I mean the children and myself.  Simon's financial year end meant he couldn't take the time off yet - Easter is early this year, hence we left him behind and went by ourselves.

I drive when I have to.  I take care and do my best, but I do find travelling stressful, especially packing the car, dog, children, food, sleeping bags, toys, luggage, and the rest.  Luckily my Mum said they'd have the dog, so we had a 3 night stay without Roly.  Quality time for me and Phoebe and Tom.

Quality time?  You're having a joke. I am aware of the 'idea' of quality time.  I understand the concept. The question I have is whose quality time are we talking about?  I'm pulling your leg.  I'm tired, and entertaining my children has worn me out.  (I write this from my sick bed. no joke.)  Quality time as a concept is for parents who work so much they never spend any time with their children and buy them too many toys/gadgets/whatever to compensate.

I could go on, but that would be complaining.  In a nutshell, we went away, we did too much, I got sick.

Carnforth is a good base for exploring the Lake District. Monday we went to the National Trust property 'Sizergh Hall' and learned a lot about the Strickland Family history, 700 years of the Hall, and lots about Tudor panelling.  Actually we played it quite well. Got there in time for 12.20pm tour, so Hall opened to the public at 1pm as our tour was ending.  Had sandwiches in the car, went back to the Hall to finish the quizzes for the children, then went to teashop for cake.

Lovely gardens (as you'd expect with NT), hens, bees, walks, but all too cold to spend a longer time there.

After the cake, we popped into Kendal itself to do a bit of window/charity shopping.  Again, too cold to stay  too long, so home to the caravan by 5ish.  Got into habit of playing boggle after supper.  Tom now age where he can really play himself, and a good time was had by all... :)

Tuesday we decided to go to Hilltop - the National Trust property which was Beatrix Potter's home in the Lake District. It's located near Sawrey, on the West side of Lake Windermere.  Left the caravan at 9.45am. Got the car ferry at Bowness at 10.30am (no waiting!). Got timed entrance to Hilltop at 11am.

Hilltop is presented as Beatrix Potter left it.  She didn't believe/trust in electricity, so although it was installed after her death, they've kept the lighting dim, so very atmospheric. She loved collecting items from farm sales, so there are quirky items, like the doorknocker on the internal door, and the Chinese chest.  There are also large oil paintings which she inherited from her childhood home in London, and which seemed a little incongrueous to my mind.  There was a guide available in each room, but you wandered round as you liked.
This didn't take much time, and we were done by 11.45am.

Outside Hilltop - Beatrix Potter's home

Mr McGregor's Garden (from Peter Rabbit) in the snow...

My energy levels were starting to flag, so we stopped for lunch at Low Sizergh Barn - Farm Shop and Tea Rooms. Very good. Would go again and recommend you to try if you're in the area.

After lunch we thought we'd try Morecambe.  However, the cold wind and early 'season' meant not much to do.  That didn't stop the children from burning off some energy on the promenade and the beach and pier.

the weather's lovely!  

Back to the caravan by 5pm again and then spent Wednesday at Grandma and Grandad's before returning to Wantage on Thursday.  Went downhill with heavy cold, cough, headache, earache, and generally feeling unwell. Difficult to manage children, so put myself to bed on arrival, and haven't felt like getting up since.

Hope to be in better spirits next time I write.

time for a nap.  Kat.

Lost innocence

Bedtime stories with Tom (now 7) last night, and I asked how his day had been at school.  "I know the 'F' word" he said. "Oh really, what is it?" I said.  "fuck" he whispered to me.  Okay.  On the surface I was cool, disinterested, matter of fact.

"That's a very rude word, and not one children should use."  I told him.  I asked him who'd told him the word, and he said James, and I asked when he'd said it, and it seems that James hadn't said it, he'd written it on the V-tech laptop they play with in after-school club. James is older than Tom, but Tom wasn't sure if he was in year 3,4 or 5.  (Tom's in year 2).

James had told Tom not to tell anyone, and Tom, like a good boy, had told me.  Back to the Folk of the Faraway Tree, and simpler, nicer, more innocent times, and then bed, with his 'Bagpuss' hot-water bottle.

School's broken up, so there is an interlude before I can bring it up, and a pause to decide whether I should bring it up, and by then I'll probably have forgotten....

So, he knows the 'F' word, he knows it's naughty, but I'm certain he doesn't know what it means.  Had to happen sometime.  He'd probably already heard it, but hadn't associated the shock factor? naughtiness? connotations? that the word carries....  so I'll leave it at that, unless he voices it loudly to test us, or needs to discuss it again.

Keep it sweet. Kat

Stop me

'oh, oh, oh, stop me. Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before'.. The Smiths, 1987.

There, that's an ear-worm for you.  (One of those songs that go round and round in your head and drive you mad.  Only, I'm always fine when it's The Smiths... must be an age thing.).

Anyway.  Had a lovely long lunch out with the Library Ladies (who lunch!) at Burford Garden Centre today.  I'd not been there before, and I'll need an wage increase before I go there again.  About 40min drive away, and a very nice place, even for an 'anti-consumer' like me!

The vegetarian soup was being re-filled, and so I chose instead the Roasted Aubergine stuffed with Lentils, Spinach and Goats Cheese.  Served with red cabbage minty coleslaw and salad leaves.  £7.50, pricey? but perfect.  Delicious, and when I got home I looked up Aubergines in my Yotam Ottolenghi's book 'Plenty'.  Something similar on page 116, and then I remembered why I love that book so much - it's vegetarian foodie pornography!

Had a quick look around Burford itself, the churchyard was most interesting, very close to the river, and very ancient, many headstones illegible with age, but I found one dating from 1763 (I think).

Hadn't done that for a while.  Burford's shops mostly antique, art galleries and overpriced designer clothing.  Nothing I'd want there then....

Popped into the charity shops in Faringdon whilst waiting to collect Tom from school.  This is where The Smiths song title comes in.  Stop me.  Stop me from buying 2nd hand books at 3 for £1.  It'll never happen. But my house may be full (of books) when they come to take me away...

So when I got home, and after all the usual chores, I took my treasure upstairs to the dusty pile under my bed, and pulled the rest of them out to assess whether I still wanted to read them (all) or not....

1.  Gabriel Garcia Marquez:  Living to Tell the Tale.  'Marquez's greatest book... puts itself beyond category: fiction, non-fiction, fantasy, memoir, poetry, drama.  As a reading experience it is completely magical' Observer.  Esentially auto biog from birth 1927 to marriage 1950.  Yes.

2.  Irene Nemirovsky:  Fire in the Blood.  'Mesmerising... another gem from a glittering career cut tragically short' Daily Express.  Yes.

3.  Chris Cleave: The Other Hand.  'Once you have read it, you'll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens either.  The magic is in how it unfolds.'  Yes.

4.  Anna Pavord:  The Tulip.  'The Tulip is not a gardening book.  It is the story of flower that has made men mad, Greed, desire, anguish, devotion have all played their part in the development of the tulip from a wild flower of the Asian Steppes to the world-wide phenomenon it is today...' Yes.

5.  Caitlin Moran: How to be a Woman.  Yes.  full stop.

6.  David Nicholls:  Starter for Ten.  Enjoyed his book 'One Day'. Yes, but not urgent.

7.  Tracy Chevalier: Remarkable Creatures.  Have read 'The Girl with a Pearl Earring', 'The Virgin Blue' and 'The Lady and The Unicorn' by TC. Enjoyed all of them.  This one about lady fossil hunters in early 19th century. What's not to like?  Yes.

8.  Sebastian Barry:  The Secret Scripture.  I was given this in hardback by a friend a few years ago, but picked up the paperback recently (more visually appealing).  Mental hospital, patient history, secret. Yes.

9.  Dan Chaon:  You Remind Me of Me.  'A mesmerising debut novel that introduces one of America's most exciting young writers'. Yes.

10.  P.G. Wodehouse:  Blandings.  Yes, because I've not, and I think I should, and it looks jolly good too.

11.  Michel Faber: The Hundred and Ninety-Nine Steps.  'Part historical thriller, part gothic romance, part ghost story, it is further confirmation that its author is a singular talent with a unique perception of the universe'  Sunday Herald.  It's a novella, and not my usual style.  Why not?  Yes.

12. Deirdre Madden:  Molly Fox's Birthday. 'What the reader is left marvelling at, finally, is a novellist who is at once so shrewd and knowing an observer of human fraility, and yet maintains so kindly an understanding of it' Irish Times.  Yes.

13.  S.J. Watson. Before I Go To Sleep.  'Memories define us.  So what if you lost yours every time you went to sleep? Your name, your identity, your past, even the people you love - all forgotten overnight. And the one person you trustmay only be telling you half the story.  Welcome to Christine's life'.  Sounds good, and has been recommended, but not sure I want to read this before I go to sleep.....

14.  Victoria Hislop. The Return.  Maybe. Loved 'The Island', but have heard this one is okay, and 'The Thread' is much better.  Possible.

There, now that wasn't too bad now, was it?....  Kat!

Stop

this train (of thought), I want to get off!

My inner conversation was going ten to the dozen Sunday morning, so I made some notes in an attempt to express the malcontent of a middle-aged mother.  And it's difficult for me to assess whether this is truly how I 'feel' or whether I was just hostage to hormones (again), so I wish you luck with this one....

Sunday morning we awoke to snow.  Middle of March and the daffodils just poking their heads out, and it snowed. And snowed.  Thick snow. Heavy snow.  Big snowflakes you could catch on your tongue if you wanted to.  For three hours. Not forecast.

No matter..... it's Sunday.  But.  The thought train pulled into the station and set off with me on it.  (On one).  How much more can the ground take?  It's already soaking wet from Friday (and hasn't yet recovered from last year), so I slipped along the garden to let the hens out, and I skidded round the Park walking the dog.  No-one else wanted to come.  Funny that.

And I wanted to shout at the snow and the weather.  Stop!  Enough.  It's all f**ked up.  The weather is  screwy.  Global warming. There should be a global warning.  Oh yes, there was, only no-one did anything about it.

Who are these 'no-ones'?  Politicians in the main, and business men pushing for profit. Growth above everything, progress. Push push push.  Where did it start? The Industrial Revolution? The Greeks? Romans? Incas? Ancient Civilisations? .... Who's to blame?

So the train took me back to the cavemen.  To our very essence.  Hunter-gatherer and mother nurturer.  The essential difference. The need for man to provide and mother to breast-feed the babies.  The basic difference is biological.  Women can't hunt when there is child suckling.  So they stay at home and look after the children.  And men have been responsible for the progress outside the home, because they were outside the home.  And on this train of thought, to my eyes, not  much has changed since then.

Why did it bother me so?  This so-called 'progress'?  A lot of good has come from men's innovations, ingenuity and invention.  A lot of bad also.  And is this all too much for my mind to comprehend? On a Sunday morning in the snow? Don't lose it now, stay on track... So-called progress.

Yes.  It's the soap -vs- shower creme debate.

lovely soap I'm using at the moment, I happily recommend it!

I'm firmly on the side of soap.  Much less packaging.  Easier to hold when it's in your hand. Takes up less space and lasts longer.  (It lasts longer because you don't lose it slipping down the plug hole if you accidentally drop it, unlike shower creme which slips out of the palm of my hand never to be seen again - grrrrr).  And when the shower creme's empty you can't get a re-fill as such (apart from The Body Shop).  Not very environmentally friendly if you ask me.

And I'm not very impressed with Olay's face cream packaging, which comes in a plastic bottle with a push button squirter thing, and leaves at least 0.5cm of cream in the bottom of the bottle when you get to the end of it.  I'm boycotting it from now on, and have moved onto 'Simple' brand, packaged in sensible jars with screw lids.  Only quibble I have here is it's difficult to tell the day cream apart from the night cream - I had to write day/night in indelible marker on the lids as both jars same size and have white lids.  I digress.

I feel we've sleep-walked into the world we're in.  There are so many things I disagree with. So many principles I've got problems with.  And so little in the way of protests to protect us from following this ill-fated pathway of progress.  There's a conspiracy of greed.  A conspiracy of growth.  A conspiracy of silence.

There.  I've thought it out-loud.  I'm anti-consumer.  And because I'm anti-consumer I'm also invisible and voiceless.  I don't count.  My bucks don't bang.  Because I don't have many and because I use them carefully....

... and then it stopped snowing...

I got off the thought train and I got on with the rest of my day and was thankful that the ride had stopped.  Is this really the way my mind is racing these days?  Because it reminds me of being a teenager, but obviously, with my age, it's in reverse.

Late again, and I've too much to do, as always.  Keep it sweet!  Kat.

Stepping down...

I've just retired for the first time.  That is to say I've stepped down from the post of Secretary at Wantage Women's Institute.  Not because I've not enjoyed myself, but because I need to find a space for me at the moment, and because I couldn't be certain that I could maintain my commitment to the post for a further year.

I've done it since our WI was formed in November 2009. Three and a bit years. And it's been absolutely great fun, and it was something I think I needed at the time.  But it takes a lot of time between meetings, and, in my life, there's never enough time. So something had to give, and that was it.

I'll miss it.  Well, not initially, as there's the minutes I took from the last Committee Meeting to produce, and the Record of the last meeting I attended as well.  But once all the strings are tied up then I'm off the hook.  They asked for volunteers for the tea and coffee duties at the next meeting and my hand shot up.  It's not like I'm not going to participate any more, I'll just do it in a different way.

To find out more about 'my' WI you can check out our website:  wantagewi.weebly.com.

Kat

'I dreamt about you last night...'

... and I fell out of bed twice (The Smiths).

What is it about dreams that leaves you confused???  The part of my dream which I remember from last night is thus:

...  I was in an aeroplane.  It may have been first class (only guessing) or perhaps some specially adapted compartment, smaller, private, intimate.  My reclining chair was in the recline position, and I was comfortably covered with a blanket....  my companion in the adjacent seat was similarly blanketed, and when I looked a second time I realised it was.... David  ..... Cameron.   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (our current Prime Minister, I note this for when I've totally lost my marbles (not long now I hear you say), or if my children read this in the future).  I think I asked him where his 'minders' were, and then although I think I asked him some questions, I don't remember what they were, nor getting any answers... bloody politician!!! And for the record, there was NOTHING sexual about it.  Not my type, he's got too baby a face.

Now, if I was to have a dream about someone I like, or think I would like, it would probably have to be....  nope.  Couldn't possibly say that, now could I? What would my husband think???

We saw the Zom-Rom-Com film 'Warm Bodies' on Valentines day this year.  Zom-Rom-Com as in Zombie-Romance-Comedy genre. Who knew?  Really enjoyed the film, ticked the boxes, nicely silly, humour just right, emphasis on the humour not the horror.  I recommend it if you liked 'Shaun of the Dead'.

I'm off to bed, busy day tomorrow, WI Committee Meeting (my last one, I'm standing down) in the morning, and then off to Oxford Central Library in the afternoon for training on Class Visits (to the Library).  Hope I can find a parking place.

Nighty nighty. Kat.

More about recycling...

I am happy to report I've found a new hunting ground.  As in bargain hunting ground.  At the tip.  The   dump. The 'Recycling Centre' as it is properly called.

They're selling things that have been taken to be disposed of.  AT LAST.  Finally some joined-up thinking by the local council.  The number of times I've taken rubbish to the tip and seen items which really SHOULD NOT have been put into the landfill.  It makes you weep. Or as my father would say 'it's enough to make an onion cry'....

They've got much better in recent years.  The whole business of going to the tip/recycling centre is now very organised - you've to sort your items and put the correct things in the appropriate skip.  Which makes sense and is no trouble.  But when you see furniture ending up in landfill, household items and suchlike it seems such a WASTE of everything.  Of the raw materials, of the energy, of the transport costs, and useless packaging, of the effort of everything.  It's been a bugbear of mine for years.

And then there is Freecycle - our local group is now called Freegle (what's that about?).  Freecycle has  saved me so much in time and money, and given so much as well.  I've used it both to offer unwanted items, and to get things as well.  It was invaluable when we moved house - I advertised/offered the stuff, left it on the drive, and by the next day the stuff was all gone.  And it's fantastic when you're strapped for cash and you see something that you can use - bookshelves, child's sand-pit, rabbit hutch, curtains to name but a few of the things I've collected.  As an offerer you're glad to be rid of the item, and as a receiver you're happy to collect something for free, and prevent it from going to landfill.

That's the root of the matter.  Landfill.  So we're back to the tip......

I spoke to the men who work there (dunno if there are any women, but it's usually men), and said how pleased I was that they're doing this.  They said 'we used to do it before'.  I expressed surprise and asked why they stopped.  They said it was because they had a few 'regulars' who would park up and wait - to see what was being put in the 'for sale' pile, so they'd get best pick of the newest/nicest items. They were probably dealers, so it was stopped.

So, I'm not sure why it was started up again now, but the council website says they're using the cash towards running the tip/dump/recycling centre, which makes sense to me.  There's so many budget cuts coming up, if the council save a bit of money this way then I'm all for it!  And the items are priced to sell, small household items - 20p, 50p £1-£2 or so.

Then there's children's bicycles, computer tables, some items of furniture, household items, exercise items, dvds, puzzles, a complete Aladin's cave of junk! There's even an acrylic rolltop bath with feet there at the moment, in nice condition too.....  I don't need that though.

Anyway, I've bagged a couple of bargains already.

There was a shiny stainless steel thingy. In a dusty John Lewis box. Kitchenware. Upon closer inspection the item is a 'professional bain marie' something you'd use for melting chocolate or making sauces. We do the chocolate melting thing, in fact Phoebe made her first 'ganache' last weekend, and I thought we could use it.  So it still had the price sticker on the box - original cost was £35.  I got it for £1.

So what I want to know is this.  WHO would take something like that to the tip?  Who paid £35 and was happy to throw it away?  Who thought throwing it away was the appropriate thing to do if they didn't want it anymore?  Why, why why???  I don't get it.  But I did get a bargain!

Then I spotted a camping/picnic table.  Perfect! A little old, a little bit of rust on the legs, but will do the job.  No, I'm NOT going camping.  It's for the hens.  'Of course it is!'  I hear you say...

Here's the thing.  Their lovely recycled plastic henhouse (see previous blogs) is supported on makeshift legs as I don't want it on the ground.  From time to time there are rats at the bottom of the garden, and they can scurry in quick as you like and scurry out with their plunder.  A bit of height puts them off.  A bit of height also makes cleaning the house easier on my back, so that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Also, the hens can shelter under the house from sun(!!, that's wishful thinking) or rain.  So the makeshift legs are now old, rusty, and giving way, and I needed something else to support the henhouse.  Et voila.  A thrown-away picnic table. A recycled treasure.  Someone else's rubbish is my pleasure.  I'm getting a bargain, and saving the environment at the same time.  Win-win. What's not to like. Oh yes, how much?  £1.

You can call me cheap if you like.  I don't care.  Two children in private school, so economies have to be made. Disposable income? What's that?

Off to my book - Carrie's War by Nina Bawden.
ttfn (that's ta-ta for now for those who don't know, and 'ta-ta' is colloquial babyspeak for 'goodbye' in case you were wondering).... Keep it sweet!  Kat