Well, here we are in the middle of the year - the sun's been shining, Wimbledon's well under way and at last we've got a tennis player in with a chance of winning. We've had several BBQs, already eaten more than enough strawberries and drunk far, far too many jugs of Pimms to be sensible when in charge of a barbecue. At work there's a permanent aroma of fake-tan in the office and we've broken out the fans. Anyone would think we're having a summer at last.
All in the garden should be lovely.
Well, it would be but we haven't booked any holidays yet which probably accounts for the gently gnawing sense of anxiety that I'm feeling right now. It's the same every year. If you've been a reader since this blog began you'll know that I have trouble with holidays because I am a total wuss. Part of me wants to go everywhere/do everything/see the world, and another part of me (the fairly large dithery part, unfortunately) is scared shitless by taking the risk of going into the unknown, even if it's only a few hours Easyjet away. I spend ages on the internet searching for the perfect location for us (is there such a place I ask myself, does it really exist?), get to the point of actually booking it and then, and then.........nothing. I just go off the idea because I read something dodgy about pick-pockets in the area we're thinking of going to, or someone tells me a horror story about the hotel we're booking, or my husband makes a negative comment and/or fails to look, a) interested, b) keen, or c) awake. I slink off defeated, read more travel magazines and worry that we're missing out on the big adventure. Which of course we are.
Annoying isn't it?
What's to be done with me? Last year we threw caution to the wind, went into the travel agent and willingly, although unknowingly, chucked away enough money to pay an MP's food-bill on the holiday from hell. I thought we were being spontaneous, exciting and adventurous by booking at the last minute, packing and leaving the UK all within three days, when it actually turned out that we were just gullible idiots reeled in to fill a travel agent's quota and ended up somewhere which was totally the opposite of what we really wanted.
I asked you all for help in finding a good holiday venue, somewhere not too touristy with nice restaurants, lovely coastline, friendly people, you gave me your suggestions and what did I do? I ignored them all and took a flyer, thinking I was being really brave. Mistake. Big mistake.
This time I'll listen.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Friday, 5 June 2009
Britain's Got Talons
Well, it's been a gripping week. Our government's in melt-down, we've got so cross with some of our less than honourable politicians that several of them have been forced out of office, the Prime Minister could possibly be dusting off his suitcases and ordering the removal van for some time next week, I guess, and the vultures are circling over the Houses of Parliament, barely waiting for the juiciest carcasses to draw their last gasp expenses cheque before tearing them to shreds and speculating upon the new pecking order.
Crikey.
Who'd have thought that "the court of public opinion" would have produced so many hanging judges? Is this what happens when we, the public, dig our claws in? Has our anger really made this happen? It seems that everywhere you go - the hairdressers, supermarket, restaurant or pub, the talk is about one thing and one thing only - the expenses scandal. I don't think I've seen people so stirred up about anything as much as this, ever. And it shows no signs of abating any time soon.
I am quite stunned by it all, to be honest.
So what on earth's going to happen next? What do YOU want to happen next? For the first time in ages, I feel as if we have a say in what happens next, so what shall we ask for?
Crikey.
Who'd have thought that "the court of public opinion" would have produced so many hanging judges? Is this what happens when we, the public, dig our claws in? Has our anger really made this happen? It seems that everywhere you go - the hairdressers, supermarket, restaurant or pub, the talk is about one thing and one thing only - the expenses scandal. I don't think I've seen people so stirred up about anything as much as this, ever. And it shows no signs of abating any time soon.
I am quite stunned by it all, to be honest.
So what on earth's going to happen next? What do YOU want to happen next? For the first time in ages, I feel as if we have a say in what happens next, so what shall we ask for?
Friday, 22 May 2009
A Few Good Men
"It is necessary only for the good man to do nothing for evil to triumph" - Edmund Burke, 1729 - 97.
Whatever did we talk about before the expenses scandal of MPs' moats and duck-ponds, bath-plugs and plasma TV's? Each day brings fresh revelations which shock and infuriate us, closely followed by whingeing, whining excuses from those we trusted to lead us and not to rob us blind.
"I was only working within the rules, I've done nothing wrong" has so far been the number one get-out line trotted out by thick-skinned on-the-take MPs outed by the Press, a phrase which raises my blood pressure a notch every time I hear it. How can they not realise the ridiculousness of such an excuse when they themselves have written the rules, have been responsible for the oh-so-generous interpretation of them and have apparently happily worked within those "guidelines" until public outrage has shone the spotlight of shame upon them?
And now we have MPs coming forward who apparently always thought that their expense account procedures were a bit dodgy, but who nevertheless continued to use these procedures whilst ever so quietly raising their doubts about them. Their protests apparently fell on deaf ears (probably such a high-pitched squeaking that only dogs could hear it) but instead of shouting louder and louder until they made their point and forced reform, they waited it out for someone else to blow the whistle hard enough for it to be heard, in this case a national newspaper. Now these same MPs are trying to use the fact that their back-dated protests were rejected as a defence for continuing to work within a rotten system, as if retrospectively we will accept that they never really wanted to be part of the classroom naughty gang after all, and let them off detention.
But they were part of it simply because of their tacit acceptance of the status quo, however reluctantly, and as such are almost as responsible for this unholy mess as those who dived snout-first into the trough with that infuriating sense of entitlement which has enraged so many of us over the past few weeks.
All of this has got me thinking about my own character. Would I be strong enough to keep my integrity when all around were losing theirs? Would you? In reality, who knows until tested how any of us would react. I suppose we all like to think that there are some things "up with which we will not put", but where do we draw the line? Would you or I continue to be part of a system which we know is intrinsically wrong because we fear for our personal future, or would our consciences get the better of us and force us to stand up and be counted? Would we have the determination to try very hard to change things, refusing to take no for an answer and making ourselves extremely unpopular in the process? Could you be a whistle-blower and face the consequences?
Being the trouble-maker that I am, I think I have my answer, but then again I don't have powerful colleagues with ducks desperate for a little island to sit on, manor house moats that need cleaning or several mortgage interest paid houses to "flip", all on the taxpayer, so that makes my choice a whole lot easier.
Whatever did we talk about before the expenses scandal of MPs' moats and duck-ponds, bath-plugs and plasma TV's? Each day brings fresh revelations which shock and infuriate us, closely followed by whingeing, whining excuses from those we trusted to lead us and not to rob us blind.
"I was only working within the rules, I've done nothing wrong" has so far been the number one get-out line trotted out by thick-skinned on-the-take MPs outed by the Press, a phrase which raises my blood pressure a notch every time I hear it. How can they not realise the ridiculousness of such an excuse when they themselves have written the rules, have been responsible for the oh-so-generous interpretation of them and have apparently happily worked within those "guidelines" until public outrage has shone the spotlight of shame upon them?
And now we have MPs coming forward who apparently always thought that their expense account procedures were a bit dodgy, but who nevertheless continued to use these procedures whilst ever so quietly raising their doubts about them. Their protests apparently fell on deaf ears (probably such a high-pitched squeaking that only dogs could hear it) but instead of shouting louder and louder until they made their point and forced reform, they waited it out for someone else to blow the whistle hard enough for it to be heard, in this case a national newspaper. Now these same MPs are trying to use the fact that their back-dated protests were rejected as a defence for continuing to work within a rotten system, as if retrospectively we will accept that they never really wanted to be part of the classroom naughty gang after all, and let them off detention.
But they were part of it simply because of their tacit acceptance of the status quo, however reluctantly, and as such are almost as responsible for this unholy mess as those who dived snout-first into the trough with that infuriating sense of entitlement which has enraged so many of us over the past few weeks.
All of this has got me thinking about my own character. Would I be strong enough to keep my integrity when all around were losing theirs? Would you? In reality, who knows until tested how any of us would react. I suppose we all like to think that there are some things "up with which we will not put", but where do we draw the line? Would you or I continue to be part of a system which we know is intrinsically wrong because we fear for our personal future, or would our consciences get the better of us and force us to stand up and be counted? Would we have the determination to try very hard to change things, refusing to take no for an answer and making ourselves extremely unpopular in the process? Could you be a whistle-blower and face the consequences?
Being the trouble-maker that I am, I think I have my answer, but then again I don't have powerful colleagues with ducks desperate for a little island to sit on, manor house moats that need cleaning or several mortgage interest paid houses to "flip", all on the taxpayer, so that makes my choice a whole lot easier.
Monday, 4 May 2009
A Quiet Sort Of A Do....
You know you've had a really good 60th birthday party if, when clearing up the morning after, the three most random items left by guests departing at daft o'clock the night before, are:
a) A Pyrex bowl.
b) A single jewelled flip-flop.
c) A Screw-Fix catalogue.
I'm not really sure which of those things I find the most puzzling.
Maybe someone felt they had to bring their own Pyrex bowl just in case our party food turned out to be a bit more stomach-churning than usual, or they intended to get raucously drunk and weren't sure if they should partake of vast amounts of alcohol whilst on medication. That sort of fits in with the age group.
Re the single flip-flop - I tried to remember if we'd entertained a female unidexter*, or someone with their leg in plaster, or if any of our friends had arrived and left in an unusual hopping style, but I can't recall anyone who fits the bill.
Maybe the thing that mystifies me the most is the Screw-Fix catalogue. WTF was that all about?
Creative answers only please:
NB: Travelling and Knifepainter - try and keep it clean dear boys.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFoagC5yGY0
a) A Pyrex bowl.
b) A single jewelled flip-flop.
c) A Screw-Fix catalogue.
I'm not really sure which of those things I find the most puzzling.
Maybe someone felt they had to bring their own Pyrex bowl just in case our party food turned out to be a bit more stomach-churning than usual, or they intended to get raucously drunk and weren't sure if they should partake of vast amounts of alcohol whilst on medication. That sort of fits in with the age group.
Re the single flip-flop - I tried to remember if we'd entertained a female unidexter*, or someone with their leg in plaster, or if any of our friends had arrived and left in an unusual hopping style, but I can't recall anyone who fits the bill.
Maybe the thing that mystifies me the most is the Screw-Fix catalogue. WTF was that all about?
Creative answers only please:
NB: Travelling and Knifepainter - try and keep it clean dear boys.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFoagC5yGY0
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Sixty's Chic?
Hey, guess what? I am officially an O.A.P. as from last Sunday.
Weird, I know. And to be honest, it's a little bit scary. I'm wondering just what happened to the time, to the long-legged mini-skirted girl, striding out into life in white PVC boots and Mary Quant mini-skirt, dancing the night away to the Sweet Soul Music at Le Metro,The Rum Runner and Opposite Lock; smoking, drinking, laughing, loving my days and nights away. Well, she met her match, married him, made a Habitat home and settled down. Became a mother, (definitely not a swearing one), wiped bottoms and noses, pushed prams, liquidised carrots, washed nappies and floors. Bathed sore knees, kissed them better, made cakes and excuses for lost homework. Did the school run, forgot to wash gym kits, searched for nits, dealt with worms, had a perm. Learned to worry, worry, worry. Put on weight, wore big earrings and shoulder pads. Watched Dallas, bought some lip-gloss, thought JR was a bastard but kind of fancied him. Became a nag, a working Mum, an always knackered cleaning bore, a mother of arsey teenagers, a picker-up of rancid socks, a drug tsar, a lecturer on STD's and unwanted pregnancies, one half of the bank of Mum and Dad, a taxi-driver, a tennis partner, made Henry Kissinger and his peace-keeping force look like a bunch of amateurs. Wiped away tears, tried to allay fears. Took worry to higher level, became an ever vigilant witch, a total wreck, couldn't sleep until that key went in the door at 4 a.m. Became a Uni Mum of brainy son and mother of the bride, glowed with pride. Watched them pack, wanted them back, broke my heart. Learned to start again with a different life.
Nearly forgot to remember that once, long ago, there were only the two of us, and two of us once more there would be. Had trouble with the sadness the empty nest brought with it. Had trouble with the tidy house, the quiet house, the empty house. Thought that black hole would definitely get me.
Decided to get a grip. Started a blog. Made some more friends. Had a laugh. Learned to swear in print (fucking liberating, I can tell you). Bought a sports car, had a new hairdo, rediscovered who's the Daddy round here, decided I still really liked him, started to have a bloody good time. Learned to be a bit selfish, self-indulgent and flash, discovered high maintenance hair-do's, facials and the gym. And then, suddenly, I was sixty.
Bloody hell. Now how am I going to deal with that, my dear friends?
Weird, I know. And to be honest, it's a little bit scary. I'm wondering just what happened to the time, to the long-legged mini-skirted girl, striding out into life in white PVC boots and Mary Quant mini-skirt, dancing the night away to the Sweet Soul Music at Le Metro,The Rum Runner and Opposite Lock; smoking, drinking, laughing, loving my days and nights away. Well, she met her match, married him, made a Habitat home and settled down. Became a mother, (definitely not a swearing one), wiped bottoms and noses, pushed prams, liquidised carrots, washed nappies and floors. Bathed sore knees, kissed them better, made cakes and excuses for lost homework. Did the school run, forgot to wash gym kits, searched for nits, dealt with worms, had a perm. Learned to worry, worry, worry. Put on weight, wore big earrings and shoulder pads. Watched Dallas, bought some lip-gloss, thought JR was a bastard but kind of fancied him. Became a nag, a working Mum, an always knackered cleaning bore, a mother of arsey teenagers, a picker-up of rancid socks, a drug tsar, a lecturer on STD's and unwanted pregnancies, one half of the bank of Mum and Dad, a taxi-driver, a tennis partner, made Henry Kissinger and his peace-keeping force look like a bunch of amateurs. Wiped away tears, tried to allay fears. Took worry to higher level, became an ever vigilant witch, a total wreck, couldn't sleep until that key went in the door at 4 a.m. Became a Uni Mum of brainy son and mother of the bride, glowed with pride. Watched them pack, wanted them back, broke my heart. Learned to start again with a different life.
Nearly forgot to remember that once, long ago, there were only the two of us, and two of us once more there would be. Had trouble with the sadness the empty nest brought with it. Had trouble with the tidy house, the quiet house, the empty house. Thought that black hole would definitely get me.
Decided to get a grip. Started a blog. Made some more friends. Had a laugh. Learned to swear in print (fucking liberating, I can tell you). Bought a sports car, had a new hairdo, rediscovered who's the Daddy round here, decided I still really liked him, started to have a bloody good time. Learned to be a bit selfish, self-indulgent and flash, discovered high maintenance hair-do's, facials and the gym. And then, suddenly, I was sixty.
Bloody hell. Now how am I going to deal with that, my dear friends?
Friday, 10 April 2009
Quick, Let's Buy That Man A Briefcase!
Well, well, well. Whatever next? In a week that has seen published lists of items claimed for by MP's more reminiscent of the conveyor belt on Bruce Forsythe's Generation Game than reasonable work-related expenses, (stone sink, patio set, barbecue, etc) there is something that most of us would have gladly provided - and I don't mean the deep fat-fryer or cuddly toy.
For goodness' sake, why didn't anyone treat Bob Quick, Metropolitan Police Assistant Commissioner, to a brief-case? Or maybe a plastic document holder? Or even a big brown envelope?
Whilst it's very worrying that such a senior officer in counter-terrorism would be so daft as to carry Top Secret documents in plain sight of journalists with long-range lenses, I'm not really sure if his resignation will do anyone any good or not. He obviously felt he had to go, and I suppose the least we can say about him is that having dropped such a monumental clanger, he's bitten the bullet and done the decent thing. I guess many of the MPs who are currently working their way through piles of expenses receipts with black marker pens this Easter weekend will be thankful to Mr Quick for getting their subsidised shopping lists off the front page for a few days. Having someone else held up to ridicule must come as a bit of a relief to them, and a very welcome change no doubt.
It's hard these days to watch the news and not have the feeling that the lid is about to pop off yet another can of worms, or several cans for that matter, with more revelations that embarrass and diminish us as a nation, which I find both infuriating and rather sad.
But anyway, enough already. See what happens when I try to get more politically aware? They all start to piss me off and then I'm forced to rant. I can't do anything about any of it so no more sniping from me. I'll just go back to reading the fashion pages of the newspapers, try to ignore the political bits and turn off the TV after Eastenders. All this intrigue is wearing me out.
I will now definitely be resting my case.
Unlike Mr. Quick of course, who sadly hasn't got one.
For goodness' sake, why didn't anyone treat Bob Quick, Metropolitan Police Assistant Commissioner, to a brief-case? Or maybe a plastic document holder? Or even a big brown envelope?
Whilst it's very worrying that such a senior officer in counter-terrorism would be so daft as to carry Top Secret documents in plain sight of journalists with long-range lenses, I'm not really sure if his resignation will do anyone any good or not. He obviously felt he had to go, and I suppose the least we can say about him is that having dropped such a monumental clanger, he's bitten the bullet and done the decent thing. I guess many of the MPs who are currently working their way through piles of expenses receipts with black marker pens this Easter weekend will be thankful to Mr Quick for getting their subsidised shopping lists off the front page for a few days. Having someone else held up to ridicule must come as a bit of a relief to them, and a very welcome change no doubt.
It's hard these days to watch the news and not have the feeling that the lid is about to pop off yet another can of worms, or several cans for that matter, with more revelations that embarrass and diminish us as a nation, which I find both infuriating and rather sad.
But anyway, enough already. See what happens when I try to get more politically aware? They all start to piss me off and then I'm forced to rant. I can't do anything about any of it so no more sniping from me. I'll just go back to reading the fashion pages of the newspapers, try to ignore the political bits and turn off the TV after Eastenders. All this intrigue is wearing me out.
I will now definitely be resting my case.
Unlike Mr. Quick of course, who sadly hasn't got one.
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Would You Adam And Eve It?
Sorry to go on about this dodgy expenses claim thingy, but go on I must as long as this unsavoury episode continues. Now our Home Secretary’s husband has been dragged out of the house to explain himself to the media and apologise for what he’s done - viewing films which he subsequently (and stupidly) charged to the wife’s expenses, two of which were of the, ahem, "adult entertainment" kind.
She appeared to be absolutely furious but no more furious than we, the poor suckers who paid for them, have every right to be. What concerns me is that she seems to be far more cross with him for his taste in films and for embarrassing her rather than being truly regretful that the taxpayer was asked to foot the bill for something of such a personal nature.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t care if he was viewing adult films, among others. Good luck to him, if that’s his bag then let him get on with it. What he does in the privacy of his own home is entirely up to him. The bit I find more shocking is that he claimed for any of the films at all, regardless of their subject matter. To me the fact that they were paid for on expenses is the truly offensive thing here, not the content of a couple of them.
So what's the next episode in the sorry saga of the Home Secretary, Her Expenses and the Husband Who Will Be Sleeping On The Sofa? Are we soon to be treated to more insights of how the other half live, at our expense?
If recent events are anything to go by, my guess is that having funded the films for a cosy night in front of the TV, Joe Public will be getting the bill for the Chinese takeaway any time now.
With tip, no doubt.
She appeared to be absolutely furious but no more furious than we, the poor suckers who paid for them, have every right to be. What concerns me is that she seems to be far more cross with him for his taste in films and for embarrassing her rather than being truly regretful that the taxpayer was asked to foot the bill for something of such a personal nature.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t care if he was viewing adult films, among others. Good luck to him, if that’s his bag then let him get on with it. What he does in the privacy of his own home is entirely up to him. The bit I find more shocking is that he claimed for any of the films at all, regardless of their subject matter. To me the fact that they were paid for on expenses is the truly offensive thing here, not the content of a couple of them.
So what's the next episode in the sorry saga of the Home Secretary, Her Expenses and the Husband Who Will Be Sleeping On The Sofa? Are we soon to be treated to more insights of how the other half live, at our expense?
If recent events are anything to go by, my guess is that having funded the films for a cosy night in front of the TV, Joe Public will be getting the bill for the Chinese takeaway any time now.
With tip, no doubt.
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