Going Equipped

homeward
Originally uploaded by Lillput

The journey should have been simple enough.

Cambridge via Victoria coach station for ma, Victoria coach station and return in a day for me.

Yeah, yeah, the weather was always going to be a risk. That's the very reason I wore my new mids and my proper outdoor jacket with fleece lining and took a change of clothes and a toothbrush. There was always going to be a possbility of an overnight stop in a service station on the M4 or something like that.

I hadn't expected quite the delay going out though.

So, a journey to London that should have taken a bit over two hours took well over four, scuppering connections to Cambridge for ma and a speedy return to Bristol for me.

S offered accomodation in Hitchin if required, having had his weekend plans altered by the weather. As much as I love S's company, I really needed to get home because I had something like 8 people arriving at my house for various reasons on Sunday.

Nevertheless, London Victoria was pandaemonium, trains didn't look any more certain to take me the whole way home, news was that the M4 was worsening by the minute and the thought of getting somewhere comfy and inside as soon as possible was seductive and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea whilst all the while feeling like it was a bit like taking the easy way out.

On the journey up my ma had told me something her mother had said - along the lines of "the sooner you realise that God sends the weather, the happier you'll be".
She didn't mean that we had to believe in God - she meant that there are some things in your life over which you have no control and you might as well surrender to the idea and deal with it.

So I trekked across town to Kings Cross, bought a ticket and set forth for Hitchin. It took a little longer than usual because that service had started to suffer weather-related problems, but after about an hour, we were sitting in the Nightingale with a couple of pints for all the world like the journey was planned.

A few text messages and calls to make alternative arrangements for the people supposed to be arriving at my house on Sunday and then a call from my sister to tell me she and ma were stuck in London but were holing up in an hotel for the night.

The walk to S's house was in a winter wonderland of vigin snow and cold crispness. As the snow fell harder the stress of the day retreated because it felt like I'd made the right call and I was surrendering to weather I couldn't change. Even the thought that I might not be able to get home the next day didn't bother me particularly. If worse came to worst, I'd have to go shopping for one or two things but it wouldn't be the end of the world.

The light of day on Sunday revealed that no further snow had fallen, both road and rail conditions had improved a bit.
Then the agonising started again. We both had things to do, places to go and yet it would have been nice just to have gone for a walk in the snow and then to the pub for lunch and not worry about anything else.

Ultimately, we planned our respective journeys for the day and S dropped me at the station. My journey back home was relatively painless, albeit it a bit crowded and a bit longer than usual.

I'm home now and S is safely at his planned destination. All's right with the world.

I guess my Grandmother's wisdom has merit - as did much of what she said, so I'm led to believe.

So - I'm going to try and go with the flow and accept the odd fucking up of my plans and know that it can sometimes lead to a pleasant evening passed with a friend, some beer and "Life of Brian". (thanks, again, S)

...and maybe the wisdom I can pass to my nephews and nieces is "always carry spare underwear - you just never know..."



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Under Pressure

Every time I think I've just about got things under control, they seem to slip away from me.

Remember the incident with the failed tap washer? No? Oh, well, read about it here if you like.

I've had a few more recently...

My vacuum cleaner stopped picking up as well as it should and was making an odd whining noise. Some fiddling to dismantle the brush head and unclog it was necessary. I was pretty pleased that I'd done it but didn't really think any more about it.

Then a load of light bulbs failed - well, I say a load...four, actually, but they were odd bulbs in awkward places. When I was looking in the cupboard under the stairs for something else I discovered that I didn't need to source new bulbs, there was a handy supply there already for me (thanks, Idiot Boy - I'll stop mocking your hoarding instincts now...though what's with the thirteen boxes of matches, eh?). It then just took me to get my shit together sufficiently to get the stepladder out and then to accept the fact that all eight shades on the light fitting in the lounge would need to be cleaned in soapy water.

Then I had a problem with the oven. After being on for about 10 minutes it tripped the RCD and turned a couple of ring mains off. First time I put down to gremlins, second time I realised something needed to be done.

Twitter is a wonderful thing and after bleating about it I had helpful suggestions from two friends (Dru and TT) both of whom suggested elements were at fault.
TT went on to suggest sharing the delivery cost on replacements for me and some stuff for him.
Then Dru mailed me to say if I needed help to let her know...although her default assumption was that I was both confident and competent to do the job myself (actually, I don't believe I was either of these things).

I whined to my friend S, too. He, like the others, was pretty certain an element was at fault.
It took a while to identify the right model of cooker and therefore the correct elements but I ordered them and they duly arrived.
There are no instructions anywhere that tell you how to replace them. Maybe it's obvious, maybe I'm just dumb, or maybe there's an expectation that you'll always get a "professional" in to do the job.

Thing is, my dad always had a go at fixing things himself, so did Idiot Boy (in fact he replaced elements in this cooker about four times) and so does my brother.
So I did the obvious thing and took the back off the cooker. It became obvious that I'd need to do something inside the cooker too...but it took me a while to work out what.

However, I got there eventually.

Then the bad news...the element design had changed. The spares website had warned me of this and had detailed the adaptations necessary. What became clear, however, was that my cooker was older tham the model to which they referred and the adaptations needed wouldn't work.
I was left with earth connectors that I couldn't connect.
I agonized for a while, stamped my feet a little, too and then had a think.
Then I jury-rigged something that I hoped would be good enough.

Problem for me with earth is that I only half understand it and what it's there to do and they do say a little learning is a dangerous thing.
Both elements replaced, complete with makeshift earth connections I turned the oven on. It worked. I was amazed. Better yet, when I touched the outside of the cooker I didn't die.
When S arrived to stay for the weekend, I asked his advice over the earth wires and his opionion was that what I'd done was good enough. Phew.

So - all fixed, then?

Yes...and no.

My house was freezing at the weekend and S was on the verge of hypothermia a couple of times so he offered to bleed my radiators (I sort of knew they needed doing - CJ had suggested a while back that the cold radiator in my bathroom was probably to do with air). Sadly I had neither the correct tool (radiator valve key) nor a substitute (long-nosed pliers). At least I was pretty certain I did have both things but could lay my hands on neither.

S tried some improvisation with the tools to hand but to no avail. I suggested that I'd get a heating engineer to service the boiler and take a look at the radiators. S said I was perfectly capable of doing it myself - he's clearly got more faith in my than I have. He explained what I needed to do.
I went and bought radiator keys and a pair of long-nosed pliers and came home to find I did, indeed have both already, but hey...

I bled a couple of radiators and was gratified to find it was easy and the results were immediate. The third one, however, wasn't so easy...it became apparent that the water pressure had dropped in the system and I'd have to let more water into it. Problem is, I had no idea how.

I let TD know that I'll be absent from my desk for a while longer and he, as ever, encourages me not to panic, gives me a bit of advice (if the system's warm then let the water in slowly) and then says RTFM or Google.

I pull out my tumble drier to let me get at the underside of the boiler and find that an unrelated pipe has a leak from a strange connection. Irritation and panic come at the same time but clearly this is the more pressing problem. First I make the problem worse, then I fix it...well sort of.

I exchange texts with S who alternates between advice and concern.

It's not clear how to let water into the boiler and it takes an hour of surfing for documentation and reading and watching a video to finally understand what needs to be done. Once understood the process took only ten minutes.

OK, I'm pretty pleased with myself on the whole but the nagging feeling that I'm more comfortable with a spanner, rather than a mascara brush in my hands returns to haunt me and I slink off to bed under a bit of a cloud.

Today I'm feeling a bit more defiant. I'm irritated that I'm letting myself feel pressure for being a bit sub-girlie. Then I realise that several of my perfectly capable male friends wouldn't have been any more confident than me to do these jobs. Also, there's a nagging annoyance that clear instructions for simple maintenance jobs should be more easily come by.
Then I re-read the blog post I mention above and see the comments - it makes me smile and gives me heart.

I'm not out of the woods on this whole saga, of that I'm sure but if I concentrate on how bloody useful it is to be able to fix my own stuff (with help, and encouragement of course) perhaps I'll stop getting cold sweats when faced with M&S adverts for perfect women in slinky dresses.

Maybe...


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Mmmmmm beer

IMG_0446
Originally uploaded by Lillput

I like beer.

I was introduced to it about 20 years ago when I learned that cider didn't generally travel much, nor well.

In a conversation with S and some other friends at a beer festival, I had to admit I didn't like Belgian beer, at least not the stuff I'd tried. The admission was greeted with some surprise and the assertion from all present that there would be Belgian beers I like, I just had to find them.

So, S suggested we amble over to Brussels by Eurostar to try and find beer I might like. He's nice like that.

CJ tells me that he's never been there and would appreciate an appraisal of the place. So this seems as good a place as any to do it.

I'm going to try not to ramble...

Friday
Last minute change of plans sees us meet at the Betjeman Arms in St Pancras.
Much better than the usual run of station bars serving well-kept Doom Bar and Betjeman (both Sharps).

Eurostar check-in is like "airport security lite" and soon we're aboard the train.

Travelling at up to 180mph is a bit disconcerting when the journey is so smooth and it's dark outside so you get little sense of what you're travelling through.

Two hours later we arrive at Bruxelles Midi - in the rain.

We find the apartment (Apartments Manneken) dump our stuff, change into dry clothes and head back out to find food...and beer.

'Le Falstaff': Well-known in the right circles. Service awful, food a bit m'eh (Carbonnade for S, Lapin ala gueze for me).
Beer: Hoegaarden - standard fare, perfectly good - a good introduction to get my palate in.

Next A la Mort Subite.
Beers: Morte Subite Kriek, a lambic and a couple of others I can't remember. Kriek was a high-point for me - bright pink, fruity but not sweet.

Saturday
More rain.
Visit to La Grande Place and the museum there. Interesting place - a good introduction to the history of Brussels - includes architectural artefacts, maps, ceramics, paintings and tapestries.
Oh, and the wardrobe of 'Le Mannequin Pis' - seriously, weird.

Refreshment needed so S recommends A la Becasse.
Lovely interior (Arts and Crafts, maybe?) with friendly service.

Beer: sweetened Lambic beer. Served in a jug to share. Followed up with a mix of Lambic and Kriek in an even bigger jug.
I think the kriek/lambic mix worked particularly well.

Time to find something to eat and luckily right opposite was a cheese shop and a bakery. Back to the apartment to eat and have a bit of a rest.

Refreshed, we headed back out around 9pm and found Poechenellekelder.
Lively but easy-going atmosphere, excellent service and beer served with a little bit of ceremony.
Beers: Taras Boulba (yummy yum, yum). Kwak (nice but in a silly glass) and probably four more that I can't remember.

Sunday
Culture: Notre Dame de la Chapelle church. Quite restrained by Roman Catholic standards but has a completely OTT pulpit. Definitely worth a visit.

Parc de Bruxelles was a little sparse but would probably be a green oasis in the height of summer.

Musical Instrument Museum was fab - if you like musical instruments. Floor after floor of every instrument you can imagine and several you can't.
You get a set of headphones that pick up sound samples whilst you're walking around to illustrate the exhibits. Not perfect but a good idea.
Really enjoyable couple of hours spent and we didn't see everything. I can pretty much guarantee you'll never see so many accordians or bagpipes in any other place.

So it was time for more refreshment.

Toone is famous for its puppet theatre and should be notorious for its service. Not exactly hostile but definitely didn't get the impression they cared about whether we were there or not.

Beer: Hopus (tall glass and a shot glass for the bottoms to be added if you like). Very nice indeed - better with the bottoms added.

We decided to go to one of the many fishy restaurants in Rue des Bouchers. Sole and Monkfish were greedily eaten and washed down with Leffe (blonde for me, brune for him).

Thence to Delerium which our beer guide told us had 2000 beers to try.
We think it's changed set up since the book was written but it was a nice place.
No table service - but something like 30 beers on tap at the upstairs bar. Oh and a very tall bar.
Beers: Floris Fruit beer (possibly Kiwi flavoured?) very drinkable but not very beerish (pictured)
Guillotine: Dark but quite bitter.
There were a couple of others too...but their names escape me.

Upstairs bar was full of young trendy things and it was very noisy so we tried the downstairs one - this one had more people the same age as us but the crush was greater and the noise level higher.

Instead we escaped and went to Soleil which was just around the corner from our apartment. Very quiet and clearly a locals' bar. Nice place with the grooviest toilets you can imagine.

S had Rochefort which was dark, chewy and strong. Can't remember what I had.
We then had time for one quick closing - something draught, but I can't remember what.

Mionday
Our last day so a bit of an early start which was something of a shock.
A walk north following a trail of building-side cartoons which seem to be prevalent around the city.
The area is rather unloved and it's a shame they don't make anything of the canal but we did stumble on the interesting 1930's church of John the Baptist in Molenbeek.

A walk through the Marolles area with its antique shops and flea market ended with a trip to the utterly charming gueze museum/Cantillion Brewery.

Here we learned about real, traditional Lambic brewing methods. We were given a booklet and sent to amble around the working brewery learning about how it does its stuff.
After about an hour we were invited to sit in the bar and try their beers.

Gueze is not to everyone's taste - it's very acidic, almost cider-like in character. I wouldn't want to drink it every day but after three small glasses of it, my tastebuds had become accustomed.

Then it was time to head towards the station but time for a couple of glasses of "Palm" in a station bar.

The journey home was as smooth as the one out and before we knew it we were back in St Pancras.

In conclusion
A great place with many further possibilities.

I was wrong about Belgian beer - it's not all sweet, sickly and dark. There's probably a beer to suit everyone. I found loads to like.

Having a beer guide (in the person of S, and a copy of a CAMRA book) was extremely useful but it's not hard to work out how the various bars work if you pay attention - some are table service, others are bar service.

Making the effort with French (in most places) was rewarded with smiles and help.

One surprise was that smoking is still allowed in some bars - it might sway your choice of venue.

Go there! Drink beer.

Thanks, S

x

Campaign for pointless activities

L1002586 What's the point?
Originally uploaded by Lillput

I had the perfect morning, this morning.

I walked a couple of miles in the cold autumn sunshine and attended a meeting for ExtraVerte with TD at council offices in South Bristol.

The meeting was everything we could have asked for - upbeat, helpful, generating more potential contacts and an answer in the affirmative. After the meeting we repaired to a cafe to discuss the outcome of the meeting, next steps and to prepare a strategy for the project.

After that, TD noticed that the water level was low in the river so we strolled around taking pictures in the sunshine and, it has to be said, dropping stones and other small, heavy found objects into the gloopy mud. We both chuckled with childish satisfaction at the activity. We're middle-aged professional people, for goodness sake. What the hell are we playing at?

This has happened a few times recently.

I visited Hitchin a few weeks ago and on my walk into town from the train station I was horrified (yes, horrified is definitely the word) to see that under a horse chestnut tree was a pile of fallen conkers. In my day, a hoard like that was like finding gold. It was all you could do to stop us throwing sticks into trees to get conkers out of the trees so you'd never ever see that many shiny conkers just lying there on the ground.

There was something deep inside me that couldn't pass by...so I guiltily scooped a dozen or so up and popped them in my coat pocket.
I rediscovered them later when I was at S's house. So I gifted them to him. He chuckled and graciously accepted them and we both bemoaned the lack of conker competition today.
We never got around to playing conkers so he's either quietly thrown them away or they're still there in a pile on the side in the kitchen.

Last weekend I went for a walk with M and her kids. She has a son of 7 (pictured) and a daughter of 11. We passed a big pile of dry fallen leaves. Naturally I kicked them (yes, naturally...that's what dry leaves are for).
M eyed me with some horror..."there might be dog poo!". True enough. I hate poo as much as the next person, but the risk of finding it in a pile of leaves can't overcome my innate desire to kick leaves. The risk is worth it.
So her son, also M, and I kick leaves for the next few minutes.

When we get to the old dockside rail tracks M and I play on the tracks for a while. Balancing on the rails, jumping over sleepers, and then trying to move the points.
M's mum and sister leave us to it.

Why the hell do I think that playing on railway lines, kicking leaves, dropping stones into mud and scooping up conkers is a valuable activity for me, and for my friends?

Because for the short time we do them, our focus is entirely on the now. The now of simple pleasures.

There's time later to think about the fridge that seems to have developed a fault, the cooker element that blew at the weekend, the fact that the bathroom radiator no longer gives out any heat at all...and how the hell am I going to pay the bills if no bugger will pay me to pretty up the urban landscape.

For the next 20 minutes I can just concentrate on not falling off the railway track and into the stingers, scraging my knees on the way down.

After that, the other things seem less unmanagable because I've just given my brain a rest.

So go on...let your inner seven-year old out on loose for a bit and to hell with life's dog poo!


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Nostalgia readjustment

Lillput in Lilliput
Originally uploaded by Lillput

Firstly, you need to get over the picture, OK?

Yes, yes, the littlest one is me.

I have siblings who are a fair bit older than me - my brother is eight years' older, my sister eleven years' older.

Anyhow - this was the only vaguely relevant picture I have relating to the subject at hand. For what it's worth I'm thinking that this picture was taken in the mid-late 1960's.

It was my birthday this week and although I generally don't make that much of a fuss of it, other people do and my friend M said she'd like to take me out by way of a birthday gift. How lovely.

I asked her to take me to "Made in Dagenham".

It's a film about women working for Ford in Dagenham who fought for equal pay in the late sixties.

It's not the best film ever made, hell it's not even the best British film made in the last 10 years but I enjoyed it immensely.

The story isn't that hard to guess (most of it is a matter of record, after all) and in fact the story arc is something of a cliche and yet I found it totally compelling.

Maybe it was some of the opening footage of 1960's advertisements for cars, possibly it was the reconstruction of the world of my childhood.

The casual sexism was shocking and caused gasps in the audience. That was quite amusing in itself.

At one point in the film the heroine's husband tells her what a good husband he's been because he didn't drink excessively and had never raised his hand to her.

She rails at him and says that's how is should be. Of course she's right - she should be able to take decent treatment for granted.

Women should be able to take equal pay for equal work for granted.

Nevertheless, those of us women who have always been paid equally and have treated that as a right need to remember the women who who fought to make that true.


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Plus ça Change

First Time in about 25 years
Originally uploaded by Lillput

So, S invites me to take up a spare ticket for Brighton's home match.

I don't support any team of any sport. I have a dabbling kind of interest in major competitions under certain circumstances. Nevertheless, I started watching live football around the age of five.

After a whistle-stop tour of the town (I'd never been there before) and lunch at a good pub we head off to the ground.

The last time I'd actually been to a match was when Bristol City was in league division one (in today's money, that's the Premiership) and Brighton's current home ground is far state-of-the-art (that comes next season) but on walking through the ground to take up our seats, I got a powerful sense that despite a different team at a different ground, football matches are somehow a universal constant.

S had been a little concerned that I was attending out of politeness - he needn't have worried. I had a whale of a time.

The football wasn't the best in the world but there were moments of sheer elegance. There was plenty of action and three actual goals and about four nearly ones.

According to the home crowd, the referee was of questionable parentage and visually impaired at that. It was also asserted that he got his ya-yas at his own hand. I can't really comment on the veracity of any of these statements - but he did seem to make a few school girl errors. Then again, I had a better vantage point than him so maybe I should cut him some slack.

I'd been warned that the regulars in the seats behind would be vocal in their opinions throughout the match - and this was certainly the case. If only all these people's opinion on the best way to arrange the team, or to press home the advantage were taken - surely the resulting squad would be near-perfect proponents of the craft. No?

You can argue that it's a fairly low, tribalistic form of entertainment but I have to say that the enthusiasm of fans for their chosen team is quite infectious.

Best of all is to hear about five thousand people crying "Oooooh!" in unison, with no conductor or instruction but as a visceral reflex at a chance made but not converted.

I'm not about to start watching regularly again but it was brilliant to be reminded of what being at a live game is about.

It was also a lovely reminder that there are things in your life that are largely unchanged by time and that despite changes in rules, and in styles and in the length of shorts, the spectators of a football are one of those things.

Thanks S, thanks MP and thanks Seagulls - it was fun


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Seasonal Shift

IMG_0383 Seasonal Shift
Originally uploaded by Lillput

There's been a slight shift in the season.

Not enough to radically change things. Not enough to put the heating on.

Just enough to see me putting a jumper on from time to time.

A few days ago my winter coal delivery was made. Another waypoint in the year.

This evening I was supposed to be meeting friends in a pub in Bath. I was really looking forward to it - I haven't seen some of the guys for a couple of months and it was going to be nice to catch up over a pint or two...and maybe some camera talk.
But plans for tomorrow changed a bit during the day meaning I've got to be up super-early in the morning. Added to which I seem to have had a headache thing for four or five days and it's getting kinda annoying.

All in all, then, it's probably best to spend the evening in.

But the chill in the air is causing brisk draughts to fly around my Victorian house and it's one of those days when I just want to curl up somewhere cosy.

So, what's a gal to do? Light a fire, that's what.

It's more than warmth. It's glow and safety and comfort. It perfectly fits my slightly subdued mood.

I love the summer and I can still almost feel the warmth of sitting outside with a pint and a friend earlier in the year. But I'm relishing the move into autumn with its different light, its change in the colours outside.

In a couple of weeks when I hear the rain lashing on the window and I really don't want to run across to my garage to get some logs I might briefly yearn for sun and warmth and the ability to get by in a short sleeves, but the resulting fire will easily make up for the unpleasant 50 yard dash.

In short, the season I like best is the next one.


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Into the Known

L1002170 Leap
Originally uploaded by Lillput

So...it was crunch time.

I quit my paying job around nine months ago with about 12 months' bill-paying money in the bank.

It was decision time.

So - how has my foray into entrepreneurship been?

Well, I guess that all depends on how you measure it.

Just a recap (or possibly 'cap' if you're not aware of what it is that ExtraVerte do): We want to take empty pockets of land such as building sites that are lying idle and turn them temporarily into pleasant spaces for people to look at and be in. A simple enough dream.


Are TD and still speaking to each other? Yes.
We've had a few heated disagreements. Both of us have overstepped bounds but both of us have been big enough to apologise and move on.

Have we managed to do the things you need to do in order to get a company up and running? Yes. A few hiccoughs here and there, some work and rework on things like the website, but on the whole it was a mostly straight forward process (mind you we haven't done the end of year accounts or company return yet so I'll withhold final judgement).

Have we managed to get people to talk to us on the subject? Yes, eventually. It took quite a long time and quite a few emails but we are getting people to at least talk to us. We've spoken to a leading architecture practice, a large county council in the South East amongst others and we have meetings in the pipeline.
We've been quoted in a couple of trade publications and our website is getting an amount of traffic.

Have we managed to raise the profile of the subject out in the field? Difficult to be sure, but I'm pretty convinced we have. We're not the only people interested in the subject but we're probably one of the few practices that have given the subject and the issues around it quite so much thought.

Have we made any money yet? No.

This last one's a bit of a killer, really...because we both have bills to pay.

So it's bearing all this in mind I had to sit down and think about my next move. Go look for real work or speak to my bank, dig in and keep going.

Tricky

No one other than me has a stake in my financial security. So there's no permission to seek, no one whose life will be adversely affected by a change in my financial circumstances.

I have a couple of meetings with individuals who renew my faith in the idea and reinforce my original view that it's a good thing to do for the good of urban communities.
Both of them have passion for the idea of caring for people who are less fortunate than ourselves. One is a little older than me, the other is considerably younger - at the start of her working life.
I also read a report that has compelling evidence of the effect that access to green spaces has on those in poverty.

TD has a stake in my decision, of course - we co-own the company and share the workload but this isn't a decision it's fair to burden him with.

I've plenty of other friends who have been cheering me on from the sidelines - or helping where they can (thank you DM, GBH, M & S particularly for practical things you've done for us) but they can't help with this.

Where does this leave me? Single, and alone in the decision. Sad, huh?

Well, kind of, but then I realise that it's also a liberating force. There's only me who will be adversely affected if I make the wrong decision.

That realisation and letting go of a little more of the baggage of things past suddenly made things clear. It would be foolhardy to give up now...it would be a waste of everything we've done so far.

I'm going to stick with it.

I have to shuffle financial plans and I'm pretty sure my bank manager won't be thrilled at the prospect, especially as she's already acutely aware of my lack of interest in making money (for me or them) for its own sake.

I can also hear metaphorical rumblings from the 'beyond' and these are trickier to deal with than a pleasant lady in a smart suit, but that's all part of me growing up and moving on.

So, in the style of true project managers I've gone through a rigorous change management process, shifted dates and resources, turned the project back green again and am moving on with it.

It'll be up for another review this time next year.

So - has this all been a success?

I think I'd like to make my success crtieria for the last year about learning about the development and constuction industries; about understanding how the built environment affects profoundly those who interact with; about putting myself and TD in the line of fire with people who know more than we do and us holding our own.

Whaddya mean you can't change the objectives of a project after the event?

I'm a project manager, and I think you'll find I just did.



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Toast as a Statement of Gender

DSC_4488 Well?
Originally uploaded by Lillput

If you've read earlier blog entries here...or if you know me at all, you'll know that I find gender difference quite interesting.

For those who don't know me, and can't be arsed to read the rest of the blog I'll summarise...

I'm a straight, cisgendered, middle-class (there, I've admitted it), widowed, white woman in my mid-forties.
However, I'm bookish, geeky, prefer bitter beer to white wine, don't own a handbag, or a pair of heels. As DrC would summarise I'm "not very girlie".

Because I work from home I frequently hear Radio Four's Crackpot Hour...sorry, Woman's Hour and slices from the Today Programme - together with whatever's on between 9am and 10am.

Frequently these programmes cause me to grumble at the radio (but not turn it off because ranting's far too much fun).

Anyhow, one day this week the delicious Stephen Fry was doing an English Language programme and although I didn't hear most of it, I know that gender-specific language was mooted.

Then Crackpot Woman's Hour talked for a while about the plasticity of gender without making any real point. In irritation levels, this was beaten only by the ariticle they did last week about women and Real Ale (oh, please...don't get me started again).

Today the age-old accusation of women earning less than men was touched on in the Today Programme with shoddy reasoning, muttering and "it's so unfair" by the interviewee. It may be true but you need to make your point without whining and with some, you know FACTS!

Anyhow, as I was making my toast this morning I realised there's an untapped research piece for someone to do...

It's about gender vs toast colour.

Me? I like mine a delicious blonde colour, please. Or as the late, much missed, Idiot Boy was wont to call it "warm bread". Yes, that's right...just wave it for a while in the general direction of the toaster and that'll be lovely.

Idiot Boy, on the other hand was of the "If it isn't black it's not done yet" school. I thought it was a Northern thing but long term friend and neighbour MrB-H likes his toast similarly whereas MrsB-H likes hers like mine. Hmmm...

The reason this came to mind was watching TD get excited at the prospect of the hotel having a "make your own toast" machine so that he could toast his twice to get the desired amount of brown. When having lunch at my place a while ago, he swapped my over-dark toast for the blonde bit I'd given him.

On holiday S declared he liked his mid-brown.

So, in my limited experience I see patterns emerging. In the continuum of toast brown-ness would we see guys generally on the browner end of the spectrum?

Will it make a difference if the people we surveyed were gay, black, lesbian, tall, trans, straight, working class, or had degrees?

I think the good people in Radio Four land need to know so that they can make fatuous statements about how important it is to preserve a person's God-given right to toast of the right colour.

I'm sure there's got to be Crackpot Hour slot in here somewhere, don't you?




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Do not go gently

L1002313 sq

Oh look, a big gap in my blog again.

Reflective of busy times - for both work and leisure.

This picture was from the highlight of the last couple of months - a holiday in Norfolk with a friend, S.

It was one of the many, many new things I have experienced of late...I feel a list coming on (and in case you were wondering, there's no significance to the order of these things)



1. North Norfolk coast as holiday destination. Fantastic: great light a lot of the time; relatively quiet; and in good company even a 10km walk in the rain is fun.

2. Beer festival on a railway station. Ours was in Sheringham. There are others around the country - including Minehead, I believe. If you like beer and don't hate trains then do it.

3. Adobe InDesign. I don't really like giving a company that has caused me so much grief in the past the air of publicity but I have to say InDesign is a nifty piece of software. Shhh...don't tell them I said that. However, their policy of making you pay more for downloading rather than getting a DVD of the software sucks big-time.

4. Kent and the Medway. A meeting for our company saw TD and I hacking our way east to visit the area around Maidstone. I'm still trying not to take the 4am hotel fire alarm, and the roundabout that employs at least three extra space-time dimensions to confuse the unwitting traveller too personally. Actually, I think I could like the county - I hope we get some work there to ensure we have to go back.

5. Marsh samphire. The trendy foodstuff du jour. Looks unprepossessing, tastes rather nice.

6. s215 of the Town and County Planning Act (1990). Could be useful in our work, if we can get local authorities to use it.

7. The Ting Tings and The Go! Team. Music that I'm surprised I like - but I do.

8. Andy Serkis as Ian Dury in Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll. Utterly convincing.

9. Cribbage. This isn't actually new to me, having learned it as a kid and I remembered loving it. TD re-taught me over a couple of beers on our Kent trip. Best card game for two players.

10. Thornbridge Jaipur IPA. I've only had one pint of this but I've been trying to track it down on draught since. Stupidly strong but doesn't taste like it is. Falling-over water of the most lovely kind.

More new things in forthcoming months, please...



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Life is...

DSC_6864 Life is
Originally uploaded by Lillput

More new things, more memories. Some ups, some downs...

So, just a typical couple of weeks for this gal, then.

TD and I improving our meeting techniques. More people open to listen to us.

Another gig. This time "Mostly Comedy" at the George in Hitchin. A little rough in places but featuring Spandex Ballet and James Acaster amongst others. Venue was far from plush but the company was good and the atmosphere was friendly and warm.

A visit to the Henry Moore exhibition at Tate Britain; a lack lustre football performance against Algeria watched in a crowded pub with a friend and some good beer.

Another city visit to Liverpool and some time to sit and ponder things in the Metropolitan Cathedral. A display in the foyer listed the names of ordinands from the English College in Rome (Idiot Boy studied there) and it brought a little lump to my throat.

I also had to do a fair bit of thinking about what I want from life - not something I've really ever done. I didn't actually come to any real conclusions but I guess sometimes it's something we all have to consider.

Then the neighbours and some old friends came round to share a bottle of Penfolds Grange that was bought as a gift a couple of years ago - and we toasted to the absent friend and shared silly stories. Another tough thing to do but the wine and company were both perfect for the occasion and on the whole memories were positive ones.

More excrutiating football at the pub...this time initially on my own and then joined by DrC and CW. The football was bad, the exchange of messages with S was smile-inducing and the company was excellent.

Then today a chance amble down the garden revealed the extent of the fruit of the cherry trees' labours.
The trees were a joint project and have been largely ignored along with the rest of the jungle garden as my inclination to work there on my own evaporated along with other aspects of my life.
The last few years have seen a small quantity of fruit form and ripen, only to be snaffled by the abundant blackbirds.
The other day, whilst sitting on the back step and chatting to TD I noticed a blackbird taking a lot of interest in the tree - he mocked me for being so easily distracted but it was that thought today that sent me down there.
The older of the two trees was groaning with just about ripe fruit...a couple more days and the rest will be perfect but I picked a few to be going on with.
The boy would have been delighted with the fruity haul - I bought him a cherry stoner a long time ago when he acquired a taste for the fuit - and I stoned a bowlful for my dessert this evening.

Good times, poignant memories...



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Musical Youth?

So...Sunday sees me having to be in London for an early-starting conference the next day.

S lives tolerably close to the Big Smoke so he consented to keep me entertained.

We had a good wander up the canal, then into Regent's Park. Thence to Camden and the markets, therein.

Most of them were selling t-shirts whose slogans would get old pretty quick but there was plenty there to induce smiles.

Naturally, we then found ourselves in a pub with decent beer (Deuchars IPA on draught, for anyone who's interested) and we sat and nattered in the sun, as is our wont.

Then more walking around the market to slightly more varied and interesting stalls (old pianos, old vinyl, a school desk full of cheap and cheerful film cameras) and then we decieded to get something to eat.

The old Horse Hospital part of the market has a stunning array of food stalls. Every style of cooking, from every continent and all housed in a series of what amounts to wooden sheds.

In the centre of the area are sturdy tables and benches for communal eating.

If you examine what was there it has the same components as the typical food plaza in a mall and yet I would rather have my left arm pulled off than eat in a mall.

One foil container of chickpea curry and rice, and another of chicken curry and rice cost us less than a tenner and left us feeling full. So we sat amongst the varied array of people and had what was the just about the nicest eating-out experience I've had in a while (OK, Zazu comes about equal).

How can malls get this thing so wrong? Or is it about the clientele? Or was it just my frame of mind? Who knows...all I can say is next time you're deciding where to eat in London, seriously consider visiting Camden.

After eating, and wandering a bit more we decided on an impromptu gig visit at the adjoining Proud venue. We were both miffed to find that, not only was there no real beer on offer, but the wine was marked up to rates that approached daylight robbery. Still the gig was, in fact, free so maybe we should have taken that on the chin.

What a fantastically quirky venue!

Horse stables have been turned into small lounge areas all in different styles and the main "hall" is a decent size with a small stage.

From our chosen stable we could hear the various acts doing their thing. Mostly they were fine, but not mind-blowing but then we went in to hear the "main" act...Tim Ten Yen.

A revelation.

This is not music I would normally be willing to listen to and yet his natural charm and fine-line treading between taking it seriously and being a total parody of...something...was utterly captivating.

I put it down to the liquor and the convivial company and almost wrote it off.

Then S sent me a link to his MySpace page and by early this afternoon I'd bought the album from iTunes.

Another revelation, then...taking a flyer on music you've never heard of can sometimes pay off.

OK - there are hardened gig-goers reading this and saying "well, like, duh..." but the last gig I went to was Nitin Sawhney and I was willing to put up with having to stand because I knew his music. Before that it was David Byrne and there were comfy seats, too.

I fully expect the next gig I go to will be rubbish, but I know that there are gems out there to be had so the only question is "where next?"


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I couldn't possibly do that!

Most of my family comment that I've changed.

It's not surprising, really, we all change over time and then we get shaped by events that happen to us.

So they're probably right, I probably have changed.


I still feel the same (about 17 and geekily awkward and not fully at ease with myself) but I know the evidence is there...on the outside to anyone who has known me for more than a couple of years.

However, bits of the "old" me are now popping up again. The one who likes to fiddle with bits of code to get things to work; the one who will sit and play piano, guitar or cello for a while just because I feel like it. To be honest, I'd almost forgotten that those parts of me ever existed. There are other things too. It's come as a bit of a surprise.

Also a surprise was my apparent willingness, and ability to pull off something TD has been worried about: my credibility as someone in the landscape/architecture industry.

A visit to stay with S turned from all social to a mix of social and business when we attended a public meeting on a proposed development in the town.

Not only was I happy to put myself in someone's face to talk about the development in quite forthright terms (that's new me, that is) but after about five minutes of talking the chap I was speaking to said "you're in the business, aren't you?". This was repeated with the other two people I launched myself at. Phew.

Since then I've attended a networking breakfast and I'm about to go to a sustainability conference which means travelling up to London and staying there overnight. Old me would have been terrified at the prospect and, given the choice, would have just avoided it but I'm not even really thinking about it.

I guess the oddest thing is that I'm not really doing this consciously. It's instinctive.

I've still no idea where I'm going and I'm generally not looking more than a couple of weeks ahead but I'm feeling more in control and more able to deal with the slings and arrows of....well, whatever, really.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this is "good" or "right" I'm saying this is how it is for me at the moment. Maybe it's a facet of my age and situation. Maybe enough things have happened to me and those I love...good things as well as bad...that truly make me believe that you might as well get on with the now because you really don't know what's around the corner.

Then again...maybe it's just a phase I'm going though.



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Secret Smiles

So today I notice several people out walkingwho were smiling.

They're not smiling at the other people they're walking with, or other people in the street.

They're smiling secretly at a virtual something-or-other.

A text, an email or a song on their iPod...I have no idea...but their smile makes me smile.

I spend a fair bit of time on my own these days but am usually in touch with friends electronically. I realised that I spend a fair time with a secret smile on my face too. Sometimes out and about, other times at home quietly in the house.

So what made me smile today?

A series of tweets with the hashtag "#lesserfilms". My favourite being "Breakfast at Ratners" from DM.

Some of the lyrics from "God Shuffled His Feet" by the Crash Test Dummies - " ...that a parable or a very subtle joke..."

That my downstairs loo and utility doors now have beautifully fitted door catches and handles

Making a cake and it looking like it was supposed to

Seeing that loads of people had valiently tried to put their rubbish in the bins on Castle Green and when they couldn't, they stacked their trash neatly next to the bin.

Seeing a fig tree that has planted itself in a wall in the harbour in full leaf and with loads of fruit.

The smell of wallflowers.

Learning that TD may have got some temporary work to tide him over.

A text saying "...tweets and photons..."

Drinking beer with ex-colleagues.

The prospect of a sunny weekend away with a pal

Listening to Ian Dury singing "Reasons To Be Cheerful Pt3" which is full of the most mundane things imaginable and hearing that "Cheddar cheese and pickle " with "Vincent Motorsickle" are set as rhymes.

This is not an entreaty to look on the bright side, or some worthy "aren't we lucky" thing...what I'm saying is that should you see me in the street with headphones on, perhaps reading a text message and grinning goofily..I'm probably not ready to be sectioned...I'm just enjoying something.

Hope you do too...



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Re-awakened

Time was (back in the early cretaceous) I was quite politically aware and interested.

Rampant socialist, having been influenced by my much-loved aunt.

I was also influenced by some of the General Studies lessons we had when I was in the sixth form at school.

A visit by the three major parties to talk to us had its effect...although I only remembered Dawn Primarolo - but that's at least in part because she was a Tony Benn protégé and in part because she was married to a teacher a the school.

My antipathy to proportional representation definitely dates from that time.

But once I settled down with Idiot Boy, my interest in politics took a back seat. I don't really know why. I still believed in the socialist ideal. I still voted (generally Labour but drifting towards Lib-Dem as New Labour drited rightwards) but I didn't actually take an interest.

This election has been different.

I enjoyed the leadership debates not for the rhetoric - none of them said much of interest - but for the interesting debate it sparked amongst my firends via Twitter and with other friends in person, by email, by text message...whatever.

For the first time I can remember, I actually looked forward to listening to the results coming in.

Obviously it wasn't going to be a good result for my political preferences...but I was wholly taken aback at the rage I felt when I picked up a text message from S during the interval at the theatre. "We have a new PM...".

I was so upset, that when I got to ma's on Wednesday I had to ask her to turn off the TV news and stop her when she started talking about immigration policy.

Now there's just a dull annoyance and an uncomfortable feeling that whilst the regime for the last few years hasn't been entirely to my taste, there may be tough times ahead for anyone who isn't white, middle-class (or more), straight, married or possibly even a man.

They're right "May you live in interesting times..." is a curse....



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Plans and Expectations

A while ago now (more than a year, in fact) I blogged on the subject of life plans.

There's been a fair bit of soul-searching - no, wait, that sounds far too dramatic and angst-wridden...errrr...'musing' probably fits the bill a little better - on this subject of late.

Since I wrote that blog-post my life has changed yet again. This time entirely my doing.

These days, instead of bickering about whether The Fall are a work of genius or of a misreable and derranged mind, TD and I are far more likely to exchange our daily emails on the subject of our company's literature and website.

I've learned a little about XHTML and CSS and too little about Javascript.

Even compared with this time last year, I'm far less likely to be freaked out by having to meet someone, for business or pleasure, for the first time - I've done it so much that I can sometimes kid myself I'm even getting good at it (I'm not, of course, but my fakery is getting more convincing)

I can talk about s106 agreements, stormwater drainage attenuation and the implications for property owners willing to let an arts organization use their empty shop for a while. What's more, I can almost sound convincing about it...well, if you don't listen too hard and if you squint a bit.

I honestly think that the work TD and I are doing is important and engaging and is an idea coming of its time. Even if we get no work from it, the idea was visionary and something to be proud of. So we plug away with developers and authorities and with the media to try and make the urban environment more pleasant and inclusive.

I have about another 9 months before I seriously have to be making enough money to pay my bills. It would also be nice to splurge on something frivilous, too (a new lens for my Leica, or a skeletal cello, perhaps), but that's very low down in the list of Important Things.

So I might sound like a 'woman with a plan' again. Actually, no.

The last plan I had was wholly derailed by something over which I had no control. So I'm loathe to shape my life expectations to things that can be so easily fucked-over.

My nature is to be a shaper of things, not a visionary. This is why the TD/me combo works so well. Well, I think it does - you'd have to ask TD if he felt the same.

My nature is also to be an analyst and to pick apart who said what and who did what and what that might mean for whatever...thus you'd think I'd have a very clear idea of what I want from work, life and for everything else.

Again, no.

I'm relaxing into the idea that whilst sometimes having very clear ideas of what you want from life can give you something to strive for - possibly even to live for - that not having a pre-supposition can be kinda fun.

Everything from watching a pal chuckle like a kid because he's found that the points on an old railway line still work, from having a spontaneous coffee or beer with a mate you've not seen for a while and just catching up; to playing with the two-year old daughter of a friend for whom the future is the next 25 seconds can be pleasures in and of themselves.

I'm still uncomfortable when I don't have a reasonable idea of what's going on with stuff (and to be honest, that's usually people-stuff)...but instead of instantly trying to nail it down or bend it to my will, I'm much more likely to shrug and go with it for a bit.

Don't think, for a minute, that I'm now 100% satisfied with my life. There are things I love about my living on my own and things I hate. I enjoy being time rich...whilst being cash poorer has taken some adaptation. I relish the flexibility that comes with working for my own company - but there are challenges in not having "staff who do that" that need to be faced.

I think the most important lesson in the last few years has been that opening yourself to possibilities that are not too closely tied to convention is as scary as a gigantic house-spider but a hell of a way to have fun.



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Old Haunts

Hasn't it ever been the eventful week?



A long conversation with M early in the week has us conspiring to find ways to make her feel better. We're trying a daily email in which she tells me three ways in which the day just finished doesn't completely suck. She thinks it'll be very hard and yet every day this week she has found the required three things. I love seeing her list because she's finding pleasure in relatively small things - and I think that's important.

Then lino was fitted in the downstairs hallway. This is a good thing, isn't it? Well, yes but Tuesday night still finds me in a metaphorical crumpled heap sobbing in a way I haven't for a couple of years. I mean, WTF?

Yesterday I travel to Leeds for the day so that my cousin and her daughter can see the university. It's Idiot Boy's Alma Mater and I think it'll be nice to reacquaint myself with the place. Oh how wrong can I be?

The city itself stirred up enough ghosts and then a visit to the students' union pretty much did for me, since it hasn't changed one iota in the 24 years since I went there on our "first date" to see George Melly.

A telephone message from my elderly ma saying she's got to have more medical treatment than expected was just about the seal on things for the suckiest day for a while...

Then an exchange of text messages with a pal has me weeping...this time with tears of laughter. The memory of it this morning made me wake with a daft grin on my face, having slept exceptionally well.

So with mood much improved I let the lino guy back in to finish the job - now the lino's all good. No reservations.

Seeing TD get stuck enthusiastically into our latest website rewrite and sound upbeat is uplifting in itself.

The icing on the cake is going to help some friends hang an exhibition and playing silly games with my friend's two-year old daughter, C.

It's funny how relatively small things serve to cheer so much in the face of something that yesterday seemed insurmountable.

So thank you TD for continuing to inpsire, thanks M for sharing with me the good things, thanks C for giggling and greeting me with such enthusiasm today...and thanks to S and your silly new phone.

x



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Are we nearly there yet?

Three years on.




This song has been buzzing in my head for a few days now. One of my favourite singers. A little gloomy sounding, maybe, but with a sense of hope.


Sometimes it takes a while to realise that the journey's as important as the destination.

My 'just another day' three years ago sucked. Big time.

Today so far I've had a relaxed, pleasant time over coffee and breakfast with friends, a walk in the sunshine, emails and text messages from friends. Today is shaping up to be a good day.

Tomorrow should be fun and the rest of the week ought to be quite busy but hopeful for our new company.

Even if the unplanned happens I'll deal with it and move on. Apparently, I've gotten quite good at that now.

I couldn't have done it without the upbringing I had which was of the "I cried and cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet" school of philosophy.

I couldn't have done with without family and existing friends who provided support, encouragement and practical help.

I couldn't have done it without new friends who mix with old friends and my family seamlessly.

Looking over my shoulder I'm amazed at what's happened in three years - and yet all the time it was happening I was just trying to get on with stuff. The journey has been harrowing and fun in roughly equal measures and I had no choice in the starting point.

I have a choice in the destination but I don't know what it is yet...maybe I'll keep going for a bit and decide later. Maybe something will waylay me and slow the journey down - I dunno.

"Let me know when we get there - if we get there"



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Inappropriate Laughter

So...we're having a conversation over a Lego limo, a couple of pints and some nice food.

There were some comments about the photographic possibilities of said limo...and let's just say some people would have found our conversation in somewhat poor taste.

I am at one with the friends I'm giggling with...even though part of me knows it's all a bit naughty, really.

On Saturday I meet up with a pal in Birmingham - that's his leg you can see in the picture - he falls into the category of people I've labelled as "Felt like an old friend from the moment we met"...I'm hoping for a nattier title but that pretty much encapsulates it.

There are quite a few people in this group and I simply love spending time with them. Whether it's drinking coffee or beer, eating a burger or gathered round my dining table over a big pot of "slop". Time flies, silences are not awkward laughs are many and, most crucially, the humour is dark but not cruel.

On Saturday I agree with my pal that life cannot be taken seriously. Other people's lives ought to be - so designing a roller-coaster cannot be done in haphazard fashion - but life in general...largely ludicrous.
I like conversations like this - it reassures me that my snap decision to put my friend in "The Category" was a sound one.

On Sunday I spend part of the day with another friend and her daughter walking in the sunshine, playing in the park whilst dad did other stuff back at my house. I've not known L for very long either - in fact I've met her precisely three times and yet, the few hours we spend together are relaxed, comfortable and fun (for me, at any rate...and I do hope she had fun too).

Later that day I meet up with M for a walk, some photos and a drink. We discuss tragic stories, political correctness, social exclusion on the grounds of colour or sexual orientation and all the time giggle like naughty school kids. We are comfortable in our giggling.

I had the most lovely weekend - with people of whom I'm immensely fond - none of whom I've known for more than a relatively short time.

So - what about the people who don't get labelled like this?

Hmmmm... there are a whole load of people who I'm happy to spend a bit of time with but whose company I don't necessarily desperately crave. This is quite a big group of nice, decent OK kinda people.

But I have to admit there are just a very few (that is, probably less than 10) people I've ever met who I've pretty much hated on sight...or shortly after. I'm not proud of this but, even when I've tried to overcome my apparent irrational dislike and made a bit more effort, my feelings have only been reinforced. I have no doubt that the feeling are largely mutual.

Once, someone asked me why I had made such a snap decision to dislike someone...to be honest, it's because it saves time.

Life is short. Life is ludicrous. I want to spend more of my time with the people who I can label FLAOFFTMWM and less that would be labelled considerably less charitably.



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90% Perspiration

If you've read earlier postings of this blog then you'll know that a TD and I started a company a couple of months ago and it's kinda hard going.

We knew it would never be easy but we've been a little bit disasppointed at the lack of engagement in the idea by local authority bodies whose brief we will be contributing to.

Nevertheless we press on in the hope we can start to spark some interest around us.

The chance of maybe setting up a relatively small project cropped up last week and so I arranged a meeting with someone I've known for a while and to whom I pretty much knew the idea would appeal.

June runs the Pierian Centre in Portland Square. She bought the house, rennovated it and runs it as a centre for learning and support for all sorts of people and things. As well as her time and energy June has poured an awful lot of her own money into the project - a real case of putting her money where her mouth is.

The last conversation I had with June was very much along the lines of "times is 'ard" but with continuing financial support from her the centre carries on.

Today she smiles and tells me that it's not free and clear yet by a long way but things have improved a little.

It would be easy to dismiss June and the centre as bleeding heart liberal, tree huggy nonsense but it would be grossly unfair.

Yeah, there are classes and groups who meet at the centre who would have me running for the hills but the core work of the centre is about social inclusion, support and true equality.

We talk for ages about how things are going there, how far along the plans for Bristol to become a City of Sanctuary are, griping about things political and then she asks me to explain what ExtraVerte want to do.

Then I tell her that she was, in many ways, the catalyst for me leaving work. It was a conversation with her at the back end of 2009 that made me realise that job security may not be everything. She looks a little surprised and then we both agreed that it would be far better going to our graves regretting some of things we did than thinking "I wish I'd tried to...".

We also talked about political correctness and how we hate it and how we got annoyed at tokenism.

We moved on to talk about the project I wanted to work on and she gave it her wholehearted support and offered some practical help too.

Then she annouced that later in the week she would be having dinner with two people who would be extremely useful contacts for me and she'd chat to them about ExtraVerte and our aims. This is more than I could have hoped.

She asked if I would go and take some photographs at a forthcoming event - that is, in fact, how I met June - providing volunteer photographers for her events. I happily agree.

I leave the place after a couple of hours completely re-energised, with faith that all things could be possible.

This morning, I realise that June reminds me of my favourite aunt. She was a devout christian who spent her whole life working for the benefit of the community she lived in - from serving on the PCC, fostering difficult children, running Sunday School and Guides, doing the flowers in the church, and, and...

All the while, she did so with a twinkle in her eye and without a shred of piety or political correctness.

She had me volunteering to play my guitar and sing at the church - something I still do from time time - she suggested I look after the church choir until a permanent replacement could be found.

All the while she knew I was an atheist, living in sin with a lapsed catholic (and ex trainee priest) and she cared not a jot.

In a conversation I had with CJ a while ago I said that the "church" was a force for good, in general, because it inspired people to do good things. He countered that these things could happen without the chuch.

June and her centre are proof of that...although a lot of work she gets involved in also features a lot of input from local faith communities. In any case, the work they do is vital to the health of our City.

I say give three cheers, and if you can manage it, a bit of support to organizations that work quietly in the background doing real things for people who are less fortunate than the rest of us.

Surely an example to everyone...


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Oh, so that's what networking is about

I guess I'm returning to the theme of celebration of "the internet" or rather communications technology.

Once again the other day I heard the accusation of people who surf the internet a lot are less well balanced than the rest of the population, suffering as they do from greater levels of depression.

It's entirely possible that the study to which the news was referring was perfectly well carried out and a proper causal analysis done but the bite sized media story was, once again that "the internet is a bad thing".

Actually looking at the story on an NHS website they are taking a more considered, complex view.

However, it does all bring a wry smile to my face. I can't say that the internet and associated technologies were exactly a lifesaver after "Idiot Boy" decided to take his leave of this world, but the people I met via various means on the internet since that time have very literally made my life worth living again.

The picture at the top here shows four of my very dear friends. Were it not for the internet, it is extremely unlikely I would have met any of them. What a shame that would be.

But this is a vague point that I've made before. However, this week has been the epitome of seamless integration of my "real" life with my life on line...and the gossamer thin veil that separates them.

So let me examine the three weekdays this week so far:

Monday: I wake late and check my email on my iPhone. I reply to a couple of the mails - they're mostly catching up kind of things but one is important. It's from my business partner, TD.
He's telling me that his internet connection has been on the blink but he's back on line now and if there is any rework to do on the handouts we're giving to potential clients at a meeting in the afternoon he's now awake, connected and good to go.

I met TD via the photo-sharing website Flickr. We commented on photographs, chatted by email and eventually met for lunch because at the time we were working at nearby offices.

We have been pals for a while and last year we decided to set up a business together. That business is mostly done electronically - from geographical information on maps, to technical research to information about planning regulations. We work in our respective homes mostly keeping in touch by email...although there is the occasional phone call.

We're sharing files via an internet filesharing and synching service. It makes collaboration relatively pain free without having to invest in an office to share and dedicated hardware for the job.

We complete our papers and I do a rare print job so we have something to present to our prospective clients.

We agree to meet in Bath and both have mobile phones to contact each other if there are problems.

I pick up further emails on my train journey and read up on some aspects of our work by using my mobile's RSS feed reader.

I also "tweet" and read people's tweets to me wishing us luck for our meeting.

On my journey home I read and send more emails.

My evening was a typical one of some surfing - work related and other things - some chatting to a friend on Facebook and reassuring her I'll meet her to go and fix her computer and set up a network in her house.

I read the comments friends and family have made on photographs of my niece's wedding at the weekend.

There is a lot of general "keeping in touch".

Tuesday: I wake up late again. Check my emails and find that TD has done the job he promised and the file is waiting in our shared space ready for me to email to yesterday's meeting attenders.

This spurs me to get up and start work.

All morning I'm keeping in touch with a number of people - by text, email, twitter, and various networking sites.

In the afternoon I go to Keynsham to meet up (separately) with two friends. I check the bus times on the web.

Both these friends are people I met in real life - one a school friend, the other a work friend.

On my walk to the bus station, I see a site we'd been interested in and see that it is being built upon. I take a picture and email it to TD. We can cross this off our lists.

I use the GPS and mapping facility on my phone to guide me to get off at the appropriate bus stop - I don't know that side of Keynsham very well.

Again, I read my RSS feed on the bus and find some useful articles that I email directly to TD to take a look at.

I have a pleasant, largely technology-free, couple of hours with my friend and we catch up. When it's time to leave she offers me a lift to my rendezvous with my other friend. She fears I can't find my way there unaided.

But I am aided - my phone guides me easily to my destination.

I then spend the afternoon an evening installing stuff, setting up networks etc, mostly so my "non geeky" friend, M, can do her social networking in her lounge of an evening.

When I fail to get her PC working I check the internet on my phone to find some technical fact out...then I work on plan B.

A couple of times, a friend had phoned but I was tied up so vowed to contact him later.

After a lift home I catch up with firends (all met via the internet) by email, text, twitter and facebook. Some of the catching up involves gently affectionate mockery...much as you get when you know a group of friends quite well.

I text the friend, MR, who'd been tryiung to get hold of me, apologising for my lack of availability.

Wednesday: I am woken by the arrival of a text message. It tells me the BBC has a news story that should be of interest to me, professionally. It's from DM - I'm planning to meet him for lunch, later.

Ten minutes later another text arrives - from my cousin - she's seen the same news report and thinks I'll be interested in it.

I email TD and ask him to investigate whilst I prepare an email approach to another potential client.

Then I get up and dressed, make my coffee and start work.

More emails, lots of research (on the internet), some sleuthing (by TD, not me).

Then I leave to meet DM. Before he arrives MR phones me to tell me that the evening before he'd attended a meeting that might well be of interest to me. He's right - it is. We vow to meet and have coffee and a catch up later in the week.

I lunch with DM and he gives me some information and we chat about stuff in his professional capacity which is related to mine - and we talk about an exhibition we're putting on.

All the time I'm out emails are arriving including one from another old friend who passes on a mail for something that I ought to investigate for work.

I'm amazed that so many leads have come through today. I'm also touched that my friends think to pass on this information to me - and persist so much to do so.

This evening I've been maintaining friendships by email, comments, Twitter, Flickr and text message. It's all really low effort stuff but enough to maintain the bonds and to know the stuff that's going on with people.

So - there's my week so far.

Dominated by the internet and associated technology.

I'll come back to an earlier point. I would never consider myself to be a "people person". I don't natually seek people out or engage in Networking activities and yet my life is full of people of people I have met by that very means. Not only that - I actively seek their company.

I'm even considering going to networking breakfasts to extend that.

The world at large can conclude nothing from one woman's steady change from inward looking, isolated geek to willing Social Networker and entrepreneur.

Idiot Boy would not recognise this woman - after all, with him around I really didn't want or need anyone else, for the most part.

Yes I made all this happen by "putting myself out there" but it is the internet as medium for communication that has been the means to make all this happen.

So I say "Yay" for people
I say "Yay" for the internet
and I say "Boo" to people who don't understand the medium properly who blame it for everything.



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The Usualness of Unusualness

A long time ago (I was about 16 at the time, so practically aeons ago, in fact) I was the only one amongst my regular group of friends with both parents married to each other.

My ma said "I expect you're glad that you're the only one with a normal family".

Being something of a pedant, even then, I pointed out that it might be considered to be more "normal" to be a child of divorced parents, since the numbers kinda stacked up that way.

My ma took comfort from the idea of "normal"...I didn't.

It's been dawning on me that my circle of friends, as it has widened, has become less "normal" (by my ma's definition, not mine) and as my range of companions has become more diverse, I have felt more at ease with myself.

As I've met more people I've stopped worrying whether or not they'll think I'm a bit odd for being bookish, geeky, lacking the housework gene and refusing to wear grown up shoes. Don't get me wrong, some people I meet undoubtedly think I am odd...it just doesn't really bother me any more.

At the zoo the other day, one of the most well balanced, sanest, funniest people I've met tells me how they'd had a troubled teenage. "How come?" I ask... "Small village. Gay" V replies, in a matter of fact way.

I have to admit I'd almost forgotten that being gay was anything other than reasonably usual - yeah, I'm straight, but so many of my friends aren't that I barely notice it any more. It brings me up short.

Then I realise that's exactly what I like about the people I spend time with. Diversity.

In interests, in skills, in living circumstances, in sexuality, gender and gender identity, in age and size, in background in occupation...

How could I fail to be comfortable with this lovely bunch of folk who only ask me to turn up and be me?

How lucky am I?


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Pointing at the Glass Ceiling

So - I'm now an unemployed person...or, officially, a self-employed person.



I've spent the last couple of weeks regrouping and with my business partner, TD, sorting out the legalities of our company.



We have a lot of hard work to do to get our potential clients to learn about us and to take us sufficiently seriously to actually employ us.

It's gratifying that everyone I've explained the idea to - from the bank, to friends, to a Businesslink advsor - thinks it a wonderful plan. But these are not the people we need to convince.

Fortunately, 50% of the company directors has a lot of experience in the industry. The other 50% is less well endowed with knowledge of architecture, landscaping and construction.

The other slight disadvantage I have is, let's not put too fine a point on it, that I'm a woman.

Back in the day (in the late 80's) I was full of rage with how badly women were treated in the workplace. Insurance wasn't the most sexist industry to be in but even so the number of women in senior management jobs was vanishingly small.

As I moved away from the operations side of things towards working with IT folk it became more noticeable that it was hard to be taken as seriously as my male colleagues.

It's a simple fact that there are fewer women working in IT disciplines than there are men. It was the same at school and in my studies for my degree. I can't opine, with any authority, as to whether it's nature or nurture.

What I can say is that in my relatively limited experience that women in IT management-type roles tend to play one of two parts. They either get down and dirty with the boys or they turn into bitch-queen and shriek their staff into submission.

I'm a down and dirty kinda gal. I mean, I've been a geek my entire life. Nevertheless, you are received with a mixture of suspicion and patronizing tones, quite often.

Towards the end of my career in insurance, I totally forgot that there had ever been a time when I wasn't respected by my male colleagues for my ability and knowledge. I could walk into a meeting and be taken seriously.

BW is a network engineer. He says that women have to be at least twice as good to be taken seriously in the industry. It makes him angry. BW is a rarety, I believe.

I can't imagine that the industry I'm moving into that I'll have an easier time of persuading the some of the men I'll have to work with that I've anything to contribute. I will have to work damned hard to get enough understanding and technical knowledge to bridge my credibility gap.

I fully expect to have to be at least twice as good as I would need to be if I didn't wear a bra...

So I could bleat on about it. I could rage against the injustice. Or I can just suck it up and prove that women can perform well in these sorts of jobs.

Maybe the more of us do that and the fewer of us whine on "Woman's Hour" about how hard life is, the quicker it'll be the norm to take us seriously.

Wish me luck, eh?

Oh, and wish TD luck - he's got the job of educating me sufficiently to not let him down.

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