Kathryn Ashcroft - The Thursday Column

A column

Thu, 24 May 2012 21:05:51 +0000

I’ve deleted one post as it merely served to out myself further as a horrific snob. My neighbours on one side are nice enough but well... they’re just that bit noisy, that bit slack with regards to training their dogs or paying attention to their child.

The Olympic Torch passed through Gloucester this morning but I missed it in favour of attending my networking breakfast. I did get a bit excited that my youngest stepson brought home a torch he’d made at nursery. That was pretty cool.

I’m pretty occupied with the copywriting agency I’ve started and have been talking to accountants and business bank managers and a computer type person who can do something with servers. I’ve written a business plan and non-disclosure contracts and about a million emails. All of which leaves me a little empty on the creativity front.

I’m finding it hard to schedule time for my column as it feels in competition with other urgent stuff. Tomorrow I’m visiting a venue for a workshop tied to the agency and I’ve a seminar to write. That’s the stuff that will bring in money and help my business grow so I’m spinning with ideas for that.

Perhaps this phase is good for me. I need to carve time of blogging as it is one of the ways I unwind and get to explore new ideas. Just as from November I’m going to have to make the effort to find time for myself around the needs of a newborn.

Oh dear lord the neighbours drunk friend is yelling in their garden for them to watch him (they are ignoring him). Is it utterly evil to hope he injures himself sooner rather than later and they all decamp to A&E and leave me in peace. In all seriousness they have a giant trampoline, not the ideal partner for a drunk adult.

I think pregnancy is making me grumpier than usual. The heat certainly seems to be bothering me more than ever before. I did just have a little seethe at the neighbour on the other side (the polar opposite of the chavvy neighbours) for saying how she loved being pregnant. I’m not a fan of women who are good at it. It is proof of my bitchiness that my two closest friends weren’t great at it either (it’s also reassuring how much they’ve gone on to nevertheless take motherhood in their stride).

Whoops, I wasn’t going to talk about being pregnant.

Well it’s either that or my tax return; after all I had a lovely chat with my mortgage lender about interest paid for the financial year 2011-12.

I have a plan for my next column as at the weekend I’m planning to go to my first festival. It’s largely been my hatred of camping that has put me off in the past but Lechlade is local and seems a good way to get started. Then hopefully by next summer my business will be super successful and we can stay in a tepee or yurt at one of the big ones. For some inexplicable reason my stepsons’ mother likes taking them camping (truly, the eldest has flatulence that could be utilised as chemical warfare and no way would I be in a confined space with him) so that is a special thing they do with Mummy. Daddy and Kay do accommodation with proper beds, ensuite bathrooms and sockets to plug in fans to dissipate the smell of them.

So I shall be writing about music and local food and hopefully sunshine.

Not that I expect you to come back and read it.

Pregnancy - If it was easy men would do it

Thu, 17 May 2012 20:22:51 +0000

Last week I got as far as the title, got distracted and somehow thought I’d written and posted my column. Meet baby brain Kathryn for yes, dear readers, I am pregnant.

It’s been a tricky secret to keep. For instance, there was the time I was showing my mum the cot and change station I’d fallen in love with but kept forgetting the link for. I know, I said, I’ll create a board on Pintrest! Ah yes, that public page that exposes my tastes and desires to the world. Fortunately I saw sense before clicking.

I had had my doubts about baby brain. I mostly attributed it to sleep deprivation and the post traumatic shock of incubating an alien life form and one day climbed out and destroyed the woman’s world.

But it seems it can begin antenatally and since I’ve been getting loads of sleep and aside from a video link greeting to a life form with a face like a scream mask, there hasn’t been much trauma (and as nature dictates I found the scream mask faced baby incredibly cute what with the waving and kicking of legs).

But the aforementioned scan was our cue to tell the world. The husband and I are out of those nerve wrecking early weeks where it seems a million things can go wrong and now into those nerve wrecking later weeks where it’s unlikely that things will go wrong but you feel little comforted by this.

That and the fact I’m starting to look pregnant.

I’ll be honest, the first trimester sucked big time. A particular low point was emerging from the terminal at Bristol airport and half a dozen smokers being actively disgusting in a non-smoking area. Smoke being a major trigger for my morning sickness, I just threw up in front of them all. At least the time I threw up on the cat carried some minor comedy value. And the exhaustion! Thankfully I had bought a book that tells me day by day what the baby is doing and it certainly helped that when feeling like death I could take comfort in the fact I was bathed in the right kind of hormones as it grew a liver.

It rather puts your day in perspective when some people are starting entire organs!

The greatest comfort has been the husband who regularly tells me that if this were easy then he’d be doing it. He has treated me like some kind of warrior (albeit one that needs gentle care and the meeting of incredibly erratic desires).

It helps that he thinks I’m doing something important, something worthy of note and I think that partly explains my brain chemistry. My friend Samantha, never one to suffer fools, told me her tolerance for idiocy diminished to zero and I certainly feel that a lot of things are a bit pointless. Oh joy, I appear to be developing that smugness I have despised in breeders for so long.

But my priorities have become clear... oh slap me, slap me now!

There are positives to my new focus. I have found myself worrying less about work and strangely this has developed into a quiet confidence. If I can grow humans then I can supply clients. As such, in the last week I’ve been putting plans in place for turning my one-woman freelance business into an agency. I haven’t had too much time to worry because there have been prams to look at in the Mammas and Pappas catalogue. When it comes to work time I’m faster and more effective. I want to get it done so I can do some light exercise to ease my back pain and keep fit (some sources suggest that women who exercise regularly have labours that are up to three hours shorter).

There have been minor struggles, particularly with remembering dates but I’m adapting quickly. I had feared pregnancy slightly but I’ve found that my body knows what it’s doing. The days spent holding onto the sofa as I swan in a sea of nausea went quite quickly. It’s as though my brain slowed down to spare me the tedium of first trimester exhaustion. Pretty clever stuff.

My stepsons have been delightful which was a huge relief. They regularly enquire as to the baby’s “height” and we’ve compared their nano-sibling to them with a tape measure. I am very much bathed in a pool of contentment. That is when I’m not irate about every little thing. Like I said, erratic.

Baby stuff will be kept to Highlights and Hunter Wellies, my blog about my quest to be a West Country Yummy Mummy. It was somewhat abandoned when I found out I was pregnant but wasn’t ready to announce. For the time being I aim to try and read the odd newspaper, comment on the odd current affair and act like there is more to life than impending motherhood.

A more grown up pleasure

Thu, 03 May 2012 20:59:55 +0000

I like silly and childish (or perhaps just nerdy) things. This week someone told me to go into Google maps and get directions from The Shire to Mordor, select walking as the option and note the message. It pleased me an absurd amount, as did my eldest Star Wars loving stepson getting excited about tomorrows date.

But sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of segregation. Not so much from children as teenagers. I like that Gloucester park has a distinct area for skateboarding; an area for wearing ones jeans around ones arse and where the pinnacle of sophistication is the correct application of false eyelashes. One reason why the husband and I frequent the pricier bars of our city is their appeal to old people. Ah the real log fire at The Fountain, the delights of board games at Cafe Rene and the charm of the Jacobean features at The Old Bell. Young people seem to focus on drink price, we think about atmosphere. But then maybe we don’t mind pricy drinks as we’re rarely out late. What with the being old.

This week we made a visit to The Screening Rooms in Cheltenham. It’s a branch of the Cineworld family but you pay more for tickets, get bigger seats (with table service) and it’s licensed. It’s a very grown up way to see a film (even if it is the latest offering from Marvel). I had an elderflower presse and some duck spring rolls. I sat back and had a completely uninterrupted view of the screen and enjoyed the film through complementary 3D glasses.

It’s hard to say exactly what is so different but there were no negatives. No noisy teenagers (you have to be over 18 to enter after 5pm), loads of leg room and massive seats. There was somewhere to put my handbag and my drink was served in a glass.

When I was younger I could never see the merit in spending money on hotel rooms instead preferring to spend it on food, drink and entertainment. Gradually I’ve started to appreciate the little touches you get in classier establishments such as the mini fridge which means I can enjoy a cold drink* after my afternoon... nap.

I can’t ever imagine justifying paying business class but then I never thought I’d see the value in expensive hotels and now I adore them. Drinking champagne in a private hot tub on my hen night was pretty damn fabulous and when my mum offered to get me a weekend break in a spa hotel with elegant restaurant for my upcoming 30th she kicked of a fantasy daydream that will last until September.

I think a lot of it harks back to the kids. Prior to 2009 everything about my life was adult orientated. Then children slowly encroached on my life, not just the big stuff but things like finding a bag of yoghurt covered raisons in my handbag when I reached to get out a business card. When we were renovating our house I was struck by the urge for my bedroom to be an adult only space. The loft conversion isn’t huge and the ensuite about as compact as they come but there are never any toys or tiny socks up there. The children knock before entering and understand it’s not for them.

I love the toys and tiny socks but they highlighted the desire for a bit of something that wasn’t about little people. The main bathroom has a wonderful big bath but it is surrounded by rubber ducks and often decorated with stick on letters. This amused me briefly in the beginning but now I seek escape as I sink into the bubbles.

My experience at The Screening Rooms really wasn’t so different to a regular cinema trip, just as (aside from the fact it’s a cube – like I said, tiny bathroom) a bath in the ensuite is particularly different to one in the main bathroom but it’s that carving of something that’s just for us. Us the couple and not just Daddy and Kay.

* I still tend to buy my drinks at corner shops. I’m still a Yorkshire lass after all!

The Good Wife and the Stay at Home Daughter

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 21:24:53 +0000

I’ve been watching The Good Wife, a TV series that takes its plot inspiration from American political sex scandals. Alicia Florrick stands by her husband Peter, a former State Attorney as he serves jail time and after being a stay at home mum returns to the workplace to become a litigator. It’s fairly standard stuff in terms of a drama; a somewhat imaginative office structure combined with out there cases and a simmering undercurrent of sexual tension. But the exploration of a woman being stoic as prostitutes sell their story and her marital problems are sold as entertainment is pretty gripping. Alicia is not religious and her reasons for being “the good wife” are complex. She’s far from stupid or lacking in options.

Then there are a growing number of women in America who have intelligence and options and are choosing to forgo further education or employment in order to be stay at home daughters. There are also many that lack choices and are trapped in abusive relationships where (for now) the bully is her father rather than her partner. Here I’m curious about the girls who seemingly make the choice willingly.

I could no more have stayed at home to serve my father while he chose a husband for me than I could stand by a man who publically humiliated me but I can understand the wife more than the daughter. I’d struggle to support the politician who dragged me through the mud because I’m not cut out to be a politician’s wife. Those that excel at the role often have faith in something bigger than their marriage; they have faith in the cause. It’s rather like a business that is bigger than the partnership. When Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana ended their romantic relationship they maintained their brand. It must have been hugely challenging but there was a passion for their work that sustained them. Is a political marriage not similar to that? The husband and I are nothing more than a love match. Take away love and we’re just two people. The same was not true for Bill and Hilary Clinton. The Clintons are a brand and a business in a country where spouses and offspring are as essential as a campaign manager to political success.

I think my struggle to comprehend the stay at home daughter is that I see little distinction between them and more conventional Christian daughters. The Christian Patriarchy Movement is largely the work of Vision Forum, an organisation that appears to have its roots firmly in commerce.* The stay at home daughter movement is fiercely anti-feminist in that it makes subservience to men the only goal but most of the things these girls are meant to aspire to, is aspiration in much of religious America.

What I find most difficult to stomach is the utter reduction of female capabilities. I’m pretty liberal in my views on relationships; for instance I find the distinction between marriage and civil partnerships in the UK to be unnecessary and overly bureaucratic (why have two sets of laws when you can just have one?). Yet within my own life I’m fairly traditional. I truly believe that one of the greatest contributions I make to my stepsons lives is cooking meals that are eaten with family around a table. Yes I’m a feminist but I choose to put time and effort into my homemaking.

The thing is, it’s not rocket science. I mastered some of the qualities (I confess I cannot knit) of a good wife by Vision Forum’s standards alongside a career. I learned solid family roots at home and have put them down in my married life. I learned to cook and clean and decorate while studying and working. The fact I have a PhD is completely compatible with the fact I make amazing carrot cake.

Homemaking can be fun but it only takes up so much time (unless you’re going to eschew dishwashers and washing machines, vacuum cleaners and electric irons). Jerry Hall’s observation that women should be maids in the living room, cooks in the kitchen and whores in the bedroom actually only covers some of what I think is to be aspired to (if we’re going to go down this route). In my marriage I have played a key supporting role in hearing out the husband’s daily news and being able to be constructive due to having also worked in an office and having managed people. Sure a fresh apple pie served to him on a polished dining table by me in a negligee would be appreciated (it might happen one day) but my real world experience is what makes me a wife that truly supports her man.

Obviously I’m looking at this the wrong way. The stay at home daughter movement is about weak men intimidated by women, men that need women to be brought down a couple of notches in order to for them to manage a relationship with them. Religion is simply an excuse and plenty of non-abusive Christians take issue with the movement.

This is a subject often claimed by those with extreme or bizarre views. I want to be clear that when I say the question of how to be a good wife/partner is important to women I hold the equal view that the question of how to be a good husband/partner is important to men – it’s just that here I’m just talking about women.

I mean, I assume the majority of people enter matrimony (or civil partnership – being a good wife to your wife is no different) they do so hoping that in addition to their needs and desires being met that they will support and inspire their spouse. So how do you do that?

I personally like Benjamin Franklins words to his friend Jack Alleyne on hearing news of his marriage.

Pray make my compliments and best wishes acceptable to your bride. I am old and heavy, or I should ere this have presented them in person. I shall but make small use of the old man's privilege, that of giving advice to younger friends. - treat your wife always with respect; it will procure respect to you, not from her only, but from all that observe it. Never use a slighting expression to her, even in jest; for slight in jest, after frequent bandyings are apt to end in angry earnest. Be studious in your profession, and you will be learned. Be industrious and frugal, and you will be rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy. Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy! At least you will by such conduct, stand the best chance for such consequences.

* Sorry if I appear excessively cynical.

Me; a suited and booted working “mum”?

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 21:50:04 +0000

While the vast majority of working mothers are ordinary women who happen to have both jobs and children, whenever the likes of the Daily Mail report on how they can’t handle their kids or that their kids are destined to pursue ‘unnatural sex acts’ (I’ve always liked that phrase given the utter lack of naturalness in our diet and daily activities, why ought our sex lives be “natural”?) or that working mothers increase cancer causing immigrants to enter the country, the picture tends to be of a woman in a suit, wearing heels and disregarding her child. A popular image is her looking glamorous and frustrated, seemingly because her child can’t be managed like a spreadsheet. The woman is rarely shown dropping the kid off at school in a v-necked jumper and low heels mostly on time for her ordinary office job. That’d be a bit boring.

I wouldn’t say I’m especially glamorous but my work in public* involves client meetings and networking events and as a copywriter I am my own product so I aim to look at least polished and professional. Perhaps not quite as smart as the typically depicted power women inconvenienced by offspring but in that direction.

On Thursday mornings I attend a business club, GIN. I get up at 5.30am to shower, blow-dry my hair, apply make-up and put on a smart outfit. As I make the short journey to Hatherley Manor I think about what I’ll say in my 60 second pitch about my business. I aim to arrive in plenty of time for the 6.45am start.

In a fortnights time the husbands ex wife will be dropping off their youngest son as the event draws to an end. My handbag will contain a sticker book and a drink to hopefully occupy said four year old while I finish up any conversations with my fellow club members. Me caring for my stepson each Thursday is the best childcare solution we have come to given a recent change in family circumstances and I’m thrilled to be doing it but it represents a big change in how I compartmentalise my life.

Anyone who knows me at all well knows I have stepchildren. It’s one of the things that first made me realise I had become a parent; parents can’t help but talk about their children. It’s hard to make casual conversation and not mention them given how they influence your life.

But with me it was a vague thing. I didn’t do school runs, I wasn’t an in the thick of it parent. It was known there were children in my life but I wasn’t a mum. I’m still not of course but I’m taking on the role. After GIN I will drive my stepson home and change into something more suitable for a day with a child. In the afternoon we’ll pick the eldest up from school. Aside from responding to emails and answering my phone I won’t be working but our day together will include my weekly errands.

I’m comfortable with my working self and I’m comfortable in my role as Kay (what my stepsons call me, a name that is just for them) but I can’t quite get my head around there being a public transition. Sticker book alongside business cards, handshakes exchanged for a small sticky paw to ensure safe passage across a car park, ‘Email me and I’ll send you the details’ then ‘yes honey we can go to the airport to look at planes this afternoon.’

When my mum first met the boys she commented on there seemingly being a stage missing. The husband was holding hands with the eldest as I pushed the sleeping baby in the buggy. My pushing a buggy without having been pregnant, planning a nursery and having a baby was surreal for her. This for me is the surreal moment. I suppose it’s because until now I’ve been an occasional babysitter or co-parenting with the husband. This is the first time I’ll be running part of the show.

Last week the boys’ mum dropped them off around 3.30 in the afternoon. The husband was at work and they were both a bit grouchy after a long car journey. I decided to take them to the park and realised it was the first decision I’d really made for them. It was liberating but daunting.

You expect to practise on a baby. In fourteen days I start doing it one day a week with a four and a seven year old.

Wish me luck!

* Of course the majority of my time is spent at home and I don’t dress up purely for the benefit of my cats.

Woman with a pearl necklace: Adventures in Amsterdam and Delft

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 20:57:56 +0000

This week the husband and I took a short holiday in The Netherlands. It is somewhere I’d never given much thought to as when perusing Easyjet destinations I tend to gravitate towards those that promise sunshine. But last year a friend moved to Amsterdam and issued an open invitation for us to stay. I’ve always enjoyed seeing friends in different places and have one girlfriend I’ve never seen in the same place twice (Kota Kinnabalu, Jakarta, Bath and London) so Amsterdam it would be.

It was by accident I selected Easter weekend (I tend to think in terms of whether or not we have the boys with us only) but this meant that by booking a single days annual leave we could have a five day holiday. Rather than stick to Amsterdam we decided to also visit Delft.

A big part of the appeal of visiting Delft for me was that it is the setting for Girl with a pearl earring; a rare example of a film I believe does justice to the book. In Girl with a pearl earring we follow Greet as she becomes a maid in the house of the artist Johannes Vermeer and through her experience his work comes to life.

I’m a fan of Vermeer’s work but was relatively unfamiliar with it as he produced so little. I’ve seen at least half a dozen Van Gogh’s as I’ve visited galleries on my travels but I still managed to not see a Vermeer before leaving The Netherlands. We did however, see a fascinating exhibition of to scale reproductions in the order in which they’d been painted.

I was quite pleased to point out Woman with a pearl necklace to the husband as it seems he cannot let a reference to Girl with a pearl earring go by without referencing pearl necklaces, something I find rather tedious in its immaturity.

Delft was charming. There is a real eclecticism to the architectural style once you look beyond the tall slimness that unifies the buildings. The New Church in particular appealed to us with its multitiered tower.

Delft New Church

Compared to Amsterdam, the relationship between the canal and the street was more intimate. The water was always open and near. We were surprised at the perilous parking as mere inches from car tyres the paving suddenly dropped away to the waters edge. On our boat trip we had the opportunity to ask a local how many cars met with a watery death each year. ‘Two to three’ we were cheerfully informed and it is always a cause for a good laugh!

Amsterdam’s famous floating flower market lacked impact for me. Encased in plastic, there was little to suggest a connection to the water. Instead it felt isolated. Throughout the city, the graceful bridges lifted you above the canals. The roads with their regular trams are what connects the city together whereas in Delft the roads fit around the canals.

Of course Amsterdam is known for a couple of other things but despite the coffee shops (if you just want coffee you want a cafe or a bar it seemed) and ladies behind the red velvet curtains it’s quite a conservative place. While the cafe culture of daytime drinking was in evidence, that beer was quite possibly one of the many 0% options.

I guess I thought The Netherlands would share similarities with Cambodia (where spliffs were on the menu in many of the restaurants I visited) but the counter culture was subtle; integrated yes but not significant. We had a couple of good meals in the red light district and while I might be reluctant to take my stepsons to them, it didn’t feel like an especially novel part of the city. I forgot several times that the area was supposedly notorious.

While the weather left something to be desired, we had a great time and The Netherlands is high on our list for somewhere to revisit with the kids. The rain put us off visiting the Keukenhof Gardens (although we saw some lovely tulip fields from the train) and I hope to make that trip as a family. I certainly think Amsterdam is one of the most family friendly cities I’ve visited!

The curious case of Samantha Brick

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 21:20:24 +0000

I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard of Samantha Brick, Daily Fail journalist styling herself as being so delusional she’s giving Liz Jones a run for her money. In case you haven’t, she drew the world’s attention on Monday when she wrote this article; 'There are downsides to looking this pretty': Why women hate me for being beautiful.

It’s somewhat bewildering. I think the comments that she’s ugly are a bit silly as she’s clearly an attractive woman but beautiful? That seems a bit of a stretch. She claims to have lost friends because they were threatened by her presence around their husbands. Really? A chill would apparently descend if she spoke to their other halves. Perhaps there is a magical charisma that doesn’t come across in the pictures or her writing but I’m really not convinced that has happened. One comment that stood out was that nobody has ever asked her to be a bridesmaid.

I am far from endlessly brimming with confidence and yet when it came to my wedding there was no question in my mind who I wanted by my side as my supporting girl. I chose my brother’s girlfriend because we’re close, she is endlessly enthusiastic and was eager to be involved. On the day she demanded I leave other preparations and have my shower so she had time to do my hair. She was great. She’s also stunning; tall, slim and with long glossy hair she’s one of those women that always looks polished.

Brick says ‘You’d think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances.’ Well I think we do. I aspire to my brother’s girlfriend’s level of grooming. I admire her for it but beyond that her looks are largely irrelevant to me. I like her for her enthusiasm and kindness, because she’s funny and sweet.

And women don’t even have to be modest. When my friend Jelly got married she looked amazing. I think my words were, ‘Oh honey, you look gorgeous’ (cue a little welling up at my lovely friend in her fab dress and shiny new husband) but her words I’ll never forget; ‘I know!’ She later added that we should burn her image in our minds because she’d never look so hot again and everyone loved her for it. Women can like attractive women. I’m happy for my friends when they start fashion blogs, find a style that suits them or meet a weight or fitness target. I get plenty of compliments back from my girlfriends. Women can be lovely!

On Tuesday Brick followed up the article with another saying that the bile just proves I’m right. I’m not sure how the likes of Duncan Bannatyne asking if what she’d written was a joke is deemed so insulting as it seems a pretty reasonable question to me but I do think it’s sad that she’s managed to ostracise friends; When I logged on to Facebook, I found a group of them had torn me to shreds. Some were asking: 'What the hell does Sam think she's on?' Others I haven't seen since college had crawled out of the woodwork to criticise me for 'always being like that' — and even for having a 'girly voice'.

A girly voice? Ah now perhaps I understand. Is she one of those women that talks a little softly, a little breathily? The kind of woman that thinks herself a bit Marilyn Monroe and speaks in such a way that men have to lean in a little to hear her. It’s an effective technique I’ve used myself. If you widen your eyes a little and look captivated it’s not impossible to make a man think you’re captivating. Make out they are attractive and they find you more attractive. It’s how women flirt. There are times when it can be fun to use.

But when a woman does it all the time to every man she meets it comes across not only as desperate but pretty disrespectful when the man is in a relationship and his partner is right there. I would have no problem with Brick talking to the husband at a party but if she was using that breathy little girl voice I wouldn’t want her for a friend.

To be honest I think that ultimately this is Brick selling out. Richard Bloch, International PR manager for Betfair, tweeted on Tuesday ‘Samantha Brick made the Daily Mail £30K yesterday (1.5M page views x £20 CPM rate card).’

While I think that Liz Jones is a genuinely unhappy person that part of me would quite like to give a hug and a square meal to, I think Brick understands her value is tied to her ability to incite backlash in a clearer way. I think she’s selling out in a rather demeaning manner but I don’t think she’s a victim of a manipulative editor. I think she seeks opportunities to build her value to the paper regardless of how she needs to portray herself.

It’s a dangerous game as it’s tough to come back from, tough to later insist was commissioned work embellished to make a good story. This has put Brick in the public consciousness and whether she’s considered to be delusional or someone who’ll say anything for money, she’s cast herself in a role that others will give a wide bearth.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t write something I didn’t believe to be true and if I was to believe something on a level with Brick’s work I’m pretty sure the husband would encourage me to retract the piece and perhaps think about seeking some help.

Hadley Freeman for The Guardian suggests The Mail simply threw Samantha Brick to the wolves and is rather sympathetic to the plight of freelancers. I like her piece and she makes good points but ultimately I think Brick is old enough to know better, she certainly sells herself as such. The truth is probably a mix of delusional nutter, sell out and victim of a tabloid but it’s been interesting seeing how crazy it all went.

Even without the added tag this is an odd photo!

Yeah so...

Thu, 29 Mar 2012 22:04:30 +0000

... tonight I'm sitting on the sofa, watching Big Bang Theory and eating biscuits.

*shrug*

The Big PIcture

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:07:46 +0000

I’ve always been one for looking at the bigger picture, the long game. My family have teased me about always having a plan but the way I see it, if I don’t have my dreams sketched out in my mind I can’t start making the first steps towards realising them. It’s a bit like a jigsaw puzzle; you look at the big picture you’re trying to achieve, you start solidifying the edges then you fill it in. When we bought our house I had a picture in my mind as to what it could be. We’ve done quite a lot of the outline and filled a lot in. Where would I have started if I hadn’t had my desired outcome imagined?

This isn’t to say I’m not flexible. I’m more than happy to adapt my plans. When I realised my first marriage was over it didn’t stop me moving to Malaysia. Literally everything changed but it just meant a lot of tweaking. I never expect to get it perfect the first time.

It would be overly generous to suggest that such an approach should be allowed in the Government, not least because should Labour get back in power they’d thoroughly abuse it. Nevertheless, the coalition strikes me as being focused on the big picture and people are complaining about details. They’ve every right to be concerned about what concerns them but it rather feels as though everyone is at cross purposes.

I argued in my blog on Health Reform that we can’t have everything but rather than offer a counter point, most people seem to be in denial about the need for NHS reform. What I wanted to know was what was the alternative?

I commend whoever came up with the phrase Mr Osborne used this week (who knows it may have been him) when he spoke to MPs: ‘This country borrowed its way into trouble. Now it will earn its way out.’ Sure, the lowering of the income band from £43,925 to £41,450 for those paying 40% tax will hurt the families affected but lets be honest, if you’re earning £41,450 then you shouldn’t be scraping by. You are pretty wealthy in the eyes of a great many people. And remember it doesn’t come in until next April, there is time to make adjustments.

Just so we’re clear I’d love if we could go to the 80s model where 5% of people paid the highest tax bracket rather than the 15% it will reach next year. The husband is an experienced accountant; of course I’d like that bracket to be nice and high!

But the husband and I are realists and look at the bigger picture. We’re also honest with ourselves and we can afford to pay our tax bills. Sure we’re careful and are keen on the kinds of investments that aren’t subject to capital gains tax but ultimately we can pay and are “happy” to do so. That’s not to say we wouldn’t like to see a hell of a lot of reforms but we both see how the current economic climate is related to Labour’s easy come, easy go attitude to finance and that cuts, taxes and lots of other nasty stuff is needed to fix it.

This week I had the challenge of being trapped in a room with a very small picture thinker that I absolutely could not argue with. I was a guest in the home of the husbands ex wife and I don’t think you need to be a stepmother to know that that is a situation for absolutely best behaviour and perhaps a touch of simpering gratitude. I used to bow to nobody but frankly I’m continually amazed at how classy my stepsons’ mother is and how she has included me in her extended family. I cannot start a fight on her property.

The individual in question dropped into conversation that he spent over £10 a day on cigarettes. My eyes widened at the same time as my hostesses boyfriends’. Our eyes met and I couldn’t help squeaking that that was half a mortgage. ‘I know’ he mouthed back. Perhaps it was a good way for him to start; I was as much subdued by shock as anything else and far less likely to speak against him.

What followed was largely a monologue on his views on tax and pensions; a view that was wholly subjective and rooted in his own experience. Now this individual has dependents and even his non-dependent children would (you’d have thought) been in his mind but strangely he could only relate to the money passing through his own hands.

He is an extreme version but I see evidence of this kind of thinking regularly. Someone I know calls it ‘the politics of envy.’ Someone identified as having it better or easier than them and rather than be inspired to improve themselves, they hate the other person. The counter argument is that those with the broadest shoulders should carry the biggest load but isn’t that what the 40% tax bracket is about? Seriously, if you’re earning over £40k you’re doing ok! I appreciate the desire to tax the super rich but you know what, they already are heavily taxed.

The crucial thing is that we keep incentivising people to make money rather than punishing success because someone earning £20,000 is too clouded by their (in)experience to appreciate the bigger picture. Even among higher earners there’s a distinct lack of big picture thinking right across the public sector.

I’m not saying the poor and the stupid are less able to make decisions than those who are rich and smart but frankly there is a bit of a correlation. I think it’s needs based and when your needs are met (by which I mean being able to pay your rent/mortgage, buy food, pay the bills but not having a cleaner, an annual foreign holiday and a new car) you are better able to see the big picture. When your finances are tight you are going to be more focused on your personal situation because it’s very important to you. When you’re stupid, you simply lack the intelligence to look beyond yourself.

I realise I’m as bad as the obnoxious guest pontificating at the Birthday party but you’re reading this through choice. If I could give you a slab of cake I’d totally have the high ground.

Birthday cookie?

Sentimentality

Thu, 15 Mar 2012 23:22:58 +0000

I’m not usually a sentimental person but when one of our chickens died this week I found myself in unknown territory. I was sad of course. We only had three chickens, all were named and we paid sufficient attention to recognise different traits in them.

Lara was named first and she was always the adventurous one. At the weekend the husband constructed what he refers to as Stalaglufthen. She has taken to jumping on top of the coop and into next doors garden where she runs around joyfully until the neighbours let me know she’s there and she then runs joyfully into my waiting arms to be carried home for a drink and some food. She can be annoying (the wire fence we’ve built hasn’t exactly aesthetically enhanced the garden) but she amuses me the most.

Lola was named last and she’s the quiet nervy one. She’s the least affectionate and most suspicious but she also looked different. Where Lily and Lara were snowy white, Lola looked freckled. She also has the strange habit of sunbathing. She does this by lying on her side and looking dead so that the first few times I dashed outside worried only for her to ruffle her feathers and turn over.

Lily was the greedy one. The first day she was out in the garden she plucked a bee for the air and devoured it. She emerged as the trios leader and struck me as being the most intelligent, navigating the ramp to the coop immediately while Lara and Lola looked on perplexed until eventually I’d lift them in at night. They caught up but Lily led them.

I find myself wanting to remember what made her different. She was one of my first chickens and she’ll be followed with many others but she was a pet of sorts. Last summer she was the one that followed me around the garden in eager anticipation of worms and bugs pulled up as I weeded.

She had been ill for a little while. I ordered medicine but it came too late. When I phoned the husband at work to let him know he asked what I wanted to do with the body. I struggled to answer. She wasn’t rubbish but surely it was a little crazy to have a burial?

Fortunately my hand was forced. The husband wanted to bury her. It made sense for her to stay in the garden where she was so utterly happy. I think that’s the best thing about ex-battery chickens; they are so utterly delighted with their lot when they find themselves free range.

The husband made a good case for the fact that chickens rot down quickly and where we buried her will hopefully be adequate for a ground for all the pet chickens that pass through our garden. Practicality is important, we have a normal garden. A pet cemetery simply isn’t feasible.

The husband placed her body in his brilliantly dug hole (sorry if it seems inappropriate but he really seemed hunky when he did it so effectively) and asked whether I wanted to say anything. I didn’t. She was a chicken. He said something nice about her and covered her over. Lara and Lola were thrilled at the worms he’s uncovered and seemed to dance on her grave.

I kept that thought to myself.

It’s a strange thing for me. We are a meat-eating household. We eat chicken a couple of times a week. If anything it helps me understand the dog lovers in Thailand who also eat dog. They draw a clear line between farmed animals and pets. While we appreciate the eggs, they are a bonus for me. My favourite thing about keeping chickens is watching them in the garden when I’m washing up and the way they follow us around the garden (and chase the husband whenever he goes to the shed).

We told the kids tonight. The eldest cried (he named her so I think she was always his favourite) and after some thought decided he wanted to draw a picture of her this weekend to remember her by. The youngest wanted to watch Ceebeebies. I think it’s easier to be three than it is to be six.

We had a talk about life spans and how people usually live a long time, that the cats will live about twelve years and that chickens don’t live very long. It was a nice reminder for us as well I think.

We’re now on the lookout for more chickens. I don’t want to go down to one and the coop would fit four. I guess like the short lifespan you move on a little quicker. From my kitchen window I wasn’t always sure which chicken I was watching. It wasn’t a relationship like I have with the cats whereby I can tell their meows apart.

I’m glad we indulged ourselves with a bit of sentimentality. It felt right.

I guess that’s what counts.

Lily on a day when she stood out in the rain and looked terrible but was delighted to discover mud