I listened to a programme on the radio about the history of 'political correctness' this morning. Well, I wasn't actually listening, as I was busy trying to work on my 'memoirs', which sounds a very pretentious thing to do, since why on earth would anyone want to read them? But, to be honest, I am writing them because it is easy. I don't need to invent any characters or think of a plot. And I hope they are better written than some of the ones you find on the shelves. At least it was really me who wrote them! And at least I am not still a teenager, so I might just have something interesting to remember.
Anyway, I thank political correctness for giving us all something to kick against.
I am puzzled. Can someone explain why the word 'Eskimos' was deemed incorrect? Who made this decision? When I say the word 'Eskimo', it is not to insult anyone. It is just a description of a person who lives in a very cold place near the North Pole. As far as I know, the replacement was Innuits? Or has that, too, gone out of favour? I am genuinely baffled. And it's hard to keep up.
Sure, there are names that give offence, were designed to give offence, or at least evolved to give offence. The word 'nigger' springs to mind. That is very definitely a 'no no' word.
When I was first married, Rob's father worked for the 'Spastics Society'. Now, the mention of the word 'spastic' causes a dramatic intake of horrified breath.
When is a name just that? A name. A description of a state of being. Something with a definition. Why should anyone who is deaf, oh sorry, 'aurally challenged', or blind 'visually impaired' or short 'vertically challenged', object to these words. To call them something else is to try to disguise what they actually are. Who decides they are insults?
I actually heard a, so called 'partially sighted' person, object to this label with something along the lines of: , "Look" (pardon my pun, totally unintended), "I am blind, so don't go patronising me by calling me 'partially sighted'". Bravo.
Sadly, some of the terms do stick and become part of our vocabulary and you start to forget what you would have said in the days before political correctness. Cousin to political correctness is the bastardisation of our language. I know all the arguments about language being an 'evolving' thing, but do we honestly have to use 'initialised' and 'I'm good' and things which clearly are grammatically wrong? But I digress. Back to pc.
One time when Josh was about a year and a half, I caught him swearing to himself in the garden. He was saying 'fuck, shit, fuck, shit' loudly enough for our neighbours to hear! I admonished him with a 'Those are rude words, you musn't say them' , realising immediately, of course, who he had picked them up from. Nevermind.
He looked at me, little face all innocent, and said, quite simply 'But they're only words mummy'. What could I say to the wisdom of a toddler?
So, whilst political correctness is apparently going out of fashion, I wish to thank those who started it for giving me so much to ridicule.
I know, we should, of course, 'embrace' and 'respect' people who carry the banner of political correctness for the good of humanity. I am a great believer in the virtue of tolerance. I just hate people who are intolerant.
Hmmmm. What does this make me?
Tuesday 21 October 2008
Sunday 19 October 2008
Dreams
The other night I dreamt that, when I woke up, I had thick black hairs all over my shoulders and chest. Not very nice. For me, or, for that matter, for Rob. He doesn't mind some body hair, but that might be taking it to extremes.
They say your dreams represent an aspect of yourself, but I can't figure that one out at all. Unless...... no, I can't even begin to contemplate that!
A few days previous to that, I had dreamt that there was a nice new box of chalk at work.
They have chosen me to write the menu on the chalk board, as I am supposed to have the most legible writing, but it is very hard to do, because the chalk they supply is only about 2 mms long. So I had made my case for new chalk. I know they are on a tight budget, but I felt this a small, and necessary purchase.
The sad thing was, when I came into work the next day, I looked for the new box of chalk and it wasn't there. It was then I realised that this had been merely a dream. I was more disappointed than you can imagine, though, since then, I think they have discovered someone with more legible handwriting as I seem to have been demoted from that duty.
So what is going on with my psyche? Does this signify a secret desire to return to teaching? Or a dangerous obsession with my work which even extends into my dream life; or is it perhaps that I have resisted all urges for some retail therapy, and even a new box of chalk has become exciting to me.
Does any of it matter anyway? I don't think so.
They say your dreams represent an aspect of yourself, but I can't figure that one out at all. Unless...... no, I can't even begin to contemplate that!
A few days previous to that, I had dreamt that there was a nice new box of chalk at work.
They have chosen me to write the menu on the chalk board, as I am supposed to have the most legible writing, but it is very hard to do, because the chalk they supply is only about 2 mms long. So I had made my case for new chalk. I know they are on a tight budget, but I felt this a small, and necessary purchase.
The sad thing was, when I came into work the next day, I looked for the new box of chalk and it wasn't there. It was then I realised that this had been merely a dream. I was more disappointed than you can imagine, though, since then, I think they have discovered someone with more legible handwriting as I seem to have been demoted from that duty.
So what is going on with my psyche? Does this signify a secret desire to return to teaching? Or a dangerous obsession with my work which even extends into my dream life; or is it perhaps that I have resisted all urges for some retail therapy, and even a new box of chalk has become exciting to me.
Does any of it matter anyway? I don't think so.
Tuesday 14 October 2008
Age and tings
Forgive me if I seem obsessed by age, but when you get to be as old as me, it starts to happen!
I was writing a birthday card to a very old friend, who happens to be almost exactly the same age as me (well, I am just a tiny bit younger, but we won't quibble over a month). The picture was of three elderly women from about the 1930's. It said 'We may be older, but we're still pretty hot'. This is what I like to think, anyway. Call me deluded. I don't care.
If you are still quite young, you may be surprised, but, I actually enjoy middle age. There are some disadvantages, to be sure. Saggy and wrinkly bits and the odd dribbling disaster are not to everyone's taste. However, the confidence that comes with age is a bonus, and in some part, compensation for the less attractive attributes.
Mind you, when I say confidence, in my case, it has gone from 0% in my teens (when I was actually quite attractive), up about 10% in my twenties (still attractive but a little bit tubby due to years of child bearing), perhaps a little more in my thirties (getting tubbier, too much alcohol taking its toll), and now nearing the end of my forties (oh dear, refer to sags & wrinkles as above); it must be about 50%. So I still have a long way to go, and possibly not that many decades. What a pity if I reached 90 and still could not claim to have achieved at least 98% confidence.
My lack of confidence is particularly in contrast to the youngsters I happen to be surrounded by in my new job. I would say that they show a slightly alarming over confidence for ones so tender in years. In discussion with some of the 'oldies' at work, we decided that the morals we grew up with ie. 'children should be seen and not heard', and occasionally beaten, just for good measure, means we do not easily take part in work type confrontations; involving unfair pay, poor working conditions or any of the gripes we all have. We just accept this as the way it is.
Our strident youngsters, however, protest loudly at anything which they regard as 'unfair' and defend themselves and each other in a sometimes indiscriminate way. This does not always have the positive effect they think it should. People sometimes get pissed off, and feel like saying, 'For God sakes, just live with it and stop moaning'. Especially employers, who, let's face it, have the power to get rid of people who piss them off! Sometimes, a little more discretion, a little more deference, gets you what you want in the long term. Sure, your 'rights' might have been disregarded in some small way, but, there you go, that's life.
I have no doubt they think we are all a load of wimps, but, on the other hand, we may stay in our jobs longer, with our good old fashioned manners which dictate that we keep our mouths shut, put our heads down, and get on with it.
Jesus, I do sound old!
I was writing a birthday card to a very old friend, who happens to be almost exactly the same age as me (well, I am just a tiny bit younger, but we won't quibble over a month). The picture was of three elderly women from about the 1930's. It said 'We may be older, but we're still pretty hot'. This is what I like to think, anyway. Call me deluded. I don't care.
If you are still quite young, you may be surprised, but, I actually enjoy middle age. There are some disadvantages, to be sure. Saggy and wrinkly bits and the odd dribbling disaster are not to everyone's taste. However, the confidence that comes with age is a bonus, and in some part, compensation for the less attractive attributes.
Mind you, when I say confidence, in my case, it has gone from 0% in my teens (when I was actually quite attractive), up about 10% in my twenties (still attractive but a little bit tubby due to years of child bearing), perhaps a little more in my thirties (getting tubbier, too much alcohol taking its toll), and now nearing the end of my forties (oh dear, refer to sags & wrinkles as above); it must be about 50%. So I still have a long way to go, and possibly not that many decades. What a pity if I reached 90 and still could not claim to have achieved at least 98% confidence.
My lack of confidence is particularly in contrast to the youngsters I happen to be surrounded by in my new job. I would say that they show a slightly alarming over confidence for ones so tender in years. In discussion with some of the 'oldies' at work, we decided that the morals we grew up with ie. 'children should be seen and not heard', and occasionally beaten, just for good measure, means we do not easily take part in work type confrontations; involving unfair pay, poor working conditions or any of the gripes we all have. We just accept this as the way it is.
Our strident youngsters, however, protest loudly at anything which they regard as 'unfair' and defend themselves and each other in a sometimes indiscriminate way. This does not always have the positive effect they think it should. People sometimes get pissed off, and feel like saying, 'For God sakes, just live with it and stop moaning'. Especially employers, who, let's face it, have the power to get rid of people who piss them off! Sometimes, a little more discretion, a little more deference, gets you what you want in the long term. Sure, your 'rights' might have been disregarded in some small way, but, there you go, that's life.
I have no doubt they think we are all a load of wimps, but, on the other hand, we may stay in our jobs longer, with our good old fashioned manners which dictate that we keep our mouths shut, put our heads down, and get on with it.
Jesus, I do sound old!
Thursday 9 October 2008
Gremlins
Does anyone else have a nasty little laughing Gremlin living in their computer? I will be happily typing away, lost in some pleasant reverie, when this manic laughter suddenly erupts. What the hell is so funny?
I would like to get rid of it, but think it's the kind of thing that will come back to haunt me, slowly sending me into a dribbling, paranoid wreck.
Still, it's good to know that my life is actually so devoid of worries, that this is the only thing I have to be stressed about at the moment. I expect I can learn to live in harmony with it.
Though, come to think of it, what it reminds me of is this creepy man on the latest Dawn Porter 'Free Love' series, who went to Odessa to 'find a wife' (having paid a tidy sum of £5000 for the pleasure).
I know I said I would never be nasty again, but I am making an exception in this case because I honestly believe this guy has the potential to do harm. He was so self deluded it was scary. Everything Dawn said to him, engendered a burst of demented, high pitched giggling. The kind that sets alarm bells ringing: 'Do Not Touch! DANGER!'. I'm sure it was not just the fact he apparently stank, had halitosis and dressed as if he was going to a football match, that put them off. Who could live with that laugh?
Then there was the business man. He talked about slapping and pushing around as if these were perfectly normal everyday occurances in a relationship. He had some conviction for trying to run over his ex wife or her lover or someone. He explained this away somehow, but Ukranian women are smart. They detected the simmering aggression. Money alone was not going to attract them to him.
Finally, there was the Christian policeman. Of the three, he was the one who most interested these women. They were particularly attracted by his job. They had obviously watched too many romanticised US cop shows. He came armed with a large box of jelly beans. To these, he attached a tiny Christian comic book. Who could possibly resist?
In the end, none of these men managed to bag a wife. But the women had a great time. They ate as much free food as they could cram into their mouths and drank as much champagne as they could knock back in one session. I expect they went home, alone, laughing.
I would like to get rid of it, but think it's the kind of thing that will come back to haunt me, slowly sending me into a dribbling, paranoid wreck.
Still, it's good to know that my life is actually so devoid of worries, that this is the only thing I have to be stressed about at the moment. I expect I can learn to live in harmony with it.
Though, come to think of it, what it reminds me of is this creepy man on the latest Dawn Porter 'Free Love' series, who went to Odessa to 'find a wife' (having paid a tidy sum of £5000 for the pleasure).
I know I said I would never be nasty again, but I am making an exception in this case because I honestly believe this guy has the potential to do harm. He was so self deluded it was scary. Everything Dawn said to him, engendered a burst of demented, high pitched giggling. The kind that sets alarm bells ringing: 'Do Not Touch! DANGER!'. I'm sure it was not just the fact he apparently stank, had halitosis and dressed as if he was going to a football match, that put them off. Who could live with that laugh?
Then there was the business man. He talked about slapping and pushing around as if these were perfectly normal everyday occurances in a relationship. He had some conviction for trying to run over his ex wife or her lover or someone. He explained this away somehow, but Ukranian women are smart. They detected the simmering aggression. Money alone was not going to attract them to him.
Finally, there was the Christian policeman. Of the three, he was the one who most interested these women. They were particularly attracted by his job. They had obviously watched too many romanticised US cop shows. He came armed with a large box of jelly beans. To these, he attached a tiny Christian comic book. Who could possibly resist?
In the end, none of these men managed to bag a wife. But the women had a great time. They ate as much free food as they could cram into their mouths and drank as much champagne as they could knock back in one session. I expect they went home, alone, laughing.
Monday 6 October 2008
Teaching English
I recently had the pleasure of meeting a very entertaining lecturer who was a great relayer of anecdotes, some of which were about her days as a primary teacher. She had various pet hates in pupil's literacy.
One was poor knowledge of punctuation. She talked about semi colons quite a lot. I was ashamed to admit that I haven't got a clue when or how to use a semi colon. I hope to learn this when I do my degree.
The other thing was when to use 'that or which'; a good question. When I was writing my book, the computer always underlined my 'which's' and seemed much more contented when I changed them to 'that's', but I just assumed this was an American vs British thing. Nine times out of ten, I stuck to my guns and ignored the green line glaring at me accusingly.
Too many adjectives was another no no. I agree with her there, though if you read enough Year 1 stories, you tend to rejoice at an adjective. 'I went on a spaceship with my friend Tom and Lucy and William and Rosa and we went to the moon and we saw some aliens and we made friends and we went home'. You get the idea. There's only so many of those you can take.
She despaired of teachers' attempts to try to get children away from using the word 'said' ad infinitum, and introduce them to more interesting words. I blushed again, remembering the big poster I put up in one of my Year 6 classes, which encouraged such things as: chortled, cackled, grunted, pleaded..... I think as a group we totted up about thirty.
She had been marking a child's story and came upon his attempt to do what his teacher had obviously taught him. Good lad.
It went something like this: 'Whatever you do, don't go into that cave' he ejaculated.
You have to admire him for trying.
I have my own supply teacher story of a gaffe which gave us hours of pleasure.
The brief was to write a letter to a favourite character, be it film or book. This was a very polite Year 3 child. Predictably, given the Star Wars obsession of the time, he wrote to 'Darf Vada'.
He extolled everything about Darf Vada. Whilst the spelling was clearly original, it was decipherable, until I came upon this bit of sentence: 'I likd your cok....' Now, I am sure he did not mean this literally, but I simply could not translate it. I realised he was trying to spell 'liked' rather than 'licked', which was my first guess and the cause of an uncontrollable onrush of giggling. Whichever he meant, the result was equally funny.
My children were all grown up and not being a Trekky, I was stumped. Jenny, my trusty teaching assistant, who had three young boys, had no such problems.
'Of course', she enthused, 'he meant to say': "I like your cloak".
Honestly, silly me.
By the way, I hope you noted my brave use of a semi colon.
One was poor knowledge of punctuation. She talked about semi colons quite a lot. I was ashamed to admit that I haven't got a clue when or how to use a semi colon. I hope to learn this when I do my degree.
The other thing was when to use 'that or which'; a good question. When I was writing my book, the computer always underlined my 'which's' and seemed much more contented when I changed them to 'that's', but I just assumed this was an American vs British thing. Nine times out of ten, I stuck to my guns and ignored the green line glaring at me accusingly.
Too many adjectives was another no no. I agree with her there, though if you read enough Year 1 stories, you tend to rejoice at an adjective. 'I went on a spaceship with my friend Tom and Lucy and William and Rosa and we went to the moon and we saw some aliens and we made friends and we went home'. You get the idea. There's only so many of those you can take.
She despaired of teachers' attempts to try to get children away from using the word 'said' ad infinitum, and introduce them to more interesting words. I blushed again, remembering the big poster I put up in one of my Year 6 classes, which encouraged such things as: chortled, cackled, grunted, pleaded..... I think as a group we totted up about thirty.
She had been marking a child's story and came upon his attempt to do what his teacher had obviously taught him. Good lad.
It went something like this: 'Whatever you do, don't go into that cave' he ejaculated.
You have to admire him for trying.
I have my own supply teacher story of a gaffe which gave us hours of pleasure.
The brief was to write a letter to a favourite character, be it film or book. This was a very polite Year 3 child. Predictably, given the Star Wars obsession of the time, he wrote to 'Darf Vada'.
He extolled everything about Darf Vada. Whilst the spelling was clearly original, it was decipherable, until I came upon this bit of sentence: 'I likd your cok....' Now, I am sure he did not mean this literally, but I simply could not translate it. I realised he was trying to spell 'liked' rather than 'licked', which was my first guess and the cause of an uncontrollable onrush of giggling. Whichever he meant, the result was equally funny.
My children were all grown up and not being a Trekky, I was stumped. Jenny, my trusty teaching assistant, who had three young boys, had no such problems.
'Of course', she enthused, 'he meant to say': "I like your cloak".
Honestly, silly me.
By the way, I hope you noted my brave use of a semi colon.
Thursday 2 October 2008
Free Love
Tuesday night I skipped samba to nurse my cold and had an orgy of telly watching. Two out of the four programmes I watched, happened to be about sex, but I hadn't intended that pun!
The most interesting was presented by Dawn Porter, rather gorgeous with her big brown 'come to bed' eyes. Apparently, she is quite famous. She is doing a series, travelling the world, investigating how 'free love' works. The first place she went, inevitably, was California. Where else? She met a group of 'swingers' and attended a 'love-in' session, where basically two men appeared to be stroking her to get her relaxed. One of them kept determinedly to her face and hair, telling her he loved her, which caused her to giggle and say 'But you've never met me', which I thought was a good point. The other man, more intense, seemed to be pinching her arm, somewhat brutally. I felt he was as embarrassed as she was.
She ended up in a hot tub (knickers on) with a woman and her three lovers, all of whom looked as if they had been cloned from some test tube with 'chiselled, thin, long haired, hippy' on it. They discussed the joys, as well as the complications, of free love. Dawn was obviously trying to understand where that old sin 'jealousy' fitted in . I felt the answers to her questions skirted round the point, rather than tackling it in any way effectively.
Then onto Germany, where she joined a commune for a week. There was possibly a teeny weeny bit more humour with the Germans, but what struck me about both these groups were that there was very little laughter going on. I mean, sex is supposed to be fun, isn't it? Not some intense religious ceremony.
There was a 'talking' session, which are apparently very healthy, where you can let it all out in a controlled environment. That's as maybe, but it did not seem to help the poor woman who had been 'dumped' by her lover, who had now got himself a couple of others. He tried to reassure her that he still loved her too, but she did not look convinced.
The culmination of all this was a session in an 'oiling' room, where there were lots of candles and atmosphere, and you basically lay on the floor naked, had warm oil poured all over you, and then writhed around touching people while they touched you. OOOh dear. I couldn't help thinking about the snakes in that pit in one of the Indiana Jones films. Dawn, who was initially extremely nervous, actually relaxed, saying she had quite enjoyed it. Good for her. Even I could start to imagine that it might be quite nice, though I don't think I would be brave enough to find out. Am I just a frigid old woman? Or do I believe that monogamy is both possible and desirable? I'm not really sure.
The most interesting was presented by Dawn Porter, rather gorgeous with her big brown 'come to bed' eyes. Apparently, she is quite famous. She is doing a series, travelling the world, investigating how 'free love' works. The first place she went, inevitably, was California. Where else? She met a group of 'swingers' and attended a 'love-in' session, where basically two men appeared to be stroking her to get her relaxed. One of them kept determinedly to her face and hair, telling her he loved her, which caused her to giggle and say 'But you've never met me', which I thought was a good point. The other man, more intense, seemed to be pinching her arm, somewhat brutally. I felt he was as embarrassed as she was.
She ended up in a hot tub (knickers on) with a woman and her three lovers, all of whom looked as if they had been cloned from some test tube with 'chiselled, thin, long haired, hippy' on it. They discussed the joys, as well as the complications, of free love. Dawn was obviously trying to understand where that old sin 'jealousy' fitted in . I felt the answers to her questions skirted round the point, rather than tackling it in any way effectively.
Then onto Germany, where she joined a commune for a week. There was possibly a teeny weeny bit more humour with the Germans, but what struck me about both these groups were that there was very little laughter going on. I mean, sex is supposed to be fun, isn't it? Not some intense religious ceremony.
There was a 'talking' session, which are apparently very healthy, where you can let it all out in a controlled environment. That's as maybe, but it did not seem to help the poor woman who had been 'dumped' by her lover, who had now got himself a couple of others. He tried to reassure her that he still loved her too, but she did not look convinced.
The culmination of all this was a session in an 'oiling' room, where there were lots of candles and atmosphere, and you basically lay on the floor naked, had warm oil poured all over you, and then writhed around touching people while they touched you. OOOh dear. I couldn't help thinking about the snakes in that pit in one of the Indiana Jones films. Dawn, who was initially extremely nervous, actually relaxed, saying she had quite enjoyed it. Good for her. Even I could start to imagine that it might be quite nice, though I don't think I would be brave enough to find out. Am I just a frigid old woman? Or do I believe that monogamy is both possible and desirable? I'm not really sure.
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