Below are the 25 most recent journal entries recorded in the "dorsetgirl" journal:
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Welcome to my Journal|
Although the dorsetgirl
identity is mainly my fandom persona, I do use it to post comments in a variety of places, so if you've arrived here from a non-fandom location, welcome!
This journal nowadays contains mainly the occasional rant or rambling about life in general, but further back much of it is fanfic
, some of which is of an explicit nature. Please do not read on unless you're comfortable with that.
My Fic Masterlist - Last Updated April 2011|.
This list is a work in progress; it's not completely up-to-date with everything posted between January2010 and April 2011. I plan to go through the drabble challenges etc when I have time, to pick up the bits I've missed.
Most of my fic is set in the Life on Mars universe; nearly all of it is slash
- that's a male/male relationship. If that bothers you, don't read any further.
Items marked ***
are new since the last update. At present, most of the links go to comms rather than my journal, because that's where the comments are and because not everything is here in my journal yet. (If you'd like to add to the comments, I would be delighted!) ( Life on Mars ficCollapse )( Other FicCollapse )
Fic: Happy Now? (Pete Martin's Happy Ending)|
I discovered this story when I was doing a bit of tidying up. Originally posted for one or two people only way back in 2009, I can scarcely believe it was so long ago. I still remember writing this, and how this partnership were as real to me as Gene and Sam at the time. Perhaps I ought to dig out the rest of their universe... (My apologies for any formatting errors - how wonderful to see that LJ can still be a complete bastard when you're trying to post in a hurry).
Version 2.4Title: Happy Now?Author:
Life on MarsDisclaimer:
I don't own these characters or their universe. BBC/Kudos do. I'm not making any money out of this.Rating:
Sam/Gene pre-slash; OC Pete Martin with his new partner.Word Count:
Poor Pete got a pretty rough deal in ‘An Unhappy Man’
. This story gives Pete the happy ending he deserves, and we find out a few more details of what happened to Sam in the bank.A/N:
The events in this short story take place an hour or two after the ending of ‘An Unhappy Man’; it takes a brief look at what Sam is doing in the middle of that life-changing Monday morning; and incidentally explains why Pete never answered the phone during that pivotal week in Sam’s life.( Happy Now?Collapse )
Fic - Smile, Though Your Heart is Breaking|
Tennis, Olympics, Rio2016.
Based on this video
.( Read ficCollapse )
Tags: delpo, fic, gen, novolo, olympics, relationship, tennis
I've lived all my life so far WITHOUT the fear of invasion by France or Germany - a luxury that was not permitted to my parents or grandparents. Or probably any of my ancestors.
I've lived all my life so far WITH the fear of the whole of Europe being picked off, one country at a time, by Russia.
I don't see any way in which either of those positions is improved by this result.
Just got up. Just saw the news. I'm having difficulty believing this, to put it mildly.
So what happens now? Do we close the borders at 7am? Do we expel all the people we only allowed in because the EU said we had to? Do all British students on really low tuition fees at European universities have to come home and start paying nine grand a year?
I was not expecting this. I am shocked.
A Ramble on Reading|
I've just been looking at one of those posts where people give a list of "100 best novels" and say how many they've read. Typically, people seem to be embarrassed if they've read less than half of them. The list I've just seen is full of books I've heard of as "classics", or even worse "modern classics". I've read about seven of them and I'm happy to say I'm not embarrassed in the slightest.
This is probably because the main legacy of the incredible tedium of English Literature lessons - despite the fact that I had a major crush on the (pretty good) teacher, so the books must
have been bad - is that somewhere in the back of my head is a auto-reply that says "Classics? No thanks, they're all boring." That’s possibly got something to do with all that “reading round the class” and getting told off for reading ahead, because it’s impossible to look at the page and not
read faster than someone who’s stumblingly reading out loud. And if you don’t look at the page, to stop yourself reading ahead, you get told off for that, too. I never understood that.
Anyway, I can say with confidence that it literally has never crossed my mind to read things like "Brick Lane" or "Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit" - they're hailed as classics so they must be boring and therefore not for me. I did actually try to read Lord of the Rings once; I wasted three weeks ploughing through it and it never got any more interesting. It was the first book I ever said "You know what, I just can not
be bothered to finish this." The Wind in the Willows I also found incredibly boring.
Three Men in a Boat, on the other hand, I found hysterically funny, and if I could only find it I'd read it again right now. And of course as a Dorset girl, I've read several of Hardy's books - some more enjoyable than others.
I read on average I suppose 5 or 6 books a week, and as well as whatever I can find in the library (I'm trying to save money and space by not buying too many more) I have many books that I will re-read once a year or so for many years to come - Harry Potter, Swallows and Amazons, Millennium, Sharpe, The Hunger Games, Dalziel & Pascoe, several of Bill Bryson's books. I suspect Outlander may get added to that list, though as I've only read books 1 and 4 so far I can't be sure yet. I think also I like books that make me see the world in a different way, for example The Old Straight Track, or The Making of the English Landscape. Or introduce me to a different way of living, like One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Then there are the books like The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay, and The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson, which I will never get rid of but for some reason only feel like reading every two or three years.
Happily, as I apparently can't tell a bad book from a good one I generally enjoy my reading. I've never understood why people are so sniffy about Dick Francis and Jeffrey Archer, for example. I mean, who cares
whether it's a "good" book or not as long as it's an interesting story, the characters are well-differentiated and their thoughts, actions and motivations believable? (And their speech appropriate to the time and place, of course.)
It always puzzles - and annoys - me when people equate "doesn't read great literature, can't see what's wrong with Dan Brown" with "culturally disadvantaged and by implication obviously uneducated". They’re not the same thing at all - it's just that my education possibly contained rather more Maths and Science than that of the people who seem to think having had an arty education makes them in some way more fortunate or more intelligent than me.
I can only think that - in the same way a rich man had a deer park to show he had so much land he didn't need to actually use most of it for crops - the middle-class bias towards "culture" is born of the old idea that poor people had to have a trade to earn a living, while the more comfortably-off could sit around all day reading books, painting, playing music etc, so education in those subjects became - in their imaginations - a key marker of having enough money. That doesn’t hold today, of course, but the idea still appears to linger.
Finally, I've just had a look at a couple of other lists of "100 best books" - because these things are rather more subjective than the compilers might admit - and to my surprise I've found one with several books on it that I actually enjoyed: http://www.modernlibrary.com/top-100/100-best-novels/
. Admittedly they're on the "readers' list" rather than the "official" one (and those readers would appear to be slightly older than me), but never mind; I would happily re-read any of these tonight if I knew which box they were in:
A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Trustee From The Toolroom by Nevil Shute
On The Beach by Nevil Shute
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Watership Down by Richard Adams
The Hunt For Red October by Tom Clancy
But as I don’t, I think I’ll read a V.I.Warshawski I’ve just got from the library. (And talking of seeing the world in a different way - remind me never to go to Chicago.)
Tags: comment, harrypotter, hunger_games, meme, ramblings, rant
I always was crap at titles|
Yesterday we took middle son to university. He's been looking forward to it very much; he worked hard and was rewarded with the grades to get into his first choice, and has spent time during the summer holidays learning to cook and, I think, getting himself mentally prepared.
He wanted to get there as early as possible, so we got up at 5:30, trooped bags and boxes from the sitting-room where everything was listed and laid out, into the car, and were away by 6:45. I'm only grateful the place didn't open at 9 instead of 10, else he'd have had us all up at 4:30.
His room was OK, but in view of the fact that it is smaller than, and 20% dearer than, oldest son's very smart first-year room at his uni, I wasn't that impressed. He gets a shelf in one of two reasonably-sized fridges, but the kitchen was horrible - all stainless steel and a bit old-looking, and he doesn't even get a kitchen cupboard. He gets a small locker in the kitchen, which he has to buy a padlock for, and it looks as if he'll be keeping his crockery on his bookshelf and most of his tins and packets of food under his bed. Given that his rent is more than his entire maintenance loan, I'm really not impressed.
What little we saw of the rest of the campus seemed OK, but respecting his very obvious wish to have us off his new turf as soon possible we didn't take the time to explore the nicer, more park-y places, even though I wanted younger son (just started Year 12) to have a look round. (I will need to assure him he's hardly likely to bump into middle son during an average day even if he does choose to go there too, otherwise I suspect he'll avoid the place like the plague. Not that they don't get on - they do - but independence presumably calls for not going to the same place as older brothers if it can be avoided).
So here I am; I imagine I'll adapt quickly enough, but in the meantime I'm missing him quite badly. Oldest and youngest sons have always preferred to work in their bedrooms, but middle son established himself in the dining room about four years ago, so he's always been a presence just round the corner while I've been here at my screen. He's always been the one that liked to come and talk to me while I was cooking and washing up; to announce and explain to me his new theories and discoveries - he's quite the original and creative thinker, this one - and to come food shopping with me. He's also the one that always leapt up to help with stuff, and the one who started, at my request, to talk to me in Spanish about two years ago, so that I could learn and so that he wouldn't lose it when he gave it up after GCSEs. He's also the one that was always in the garden when the weather was good enough, and often when it wasn't, so that whenever I was hanging out the washing or hacking out a few weeds, or just eating my breakfast or lunch out in the fresh air and sunshine, he was usually there too.
I love all my children; I've always said to each of them that they're all brilliant, and that they all have some wonderful attributes and some things about them that are bloody irritating. (And yes, I have done my best to explain what those are in, I hope, constructive terms). But it just happens that this is the one who was right there in my face a very high proportion of the time, particularly since his exams finished back in June. And I'm really, really missing him right now.
Tags: diary, education, proud_mum, ramblings, uni
I haven't posted here for a while, and it's all changed: popups all over the place and you have to hit "manage entries" on the annoyingly subtle tiny menu icon before you even get offered "Post an Entry".
All of which is a lot of hassle for one little comment:
Given that I do ALL the cooking, shopping, washing and washing up round here, I find it incredibly insulting that OH and oldest son (home from uni for the summer) keep having low-voiced conversations in the kitchen about which fridge, cooker, washing machine and dishwasher we should be buying next and never mentioning it to me.
Don't DO that!|
Just had a look at the school website for the first time in ages - looking for youngest son's Mocks results. Discovered they've put some new pages up (without any notification), including a Behaviour Summary.
So I looked at youngest son's Behaviour Summary and found the message "< name > was involved in a behaviour incident yesterday."
My heart nearly stopped; what on earth had he done? Had he hit someone? Kicked someone? Not that I think he would, but I accept that as a parent I'm never going to know everything that goes on in their lives.
I read on. He had failed to hand in a piece of homework. For which he has been awarded some negative points. OK, so he's not a perfect little plastic zombie (and nor would I wish him to be), but does failing to give in a piece of homework really deserve the description "...was involved in a behaviour incident"?
He has one positive point for "good attitude" or something, and a few points for "sustained effort" or something similarly woolly. He hasn't got any positive points for coming top in the whole school in an externally-run Maths competition.
It's probably not a PC thing to say, but failing to give in homework ranks very low indeed on my list of things to worry about. When I was at school I was forever pretending to have lost it or whatever. My main concern is that they are learning and understanding, and getting decent grades. Homework seems to me to be all about "You will learn the way the teacher thinks you should learn; your own chosen approach is automatically invalid." On the other hand, coming top in that Maths competition was something he was really thrilled about, and so was I. It really made him feel good about himself and his learning, whereas homework is just "stupid stuff for stupid teachers".
I shall be so pleased when the youngest leaves this school. Which may be sooner than we think, given that he hasn't been called to interview for Sixth Form yet. Some of his friends have had their offer letters. Another thing to worry about! He gets his results soon for his English Language GCSE which the school insisted on putting them in early for, and that's the one that will determine whether he gets into Sixth Form or not (they have to get a B in English and a B - or sometimes an A - in their chosen A Level subjects). So I shall wait and see whether he gets his B and then I shall have to talk to the school. Oh joy.
Tags: diary, edu-rant, education
So I just asked OH what he was in a bad mood about. (Except that I'm not allowed to actually ask "What are you in a bad mood about?" or even "Are you in a bad mood?" because that's accusing him of being in a bad mood and that "obviously" puts him in a bad mood when - according to him - he wasn't before.
The way it went used to be that he would be in an unexplained bad mood for several hours and I would either ignore it or tiptoe around it. Then after about four hours I would get pissed off with being the one making all the adjustments and answer him in the dead, uninterested tone he'd been using on me for the past half a day. If at any point after that I asked him about his bad mood, that's the moment he would pinpoint as being the cause and start of his bad mood. I never worked out whether he genuinely believed he wasn't in a bad mood until that moment, or whether he was just determined to make it always my fault. Nowadays I either just pretend the bad mood isn't happening, or pick a moment when I can be bothered with the hassle and ask him "What's up?" (A totally unnatural phrase and one I'm not happy with, but that's the form of words he's told me won't actually put him in a bad mood!)
He's also perfectly capable of being in a retrospective bad mood. That is, everything will be (to me at least) going fine, and then suddenly he's in a bad mood and says it's because of something that happened hours earlier. Despite the fact that he's been cheerful and friendly for several hours after the alleged incident. I'll never understand that one.
Anyway, for this morning's and last night's bad mood my bet was that it was because I kept out of the sitting-room most of yesterday evening. I can't stand many of the programmes he likes to watch, and when he has them on painfully loud I just prefer to take myself elsewhere. (Which is bloody annoying because the computer is in the sitting-room.) But that's "unsociable" apparently - although watching dumb shit extremely loud obviously isn't - and it does tend to put him in a bad temper.
But no. Apparently the cause this time was that I'm "a miserable git" and that I was apparently "bad-tempered and snappy" throughout the whole of yesterday. Well, that's news to me and I said so. I said very politely that I had no recollection whatsoever of having been in a bad mood at any point yesterday, and could he please give me some examples so we could sort this out.
Apparently he couldn't.
I pushed a bit further (knowing he was about to go out, so feeling quite safe that I wasn't getting us into a conversation that would take hours!) and asked if he could give some clues about when this "bad temper" of mine had started, because I felt that his bad mood had started at about 5pm yesterday.
That was when he said it had been "all day". Which is clearly rubbish because we were getting on absolutely fine when we went separate ways in the High Street at about 2pm yesterday. I pushed again and he said that when we were walking round to the shops I had "kept rushing off ahead". OK, guilty on that one. But this is a conversation we've had many times in the past - despite him being 6ft and me only 5'4" his comfortable walking pace is a lot slower than mine, and I am never going to accept that it is my duty to adapt to his pace rather than he to mine. Take turns, maybe, but no - if I walk at my pace rather than his, I am automatically the one being "unsociable", not him. Bollocks to that, I say, but he is utterly fixed in his views on this one.
He's now out until mid-afternoon, by which time I will be out fetching the kids from school - they have to wait nearly an hour for the train in the afternoons, so on a Friday as a treat I pick them up. By the time we get back he'll be asleep; he hasn't had an office job for over twenty years so he indulges his preference for a two-hour sleep mid-afternoon. When he wakes up I'll be cooking tea, and by the time I want to sit down and relax for the evening he'll have the television on loud again watching whatever mindless male shit he can find. Oh well - experience tells me that he'll gradually let go of the sulk over the next few days and I shall go back to pretending it's not happening. I've no idea whether that makes it better or worse, and I'm not exactly planning to ask him, but I honestly would like to understand what I'm doing that comes over as bad-tempered and snappy when that's not how I'm feeling!
Tags: diary, ramblings, rant
So we're off about mid-morning tomorrow for one week, and because it's a self-catering holiday I had a huge Ocado order booked for 10:30 - 11:30 this evening. About 5pm I started getting texts from them saying there were delays, and at 6:30 I got a call saying it might be more like 2am. (There's been a massive accident on the M25, in which - amazingly - apparently no-one was hurt.)
At 7pm I got another call to say that my delivery was looking more like 3am, by which time my driver would be out of hours, so they said I would have to call customer services to re-arrange things.
Customer services, unsurprisingly, said that there was no way they could fit in any extra deliveries until 8pm tomorrow evening. Cue panic. No way do I want to do all the shopping for a week where we're going, I want to get it done before we go. Luckily our Waitrose is only a couple of minutes away, but first there was the slight problem that my shopping list was on the computer and I don't have a printer. So middle son, bless him, read it all out to me while I wrote it down on separate bits of paper for meat, veg, dairy, frozen etc, and then he and I and OH went off to do the deed.
It actually wasn't too bad in the end: OH never does the shopping and doesn't have a clue where anything is or what brands, sizes etc we buy, so we put him on scanning stuff and loading up the trolley, middle son going off with a basket and getting the things he was sure about (he often does the shopping with me so he's familiar with most of the everyday stuff), while I picked the stuff I wanted/needed to actually choose or decide about. We only had one mistake - I'd written "3½ dozen eggs" and he came back with 3 x ½dozen, which isn't the same thing at all. (Yes, I know that sounds like a lot of eggs, but by the time we've had an omelette each for lunch one day, and scrambled eggs for breakfast another day, and maybe hard-boiled eggs for a day out, it soons mounts up.)
Anyway, the job got done a lot quicker than I had feared, and it came to within about £5 of the original Ocado order, so that wasn't too much of a shock to the (financial) system. So now I've just got to get my head round what books and paperwork I want to take, and try to work out why we never get out till 11:30 when I always think at 8:30 that we're well on track for setting off at 10. As I never understand where it all goes wrong, I'm not sure I have much chance of getting it right, sadly.
This time last year I was anxiously awaiting news of Delpo at Basel (thank you, Halo!) but this year I'm hardly following what's going on at all. I do have one ticket for each of four sessions at the World Tour Finals though, but I guess I'll be selling some of them as soon as I get back next weekend.
Anyway, apart from a quick check of the email tomorrow morning, I shall be offline for a week. Have a good one!
Tags: delpo, diary, ramblings
Some days I hate Twitter|
This is one of those days when I kind of hate Twitter. It definitely has its plus points, but one of its bad points is the way people from all over the world, from many different cultures and having a variety of mother tongues, come together in disapproval to reach some kind of consensus of intolerance. I don't know whether it's the use of non-native language, or the effects of different cultures each imposing a narrowing filter on attitudes, but either way it's not pretty.
At this moment Twitter is full of the news that Novak Djokovic's wife Jelena has had her baby. That's lovely, of course. Many people are retweeting a picture of a tightly-swaddled newborn baby. Also lovely. But people are complaining that retweeting this picture is (a) an invasion of privacy and (b) "creepy". And worst of all - someone is complaining that "people actually tweeted Novak and Jelena" and saying that she finds that "distasteful". The fuck? These people have PR-style twitter accounts precisely so they can communicate with their fans; how on earth is it "distasteful" to use those accounts to congratulate the happy couple?
Tags: diary, rant, tennis
That's really creepy|
I've just received an email notification from someone I know socially, saying she'd like to add me to her "professional network on LinkedIn".
So far, so fair enough. She has my email address and she has no reason to know that I don't have a LinkedIn profile (in my circumstances, why would I need one?).
But the really creepy bit is the "other people you may know on LinkedIn". It lists three people, two of whom I actually do know. In real life, not online. But given that I don't have a LinkedIn profile, how has LinkedIn worked out that I might know these people? (I can't even see their profiles without signing into my non-existent LinkedIn!)
One I worked with for one year twenty-five years ago and there's no way she has my email address because I didn't have an email address back then. The other is the father of an ex-classmate of one of my kids; he's a nice enough guy and I bump into him now and then in the supermarket, but given that I hate his wife's guts I can't see any way he's got hold of my email address. I don't have their email addresses on my computer. I've never google-searched either of them; I've never looked up their Twitter accounts (if they even have them) or their LiveJournals (ditto). I don't have a FaceBook account. My only online presence in my real name is a Twitter account with one follower and thirty tweets.
So out of all the millions of profiles in the world, how the fuck has LinkedIn picked out two of the relatively few people that I actually know in real life?
I don't think I watched all of Atlantis last year, but I enjoyed what I did see.
It appears the new series is "not the follow-up people would expect". Jack Donelly is quoted in an interview with DenofGeek
as saying the new series isless of a “buddy story” and "much darker, much more action-packed,"
And that's supposed to be good? The "buddy" stuff and the light-heartedness was what I most liked
about it. Other things that make me think I won't bother include:“Whereas last year we would have used humour to undercut the serious bits so you had that balance, this year we played it a lot more truthfully.” "It’s tonally darker and more grown-up.""The fights are grittier too - it might not be as suitable for young children around six and seven years old as it was last year because of the violence”“Last year the episodes stood alone and told their own little story but this has a much bigger arc."
I already get more than enough "arc" from bloody Moffat in Doctor Who, thank you very much.
Also, can't someone teach actors to speak plain English? “The brief this year was to make everything look more filmic and that really does look like a film."
I don't even know what that means. Unless it means there are going to be stupid black lines at the top and bottom of my television screen.
All quotes are from the DenofGeek article linked above.
Tags: doctorwho, rant
A minor rant|
Why are people who work in Archives all posh for Christ's sake?
I phone up the County Records Office for the place I come from and talk to them in my faintly local accent and give them my extremely local name and they don't know how to spell it. And they talk at me with their dinky little posh-school voices and they all sound as if they're about to start telling me about the ponies Daddy has bought for them and how jolly super it's all going to be.
Yes, OK, maybe I still feel inferior to these people, because when I was growing up the only people that had local accents were peasants, pretty much. At secondary school we always got told off for using non-standard constructions and everyone with the slightest bit of authority - including every last one of the teachers - talked posh.
The staff you actually meet at archives are slightly more likely to be normal, but on the phone sometimes I just want to jump up and down and interrupt them and say, "Look, I realise that you're short staffed, but you know what, that's not actually my fault. And do you know who I am - me with my forty-years-faded local accent that you can't seem to understand? I'm the paying customer, that's who I am. And if you took a good look at your procedures you could cut out a lot of work and unnecessary delay and get the money in quicker."
I realise I'm being impatient, but that's a core part of my personality and I don't think it's going to change now. For the past twenty years I've spent most of my time trying to do things at other people's speed and convenience and it's very hard work. And when I do something for myself, I need it to happen before I have to do the shopping or hang out the washing or start cooking the tea. I want it now, dammit!
Tags: diary, family_history, rant
This day last year|
So, on this day last year, ie Saturday 21st September, oldest son went off to university. We were on the road by this time, as the journey takes six hours plus stops. One of the things I particularly remember is being amazed at how many cars around us on the M25 and the M4 contained two adults, one slightly nervous-looking teenager and a lot of bags and boxes. I had also been amazed during the preceding three weeks to discover how many shops had "Back to University" signs and offers. I had never seen these signs before and had no idea that "Back to University" was a Thing. I assumed at the time that this must be because I wasn't looking, and sure enough, this year I haven't seen any at all.
Anyway, I'm reminded of all this because (a) his insurances and phone contract run out this weekend; (b) next door's oldest son is going away to university today (and I've just seen their car on the drive packed to the rafters except for space for three people to sit); (c) our middle son is going to an Open Day today at the University of Essex. He and OH set off about ten minutes ago.
One of the consequences of having three children all two (school) years apart is that you do some things every year for six years. Choosing a secondary school, for example - you really have to start looking while they're in Year 5 so they can get used to the process and what a secondary school looks like, then you do it all again in Year 6 so they can choose. Then you do it again the following year for the next one's Year 5...
It gets a bit more difficult when you have two doing Big Things at the same time. I find I really have to work at consciously reminding myself that the younger one's GCSEs are every bit as important as the older one's 'A' Levels. In the Summer Term of 2013, and again in 2015, we had and will have, one doing GCSE exams and one doing 'A' Level exams.
This Summer, oldest was obviously already settled, but there was still the issue of insurance etc for his new (private rented) accommodation, and realising at the last moment (he chose to go back two weeks ago) that he would need to pack up his desk lamp and floor lamp because while these things are provided in uni accommodation, private landlords don't have to follow the same Code of Practice. We had to fit in taking him back - a long day trip, leaving at 7:30am and back at about 10:15pm - around the days middle son wanted taking to university Open Days.
And now it will barely be a week or two after middle son getting his draft UCAS application to the school when youngest has to start thinking about his application for Sixth Form. This is something that didn't happen in my day - unless you were useless, you could automatically stay on into Sixth Form, but nowadays you can change schools if you want, and you have to officially apply, even to stay on at your own school. So he has to think about which 'A' Levels he wants to do, and that involves thinking about what subject he might want to do at University and researching what 'A' Levels that requires before he closes any important doors he may want to go through in September 2017...
Next Summer we'll presumably be helping oldest move to wherever he's going to live for his Year in Industry and getting middle son ready to go away for his first year at uni. And getting youngest son kitted out with suits, ties, shirts and office-style shoes, rather than the comfortable almost-moccasin style he's been wearing for years, because as we know from the older two, those look really stupid with a suit.
I've just heard next door setting off - his uni-town is only 3.5 hours away according to google maps; I had assumed it would be longer than that, but unlike our journey, theirs is motorway all the way. Also unlike us, they have a family member willing and able to come and look after the younger ones (they have two still in primary school) so they're staying over in uni-town tonight.
Anyway, with the new year beginning, we've been receiving a flood of post for oldest son. So I'd better go and scan the ones he's given me permission to open and get them off to him. It's just me and youngest here till about 4 or 5 this afternoon, so maybe we'll have us a treat for lunch. Don't know what yet, but some things just can't be done for four or five people, so the occasional meal for only two or three is an opportunity for a treat. Mmm, like steak for example...
Tags: diary, education, ramblings
Probably behind the times as always...|
My mum was in Scotland for a couple of days last week. As the English-born daughter of a Scottish father she is quite ambivalent about the whole thing, but of course she doesn't have a vote. Anyway, she came back with a joke that I imagine everyone else has already heard, but it amused me, amongst the amazement that my mum would even tell it to me:
Alex Salmond is talking to the Queen about what an independent Scotland will/would do about the position of Head of State:
“I’ll make Scotland a Kingdom and I’ll be the King”.
“No, I don’t like that,” says the Queen.
“Well then, I’ll make it a Principality and I’ll be the Prince.”
“No, I don’t like that,” says the Queen. “Make it a country.”
And in other news - yesterday I was like "Oh wow, they've discovered Franklin's ship!" Middle son said, "Er, what? Who?" and youngest son said "I saw that on the internet a couple of days ago, didn't take any notice. Who was Franklin and why were they looking for his ship?" To be fair I only know of him through the song (Lady Franklin's Lament) rather than any history lessons or general knowledge.
Tags: diary, ramblings
Education, Education, Education|
Being the beginning of the new school year, education is where it's all at last week and this.
Last Monday we took middle son to look at the University of Essex. Very sensibly, he doesn't want his parents tagging along, so I got dropped off at the nearest bit of river and spent a very happy couple of hours walking around an old village, marvelling at the hideously out-of-place nature of the new riverfront "apartments" and finally, sitting quietly watching the tide coming in from my seat on a pub terrace.
On Wednesday we did last-minute shopping and trying-on of school uniform and PE kit. To my great joy, that's the last time I will have to go through this extremely tedious exercise. If the youngest one stays on next year he'll be in Sixth Form, which requires a business suit rather than school trousers and a blazer, and they don't have to do PE. So I will be able to get rid of all the uniform items I've been hanging onto for spares etc.
On Thursday middle and youngest went back to school. I spent far longer than I had planned on the phone to insurance companies sorting out cover for eldest son's possessions on the journey and in his new house, given that our buildings and contents company wasn't interested. Trust us to be insured with apparently the only company in the UK that treats a student going back to uni as "moving to a new home" and thus not covered in transit, while all the others treat them as "travelling to temporary termtime address" and definitely covered in transit.
I then spent the rest of the day packing up oldest son's kitchen stuff, crockery, pans, food, and all his towels etc and termtime bedding, while he packed up his clothes and all his bits and pieces. With some trepidation - because it often goes wrong - I decided to get organised, and wrote a list of exactly what was in each bag and box, and checked it all off against my list of where I'd put everything when he brought it home in June. The extra time paid off when he fired endless questions at me very early on Friday morning as to whether he possessed this, that and the other, and where they were.
Once middle and youngest got home I did a reasonable job of putting oldest aside and asking them about their experiences in their new classes; everything seems to have gone OK.
On Friday I got up at 5-15 to support oldest in his getting up and getting ready (by which I mean that had he failed to get himself up by 5:30 it would have been my job to run up and downstairs calling him and being shouted at to go away). Happily, not to say amazingly, he got himself up in plenty of time. At 6:30 I switched into normal schoolday mode and got the younger two up and out, then at 7:30 we set off on our 6-hour journey to uni-town. Just before we went out, I emailed the checklist to oldest son, so he can check for himself where everything is. He's sharing a house with two people he knows from school plus a handful of people they variously got to know during the first year. The room is adequate although quite small, but the desk is tiny. I can't imagine how he's going to work with it, so I'm looking around to find out if there's anything cheap I can order and get delivered to him. We arrived home after ten at night; happily the trains had run on time in both directions for the younger ones getting to and from school.
On Saturday I took middle son to look at the University of Surrey. I dropped him off and went looking for a toilet with some urgency; it didn't help that I had forgotten to take any change with me for car parking. Once I'd eventually got that sorted, I found somewhere seemingly in the middle of nowhere to park and decompress for a while. I was there for about two hours; in all that time five cars passed me and one of those was the post van. You wouldn't think it possible in Surrey, less than five miles from Guildford, but it was very relaxing. Now OH has gone (very) part-time, I get very little time to myself, and I really do need quite a lot of silence and time to myself, so that was very pleasant indeed. Then I drove around for a while looking for a river to sit by; I couldn't find one where I could park close by but I did happen on a nature reserve with a lake! So I sat there for an hour until middle son phoned to say he was ready.
Today middle and youngest have gone off to school as usual, and then OH went utterly mad at me because I "crept up on him" and "made him jump". This is something that happens quite often (the "creeping up on him", not - luckily - the getting viciously angry about it) and I said to him that we honestly don't know what we're supposed to do. I firmly believe that it is not our fault he refuses to do anything about his increasing deafness, nor is it our fault that he apparently has zero peripheral vision. But when I asked in all seriousness - but with decreasing politeness, it has to be said - what he wanted us to do, given that none of us ever deliberately creeps up on him, he said "Call out from fifteen feet away or something. Just never, ever, do that to me again." So then I said I would inform the boys of his requirement and he got even more angry. He seemed to think I was being sarcastic, so perhaps that means he realises what a stupid requirement that is. The really annoying thing is - you walk up to someone and they completely ignore you, what are you supposed to do? This morning I was standing out there on the drive waving my arms about trying to make a shadow that he would notice moving (he was sitting in the car looking down at papers on the passenger seat), but he just didn't notice. In the end I said very quietly "hello?" and he nearly hit the car roof. He claimed afterwards that I'd "crept up" and "suddenly shouted", so now I'm totally pissed off with him and wondering whether I'm supposed to shout from the kitchen to give him warning that I'm going to approach the sitting room. Luckily he's fucked off out (without saying he was going, or where or for how long) otherwise I wouldn't feel comfortable coming into the sitting room to use the computer.
Anyway, back to education: middle son now has just over two weeks left to finalise his personal statement and his university applications; youngest son has until the beginning of December to decide what A levels he wants to do and put in his application; oldest son has to find himself a placement for a year in industry, preferably sooner rather than later.
While I've been typing this post, a newsletter has arrived from the school. That will presumably contain the dates for this year's "Year XX is a really hard year" meetings. Thank heavens there's only four of those left - two this year and one each for youngest son's sixth form years.
The sun is shining outside so I think I might get the washing and washing up underway and sit out there for a while to calm down. Ready of course to leap in and look busy as soon as I hear the bad-tempered bastard coming up the road. (That was a tip from my mother-in-law, of all people. She said to me once "Men are stupid - if you're sitting down when they come in from work they somehow think you must have been sitting down all day. But if you're working when they come in, they assume you've been working all day. I always made sure that whatever I did during the day, I was always busy in the kitchen when [ father-in-law ] came home.")
Just had a quick glance at the school newsletter: they've apparently decided a return to Victorian Values would be a good thing. There is a new rule - at the start of every lesson, students are to stand quietly behind their chairs and wait to be told to sit down. Right, because thirty boys standing up are bound to be quieter and better behaved than thirty boys sitting down.
I realise it's not always possible for the teacher to be there first, but the boys' primary school head made a point of making all his teachers be in their classrooms when the children came in in the morning and when they came back from break and lunch. He said it's a proven fact that if the teacher is there already, "owning" the room, the students are better behaved, and that certainly seems to make sense.
Anyway, that sunshine is still calling me. Time to go and say hallo.
Tags: diary, edu-rant, education, uni
Never thought I'd have to do research before visiting London...|
I live just under forty miles (one and a half hours) from London, the capital city of the country I've lived in all my life.
By pure chance this morning I spotted a tweet from London Transport that said "Remember, London buses no longer take cash". Huh?
Someone suggested that I could use a contactless debit card - not sure I've got one of those, or at least not for an account with any money in it - or buy a travel card.
Which is where the research comes in.
I haven't the faintest idea where I would go in London to buy a "travel card" for going on a bus in London. I mean, if you want to buy a train ticket, you go to the railway station. Or if you can trust the websites and have worked out what you want to do about three weeks in advance, you can buy a ticket online. But does London even have a bus station? And how would you get there to buy your bus ticket given that you can't actually, er, buy a ticket, without going there first?
I'm sure all of this is actually very simple, but my point is: even though I don't do it very often nowadays I have always been perfectly comfortable with getting on a train to spend a day in London. But now it seems that things have moved on and no-one told me, to the extent that next time I go, I'm going to have to spend an hour or so the day before I go looking at some "London for stupids" website to find out how to use the local bus service!
Perhaps it's all part of getting older, although it's more likely part of not having caught a bus anywhere, let alone in London, in about twenty years. But the getting older part is beginning to creep me out anyway: this morning, for the second time in a month, the twenty-something person at the other end of the phone called me "dear".
The first time it happened I was annoyed with the bloke anyway (can't remember why, but sadly nowadays nearly everybody on the other end of the phone annoys me, be they cold callers, accounts departments or just customer "service" people who couldn't give a shit) and I got very angry with him. I told him I was not his "dear" and he'd better stop being so patronising otherwise I would report him the next time. He sounded quite surprised but I put the phone down on him during what I sincerely hope - but doubt - was an apology.
This morning I'd had a reasonably intelligent, adult conversation with a bank. I'd asked my question, she'd given me an answer I found plausible quickly and without fuss. So then I said something like thank you very much, you've been very helpful and she said "You're welcome, dear". I was already putting the phone down by this point and didn't cotton on till I'd hung up what she'd actually said, otherwise she'd have got an earful too.
I mean, I don't mind Northerners calling me "loov", because that's just what they do - it's friendly. Likewise with West Country people calling everyone "maid" or "moi lover" - I used to do it myself in certain circumstances.
But it is no part of southern English polite-speak to equals, to call them "dear". It is patronising to the extent of being positively rude.
And I utterly hate - and fear - the idea that I might suddenly sound eighty years old on the phone.
Tags: is_this_for_real, ramblings, rant
Doctor Who 8.01 - "Deep Breath" (minor spoilers)|
I think I’m going to like the Twelfth Doctor. Possibly quite a lot. And he has the advantage of being almost the same age as me. I really liked Matt in the role but, let’s face it, he was a little boy and sometimes I like to watch a man.
I can’t do clever analysis and annoyingly I can’t remember most of the moments that I enjoyed at the time, but I do remember a couple of digs about the Scottish referendum, and taking a poke at religion - “I’m going to paradise / there’s no such thing”. (And if that woman at the end is supposed to represent the 72 virgins the guy was robbed!)
More round things in the control room, definitely. The kids couldn’t understand why I started laughing at that point.
Hmm, couples’ power dynamics: “So why am I still pouring the tea then, even though we’re in private?” I could quite fancy Jenny myself when she was doing the artistic posing bit; quite astonishing how much more gorgeous she looked than usual.
And the most poignant words from the Doctor:
“I’m not your boyfriend.”
“I never thought you were.”
“I never said it was your mistake.”
But even with that I still don’t like Moffat’s writing overall. How is it that the man who wrote Blink and The Empty Child / The Doctor Dances can turn out seemingly endless reams of overly-plotty emotionless turgidity? Rusty used to say he rewrote everyone except Moffat, but if that was true then he must have given him very strict instructions on the emotional tone of the episodes. Nowadays we get the occasional telling line but most of the time I really struggle to feel emotionally invested even when I’m quite enjoying the episode.
And on a completely unrelated note, but sticking with emotional investment, I’ve just been rewatching us - the crowd - singing to Bohemian Rhapsody just before Green Day came on stage at the Emirates Stadium (London) last June, and oh wow it brought it all back. Before the gig I’d been reading the forums about previous concerts on the tour so I knew they would play BR as the last song just before they came on, and I can still feel the thrill of excitement when I heard the first notes and the entire crowd surged to their feet. (Except my OH, who I’d forgotten to warn - he was like this isn’t even Green Day yet, why’s everybody standing up - but he soon cottoned on.) Singing along to Bohemian Rhapsody was in a strange way even more satisfying than singing along to Green Day afterwards. Because there was no band on the stage to watch, just the track being played, our attention was on us, and our singing, and we were all concentrating on doing the best and loudest job we could rather than focussing outwards. It was a great feeling.
Anyway, I promised myself an early night tonight as I seem to have a bit of a temperature, so as it’s suddenly become tomorrow morning I’m going to stop there.
Oh great - another freedom about to bite the dust|
The local news has an item about how easy it is for a small boat to set off from England, pick up "asylum seekers" in France and drop them on a beach in England, all without anyone knowing.
All of this is obvious, of course, and has quite likely been going on for years. But what worries me is that for the sake of the couple of hundred people that might come in this way each year, the Government is now going to feel challenged by this news item and will start harassing anyone sailing a private boat in the Channel. And then the next thing will be you have to be licensed to own a boat. And then you'll have to register your plans before you're allowed to make a journey in your own boat across the Channel. And then you'll have to ask permission to make a journey across the Channel in a private boat.
Seriously, immigrants are less threat to our freedom and way of life than what I fear the Government will do next to stop them coming in.
Tags: diary, rant
Is it website designers or just bankers who are a wunch of... ?|
Yesterday I needed to visit branches of two major banks (in the same town), but as it was already 4pm I needed to check what time they both closed. Went to Bank A website, menu, branch finder, searched by town name, clicked on the branch and got the times, all in 20 seconds including loading the website to start with.
Went to bank B website, help, branch locator, entered town name. “0 branches in this town”. So I tried the county name. Only two branches in the entire county, apparently, both in the same town (not the one I wanted). Tried another town in that county - it correctly found two branches. But it doesn’t actually have the opening times. Seriously, what is the point of that? You can’t phone up individual branches nowadays, so the first thing you want to know, after the simple fact of their existence, is “when are they open?”
So I had to just go on the off-chance. Luckily they were actually still open, otherwise I’d have wasted quite a lot of diesel and parking fee.
Last night I complained to Bank B, via non-secure, not logged in, online web form. Having filled in my name and address (but no account details requested) on a form headed “Complaints”, the only box available for me to explain matters was headed “Your Question”. So I filled it in anyway, told them I didn’t understand why the box was headed “Your Question” when I didn’t have a question, I had a complaint, and then explained the problem and told them their branch finder was totally useless.
This morning I got a phone call from a young man who wanted to go through security questions before he would discuss the matter. I refused. I said as he would know from my complaint, all I’d been trying to do was find out the branch opening times and I didn’t consider that discussion of such matters warranted full banking security. He said he was just following procedures and couldn’t go any further until I had verified my identity. I refused again and reminded him that I wasn’t trying to access my account or anything confidential, I hadn’t even logged on to the website, and that in fact the problem could have been found by someone who wasn’t even a customer. I asked what he would do if the complaint were from someone who didn’t have an account and he said that he would verify the identity of the non-account-holder. He didn't sound as if he had a brain, only a script, so I didn't bother asking how he would do that.
I wouldn't have minded if he'd just asked my name, to confirm he was talking to the person who made the complaint, but no, he completely refused to discuss the bank’s publicly-available website with me until I proved
who I was. I continued to refuse to go through full banking security in order to be told why their branch finder doesn’t know my local branch exists, so he said they would send me a “written response” (whatever happened to letters?) instead.
So there you go. The reasons why their Branch Finder is such complete shit are highly confidential and can only be discussed with people who are willing to go through full banking security beforehand. Heaven forfend that such information should become public knowledge.
It all reminds me somewhat of the time I phoned Barclays, amongst others, asking them to send me leaflets for children's accounts. Encumbered as I was at the time with three children under five, I wasn't keen on slogging up and down the High Street and queueing up in every bank in turn. Most of the others were happy to send leaflets but Barclays flat-out refused. The only way I could get leaflets was to go to the branch in person. I said what about people with disabilities who couldn't get to the branch? (I have no wish to underestimate the problems of real disabilities, but there were definitely times back then when I felt that the possession of three small children and a double pushchair counted somewhere on the disability scale - can't do stairs, can't concentrate for more than ten seconds, can't walk at more than 0.5 miles per hour etc). He hesitated for a moment, as though hearing in his mind the enormity of what he was about to say, and replied that they too would have to visit the branch in order to get leaflets. Even if they couldn't.
It often seems to me that banks get so tied up with their internal procedures and the way it suits them
to do things, that they forget that the whole point of their business is to gain and retain customers by providing a service to those customers, on the back of which they make money. It doesn't seem to worry Bank B in the slightest that anyone thinking of moving home or job to the town in question would not choose to bank with them, on the simple grounds that they pretend not to exist!
Tags: bankrant, diary, ramblings, rant, you-couldnt_make_it_up
I know we're all Europeans now, but nobody actually asked my opinion...|
Or the shorter version: Total Facepalm
With this very hot weather, I've been buying more icecream than usual. One variety I've looked at several times (because it's very cheap...) is called "Daim", and it claims to be "Daim flavour icecream with Daim pieces."
I'd never heard of "Daim", and given that the stuff was right next to "icecream with Oreo pieces" I suppose I assumed it was another American biscuit and wasn't particularly inclined to try it. To be honest, though, it puzzled the hell out of me that there could be something apparently well-known enough to make an icecream flavour of it that I'd never heard of. (And yes, I have heard of Oreos even though they're American.)
Today middle son came shopping with me, and I asked him if he'd ever heard of "Daim". First he laughed at my pronunciation (being an English person in England, and having no reason not to, I'd used English spelling rules and come up with "daym"). He said that he didn't really know what the stuff was, but all his friends pronounce it "da-yim" - with a short 'a' as in cat - rather like the mock-American pronunciation of "damn".
So this evening I finally remembered to look it up. And it turns out that DAIM IS A DIME BAR! IT'S A DIME BAR! (And apparently the name is Swedish, or perhaps German, and is therefore pronounced exactly the same as Dime.)
Now, I used to love Dime Bars. Really, really, love them. But over the years I'd forgotten they existed, presumably because Waitrose don't sell them. But I will say this - I have a very good visual memory, and if I'd ever seen an advert, on television or in a magazine or paper, for "Daim", I would have remembered it and not been standing crossly in the shop wondering what the hell "Daim" was. I mean, when they changed Marathon to Snickers (and no, I have never bought one since, just on principle), and they changed Opal Fruits to Starburst, they made sure everybody knew about it. So why this one was so low-profile I have no idea.
Anyway, now I know that "Daim" is really a Dime Bar, I'm getting that ice-cream tomorrow!
Random post is random...|
I realised I hadn't posted for a while so I was trying to think of something to post about. While I was driving to bank-town this afternoon I had loads of ideas, complete with witticisms and fully-formed sentences. But now I can't think of anything to post about, so I'm just going to dredge up a couple of snippets.(  WimbledonCollapse )(  Kay Scarpetta novels of Patricia CornwellCollapse )(  World War 1 CentenaryCollapse )
Random post was indeed random, and rather longer than I'd intended.
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