Gertsamtkunstwerk

Smoke break update

Chap has just run out of Collections calling "Excuse me! Excuse me!" at two women crossing the road. They turned round. "This is yours," he said, and passed one a wallet. She gasped, and profusely thanked him.

Things not to say at work

1. I have some big scratches on my arm, resulting from gardening. Last week, when meeting with an HR person, I thought I had better explain that they weren't the result of psychological distress. He laughed. On Monday, meeting with someone else - not HR - I said I had a dread of people getting onto my manager, saying I'm psychologically disturbed. "Oh yes," he said, "My brother used to carve chunks out of his arm..."

2. A mobile was ringing, unanswered, playing that clown tune. T stomped around. "Whose is that poncey tune? I'm going to change the language to Chinese - that will teach them." It turned out to be W's.

"You ought to be grateful it is playing a silly tune. When I sat next to him, it used to vibrate and make my desk shake backwards and forwards." I said.

"So that's why you didn't want to move down the room!" said T. M and V were beside themselves with giggles.

Names

Just looking at a staff directory. I have found a team of fifteen people. Four of them are Death, Truelove, Little and Barks.

Exposure

I posted that picture of myself because I felt like it.

In the morning, I wondered whether I should have. I then thought 'sod it, why not?' I deliberately put it as pop-up rather than embedded.

All that aside, if another Blogger (okay, maybe not Pinky...) had posted such a picture, I would have been at least surprised, and depending on my mood, maybe even disapproving.

I have long been interested in society's attitude to nudity. Around us our culture bombards us with images of nude or partially nude women, from The Sun and Star newspapers to advertisers - often 'ironically'. The models are usually anonymous and objectified. If a 'proper' celebrity poses, or is clandestinely photographed, nude a wave of false shock reverberates around.

I have often wished that it was normal for women to remove their tops in environments where men do. In Britain, you rarely see a woman topless even on the beach, and then it's discreet.

The societal norms are to separate tits and people. Intelligent women don't have tits. Women who pose topless don't have a brain.

There is also the thorny issue of beautiful=young, not young=ugly/keep under wraps. Although I'm the same age as Kylie I'm well past the prime of my looks. Even as a young adult I never traded on my looks or body.

Not that I'm ashamed of the way I look, I just feel that I never fitted society's ideal Body Beautiful. Even though I know that few human bodies lack beauty, and all are intrinsically ugly.

I suspect that society doesn't distinguish properly between different reasons for portraying nudity. A deliberately provocative pose, even if done Sun-style, is different from something done for Art, which is different again from nudity for documentary. We live in an age of relatively open sexuality, and yet, because nudity is so closely associated with sexuality, it is an uncomfortable subject. The majority of us snigger at, and some disapprove of nudist colonies and naturist beaches. We think of them as weird. We use the word nude euphemistically when we want to say 'naked'. Naked is lacking, and we feel uncomfortable about 'lacking'. I think that many of us do not feel comfortable with our bodies.

Stupid traveller

Some people were talking about this at work - stories of stupid questions British tourists ask when on holiday.

Then there was the guy who went to Orlando. On returning from his holiday, he called his tour operator in a rage. He had been expecting an ocean-view room. The operator explained that this was not possible, because Orlando is in the middle of the state. “Don’t lie to me,” he replied. “I looked on the map, and Florida is a very thin state.”

Bricklaying is done

Nothing too grand, I hasten to add. Just building up the edge round the front flower bed by the height of one brick. As I started Jools came out, said I was brave and mentioned she was off to pick up her mother.

She didn't mention Mother would be accompanied by stepfather, Albert, who I've never met before. I knew I had escaped Rich's Dad, who is a Derbyshire-based landscape gardener. I didn't know that Jools' stepdad is a....bricklayer. He assured me that it looked like my first attempt, that the first twenty years are the worst, and I need to hope the CLerk of Works doesn't come round...!

Photos have been taken, but for now there's beer to be drunk and muck to be spread!

Child unfriendly

Which, of course, says nothing about the actual anti-child thread of our society.

The built environment is totally unsuitable for children. How many public buildings and public transport systems are difficult to access for a buggy? Also for people with disabilities or luggage?

Children are viewed as an excellent target for marketers - 'the Nag factor'. Many children are made to feel inadequate because they don't own the latest material goods. Don't even start me on McDonalds.

A friend of mine with two children objects to the crap that gets served as 'children's food'. All finger food full of chemicals and mechanically recovered meat. Her two were eating grown up food from an early age. The older with a knife and fork. the younger has cerebella palsy related Learning Difficulties.

Very many workplaces, despite claims to family friendly policies, actually don't give a toss. Women are treated as second class citizens as they try to balance work and expensive childcare. Men have children who are comparative strangers because of the long hours culture (I generalise, of course).

The Education system is not child centred. Every expert, every parent, and everyone with an ounce of common sense knows that the six week break in the summer (we had eight at Secondary School) is not for the benefit of children. Most of what they learn in the last half term has to be revised in the first half term of next year. Children are shunted between playscheme and grandparents, with little choice in what they do. The children who get to stay at home get bored after a week or two. And sometimes quite lonely. The summer holidays see some children commit crimes and far more the victims of crimes.

And even outside the school holidays we read again and again of children being killed because some adult has physical strength, and power. We do not read about the ones that are just injured, or neglected, or psychologically abused.

Children suffer the consequences of adult actions, whether it's breathing from exhausts conveniently placed at child height on the nearside of cars, or being bombed as a result of willy waving in a foreign land.

Remind me again about how we live in a child-obsessed society.

Childlessness and the child obsessed society

I have said before that I can't stand the use of the word 'family' to mean 'children' - as in, family entertainment or a family room in a pub. I see this as just spin by advertisers/marketers. cynically pushing the right buttons to increase their profits.

I have also ranted before about people who believe that their status of parents makes them either morally superior or above the norms of society. And that those without children are somehow dysfunctional.

I get fed up by people who randomly produce sprogs with little thought to the consequences, and expect me to pay for their carelessness.

Listen here. I have a few more words. If you conceive and bear a child it shows no skill or ability on your part - just a happenstance of nature. Obnoxious or inappropriate behaviour is not justified because 'they're only playing' (also a common excuse by dog owners). Selfish behaviour, endangering the lives, safety or environment of others is not justified by your desire to cosset your brats darlings.

If you have a made a choice not to have children, that is your right and you should never have to justify that choice, except to your life partner. However, you must always recognise when you make a choice and expect it to be respected, that other people, who make a different choice, also expect respect for that choice. Also understand that people change their feelings and views as they mature.

It's easy go on an anti-child crusade without really understanding that reproduction will carry on. Put simply, there is a basic biological urge to reproduce. People will argue that as intelligent human beings we are above basic instincts. Remember that the next time you wolf down a burger or shag your partner.

When I was a child the Websters at number 9 were anti-child. not in a nasty way, they were always civil, but they objected to their taxes paying for education. In the endearing political analysis of an 8-year-old, I opined that if it wasn't for Education, children wouldn't grow up to design better caravans. As well as being in the caravan club, they were, needless to say, staunch Tories.

I find the idea of society renewing itself and progressing as exciting. I am excited at the prospect of new life, even though I sometimes despair that that new life doesn't really stand a chance right from the beginning. I do not object to my taxes being spent on measures to alleviate child poverty, and because of that I thoroughly endorse any measures to discourage people from having accidetal and unwanted children. (I also know of very many accidental children who became very much wanted. Maybe you, or your children, are one of those).

I also believe that children are people. I can't stand the parents who believe that every anecdote about their child is the most interesting and/or funny thing ever. I've worked with two like that and at times I've wanted to kill them. I also know, even just on my blogroll there are about ten people who regularly involve their children in their blogging and a few more who do so tangentially. They would not be on my blogroll if I didn't like it. Sometimes those children have problems, sometimes they achieve amazing things. No more or less interesting than blogging about train journeys, poor customer service, passively consuming light entertainment, or the state of the world.

People also say that they oppose fertility treatment on the NHS. Well, la-di-da. How delightful for them. It's easy to get contraception on the NHS. It's easy to get treatment for stupid accidents occurred when partaking in unnecessary pursuits. Or resulting from the abuse of alcohol, or smoking. (I know, I've been there!). Or sexually transmitted infections. I've even heard people say that pregnancy is a disease that should not be treated on the NHS.

There is a spurious argument that says it's wrong that infertility is regarded as a malfunction or a disease. Well, actually, pathologically, it is. There again, there are polls that indicate people oppose AIDS treatment on the NHS.

If you are childless, and would like to have children, and believe that you have the maturity to bring a child up sensibly, and want to create a new life, and want to improve society by instilling values, and want the joy of seeing the world through new eyes, and are able to take the hardship of sleeplessness and wipe up the mess, and withstand the tantrums, and dread the problems of teenage, and resent the "I Know My Rights" parasite brigade, and know that you can do a better job than two thirds of the population, and most of all, know that you have an infinite pool of love to give, then no amount of dogmatic ranting will change your view.

And you can also believe that your life has meaning beyond the ache for the above. Perhaps that's the wisdom of early middle age.

Big news in Falmouth

M'colleague was sent an email today containing the front page of the Falmouth local newspaper. As headlines go, Brenda moving away from town certainly puts the Hussain brothers into perspective.

Pink is my colour

Daisy says "A girlie one from me - where did you get that lovely pink dress, did you buy it for a special occasion and if so, did you enjoy wearing it."

Gratuitous picture

I have to admit it's an M&S special. I basically haven't bought a summer dress for four years and I was conscious that my wardrobe for hot days and meetings was limited to one suit and a few casual t shirts. So I went on a splurge.  However, I am not sure that this dress is entirely suitable for work. Possibly for a day in my own office but not visiting Deputy Directors etc! I have only warn it a couple of times. There will be more.

Potted CV

Alan (No blog, it seems) asks "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" To which I reply 'Huh!'

My period of unemployment/depression taught me a few things. I had hated my prevlous job, working as an Accountant in Social Services in an Inner London Royal Borough. I was bored stupid within six weeks. That should have been the time to go. Instead, I stayed.

Pollyanna can now look back and see it as a positive experience. Mike was one of the very best managers I have ever had. Perhaps his only failing was not to suggest earlier to me that I would be better off elsewhere. Ian turned me from a very good Excel user to an excellent Advanced user. Fiona and Matt were two of the nicest colleagues and soul mates ever, and never made the mistake of assuming that a work friendship should extend outside work.

I was seriously considering packing in accountancy. But bills have to be paid and Pollyanna has to eat, drink and smoke. Fortunately, a job came along that was quite possibly the most enjoyable I have ever had. It was, also, the lowest paid audit job, and insecure. So I moved to my current job.

The questions series - so far. Most of the questions

Queen Pollyanna

Mike asks "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"

I'm tempted to say

Caught in a landslide no escape from reality.
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see
I'm just a poor boy I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come easy go little high little low
Every way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me.

But that would be just silly.

Sometimes, I wonder, though, if, rather than calling myself Gert I should call myself Pollyanna. Life just does not get me down. Oh sure, I rant and rave about the minor annoyances in life. But for the big things, nah: Sunny, that's me. Life is just groovy. Aren't I just the lucky person? All the bad things out there are vastly exaggerated. Besides, they won't happen to me.

At the turn of the millennium,I was told a week before Christmas that my 6-9 month contract was finished after 6 months. It's really quite difficult to find a new job over Christmas and into January. Doubly so if you don't bother. Never mind the bouncing Direct Debits. Never mind the piling up unopened sinister looking envelopes. Roll up cigarettes are the biz. Spend all day on the internet. Never mind the pay-by-minute.

Of course, in retrospect, I realised I was depressed. Couldn't recognise it. Wouldn't admit it. It's more fun to spend one's time writing crap fiction than job hunting.

Cycle of poverty

Jimmy has known Liz since she was a baby. She's now twenty. She worked with him three days a week, whilst she went to college. She auditioned for Pop Idol, she took part in street theatre. After a year out, she was destined to go to Drama College this coming Autumn.

At Christmas, she resigned in solidarity with Thieving Scouser when Jimmy pointed out that TS had been taking the tip money (she'd also been dipping the till - takings are well up since the mass resignation, and Alex, "The Polish Girl" does the work of three English women).

Liz went to work at a shoe shop. She is now pregnant by the manager of the shoe shop. He's married.

It just makes me want to bang my head repeatedly against the desk. It's not difficult to go on the Pill. Why didn't he use a condom. I despair at the cycle of lives being ruined by a blatant disregard for contraception. Liz won't go to drama college, now. Great start for the child with no Dad. The mother of Liz's nephews has had five children by three different men, and one of them is a mother herself. Liz's brother has a child with Kadie who used to work in the pub but is now with another bloke and their child. Liz's brother is in and out of prison and doesn't pay Child Support. The children have a bag of crisps for breakfast which ruins their appetite for a sausage sandwich. The parents are all entirely indifferent to the behaviour, and, one suspects, the welfare of the brats. The mothers are resentful of people who haven't fucked up their lives and aren't dependent on Income Support. I just feel the monotonous depression of yet another meaningless life being created with the sole purpose of creating another meaningless life in twenty years.

Responsibility of Knowledge

Vaughan asks "Why? And if not, why not?"

Which I think is a very good question. One that we should ask ourselves each time we embark on a significant action. By significant I don't mean brushing my teeth, but I do mean anything that may impact upon my life. We do it quickly and instinctively, without articulation, before crossing the road.

Even as I sat down to write this, I wondered whether I should. The answer to 'why' is because I want to. The answer to why not is because there are dishes waiting to be washed.

Even so, the dilemma of 'to blog' or 'to dishwash' is trivia beside the great moral issues. Very few moral decisions are clear-cut, so every action we take - or don't take - should be supported by a questioning of "Why? And if not, why not?"

I will confess to a little naiveté abut the 'rules' regarding whether Civil Servants should talk to the Press. The written rules are clear - no, not unless you are from Press Office or otherwise authorised.

A few months back an article appeared in the Times regarding the culling of Senior Civil Service from my Department. A dozen or so cullees had, in their disgruntlement, leaked to the Press. Only reading commentary recently has it become clear to me that it is routine for Senior Civil Servants to talk unattributably, or 'off the record' to journos. If I did it I would be ritually slaughtered.

I have often wondered what would happen if I came across something in my work that was going wrong, yet people senior to me were determined to carry on regardless. Going to the Press is a very last resort. In retrospect, there were times, over BSE and Flood Defence, where I thought "Funny, that makes no sense". My inexperience made me think that it was just me that hadn't got it. Years later, I was proved right not to have 'got it'. I should have raised the alert with my immediate management. Unfortunately, I think their incapacity to think laterally would have led them to shoo me away - a trainee questioning fundamental issues is inconvenient to a smooth audit.

I should then have escalated it to Senior Management. That is easier nowadays with the introduction of formal whistleblowing policies. I have never used those whistleblowing channels - it's easier to shrug, moan about incompetence and hope we'll muddle through. At every turn the question is "Where's your evidence?"

Another outlet is one's Constituency MP, or the chair, or a member of the Select Committee for the policy area. If you approach them, you are absolved of responsibility and you have taken it to an appropriate source. They may decide to talk to the Press. Not my problem, not my responsibility.

But if they choose to ignore it, what then? If your immediate management, their management, the organisation's senior management, your constituency MP, the Chair of the Select Committee, all dismiss your concerns, what are you supposed to think? Are they all involved in a conspiracy to cover up? Or have they all used their judgement, borne out of more experience than you, that it really is a big fuss about nothing. Perhaps I would get paranoid. At the very least I would question my own judgement. Maybe I'm the obsessive with green ink. Maybe I'm missing the point that this is normal. But if it's normal, is it acceptable? Suppose I am actually the expert on that subject, that my job is to provide quality advice to ministers on that subject. I provide the advice, but they ignore me.

Surely I then have a moral duty to speak to the Press. Even though, if found out, I'm sacked.

The male of species

Have you noticed how it is with men?

You set out to do a job. For example, cutting back the really thick jungular growth in the back garden. You, the female (for argument's sake) is up a ladder, cutting the fronds that cover the roof of the outhouse. You call out to the male, "Could you hold the ladder, darling, because I'm about to pull, and I might go backwards!" The next thing you know, you're on the ground packing black bin liners and the male is up the ladder.

You realise that the male is happily cutting away. "Darling," you say. "It's best to bag up as you go. It's the short straw and we don't want to be doing all the bagging up at the end."

Later still, you're out the front. "Sweetheart," says the male. "We need to cut that dog rose right back."

"We'll uproot it," says the female.

"We'll never be able to do that," says the male.

The female gets on with it.

The male expresses surprise at how the good the spade and fork are. The female points out that she is a Cheshire girl, plus she lived in the house for nearly five years before meeting said male. When she sees garden tools advertised as ergonomic, she buys.

Later still, the female carefully explains to the male. "If you take the time to put small bundles of greenery into the bag, it's quicker than trying to put an enormous load in all at once."

This rant is obviously not about any man in particular and very much about all men in general.

Do not underestimate the gardening strength of the middle-age, middle-class
female.

And, also, the male does gardening in the $10 slip on sandals he bought in Cuba, when his big toe swelled up. The female does it in the lovely lovely lovely £80 Berghaus walking shoes she bought yeterday in Blacks and she wants to break in before holiday.

Furthermore, people pay a fortune to go to a gym to do less exercise, in less pleasant surroundings, than what I did today. A bit more of this (actually, a lot needs doing...!) and I will be back to my fighting weight. So watch out!

Curtis clinches open

Sometimes, to triumph in a great world-class sporting event just requires class. And breeding. Probably good genes as well.

Well done, Ben!

Bus tours of Britain

David Aaronovitch reports from three dire days touring Britain on tourst coach tours. I have done coach tours in the US, Spain and Egypt. They were far far better than these he describes. I wonder if his were reflective of the overall standard, or whether he just picked some bad ones.

Socks

Graybo asks the impossible:

"Where do odd socks go?
Why do I only get holes in my left sock?
How do I know my left socks from my right ones?
Who is this superhero?"

If I knew the answer to the first one I wouldn't have an artistic clump of socks in my drawer made up of five odd socks. Furthermore, if I buy, say three three-packs, nine pairs in all, with three different designs, how come I lose one from each design, rather than one each from two pairs in a design?

If you have to go into contortions like me to reach your toenails to clip them you will find that one big toe nail (or, in my case second toe, because my second toe is bigger than my big toe) gets trimmed more than the other, meaning it is more likely to get holes in. But you probably don't have to go into contortions because you don't have large boobs. Have you any idea how difficult it is to cut toenails with large boobs?

You know it's your left sock because it has holes in it.

Every time I secretly hoped it would be Henry the Mild Mannered Janitor. Each time it turned out to be Hong Kong Phooey.

It's not too late to ask a question. I'm leaving it open until I feel overwhelmed!

Fluff

Lori says:
Here are some light and fluffy questions for you:

I say - I was looking for fluff, not existentialism (my word of the week)

"What's your favourite film of all time and why?"

I find it difficult to choose between TheSound of Music, The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Shawshank Redemption - trailer

Each of them is very different. I watched the first as a child, the second when embarked on womanhood, and the third only a couple of years back. One is full of happy happy songs and chaste love scenes, and great scenery. Two is dark and stunningly erotic - I had a big thing about Daniel Day-Lewis at the time and would have had about Juliette Binoche if I had been inclined. The third is set in that most ghastly of institutes, a US prison in the 40s-60s.

What they all share is a triumph of the human spirit in adversity.

The second time I saw The Shawshank Redemption was on a flight. At the breathtakingly beautiful scene with Andy playing the Mozart record, I felt a tension in the plane. There were 12 channels to choose from, but a critical mass was watching that. Palpable.

Jimmy wasn't. He explained 'I never watch a film twice and I refuse to see that four times.'

"Does anything really scare you?" There's nothing that I have an unmanageable phobia about, although plenty of things I'm not keen on - birds indoors, dogs etc. I live in an urban area with a problem with street crime. I walk round with over £1000 of geek gadgetry and jewellery, and sometimes I get sick with fear of being mugged. Even popping out to Happy Shopper for a pint of milk and a packet of fags can send paroxysms of fear coursing through my veins. I rationalise it as similar to the fear of going on a roller coaster. The darkness of the countryside would scare me, too.

My most scary experience, ever, was when I thought our plane was beinghijacked.

"What is your ideal holiday location?"

Somewhere with a variety of good food and wine available. Sea I can swim in. Interesting sites. Although I have been to the States (twice) Egypt, and Cuba, the one that meets the above criteria best was Mojacar in Spain last year, but, pleasant though it was, it lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. Probably overall, I would rate Egypt this year because of the overall combination of so many factors. Ultimately, anywhere with Jimmy. The two countries I would most like to visit are South Africa and Chile, a somewhat ironic change from the boycotting days of my youth.

"Marmite or peanut butter?"

True confession time. Soon after my father died, my mother and I guiltily, but with relief, threw the peanut butter jars out of the kitchen cupboard. We missed him dearly, still do, but the peanut butter.had.to.go.

Marmite. Mmmmmmmmm.

Blogging and meaning

Gordon asks: "Is the meaning of life, really 42?"

I know that the concept comes from Hitchhikers Guide To the Galaxy. I also know that there is supposedly a formula that proves it. No doubt, this will get me thrown out of the Blog Gang, but I never saw the need to 'get' H2G2 when I were lass, and I don't see the need now.

A Darwinian view would be that the meaning of life is to sustain and reproduce the species. The Christian view would be to prepare for one's life in heaven. Although I don't entirely reject either ideology, I think there's more to it.

"Why do you blog?" Having started, on impulse, and continued, because of a month's sick leave, it's a little like asking "Why do you watch TV?"

The simple answer is that I've always written, and blogging is the first real chance I have had to write for public consumption. Every participatory comment left is a small stroke to my self esteem, and proof that I am not alone.

Sometimes it's a chance to work through issues and get advice or a virtual hug; other times it allows me to express a thought.

I couldn't just blogwrite without the complementary blog reading. I read about other people's lives, which are sometimes entertaining, sometimes a reminder to me that I'm lucky. I begin to understand people and I learn more about myself.

Blogging is like a giant bulletin board, but I have a chance to control it. It's like twenty conversations going on at the same time. It parallels real life where I'm having different conversations with different people. It's not a substitute for Real Life, but, in my opinion, the friendships I have with bloggers are no less valid than the ones I have had with colleagues, comrades and neighbours over the years.

Perhaps, blogging really is the meaning of life. As the byline of the currently hiaiting Not So Soft says - Life Unfolding.

It's not too late to ask a question. I'm leaving it open until until I feel overwhelmed!

Hot and sultry

Zoe asks "will the warm weather come back again or is summer over ?"

Summer officially ends around September 23. The five day forecast for London suggests that the weekend will be a scorcher and even hotter in Brussels. I jolly well hope that his is the pattern for the summer, considering that I'm holidaying in Northern Europe.

However, with plenty of evidence of Global Warming, there is a chance that I could one day be living at the top of a perma-piste.

Put very simply, because that's all I understand, the raising of temperatures at the North Pole will make ice caps melt and float into the Gulf Stream, which, instead of heating Britain, will make it bluddy cold.

(Remember, in North American terms, the British Isles has the latitude that lies between Seattle and Anchorage).

Guided tour of Brixton

Changing the guard with black tourism

This looks like something that I would definitely like to do. So what that I'm white. Local history rocks!

And I totally agree with the fact that children are taught too much American history. A few months ago a child in Jimmy's cafe was overheard telling her mother that in the old days whites and blacks had to sit in different parts of the bus.

Um, no. Good heavens, there has been some dreadful examples of racism in the modern age, but not apartheid.

Wee sma' hours

Ken asks: "What on earth were you doing awake and computering at 2.21am?"

I had already been to bed and found it impossible to sleep, despite having the sash window entirely open. I am not known for insomnia. High coffee intake aside, I normally fall asleep within minutes of turning the light off, and have been known to sleep through thunder storms (window open) and burglary.

The London Sleep Clinic has had a massive increase in enquiries this week, according to the BBC Regional News programme last night.

Living in a temperate Northern European climate we are not geared up to extremes of temperature. When my Aunt lived on Long Island, NY, she would change her curtains according to the seasons. Many of her friends had carpets they would take up in the summer and lay down in the winter. I know of no air-conditioned house or flat in England. Long time residents of this isle, such as myself, lack the capability to adjust our pace to hot weather. The urban heat is especially oppressive - I know our Moroccan cleaners and some Caribbean-born people are finding it way too hot.

Questions

You could help me solve my writer's block. Leave a question in the comments box, and I shall endeavour to answer it.

Writer's block

Hmm, I seem to have temporarily lost my will to write and link.  In my defence, I have done an awful lot of ironing, which is really quite foolish, but makes me feel strangely satisfied. Why are men's shirts so difficult to iron? Tomorrow I will bring you a really interesting post on washing up. In the meantime I shall just point you to a few photos I have put up from our little trip to the country on Sunday. I would highly recommend a visit to Borde Hill. It's near the village of Cuckfield, Haywards Heath. Nobody I speak to has ever heard of it, hence, on a hot day like Sunday it was very quiet. Don't think, "I can't go there; it looks like I'm copying Gert." Say, "Hey, I've never heard of that place, but, thanks to blogging, I have another optionon my list of places to go." We went by A23 and B2036. All along the latter are pubs advertising food. And there are a tea-room  and restaurant at the garden.

Phew! Wotta scorcher!

31/87 in Central London at 3pm today. Which is not high compared to temperatures on holiday. but in Central London, wearing work clothes, in my case a lined skirt.

Get me out of there!

Oh, I'm out, I'm almost in my back garden and not wearing a skirt.

Green Government

It's achingly fashionable to attack the Government, list ways it has 'sold out', question its commitment to radical policies and say that Labour is no different from the Tories. The BBC covers the announcement of 'Massive' wind farm plans. The Environmental Pressure Groups, not known for praise, are sounding very positive and upbeat.

I'm sure the devil will be in the detail, and I'm sure there are probably grounds for the criticism that it is not enough and not soon enough. There may also be localised criticisms that such windmills may have a detrimental effect on the local ecosystem.

However, all right thinking people can be pleased that this is not an announcement of plans to build six nuclear power stations.

When I was still at school I read numerous articles about the scandalous neglect of the renewable energy market, the tiny amount of public money invested in research compared to the fortunes invested in nuclear, gas, coal etc generators, and the devastating damage to the environment of using fossil fuels. I'm now approaching middle-aged and it's good to have a reminder that there is a difference between the old discredited policies of the Tories and the progressive policies of Labour.

National Domains

Quick link so I can find it easilyWhois Index by TLD Code.

I see that .wa isn't taken. I hereby decree that it would be jolly good to let Wales claim that, and then ensure that all Welsh language websites are removed from the English bit of the www.

Don't the French have laws against this?

Needless to say, it is worrying when a twelve year old girl runs off with a 31-year-old man. However, I can't let it escape without comment on the delightful spelling of Shevaun. I wonder if they realise it should be Siobhan or Siobhain? I used to have a list of such mistakes, unfortunately, the only one I can remember is Sean. Pronounced 'Seen'.

I have a feeling that in France you can only register a child's name if it is an official name, as per a centrally held register. There are clearly drawbacks to such a prescriptive system, but there are obvious advantages also!

It's Friday, it's Search day!

My perusing the blogworld over time has brought to my attention that people publish their weird search terms on Fridays. I haven't done any for a bit, and I've had some corkers.

• how to stalk someone
• Photos of brits with hangovers - are there any other photos of Brits
• I'M GOING TO HIRE A WINO LYRICS
• in law "invited herself" overnight
• personal ,unreasonable irritation essays
• television programmes about men/boys wearing thongs
• list out the most current email addresses of farmers in spain only - Arrrr. I wanted to list out the most current email addresses of farmers in Francce, as well
• "tim henman" circumcised - who wants or needs to know this?
• unemotional anonymous
• henman twunt - yes
• article about chicken pox that's 4 to 5 pages long - you want to steal plagiarise someone else's work for your own coursework
• burning sensation on panis, cause - that'll be the Angelicus
• Gary Neville gay
• Gary Neville's wife - make your mind up
• naked caravan sites - oh no, not sites with naked caravans
• people+are+contemptuous+of+me - I can't imagine what makes a little nobody like you think people give a toss, loser
• ladies hairdressers Falkland Islands - sheep shearer
• free thumb tits in public
• vegetarian restaurants without peppers and g - I could recommend one without peppers, but their speciality is g
• the famous person of brixton - it'll be my turn in a couple of months
• Tim Henman tosser - see twunt above

But my favourite was 'women kicking nuts pics'. One click took me to this site