Going Global

Remembrance Day is a day of rest out here in BC. This is odd, like working a really short week, then having a really short weekend, then having another really short week. I know Christmas can work out to being midweek, but you don't sort of notice because...well, it's Christmas, and you have been kind of working up to it for a month and a half, and then it goes on for another two weeks, then it continues a bit longer and so forth.

On Sunday, at church, all the seniors wore their uniforms and medals, and it was all very emotional. Well, I was emotional, as was the vicar, everyone else seemed to be more stalwart. They sang the Canadian national anthem, which I don't feel I should join in, because it isn't my native land, but I stand of course. Also, the version we have in the hymn books is outrageously sexist, they all sing, '...true patriot love of all thy sons command.' Apparently it's been fixed, just not in the hymn books.

The Global Gender Gap Report for 2009 has just been released. Fabulously, the UK is only 15th out of 134 countries surveyed. Wouldn't it be great to be up there in the top three alongside Scandinavian countries such as Finland, Norway and Ikea? Canada, sadly, is even further behind, at number 25 - Oh, Canada:( - and the US comes in at number 31 in the charts.
The country of Ikea btw, has just appointed a Bishop who is not only a woman, but is also married to one. Being women of course, there is so much that the bigotosphere can criticise, like the fact that one partner (the bish) is 55, and the couple have a three year-old child. No-one's beeswax but their own, but just wait....

Québec! I try so hard to support you. Sometimes you make it easy by doing amazingly planet and woman - friendly things, and then you go and ruin it by being totally out of order when the Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall visit. Bunch of plonkers.

In Maine, where for some bizarre reason, the general population were allowed to vote on whether same sex couples should have the same rights as opposite gender couples to marry, a bunch of Catholics supported the same-sex rights, and yet the bigots won out. Why is this allowed to happen? There's a great post about it on the Gaytheist Gospel Hour blog.

The Online Shop Pharmacy have e-mailed me and offered 'tabs for doin' it nasty'. Tut tut, people really should learn to use adverbs when appropriate.

Spirits

My nephew, a fan of London's Mayor, Boris Johnson, tells me that Boris did something good. Not only was he cycling, but he also saw off some scum buckets who were attacking a woman.
Well done Boris, on both counts.
However, one swallow does not a summer make.
I suppose he could be given some kind of international award though, and that might encourage him to become a good person.

Sleepy sent me a link from Auntie's website, about Spirit Bears and how they have survived by being less visible to salmon, and thus more successful at catching them. There is an absolutely brilliant video attached to this article.

I really don't understand. The RCMP have arrested and charged an immigrant in Ontario, with war crimes related to the Rwandan genocide. This is an outrage, it means he must have lied on his immigration form. I specifically had to sign to say I had never been involved in a genocide. OR...maybe he didn't lie but they don't look at the forms properly until later.

Sky

Hands up anyone who's currently having to work in similar temperatures to those endured by Satan's little helpers. And that's just my office. I'm lucky enough to be able to open a window. Grieves me to have to do so, rather than turn the thermostat down, but that's all the control I have. But for most of the day I am either outside or can find some reason to be so.

Prince Charles and Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall are here in BC now. Victoria today, Vancouver tomorrow.
I wonder if they might pop into Ikea tomorrow for a plate of meatballs, or just to look at the cushion covers. OR....get a few tasteful Chrimbo decs for their little pile in Gloucestershire. If so, this could be my chance to persuade them to buy a nice condo here from which they can trainee rule the Dominion.

Good Job

Most times, I find the French on products, more accurate a description than the English, but some biscuits caught my eye in Save-On today. The English name - 'Ginger Kids' huh, the French, 'les petits gingembres' huh, huh.

Today the Calgary Flames hockey team have been heavily criticised for having the Swine Flu vaccine ahead of other people. And yet just over a week ago, the government were fretting over how to persuade everyone to get the jab. Indeed, I overheard Bozo arguing with another friend who thought the government should just have the right to force people to get the injection. So, it seems to me that one good way of persuading people, especially a hockey obsessed people, is to get your hockey players to be vaccinated.
Sometimes we behave like the townsfolk of Springfield.

On the radio, the manager, coach, whatever, of the German winter Olympics team was saying there was no need, it - H1N1 - would all blow over long before the competitions. What I couldn't quite catch was his name, it sounded like 'Wolfuck' or 'Wolfart'.

Luckily, we have the tour of Canada by Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall to distract us from H1N1. Oh no, wait. Every time we see them, a comment is always made about how they are shaking hands without gloves, a high risk activity. Prince Charles also stalwartly doesn't wear an overcoat. This impresses people. Yesterday, some little man in a small town in Newfoundland, after Charles had given a short speech, said,
'Good job'.
My toes curled.

Why do we always start eating our dinner when 'Bones' is on? They are always cutting up the MOST disgusting cadavres whilst I'm cutting up my food.

Across the road from our house, there is a house which has had red and green Christmas fairy lights up since Thanksgiving. Red and green. They are the old-fashioned energy vampire type. But then this man is barking. I mean he is literally barking. When I took Whisky for his walk the other day, the man was winding two other dogs up by standing on his lawn and barking at them, they were seriously wound up, and their owner was trying to drag them away.

This evening I went for my squishogram. Very efficient, friendly and professional service. Having been through it once now, the whole boob squishing starts much earlier here, so Canadian friends the same age as me have been being squished since they were 40 - I was far more relaxed about it. It really isn't too awful, and I had forgotten that your mind is taken off the discomfort because the technician suddenly says,
'Stop breathing now.'
'Wha'?'
By the time you've worried about it, the thing's over.

All Souls

All Souls. This reminds me of a name on those standard lists of pretend names that boys give you when you go to a new school and get to cover someone else's class. Wayne King, Mike Hunt and R. Soles.
That's about it actually, they're rarely very inspired.

Tonight we had a candlelit walk of the Labyrinth in remembrance of our dead. I love the labyrinth, of being entirely in your own space but passing people all the time who are in their own space, the same and yet utterly different.
The part of your life after your parents have passed is another phase, a discovery of them, of their experience of life, that you can only explore once they have stopped interacting with you.
It's a bizarre time of growing up, after your parents' death.

Across Canada, the H1N1 experiment is going awry. Having announced it had two doses of vaccine for every resident, they then started the three phase programme of vaccination. Low risk people like myself would be last, and would get their injection from clinics that have been set up, the third week in November.
Then they polled the people and it was found that only half of the nation would be taking up the offer thank-ye very much.
Phase one started. This didn't go very well. People from all risk groups have been lining up for up to five hours and the vaccine is running out.
Shambolic it is.
Oh well, I blame the government, me. Oh, and the twonks who don't do as they were told.

Samhain

Stir the pot and look within,
A time to bring the last crops in,
Play the shadows as they grow,
From dark of Samhain to still of snow,
And deep inside each woman's soul,
The mysteries of the cauldron roll,
And warmed by blood of sacred earth,
Sleep and silence bring rebirth.

Cerydwyn

But the picture's Witch Hazel.

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

This is my friend Bozo5. In my opinion, this is the BEST Hallowe'en costume EVER!!!! I love it. And yes, I got Bozo's permission before posting - which he gave, but I have to share any revenue generated :)

Today is, it seems, at least in the UK, Equal Pay Day. What this means is that, since the average hourly rate of women's pay compared to men's is 17.1% less, 30th October is the day after which, women work for free.

At work, children came in costume for Hallowe'en Howl today, as did the adults. Mostly the girls were going to be witches or dead cheerleaders. (sic) One girl with a long, blonde wig was going to be Hannah Montana, this, I told her, was truly scary. The programmes all overran, since the children and adults were all hyper.

Taking Whisky for his teatime walk, exactly as Sleepy had pointed out, I could hear another dog owner calling, 'Whisky, Whisky, Whisky,' as I walked towards him. His dog, Toby, a beautiful Scottie, seemed to be wearing a raincoat, except, not as one might expect, a tartan, but rather, Burberry.
I will say no more.

Anubis

Scary quote from six-year old girl at one of today's Halloween Howls - 'Children are baby ghosts!'
Rrrrrrriiiiight.

Dog walking is a sort of encoded socialising. You see certain dogs and their humans. I think it may be different for me than for others, OR...it could be the same. Some dog owners allow their poochies to sort of air kiss with Whisky. They remember Whisky because he looks like an ewok. We talk about dog stuff, stuff that doesn't even remotely interest me. What interests me is people, the people behind the dog. And yet, I don't really want to talk to them in any depth. The dog air-kiss is an encoding because it allows you to swap a few sentences on the level of cocktail party banter and then move off before it gets awkward.

And so to the opposite of dog. God. Yes, even though it's mid-week, I have been thinking about God.
Coincidentally, Raymond touched on something I had been thinking about in a recent post.

Why, I was wondering, do we need religion? Marx said that it is the opium of the people and I think he didn't just mean that the establishment uses it to dope us into submission and non-thinking, but that we also develop an addiction for it.
What do people get from it?
Some people need to feel that there is a supreme being watching over us, others, that there is substantiation for their ethical system. I think some people like the outward pouring of religious feelings, I personally like the inward, the spiritual, the centring it gives me.

Why do we need to believe in God?
Like Raymond, I have studied Philosophy, it was my subsidiary subject for my first degree. And I taught it to A-Level for twelve years. One of the papers on the A-Level syllabus was 'Arguments for the Existence of God', which led us to question why this was important.
I felt it was important because the idea of God underpinned several ethical systems, some of the arguments about the nature of our own existence and some accounts of how we gain knowledge - Epistemology. We also looked at Freedom, Law and Authority - another paper on the syllabus, and many political ideas cannot be considered without considering notions of God and whether God has actual existence.

I do think that we create God in our own image. That doesn't mean I don't think that God has existence, but that our perception is altered according to our needs and experiences. But then it is in the nature of that which contains all perfections, to become all things to all beings.

And if you like dogs, you might consider Anubis, although not a god for the faint-hearted. Anubis protected the dead, brought them to the afterlife and weighed their hearts. A soul with a light heart would be allowed to proceed, a heavy one would be destroyed. Hopefully recycled. And indeed, Anubis' head is black like the colour of rotting flesh and the fertile and thus life-giving river Nile.
Through death we come to new rebirth.

Whisky, the Poo and the Blustery Day

Yesterday was a seriously blustery day. This seemed to please Whisky. Taking him out with a view to a poo, he instead wanted to lean into the wind, enjoying the feeling of his fur being blown back, and he chased every leaf he could - and there are a lot of leaves out there. Had I had the foresight to take my camera, I could have taken the iconic Canadian photo, dog gambolling amongst red maple leaves.
Oh well.

Turmeric has been found to fight certain types of cancer cells, I always add it to hummus, and Kev always adds it to soups.
It's not found in Peshwari naan, but I just wanted to mention that, as in mmmm...Peshwari naan. Turns out Bozo and I both miss being able to get that.

A definition that has been bothering me, in the way that it tickles away somewhere in your brain, until finally you take it out and scratch it properly.
A couple of times, a friend has mentioned a colleague to me, whom he has described as 'absolutely brilliant, but arrogant'. Try as I might, I can't square this. How can she be arrogant if she is absolutely brilliant? It's one of those mind games.
To be arrogant is to have an exaggerated sense of one's own skills or importance. This must mean that she thinks she is even more brilliant than she actually is. To make that judgement call, my friend must be more brilliant even than her, in which case, could he be being arrogant to think that, and if so, we need someone even more brilliant than him and so on. It's a never-ending ladder of brilliance.
Hohum.

Sleepy sent me this post about artificial virginity. It's a great post and says it all, but I think my favourite line is,
"If a $30 item that leaks fake blood violates your faith so profoundly that you must ban it, then what you have isn't really a faith. It's a fetish. And your fetish won't survive globalization."
But I also liked,
"Just don't ask God to protect your sick craving for wedding-night blood. She can't and won't."
Nicely done.

Saying Grace

Weird, I know, I guess I was 14 and in France and the world seems to have been somewhat...sloping. And b&w. But the good news is, it's up the right way now and in colour and the clothes are better.

My French pen-friend sent me this.

Sunday again, and food for thought. Visiting vicar.
This week, I was comfortable whilst the older worshippers shivered - it seems the heat had been mistakenly turned off after the 8.30 service.
The Sunday service leaflet has a picture on the front - a woodcut I would say - of a man kneeling before Jesus, his jaw thrust forward, partly covered by Jesus's oversized hand. I asked a couple of people what they thought the man was doing to Jesus, but I was careful who I asked, so not too many people were offended.

On 'Modern Family', the dad asked his son's partner whether, if they were in a bar, and the Righteous Brothers came on, he would find him attractive.
The son rolled his eyes and said to his dad,
'Please stop. You're really close to ruining gay for me.'

Maybe

Remember the Andrex puppy? So cute, taking the toilet roll and unravelling it adorably throughout the house?
Well it's not adorable or cute when your puppy does that! It's just flipping annoying.

Something else that is annoying is those round e-mails you get that swear to be real answers given in exams, but then show that they can't be.
I received one today that claimed to be genuine answers to GCSE exams set in Wiltshire, UK. Because of course, Wiltshire has its own examination board. Not.
There are then questions that couldn't have been set in any subject actually examined at GCSE and at a level usually associated with Key Stage 2.
But no biggie.
All I'm saying is, if you don't know what you're talking about, don't talk.

So the UK is in the grip of a massive postal strike.
Since being here, I have blogged about missing the sound of the post plopping onto the carpet in the morning, and particularly the Saturday morning post. But now, I guess I have gotten used to it.

A few years back, I would have agreed with Anthony Powell that books do furnish a room, I would have said how delightful it was to receive something by mail and that there was nothing like reading the paper on a Sunday morning.

On my birthday, I received many birthday wishes and greetings from around the world, er..or more, various parts of Europe and North America, via the blog, Facebook, e-mail and of course, telephone, but only two actual cards, and the fact is - I was glad of it. I am pleased to have reached this point. The physical post now annoys me, as do paper newspapers. And I am greatly looking forward to getting one of those e-readers.
Things have changed.

Perhaps a lot of people don't think the same way about the postal system as they used to. Maybe Parcel Force is what it's all about now. And perhaps the postal system is signing its own death warrant.
And maybe it's not actually true that 'plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.'
Maybe, sometimes, the more it changes, the more it actually...well...changes.

Cycles

Et voilà.

The new slugs performed perfectly. And I have dew worms masquerading as earthworms, no-one has called me on that one yet. Today, a girl told me that they had learnt that slugs and worms were girls and boys at the same time, but they weren't lesbians. Hmmm, if I were that kid's teacher, I'd want to follow that one up to find out what she was thinking, but then not everyone cares.
Apathy.

My new assistant cycles to work from Vancouver. She's an experienced and skilful cyclist, but every trip gives her the impression that it's just a matter of time before something happens to her. Drivers are so oblivious, or again, simply don't care.
Yesterday, during Kevin's ten minute cycle to work, he was almost killed five times.
This is immoral. Cyclists are the good ones, why should they have to put up with the general disrespect of motorists?

I'm loving the limited edition Billy bookcases that Ikea have brought out to celebrate 30 years of the bookcase that any of us could have designed but weren't given a workstation at Ikea's HQ to do so. Sadly, I have not a square inch to put them. I think it would be a tiny bit unreasonable to expect Kevin to buy a bigger house just to put bookcases that we don't actually need in.
Still, *sigh*, it's good to yearn.

Slugs

Another weekend and a day bite the dust. Yesterday we were suffering from a dearth of slugs - I'd have made do with any kind of slug frankly, and in fact I did. I found one leopard slug in our compost bin and one small European one in the otherwise empty banana slug tank at work. Sadly, the Leopard slug will eat other slugs, so the two had to be introduced at the last possible moment.
And then today - we went across to the east side of the Park - which is not actually joined to the west side, and there were banana slugs aplenty, all coming out to greet us. They had a jolly party in an old ice-cream container before being shut into a pumpkin, ready to make their acting debut tomorrow.
Enough slug-talk already.

It's not easy being green - mainly because the green make-up bottle was clogged up. I had to teach my new assistant how to put make-up on, and I've had to do that before. Amazing how many young men and women have no idea how to apply basic slap. Or...not amazing really, more worrying that I do.

I was rather pleased - perhaps a little too pleased, that a boy in the front row kept saying,
'I'm scared,'
'Good,' said I.

Yes, Witch Hazel is back.
As well she should be.

Meetings, I hate meetings, did I mention that before? I'm sure Philip Larkin must have written a poem about how they frack you up.

Amusing, although not for the other passengers, that a flight from Spain to Edinburgh, was delayed because some twat had their mobile phone switched on whilst on the runway and then lost it somewhere in an air vent. The plane sat on the runway for three hours - about twice the length of time the flight would have taken - whilst the plane was partially dismantled. The plane couldn't take off with a mobile device that was switched on. Personally, I think the passenger responsible should have been made to sit through the flight with a dunce's cap on, or one of those big foam hands you get from Canadian Football games, angled down and pointing to them.

The Meek

One thing I wonder about a lot is, why the meek shall inherit the Earth. I mean, obviously they'll be the last ones standing, but do they have any integrity, so I suppose what I'm asking is, why should they inherit the Earth?

Here's the thing. I don't think people really get what it means to be a peacemaker. Blessed are the peacemakers, right?
But that doesn't mean that we should all back off all the time. In fact really, if you back off instead of challenging what needs to be challenged, you're just being pathetic, you're enabling the wicked, allowing a bad status quo to continue, and god knows they had some bad tracks. Or...they had A bad track and just played it many times.

I know, a red herring of my own creation.

But think of this. Sometimes, some people say stuff they know will wind you up...just to wind you up. Now the smug and terminally lazy will say, 'oh, they know how to push your buttons,' ok, but then, still, you can't let it pass, because otherwise you give the message that it doesn't matter. And it always does. And if you think about it, people who deliberately wind other people up - well, that's kind of, at best, insanity, at worst, anti-social behaviour, and yes, I do see it that way round, because in general, people can't help their insanity.

This past week or so, I have heard of some amazing examples of women challenging things that were wrong. If they hadn't challenged those things, they would still be wrong. It goes from the personal to the global.
And Peace cannot be made until wrongs have been righted.

Last week, a friend sent me a piece of writing by a woman who was questioning something in her life, and asking why she let it continue. She draws a beautiful analogy,
"...an oyster is an organism that defends itself by excreting a substance to protect itself against the sand of its spawning bed. The more sand in the oyster, the more chemical the oyster produces until finally, after layer upon layer of gel, the sand turns into a pearl. And the oyster itself becomes for valuable in the process."

An oyster can never produce a pearl without responding to the challenge of the sand, the irritation.

Gold

Rain, torrential, beautiful, soil-drenching rain. It was raining first thing when I took Whisky out, and it was raining when I got home and took him out again. Just before the sun set there was a magnificent rainbow. Then Whisky and I went out in the dark. Life is just a series of walkies.

Scanning through the Guardian's website, I came across an offer for a trip to the Belgian Christmas markets, 5 days for 265. Why did this make the diodes somewhere in my head light up?
There was always something special about that autumn trip to the French hypermarket, Christmas is coming type of thing, like the smell of onions being pickled, pudding spices being added.
And there was the promise of the German Christmas markets. I mean, the promise of even more christmasness. How exciting, light spilling out somewhere into dark streets, bustling vendors selling interesting wares, Stollen, little tree decorations. Dickensian Christmases.
OR....
Another way of spending more money in order to spend more money on top of the overspending we already do.

And thinking of Christmas, does anyone know what Frankincense and Myrrh smell like? It's just that on Bones, Agent Booth sniffed a corpse - a mummy - and said, 'smells like Christmas,' because it smelt of Frankincense and Myrrh. I'm thinking more Cinnamon and Cloves really.

Michael Bublé and the Feminists

Business as usual. The 'Native Plants' programme. I ask the kids if they know the name of the local First Nations band who live in Richmond and the south part of Vancouver. (The Musqueam).
Nothing.
The teacher tries to prompt them,
'Begins with M,' she says, 'mmmm..., we did it in class, mmmm...'
Finally, a boy puts up his hand and says,
'Ooh, ooh, Michael Bublé,'
Huh.

There is a very perceptive article on the Graun's website about inequality in the world of the Arts, including Fine Art. The article is well-written and insightful, but as ever, trolls and general cretins make comments. As one more intelligent commentator on the F-Word blog remarks,

"My favourite comment...

'If you look for mysogyny everywhere, you will find it'

yes. yes you will find something if it's there...

sigh"

Yes indeed. Not difficult to find something that is not only there, but ubiquitous.


In the ongoing fight for inclusive language at my church, one of the things that is occasionally said, when the chips are down and everyone is just exhausted from the fight, is, 'Well, eventually they (the misogynists) will all die and then things will be better.' And then someone uncheers us further by pointing out that there are many younger women who use sexist language and who think it doesn't matter, or who think that the feminist fight has been won.

But that doesn't mean that all younger people think that way.

I'm very proud of my own daughter on that score. She's neither half-hearted about it, nor is she the sort of woman feminists are often portrayed as, a frumpish stay-at-home eternal spinster. And she challenges me, and at the same time listens to me, which I value beyond measure.
My niece also fights the good fight, and even my five year-old granddaughter Holly, who was recently heard telling someone that she and her sister were, 'not guys'.
And in between, via the Feministing website, I have found this blog for teenage feminists.

On Saturday, I sold cranberries alongside a young man who gave chapter and verse on inclusive language, and he was totally on board about it.
All of which is fantastic stuff.

Give Pres A Chance (Guest Post)

This is a response from Alex, to my comments about Obambi being given the Nobel Peace prize.

Obambi winning the Nobel Peace Prize must have been one massive PR headache. On one hand Obambi hasn’t quite managed to do anything yet, and Obambi would recognise that. On the other hand whilst turning the peace prize down would have of course seemed rude and obnoxious (that you know better than a committee designed for this purpose) but it would show the world he wasn’t quite that serious about nuclear disarmament – and that’s what we care about isn’t it? That Bambi is serious, that he hopes to live up to his promises.
Apparently not, apparently we are far too suspicious and easy to condemn a man willing to accept a prize he hardly solicited in the first place. It seems plenty of journalists and well I guess – any Tom, Dick or Sally with a computer that can blast their opinion online - has used that voice to hide behind anonymous virtual doors and tell him he is not only not worthy, but wrong to accept the award. Personally, this doesn’t sound like a very intellectual or enlightened standpoint. It goes to show that Bambi is leading the way, the good way for a country ready to pounce on anything that could possibly be construed as a mistake.
There seem to be two types of winner for the Nobel Peace Prize, one that we all recognise being the life time achievement type – Mother Teresa, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, but there are only so many of those people – the other type of award goes to the people who are making significant attempts to change the world, people trying to make peace in Northern Ireland for example, it took a few Peace Prizes awarded to that cause until something came of it. The Nobel committee are clearly putting faith in Obambi, hoping instead of backing down on certain reforms, as it could be said he has on medical reforms (perhaps because of the unfounded amount of criticism he has received), he won’t back down, instead he will see this as incentive – appealing to the very moral side of Obambi that he won’t continue to back down on more incredibly important reforms.

In a way the Nobel Peace Prize committee are trying to change the future by encouraging Obambi – a very powerful man in a very powerful country. However, unfortunately America is also a very suspicious country – especially of Europeans. But what are they afraid of? I’m pretty sure it’s not still the 50s and America has somewhat recovered from the Red Scare – so that we can safely assume that Obambi is not, as he has been bizarrely called, a communist. Perhaps he is showing a reciprocation of respect – which we in Europe are showing him. Obambi means a lot to the world outside America (it exists, shocking), he has become this bastion of hope – something a world apart from the Bush days, which made a near laughing stock of American Politics.
Yes, there is justifiable criticism – that he hasn’t actually achieved much yet – but if he manages to do even half the things he has promised he will have more than earned his place in those first types of winners. Isn’t hope a form of peace?

I refuse to believe I am the only optimist but unfortunately it has become clear people have chosen something as wonderful as the Nobel peace prize and turned it into something damning. It would seem people love to slander – personally I refuse to be part of that mass, that mass that would rather see someone fail. I just hope America can get over it, see it as the positive thing it was supposed to be and support a man so thoroughly interested in supporting America.

The Clichéd City

Enough of the fascinating body parts.

This is Thanksgiving weekend. I'm not sure which day is Thanksgiving exactly, the day off is Monday, but the church service is tomorrow, and at the end of the day, it is a church festival. 'Thanksgiving' - who else would we be giving thanks to?

Well, one suggestion might be Obambi, a god amongst people it seems. He has won the Nobel Peace prize just for existing and being a solid bloke.
This is how we used to play it in schools, praise kids for everything - walking through the door without punching it, turning up at all to the classroom, not swearing for two minutes, and the theory was that you'll raise their self-esteem and eventually they'll start to behave better.
Sure.
Except that you would have to have one teacher per child to really make the malarkey work.
And I'm surprised he accepted it - not a humble man. Which is fine, humility is much over-rated in my book, but then probably a pre-requisite for peace-making.

City as cliché, an interesting thought. Earlier on today, an author, talking on the radio about her latest book, described LA as a clichéd city. I kept thinking about that. I have only passed through it, so, I probably rubbed shoulders with the most clichéd part of it there is, and yes, noise, heat, palm trees, laid-back guards with very big firearms. I dunno, LA is talked about and depicted so much on TV, often actually filmed here in Vancouver.
"LA's fine, the sun shines, most ' the time, and the feeling is laid back, palm trees grow, rents are low, but you know, I keep thinking 'bout making my way back."
Population of about 3 million more than London, yet I don't think of London as a cliché.
But LA - I can see it.

Hopscotch

Red blood cells.

Yesterday morning, I was interrupted whilst preparing for the morning's programme. My colleague wanted me to go out to speak to two German people who needed help but who spoke no English.
It turned out they only needed help understanding what my colleague had asked them, which...she hadn't filled me in on.

A boy in the class told me he knew I was from England because of my accent and because I speak English.
Yup.

Three Rivers - another new medical drama. Medical, Law, Police. We're so predictable, the viewing public. This one wasn't annoying, but it also wasn't particularly engaging, except that it had Shane from the L-Word in it.

The pumpkins are coming. They are everywhere, it's like a scary movie, but with large, bright orange squashes that at some point become grinning faces, then grinning faces lit from the inside.

In Ottawa, Muslim groups have been lobbying to get the Burqa and Niqab banned because they contravene public safety, marginalise women, and have no basis in Islam.
Rock and roll!

Glee, I have decided, is a programme about women. The lead man, who, we are told, is cute, but is actually rather bizarre-looking, is a complete cretin. Jane Lynch continues to out-everything everyone, even the weird, psychotic woman has more personality than any of the male characters, and the other loony, the cretin's wife, is becoming seriously interesting as a character.
That said, the boys' Glee-club rendition of Bon Jovi's 'It's my Life' last night was jaw-droppingly brilliant.

By contrast, the characters in 'Modern Family' are well-drawn and funny and at one and the same time, stereotyped and subtle.

Elsewhere in BC, (as in not here) the snow has started. We are being reminded to get snow tyres, even for driving to Whistler. This is frustrating, since we could have to wait a long time for our snow - if it comes at all. We are being threatened with el Nino this year.

At work, I have invented 'Planet Smart'. It's just a rip-off of the electricity company's 'Power Smart' ads on TV really, but it's to help the kids remember to turn off lights and so on. It'll catch on, seriously, it will.

Prisoners

If I had an ounce of creativity in me, I'd sign up to do a segment of the Star Wars uncut movie, where fans from around the globe, re-make a fifteen second section of the film in the manner of their choosing. Mine would have Whisky as Chewbacca and Laurence as Luke Skywalker, dressed in his karate gear.

My friend went to visit an imprisoned Russian on Saturday morning. It is an self-imposed imprisonment, you could say.
The man in question has been in our local news for some time now, he has been living and working in the country for a number of years now, but on an extended work visa. His son has grown up and attended school here and thinks of himself as Canadian. When the couple decided to apply for Permanent Residence, the woman and son were granted it, but the man was turned down because he was at one time a member of the KGB. In order to avoid deportation, he has taken refuge in a church, and there he must stay, because should he leave, that will be the end.

And the churches wonder how long their sanctuary status will be allowed. Their employees can be sacked for their sexual preference, or harassed and insulted without redress for being female, because religion it seems, is beyond the law. How ironic if, instead of the homophobia or the misogyny being dealt with first, they should lose their right to offer sanctuary.

Another friend, who went back to her country of birth earlier in the summer, to testify against her father who had abused her and her sisters as a child, heard recently that her 81 year-old father had been sentenced to six years in prison. An incredible result considering that two of the four sisters testified for him. But he had lied to the judge, painting a picture of a happy, united family, when in fact, three of the children had been estranged from him for 35 years. My friend's sister, who was in court for the sentencing, said that he appeared, cocky and arrogant, not expecting for a second that he would not be walking out of the courthouse a free man. In fact, given his age, he'll probably never again be a free man. Shucks.

Funny, leads me back to thinking about Polanski. All the people, famous people trying to excuse him for abusing a minor, trying to cover up, just like my friend's two sisters, only writ large.
How people want to sweep it under the carpet.

Btw, blood vessels emerging from the optic nerve.

Colour and Confusion

These are neurons - although not mine, so far as I know.

St. Francis of Assisi, best known for his role as Dr. Doolittle in the film of the same name, had his day today. Yes, 4th October is when churches welcome everyone's pets in to pee on the floor and be blessed.
So, Whisky went to church, and got blessed, he also got admired. A lot. And he dug up earth outside in the church grounds until I decided it was probably not a good idea to be digging in the earth in church grounds.
Whisky has now doubled in size since we got him, no longer resembling a Guinea Pig, but rather a small dog.
In church, someone other than the vicar, made up a new chapter of Genesis, in which God - still as sexist as ever, invented dogs to be the constant companion of Adam (yep) and to reflect God in Adam's eyes, and would therefore be called 'dog' - God backwards, natch - owing to the fact that they had run out of names. All dogs are he.

Ok, so that was the afternoon service.

This morning, a visiting vicar kept referring to God as 'he' in his sermon. I asked him afterwards if he thought God was white. He told me that God was all that we are. Good answer, and I'm not male, so is God not male then? Of course not. So why the 'he's then? Good point. The visiting vicar was incredibly receptive and apologetic, and in fact works tirelessly for equality in the church, which I believed, owing to the fact that he was black.

Now this whole black thing, is in fact...getting weird. The visiting vicar didn't look black. At all. He looked completely white but he sounded black. And I was later told that he had suffered incredible discrimination because of his colour.

Then there's Obambi. Someone I know asked a friend the other day, how it has been decided that Obama is black, after all, he is half black and half white, so who decided he was black? Well, to be fair, he does look black....ish.
So it is rather confusing.

Anyway, back to the morning service.
The visiting white, black vicar received the criticism well, but the director of music didn't.
The people who do the prayers and music have been told they must use inclusive language. The music director thinks this is an irrelevance, bizarrely in my opinion, since he has two daughters and a wife.
He transgressed and I called him on it. He said it was because he was Chinese.
?
English is his third language,
'But you speak it very well,' said I,
'But in Chinese, you cannot tell the difference between the words for he and she,'
'So...that's great isn't it, no gender differentiation?'
'No, there is, the two words just sound the same when said aloud,'
'Ah, fascinating, however the service is in English,'
'But you need to know where I'm coming from,'
'And now I do, and you speak English very well, so I'm sure you know when you're using a word that means one specific gender,'
'It was hard for me to come to Canada and learn English and French and German and Spanish,'
'Yes indeed, unnecessarily confusing really, however, back to the English, if you are unsure about the word, feel free to run it by any of us,'
'But you know, worship is about love and joy,'
'Certainly, but it is important how we express that,'
'You can fire me if you want, but I am here because I love God,'
'Well I can't fire you actually, but I wouldn't want to anyway, you're a good musical director, but you need to use inclusive language,'

Eesh, by the end of it, I was sure he understood my point, but what I wasn't sure of, was whether the upshot would be that he'd come on board or resign.
Either way.

Third Wave

Rumour has it that the city of Vancouver will be dealing with its homeless problem shortly before the Olympics - that's to say that they will conveniently disappear. The skating events will be here in Richmond, but, as any City Councillor will tell you, there are no homeless in Richmond, so no problem there.

In a totally unrelated matter, the Olympic athletes are to be decked out in specially designed schmutter with a big black 'C' on it, and a Maple Leaf. By an amazing coincidence, and to the chagrin of every other political party, the Conservative party's logo is a big blue 'C' with a Maple Leaf.

A presenter on the radio suggested that VanOC could kill two birds with one stone - as it were - by dressing the homeless in leftover athletics gear. Tidy 'em up a bit, in a corporate sort of way.

And in an actually unrelated issue, I use that word deliberately, if I want to become a third wave feminist, I'm going to have to get my groove on pretty damn quickly. Apparently it involves the politics of menstruation. I can't see me wearing my menstrual blood as lipstick, I'm more of a subtle pink shade of lippie type of person.
Still, I'm both appalled and fascinated at the same time. Mesmerised even. I SO want to be a third wave feminist, but what if the politics of menstruation has given me the old body swerve by the time I get with the programme?
Hmmm?

Swine

A change in the weather, it's cooler, rained hard today and last night.

So, today, we find out that Canada has put itself into a big old medical experiment. Some unpublished Canadian research strongly suggests that being inoculated against regular 'flu, makes it more likely that you will contract the swine 'flu, or H1N1 as we are now more technically and accurately calling it. So six - I believe - Provinces have decided to not issue the regular 'flu vaccination except to people in certain specific categories.
The States is going ahead with Plan A, that is, to offer both.
I'm not sure which of us is the control group, but doesn't it make you tingle?
No?
Oh.
We live and love in interesting times.

There is something disgusting about some of the reactions to the arrest of Roman Polanski in Switzerland. He anally raped a 13-year-old girl, having first drugged her, and when he was charged, and pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of unlawful sex with a minor, he ran away to join the foreign legion - well, not exactly, more, to live in France.
And the world said...?
'He's done his time,' Really?
'It wasn't really rape, she agreed to it,' so far as a drugged, frightened thirteen-year-old can agree to sex, she...no, she still didn't agree, but she didn't struggle enough,
'But he makse GREAT films,' uhuh, and this means he can commit a violent act against a young woman...or any woman...or any human being...or even an animal, it just won't wash.

Apparently Egypt has had all its pigs killed earlier this year, to avoid swine 'flu. So far so good?
No, I know, it sounds ridiculous by anyone's standards, but now even Egyptian Muslims are regretting it.
The country's Christians have the contract to collect organic waste, which they used to do and feed to the pigs. Nice bit of recycling.
You see where this is going?
No pigs, no waste collection, no waste collection - even more of a health threat than H1N1.
Oops!

Jedi and Other Friends

Crikey, what happens to the weekend?
Must be a Jedi mind trick.
I don't know why the Jedi refer to their skill as a 'mind trick', it makes it sound cheap. Vampires at least call it glamouring.

Bozo5 sent me an article about Jedi from the Grauniad. It seems that Tesco have a policy of not allowing people to wear hoods up in the store, and asked a man to remove his hood or leave the store. Little did they know, that they were speaking to a practising Jedi, who claimed religious discrimination. Tesco's retorted with the observation that the three best known Jedi, Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker, were all frequently to be seen with hoods down.
I suppose the real problem here is that most societies allow people to do quite ridiculous things that flaunt the law, in the name of religious freedom. No company is allowed to reject someone for a job, or sack them, on the grounds of gender or sexual preference, but the church can, heck all of the religions can.
If you have any kind of imaginary friend, write your own rule book.

New series of Dexter. Excellent!!!

Papparazzini

Today, I had my picture taken for the local rag. It will be incredibly cheesy, since there were photos from many angles, but all of me pretending to ignore a garter snake puppet, whilst peering over my specs at the camera. In the background, empty, stacked chairs, indicating the school programmes that won't happen on account of the funding cut - but mostly because of a much longer term problem.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow, I have been and will be, interviewing exceptional women to be my assistant. I hope to goodness I will be able to employ someone by Monday. Luckily, whoever she is, she will be exceptional.

Today, the weather was more bearable - not down to the promised 18, but 21 was doable. Meanwhile one colleague, huddles in an office with the door closed and an electric fire on. Oh, and wearing short sleeves - what's with that? If you are insanely cold, at least put on more clothes whilst helping to destroy the planet.

A bizarre news article here today, in which two polygamous men were not going to be prosecuted for polygamy. Their crime doesn't seem to be in any doubt, the police spent a lot of time investigating, and yet they are not going to be prosecuted for breaking the law. I can't get my head round this.
Two pervy old bollixes.

New TV continues unabated. It's like we hibernate, unable to miss anything, come home, shut the door, eat, watch TV. The opium of the people.

But before we did that this evening, I took the hound for a walk. He's getting to be quite the walker. As we rounded the corner, we saw a young man get out of a car that was parked facing one way, leaving another man in the car, and get into an expensive looking black, sleek car on the opposite side of the road, facing the other way. After a couple of minutes, he got out and got back in the first car, then the black, sleek one left.
I wonder what that was about.
Probably not the opium of the people, probably something else.

Cougar TV

Autumn! Here it is! And after tomorrow, the temperature is supposed to drop to a more autumnal setting.

Who needs more law dramas? Not me, that's for sure, except....'The Good Wife' turns out to be stonking.
And...I wonder where it's filmed?
Oh yeah, here.

We have the first episode of Britcom, 'Beautiful People', I loved that the two lads like to do things everyone does, like pretending to be Canadian. Yes, they spoke loudly in a generic North American accent about how things are in Vancouver, on today's TV, Vancouver is the new Toronto.

On last night's opening episode of the new series of 'How I Met Your Mother', Robin was wearing a Vancouver Canucks' jumper at a hockey game.
Ah, Vancougar.

A Thousand Words

Good service.
Dreary meeting.
Good afternoon.
What-ho.

Mork and Ellen

Oh, is it Saturday already? I suppose so.

I had a wonderful morning. I went to a meeting of the International Anglican Women's Network. We watched a film about how African women worked together to bring an end to war and the tyranny of the egregious Charles Taylor in Liberia. They literally put on their jewellery and white clothes, that they were not allowed to wear, and made themselves into an unmoveable wall. Solidarity. They had some strong leaders, Christian women who determined that as Charles Taylor was an outwardly devout Christian, they and their Muslim sisters would 'Pray the Devil back to Hell.'

It was a moving film, but the morning itself was incredible, to be with other women, unapologetic about their own feminism, and seeing it as part of their Christianity.
Inclusive language was a priority for many of the churches, because it is so fundamental.

I found a letter on the subject of inclusive language from the President of the Canadian Auto Workers dated 1997. It takes no prisoners,

"Language is powerful

Language is a uniquely human tool. When we want to express ourselves, we struggle to find the right words. Words can wound, they can soothe, they can explain, they can lie. Words can include and they can exclude. We all know that words can be powerful."

But this paragraph struck me particularly,

"Some of our collective agreements still contain language that is gender-specific. They use the pronoun "he" when referring to jobs that can be, and are, done by people regardless of gender. These agreements usually include a paragraph that says that where there is gender-specific language, that language should be understood to include both men and women. This doesn't cut it. It's a bit like saying "I know your name is Ralph, but we're not used to having Ralphs around here. Joe is easier to remember, so I'll just call you Joe. No hard feelings, eh?" "

I was happy that I hadn't used any gender-specific language in Save-On today, when the young fellow-me-lad at the checkout turned out to have a name tag that said, 'Grace'.
Phew.
But then she said something that made me think it wasn't gender that was a problem, but possibly alien abduction. In a manner that put me in mind of Mork from Ork, she picked up the bag of tulip bulbs and said in halting English,
'It so wonderful, you put in ground and you get flower,' indeed.

Fringe Benefits

Something on the radio broke through my sports' filter today.
At first it was the interesting pronunciation of 'Arsenal' - Arse-earn-all, then shields went up again .... something about curry .... - Celtic... Eduardo.... and then..Portsmouth University - down shields! Some bloke from Pompey Uni has done a study about whether footballers are faking their diving and tackling, or not. Fascinating. Only the vaguest idea what it all means, but Pompey was on CBC radio, so who cares !

From far to near. It's weird seeing all the buildings and places we see in downtown Vancouver on 'Fringe' now. Reading the sign that says, 'The Irish Heather' pub back to front through the glass. And they do that big blocky sign hanging in the sky thing, so the words 'New York'....whatever..just ain't right.

Why does Facebook keep telling me I have mutual friends that I've never heard of ? Just because someone has the same surname as someone I do know, doesn't mean I know them.

And why are we still asking people whether they want the Olympics or not? Who tf cares? They're happening, it matters not who wants them to happen or not, the money's been spent, the buildings, roads and rail have been built. Just breathe in and think of ...wherever people who aren't English think of.

And the best news article of the day is that environmentalists dressed as suffragettes dumped six loads of horse manure at Jeremy Clarkson's home. Rock and roll!

Season

The first Amanitas of the season, well, the first ones I've seen, and I sought them out - I know where they grow.


After a summer of endless love, an autumn of mellow fruitlessness.

Back at work since Monday, what-ho! Things, however, are in a bit of a mess. The Province isn't giving us any funding, we're not doing winter programmes and maybe not even spring. Schools are pissed off. At present I have no assistant. The homepage of the website had two spelling mistakes, as did the leaflet which was changed from the one I produced. One snake has died, the other escaped.
And on, and on.

To fill the darkening evenings, TV programmes are beginning. Glee, Bones, Fringe - this last, newly moved to Vancouver to film.
And House, two hour opener. Instead of the now tired old alternative life in a coma (The superb 'Life on Mars' notwithstanding), we are going to have the doc in the loony bin.
On the downside, True Blood has finished. Poo. Double, triple poo.
Soon, there will be more TV recordings backed up than we can watch, we will become slaves to it.

I do love this whole season.

But in the wider picture, the UN has decided to set up a women's agency. Although there are currently four departments, they are all Cinderellas. The creation of a full agency gives them some clout.
I see this as hugely important. Although the countries where conditions for women are the worst are not part of the UN, it is the responsibility of the developed nations to prioritise women's issues. How can we expect others to change if we don't show how important it is to us?

Birthday Boxing Day

The hot weather has continued,so we saddled up and shipped out. We ended up at Deas Slough, where we discovered a good place to kayak, but some kind of war between canoeists and water-skiers. The accommodation reached was that 'paddle sports' were to take place before 13.30 and water-skiing after.
We arrived around 13.00. Two dragon boats came in off the water on cue, but the water-skiers were already out there.
Should we go out or not? We could hug the water margins, and there was already a kayak out there.

Some getting-on-for-senior gentleman, sitting in camping chairs by the water's edge grumbled about them.
'They pollute the water, they pollute the air, they don't have any skill and on top of all that, they play their loud music,' all of which, it must be said, was true.
'I'll help you get the kayaks into the water,' said one, settling it.

Whisky sat up on my lap at first, not happy with his life jacket, but wanting to look around. Then he snuggled down into the hull as the water got choppier, the wake from the speedboats.

We explored and we enjoyed the water and the afternoon.
Birthday Mark II

Last night's Othello didn't disappoint, and as ever, gave food for thought. Othello himself was not so much black as cup of medium strength tea coloured. The dialogue had him referring, several times, to his own black face, reminding me that the costume designer had told us that originally, Shakepeare's troupe would have performed his plays in their own clothes and without scenery and props, so the actor playing Othello would have had to keep reminding the audience that the character was black.

The backdrop to the stage was the sun setting behind the mountains, Canada geese flying across the sky, the mast of a boat crossing the water and the lights of the North Shore gradually illuminating.

11th September 2009

Thanks for all the birthday wishes. Whisky and I have spent some of this beautiful day out on the balcony and now I'm off to see Othello at Bard on the Beach.
All good.

Sleeping Dogs

This morning's health segment on the local news programme, concerned a study that had showed that couples get more sleep if they sleep apart.
I knew it would be, as soon as I saw the study reported, I thought, yep, that'll be Doctor Art's story in the morning, and it was.
Hardly makes a difference to us at the moment, since we have to get up during the night to take the dog out for a pee.

Alex had her graduation ceremony yesterday, I will be getting a DVD of it, which I'm looking forward to seeing. My own graduation ceremony was in December. This does seem like an unbelievable amount of time after being awarded a degree in June or July. Had I gone, Princess Anne would have handed me a pretend degree, I dunno, she wasn't trusted with the real things I suppose. I jest, it's never the real thing they hand out.
In fact, I was in labour with Laurence, so I missed it, and yet, didn't.

Our Province has its own auto insurance company, wouldn't want any competition in that industry, would we? It also sets the road tests and rules and what have you. Yep.
Now it has been discovered that they sold three illegally modified grow op trucks, with everything still in place that anyone would need were they going to start growing pot. Apparently a bit of a misunderstanding with the RCMP over whose responsibility it was to remove the gear.
Hmmm...
Whilst they have been arguing about that, I wonder if it has occurred to the police to check who might want to buy such vehicles. Probably not their responsibility though.
If the Province has the motor insurance industry all sewn up, perhaps it should also consider growing and selling the pot itself, then the police could concentrate on something else like traffic violations.

If we are still in this house when I am properly old, I am going to cut down the cedar hedge that half blocks my view of the intersection so that I can sit in a rocking chair with a half-cocked air-rifle over my arm.
Whisky and I spend a lot of time on the porch proper, from where I can see all the appalling things that happen at what should be a quiet crossroads.
Far from it.
Today I witnessed one of those things that people tell you about, but I swear I've never actually seen.
A woman stopped at the intersection and applied her mascara. Eventually, a lad came up behind her and beeped and she moved off.
But here's the thing. The VERY NEXT driver to stop there, was on his cell phone. He stopped and continued his conversation, and again, someone came up behind him, but this time, just waited.
Hmmm.

Road Yet to be Travelled

For some reason, they don't have an Ikea catalogue at the hairdresser's, so I am forced to read their celeb mags. Well, alright, if you twisted my arm I'd have to confess I'm not forced to, since I have the two books I am reading in my bag. But I do anyway.

I haven't honestly heard of most of the celebs, although some of them I know from GoFugYourself, my guilty online reading site where I chortle, often aloud, at some of the bizarre outfits they wear. From here I know of Lady Gaga and Bai Ling, although I have no clue what their purpose in life is.

So, flicking through said mags today, I discover a couple of people I am familiar with.
Kelly Osborne - it always seemed unfair to me that neither of the Osborn children got their mother's looks, but in fact, the picture of Kelly was quite flattering, and it turns out that she does favour Sharon.

Then there was Dexter and his sister. So, Dexter, or rather, whatever the actor's name is, whom we first met on Six Feet Under, as the gayer than springtime brother. Quite clearly no acting needed there.
And Dexter's sister, whose Adam's apple we keep trying to catch a glimpse of.
Only it turns out that neither of them are gay, au contraire, although they both set our gaydar screaming, they are in fact married - to each other. What?!? I know!

Speaking of women who wear trousers - which of course we all do - Bozo wondered whether I was considering mentioning the Sudanese woman who has been sent to gaol for wearing trousers. And a very good question. I have been following this case and greatly admire the courage of this woman. She could have wriggled out of the charges because she was working for the UN, but she didn't, she resigned, she could have just paid a fine, but she wouldn't because she wanted to challenge the actual law. She could have been flogged, she risked that. She has drawn international support for the cause, which fundamentally is about human rights, but it's no picnic making the sort of stand she has done. We take for granted what our grandmothers' generation did to get us the vote - even the most weak-minded would be horrified to lose that now, but blood was shed to get us that equality, just as much blood was shed to put Obambi in the White House. It's complacency that is the most dangerous thing now.

Because it leads to, or at best masks, situations like the gender pay gap in the Financial sector in Britain. Across the board, the gender pay gap is 28%, in the financial industry, where 51% of employees are women, the gap is 47% in annual average earnings. Women get 80% less in performance related pay. Surely, you might argue, this means that women in the industry are underperforming?
Firstly, 86% of women start on a lower salary than men. Ok, ok, but get to the bonuses.
Those bonuses are earned as a result of higher status tasks and networking. The research showed that the lads culture reigns supreme, so that men are encouraged and women discouraged and thus, ultimately end up doing less prestigious tasks, which then become known as women's work and so the spiral continues downwards.
The networking often takes place in establishments on the margins of the sex industry, such as lap-dancing clubs, strip bars and hostess bars, places that in any case, are inappropriate venues for work and by their very nature, exclude women.
It's shameful, but constant shaking of the head, like constant weighing of the pig, doesn't improve matters.
When politicians like Harriet Harman attempt to even the score, they are derided and harassed.
There is a way to go yet.

Whisky's Maiden Voyage

I like this picture because it reminds me of one of those e-mail clips that go around from time to time, where you are lulled into a false sense of something or other and then a figure pops up in the foreground and goes, 'Boo!'

Whisky got his sealegs today, only...on a lake. We went to Deer Lake because we knew it was neither deep nor was there a current, so it was as safe as it could be.

First time out, he whined for a while, but didn't really make too much of a fuss. After about an hour and a half, we returned to shore and had some sarnies. I managed to drop mine, but caught it between my knees. This turned out to be serendipitous, because this time, Whisky didn't even whine, he just licked the mayonnaise from my legs and then went to sleep on my jumper in the hull - which is why you can't see him in the picture.

Around 16.00, the skies opened up. I was happy as a pig in muck, I covered Whisky with my rain jacket, but then there was a roll of thunder. The rental place called all their boats in and we decided to call it a day.

Raaaaa

Essay question : "I created your civilisation, now I will destroy it." Discuss.

Ok, I will.

Imagine your are the type of Being who could legitimately say this. Why would you? You are powerful enough to create and destroy the civilisations of lesser beings, (but who nonetheless can understand your language - because they are clever enough to have learnt it) but you have a serious case of inferiority complex, otherwise you wouldn't need to tell the lesser being of your intentions, you wouldn't need to see them suffer, because you're a superior being, sorry, Being. Most humans wouldn't need to do that, you kind of imagine a superhuman wouldn't have the personality faults of the least well-adjusted of our race.
Suffice to say, the original Stargate film was on TV and Ra, the androgynous god, was addressing Alan Shore, who coped quite well without Denny Crane.


For us, this is the long weekend, our Bank Holiday, Labour Day, is tomorrow. Kevin and I have blitzed our garage - the final frontier. We visited three different recycling places this morning. You think you have no junk, and then you go through everything with a fine-tooth comb, or more...a medium-gauge comb and you discover you were wrong, and that you really did have several of that thing you keep thinking you had none of and keep buying more of.
At least now we know what we have in there.

Last night, we watched a Swedish vampire film,'Let the Right One in'. It worked for me on many levels, snow, and lots of it, simplicity, and it was thought-provoking.
It was made in 2008, which rather non-plussed me, because the furniture, clothes and buildings made it look as though it was set in the 70s. This must be the explanation, because it cannot be that the Swedes are behind us in fashion, since they gave the world Ikea. So perhaps they are actually ahead of us and we will soon once more be dressing in long scarves and stripy, knitted tank tops.
One thing that I found irritating however, was that it was dubbed rather than subtitled. This gives one the impression that Swedish people go around having bizarrely phrased conversations in flat voices, which of course we know they don't, because of the Ikea adverts.

I am working my way through the 2010 Ikea catalogue. I nearly have it memorised.

Club Med

I am, as the young people say, 'stoked'. (See what I did there, huh? said it like an old lady:)
I have received, in my capacity of (as the vicar herself calls me) 'sous-vicar' - which I wouldn't mind being for real, apart from the whole having to be nice to people thing - a letter of vehement complaint about the use of non-inclusive language in our church. This comes on the heels of an elderly man reading a passage from the authorised Bible, rather notorious for its sexist language.
On TV at the moment, the morons are advertising their wares, in the course of which advert they refer to God as 'he' and promise to send you a King James version.

I can't wait to roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. Muahahahaha.....people are going to get educated to the nth degree.
The funny thing is, most of the people at church, even many of the older ones, are quite anti sexist language anyway.

The good old Mediterranean diet is in the news again. Even more studies have shown that it beats all other ways of eating for good health. It turns back the seven signs of ageing, kills 99% of all known germs and helps you relax, work and play.
And normally we do eat a fairly Mediterranean-ish diet at the Schloss, lots of veggies, olive oil, pasta, prosciutto, mozzarella, curry, no, I wasn't that good at geography, but some things I don't want to know, I have my fingers in my ears and am singing, lalalalalala!!!
Just that for the past few weeks we've been eating a North American diet as well.

And now, we discover that many items in the Med range are poisonous to dogs, grapes, avocados, onions, garlic, tomatoes, wine, funghi and some nuts. Well, bollocks to that I hear you say, dogs eat meat, oh yes they do, it's just something else to worry about.

Whisky, meanwhile, is making friends and influencing people.
Kev asked me to take Whisky for a walk midday. He's not a fan of the lead. Whisky that is, not Kev.
And, it turns out, he doesn't particularly have to be. We got as far as the grass verge round the corner, and girls on bikes stopped to cluster round and admire him.

He's going to be a big help next year with the veggie garden mark II. He is keenly digging a hole in the patch of earth in front of the house. Excavation is going well, from his point of view.

Of Pets and Other Animals

Whisky now has a life jacket. The label on it says, 'Outward Hound'. Har-di-har. I was channelling Sleepy, I know I was; I know what her inner Muzac is and it was playing in my head. Then I had a choice of colours and I was compelled to choose orange. See, that proves it.

A life jacket saved a small girl yesterday, when she was pulled off the dock where she was helping her dad, by a harbour seal. One of the commentators on the news article online suggested that the seals were rising up and getting their revenge for the clubbing.

Talking of clubbing, in Superstore, where Sleepy's personal Muzac was still playing in my head, I now of course, have to visit the pet aisle. I noticed that cat owners may purchase their moggies 'Frisky's party mix' just in case your cat needs to put out snacks when their friends come round presumably. On the packet was a picture of a cat who looked as though it had taken some kind of hallucinogen, surrounded by party streamers and such like.

This week has seen a number of delivery people coming to the house, bringing small items, and in one case, the essential piece of our vacuum cleaner that was recalled in May, ours went on the 5th May to be precise.
The actual postie came twice. He was enchanted by Whisky both times.
The Fed-Ex man said I was the first person he'd found at home. This struck me as being not too odd, since his job was to deliver parcels at a time when the majority of people are at work or school.
'That's good,' I said, 'must mean we're coming out of recession,' but I might as well have said something in French.
The Purolator man noticed I was English, and so regaled me with a list of places where he has relatives in England. Some pretty nice areas too.
When we were on Mayne Island in the summer, a man we met did that thing to Austen where you get asked if you know some specific person in the UK.

Last night we had an incredible storm. Thunder, lightning, pounding rain, it was fabulous. Today was a perfect day, warm enough, with skies that promised more excitement and indeed, once or twice it delivered. The soil stayed wet all day.
Beautiful.

Old Friends

'Oh me, oh my, small fry.'

Not entirely random.
The way that I deal with unemployment on a personal level, is to make daily lists and work my way through them, this is also how I coped with post-natal depression and how I hope to cope with pre-mortem retirement.

But this morning's list has not being going well. A fair number of them involved the computer and another group involved ringing people. The computer kept locking up every few minutes - which I now firmly believe ... or..maybe weakly believe, had something to do with Facebook chat. And everyone I needed to phone didn't open until later, all except the lady in the States I had to call, fortuitously, wherever she works is a few hours ahead of us.

The friend I was attempting to chat to on Facebook, British Karen, I have known since before I was Holly's age, and I (really this time) do firmly believe that there is some kind of psychic connection involved in strong friendships. Karen told me that she was recently thinking about someone I haven't been in contact with for over thirty years, my French exchange partner and penfriend from when I was at Grammar school, and she contacted me through Facebook this week.
I was just stunned, both at getting in contact with Marie, and at the co-incidence.

On Saturday we did a lot of driving around, we rented kayaks from Jericho beach, saw our friend Christine, widow of Bruce who died this time last year, and who was launching the kayak that she and her daughter finished building, a project he started with that same daughter the year before he died.
Then over to Surrey to pick up Whisky.

And it seemed that the world and her love interest were having garage sales out on the pavement.
Like the opposite of spring cleaning, only the same in essence.
Clearing out the old, the unwanted, making room for the autumn, for when the doors close and we have to enjoy our indoor space before we fill it up again with the fruits of Christmas overspending.