Face up to the truth

So France have banned the burqa ... "We are doing this to protect women's rights" is the argument ... Interesting as now I am wondering how it can be argued you are fighting for womens rights and freedom when the end result could mean that women are not able to leave their homes? If the thought is that most of these women are being beaten into submission and being forced to wear it, will the ban change this attitude and will they now go to work wearing a mini-skirt and hair extensions? Or is it more likely that they will be instructed not to leave home at all.

Will those who have of their own freewill chosen to wear the burqa suddenly be persuaded not to by the ban? What now for them? If it was me, I'd be tempted to walk around wearing a motorcycle helmet - those have yet to be banned, although it might be difficult to go to the shops in it ... perhaps an all encompassing hat, large celebrity sunglasses and a surgical mask ... well it worked for Michael Jackson!

I am sure that there are some more imaginative ways to get around the ban and it will be interesting to see what action is taken against anyone flouting the ban.

The Artist

At home this week with Hurricane Zoo ... trying to figure out how best to entertain him .. garden is too muddy ... so I have to contain him indoors. At present this involves him finding various toy boxes and emptying the contents on the floor, followed by some yelling and chasing around the house.

Finally managed to find him some building blocks and he is quietly playing so I figure a quick nip to the loo is safe.

I notice that he is exceedingly quiet all of a sudden and then hear scribbling noises coming from the front room.

"Zoo ... what are you doing?" I yell

Everything goes quiet again ... "Zoo?"

"I'm not drawing on the floor, Mummy!"

You still here?

Just reminising about pre-facebook days and wondering whether anyone is still reading this blog of mine. Anyone here?

Bhutto - I am Legend

Benazir Bhutto, like her father before her, has been killed and moved into what can only be seen by many as matrydom. I was shocked to hear that she was assasinated but not surprised. I remember the news reports as she returned triumphantly, and with genuine emotion, back to the country of her birth and perhaps she knew the land where she would eventually die.

Even after the first attempt at her life I hoped that she would re-consider her strategy. She has children, as a mother I'm not sure whether I would want to take that risk with my life, with their well-being. Perhaps I am not as singular and passionate in a belief as she was. Perhaps death is an integral part of the Bhutto life .. her father and two brothers met a violent death. Some say it was the death of her father that brought her into the life of politics. I hope that she has not re-created this cycle for her own children.

She was a strange character ... I should be proud that she was the youngest, first and only female political leader of a muslim country ... but then I am unsure how I feel about the claims of corruption that led to her downfall twice. I am sad but also annoyed that she took the risk that led to her death ... But as they say, when your time is up, you can do nothing to delay the inevitable. I, like may others I am sure, am left with a strange feeling of loss and bewilderment.

Facebook killed the blogging star ...

I have been spending way too much time stalking, sorry networking on Facebook ... and now that I have discovered Scrabulous .. I have spent inordinate amounts of time getting my ass whipped by Mary in Toronto and whipping Salman in Newcastle.

I have resisted the temptation to link the two so far ... Paranoia is rampant amoing the siblings, Goliath & Vertigo. They have obviously things to hide! Me, well, now someone has my entire identity and bank details because of the missing child benefit CD ... what have I got to lose?

Anyhow ... saw this somewhere and decided it was so funny I had to post it ... so true .... So who are you in the meeting?

Well fook me!

You may have thought that I had died of embarrassment after eliciting just one measly comment from my last posting but it is worse ... the little rascal, nearing two years old now said a four letter word that stopped me in my tracks.

Whilst Zoo was eating his lunch, I pottered around the kitchen trying to sort out some juice and heard a clatter of cutlery on the floor. "Fook!" mutters Zoo staring at the floor.

I stand glued to the spot, petrified that I may have heard what I think I've heard.

Cream and I have tried our utmost not to say any inappropriate words in front of him especially as he has a tendency to pick up new words quickly. He has perfected the use of "pleees" and "tankque" and more recently "sawree", but this was not one that we has been practising. "Fartie" is the worse thing we've taught him so far.

"What did you say?" I ask trying to look unconcerned.
"Fook" he replies with a big smile on his face.

I try to ascertain exactly what he is saying and hoping it's not what I fear.

"Frog?" He shakes his head, "Fook."
"Fox?" "Fook."
"Fix?" "Fook."

Desperation is beginning to show now as beads of perspiration congregate ...

"Fish?" "Fook."
"Fart?" "Fook."


I run out of f words at this point and decide it's best to just ignore it and deal with the shame when he repeats it again in public. I pick up his spoon from the floor, give it a quick wipe for good measure and go back to pouring out his apple juice, with a deep sigh, wondering how I'm going to explain this to Cream.

"Ummmee" comes an angelic voice from the dining table. "Fook" he says pointing to the floor. It suddenly dawns on me that he is actually trying to tell me that he has dropped his fork!!

"Thank fucking God!!"

"Fookieee!!!" comes the reply from the table .... "Oh, bugger!"

Visitors' Book

There has been some discussion as to why no-one comments on any of my blogs ... so I invite everyone and anyone to leave a quick "hello" (or more) as proof that I'm not faking the visitor counter and that people are in fact visiting even if for a split second!!

I may of course end up being mighty embarrassed!! Let's see ...

Swastika Shopping

I may sound a little controversial here but what is all the fuss about a swastika found on a handbag at Zara?

Yes, I realise that the swastika was the symbol of the Nazi's but for thousands of years before Adolf decided to adopt it, it was used, and is still being used, by many different faiths around the world.

Hindu's and Buddhists I definitely know about, but apparently it is also used by Northern European pagans (the hammer of Thor); Roman pagans (on Roman coins and tombs); Early Christians (everlasting life); Jains (their seventh saint); Falun Gong (Wheel of the Dharma - a Chinese cult before you ask and nothing to do with Lost as far as I am aware!); Masons (Mystic Cross); Esoteric philosophers and Occultists!

I can appreciate that now the swastika is synonymous with Nazism & fascism but at what point do we allow the symbol to revert back to it's original purer uses. I have personally seen it used at a home in a bunting style on the front door. I can appreciate that this is the correct use of the symbol and am not going to refuse to enter the house until it is torn down and burnt!

Yes, to many the symbol is still too raw a wound. But there are many others who have encountered similar atrocities and have moved on. Were the moors terrified of the Christian cross during the crusades? If I found a burning cross in my front garden I'd know it's the KKK that have visited and not the local group of Jehovah's witnesses calling card! Should we ban the cross for this reason? At what point do we look at the context of it's use rather than the bare symbol itself.

So ... lets figure this out ... Do we think that those who still use the symbol, added it to a flowery bag they were making for a pittance, to give good luck and blessings to the person who bought it!? Or is it more likely that in some tiny sweat shop somewhere on the Indian continent, a skin-headed Nazi fascist, sat in a conveyor belt style of production sewing on swastikas, peering over his shoulder and hoping that no-one would notice?

Parking meters tick me off!!

What is it about parking meters?? The companies obviously realise that no-one willingly parks their cars at a parking meter and so have thought up an ingenious way of making the most of the occasion.

Today, I had to dash Goldie off to the vets after spending two days trying to get rid of a tick. At first I thought I'd pull it off ... but he squealed the house down when I went anywhere near him ... and so did Goldie. So I moved on to Plan B .. Kill it with Frontline combo and then pick it off in one fail swoop.

24 hours later and the blighter is still hanging in there, waving it's little legs in the air at me. Goldie scarpers every time he sees me as he begins to equate hurt with my presence.

48 hours later and it's still alive and taunting me by hanging on for dear life with teeth that it's borrowed from the world strongest man. I've spoken to the vet, read several articles and a couple of Internet video's and feel prepared to get rid of this unwelcome hitchhiker.

Unfortunately, the tick has other thoughts ... He resists any attempt to remove him and me being rather squeamish, can't bear to hear Goldie's yelps of pain as we play tug of war. I throw in the towel and call in the cavalry, the vets. I dash down and as I'm already late for work, I decide to cough up and park as close to the vets as possible rather than parking 5 minutes down the road for free. And this is where I get ticked off.

"30p for 20 mins, 60p for 40 mins & 1.50 for 1 hour," it declares. What bloody nonsense is that? Why not just 50p for half an hour and £1 for an hour ... no ... it has to involve you finding at least two coins for each transaction!! This of course cunningly increases the chances that you are not going to have the correct change.

So I reach into my bag and find a £5 note, a £2 coin and 50p. Great ... So I pop in the 50p and hope that it will calculate the overpayment and allow me extra time or provide me with change. The machine bleeps, "20 mins" is displayed, although no message about change being dispensed! Bloody great ...

In order to get rid of one parasite I am having to be bled by another! I curse at the machine and it spits out my money with an "aborted" message. What the ...!!

I take a deep breath, kiss my 50p goodbye and press the green button. I run into the vets and after a short wait, she slowly but surely tugs the tick off using a green contraption. I console myself with the fact that it took her three attempts before the tick decides to let go and prepare myself for the more painful experience of paying the vets fees.

"What's the damage?" I ask the receptionist ... She peers at her computer, looking confused and then strains her neck in for a closer look. "The Vet hasn't charged you ... it was free" she says slightly bewildered, to my hastely retreating figure.

Gorilla's in the chocolate mist

If you haven't seen this already, I'm not going to spoil it for you ... If you have enjoy!

A Rise in Public Confidence - Count me in!

Had to travel by public transport today and leave the car behind. I was petrified. It wasn't just a normal trip down the jubilee line ... it was a tube ride, followed by a train ride, followed by a bus ride to get to Kingston. Tried my utmost to get out of this meeting but was glad I went in the end.

Watching the news every day leaves you with a sense of loneliness in London and a "they are all weirdo's and violent maniacs out there" attitude. So the prospect of having to travel on public transport was a little menacing at first. After my panic attack subsided, I mapped out my journey and figured that if I dropped Zoo off early and got to Wembley Park by 8.10am, then I'd be fine.

Of course I didn't plan that my alarm wouldn't go off, or that it was an event day and I couldn't get parked within two miles of Wembley Park tube. So I returned home and running already 20 minutes late prepared myself mentally for a bus ride. Had to ring Cream for moral support and to check which bus I needed and had to cough up an astounding £2. (Yes I know ... before you mention Oyster, I have two good reasons not to use one ... 1. I safely stored my Oyster card somewhere so I wouldn't lose it and now no longer know where it is, and 2. Work will only reimburse travel expenses with a ticket and receipt.)

Anyhow I nervously got on the bus and realised I had no idea where it would drop me off and tried to catch the eyes of the sanest looking person on the bus. Found one girl who was prepared to meet with my eye and she even politely removed her headphones to check what I was muttering about.

At the station, after having been disgusted by the cost of the 20 minute bus ride, I almost fainted at the £13.50 cost of a return, but managed to get onto the platform and into Waterloo in what seemed like no time. I jumped onto South West trains and again nervously checked I was going in the right direction and finally reached Surbiton where a very nice rail employee directed me to the busstop that I needed and the lovely bus driver provided me with a lengthy but accurate detail of where I should get off as several passengers patiently waited to scan their oyster cards behind me.

Having arrived at my destination with 10 minutes to spare, I contemplated how people took similar journeys every day to work and just what a sheltered life I lived with my ten minute solo commute to work.

On the journey back home, I had summonsed up enough courage to strike up a conversation with an elderly lady, a Japanese tourist and a suited commuter whilst we all waited for the 83 bus. I probably spoke to more people that day than I had in the last month and it was actually a pleasurable experience. So if you spot a crazy woman on public transport asking for directions, it could well be me!!

Shark Bait & Mangoes

What is it with Pakistani politics? Like sharks who can smell a drop of blood from miles away, Nawaz Sharif has sniffed out a weakness in Musharraf and decided to fly in from miles away to see if he could bite off a piece of power. There has been a lot of talk of Benazir Bhutto in talks with Musharraf about returning to Pakistan. Heaven forbid that Bhutto get there before him and manage to eat a three course meal and leave him nothing but leftovers to dine on.

Anyhow it seems that Sharif seriously miscalculated just how wounded Musharraf was and after 90 minutes of refusing to leave his plane, eventually conceded defeat as he was deported to Saudi Arabia.

Now this is very different to a bout between Cameron and Brown at PMQ's. Where the worst that can happen is you end up with egg on your face. Pakistani politics is life threatening. The only country in the world that I know of where your life can be ended with an exploding gift box of mangoes.

Suspicious behaviour?

I know I've written about the McCann's before and I'll be honest I would have hoped by now that they would have found Madeleine's body. I know that sounds awful but at least the parents would have had some closure.

What has happened yesterday is a nightmare. It is intriguing to think that the Portuguese Police have some evidence that they think points towards the parents.

I watch too much CSI so I have always said that invariably it is the last person to have seen a missing person that is the main suspect. And I could never fathom how a major bit of evidence, the Cuddle Cat, was allowed to be carried around by the mother. You hear of cases where they find microscopic evidence months down the line so why don't they have this item in a lab somewhere being tested?

Anyhow, what I heard yesterday was the evidence seemed to be blood on the mother's clothes and in the hire car. I always love playing devil's advocate, so while most people at work were going down the "I knew something was dodgy about the whole case", I was playing the role of a celebrity lawyer.

The blood could be explained by the Cuddle Cat .. if Madeleine was holding this before she was abducted and the mother has had it ever since ... then transfer of microscopic evidence should explain this. And if it's a hire car .. who hired it before them? Is it conceivable that a local guilty person may have also hired the car to dispose of a body???

Who knows what the evidence is .. I now hear suggestions that the children were all sedated as well.

I must admit though that this case has shaken my trust in others. Cream and I do pop into the garden on occasion whilst Zoo is asleep in his cot, to put out the washing or pop something in the bin. The bedroom window looks out into the garden and we can clearly see the cot and Zoo from the garden.

Cream laughs at me .. but now I insist on locking the front door and putting the chain on if I am out the back ... just in case.

Bitten by a zombie!

Now I've been bitten by a zombie. Little did I know that this Facebook business was going to be so dangerous to my personal health with all the poking and biting going on.

Not sure what bugs bitten Cream .. he has spent most of the evening with his head down the loo ... Apparently a batch of dodgy grapes.

It's like watching The Witches of Eastwich!

I've been poked in the face ... twice!

Despite emails from various friends recommending joining facebook, I resisted. I went on and had a look but wasn't tempted by anything I saw.

Then I heard it had been banned at some workplaces ... and like the teenager who went out to buy Frankie goes to Hollywood record "Relax", I was strangely drawn to join, just to check out what all the fuss was about.

Well I joined two days ago and so far I have two friends and have been poked twice.

Hhhhmmmm ... "relax ... don't do it ..."

If only ....

Emotions are strange things ... Strange how you can become attached to what amounts to a pile of metal. I feel especially silly now after having spent the evening with my cousin who just lost her mother. My anguish at losing the car, a feeling of loss of memories, ownership, having to let go of the past, is ridiculous in comparison.

Her sorrow at losing her mother is plain to see and hard to console. Even harder as her mother although known to be ill, was not thought to be at the point where it was life threatening. But perhaps the pain emanates from the same emotions and denials. Not wanting to admit that the person has gone as has the relationship you held with them, not wanting to acknowledge that all that is left is memories of a person, not wanting to admit that we all one day will die.

What we believe happens after that stage differs from religion to religion or from person to person... but very few of us believe that we live forever in the same form as we do now. So why do we continue to allow oursleves to attach to others, when the pain caused at the time of loss is so unbearable. When we know that inevitably we will all die and the pain will be felt by those who we leave behind.

If only ... she kept repeating ... If only she had been with her instead of here in the UK ... if only she had know she was iller than she let on, if only she had spoken to her yesterday ... If only she had told her ...

Life is full of if only's. If only we knew what tomorrow was to bring we might deal with our todays in a better manner.

The Old Girl is put to pasture

Ok .. I have no shame in admitting that I cried as I passed the keys of my beloved Peugeot 306 over. After 11 years of lovingly carting me around the country ... (at least five trips to Newcastle & Edinburgh) I said goodbye to the old girl.

Strangely enough her last drive home was quiet .. not just because the radio still wasn't working but also because the rattling in the engine and the softly squealing brakes decided to take a breather. She drove beautifully ... well as beautifully as she had driven for a while. She's trying to make me feel guilty for trading her in, I thought.

It was obvious to the dealer that I was going to burst into tears as he told me that it was going to take him a while to set up his Sat Nav and I didn't need to wave him or the car off. (I realised how silly it seemed and I wondered if this was the same ploy used by nursery teachers who know that the parent is having more trouble letting go than the kid!)

He started up the engine and she groaned rather loudly in protest, or perhaps excitement, who knows. And I peered out from behind the net curtains as she was whisked away round the corner for pastures new.

Wishlist gets smaller

Well I am making good progress on my wishlist ...

An extension to the house ... well not quite there but have an appointment with the architects to measure up the house on Thursday.

Bag for work ... yeah well ... I'd only end up filling it with junk so perhaps my purse sized bag is best.

Battery replacement for Timberland wristwatch ... actually if I fix it, I'll need to buy a bloody watch box too ... nah I'll just leave it in the cookie jar!

More Sleep ... yeah right ... fat chance of that. At what stage did I start staying in bed all hours until forced to get out ny my parents? I'm sure that was about 18 ... in which case I have another 16 years before I'll get any of this!!

Nokia N95 ... If 3 weren't such tight arses I'd have this already, but I'll be buggered if I'm going to pay £100 for the phone on top of the line rental!

Re-mortgage ... keep meaning to get round to this I could probably save myself thousands in the long run.

Toyota Corolla Verso ... Paid a deposit and likely to be going round on Wednesday to drop off the Peugeot 306. Feel kind of sad really. My very first car has done me proud for the last 11 years and 98k miles. It's likely that the dealership will just auction it off and who's going to buy my car in the state she's in. No Peugeot logo, a dent in the side, a bit of the engine missing, cigarette burn in the back seat, stains on the seats (non-biological!), one dodgy tyre, one dodgy window, radio code unknown and a strange noise coming from the engine! The salesman did ask me what state it was in and I did tell him the truth .. it's a very well used family car and has a couple of dents in the side. It still drives though!!

Someone will pick it up for parts I suspect. Sad to think it will be torn apart after all the years we've had together. Cream, who wasn't as upset at the thought of relinquishing the old car (obviously isn't as connected with the pile of junk as I am) had other thoughts. "But look at it this way ... it's like she's an organ donor ... She's not going to die ... her parts will be spread out across the country helping others keep their decrepit cars just a bit longer." Nice thought!

What came first? The duck or the egg??

Mujnu decided to pop round to visit his cousin again ... with the gramps in tow of course. Although they brought an assortment of lunch with them I decided to go down the route of cooking my speciality scrambled omelette. A concoction I created on a day when my previously non-stick frying pan decided it really should have been born an obnoxious burn and stick to everything pan instead.

Anyhow ... I approach the dining table with a plate of my scrambled ommelette in one hand and a plate of warmed pitta bread in the other and Cream looks over and says "You're asking for it .. you expect them to make their own sarnies ... You'll have a mess on your hands."

Mum and Dad giggle in the background. But I nonchalantly totter over to the mischievous two now sitting eagerly at the table. I help Mujnu make his first one and even let him have a squig of ketchup with it. As I am helping Zoo make his, I hear a "mmmmm" from the other side of the table. "Pooopeee did you make it? ... It's nice ... mmmmm!"

I couldn't have been more pleased if Gordon Ramsey had suggested that I cook for him! So we sat and ate our food and Mujnu even picked out the five different types of veg in his plate.

Pepper, mushroom, broccolli, red onion, and tomato. "Do you know what else is in there?" He looks at his plate pondering ... "No, Pooppeee? What???"

"Eggs ..." and as I mutter this word, Mujnu's world seems to collapse around him .... Dad yells over ..."Now you've done it ... he won't eat eggs!"

"What's wrong with eggs??" I ask. "He's been watching Cbeebies and they have this trailer where a cute duck pops out of an egg."

"Pooopppeee ... duck's eggs?!?!? He is now staring at the half eaten sandwich in his hand in disgust and then looks up at me as though I have told him that I have just fed him Nemo fingers.

So here it is .... do I explain to a three year old that we humans use animals for labour and meat? That this is the way of the world and that we are no different to many other creatures here on God's earth. An endless system of recycling of sorts where we are fortunate enough to be the top of the food chain. I take a deep breath and do what any responsible parent faced with the potential of having a vegetarian child on their hands ....

"No!" I say laughing, "I didn't cook duck's eggs!!! I cooked .... different eggs!! The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I should mention the chicken that was involved somewhere along the line .. but Mujnu was sufficiently pleased with this answer to proceed to munch down his sandwich and then start filling up his second pitta bread too.

An explosion between the legs?

Dad has always been a man that was afraid of nothing .. when we went delving into the depths of the shed, he never flinched as I ran screaming from spiders, woodlice and wasps. During my childhood Dad was always there to put his hand down a stinky waste water pipe and pull out lengths of toilet paper or God only knows what else. I thought he was fearless ... until today. Today I realised that there is one thing that petrifies my father ... and it wa sonly today that I relaised the true scale of the phobia.

NAPPIES ... normal unused ones, he is fine with, but any encounter with a filled one fills him with ... well ... fear .. or to put it a little less politely .. he shits himself!

Now I have always assumed that when Dad spoke of never changing a nappy, it was due to a chauvinistic "I'm not doing that, it's a woman's job" attitude. On arriving back from work today however, I found Dad carefully placing Zoo on his changing mat and very gently sliding his trousers down ...

"HE'S DONE SOMETHING!" Dad yells to Mum in a panic ... Mum yells over that she is coming (she is stuck at the door with someone else) and I dash across, yelling over at Cream to watch this momentous occasion. Cream fumbles in his coat pocket, trying to get his camera out to record the moment for posterity and Dad realising that he has an audience, puts a brave face on.

"So are you going to change that, Dad?" I ask as we both peer at the nappy, spilling over with the days excess food. Dad has managed to take off Zoo's trousers by this point, but besides a couple of nervous giggles in my direction has not yet said a word. Zoo has done a particularly spectacular job and there are hints of what is within with an enticing whiff and a slight discolouration to his undergarments.

Dad peers at the bodysuit for a minute and manages to find a tiny area he is prepared to touch. He closes the tip of one finger and thumb around a press stud button and tugs ... and tugs .. and tugs. The bodysuit is not giving up without a fight and Zoo who normally is fidgeting all over the place is motionless ... probably in shock that Dad is actually so close to his filled nappy. Dad refuses to adjust the positioning of his finger and thumb, the thought of an extra mm closer to the nappy obviously uppermost in his mind and he tugs again. The stud button finally gives way and Dad gets a full unobstructed view of the nappy ... and then the funniest thing happens.

With a look of real fear on his face, he stares at the nappy. And then without taking his eyes off it, he slowly backs away shaking his head slowly as though it were a ticking time bomb.