In the summer of 2007, Ben and I started this blog with the intention of using it equally. Ben designed it but I updated it much more often, so we have decided to go our separate ways (technologically speaking only!) and I have now designed and launched my own blog, Tea with a Friend. I won't be posting here here at Merrick Online any longer, but can now be found at
http://www.teawithafriend.co.uk/.
Please drop in, and thank you for visiting!
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 23:12
I have a dear friend called Sarah Timney. She is an inspiration to me in many ways: to name but a few, she and John have been happily married for almost thirty years, she has raised two delightful daughters, she is a wonderful and experienced teacher, she bakes and cooks amazing things, she is a fantastic friend and source of support, and she maintains an amazingly clean house despite her very busy job. Every time I go to her house, I come away wanting my house to look similarly pristine. Sarah is a daily Dyson-user, and her carpets are always immaculate. And now I have discovered the secret to having such beautifully clean carpets, I think I can safely say my life will never again be the same again.
When Ben and I got married six years ago, we bought a cheap vacuum cleaner because that was what we could afford at the time. It did a fairly good job, and served as a good starter hoover. Then, a couple of years ago, we inherited a nearly-new upright Panasonic from my grandparents, who had moved into a care home and no longer had any use for it. Its sucking action was superior to that of our previous hoover, and it enthusiastically dealt with spillages of coffee granules and cat litter particles. Before moving into our present house, we lived in a flat with wooden floors which were swept and mopped on a reasonably regular basis, so the hoover was merely part of a team of equipment which sought to remove everyday dust and debris whenever I had the time to do so. I was pleased to discover that the house to which we planned to move had lovely cream carpets, and vowed to keep them clean and dirt-free, but despite my initial efforts I can't say that the results truly satisfied me or made my carpets look like Sarah's. I hoped that my vacuuming technique would improve, and that I would find more time for wielding the hoover once I begun my maternity leave. More time indeed became available, but for the past six months I seem to have spent a tremendous amount of time on my hands and knees scrubbing and then hoovering, but not really making a discernible difference to the state of the carpet. Our beautiful black cat, Mandu, enjoys rolling around lavishly on the floor, and her hair is well-nigh impossible to prise from the pile of the carpet unless you apply some serious muscle to the job. To paraphrase a well-known saying, it seems that a cat owner's vacuuming is never done.
This morning Ben suddenly said, apparently apropos of nothing, "Shall we buy a Dyson Animal? It's Timney-approved, so it must be good!" Despairing and ashamed though I was of our carpets, I am as a rule deeply sceptical about advertising and pay as little attention as possible to it. Generally speaking, I can usually recall the slogan and certainly the jingle but rarely the product's name or the way in which it claims to be better than its competitors, which obviously defeats the point of the advertising campaign entirely. But so much time has already been spent fruitlessly running the old hoover over the house, again and again and without particularly pleasing results, that this suggestion perked me up tremendously and I agreed that this was indeed an idea we should at least explore. We consulted the internet for typical prices, read reviews (which were all along the lines of "It danced around my house and left it sparkling clean!"), and then climbed into the car and drove to our local Comet, which helpfully had the very product we wanted on special offer. An hour later we were back home with our new toy, which Ben assembled immediately. A sense of great anticipation seized us both as we plugged it into the mains: would it live up to such high expectations? Should we have spent the money on a couple's spa weekend, or some designer baby clothes? Would I be thus spared a further fifteen years or so of manual carpet scrubbing, since Mandu is still only in her teenage years and unlikely to stop rolling around on the floor any time soon? The suspense was unbearable, so I pressed the big red button on the Dyson Animal.
A further hour later, once I had run it liberally over every floor-level surface in the house and then the staircase as a grand finale, I can honestly say that it is completely and utterly worth the money, and furthermore that I am a) delighted that we bought it in the nick of time, as Joshua is not a million miles away from starting to crawl and b) horrified by how filthy my house apparently used to be. In the course of the vacuuming marathon (during which I even used some of the additional attachments and brushes, having never done such a thing before in my life), we emptied the cylinder SIX TIMES. It filled up incredibly quickly with the inevitable cat hair but also with dust mites, talcum powder, handfuls of my own hair, crumbs, and I shudder to think what else. I could, at this point, bleat weakly about how I really have always tried to take proper care of my carpets, and honestly have hoovered more often than once every two years, but I wouldn't even believe myself now I have been presented with such appalling evidence. The grey muck that appeared tellingly in the transparent equivalent of a hoover bag during my circuit of the house begs to differ, and I feel instead that I should apologise earnestly to everyone that has ever visited our home, for they would have been completely justified in considering myself and Ben to be a pair of skankoids who paid only the most rudimentary attention to domestic chores. And the worst thing is, we were the first people ever to live in our house, so this disturbingly abundant grime is entirely ours. Horrors! And to think I have been allowing my baby son to lie on the living room floor. Perhaps future respiratory ailments have been averted with our purchase of a Dyson Animal. At least if Joshua inherits his daddy's childhood asthma, I can now honestly say I have done everything I can to prevent it from becoming aggravated. I now intend to become far more houseproud, now I have been confronted with the lamentable reality of my previously low standards.
However, my dismay notwithstanding, I am now looking around the living room with great pleasure and pride, for the carpet is as good as new, as are all the others in the house for the first time since we moved in last summer. Mandu is currently asleep on a chair, and will undoubtedly have a good go at destroying my hard work when she awakes, but I now know that it is the work of a moment to restore the carpet to its original condition and colour, so shall not fret unduly. I cannot believe the difference this appliance has made, and am very excited that I too can now have gorgeous clean carpets, for whose state I don't feel the need to apologise when people come to visit. There is something deeply satisfying about watching your carpet change colour as a previously invisible layer of accumulated dirt is suctioned off by this marvellous invention, and I can see myself becoming far more fond of hoovering from now on. I can sincerely endorse the Dyson, and having just spotted a small morsel of pork-pie lingering on the floor following a late lunch, I am going to get it out again and let it dance around my living room. Yes, it was expensive, but oh my goodness it was worth it. Thank you, Sarah, for this wonderful recommendation - I only wish I'd bought one far sooner!
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 16:41
After a wonderful and hilarious weekend spent with a group of my old university friends, I set today aside to do a lot of housework. The carpet wants scrubbing (well, the carpet always wants scrubbing; black cat + cream carpet = constant fluff), there's an enormous pile of laundry to be done and the beds need changing. Just at the moment, though, Joshy and I are having a break from this domestic activity and watching 'Bagpuss', and a very nice time we're having too.
Before turning on the TV I made a cup of tea, microwaved a piece of cake, and then took a further moment to book a smear test. I am due, but not overdue, to have one and had been advised by my GP to wait for about three months after giving birth before going for my next one; as Joshua is four months old, it was about time I actually made the appointment. So I shall now look forward to Tuesday 3rd March at 3pm, with a certain amount of trepidation. Smears are not dignified, it must be said. They're not excessively painful, but it's hardly as if they're administered using the nice end of a feather. However, in common with all the thousands of other women who have recently stopped procrastinating and got on the phone to their local surgery to arrange their next smear, for me those two concerns paled somewhat into insignificance upon reading in the papers about Jade Goody's struggle with cervical cancer, which is likely to claim her life in the not too distant future. On Saturday, one of my university friends (who has experienced her own brush with cancer but is entirely free of it now, to everyone's immeasurable relief) commented, apropos of Jade, "I feel so sorry for her... that could have been me, having to leave my children behind...". That was all the reminder I needed to get my act together and make the appointment, and it has also served to cement my attitude towards Jade Goody, having read far more about her in the papers during the past few weeks than when she was in the 'Big Brother' house in 2002.
Since such programmes became annual staples of TV, making famous people like Chantelle Houghton (who was brought onto one show - I forget which - to see if the other contestants could be fooled into thinking she was a 'celebrity' of whom they had not previously heard), yards and yards have been written on the subject of the new 'celebrity culture' by those who consider the championing of apparently talentless and fame-hungry types to be a national disgrace. And even as Jade Goody grows frailer, discussion forums are getting busier; depending upon the publication you read, contributors are either leaving comments of the "thinking of you Jade - stay strong" variety, or taking the opportunity to air disapproving opinions about that which Jade stands for. 'Debates' are springing up all over the place, in which people discuss Jade's decision to play out her illness in full view of the public, or indeed her 'right' to be in the public eye in the first place. Seldom has a person's life and likely death been so much of a focus for so many, and it is interesting to note that almost none of the newspaper articles written about her during the past months have felt the need to define, label and identify her, as are almost all other famous people. Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Harriet Harman and Hugh Dennis are all routinely prefixed by the words 'celebrity chef', 'domestic goddess', 'deputy Labour leader' or 'comedian' when mentioned in the media, but Jade Goody now needs no such introduction. Perhaps, like Stephen Fry, she is famous for so many things it would be difficult to select just one by which to encapsulate her. But, whatever the reason, she has become ubiquitous over the past six years, and as she prepares to die, the interest in her shows no sign of abating. Someone has predicted that a film will be made of her life story. Someone else wrote at the weekend that "you couldn't make this woman's life up... her story is almost operatic". Almost everyone now knows about the challenging circumstances from whence Jade came, and few can be unaware of her meteoric rise to fame by way of 'Big Brother', 'What Jade Did Next' and her many other subsequent ventures. She has been accused variously over the years of being thick, uneducated, coarse, racist, and a poster-girl for the unfortunate and gradual decline of 'Great' Britain; now, in what will probably be the final weeks of her life, you are more likely to hear words like 'inspirational', 'brave' and 'courageous' being applied to her. The flow of bile really has stopped, and rightly so; it is obviously unacceptable to kick someone whilst they are so very down, and as they stare death in the face knowing there is no chance of recovery. Jade will undoubtedly be remembered for years to come, and although she has far more important things to think about and to do at the moment, like ensuring her beloved sons will be properly cared for, she will certainly leave a legacy, as indeed we all do to some degree. And, putting the tremendous sadness of the situation aside for a moment, it is really interesting to consider how that legacy might manifest itself, because of how she has been regarded until very recently.
Jade has probably amused, offended, entertained and irritated in fairly equal measure since she initially burst onto our screens in 2002. Never one to think too carefully before she spoke, she managed to spark off a furious public debate on racism after making a couple of ill-advised comments about Shilpa Shetty on 'Celebrity Big Brother', and the nation variously enjoyed her mispronunciation of words and the geographical confusion she displayed in the Big Brother house and which were gleefully quoted and re-quoted during the ensuing five years. During this period everyone watched, open-mouthed, as she became more and more famous and wealthy simply for being herself, followed as she was by a constant crew of TV cameras and producers who were queuing up to cash in on her bewildering success. This was the first time this had really happened, as previously people tended to become well-known for being or doing something significant. And this was the problem that so many people have had with Jade Goody: she was famous for no discernable reason, and there were plenty who didn't like the idea of that. Reams have been written since her cancer diagnosis became public about the millions of other, unknown but dearly loved, people who have fallen victim to this appalling disease and who have not had the access to the hundreds of thousands of pounds that are currently coming Jade's way. That is understandable, and no one ever said life was fair. It isn't, and there are no two ways about that. But it's important to remember that the vast sum of money for which Jade and her new husband sold the rights to their Sunday wedding will not be spent on her own enjoyment. She won't be buying clothes, BMWs, a vulgar mansion or a new beauty salon; there would be no point in a dying woman doing such a thing. She has pledged publicly to put it all in savings for her two little boys, who - like all children - deserve a good education, something which Jade didn't receive herself. Perhaps they will, as a result, grow up with some of the advantages their mother didn't herself enjoy, and will make something very worthwhile of themselves. That can only be a good thing. And, as a mother myself, I can only imagine how Jade's entire family must be feeling at the moment, but most importantly how Jade herself must feel when she remembers that she ignored the abnormal result of a smear. I am sure she must be struggling with an unenviable mixture of guilt, despair and incredible sadness at the thought that she has only had a few years with her children. For that reason alone she deserves nothing but sympathy, care and support in these last weeks of her life. She is prepared to live out the rest of her life in front of the cameras for the sake of her little sons, and will not herself benefit from this one jot.
Roy Castle, Ruth Picardie and John Diamond all wrote and spoke about their respective battles with cancer, to a mostly appreciative audience. That they did so with dignity and well-chosen words is to their credit. They were all well-regarded for both their talents and their willingness to speak out honestly about the experiences they and their families faced as a result of their illnesses, and they have all left behind much of which their loved ones can be proud - legacies of entertainment and fun, excellent writing, wonderful memories, an increased awareness of the dangers of smoking and passive smoking, and fundraising charities which strive to defeat cancer and offer a cure to millions. Jade should not be denied her legacy, too - if the experts are correct, and the "Jade Goody Effect" has spurred as many on to book overdue smears as they say, then every woman in the country should be grateful to her for publicising cervical cancer, because perhaps their lives will be saved for this reason. Whether or not she intended this to happen is entirely beside the point. She has raised awareness of a disease which will take her life from her many more years before she was ready to surrender it, and there can't be many women in Britain who haven't recently taken a moment to work out when their next smear is due . It matters nothing that this has happened because of a former Big Brother contestant; the important thing is that more women, including myself, have Jade Goody partly to thank for the reminder that life is precious. And this, more than anything else, should be how she is remembered, as it is one achievement which truly merits the fame she has courted for so long.
This post is dedicated to Mother Muir, who is a very kind woman, and whose own attitude towards Jade is an example to us all, whether or not we are fans of reality TV and its various participants. Thanks too to Alex for inadvertently reminding me to book a smear test, and for her equally helpful attitude towards Jade.
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 12:34
Role Models
Friday, 13 February 2009
I read two things online this week. The first delighted me: there is to be an hour-long documentary, on ITV on Valentine's Day, telling the story of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean's ice-skating career and focusing upon their tremendous success in Sarajevo 25 years ago, where they performed a routine to Ravel's 'Bolero' and achieved the first-ever perfect score. As I am a big fan of this pair (as is Mother Muir, who is coming to stay for the weekend), I am really looking forward to watching it. The other thing I read was the story of a thirteen-year-old boy who has just become a father, and there has been a national outcry, fuelled predominantly and predictably by the good old Daily Mail. Kept updated throughout the day, with constant additional information being made available, we have learned that young Alfie was encouraged to share a bedroom with his 14-year-old girlfriend Chantelle (the discrepancy in their heights is somewhat bewildering, but that's irrelevent) when staying overnight at her home, and literally didn't know the meaning of the word "financially" or anything about the price of nappies; unflattering photos have been published of various family members, and a lively debate has occured throughout the day over which of the two teenage parents ought to be prosecuted for having sexual intercourse with the other. Many members of the public, encouraged to leave comments and opinions underneath the text of the story, have tossed around words like "disgrace", "NuLabour", "spongers" and "taxpayer", and blamed everyone from Gordon Brown to the teachers who obviously made a poor job of delivering sex education lessons. And it's not even as if it's been a particularly slow day for news!
Every so often, especially during 'Big Brother' season, a flurry of articles appear in the papers bemoaning the abundance of poor role models in this country and especially in the public eye. People like Katie 'Jordan' Price, Ulrika Jonsson, Abi Titmuss, Amy Winehouse, Britney Spears and plenty more besides are upheld as examples of those who are famous either for no good reason or for behaving badly. Incongruously positioned adjacent in supermarkets to the newspapers containing these articles is a vast array of cheap magazines, the majority of which are almost entirely devoted to reporting the antics of the aforementioned "celebs", and which are purchased in droves every week. I don't know the circulation figures, but I expect they are higher than those for, say, 'Woman and Home' or 'BBC Music Magazine'. A film called 'Role Models' has recently been released; I haven't seen it, but I have read a synopsis of the plot on Wikipedia, and it is clear that the word 'poor' should preface the title. This, presumably, is the whole point of the film, whose tagline is "Danny and Wheeler were just sentenced to 150 hours mentoring kids. Worst idea ever." One to miss, perhaps.
It is an unfortunate fact of life that good news does not sell papers, and that by extension people who do not act in a controversial manner do not often make the headlines. This is why there is always more to read on the subject of Charlotte Church (who spent what seemed like several years falling drunkenly out of clubs and engaging in slanging matches with Lily Allen, before settling down and having two children with Gavin Henson) than there is about Katherine Jenkins (equally Welsh and musically talented, but less inclined towards mouthing off and being photographed whilst intoxicated). Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty may (or may not) constitute some of the greatest musical talent of their generation, but they are far more well known for their respective fondnesses for drugs, whereas no-one really knows what Chris Martin has been up to lately apart from presumably being an eco-warrior and eating organic dinners with Gwyneth, Apple and Moses in between composing new Coldplay songs. This increasing trend also means that it is possible to be famous for comparatively little as long as you make a lot of noise about yourself, and also that you can be phenomenally talented and simultaneously invisible. There can't be anyone in Britain today who doesn't know at least a few intimate details about Kerry Katona, but I doubt many people would recognise the 2008 Young Musician of the Year if they met him on the street. Yet I know which one I'd rather my son took more notice of, and regarded as a role model.
When I was a teenager (which was admittedly a fair while ago), 'More' magazine was about as racy as it got, 'Dirty Dancing' was rated '15' and the teenagers on 'Neighbours' were never shown doing much more than holding hands. Fast-forward fifteen years: magazines of the OK! / Heat / Reveal / Closer / Now ilk are to be found in every teenage girl's bedroom, containing helpful tips on French kissing and dressing provocatively. In 1989 the '12' rating was phased in with the film 'Batman', which was a really good idea in theory but in practice meant that films which might hitherto have been a 15 were now rated 12 and therefore legally available to pre-teens. And it is now absolutely obligatory to feature a teenage pregnancy storyline in every single soap opera, with the justification that it reflects "real life". And so exists a bizarre contradiction whereby everyone is fuming about the long-term effects of the terrible role models to whom our children are exposed, but the media are at the same time gleefully feeding said impressionable youngsters with images, concepts and examples which are undoubtedly playing some part in the evolution of what "real life" actually means. Once upon a time, if you believe the statistics (apparently a rather high percentage of such things are made up on the spot, so perhaps I won't aim to quote one here with the hope of it carrying any weight!), 13-year-old fathers didn't consitute "real life", which is why everyone is in such a lather about the birth of Maisie Roxanne Steadman-Patten. If nothing else, that tiny little girl deserves the state benefits they will soon receive, as she didn't ask to be born into her perhaps unenviable circumstances. One could argue that Alfie and Chantelle were always destined for early parenthood through no fault of their own, given their own circumstances and the role models to whom they have been exposed; they need all the help they can get, given how difficult their lives will be for the foreseeable future as they attempt to juggle parenthood and compulsory education. The sad fact is that if benefits are removed, the country will simply nosedive into deeper poverty. So what is the solution to this unfortunate dilemma?
If you listen to the most vociferous opponents of Jordan & co, the answer is to be found at the supermarket checkout, where all those magazines are strategically positioned. Don't buy them! the campaigners cry, reasoning that the only reason these 'celebrities' are famous is because they willingly volunteer, week by week, for 'exclusive' interviews which promise tantalising details but generally fail to deliver much of interest. However, the headlines hook people and entice them to hand over their cash, thus perpetuating the success of the magazines. It matters not if they end up in the doctor's waiting room or the recycling bin; the fact remains that people keep purchasing them, thus encouraging the perpetuation of the industry. I suppose there's a possibility that magazines might be one of the luxuries that we start forgoing during the recession, but it's pretty unlikely; my own subscriptions to 'Country Living' and 'Good Housekeeping' are funded very kindly by my mother, who organised them courtesy of some vouchers she received - not exactly free, but not putting an additional strain upon either of our purses. Perhaps people will start a 'Pass It On' scheme, borrowing Jamie Oliver's phrase but sharing their used magazines instead of healthy recipes. Either way, magazines are hardly likely to reduce significantly in either number or controversial content. And it is perfectly obvious that the more tales told on the subject of teenage pregnancy are presented in a flattering light, the more such pregnancies will come about. When Rachel in 'Friends' became pregnant after a one-night stand with ex-boyfriend Ross, the situation was presented as nothing but glamorous. Rachel kept her fabulous job in the fashion industry; the baby was rarely seen on-screen, and when she did appear the overall picture was one of overwhelming cuteness, and almost never involved hard work, poo or projectile vomiting; and everything turned out well in the end - Rachel and Ross were reconciled moments before the series ended, and disappeared romantically off into the sunset (well, the coffee house, at least) together. Teenage girls all over the Western world copy Rachel's hairstyle, manner of dress and style of speaking, because she is attractive and amusing and girls understandably want to be like her. Why, then, should it be surprising when they also wish to copy her apparently desirable domestic situation, with rather less desirable long-term results in their own lives? Too many of them subsequently discover to their surprise that having a baby actually is quite a lot of hard work, not particularly glamorous a lot of the time, and that there may not be a happy ending with the father of the child. I really enjoy 'Friends' and find it funny, but I also believe it shoulders a small part of the responsibility for the birth of babies to girls who are blatantly not ready for parenthood. I know that for some of them life turns out okayish, and they sit their GCSEs nonethless and develop maturity beyond their years and enjoy the wonderful moments that babies undoubtedly provide. But surely teenage parenthood robs plenty more of their own childhoods and of freedom and of fulfilling their potential and of any number of plans they might have had for the future. And that is entirely irrespective of the ugly debate on the subject of benefits and council houses and the cost to the taxpayer. The bottom line is that teenage pregnancies have increased in tandem with their profile on TV and in the media, as has teenage binge drinking and smoking and swearing and violence and other things that aren't a terribly good idea for teenagers to be indulging in. And the answer to this certainly isn't to hope vainly that TV will suddenly refrain from introducing "gritty" storylines or that magazines will become less Britney-focused and print more interviews with the Jonas Brothers. They are in the business of making pots of money, not encouraging sensible living, and they know exactly what sells and what will make the all-important bucks, with the end justifying the means in every case. A few people who pledge to stop buying trashy magazines or subscribing to cable TV aren't going to make an enormous amount of difference, unfortunately, good though their intentions may be.
I think the only antidote to this is a greater emphasis upon good role models who demonstrate publicly that hard work and good manners and ambitions beyond WAGdom and worthwhile achievements are actually a good thing to which teenagers can be encouraged to aspire. Thankfully, there are plenty of them around. Tom Chambers, a non-dancer, worked his socks off to win 'Strictly Come Dancing' last year. He is good-looking, funny, popular and his reputation has only been enhanced by his appearance on the show. Team GB, fresh from their Olympic success, were rightly lauded in the streets of London upon their return to Britain, and the abundance of young talented medallists, many of whom were still at school, provided inspiration for budding athletes everywhere. David Beckham, after a few youthful misdemeanours, is now by and large a good role model for young footballers, increasingly behaving with decency as well as skill both on the pitch and afterwards in front of the microphone. Cheryl Cole could have easily embraced a life of drugs and crime after a difficult upbringing in Heaton (although I lived there for three years, and it's not quite as bad as she makes out!), but currently enjoys National Sweetheart status, having chosen not to let a conviction for assault blot her copybook for life and becoming a mentor to young singers instead. And if someone would just pin Jamie Oliver down and scrub his mouth out with soap, or alternatively if Channel 4 would only bleep out a few of his profanities, he would serve as a fantastic example to the youth of today as someone who is evangelical on the subject of healthy food, remains tirelessly hardworking and comes across as a very happily married father of two (and nearly three) children.
The press dubbed Torvill and Dean "Borevill and Clean" when they were at the height of their popularity, presumably because we weren't privy to Jayne's bra size or the age at which Chris lost his virginity - in short, because they were dignified and private and didn't feel the need to share every little detail of their lives with the world, but became famous purely on the strength of their phenomenal talent, tremendous success and amazing partnership whilst steering clear of controversy and scandal. And TV is unlikely to stop creating soap characters like Harold Bishop, Dot Cotton and Edna Birch (all Christians, and cursed with the least attractive personalities possible - although Harold improved somewhat in later years), who all manage to convey the impression that morals are only for the terminally unhip and unfashionable - ie. the antithesis of all that young people want to be. So the more emphasis that can be placed upon those who are interested in setting a good example to the next generation whilst retaining a modicum of street cred, the better.
Everyone has it in them to be a good role model, if they are sufficiently interested in becoming one and in setting a good example to the "youth of today", about whom we may otherwise find ourselves complaining as soon as we reach a certain age. So instead of continuing to give airtime to the tiresome and frankly boring shenanigans of the merely fame-hungry, wouldn't it be great if we could at least equal their input with that of the good guys? Of course, there is no easy answer, but instead of complaining about how much money Alfie and Chantelle are receiving courtesy of our taxes, we should be facilitating a good example to our own children and spending the time watching 'Strictly' instead. The kids get to see Tom Chambers and Rachel Stevens reap the benefits of all their hard work by making it to the final two, and the adults are treated to the incomparable sight of John Sergeant dragging his dance partner across the floor like a sack of potatoes. We can't hope to turn the tide, because that is simply not the way the world works. But we can at least make the effort to stem the flow a little - that is the responsibility of every member of society.
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 17:10
At some point during my stay-at-home-with-baby-Joshua weekdays, I try to read a cross-section of newspapers online. If there's one thing I learned from my study of history at school, it's that one should always consult a variety of sources before making up one's mind about something, so I always aim to loiter on Times Online, BBC News, Guardian, Telegraph and Mail Online for at least a short while each day - not for too long, obviously, as those nappies won't change themselves. The comparison between these different publications is, inevitably, fascinating, and there are some columnists to whom I always turn immediately, to see what they each have to say on certain subjects. India Knight and Jeremy Clarkson in the Times are articulate, amusing and honest, the Guardian's "Corrections and Clarifications" page makes occasionally hilarious reading and more than compensates for the inexplicable number of spelling mistakes to be found in that paper most days, and of course the incomparable Boris Johnson is always worth visiting in the Telegraph. These columnists, and others besides, give me food for thought, make me laugh and occasionally teach me new words (along with my friend John in his Dimly Lit Corner - I would warmly recommend his wonderful blog). And when I feel my blood pressure needs a little exercise or I am in the mood for a lively argument with someone but am on my own in the house, off I go in search of Liz Jones of the Daily Mail. I am rarely disappointed in my quest for provocation, and her last couple of articles were no exception.
I have a few friends who are very scornful about both the Daily Mail and those who read it. Whilst I do agree that several of the articles contained within its folds are at best rather unedifying (often printing somewhat pointless stories about a celebrity's drunken antics, VPL or "curvy new figure") and are also often unkind, inaccurate, hopelessly biased and obsessed with dragging people's names through the mud, its famously reactionary attitude does serve a purpose, even if that purpose is only to make you think, "No! No no no! I do NOT agree with that, and here's why!" which in my opinion can only be a good thing. Liz Jones seems to nurture an enormous problem with stay-at-home mothers, those who take maternity leave and those who marry, to name but a few. As I fall into all of those three categories at present, I am glad of the regular opportunity to reassess my priorities as a wife and mother and my opinions on the subjects of women's rights and feminism with Ms Jones's occasional input and assistance.
Of her recent work, my favourite articles have included gems such as "A young journalist I used to mentor got married, much to my annoyance, in her mid-20s and decided to go part time", "Women, even in the current economic climate, do not think twice about taking a year’s maternity leave while their colleagues flail around coping with the stresses and strains of increased workloads and threatened redundancies, because to muck around at home playing house is their right", and "How much more inspiring is Rachida Dati than our own Ruth Kelly, who, as a Minister, refused to take work home and looked, for the most part, like an Eastern European refugee?" When I read her columns, which are generally on some "feminist" or fashion-related subject, it sometimes occurs to me that perhaps Jones's articles are actually supposed to be searing satire, that I am far more gullible than I thought, and that perhaps a pop-up will appear on the screen at any moment, declaring "This is not supposed to be taken seriously!" However, I fear this is not the case. I don't think I've ever encountered a journalist so incapable of putting herself in another's shoes, of considering an opinion contrary to her own, and of writing about the concept of feminism, which is after all about women's rights and not their obligation to become the equal of men in every respect. The suggestion that I "muck about at home playing house" whilst believing it to be my "right" infuriates me beyond measure, especially when made by a person who has never experienced stay-at-home parenting and has a cleaner to do her household chores for her (and I know this because she has been mentioned in one of Jones's articles recently - have a read!).
Having previously worked as a busy Director of Music in a high-achieving school where I regularly put in 10-hour days, my life is now unrecognisably different, but it is neither easier nor less worthwhile than it was before I had a child. My working day is now spread out over a 24-hour period during which I am personally learning to be far less selfish than I used to be and developing the ability to multi-task (previously, I thought playing the piano and singing at the same time, or conducting an orchestra whilst eating my lunch, constituted impressive acts of juggling; how wrong I was!), taking care of my own house rather than outsourcing the job to someone else (and whoever does the job is certainly not "playing", incidentally) and maintaining the principal role, alongside my husband, in bringing my child up to be a decent human being who might make a worthwhile contribution to society one day. As far as I am concerned, shaping a child's life as a member of the next generation is deeply important. It is not the only important job - of course not. But nor can it possibly be called "mucking about". Yes, of course I sometimes watch DVDs during the day, or read books or bake cakes. Perhaps Liz Jones does those things during her evenings, but would probably not see them as "mucking about" because she has put in a hard day's work prior to settling down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. As, in fact, have thousands of mothers all over the country who are working at home to ensure their children have what they, and I, consider to be the best possible start in life with one of their parents as the major caregiver.
By not taking my permitted amount of maternity leave and handing my child over to a nanny or nursery from a very young age, I would also be handing over the responsibility for setting standards for him, and for deciding what he eats, hears, sees and learns as he becomes aware of the world around him. That is what I and my husband are there for, and I do not wish anyone else to do it. My job, meanwhile, is being competently and confidently taken care of by a wonderful replacement. I am not the least bit worried that they are not managing without me, because they are doing so perfectly well. And in the meantime I am essentially being paid a sum of money to do a good job with my child in his first months of life, a transaction which I fully intend to continue honouring for the duration of my time off. But of course this leads to the question: how much time off is the right amount? It seems obvious to me that if you can afford to take full maternity leave, you should. Clearly not everyone can afford to do so, and that is a separate issue. But what about going back to work - when is the "right time" to do so, if ever?
Cleaning up the kitchen the other evening, I listened to Woman's Hour (a title which Liz Jones considers sexist - how about Person's Hour, instead?) on Radio 4 on the subject of new mothers returning to work after having their children. Rachida Dati had just returned to her job in the French cabinet with what many women considered to be shockingly indecent haste, less than a week than giving birth by Caesarian section to her first child, and the ongoing argument about whether or not mothers should work a) full time b) part time or c) at all before their children start school had been reignited. As I am currently in the process of thinking about my own return to work, I hoped that some helpful insights would be forthcoming.
Naturally the two guests who had been invited on the show held entirely opposing views, and their ensuing debate, facilitated by the plummy-voiced Jane Garvey, did not reach any definitive conclusion, irksomely enough. This was probably because these ladies were not typical or representative of most working mothers - one had a husband who stayed at home with the children whilst she worked, therefore neatly avoiding the thorny issue of childcare, and the other had a husband who earned a pleasingly large sum of money per year which allowed her to stay at home with her children without the fear of being unable to manage financially. Many women, especially in the current economic climate, cannot identify with either situation, and have to return to work in some capacity in order to make ends meet. Many others are in a position where they can just about manage on one salary if they make substantial alterations to their lifestyle and simply cease to spend money on frivolities, cutting down on their weekly consumption of wine, buying fewer shoes and joining the library instead of maintaining an expensive Amazon habit.
Yet it is amazing how many other women feel qualified to comment disparagingly upon both groups of women, with the same critical voice one might use when wondering aloud on the subject of dummies or bottle-feeding. Debates like the one on Woman's Hour only add to the timeless argument which seems to have no resolution: if you go back to work you are not doing the best by your child and are instead adding to the army of kids who let themselves into an empty house after school and play computer games (horrors!) until Mummy comes home from work; and if you don't go back to work you are throwing all Mrs Pankhurst's hard work back in her face and overthrowing the feminist movement, letting other women down by stepping aside to let men have all the good jobs whilst you... er..."muck about" at home. It seems to me, however, that one side is only considering the child and the other side only considers the mother, and I would suggest that perhaps a useful compromise involves considering the family unit as a whole.
A family who live together may comprise any number of people: there may or may not be two parents, there may be additional relatives in the equation such as elderly grandparents, and there may be children of all ages and genders and there will be a varying amount and proximity of support from outside the home. So there will never be one easy answer to the question of whether or not mothers should work, and how old their children should be when they pick up where they left off, and we should stop pretending the easy answer exists. It is too complex for that, and there are so many different things to consider.
Joshua is my first child, and spends his days with me and the cat. We read books, sing songs, he sleeps, I do household chores, we interact, we see a close friend and her 3-year-old son once a week, we try to go out every day to the Co-Op or for a walk, and for a full day out twice a week. During evenings and at the weekend his daddy is at home, and we sometimes have family or friends over for dinner or to stay with us; we also attend church every Sunday morning and meet up fortnightly with a couple of friends who have a baby boy two weeks older than Joshua. He therefore has those opportunities to socialise with other people besides his immediate family, but as an only child he does not spend time with other babies on a regular basis. I am not a person who enjoys groups; I invariably feel that I don't fit in and much prefer to spend time at home or with close friends who I know well rather than going out to Mother and Baby groups where I would find it difficult to mix with other mummies who I don't know at all. Yet I would like my son to gain good social skills, and to mix with others more successfully than I do. I think the best solution to this issue is introducing him to nursery school on a regular basis, even if he only goes there once or twice a week. If this routine is introduced gently and early enough, and if I select a good and caring nursery, he will be less likely to fall into antisocial habits. I already intend to encourage strongly the concepts of sharing and kindness to other children and good behaviour in public as well as at home; attending nursery school, even once a week, will help him put these ideas into practice as he mixes with other children and becomes increasingly adept at doing so. If we are blessed with a second child, they will have each other with which to spend time and develop the skills to get along with each other as they grow up. But until then, it is at least worth considering nursery or playgroup as a good option for those reasons.
It follows that if Joshua starts going to nursery school sometimes, that means I have some free time with which to do other things, and I think that after a while of being at home after years in the workplace with other adults every newish mother must appreciate some amount of time to herself. And that time could be spent in a myriad of ways; some women go back to the gym and get rid of the baby weight, some take up French or sign-language, some go to the hairdresser every week, and some go back to work. Our differing circumstances mean the options available to us also differ. That is one of the unfairnesses of life, and is also governed by the choices we make. Some families relish the challenge of affording life on a restricted budget; Ben and I are currently enjoying a game which involves shopping in the "reduced" section at the Co-Op wherever possible, and I was recently taken to a hairdressing salon where I had my hair cut by a student for the bargain price of £6 rather than upwards of £30 as would have been the case before I had a baby. But that doesn't mean I wish to slop about for the next five years in clothes that are falling to bits because I've had them for so long but can't afford new ones, because that does my confidence no good, and therefore it does me and my family no good either. Although that sounds like a very shallow thing to say, it is the tip of an often unacknowledged iceberg: it is far harder to take care of your appearance when you have young children because you have so little time, energy and money with which to do so and it begins to feel like your lowest priority. Many a day can be spent almost entirely in pyjamas, with mad unwashed hair which may or may not have been milkily vomited into by your baby; makeup is often applied either with one hand or in ten barely available seconds; and if anyone asks me if I have managed to fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans I will have to tell them that I don't even know where my pre-pregnancy jeans are because I packed them away when we moved house and I don't have time to search for them. Some time given to, and thus confidence in, your appearance equals a happier woman and therefore happier relationships with husband and family. I'm obviously not advocating absurdly long and selfish hours in front of the mirror, or browsing at length in TopShop whilst the baby grizzles in the buggy because he's sitting in a dirty nappy, but getting to dinnertime and realising you've managed to brush neither your teeth nor your hair so far that day isn't a great idea either, even if it seems deeply self-sacrificing and noble at the time.
Finally, I think it is okay to miss being at work and to miss the stimulation and challenges it presents. I love being at home with Joshua, am enjoying every moment of full-time motherhood and cherish my time with him. I have no desire to be anywhere other than at home with him just now. However, I have previously so much enjoyed the various experiences of my job as a Music teacher, the cameraderie with the other staff, and the dissection of our respective days with Ben in the evenings over a glass of wine, and there may be something to be said for eventually - when the time is right - taking the opportunity to add something more to my current daily routine of nappies, feeding, playing and housework. It is possible to see your lot in life as full and stimulating, and to add even more to it by working in some capacity if that is possible and desirable for you and your family. It may be neither possible nor desirable, again because of the inequalities of life. The mother of a handicapped child may never be able to return to work because of her additional responsibilities at home. The amount of money and support offered to families in such a situation is clearly inadequate at present and needs addressing, but that is a separate issue. A woman with children who can afford not to draw a salary, and chooses to do voluntary work or runs a Mother and Baby group and welcomes others into her home, is also making a contribution to society which she might not be able to do if she undertook paid work.
The myriad of different options and choices available to women, as well as differing circumstances and restrictions on time and finances, mean there will never be one definitive answer to the question of whether or not mothers should work. And it is simply unkind and unfair to enquire of a woman who needs to work for financial reasons why she ever bothered having children in the first place. She may be doing her very best to provide for them with very little help. The question of why armies of gym-mummies leave their children with the nanny whilst enjoying a morning of shopping and lattes is another matter entirely, but the only question should be: Are you, as a wife and mother, doing what you believe to be the best thing by your family? Ultimately, you should be doing what is best for those in your family, whatever that is. If you are, there is no place for guilt. And those who do not have insight into your personal situation do not have the right to judge your decision, not even if they write for the famously judgemental Daily Mail!
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 12:56
Thrift
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Mother and Father Muir came to stay last week, to see the final night of Guys and Dolls and to spend a bit of time with us before Baby Merrick arrives. They were incredibly kind and hoovered up Mandu's fluff off the carpet whilst I was in school for my last day, made a lovely dinner for us and left promising to return in a few weeks to help with the inevitable sleepless nights and nappy-filled days that await us. During the dinnertime chat, the conversation was steered towards the subject of the current credit crunch, at which point Mother Muir commented “A Guide Is Thrifty!” This was not as random an interjection as it may seem – Grandma Madge was a keen guide leader, and MM and I both became Queen's Guides before leaving school. When recently unpacking boxes in our new house, I came across a fantastic cartoon copied from a Guide annual or some such marvellous source, entreating camping Guides not to leave gates open or to stand on each other's shoes at bedtime, which Mubsy had sent to me a while ago. It made me giggle with a warm sense of nostalgia, and I must find it and copy it to send to my friend Debs who appreciates these things as much as I do (see also “How To Run Your Home Without Help” for more delights of yesteryear). Anyway, to return to the original point, A Guide Is Thrifty, according to the original version of the Guide Law, and as a former Guide, this is an excellent challenge for me to aim to undertake in these days of financial uncertainty. Not a day goes by without several articles being printed in the papers on this subject, and I read one earlier this morning on the pertinent subject of packed lunches, entreating us all to take in a healthy, low-cost meal in cling film every day instead of lazily wandering into Pret-a-Manger or the office canteen and spending ridiculous sums of money on additive-packed sandwiches and E-ridden fizzy drinks. Apparently we could all save £1000 per year, which seems to be more than worth it to me!
I also happened upon a great website recently, named “Money-Saving Mom” (via another lovely site called “Good Like A Medicine” which I really recommend) which suggested several ways in which money might be saved in the home and during everyday life. I've blogged before about being frugal, prior to everything started costing a ridiculous amount and before we embarked upon single-salary living, but it's even more important now. So I've been thinking about all the ways in which I can make the difference in our home – here they are!
Ben and I have recently decided that shower gel is a scandalous waste of money. Unless purchased as part of a 3 for 2 or BOGOF deal (which Boots introduce regularly, but you still have all that plastic to think about in the form of the packaging), it is so much more expensive than soap and I'm convinced the manufacturers have started making it more viscous so greater quantities are used every morning when you sleepily apply it to your sponge or pouffe. So after finishing off a bottle of admittedly lovely and fragrant Radox, I rummaged in the seagrass chests we keep in the bathroom for storage, and came across a vast array of soaps that I have received in Christmas stockings over the past few years (including some bars of Wrights Coal Tar, which is tremendously evocative of my childhood and my grandparents in particular), and which are likely to keep us going for weeks. And when the supply is used up, you can get 4 bars of Palmolive for £1 – much cheapness!
Having spent years benefiting from online delivery of food from Asda, we have recently moved to a house which has a Co-Op conveniently situated next door. I am a huge fan of the Co-Op because of its Fairtrade policy, and so many more of its products are ethically produced and sold in comparison to some other supermarkets. So I've started experimenting with shopping for what I need when I need it, walking literally a couple of hundred yards to do so, and the difference in what I spend is amazing. Online shopping is a brilliant invention and does allow you to buy everything in one go and have it dropped off at your door without being faced with the temptation to drop tasty extra treats into the trolley. But it's only worth doing if you order in bulk (and then you get saddled with thousands of plastic bags; I once had an order delivered to me in which – I kid you not – a single aubergine, 2 pats of butter, one tin of tuna, one bottle of washing up liquid and many other single items were all packed separately in individual plastic bags! I can't imagine how many I handed over to the van driver for recycling the next time a delivery came, but it was many more than I might have wished) and then you have the extra dilemma of food going off (especially if your packer hasn't been very scrupulous and has loaded you up with lots of “fresh” produce which is already teetering on the brink of its use-by date). I am a big milk drinker, and going out to buy a few pints at a time when the previous bottle is almost empty is much better than my previous practice of freezing individual pints and cramming them into an already full freezer, or allowing the bit in the bottom to go rancid because I over-ordered from the website and didn't have space to freeze the surplus. I do realise this option is only available to those who live near a supermarket or pass one on their way home, but it is working really well for me so far. If I can plan that we are going to eat something in particular for dinner, check the cupboards and then go and buy exactly what is necessary, I come home with only the essentials in my handy reusable bag (hung on the back door so I don't forget it) and spend a much smaller amount in the process. Of course, this needs discipline, which I don't always have in abundance – there are usually too many bars of chocolate, albeit Fairtrade, lingering in the bottom of said bag when I unpack it later!
I am a very prolific reader, and have an enormous selection of books by my side of the bed. This is partly because I like to have a choice of reading material when I climb under the duvet at the end of the day, but also partly because we have realised that we have far more books than we can currently store on the shelves we have in the house. Clearly, this is something of a problem. So during my summer holiday I gathered together some ID and proof of address, and skipped down the lane to join our local library (which is next door to the helpful Co-Op – I love our local facilities!). It was free, and although it's not the most enormous library I've ever seen, I came away with three books I really wanted to read, at no cost (until I incurred a fine for failing to take them back on time, but never mind...). I am also a huge fan of buying other people's old books on Amazon, because they are always a fraction of the original price but usually in really good condition. And because so many people have been kind enough to pass on their used baby equipment to us over the past couple of months, we have spent far less than we might otherwise have done on expensive essentials, which is great.
I extolled the virtues of Claypot Cooking on yesterday's Autumn blog, and it is worth saying again! I am not a very adventurous cook and until quite recently had never made a casserole, but when we were given a gorgeous terracotta claypot for Christmas, I dived enthusiastically into the accompanying book (by the amusingly-named Bridget Jones) and discovered all manner of delicious recipes, all of which were low-maintenance and inexpensive. Diced casserole beef is incredibly cheap, as are root vegetables (unless you buy 'Taste The Difference' etc brands which are unnecessarily expensive in my view: ethical meat, yes - luxury carrots, no) and all you have to do is throw them all in together with some stock and herbs and leave it in the oven at whichever temperature suits you. So you can go out for several hours and leave it all in there on a low heat, or do it quickly in the evening in a hot oven if you've just come in. Brilliant and incredibly tasty!
We were given a breadmaker a few years ago, and recently got it out again with the intention of making loaves (although I am not good with technology, have lost the instructions, and can't remember how to work it. Ben will know, however) every Friday night so we can have both fresh bread and its gorgeous aroma to wake up to on a Saturday morning. Homemade bread doesn't tend to work so well with sandwiches as you have to slice it yourself and there's always a crumby mess afterwards, so it's not great for packed lunches. But can we just discuss the gaping discrepancy in price between a shop-bought focaccia and a packet mix you can whip up yourself with the greatest of ease?! Asda charges 77p for a 500g bread mix, which takes 10 minutes to knead and 30 minutes in the oven after it's had some time to rise, and which makes a massive focaccia to serve about 8 or lasts 2 people several days if you make it in small portions. You can smear it with oil, rock salt and rosemary and it tastes just as nice. And once you've started making your own bread, you realise that making your own pasta sauce with tomatoes and a stock cube and water and herbs is quite cheap and pretty tasty as well, and that baking cakes is much cheaper than buying them and that a home-made trifle isn't such a bad idea either... and then all you need is a copy of whichever Nigella book is relevant and you're away. I concede that baking and trifle-making might be more easily achieved at the weekend given the pressures of time during the week, but pasta sauce takes care of itself on the hob whilst you're putting on a load of laundry or squirting surfaces with anti-bacterial spray. And it has fewer sinister ingredients lurking inside.
I am an enthusiastic muffin-maker, but am unfortunately the only enthuasiastic muffin-consumer in the house. So in order to avoid obesity I have started making smaller batches (halving the quantities stipulated on the marvellous www.muffin-recipes.co.uk - this week I substituted sultanas for blackberries in the apple recipe - gorgeous) and also freezing the ones that don't get eaten in time, because they make splendid bases for the aforementioned trifles. Nigella makes a divine Chocolate Cherry Trifle, and leftover double chocolate muffins are perfect for lining the bottom of the bowl rather than going out and buying a chocolate loaf cake to slice up. Bananas that are going brown and squishy can also be popped in the freezer to use in banana muffins - and there's no slicing required once they've defrosted; just squeeze out the fruit like toothpaste from a tube. And they make entertaining percussion instruments when taken straight from the freezer, although the wearing of gloves is probably wise.
I read somewhere recently - possibly in Good Housekeeping - that it is a total waste of money and doesn't do much anyway if you use 2-in-1 tablets or liquitabs. This is probably quite true, and while we can still put laundry on the line instead of using a tumble dryer, clothes are not going to suffer unduly for it. Conditioner on the hair I am all for. Conditioner on clothes has now been vetoed in the Merrick household.
I do realise that even a brisk walk with a dog is not going to burn off the same number of calories as 30 minutes on the StairMaster. But as someone who forked out for gym membership for quite a while and didn't make use of its facilities often enough to justify paying the ridiculous monthly amount, I now rejoice in the same fitness levels and am happier for enjoying Autumn walks through leaves in preference to comparing myself with thin and sweaty people in front of mirrors at the gym whilst being subjected to loud, thumping music. Ben is doing the Great North Run this Sunday and has been training for several months. Cost = one pair of new trainers. Swimming is clearly a nice exception to this rule, as you can pay for exactly the number of visits you make to the pool.
My lovely friend Sarah brought lunch over yesterday and we had a wonderful few hours chatting and putting the world to rights - maternity leave and a part-time job is a nice combination when it comes to meeting up with friends, I am discovering! I am now eating a hunk of quiche which we didn't finish, some salad leaves and a microwaved bowl of cheesy mash from dinner the other night (combined with sausages and popped in the fridge under some foil to be saved for just such an occasion). Result: free, low-maintenance lunchie. And as the plumber is supposed to be coming round sometime in the next hour, it has also meant I don't need to go out for provisions from the Co-Op.
My lovely friend Charlotte, who lives in rural Cumbria, is a big grower of salad, spinach and other healthy greenstuffs, and also makes gorgeous elderflower wine and damson gin. All you have to do is throw seeds in some compost in a trough or Growbag, and occasionally give the seedlings a bit of attention. After the summer we've had, the potential for waterlogged salad is high, but you can get delightful little tent-sheds in garden centres which protect your leaves and allow you to pop outside and snip off the appropriate amount each day, rather than opening a bag of packaged stuff which is bound to go limp a day later, unless you use it all that evening. Ditto herbs - and they make the garden smell so lovely! And there's always the windowsill if the English weather gets too rainy and cold to contemplate the growing of salad.
There's just no way to disagree with this one. The difference in price between buying prepackaged sandwiches and bottled drinks, and making sandwiches and taking in a Thermos of squash, is astounding. Apparently one bought lunch costs roughly the same as a week's worth of picnics. And, once you're on the subject of how much packed lunches cost in general, why is it that Penguin biscuits cost literally twice as much as own-brand Polars and Puffins?
Clearly, all these things are very obvious ideas for saving money, and I am sure I am the last one to have cottoned on to some of them; I'm not writing anything new and exciting! But the point of blogging about them all here was thus: if I write about them, I might be reminded to carry on doing them. It's so easy to spend ten extra minutes in bed instead of getting up to make the sandwiches, and I for one am easily persuaded back under the duvet on a cold October morning. But I know I'll be grateful to myself in the end; spending frivolously is fun in the short term, but not so much if you're wincing every time you go to check the bank balance. And on that note, I think I shall spend some of this afternoon doing a little Christmas shopping - as long as no one plays Christmas carols whilst I'm doing it: that's one thing that can wait until December!
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 11:13
I had a visit from a community midwife yesterday, who tested my blood pressure and pronounced it to be fine. As I am potentially a fortnight away from giving birth, this is a pleasing state of affairs, and one I would like to continue. So after spending the ensuing afternoon writing with some energy on the subject of Liz Jones's unhelpful attitude towards Ruth Kelly, I thought a discourse upon the many gorgeous things about Autumn would be a lovely antidote to all that ranting. It is, of course, the first day of October and I am delighted at the prospect of our baby having its birthday during this month. Something about the word alone conjures up for me an image of low sunlight shafts, golden trees and utter beauty. The cover of this month's issue of Country Living, decorated as it is with a nature table, brings joy to my heart. I know it's not a very English thing to say, but I don't particularly like summer and love that first day when it's cold enough to wear a polo neck and the merest hint of frost tinges the air. So, in case you're not a convert to this most amazing of seasons, here are some reasons to adore Autumn!
Whatever the reason, be it global warming or an unfortunate run of bad luck, the August weather was not great this year. A few nice weeks in July (during which we escaped to Tuscany where the sun shone almost all the time) gave way to almost constant rain throughout the rest of the summer, reducing our back garden to a marsh and my parents' lawn to a pond. Given that I spent much of the school holiday unpacking our new house, I wasn't unduly bothered by what was going on outside, but nonetheless I felt for those who had taken time off work to spend in the "sun" and were again confronted with grey instead of blue skies and an almost steady downpour of torrential rain rather than sunshine. However, as is so often the case, the minute September came and term started again, out came the sun! My absolutely favourite type of day is a sunny, cold one, with leaves dancing around a little if possible. Furthermore, our washing line has had far more use in the past fortnight than it did during the entire month of August, which means we have fresh, crisp and fragrant sheets on our bed and fluffy towels in the bathroom. Sheer bliss.
Whilst I'm completely disinterested in the concept of Hallowe'en, I do get very excited about carving pumpkins, putting a little lit candle inside them, and making tasty soup from that which I have excavated. I am even currently harbouring a secret desire to dress my baby up in a pumpkin costume, just for cuteness value, if I can find one in the shops.
- Fluffy cardigans and jumpers are back in the shops
The English attitude of shops towards the weather is hilarious! The minute June arrives, totally irrespective of the weather, every item of knitwear disappears from sight and is replaced universally by vest tops and sandals, even if we would all be far better off wearing jumpers and boots throughout the whole summer. In the north-east, where I live, there is an additional compulsion to wear as little as possible when out for the evening, always without a coat (that particular cliche endures because it is completely true!), and I am often left open-mouthed in awe when driving through Newcastle or Durham and seeing the miniscule outfits people choose to wear, risking pneumonia in the process. Maternity wear is no exception, though it is thankfully almost always very modest, and I only managed to buy one jumper to see me through the cold summer months, amidst plenty of pretty short-sleeved tops and sun dresses. But hurrah! Now Autumn is well and truly here, there is a veritable array of woollens from which to choose. My favourites are my new grey cardigan from Sainsbury's, and a gorgeous soft brown jumper / vest which hugs my bump in a snuggly manner. So warm and soft to touch. No wonder Mandu likes to sleep on top of every woolly jumper she can find in Ben's floordrobe!
- Cosy nights at home in front of the fire, with hot chocolate, and the cat sitting on your lap
I love evenings spent outside, with a cold drink and good company and a barbecue, such as we enjoyed with Ben's family during the summer in Italy where the weather was warm late into the night. But there is also something really special about being inside on a cold, darkening evening, underneath a caramel-coloured throw on the sofa, with a mug of creamy hot chocolate and a little pussy cat purring on your lap, with cello music wafting through the house, a
great book to read and candles lit around you...
What a wonderful invention (as long as they are never left unattended, especially with the aforementioned cat on the loose). My favourites at the moment are spiced apple pillars from Ikea, and Autumn Leaves from Sainsbury's. Vanilla is also utterly gorgeous. The soft light cast over everything in the room, the romantic atmosphere they can't help but create, and the enchanting scent that spreads through the house are every bit as beautiful as late sunlight.
- Walking through leaves of assorted beautiful colours
I discovered today I'd left my wellingtons in school, and I may well have to make a special trip back to retrieve them, because of how much I love splashing through fallen leaves. We are fortunate enough to live on the outskirts of a fairly rural area, with country lanes and potential for lovely walks virtually on our doorstep. What could be nicer than breathing in lungfuls of cool air whilst wading through golden and red piles of leaves? Perhaps I shall buy Mandu a lead and let her take me for a walk.
- Mittens and hats and scarves and fur-lined boots
My lovely friend Charlotte knitted me a beautiful orange scarf last Christmas, and I can't wait to get it out again. I have a pair of striped mittens in beautiful autumnal colours to match, and a pretty jade-green hat which is waiting to be taken out of the wardrobe as soon as it is cold enough to do so. I also can't wait to get out of ballet flats and into my brown furry boots - why buy Uggs when Primark and Tesco make such lovely equivalents? Wrapping up warm is one of life's blessings.
- It might snow, and even if it doesn't, there is always ice-skating
It hasn't snowed much over the last few years, even in Durham, which used to benefit from inches of fluffy white snow even in April. I get incredibly excited over even a few snowflakes and love it when it's chilly enough for even the thought of snow. And Ben disagrees, but I maintain that ice-skating in the evening open air with friends is a gorgeous way to spend time, only made better by snow tumbling into your hair.
Our lovely friend Danielle gave us a
claypot last Christmas, and using it for cooking is both deeply satisfying and incredibly easy. Just throw diced meat (which is often very cheap into the bargain) into a soaked claypot with boiling stock and a pile of root vegetables and herbs, leave on a low heat while you go to church for the morning, and serve up at lunchtime with homemade rosemary and rock-salt bread. And
a glass of red wine. Delicious and warming - and really healthy! And while we're on the subject of food, making
apple muffins is a wonderful use of a frosty weekend at home spent in a cosy kitchen, and I recently found a recipe in Country Living for the most wonderful apple streusel cake - delicious with a pot of tea. Yum yum yum.
- Christmas is around the corner
Despite the fact that it annoys me intensely when shops display Christmas trees in August, that our lovely
local pub has scrawled "Book now for Christmas!" with what I consider indecent haste on its outdoor blackboard, and that the Metro Centre already resembles hell on a bad day, I adore getting ready for Christmas when the time is right. Choosing and then writing Christmas cards, thinking about which gift would be just right for each member of the family, baking special food, going to candlelit carol services and remembering the
true meaning of Christmas, and spending time travelling to visit family and friends - it's something I look forward to all year. And
this is the cutest outfit I think I have ever seen!
Musing on this subject has made me very happy, and I am now going to go and light some candles, put on some music, pour myself a glass of
sparkling apple crush and finish the lovely book my great friend Rachael sent me in the post - "The Cat That Came In From The Cold". Have a cosy evening!
posted by My name is Fiona, @ 16:56
