Last week I dropped my purse on a pavement in North Swindon - it must have been twenty minutes later that I realised, retraced my steps, where did I last have it, maybe it was in the car, had I left it with daughter and the baby, had the baby eaten it ... you know the drill. I asked in Marks and Spencer's - more in desperation than hope. And there it was, handed in, with all my credit cards, bus pass, driving license, money - every penny was there.
Last time I was in Nepal I left a memory card from my camera in an internet cafe - and it was almost three hours before I realised. I raced back, trying to persuade myself that these were only photographs and I had my diary so would never forget the places I had been. As soon as she saw me the woman who ran the cafe reached behind her for the card and passed it to me. Then she did a most un-Nepali thing - she put a comforting arm around my shoulder.
I don't make a habit of losing things. (This is said to reassure daughters, as I shall soon be going walkabout again.)
But I just want to highlight the kindness of two people - both of whom have probably forgotten these incidents entirely - who made such a difference to me. (Not forgetting those who rescued me in Cambodia - but I'll say no more about that, in case those of you with the book haven't read that far!)
They have confirmed a belief that most people are fundamentally kind. That, in our ineffectual and often clumsy way, we look out for each other.
Do we all have tales of strangers who may never know the impact of their random acts of kindness?
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
Let's talk about plumbers.
Last week I rang my plumber - the boiler needs a service, and the Rayburn, so please would he visit while I'm away? It's easy to sort a key for him, and I won't have to potter about wondering what to do and getting in his way.
But, he said, I'd like to see you. I want to talk about your book.
I have misjudged him - I knew he loved reading, as we've talked books before. I just hadn't expected him to have bought my book. He's coming next week.
And so I thought a bit. Realised how I fail to appreciate him - and all the other traders who support me in my little house. (You already know how useless I am in the DIY, even the little-bit-of-mending, department.)
I live in a market town - and know things may be different in the cities. We have a number of sole traders, who have set up independent businesses, to call on. Want someone to fix a sash window? Chop down a dead tree? Clean your carpet? Just ask around, chat in the market, and a name will crop up. And - because we all know who they are - word of mouth soon weeds out those whose work is shoddy, or who don't turn up.
Who needs the big companies? British Gas insurance? Dino-rod? Independent traders are working their socks off, earning a living, keeping the incompetent among us (me) safe and warm. Too often I hear complaints about waiting in for that technician, that engineer, the washing-machine delivery. And when they do turn up they don't have the right part.
Just a minute - how often does that actually happen? We moan (rightly) when it goes wrong, but do not stop the notice the countless times when such things are sorted without a hitch. Never do we raise a glass to unsung heroes and heoines who keep the show on the road.
Andy, it will be good to see you. I'll make you coffee; we can talk about my book; and you will ensure my boiler keeps me warm for another year. I'd be up a creek without you.
But, he said, I'd like to see you. I want to talk about your book.
I have misjudged him - I knew he loved reading, as we've talked books before. I just hadn't expected him to have bought my book. He's coming next week.
And so I thought a bit. Realised how I fail to appreciate him - and all the other traders who support me in my little house. (You already know how useless I am in the DIY, even the little-bit-of-mending, department.)
I live in a market town - and know things may be different in the cities. We have a number of sole traders, who have set up independent businesses, to call on. Want someone to fix a sash window? Chop down a dead tree? Clean your carpet? Just ask around, chat in the market, and a name will crop up. And - because we all know who they are - word of mouth soon weeds out those whose work is shoddy, or who don't turn up.
Who needs the big companies? British Gas insurance? Dino-rod? Independent traders are working their socks off, earning a living, keeping the incompetent among us (me) safe and warm. Too often I hear complaints about waiting in for that technician, that engineer, the washing-machine delivery. And when they do turn up they don't have the right part.
Just a minute - how often does that actually happen? We moan (rightly) when it goes wrong, but do not stop the notice the countless times when such things are sorted without a hitch. Never do we raise a glass to unsung heroes and heoines who keep the show on the road.
Andy, it will be good to see you. I'll make you coffee; we can talk about my book; and you will ensure my boiler keeps me warm for another year. I'd be up a creek without you.
Sunday, 4 March 2012
A few thoughts about elephants.
I've had so many comments about the elephant on the cover of my book, it seemed like a good idea to blog about them.
I'm talking Indian elephants here. The African variety are bigger, and wilder, and generally best seen from the safety of a safari truck.
But Indian elephants are different altogether. I know there are those who frown at seeing them put to work - in the forests, transporting tourists, even racing! They are so majestic, is there indignity in making them 'work'?
I can see both sides. They are, indeed, magnificent - gentle, trusting creatures. They gather in families which seem as affectionate as our own (well, among the females. The males fend for themselves.) They play with their young and they care for their dying.
Yet an elephant is able to form as close a relationship with a mahout as and shepherd does with his or her dog. I know, just because we can make those relationships doesn't mean we should, but in a country with difficult terrain it is surely understandable to utilise the strength of elephants in the same way that those of us in the West use horses and dogs.
It is also misleading to think that elephants have no choice in behaving as compliantly as they do. Do you really think that an animal as big as that would haul tree-trunks if it didn't want to? If there weren't a reward - free food, affection - at the end of it. And yes - they even race, and appear to do so willingly. I was in Chitwan, in Nepal, just after their elephant races. We were heading back from a trek through the jungle when two elephants shuffled beside each other, appeared to exchange glances, and then run back to their shelters with tourists clinging on for dear life and the mahouts cheering. (Sorry, I don't have a photo; I was too busy hanging on.)
Having said all that, I know there are places where elephants are used to carry tourists around and not given the care they need. They need not only food and water, but also frequent hosing down to keep their skin clean. As you'll have gathered, I'll take any opportunity to ride one - but not if they work all day in the Indian heat traipsing round forts and palaces with tourists on their backs (though maybe things have improved since I was in Agra).
So, what animals press your buttons? And can you, too, admit to mixed feelings about the way we live, or don't live, alongside them?
I'm talking Indian elephants here. The African variety are bigger, and wilder, and generally best seen from the safety of a safari truck.
But Indian elephants are different altogether. I know there are those who frown at seeing them put to work - in the forests, transporting tourists, even racing! They are so majestic, is there indignity in making them 'work'?
I can see both sides. They are, indeed, magnificent - gentle, trusting creatures. They gather in families which seem as affectionate as our own (well, among the females. The males fend for themselves.) They play with their young and they care for their dying.
Yet an elephant is able to form as close a relationship with a mahout as and shepherd does with his or her dog. I know, just because we can make those relationships doesn't mean we should, but in a country with difficult terrain it is surely understandable to utilise the strength of elephants in the same way that those of us in the West use horses and dogs.
It is also misleading to think that elephants have no choice in behaving as compliantly as they do. Do you really think that an animal as big as that would haul tree-trunks if it didn't want to? If there weren't a reward - free food, affection - at the end of it. And yes - they even race, and appear to do so willingly. I was in Chitwan, in Nepal, just after their elephant races. We were heading back from a trek through the jungle when two elephants shuffled beside each other, appeared to exchange glances, and then run back to their shelters with tourists clinging on for dear life and the mahouts cheering. (Sorry, I don't have a photo; I was too busy hanging on.)
Having said all that, I know there are places where elephants are used to carry tourists around and not given the care they need. They need not only food and water, but also frequent hosing down to keep their skin clean. As you'll have gathered, I'll take any opportunity to ride one - but not if they work all day in the Indian heat traipsing round forts and palaces with tourists on their backs (though maybe things have improved since I was in Agra).
So, what animals press your buttons? And can you, too, admit to mixed feelings about the way we live, or don't live, alongside them?
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Online writing workshops.
Meanwhile, I'm still doing the MA. And this term we have weekly, online, workshops. Three of us write about 3000 words, submitted in advance, and we gather in a virtual chat room to post our comments. The tutor does her best to keep some sort of order, making sure we each comment in turn, and tapping her virtual ruler on the virtual desk if we retreat, too often, into playing.
So - that's the practicalities. I want to write about how this feels for me - I can't speak for any of the others. There were nine of us at the beginning of term, and only one has dropped by the wayside (with, no doubt, his own reasons). We all come with our own stories and prejudices and interests.
In the real world, I also belong to a writing group. We have been together a long time; we know who is robust and can manage having work dissected until it is in ribbons, and who needs a more gentle response. We care for each other, and produce the best work we can.
I put myself in the robust category. I am quite clear that someone pulling my writing apart is not saying anything about me. Sometimes I write reasonably, and sometimes I write rubbish, but all the time I am still me. There is no way to give that message to others we meet in a writing group online. Similarly, it is impossible to know the dreams, or the luggage, that our fellow writers might have when we cannot see their faces, or read body language.
Over the term we have grown braver in challenging each other. Initially we were generous, even gushing, in our praise and criticisms were well-hidden underneath the repeated assurance of how we absolutely love this book and can't possible wait for it to be published. While that is still there, we are less cautious with our comments now. We are learning from each other, from our moments of inspiration and our countless mistakes. Which, for me, makes the workshops more useful, even though it may mean some might find them more personally challenging.
We have formed an odd connection with each other. A strange familiarity - based only on the personnas we present in the chat room and our writing. There are spin-off 'friendships' on Facebook. We do our best to support each other, in a strange, virtual way.
So - is this group, with its tutor and its structure, a more useful learning exercise than my ad hoc, chatty, hyper-critical writing group. I have no idea. They both have a role to play. And you - have any of you experience of both? Which made more sense to you?
So - that's the practicalities. I want to write about how this feels for me - I can't speak for any of the others. There were nine of us at the beginning of term, and only one has dropped by the wayside (with, no doubt, his own reasons). We all come with our own stories and prejudices and interests.
In the real world, I also belong to a writing group. We have been together a long time; we know who is robust and can manage having work dissected until it is in ribbons, and who needs a more gentle response. We care for each other, and produce the best work we can.
I put myself in the robust category. I am quite clear that someone pulling my writing apart is not saying anything about me. Sometimes I write reasonably, and sometimes I write rubbish, but all the time I am still me. There is no way to give that message to others we meet in a writing group online. Similarly, it is impossible to know the dreams, or the luggage, that our fellow writers might have when we cannot see their faces, or read body language.
Over the term we have grown braver in challenging each other. Initially we were generous, even gushing, in our praise and criticisms were well-hidden underneath the repeated assurance of how we absolutely love this book and can't possible wait for it to be published. While that is still there, we are less cautious with our comments now. We are learning from each other, from our moments of inspiration and our countless mistakes. Which, for me, makes the workshops more useful, even though it may mean some might find them more personally challenging.
We have formed an odd connection with each other. A strange familiarity - based only on the personnas we present in the chat room and our writing. There are spin-off 'friendships' on Facebook. We do our best to support each other, in a strange, virtual way.
So - is this group, with its tutor and its structure, a more useful learning exercise than my ad hoc, chatty, hyper-critical writing group. I have no idea. They both have a role to play. And you - have any of you experience of both? Which made more sense to you?
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Planning a trip, and a book?
Actually, I'm only going to talk about planning a trip. There is probably a metaphor in here somewhere for planning a book, but I'll leave that to you to work out. I need to make it clear I'm not talking about a holiday. Holidays have boundaries - in terms of where you will stay, what you hope to do, how you will get there. There is an expectation that you will come home, pick up life-pieces and carry on much as before. They are a glorious, and essential, interruption to the scheme of things.
These days, I go travelling. For me, that includes significant not-knowing. This allows for the unexpected, for changes of mind, for following that little road into the mountains just to see where it goes.
But not - I hasten to add, as my daughters read this - recklessness.
I begin, almost always, with the flights. I'm trying to think of a time when I booked flights and it was glorious weather here - and can't recall any. Prolonged rubbish weather tends to send me to the cheap-flight sites. Which is one reason why I'm off to Nepal in mid-March.
Well, why not?
It's beautiful, I have people I need to visit (for those who have read the book - Tika has a new baby! He told me he would not have another child until he could afford to pay for his education. So he must be doing well), and I want to do meander in the Annapurnas again while I still have knees. (Yes, my knees know how old I am.)
But my planning - well, I have flights. I know when I leave, and when I come home. I have a hotel for my first night in Kathmandu, and a flight the next day to Pokhara. I have somewhere to stay there.
And then what? There's a possibility that Tika can take me into Bhutan - off the beaten track in Bhutan. I can't organise that till I get there, as he has to pull strings to get me a visa. I'd love to go to Burma, but that might have to wait for another trip. And there are great swathes of south-western Nepal that I've never visited - transport is particularly 'interesting' there, but I'd like to see it. (Note to self, it's malarial down there.) I could always go back to Chitwan, and get in the water with the elephants. Tika has even suggested I go white water rafting. (Note to daughters, will check if I can be strapped in.)
So, it's back to my Lonely Planet - an up-to-date copy, as things change all the time. Check visa arrangements; make sure I still know how to say 'thank you' in Nepali. Drool over photographs of temples and markets, and suddenly wish I could go for six months.
Is this anything like writing a book? Looks a bit random, written like this. But I realise I approach a book with the same haphazard enthusiasm. I knuckle down and organise it eventually. And you - can you see parallels in the way you approach other important aspects of your life and how you settle to write?
These days, I go travelling. For me, that includes significant not-knowing. This allows for the unexpected, for changes of mind, for following that little road into the mountains just to see where it goes.
But not - I hasten to add, as my daughters read this - recklessness.
I begin, almost always, with the flights. I'm trying to think of a time when I booked flights and it was glorious weather here - and can't recall any. Prolonged rubbish weather tends to send me to the cheap-flight sites. Which is one reason why I'm off to Nepal in mid-March.
Well, why not?
It's beautiful, I have people I need to visit (for those who have read the book - Tika has a new baby! He told me he would not have another child until he could afford to pay for his education. So he must be doing well), and I want to do meander in the Annapurnas again while I still have knees. (Yes, my knees know how old I am.)
But my planning - well, I have flights. I know when I leave, and when I come home. I have a hotel for my first night in Kathmandu, and a flight the next day to Pokhara. I have somewhere to stay there.
And then what? There's a possibility that Tika can take me into Bhutan - off the beaten track in Bhutan. I can't organise that till I get there, as he has to pull strings to get me a visa. I'd love to go to Burma, but that might have to wait for another trip. And there are great swathes of south-western Nepal that I've never visited - transport is particularly 'interesting' there, but I'd like to see it. (Note to self, it's malarial down there.) I could always go back to Chitwan, and get in the water with the elephants. Tika has even suggested I go white water rafting. (Note to daughters, will check if I can be strapped in.)
So, it's back to my Lonely Planet - an up-to-date copy, as things change all the time. Check visa arrangements; make sure I still know how to say 'thank you' in Nepali. Drool over photographs of temples and markets, and suddenly wish I could go for six months.
Is this anything like writing a book? Looks a bit random, written like this. But I realise I approach a book with the same haphazard enthusiasm. I knuckle down and organise it eventually. And you - can you see parallels in the way you approach other important aspects of your life and how you settle to write?
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
An unsung heroine, till now.
My cousin received her OBE yesterday.
I'm no Royalist. I struggle with the idea that one woman should be more important than another. I don't suppose she'd stand up if I walked into a room, yet she'd expect me to. Having said that, I am impressed that she is still vigorous in her late eighties.
But I am hugely proud of my cousin; and - given that OBEs are the way her work is recognised - I raised a glass to her yesterday and will drool over her photographs.
Her award is for 'Equality and Child Protection in Sport.' (No, I'm not sporty either). She has spent forty years working to protect children who join football clubs, swimming clubs, fencing, yoga, basketball - anywhere adults volunteer to help children and young people in sport. When she first launched her campaign it was acceptable to joke about coaches ogling little boys in the shower; to turn a blind eye at the gym teacher stroking a little girl's thigh as he held her handstand. All this is no longer funny - and my cousin was the first to make herself unpopular by standing up and saying this is wrong.
Yes, it still happens. We may never find ways to deter the most determined and persuasive abuser. But the systems are there for children to report anything that worries them, and for allegations to be investigated. The message is out there - sexual abuse in sport is wrong.
And it all began with my brave, independent, bolshy cousin. Celia Brackenridge - I'm proud of you.
I'm no Royalist. I struggle with the idea that one woman should be more important than another. I don't suppose she'd stand up if I walked into a room, yet she'd expect me to. Having said that, I am impressed that she is still vigorous in her late eighties.
But I am hugely proud of my cousin; and - given that OBEs are the way her work is recognised - I raised a glass to her yesterday and will drool over her photographs.
Her award is for 'Equality and Child Protection in Sport.' (No, I'm not sporty either). She has spent forty years working to protect children who join football clubs, swimming clubs, fencing, yoga, basketball - anywhere adults volunteer to help children and young people in sport. When she first launched her campaign it was acceptable to joke about coaches ogling little boys in the shower; to turn a blind eye at the gym teacher stroking a little girl's thigh as he held her handstand. All this is no longer funny - and my cousin was the first to make herself unpopular by standing up and saying this is wrong.
Yes, it still happens. We may never find ways to deter the most determined and persuasive abuser. But the systems are there for children to report anything that worries them, and for allegations to be investigated. The message is out there - sexual abuse in sport is wrong.
And it all began with my brave, independent, bolshy cousin. Celia Brackenridge - I'm proud of you.
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Do you do as you're told?
I'm trying to remember the current Government advice on how much wine we should drink. It seems to change fairly regularly; but we are all, presumably, meant to note each new communique and respond obediently. (I think advice about water-drinking also fluctuates, but somehow that doesn't arrive with the same fanfare.)
We must also exercise. This isn't tightly defined, and again the amount seems to vary. Sometimes we only need to walk for twenty minutes a day; other times we should make ourselves puff three times a week (so the newly-married should be ok?). I'm not sure if there is an allowance made for age: should I be striding down to the gym three times a week? Does yoga count - I can manage worshipping the sun, though not when it involves getting down on the floor and up again several times a second. And I can manage a tree-pose provided I can prop myself up on the wall.
Then we have to eat - no salt, unless you have low blood pressure and then you must eat salted crisps. But you must avoid fats. Fruit and veg: good. Sugar, chocolate: bad. Red meat - who knows?
I am aware that there are people who need help to look after themselves. They haven't got the hang of eating to keep well, and moving around comfortably.
But most of us - well, what is your response to each new Government edict? Do you measure your salt intake, study the ingredients on the side of tins for saturated fats, wake up on Tuesday and know that if you don't go for a swim today you'll turn into a pudding? And drink - have you ever said, 'sorry, I've had my fourteen units this week, I can't have any more until Sunday?'
So - tell me I'm not a rebel, just because I think for myself. Sometimes I drink more than the recommended units; I taste my food and decide if it needs more salt; I eat fruit - because I like it. I walk the Wiltshire's glorious Downs because they are beautiful; I walk through Savernake Forest because some of the trees are over a thousand years old and they remind me just how ridiculous - and insignificant - I am.
And you? Do you think for yourself? Obey Government advice to the letter? Or do the opposite just because you can? (Or do you simply not notice when this stuff is in the papers anyway?)
We must also exercise. This isn't tightly defined, and again the amount seems to vary. Sometimes we only need to walk for twenty minutes a day; other times we should make ourselves puff three times a week (so the newly-married should be ok?). I'm not sure if there is an allowance made for age: should I be striding down to the gym three times a week? Does yoga count - I can manage worshipping the sun, though not when it involves getting down on the floor and up again several times a second. And I can manage a tree-pose provided I can prop myself up on the wall.
Then we have to eat - no salt, unless you have low blood pressure and then you must eat salted crisps. But you must avoid fats. Fruit and veg: good. Sugar, chocolate: bad. Red meat - who knows?
I am aware that there are people who need help to look after themselves. They haven't got the hang of eating to keep well, and moving around comfortably.
But most of us - well, what is your response to each new Government edict? Do you measure your salt intake, study the ingredients on the side of tins for saturated fats, wake up on Tuesday and know that if you don't go for a swim today you'll turn into a pudding? And drink - have you ever said, 'sorry, I've had my fourteen units this week, I can't have any more until Sunday?'
So - tell me I'm not a rebel, just because I think for myself. Sometimes I drink more than the recommended units; I taste my food and decide if it needs more salt; I eat fruit - because I like it. I walk the Wiltshire's glorious Downs because they are beautiful; I walk through Savernake Forest because some of the trees are over a thousand years old and they remind me just how ridiculous - and insignificant - I am.
And you? Do you think for yourself? Obey Government advice to the letter? Or do the opposite just because you can? (Or do you simply not notice when this stuff is in the papers anyway?)
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