Pussy Riot-ers in chains - the trouble with people with concrete feet (& hearts & minds?)

Cement feet? Ok, but hearts, you say, and minds too - cement?

What I'm talking about is the women who have been dealt with in a way that is very, 

very harsh. It tells us what people with concrete feet do, today, this day, whether they put on 

those concrete blocks as badges of political or religious affiliation 

The Pussy Riot women, and their words, translated so brutally on the radio into wordy English, their tenuous linking with past revolutionaries, the whole Russian thing - it shakes me.

Pussy Riot, so Russian it's
practically a design classic...

What they are protesting against is very much in keeping with 'stuff we think the Russians do'. Totalitarian and autocratic figures of authority? Check. The language used by the women (and I only know it in the radio translation) is also totally in sync with 'what we think Russians write' - as long as we base what we think on totally different Russians from a different time mainly, of course. The women are also gorgeous or striking or ordinary (they are a big band of women) - just like the Russian (or similar) women I can see in Grazia magazine every week, or in Vogue/Elle every month. The Pussy Riot story is, so far, in many ways as classic as the stories in Star Wars/religion/folk tales/Mother Goose/black-and-white WWII movies. There are the good guys and the bad guys, some of the bad guys might even be the good guys' fathers, there may or may not be children/little creatures/the environment/the future at stake and there is a moral at the end of each chunk of tale. So it is just as easy to drift along as the story unfolds on Radio 4, as it is to simply be shocked/amused by the name "pussy riot" and leave it at that.

I listen to the news most days, a lot of it seems to be salacious renditions of so-and-so murdering a few people and then topping themselves, or lurid descriptions of massacres small and large. Life is cheap in these news items, and if so much of it is going on, then the Bible and other holy works don't seem that far fetched in comparison. Good, Evil, Victims, Powerful Persecutors, Angels, Heroes, Barbaric folk or Barbaric practices, Wrath - God's or Man's ... or even Woman's ... it's all there. It's all a bit far removed and de-personalised from my own small existence with my child-and-husband-and-dog-and-cat in my little Cambridgeshire village.

I can't and I won't just leave it at that and drift along stirring cheese sauce for dinner while I listen to the news though. The girl I was years ago wouldn't be unmoved by what those Russian women are going through. The incarnation of me that got Jaan in the first place would not either, and neither will the current shell-like woman (I am now) ignore their plight. The women in Pussy Riot are being persecuted because their form of protest (provocative but peaceful) was pointedly speaking out against a hideous status quo. They despise the bad, filthy, ugliness that is allowed, all day every day, to dress up as legitimate government and orthodox religion and prey on anyone they can prey on. I never thought of skipping about protesting in that same way, dressed that way, being an exhibit that way, but if I were that kinda girl in that kinda situation, I'm certainly angry enough to do the same.

You can't MOVE some people. 

The offence taken by the 'religious' in this case is devoid of the humanity, the kindness, self awareness and compassion that fairy-tale/actual prophets like Jesus and Muhammad (pbuh) for starters preached and taught throughout their working lives. Sigh. It's all a bit hopeless. For the longest time I was a really religious person and the faith and beliefs have never just blown away, they've really just had to go into hiding. Being In The Club is harmful to staying faithful to the crucial message (I assume what I mean by 'club' could be the Muslim community I'm so uneasy in, or any random Christian, Jewish or anything else community). In order to keep the Club together, arbitrary meta-religious walls need to come up and stay unshakable. The 'religious' in this context have to have feet made of metaphorical cement blocks - hastily shaped, brutal, immovable in practical terms. Such a person can be assured of everlasting peace and heavenly access in the Afterlife or similar blessings, but must also have that same assured belief in the Rightness of their position. There can be no dialogue, there can only be the benevolent saving of the others: the irreligeous or harmful/whiny/spiteful/wicked/whatever, by getting them to change and be blessed in the ways of the Righteous Religious.

One could always accessorise one's concrete feet with some cement jodhpurs ..... 

Hmphh said the sulky girl from Google image 

search of 'sulky face' to herself, I'm NOT 

going to read that Rushdie rubbish, it's

pants for sure, I can tell in my 

presumptuous fictitious concrete heart ....

Looking back, for example with Rushdie's Satanic Verses, or those cartoons lampooning Muslims, or even cartoons insulting The Prophet (pbuh), I think my attitude and responses have been as I would ever want them to be. I never thought to myself "I'll never read that evil Rushdie book" ... but actually when it did come my way at a friend's house a decade or so ago, it turned out to be pretty odd and boring in the first few pages and I never read it at all in the end, not by specific design, just because it did not call to me as a book. If I HAD been hooked at the start and then found somewhere inside there were things written in it that were repulsive or sick to me, I know I would have closed the book and read something else instead, after all, I am a grown up, an adult responsible for what I read, just as I was responsible for what I read when I was a young girl and a teenager. There are no cement blocks for me to bury my feet, heart or mind in. I can't be like that. Doing violence or incarcerating someone who likes the book or whatever would be ludicrous and only show me to be an ugly individual.

So, naturally I'm quite pleased not to be an ugly individual :)

You can't move some people though. The jury's out, for me, on something as flimsy as a novel, one that I don't think is awesome to read ... and one in which the author was trying to entertain as well as making a point somewhere. Read it, or don't read it is my response. I am actually far more offended by graffiti and cartoons that blast all bearded Muslims as murderous villains, or take cheap shots at long-dead leaders, maybe drawing them with a bong, a joint, a male lover/victim, a pervy roving eye etc as well as the turban/beard/loincloth combo. The most completely, deeply offensive thing for me is how people often meet their deaths, without dignity, because they are Muslims or have been terrible rulers and happen to be Muslim. The really offensive thing is that everyone involved, killers plus the killed, for one reason or other behave, to my mind, dreadfully, without empathy and in doing so the justice-dealers shame us all, even more than the disgusting individuals (regardless of their religion) who warranted the heavy blows from the deadly arm of justice. In all those cases though, I can only look to myself and try and keep hold of my own dignity, and remember, after a bit of soul searching that if it were up to me, men who are put to death would meet their ends with dignity, and that therefore, barbarity is not inevitable. Taking a human life is not something that I think any person has a right to. There are times when it has to be done (I don't mean war or guerrilla warfare, I mean other situations that are more intellectually justifiable perhaps, and these would be just a handful of cases over the course of millennia), but the way lives are actually taken, ended, locked up, brutalised, tortured - urgh. Throughout the history of mankind - urgh, I say, URRGH.

The Pussy Riot women had something to say, still have something to say, and they have their own way of saying it. Blind offense at what they did without paying any attention to what they said is totally urgh. I do find making a mockery of religious custom and beliefs offensive as a broad rule. If the Pussy Riot women just wanted to poop hate all over some Church ceremony in the way some people put gross venom all over their cartoons of men who are bearded/turbaned/pot-smoking/sodomising/other-ways-of-showing-their-own-obnoxious-ignorant-bigotry - then I'd think the Pussy Riot women are just as pointlessly gross. They aren't, though, and they have been dealt with in a way that is very, very harsh, and it tells us all what the people with concrete feet do, today, this day. Whether they put those concrete blocks on as badges of political or religious affiliation, they are strong, and I am so angry that those women, rightly or wrongly, cannot say what they think and then go on to learn more about why the other people feel differently and so on and so on. We'll never have a better way to get along this way.

By definition, not being a bigot means I can't very well slam any of my more (or totally) bigoted acquaintances' heads against the wall to try and stop them from being so annoyingly concrete-footed. Not can I lock them up. Sadly, the whole Pussy Riot story so far reminds me that such people totally could slam-dunk chunks of heavy concrete bigotry all over me at any time with impunity - my counsellor will probably even insist that is just their way of dealing with things (oh how a BPD woman hates that phrase!).

So now I am 35

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Putting a Face on Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS)

Putting a Face on Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS)

Diary of a would-be housewife

Horrible goings on in the big cities just now. I'm not too keen on watching footage of the violence, a few pictures on the Guardian website was enough, looks so much like a blockbuster movie, the police in their 'new' outfits ... (new compared to 30 years ago). Oh dear. People sure know how to let the side down. I'm not sure whose 'side' looters and people doing criminal damage are .. .. but presumably they have self-righteousness somewhere in their minds. I understand the desperation and anger when life has suddenly become so hard, so 'members only' and I'm not even on the list ... How much more anger must there be for people closer to constant reminders ...

I don't know a lot about economics, I see shopfronts, people paying for goods and services, people paying taxes, and taxes on their fuel and shopping, I see people going to work, spending and saving, mending and making do, buying new stuff they have waited for and planned for, sharing what they have. The numbers on screens and in big business deals aren't the same sort of money, right? Not like we need to pay exactly such and such for our TV licence every year, right? The Big Money is, I always think, kind of imaginary, theoretical, or like i in maths ... Somehow,  big-game Monopoly games happen across the world, and the participating players are the world's best trained and most experienced champions at playing it. They aren't devils either, Debs' Chris and Asif Bhai and who knows, countless others who I know are decent chaps and chapesses do a lot of hard work to keep money machines in top gear, to make money for our futures, to make sure businesses can get loans, the government can do what needs to be done and so on and so on, not to mention they try and just make money too, not lose it. Sigh .... and still somehow whatever it is that has gone wrong, it's messed up my monthly Ocado bill, and has sent us to Asda on more than one occasion LOL, no seriously, joking and flippant comments aside, it's not that laughable .....  it has given us many sleepless nights. We have to leave our home as soon as we can sell it, we have to live somewhere too small for us from now on, perhaps lose our cat. It's not funny. It won't be funny when even after all the sacrifices, I'm still struggling to feed us well, and Iain still has to worry about how much I am spending, how much his fuel costs. Somehow, someone's roll of the dice (lot's of peoples' really) means I'm poorer than ever, Iain has puffy bags under his eyes - not caused just by Jaan! - and it turns out lots of people now riot and loot? How can that be. Seems nonsensical.

I realise the disaffection is the bubbling under the surface stuff, this time the catalyst was shocking police behaviour, not just the killing, but the status quo that made such a killing something that was all too easily done. Shaming really.  I do tend to stick up for our system of governance and law-keeping generally but I feel confused and a little sick nowadays. My depressed self screams 'Deluded AGAIN I am the biggest fool' .... and less self-obsessedly, I think how will this change, what can I do?

What do people do in such times? Not marching and rioting - that sort of thing is beyond me logistically and tempermentally. I lack the stamina and am too agoraphobic to take to the streets. On tv, whether personal or widely political, characters affected by distressing events often clean compulsively. I don't, but I thought I'd try it a little today - mopped the downstairs floors. Jaan of course said 'what's that smell?' - never having smelled Flash Power Mop fluid before (eeeps ... I've mainly been hoovering the kitchen or spray-and-wiping with kitchen paper, or mopping with a normal mop and fairy or flash spray .... only done heavy duty when Jaan is out ....). Is it rubbish that he has never seen me do hardcore chemical cleaning a' la Flash Power Mop?  (bought in pre-recession days .... and even then I was cross at the expence, and at Iain for buying it AND a new Brita filter system - he only went out to buy one cartridge). Since then the Power Mop fluid went off the market inexplicably and now it's available again - will this mean I will mop and mop? 

Will mopping make things better anyway? 

I have to say, it did nothing for my mood, not better or worse. It was a curious and mildly strenuous activity, not a lengthy one, we have little floor-space (lots of carpet). I cannot see the charm in constant cleaning, the product scents alone are gross, let alone the proximity to dirt and the taking-responsibility of said dirt and stains, yeuch. However I have been wondering - should a neater, tidier home be Something To Do at the moment? People are cleaning up after the riots and feeling great fellowship with each other, reclaiming their city today. Cathartic, I know. I understand the need to act. To DO something to make things better, to dig out from the hole.

I can't work yet, I have officially withdrawn my Ofsted application, and cannot register as a nanny in the meantime either, although I can work as a nanny or babysitter. Sucks though as people need me registered to pay me with childcare vouchers. Jaan starts Buttercups kindergarten next month and it is futile to pay for Steiner if he's not getting equivalent input from me, so full-time work is out, I suspect part-time work would be a logistical nightmare right now - will our house get sold? Where am I to live? What am I to do? Will I be driving next month? My problems seem huge now that I am looking at it as Family-Eye-View, and they were big enough problems when I slanty-eye-balled just the issues in my traumatised mind .... when I could not see beyond the inside of me.

I can be a little less self centred now and can think about Iain and the family income a little - a sure sign I am better, the depression has eased and lifted - but am at a loss as to how I can be anything other than a catastrophic drain. Perhaps a nice clean house could be construed as a contribution?

How will that help the country, the world? I don't know, but I'll do what I do when I am so depressed and powerless that I have to hide within myself - I will do the tread-water-and prepare : Get stuff ready and in place so as soon as more is possible, we can get set go.

It's how I've managed to get all those degrees, get married, have a son against tough odds, and survive and thrive through 3 years of post natal depression, it is how I have done all that amd managed to sustain a few good relationships despite the Borderline Personality Disorder.

Tread-water-and prepare stuff. Whether things look down or up next, it will be a good thing you did.

My Avon Lady journey

As mentioned before, I'm not exactly the best Avon Lady on the block, I have, ahem, one customer (my BFF .. does she even count?) however I resolve every 3 weeks to make an effort and get to know my neighbours using the Avon Lady persona as a useful disguise/opening/focusing tool. Nothing to lose, perhaps even cash to gain. Plus I'm putting my mis-spent youth to good use - who loves Product more than I do? (Not that many people)

Now, I'm a fan of the skin-so-soft shower stuff; am keen on the nailpolishes - easily among the best available in terms of coverage and durability. You need to look regularly when it comes to Avon as a truly gorgeous shade comes along every now and then, alongside a whole load of passable nice colours. I like the truly special ones most specially - at Avon prices they really are brilliant buys, they dry fast, they won't chip (not unless it is time, or you are up to no good).

SO that's where I started from - I'm about to try and see how Avon fares at high-end skin care.

I've been formaly 'caring' for my skin, specially my face/neck for ... oh ... must be since I was about 14. Age appropriate at all times, I've been jolly careful and at times of huge stress, have left off putting stuff on my skin (as I would be using the wrong stuff in such a state) rather than abuse my skin knowingly - I know, I know, I take it all waaaaay too seriously.... Remember, I had a sheltered upbringing and wasn't allowed out really, not till I left home at 21 or 22 ...... That's a lot of afternoons to hang about make-up counters at Wimbledon's Centre Court Shopping Centre and Elys.

High end stuff, if you pick the right one for you works. Definitely. When I was younger and greasier, Clinique and Lancome worked; when I came of age and required a few sophisticated touches, had funky hair and loved playing with colour - which looked awesome on my skin - make up from Dior and MAC did the trick. The fragrances and aromatherapeutic malarky in some of Lancome's skincare products, the technology and sympathy in Shiseido - I loved it. Then came marriage (Dior, Clinique, Estee Lauder, Philosophy) and motherhood - Stella McCartney moisturiser, Dr Hauschka, Neals Yard, lots of Shea Butter, Simple and Badger balm ..... Bits and pieces from Avon continued to make an appearance along with the od Body Shop treat or Lush luxury - and I have to say Avon's eye shadow does last, to rival Dior even, and the colours can often be just as special. The last big skincare binge was to combat the ravages of a harsh birth (for me, Jaan was fine) and the onset of PND. The Estee Lauder man sorted me out, big time. Made my mind change about the eficacy of high-tech creams.

Time to use what I know, two weeks - Avon's Reversalist. I'm using the ANEW range - sunscreen (which I always need a lot, I burn so fast), cleanser, moisturisers and eye stuff plus the saphire emulsion which looks so ethereal - glimmery plasma perhaps? Star Trek stuff!

14 days they say. 5 years off (not sure I want that much off!) they say. We shall see.

Should probably do something to rejuvenate my hair too but (sigh) one huge problem at a time, eh? Not taking care of myself ages my skin. Taking care of Jaan to the exclusion of all else ages my skin (it follows). Jaan's about to enter a wider social sphere, and although it is a toddler focused wider sphere, I'll be there too and I could use the boost to my self confidence (I reckon the doctors whipped out all my self confidence when they shoved that ironic birthing ball - and the rest - between my thighs the day Jaan was born).

Lisening to the news ... is it me, or are things rather topsy turvy?

For a newspaper and news tv man, doesn't it sound like James Murdoch is really under-informed? Am a little embarrased on his behalf. I drowse through the Today programme most mornings and I sound less dopey.

The Saudis are just plain gross with this potential new anti-terrorist policy. Sickened at how I'll have to encounter justifications of this ... How can this actually be happening ... Not surprised, just sickened a) because things are that way, and b) I lack the ability and force of will to put a stop to this sort of thing, of course, but more personally, lack the force of will to make a huge political stand against such things.

Foggily remembering coverage on Greece over the last few months, why am I left with the feeling they don't want to live with the consequences of having spent money no one actually has, and so they're being given some more money ... some sort of way of maintaining a system that's allowed the country to get into that situation. I can only surmise that all that money is really just numbers on a spreadsheet like Fantasy F1, not actual money such as what I use to pay Ocado.

These monkeys a bit more like human beings than they've ever been before - like they've been trying to be like us. Lol. Bizarre perspective - we've learnt something about some animals. We've drawn a correlation. End of. Of course looking at it the flip-side way; this does confirm Iain is intelligent life, at least on holidays when he focuses almost solely on toe-nail care.

Reading BeautySwots Friday Column

Yup, I'm not looking forward to releasing my son into the world of kindergarten ... in September!!! I can fully appreciate the urge to over-protect. To bombard my toddler with warnings. Stop him from getting hurt.

I do spend a lot of time and energy working on preventing hurt from touching him, or mostly, minimising how much hurt a hurt can cause him.

However, I don't keep saying 'dont do that, slow down' etc etc. I actually think the world is a horrifying, perilous, dark place - but I don't believe I can shield him from it, or myself for that matter. As far as I can tell, a wide range of skills and practice of such skills is the only hope (for example having the wit to scream for help when in danger, not freezing up and remembering to call 999 or remembering to run, quick reflexes, good first aid skills .. the nous to take a deep breath and work through the fear ...). It's tough working that into mummyhood .... My kid's a toddler.

By nature he's a cautious chap, very much into assessing risks, more than happy to play within his safety and comfort zone, which I am sure makes my approach easier. The key was getting to know his propensities and working with them. I find it far easier to work the 'this isn't such a good idea now, is it?' into the situation once we have come to the inevitable problem. For example - leaving the house alone, with no pants on. I'm not sure if I am lazy mummy, good mummy, or terrible mummy in this story:

The other day, he actually decided to open the front door and walk out, in a t-shirt, no pants, nappy, trousers, socks - nothing, just flip flops, to 'go to the park'. Being Jaan, he made sure I knew his plans, and I didn't think he'd do it, but I kept an eye out, and sneakily put the door on the latch and made sure the back door was open so we would not get locked out if it all got out of hand. I kept telling him going to the park is a great idea, we'll go as soon as our friends (who were getting ready to leave) went home. I (wo)manfully resisted freaking out. Contrary to my experiences with him in the past, Jaan gleefully made his way out, rejoicing in being out on the steps, really pleased at how he could step on to the pavement - with Mummy still inside the house (ok, I was on the inside bit of the same steps ... I am not crazy, I can't let him out on his own!). He chose which way he wanted to go, kept inviting me to come too, and was having a whale of a time. I was on the pavement too by then. I watched him as I continued to chat about how we'd go to the park, I just need to say bye bye to our friends, get him some trousers in case he gets cold etc. Light chatter, I was very interested in this scary new independence he was showing me. He was very careful on the pavement, and kept telling me he wants me to stay off the road as if I get on the road a car could squash me "like plasticine, like dough, like mud, Mummy, really flat".

Ok, that was reassuring, if gruesome.

Buoyed by his success so far he of course, then went too far, and skipped off towards the field that leads to the park (ok, he picked the safest route ... still ... he's not 3 yet, and this should be nipped in the bud!)

I stayed near the house and called him back, being all no-nonsense and 'You come back now, not on your own, I've already said we will go to the park.' etc. Mummy voice and all. Counted 1 2 3 and everything. Yet on he skipped. I had to follow.

I decided to take a gamble. Said, "Jaan, you want to go out on your own do you? Well, if I stand by the house, you can play in the grassy bit with the tree there, you can cross the road and play there. I'll be here." This bit of negotiation was hopelessly misplaced - he could not comprehend crossing the road unescorted, he failed to grasp the faith and trust I was trying to demonstrate in my own big gesture - apeing his defiant strut down the pavement sans nappy pants.

Silly me.

 Although with this guy being one of his main role models ..... what should I have expected, eh?

He of course has very poor negotiation skills, so he just carried on to the field, me calling him and calling him. He made it into the field, I watched from my pavement, he kept going till he was behind the bushes. I panicked, wanted to run into the field and pick him up, drag him home and hide with him under the duvet, and make my friend stay too, and join us in there (she was days away from giving birth at that point!!). I started walking to the field, telling him it's enough, time to stop, he's doing naughties now, and really needs to be doing goodies instead ... at the same time, I could see he didn't much like only being able to hear me and not see me and he was edging back to where I was, trying to save face by saying he was tired and its too hard to walk so far .... That was all I needed to hear! I swooped in and finally he was back in my arms (where he really should spend every moment of his life, I sometimes think) and I was chattering much more comfortably, saying what an adventure he had just had, and how clever he was to be so careful on the pavement, and isn't he cold with no nappy or pants?, wouldn't the dinosaur shoes have been better in the grass? And we were kissing and giggling, and I told him that now that he has a new bunch of naughties to do, I'll have to lock the door every time, even when guests are leaving the house ....

He's not done it or even tried to do it again.

But developmentally, I get an awful lot of THIS these days -

I keep trying to remember not to think of him as an adult (a short one) as he is not, and so I'm not to have grown up expectations of him. I don't see any evidence he is some caveman or wild man either. He's definitely a person, a whole person, who wants and tries and longs for stuff and fears, has pride, anger, rage, frustration, affection, love and every kind and gentle feeling too - he just has a lot, a LOT of experience to gather. I just get to be along side him for a few years while he gains some. My time will be over soon, far too soon.

I hope I do him more good than harm.

Go Go Gruffalo!

We saw The Gruffalos Child - a stage show/musical by Tall Stories, lasting one hour, at the Norwich Theatre Royal. The show was good, if an adjunct/alternative reality to the book by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler. Designed to be easy for pre-schoolers to enjoy. The outfits were stylised for example.  Authentic Gruffalo suits that obscured the actor totally would have freaked out Jaan (and surely other tiddlers too).

The Gruffalo and his child were sweet personalities, and the performers were very good. The songs were typical rhymes/musical-tunes, but enjoyable and catchy enough without driving us mad - we listened to the CD we bought after the show about 50 times all the way home.

In the songs, the approach to the Gruffalo or the Big Bad Mouse's kiliing habits (killing prey) is not sensationalised, but it is accounted for graphically. It's matter-of-fact and told in part of the story (the Big Bad Mouse will snap the Gruffalo's neck, squash the life out of her, suffocate her between sheets of cheese etc in the song 'Big Bad Mouse'). The music has a touch of English-Folkseyness to it - maybe some Irish Folksey-ness too. 

Here's a bit more on what to expect: I'd recommend it, just don't be too much of a purist and expect exact reproduction of the book. There's time to see it in the UK still, or in Australia.

We have been watching a lot of Gruffalo leading up to the show, to help Jaan cope with his first theatre trip (an hour is a long time, he enjoyed the show for about 40 minutes, twisting about minimally. The last bit he was harder to manage, but there were no tears, just extreme fidgeting). Here are our best finds:

A piece of the excellent Gruffalo cartoon, currently being shown on Nick Jr during the bank holidays.

Here's Julia Donaldson, and she sings the Gruffalo Song which Jaan now loves, and even Iain sings.

This is the theatre company who put on the show, Tall Tales.

Finally, a LOVELY video of a mummy and her kid's puppet-show production of Gruffalo.

It was a big deal for me to brave the outdoors and to go to another county for this outing! I am glad I had Iain and Jaan with me. Our seats were very good, which helped too (Thank you Mother in Law). I have to say, at the theatre I was not the mummy who looked most like the Gruffalo's lost 'Mrs Gruffalo'. I am definitely not right for the role of Mummy Teletubby anymore either. My shape is a-changing. Bootcamp has been part of my life for 2 months now, and I'm looking forward to the next block. I have been talking to Jaan about the Gruffalo a lot in the build-up months, and he likes me to pretend I'm Gruffalo and wander about Zombie-like while he squeals and zooms about. He came up with this game, and being 'Gruffalo' just by jutting my jaw out (bottom teeth visible = terrible tusks) and making my 'paws' prominent is brilliant for our imaginations. I reckon I have bootcamp to thank for that game too, I am freer in my body, able to move more, really move more. For a long time I was in a bad place, but as a strong samurai princess, I was brave enough to sign up for bootcamp, and even if I was not quite sure I believed what my friends say about me (they think I'm awesome) - I was prepared to go along any way (I could hardly feel worse about myself for trying, right?). With nothing to lose and everything to gain, I'm so glad that 2 months down the line I have a waist again. Ok, not exactly svelte yet .. .. but I am definitely able to PRETEND to be a Gruffalo, while looking nothing like one really.

The costumes in the show are equally inspired and imaginative - the snake wears a spangly jacket, the owl and the fox are amusing stereotypical characters, with a few props in their costumes to indicate eccentric intellectual/mad scientist and Cockney wheeler dealer respectively.

Food for thought - Dorothy Rowe on Fear

Me & Dorothy Rowe, We go waaaaay back

Many moons ago, at a vastly different depressive point in my past, I read a book by Dorothy Rowe entitled Depression, and it changed my life, perhaps freeing part of me for the first time. Most of what I read escapes me, and if I re-read it now I'm sure something else would stick, or perhaps I would be critical now, as I am with her other book, which I have just skimmed through. What has stayed with me since first reading Dorothy, is the idea that a child desperately wants her parents to be right, good, able, decent etc etc all good things. To do so she will believe that even the bad things they do are good, are ok, even laudable. This dynamic is definitely a strong theme in my upbringing, and in the family dynamic now (both sides of the border, my out-laws are just as good at this, however sullenly they go about it as Iain's enthusiastic out-laws are). The other idea was a concept I still struggle with - that all the problems of said parents and indeed the problems of the world are not the responsibility of that child. To me, ineptitude makes all those problems that child's responsibility by default. Being able to see clearly surely means action is a duty, an imperative, when stumbling about with the blurry-eyed? Morons cannot be permitted to ugly up the whole world - or what will be left for the newer children, the others who come later who might be able to get away, break away from blurry-eyed prejudice, harsh abuse and imprisonment? Too late for this child but could be not-too-late for others, because just as I had no hand in being conceived and born, nor do the children who followed me, they will come and they will come, no one can stop that. What do I have to do to make the world less of a nightmare for them - every thing I can think of surely, whether I manage to do it or not. SO, I can't save the polar bear, or sponge up oil slicks with kitchen paper, that does not mean I can't make it clear to the world that polar bears matter, that I am not happy that oil slicks spill out on to seas, marine life and fish. Things like that, what is ok and what is not need to project out from every organ in my body, infuse my behaviour. I must be vigilant in using every opportunity I have to make that change. So when a young person asks me about someone's behaviour, seeking clues as to where to place it in his or her personal internal moral scale, I need to examine my own priorities, my own consciousness, and make a serious effort to communicate what I have learnt, providing routes within that so that the young person has an opportunity to go off and explore the issue further, either consciously, or the next time it comes up in her/his life. It would be fatal to the mission to preach, to give a definitive declaration, a judgement that is absolute. I only know what I know till now, I may always know that, or what I know could adapt, flex, change, who knows? That's all anyone can do, if they are paying attention and trying to engage with the world and those who are in it.

Fear can be a legacy, maybe it can even be genetic? Whatever, you know where we first get a handle on it from ... go on, take a guess ...

Dorothy's book on Fear is the one I got out of the library a couple of months ago. I am handing it back in today and so skimmed through it - skipping a lot of stuff about childhood and bad-parenting that I have dealt with in great depth over the last few years, and now need a bit of respite from. Yes my parents are very sweet, kind people who tried their very best for all 3 of us, and for every child they ever met, as a matter of fact. They aim to support, nurture, love and encourage. Of course, like most people, the end effect they achieve falls short of the ideal. Their faith system teaches them to prioritise intention over actual action & events. Principles behind action are inflexible and absolute - the 5 pillars of Islam for instance. In the same way, the 'facts' that they are supportive, nurturing, loving and encouraging are immovable, omnipresent and hugely imposing, by virtue of them being the principles by which they intend to live. That's pretty much the end of the line.

Dorothy would say that when my parents inevitably could not live up to their ideals of ALWAYS managing to have a positive impact, they and us kids, as a family should ideally have learnt to deal with the seismic-shift in the world-view that resulted. Acceptance, courage, perseverence, try try again, laugh it off, laugh together, remember you care etc should ideally be the cornerstones - not anger, violence, lies, cold silences, screaming matches, blame, abandonment etc .. and I am NOT saying that my parents and I engaged in ANY of this behaviour. According to Dorothy, the core problem is fear and the antidote to fear is courage, to look the seismic shifts that can happen in life in the eye and keep getting up every morning, no matter what and don't let the bad things win.

Fight Fear with Courage

Now I know I am courageous and brave to the extreme. Not spider-squashing brave, but pick-yourself-up and learn how to do this brave. It is painful to be brave, and humiliating when it does not make a blind bit of difference to my life when, for example, all the other human components of the situation are cement-footed cowards. Bravery, humiliation, flexibility and failure are probably the sum of my existence. Seismic shifts? I'll give you seismic shifts!!! Before Jaan, and when he came, twice - no, three times at least, my entire world view (apart from things like the earth is round, the sun rises, Iain loves me etc) turned out to be false, I had been completely deluded about almost everything, and certainly everyone. Turned out some people did not want me anywhere near special things in their lives, some people had no intention of rejoicing or commiserating with me, even in short bursts as changes happened in painful succession to me. Apparantly my horridness was so abhorrent and repulsive, that even small amounts of being with me, being there for me, being part of my life was too much. You can say what you like, but my vulnerability did not warrant gentleness and care, my bravery was irrelevant and at best justification for walking away (she doesn't need me), my flexibility was invisible, and in any case irrelevant as there were no other options presented by others (as there was a dearth of others) for me to flexibly try out and incorporate into my world view, to use as building blocks to repair the breach. Was I a failure at this time? I succeeded in making a decision about my PhD. Surely that is a success. Unfortunately that decision was made within the University context, and therefore was a failure to succeed in the programme. My supervisor's attitude to the whole thing, indeed the department's indifference indicated how worthless my contribution had been till that point, how not a part of it all I really have been. Slinking away, I could not look back, as there was no one to look at, all had become alien by then. To most people who knew I was studying, leaving is a failure too.

And then what about Jaan, clearly he was born, he is well, he is thriving and I have certainly done right by him. My efforts at home and through the mental health services have shown Iain how much my life with him and Jaan mean to me, and communicating that has been a success too. Our marriage is still strong, a definite success. Do I feel much of a success? I feel I should. I try and tick off my list of successes. I can acknowledge my successes in this sphere to myself, it is such a personal sphere, and I can ignore how my chronic depression looks to people judging me from the outside (why is she still doing this?). My courage and open-ness combined to let me pursue three really important friendships, maybe 4 really, and I continue to try and reach out to others, but I try and stick to people who think or behave like I do within the context of the part of life in which we meet. Going to 'Stitch & Bitch' at George's place is a good example - I like the women who were going to be there, they look, sound and speak nicely, I admire their mothering skills, I am interested in their children, the things they cook, the things they plan to buy, their ideas on life in general. That is a safe place to be, to spend time, to enjoy some of what is in life. All of life should be participated in with the same spirit of experience and enjoyability. Bootcamp, which I do twice a week at the break of dawn is physically challenging, even excruciating at times and has the potential to be humiliating. However it is a safe situation because we all work together to challenge ourselves, there is no need to fail because the others have won. There is no need to be bad at anything, that simply does no arise.

 So if I am so successful in my personal life, with such good mates - what's with the depression tagline?

Is it the BPD? 

This Borderline Personality Disorder I am rumored to have (how dare you! my personality is just peachy thank you)? Dorothy reckons BPD is newspeak for hysteria - as in oh look the lovely young lady with the expressive speech and wide eyes is neurotic and hysterical, quick Mr Psychiatrist, give her some drugs, let her talk till her tears overwhelm her, and when you have a moment, have a brief abusive affair with her too, nudge nudge wink wink, she has delusions and rubbish interpersonal skills don't you know, she's like that, you can't change how impulsive she is, or how rashly she judges how to behave, or who to sleep with. That's what DOROTHY thinks. She reckons most women who have the BPD diagnosis, indeed all personality disorder diagnoses are to do with the people who make such diagnoses, that they tell you nothing about the patient, everyone can be classed into some sort of personality disorder or other (perhaps the non-specified personality disorder if all else fails, yep, there is one to that effect).

I have to say, the thought that everyone could be classed as having a PD is not new to me. Of course I wondered. Dorothy complains that the whole PD thing, specifically BPD is all about classifying and diagnosing, meeting at least 5 of the 9 points that make up the diagnostic criteria - there is no indication within the 9 points she says, that show the P-Docs care about the person behind the label in the sense that concepts such as self-esteem are completely absent. It's not a person who gets the BPD label, rather it's a set of reactions and choices made by that person over a curse of time that gets her the label. These choices would have been made by a person under desperate emotional, mental and maybe physical strain, possibly extended strain, as the best choices available to her under possibly appalling circumstances. Dorothy argues that life is not fair, that we have ideas about the ideal outcome of every line of our lives - she's right there, for example, my parents hopes and ideals about parenthood and nurturing behaviour as described above. When shit happens and our reality turns out totally different from what the ideal was, the best thing to do is to be courageous and think 'This is'. Never dwell on the 'Why me, this is so unfair', rather, contemplate briefly 'That really hurts, that really makes me afraid, that really makes me sad and disappointed, oh well, that's life, that is what IS' ..... and then we prance off into that evening's sunset I  guess, rearranging our building blocks of life, realigning what is ideal, what is hopefully coming next, any disappointments just an ephemeral part of the make-up of the daily grind.

What to do when variations of the apocalypse is the constant in life?

Ok Dorothy, point taken, and pretty much everyone from clod-hopping amateur psycho-babble-prone well wishers to the highly skilled Jenny Harker and Mark Westecott have been working hard to hammer just that through my thick skull for a long time. What to do though when the world-smashing apocalypse happens in BAM! BAM! BAM! quick succession - the total breakdown of family life, the future, childlessness, chronic devastating disease, pregnancy, the disastrous untimely end to over a decade of study, a traumatic birth, another total breakdown of family life, complete loss of self - the death of ones self, intense post-natal depression and PTSD, chronic post-natal depression, a desperate house-move, removal of all things unbearably painful, but also of everything that was good and supportive, exclusion from the lives of people who meant something once ....BAM! BAM!

At which point could the fear be faced? Every fear was actually justified. At that point, at all those points, what can courage do? Fear of abandonment, loss, death, poverty, lies, cruelty, humiliation, failure? Which one is missing ... I'll tell you, they are all there, they all happened, relentlessly, consecutively, repeatedly. The one that topped them all, so unexpected, so stark, so cruel, so sadistic, was the birth - from the first desperate 'gas & air' moment to the moment the spinal took effect and numbed my womb. Oh the pain and indignity did not end or start there of course, I won't bore you or hurt myself with the details now. It is private. My own hell, and it is not just this crowning glory of horror that has broken me, don't be silly, I am courageous, remember? One nightmare day does not destroy me, the Princess. The Samurai. Specially as I managed to make the best choices available for Jaan, and what I endured was done to leave no room at all ( AT ALL) for any possible predicable and probable harm to befall him (obviously not an exhaustive surety or guarantee, even I cannot take on God's role, or the roles of chance, fate and random ends). I knew what I was in for, what torments me is that it had to be that way at all, I would never, ever do those things that way to another living thing, or even to a dead thing. I cannot understand how or why so many instances of that kind of behaviour happened to me in such quick succession over such a long period - over two years in all.

Nor can I see how it can be such a mystery or so invisible to others, what happened to me, what keeps happening. I see it all around me every day, all day.

Oh I flex my mind, adjust what I can do with my body and try to move forward with life. Bootcamp, better diet, R&R ....... I am not stupid, I am trying to strengthen my body. I exercise my mind writing, wandering outside the perimiter of my comfort-zone, talking openly, letting people near me again, despite knowing the risks. Courage enables me to make these choices, choosing these acts over ripping my body to shreds, drowning or sinking completely under the shadows of the black dog. In one part of my life I am not a failure, I have succeeded. In work, in studying, in dealing with the world, in coping with the dynamics of family life, and in dealing with poverty I have demonstrably and completely failed. Failure is when there is no re-do, no next step. Otherwise it's not failure, it is just what happened that day (Jenny Harker taught me the distinction). There is no going back and sorting those things, there is just time now to say, this is how I can explain what happened here, and this is what is now, it's how it is, that's all. No re-do. The only thing to mull over and explore from now on is the future and the present - what am I doing for money now? Do I want to study anything at the moment? Should I look into something for when Jaan is 6? Lets listen to the Today Programme, oh it's bizarre what's happening in the Middle East, Gosh how interesting/sad/inspirational/deluded/crazed/pained/dull/stupid etc etc that person sounds, I agree/disagree/am not interested in that particular idea, or 'what an interesting thought', 'I must think on it' etc etc ... That's appropriate, and the way to deal with the wider world. So Hugh's Fish Fight is on, I read the Tweets. I don't have to lose sleep over the fish, and I don't, but I AM disgusted with the waste and have made my own personal choices with the new information. Doesn't matter what they are, what matters is that they are personal, Iain will make his and Jaan is an abstainer anyway, fish is no issue for him, aside from Nemo. I am interested in their choices when they make them because I am interested in everything about each of them and in a practical sense their choices need to be taken into account when I do the Ocado. No one else is my concern.

Now, whether the campaign succeeds or not IS of interest to me, not on a highly-personal I MUST MAKE IT SO! Aaaargghh IT'S MY RESPONSIBILITY! kind of way, but in an "I hope enough people care" kind of way, and a curiosity about what the outcome says about modern British society, about modern British media, about cooking as it is today. This is an appropriate interest, a healthy engagement with a contemporary serious issue of moralty, utility and behavioural norms.

I suppose, reluctant as I am to admit it, there is also scope for 'what sort of interaction do I want with so-and-so family member, and hmm is that realistic? What are they in to? Ok, that'll work then, we'll just do this and this and leave it at that' [SCARY painful stuff, better perhaps to just avoid family for ever and ever or at least this summer].

Ponyo washes over my soul, ahhh soothing like chamomile and rose

God bless my giddy aunt ... 
Actually, thanks Nayyar Khala for sending me that random link about Ponyo being a great replacement for Iggle Piggle - frankly, Jaan still loves the toys, but is waaay over Night Garden as a show. Ponyo has in fact saved the day at ours, which is a great relief, as my drug-addled near-sanity and potentially fully-functional life had been shifted far, far, FAAAAR out of kilter.


It all got stressful at half term, which is a damned time for all Mummys of pre-schoolers. Everything we go to is SHUT and this drained away all the positive benefits of 'getting out and about' recently. It took me all the weeks of the last term-half to build up to outings, participation in Daisy centre activities, making friends, seeing my actual friends .... hanging out with rellies. 


Oh man, an army of women helped me get that far - - - Half Term. Blew it all to smithereens, didn't it? So the pressure immediately mounted, to progress again.


Then what? A low blow struck me - in the form of (don't laugh) two rather terrible XFactor episodes. A soul already desperate enough to turn to XFactor starts to feel battered. Tag on fresh sadness at the Stephen Fry debacle (despite it being absolutely nothing to do with me directly), and urgh, even Eastenders can't stir anything in me right now, a sure early-onset sign of the deep gloom in descent. When I'm stuck to a sofa or a bed .... I don't appreciate lack of media-soothation. Not to mention I am FLUEY, have bitten off more than I can easily chew with the Papworth WI (my vain attempt to recapture my former personality and expertise), and I am struggling with the forms, policies and paperwork associated with registering as a childminder - not just technically, as believe it or not with all my academic achievements, I appear to be actually struggling with the process - but more than that I am struggling emotionally. It's such a big deal ... omg why in heaven should it be? 


I was capable and efficient and motivated once.
I still am, but what I meant by all that is SO DIFFERENT to what I manage now ... 
Gaaaaah!


My gorgeous baby is milling around throughout this period - alternating between being the delightful chap, hero of my life, with his independent-play skills that he CAN be, and the Mickey Mouse-crazed fanatic, maniacally changing DVDs again and again and again and again and ... Oh yeah, there are tantrum fuelled crazed interludes too!


We're so proud of his speech - it's coming along something fine. Hurrah he can say Bottle. Aaargh he chooses to say 'Mickey Bottle' every time he asks for milk.

This bottle RULES OUR LIVES right now ...oh, hang on, Jaan does .... the bottle is just his weapon of the month

I add here, he has about 7 bottles of milk per 24 hours!!!!! - choose any 7 in any given day - on waking, at breakfast, as a mid-morning snack, after lunch, after nap, with tea, at bedtime and another if he wakes at night.


So I did what any couch-potato-due-to-PND Mummy would do. I changed the 'priority' on all our LoveFilm requests and Lo and Behold - salvation in the form of Noddy, 100 Toddler Tunes and Ponyo arrived yesterday.


We've investigated them all today. Noddy was a known entity and much appreciated by Jaan over brekkie. He soon wanted a change and appeared on the fence when I put the toddler tunes on. At least it was a change from Mickey. And a change from the bizarre retro songs DVD we have been watching ad nauseam for a while now - the Sing Along Day of Songs by Abbey Media - circa 1993 (going on 1983 by the way). If I had to listen to entreaties to 'Join (their) sing a long day-o of fuuuun' again today I might have had to lie down at someone else's house, leaving Jaan to it .... You see, "There's PaddingTUN and RUperrrrt Bear, Dusty Brontasaurus WILL BEEE there" and these promised frighten the beJesus out of me when I am under the weather ... sniff.. Please Dusty, lets just leave it for another day, eh? Dusty Brontasaurus, please just don't be there, don't wait for me, I don't want to know how happy the two of us can be ... don't be anywhere I can see you and your snaggletooth ..... [for those, who like me, can't stop the song going through their heads .... here is mercy in the form of the lyrics.]


If you've seen this DVD with me, you may know that dinosaur gets EVERYWHERE in literally every scene .... aargh. He has a snaggletooth. I have a snaggletooth. So does Iain. HOW CAN I COPE WITH DUSTY BRONTASAURUS' FACE TAUNTING ME ABOUT ME AND MY HUSBAND AND OUR DEFORMED SNAGGLETOOTHS??????


SO at this point THANK GOODNESS for PONYO

- loved the animation, loved the characters, the pace of the film, the song at the end (sniff!! in a good way ... I teared up of course).

Jaan watched the whole thing with me, we loved it, me specially so, as I can understand English far better and am more experienced in watching this sort of animation, frankly, and got a lot more than Jaan out of it all.

He is so Sosuke, and I'm so Lisa. We are going to play this game totally. I love Jaan, and Ponyo. As long as have them both ... I think I'll  make it.