Blogging and The Mole

Mr H and I were discussing blogging last night, and how one has to be consistent to get a consistent readership and responses.

When I started it properly in 2010, when I had a lot of time on my hands, that was no problem. Lots to say, lots of time to say it.  Now that I'm back at work, studying and have Mr H home to distract me, I don't find it so easy.

I often think of things to blog about while I'm walking or cycling home, but have forgotten it by the time I get my computer out (yes, yes a sign of old age!).  Or nothing interesting enters my head... that's probably not true but it isn't things I can put into words.  I did decide to make more of an effort though, and if it's not intensely thought provoking or amusing then so be it ;-)

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We just got the Hillman Imp Super (the Mole) back from hospital, with new head gasket, starter motor, thermostat and a few other bits and pieces.  The MOT runs out today so Mr H went to work in it before we have to settle down to sort out the bits that need fixing. I had to smile as I watched their diminutive form trundling off up the road!

We're more important than you

Whenever there is news of an air crash, or something happening on a cruise ship, or any other terrible disaster, the News will report that "there were 5 Britons aboard" or "on which there were no Britons".  

Who cares?

People are people.

People died or suffered in some way.  Why should it matter whether they were British or not?  (and let's not get into the discussion about what constitutes 'British' or we'll be here all night).

It's as if the British press think that the world consists of Important British People and Everyone Else (of lesser importance).  Are we supposed to feel more sorry if Britons were killed?  or think "Oh, that's ok then" if none were?

Do other countries do the same or is it us?

Fiddlin'

It's official, my fiddle is definitely a fiddle and not a violin:  I showed it a sonata and it said 'nah'.  Then I introduced it to Alison Krauss and it said 'oh yes!'.

Control freak?

I look at my colleague's desk next to mine, and how she is pinned in by piles of old paper, mugs, files, various office staplers etc., nail polish remover (!), boxes of... not sure what, and generally just STUFF.  I can't understand how it doesn' drive her nuts working in that environment (I have another colleague who is even worse, but I don't have to see it for 8 hours a day so I will leave that one out of it, for now).



I want to pick up the largest pile of paper, most of which probably hasn't been relevant for about a year, and go through it and chuck most of it out.

Picture from this article

Now Mr H will say that I am not the tidiest person in the world, but I do fairly regularly go through stuff on the table and either file it or chuck it, and my office desk is really tidy as we don't produce much paperwork in here these days.

So now my colleague has left work early, and my fingers are ITCHING to clear up her desk (actually to put the entire contents in the bin, if I'm honest). 

What does that say about me, psychologists!?  (or them, for that matter)

Bad business acumen

I bought a violin last week.  It kind of came upon me all of a sudden like.

I used to play the violin when I was a teenager, I don't remember enjoying it much but was evidently good enough to pass Grade 6.  I never had the natural flair that my brother had with music though so didn't carry on; and my niece (who has inherited her father's natural flair) inherited my grandmother's violin from me.

I can't remember why now, but recently I suddenly decided that I wanted to play fiddle (rather than classical violin) so borrowed a friend's violin.  It hadn't been played for 25 years and was in dire need of new strings, and wasn't a particularly good instrument (she didn't risk her best one on me!).  But I found that the sound I made was not as awful as I thought, and ended up bidding for and winning an old violin on eBay.

When it arrived, it turned out to be 3/4 sized.  Oh....  First I thought I'd send it back but then it looked up at me and pleaded to be kept and loved.  Things tend to do that to me and Mr H, it's a nuisance but we can't help it.  So, having decided that I'd still be able to play it, and negotiated a partial refund on the price because it was advertised as full size, I decided to take it to a local violin lady to look at, because it looked to me as though the bridge and strings were set up wrong.

Mine is the one on the right

She is an esteemed expert in her field (according the website), but when we met her she was the most inconsiderate, uncaring person, and seemed to be only just holding herself back from being downright rude. She didn't listen to what I said about why I had a 3/4 size instrument instead of a full size one.  She then quoted me a ridiculous price for sorting it out but obviously didn't think it was worth it, she was the sort of person who would completely put me off trying to play. Mr H and I both took an instant dislike to her and we were there about 5 minutes before leaving with a polite "I'll think about it", knowing very well we wouldn't be back.

Mr H then suggested asking the chap who he sometimes goes to for guitars and associated bits and pieces.  "Oh yes," he said, "I can sort that out for you no problem."  No tut-tutting that it was too small for me or looking at me as if I couldn't possibly have ever played the violin.  We discussed what was needed and how much it would be, I left it with him and I should have it back next week (I'd better warn the neighbours....).

Sometimes being a long-time 'expert' doesn't get you the business, however superior you believe yourself to be.  If you piss off the customer, your credentials don't matter a bit!

Different shoes

Having raided the social science section at the library, I am reading a book called "Dis/connected. Why our kids are turning their backs one everything we thought we knew" by Nick Barham .

The author travels around talking to teens and trying to find out 'what makes them tick', have a look at the reviews in the link above for more description.

One of the things that I noticed reading it was my reaction to some of the activities described in the book, such as groups of 150 souped up cars gathering in a public car park with music blaring, or large groups of teens hanging around with Death message t-shirts on, drinking Vodka RedBulls.  He talks about how some city centres have become no-go areas at night, and I'm thinking 'too bloody right, I don't want to be beaten up or vomited on thanks!'.

I realised how ingrained my middle-class-ness is by my automatic response, namely that many of the described situations would make me anxious or disapproving.  At some points I felt anger towards the author for generalisations and suggesting that kids behaviour should never be threatening, when clearly sometimes it is. Then again, is that me jumping to my own defense, because does he actually suggest that?   The book doesn't suggest everything these kids do is fine, and that we should all accept their behaviours as unproblematic, but it is trying to explain the reasoning behind it and does a good job of that.

Maybe it's not just that some of us have inbuilt prejudices caused by a) our upbringing and b) the media, though this is undoubtedly the case.  Maybe some of it is fear of people who enjoy themselves in a different way to us, who get a kick out of doing things that are illegal (or borderline legal), who make people like me seem 'boring'.

Recently I seem to keep reminding myself of that phrase about "walking a mile in another man's* shoes", I guess we should all try to do that when we start judging others on their behaviours or attitudes, it's a good start at least.  


*I refuse to change it to "person's" for the sake of political correctness!

Justice, or is it..?

I bought a Telegraph newspaper to read the other day, first time for ages as I normally hear the news on the radio.  I don't know whether it's the paper or me that has changed, but I found myself ranting at it over the headlines and the way the stories (are news items 'stories' or 'fact'!?) were written.

One such item was saying that the public (whoever they are) think that offenders who do community service get an easy ride. The paper did at least stop short of adding "....they should lock them up and throw away the key" - I guess that is more The Sun or Daily Mail style.  

I personally think that for minor offences, community service is a much better method than imprisonment.

1. the person puts something back into their community which they have damaged in whatever way.
2. they don't get locked up with hardened criminals and come out of prison worse than they went in.
3. it could be the step they need out their previous life, who knows.
4. they pay for the offence in work and the 'shame' of everyone knowing why they are there.

taken from the above linked article

Coincidently, I then went on to read an article for my OU course on Restorative Justice.  That is, when instead of going to court, the offender and the victim meet and agree between them (with a facilitator) what steps can be taken to repair the harm or damage the offender has done.  In some countries this method is used for crimes up to and including violent / sexual crimes, whilst in others it is limited to minor offences.

Yes I know that exclusion from society is a standard punishment, but with prisons full to bursting and the costs of keeping prisoners spiralling, I cannot see why 'the public' (many of whom are also 'the taxpayer' who pays for the prisons), can't see that in some cases an alternative method might be preferable.  Part of the idea of Restorative Justice is the shaming of the person's behaviour, within the community, and this is considered more likely to reduce re-offending than a prison sentence.

Maybe I just don't always think the same was as 'the public'...



 

What are the chances?

So, my husband starts the first job of his new forestry career two months after our car crash and moves to Scotland; 16 months later he has another career change and moves home.

And then finds that one of his new colleagues, who is a reserve fireman, was one of the ones that cut me out of the van after the crash 18 months ago.

What are the chances of that?

And yes, I felt rather odd when Mr H told me today.  It brought it all back as if it were yesterday.

On a more positive note, hey maybe I will get to meet one of my hunky fireman rescuers after all!