Perception and authenticity - who to believe

A few weeks ago I met a friend of a friend who said: "We never met then, but I remember you from uni. You used to wear big hats."


I had a vague recollection of wearing hats - being always watchful of suntanning, melanomas and unwanted freckles and a little bit fashion conscious in my younger days. I did not recall wearing them to lectures, but after she said this I did conjure an image of myself striding purposefully into LA307 - Land Law (?) under a broad and capacious brim.


It was not an unpleasant image. A happy and care-free time? Somehow hats seem to speak of poise and confidence and a certain devil may care approach to things. Alas, no snaps to share.


The remark came only days before another friend (let's call her Ethel), asked me what she should do about someone who advised her not to be too friendly with me.


At first I thought it was merely a theoretical or hypothetical conundrum - along the lines of: "what does one do if a friend is out of favour with another friend?" In my role as coach/blogger/agony aunt I get these rather a lot. But it transpired that I was indeed the subject of unsolicited, whispered advice along the lines of  "steer clear of Springgirl. She will only bring you trouble. She will twist your words against you." After I stopped laughing at the rather tragic comic image of myself in wide brimmed hat playing  hateful and conniving Scarlett O'Hara meets Lady Macbeth, I was flabbergasted. The person who was recommending that Ethel think twice before being friendly with me (let's call her Mildred) has exchanged perhaps 23 words with me in my life - I know her vaguely as a mother at the off-Springs' school, and have met her over coffee with not less than 6 and possible as many as 11 other women. I recall nothing but school related chatter about curriculum, holidays and the parents' association. Oh and I plugged my book - but that was after she said I was bad news, though I did not then know anything about it.


Knowing what she thinks of me certainly explains why she has avoided my glances and smiles for several months. I had just put it down to a European thing. Being Australian and fairly democratic in my disposition I only recently realised there is an entire subtext that underpins intra-European relationships; class and ancestry being just one factor. Regional affinities is another. There was I blithely assuming that we were all happy expats mucking in together. Lo and behold, I discovered that I am oblivious to myriad European nuances of acquaintance, friendship and familiarity, not to mention cold war, enmity and dislike. I guess that several centuries of close proximity with potential foes can result in greater national allegiances, this of course exacerbated by football, not so long ended wars, generally not very good weather and economic problems. We Aussies are like little kids hanging around outside the fence of the big kids' playground...


Still, even allowing for subtleties and jingoistic concerns, I want to think well of everyone unless there is clear reason not to. I have not really found a reason to think ill of a lady dropping her child at school, engaging in mild chitchat at the gate, smiling benignly at other parents and children. Having said that, even after 5 years as a school mum - in London and Australia, note - I have not managed to work out just how this making friends with other women at school thing works. 


But as I said, I tend to be mildly (by no means aggressively or loudly) friendly to everyone. Though I am rethinking my approach now. Clearly what I though was pleasant, wry and self self-effacingly funny has been interpreted as something else entirely - mean, untrustworthy and sinister?  I am prepared to accept that my humour may be the cause of the perception Mildred has that I am "trouble". It took a while for the whole thing to settle in my mind. You see, there are many things I will put my hand up to - self-promoting, a bit gossipy and gym obsessed, I would accept. I would not be taken aback if accused of parenting as if it were 1975, defensive (when confronted by wide eyes and shrieks of "three boys? how do you manage?"  - I am never sure whether to be offended on behalf of my sons or on account of myself, you see), or old-fashioned. I would even be reconciled with being labelled holier than thou or prone to talking the moral high ground (from time to time). But two-faced or untrustworthy? Not typically among my repertoire of shortcomings. Indeed, they seem to describe another person altogether. 


So what? I know you are thinking, "let it go already. Who cares what some bored housewife thinks of you." Indeed, I could let Mildred and her views go. I fairly easily dismissed the entire episode drawing on my three pronged 2 minute analysis process which goes something like this:-


1. That's so odd! Assuming this story is true then who or what is to blame? (Blame first, ask questions later!)


2. Attribute the perception to ignorance, mismatched sense of humour and temperament. A misunderstanding repeated too often? The wonderfully unifying human trait of gossiping about a common enemy perhaps gotten out of hand?


3. Pause to wonder just why Ethel felt it necessary to share Mildred's views with me.


You see, while I am at heart an earthy pragmatist, there is within me a somewhat sentimental girl. She operates very happily in Springland where no one has a tv, children go to bed on time and everyone loves reading and bracing country walks. In this place, coffee is prized, as is dark chocolate, ideas and laughter. Gossip is idle, not malicious. We are happy to proven wrong and talk is intended to elucidate, amuse and foster understanding. In this place Springgirl wears big hats and is generally liked and respected. It is a convivial place. It smells of lavender and sea air. The day time maximum is never higher than 24 degrees celcius. Books are free and cool breezes blow in new ways of seeing and perceiving. 


Springland abuts central London though. And the neighbours can get fractious and wilful and capable of nasty thoughts. Some even host noisy parties til the small hours and lurk outside windows swearing drunken obscenities. In London strangers touch your children and have no idea how to share the pavement.


And in central London, as in many parts of the world, indeed anywhere where communities "flourish" cheek by jowl, there is the capacity for ill-informed judgement, intolerance and ill-will. 


So no, Mildred and her views are not important; they are inconsequential. But they do raise at least two interesting issues for me. And one or two less interesting ones, admittedly (like, just how many people was she poisoning against me? - think not Macbeth but Hamlet, if you will).


The first interesting issue is  that one can see how misunderstanding or gossip can create suspicion, enmity and even hatred. People sometimes say that wars could be avoided if women ran the world. I actually don't agree. Sure, the wars would be waged differently (you can ponder that!) but there would not be greater harmony or accord.


The second issue is more personal. It has several parts. First, is Mildred justified in her view? Second, are Mildred's views merely the tip of the iceberg? Is Ethel in fact doing me a favour, by gently trying to raise my awareness that I am in fact the object of fear, loathing and derision? Is Ethel the self- or indeed, officially - nominated spokesperson for the "real world"? Flowing form this then, am I truly delusional; more at home in Springland than the "real world"?

How do we reconcile our real and authentic selves with the image we project? Because, if one thing is clear it is that we cannot do much about the perception of others. We cannot control the audience or their reactions. We can but put it out there. We do not often find out whether we are recognised and seen as we truly intended to be?  Assuming we have any intent at all, of course.

It seems that in a world in which brand, labels, trappings of success and status can hold more sway and have more influence than connections with others, true human relatedness and even trust, all we can hope for is to stay true to ourselves.

This means first finding the self and then holding on to it, preserving it or its essence amidst all of that noise: the chatter and gossip, the advertising and name dropping, the "hot lists" and the wish lists, the must haves and the must dos... 

I am not espousing that we get clear about who we are and what we value, and rigidly hold to that. No, for there are no walls or bolted gates around Springland. There is always room for a little self doubt and uncertainty, for new ways of seeing and interpeting ourselves and our world. Nothing is cast in stone, not least us.

So, whether we relate best to Shakespeare or Pixar, the key is to find our own truth.

At the end of the day I suppose actions do speak louder than words. Mildred can have her words. While I have sympathy with the sentiment of Robert Burton in The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621) Part I, Section II, Member IV, Subsection IV:

It is an old saying, "A blow with a word strikes deeper than a blow with a sword:" and many men are as much galled with a calumny, a scurrilous and bitter jest, a libel, a pasquil, satire, apologue, epigram, stage-play or the like, as with any misfortune whatsoever.

I am sure now that you cannot be remembered as the wearer of big hats and not be misunderstood by someone. 

Afterthought:

I am indebted to Robert Burton for his writing on Melancholy and promise to share more of his wisdom in the future:

The Anatomy of Melancholy (Full title: The Anatomy of Melancholy, What it is: With all the Kinds, Causes, Symptomes, Prognostickes, and Several Cures of it. In Three Maine Partitions with their several Sections, Members, and Subsections. Philosophically, Medicinally, Historically, Opened and Cut Up).

Summer time malaise? Time for black out curtains and a kind word.

I have been a bit remiss with my blog posts this past few weeks. Blame it on the summer!


The Off-Spring are awake later and later every night. As my avid readers would have gathered by now, I am a strict believer in bedtime. 8.15pm is about my limit, and that is a 30 minute extension to the winter time cut-off.  By 8.30 I want the three boys well on their way to the land of nod, lavender on the pillows to soothe them on their journey, story told or read and teeth brushed and polished. Yet, most nights now I am just settling into "my work" at 9pm when a little voice chimes out or a little face appears. Number 3 seems to be having a growth spurt and seeks more food after lights out and the last kiss is blown (and the last threat delivered). Number 2 then slinks up the stairs to my pseudo office space (one end of the living room sofa) to inform me that sleep eludes him. This can be up to 30-40 minutes after the third and final "be quiet and go to sleep or you will not be able to wake up in the morning and do good work and play well!". When finally silence is assured and no one needs attention, any creative urge, juice or energy I may have been about to summon an hour previously, is now evaporating like a tiny shred of vapour into the outer limits of the stratosphere and I find myself once more resorting to The West Wing reruns for company.


In itself this is not a bad way to spend my time.


But I had wanted to blog twice a week, so I feel disconnected with the process and worst of all - my thoughts - which for me was the truly amazing and delightful part of the whole blogging thing. Admittedly not much has happened lately so finding a topic is something of a challenge. Though, having said that, I do have a long list of potential topics stored in a draft blog somewhere behind the scenes here, so I suspect it a question of motivation and energy, plus squeezed time, rather than a lack of inspiration that is to blame for the parlous lack of output of late.


So what have I been doing with my time? As most of you know - time is elastic after all and we tend to make use of what we have somehow.


A Stocktake of why I am not delivering to Springgirl's timetable:


1. PTA chairmanship involves a lot of talking even before the role is assumed. I have been focussed on fund raising ideas for the Off-Spring's school for the next academic year. This involves political manoeuvres to quell discontent, build good will and engender support, while fact finding and information gathering.


2. Job hunting and attendant interviewing is a distraction. Needing to earn some cash (books and coaching do not a fortune make, alas) I am offering my services to law firms. I had thought that I should try them first since I am a lawyer. Who better to train, coach and teach lawyers than the only people they tend to respect - other lawyers. I am hopeful. Thankfully, living in London, exposes one to a huge market should none of the lawyers want me. My passion for engaging talent and developing leadership and potential will surely find a good home?


3. Attempting to create an e-book out of Tess and the Seaside Girl - a picture book I wrote last year and illustrated over Easter - languishing on my laptop for three months, is very time consuming for a non-Gen Y/ non-computer trained/non-geek. Tess is a lovely story and deserves to be told. Indeed, Tess has many more stories yet to tell. But if the seemingly insurmountable technical issues surrounding uploading, downloading, embedding fonts and finding a way to read a book online are allowed to get the better of me - the whole thing will have been in vain. Hence the need for a job. With a steady income I can pay someone more savvy and efficient than I, to do it for me!


4. But getting to know the character, Tess, was not in vain. Indeed, Time and Blog-motivation Depletion Factor 4 is the fact that she has been speaking to me a lot. No I am not bonkers, hearing voices and such. Rather I have been inspired to create a new website oriented towards women, the young at heart and anyone interested in wellbeing and enhancing their quality of life (all of us!) full of Tessisms and tips and hints for living a more Tessish way. Who is Tess, you ask? I will tell you soon, but not yet.


5. The West Wing - 14 episodes of Season 2 - stand between me and my last good blog post. The programme is the epitome of class and intelligent tv writing and is frankly, addictive. Why have I let it get the better of me now? I have watched it at least 4 times over - Love Film has me on their preferred and frequent borrower lists - and yet it never gets old. With the seasons of Good Wife and Brother and Sisters coming to a close, what was I to do?


6. A strange incapacity to blog during the day. I think this is partly due to creative energy being greatest when one is feeling the most relaxed and partly due to the day being filled with such lovely things that I hate to forego. I am free every day from 9 to 3 when the Off-Spring are at school and yet I manage to fill those 6 hours with chores and grocery shopping, gym and fitness, socialising and keeping in touch with/abreast of the world. It has to be said that Virgin Active have some amazing instructors and excellent classes and like The West Wing, it is hard to stop at just one some days. Indeed, pilates and aqua aerobics in deep water are incredibly therapeutic while toning and strengthening without causing perspiration. The fact they appeal to the older female members may also have something to do with it. 


7.  A sense of hiatus. Last week I was struck by a huge sense of grief concerning my mother's death 14 months ago. The reality that she is not just on a cruise or in intensive care (two handy delusions; I recommend them highly) has been hitting home. I still cannot comprehend it and the sense of loss is perhaps even greater now than it has ever been. I shall divert some time to the stages of grief (again) and see what might be lurking around the corner. The fact that I seem to have done denial for so long is a bit of a worry... But while a sense of loss or grief seems to come from nowhere it is not in fact a freak storm that no one could see on the horizon. One chooses to ignore the warning signs of course. One keeps the hatches battened down against the little breezes of sadness or malaise that blow through. Then suddenly in the middle of the gym floor while leg pressing some 50 kgs one is completely overcome with sorrow. Folk are funny.


8. Feedback. I have been chewing over some feedback on my book, "Spring to Mind" - or more accurately lack of feedback from certain quarters. I can attest that some of the comments made have humbled me and moved me immeasurably. One acquaintance told me she had to stop reading it on the tube due to the tears it was occasioning her. Another described the goosebumps she felt in certain bits. Another says it is her book of the year. The laughter and amusement it brought to my oldest friend buoys me still, as does her kind reviews and support. Nevertheless, and despite all the positives, I was grappling for several weeks with a deafening silence from a few close friends. Funny how one lets those little niggles get in one's way. And yet...  


Writing, like art, is an expression of the self. An interpretation of experience and the world and the human condition. Whether a comic book or a Christmas card, the manifestation of the thoughts or ideas of the author are valuable. We may not agree with everything or indeed, anything, said, but we can at least accept that something has been said. Can't we?


Accordingly, I have struggled with the silence or non-engagement. Are they trying to be tactful, to spare me? Are they just too busy or just no interested? And if the latter, why should they be? So this lack of engagement opened up for me an internal dialogue about "feedback". The challenge has been to interpret the silence in a helpful way. When I trained to become a coach, the course involved some focus on giving and receiving personal messages. Not - "love your shoes" (although I did hear that quite often), but things like "I appreciate x, y or z about you", or "it was helpful when you did or said such-and-such". Anyway, at the time a relatively high proportion of the attendees declined to hear the feedback about themselves. I was startled - being an attention seeker from way back I was revelling in a moment of spotlight. Not only that, but we had been told to only give positive feedback - I was champing at the bit to both give and take - but several colleagues were overcome with embarrassment, dread and fear at the very thought. This was a great learning experience for me. Maybe all those years of debating, fighting my corner in a big family and becoming a lawyer did me some good after all. Because it would appear that many people really struggle with giving and receiving feedback.


So, in the face of that, the silence, left me pondering. Would they ignore news of a new job, new partner, new baby, a holiday just taken?  Surely something one is excited about tends to be a suitable topic for discussion with friends?


Was I being too precious? 


A new friend who I met through writing advised me that writers need to be impervious to all feedback. She said this includes disinterest. 


Finally I made my peace with it. Not consciously as is so often the case with life's imponderables - but through sheer effluxion of time (and boredom). I disagree with the idea that one should be impervious to feedback. Good feedback is rich and valuable and meaningful. And by good I do not mean "favourable". An absence of interest is also those things too. Confronting and disappointing, but informative and enriching too.


And that of course begs the question - am I too, guilty of this lack of interest or care? Have I delivered or failed to deliver feedback thoughtfully or respectfully? When is silence the best response?


......


The papers report that July is our grumpiest month due to high humidity and resulting lack of sleep. Perhaps that accounts for my procrastination. I do long for some chilly days. And these long twilights can be too much. Once Wimbledon is over I am pretty well done with summer.I think we should skip August entirely and have two Septembers  8.30pm is late enough for the sun/son to be up and about. And those horrid little flying ants that appear from nowhere on hot still days - euugrh. That is one creature I am happy to walk on.


So where does that leave me. Shall I sum up?


Stocktaking is a very useful way to clear out the detritus of old thinking and living.


Hiatus and loss come in many forms. It is enabling and energising to find ways to accept those experiences and put them to positive uses.


During times of lethargy The West Wing is balm for the soul.


One should never overlook the kindness of strangers or those with a word of support or a smile of encouragement.


Blackout curtains that allow for decent air through-flow are a must for all, especially mothers. (Note to self to buy, make or invent.)


Feedback welcome!

Pondering life's little pleasures

When I was studying at Cambridge in the mid-90s I became very interested in language and linguistics. I recently came across an interview with Noam Chomsky.


Among the many topics discussed therein I was taken by his views on modern themes:


"What does Chomsky make of stories about undergraduates at British universities having to be taught grammar in their freshman years? To a linguist, one whose own literary style favours phrases such as ‘generative transformational grammar’, that must seem an abomination.‘Yes, there is that. It is probably down to the texting culture. The use of textonyms and so on. But it is also to do with the way young people read on screen. The digital age cuts back reading and, as a consequence, young people are losing the ability to think seriously. They get distracted more easily, breaking off to check an email. Speed-reading is exactly the wrong thing to do. You have to think about what you are reading.’ He gives me his sideways look. ‘You have to ponder.’ "


To ponder a phrase, a book, an email, an article is surely a pleasure.


I watch the Off-Spring as they ponder things. No haste, no stress; pure unbridled self-indulgence.


Most of you know all too well by now that pondering is one of my preferred pass-times.


Pondering the things I like to ponder amounts to musing over life's little pleasures. It is not the huge and daunting mysteries of life that one "ponders". Rather, a turn of phrase, a look, a suggestion, the plot and characters of a new and wonderful book. In many cases, the subconscious mind reflects and ponders constantly. Our attention drawn again and again to a film, a place, a person, an idea.


So this post is about the things that give me pause; pause not occasioned by confusion or provocation or worry or logic. Rather - lingering for the joy of it; to revel in a delightful hiatus.


So I give you:


Springgirl's Non-definitive List of Life's Little Pleasures - pause and ponder and tell me yours.


The gurgle of a happy baby
The thud of the post through the door
The crunch of a fresh baguette
The first sip of crisp, cold, white wine
The key in the door
The glimpse of a loved one in a crowd
Climbing between cool, fresh sheets
The first barefoot moment of the Spring
The squelch of wellington boots in sucking Autumn mud
The sound of rain in the night
The smell of rain at the end of a hot, steamy day
The aroma of coffee as a new tin is opened
A soprano's dulcet tones drifting across the cloisters on a summer night
Little cool arms wrapped around one's neck
The wonder of a child who discovers he can do something for the first time
Driving in the country with all the windows down
The taste of bitter sweet dark chocolate on the tip of one's tongue
The first cup of tea of the day brought to one in bed
The sound of wind rustling leaves
Floating in deep clear water
The smell of a new book (even better if one wrote it)
The view from on high
Sea water splashing one's legs
Picking over old family photos
The crinkle of tissue paper
A seat in business class on a long-haul flight
The smell of new leather/new cars/new carpet/lavender
The hug of someone dear
Climbing into bed and resuming a good book
getting home
The crack of teeth into a perfect meringue
The scent of lavender on one's fingers after rubbing them
Long afternoon shadows at the beach
Bright, clear Autumn skies
Muscle aches after an amazing workout
Establishing rapport
An unexpected compliment
Drifting to sleep in fresh air
The delight of knowing the baby can sleep through the night
All clear on a biopsy
A mother's voice on the phone
The sheer pleasure of knowing one is loved 
The peace and majesty of a huge, wide landscape
Paint on canvas
Crisp, chilly days inside a new, warm coat
The joy of an accomplishment


I had better stop. This is but the tip of the iceberg...


Interestingly, I tried to draft a list of life's little horrors or displeasures. I could not come up with too many. Walking in dog mess was there. Stuck inside a hot, crowded airless train carriage also sprang to mind. Death of a loved one. Pain. Ill-health. Debilitating uncertainty.


Not to sound too Pollyanna-ish, but it is hard to think of the negatives after pondering the positives.


Might be time for me to get out a bit more...


To that end, today I offered to chair the Off-Springs' school PTA next year. I would like to find a co-chair if any of you are available.


I dare say that the part of me that longs for a challenge, some attention, centre-stage and a forum for my ideas is crying out to be heard right now. I could have just finished the novel that is waiting for my attention on my laptop -in draft looking for an ending. Or I could renew my efforts to find a nice suitable job. 


But no, for a range of reasons the PTA chair seems to be calling me. Will I delight in asking people for donations, help and time? Will I navigate the troubled straights dividing culture and mindset among disparate parents? Will I listen? Will I still have time to go to the gym? 


I know my dear mother would say - "Steer clear of that! You are not good at politics and you will just get impatient with all those women talking over each other. Charity begins at home." 


I think that sometimes one just has to see for oneself. If nothing else, I hope to find some more little pleasures to savour in the new experiences as they unfold.

Brand Power

There is a lot to be said for the power of brands. If you have seen any news of late you will not have missed the stories covering Apple's newest products - the i-Pad and the newest i-Phone. I am sure many of you will own one of these if not another Apple product. A friend told me last week that hers is an Apple Home. I smiled at the time. So happy for her.


I then pondered the great mysteries of what else Apple might get it's teeth into. Pardon the muddled pun there.


I am personally not a big brand follower. I like to take the path less travelled in these little choices, no one really knows or cares what anyone else sends their e-mails on, do they?


In any case I do marvel at the brilliance in design, marketing and branding that has led to the global cult-like following of these items.


So, since I am something of an innovator - if I do say so myself - I thought I would share some of my ideas. Remember - there is nothing without first the idea! I want to gauge your appetite for a range of electronic devices that will literally take you beyond the realm of electronic, hand-held and even virtual experience as you now know it. Ambitious yet grounded, this range will make daily life a joy; freeing you to engage more fully with your on-line identity, friends and employments. No more tedious real life chores to inconvenience you. Hobbies and neuroses accommodated as well. These ideas are truly cutting edge and life changing (and by definition, confidential).


First, for the gadget addict, the user so attached to their phone, music player or computer that everything else has to wait - I bring you - the I-Pii. This amazing device (which plugs right into you phone) frees you to truly remain obsessed with your electronic life. It tells you when to go, reminds you how to go and even where to go - with a built in sat nav and state of the art Snifferoo (Trademark pending), the I-Pii can find a clean loo within 30 yards of you. Future models will also boast a mini-mobile I-Pii hand held device that will save you a trip to the loo entirely. We are very excited about this - environmentally friendly and yet so timelessly appealing to young and old alike.


For the animal lover the best thing since domestication of dogs (at least 14,000 years ago) is just around the corner: the I-Pet. This is similar to a soft children's toy in many regards but with unique mirror "animons" to ensure that you have a moving, animated, reactive pseudo-pet that will not only look real, but sound and feel real too. Kiss it and it will lick you back, stroke it and it will snuggle it's warm (39.5 degrees Celsius), organic faux-fur against you. No more dog hair on the sofa, no more late night walks around the block with too few baggies, no more fines from the Council when Fido fouls the pavement again, no more interruptions when those emails are waiting for your attention, no chewed slippers or waking the neighbours. This little mutt will give you all the love minus the mess, the worms, the vaccinations and the heartbreak (when a real one dies, that is). Cheaper than an actual live critter but with optional motion detector and built in burglar alarm, the I-Pet is your guard dog and your companion. Destined to change how we view man's best friend forever!


For sporting heros tired of the Wii, we bring you the I-Putt. This device is indispensable for any golfer or wannabe pro. In one small tee shaped packaged we have incorporated a GPS locator for lost balls, a voice activated score card, a partner finder where we match you to players that little bit better than you in your area to team up with to help you improve you game as well as a detailed and high res countour mapping software programme that find all the undulations, damp areas and lumpy bits on any course that can sabotage your game. GPS Golf balls sold separately. Matching polos, caps and plus-fours available on request. For the learner, your game will improve immeasurably as the built-in 15 megapixel camera will record your play and the I-Putt system will analyse and correct your stroke. Like having a private golf pro in your pocket, day and night!


For the health conscious I want to introduce a revolutionary diet and health analysis tool that will change the way you cook, eat and select your foods - the I-Poop. The I-Poop also uses the amazing Snifferroo (Trademark pending) technology to give you in-the-moment feedback on the workings of your digestive system. Pro-biotic health drinks took us part of the way. The I-Poop will take you the rest of the way towards complete health. Understand your body, allergies, intolerances and appetite while having the nutritional content of all you imbibe or consider imbibing to hand, 24-7. The I-Poop is amazing in that it helps you better understand what goes into your body and what comes out. This will change how you view your diet and health. Rather than reading food labels, worrying about your mother-in-law's penchant for oil based sauces or stressing over hidden trans-fats, simply wave the I-Poop over a food item and see the calorie and nutritional information displayed in gorgeous high res text on the super high-tech glass and aluminium screen. Accidental poisoning or allergic reactions will be a thing of the past as the I-Poop will break down any plate of food, any can of drink into its constituent parts - as if you had the recipe before you! Best of all the I-Poop is  tiny - discrete and stylish and fitting into any empty lipstick container. Potential mates will never know you are calorie counting as you nibble those prawns and sip that mojito!


Last, but by no means least, will be the I-Pun, my personal favourite. The I-Pun is designed specifically to address the challenges of the modern day by bridging the old and new styles of oral communication. Drawing on the prose and verse, traditions and style of yesteryear, the I-Pun helps users to come up with scintillating small-talk and chatty dialogue sufficient to entertain and delight anyone over 35, while also helping the more mature to craft succinct and pithy "announcements" to allow for greater access to and connection with the young folk used to communicating in "short form". Whatever your challenge - witty repartee, crude one-liners, idiomatic and nuanced translations, the I-Pun is for you. Dictionaries only do so much. A large vocabulary won't make you funny. But the I-Pun will transform how you communicate. Imagine: the Bard does SMS!


So - I ask for your feedback? Are these products appealing to you? 


Will these - together to be marketed at the I-Pent (5) - indeed make life better? 


(Responses by text pls.)

And the prize for Best Backdrop goes to - New York!

For some time now (since I was in my late teens) I have mused over executing a merger of my favourite tv shows.


When I was young I longed to see Remington Steel take on Maddie Hayes from Moonlighting or Bergerac face down Bodie and Doyle. I pondered the plot lines if Magnum PI was compelled to leave his beloved island and travel to New York to settle an old score with Cagney or Lacey.  Later I contemplated a catastrophic event on the Bold and the Beautiful resulting in the doctors of ER stitching up Brookes jaw or Thorn's pecs, amidst terrorist scares and rescues from Jack Bauer.


I am willing to admit that most of the drama in my life is of this order - fictional, imaginary or impossible. Nevertheless, the possibilities are endless. After all, many shows sport the spin-off series and some do it so well - CSI being the prime example.


But the really exciting untapped market must be in the occasional cross over show where for an episode or two - or a movie length feature event - worlds collide, as it were, on the small screen. Think of the merchandising alone!


I am mindful of my adolescent daydreams as I reflect on the very adolescent "Sex and the City 2". From the limited press coverage I saw in Australia regarding the film, I think it is safe to say that there will not be a third one, but one cannot be sure about these things so - you read it here first - I claim all rights to the royalties should my plot line end up on the big screen - or even go straight to DVD!


First, the lesson to note upfront is that most of us know the virtue of quitting while we are ahead;. even if we learn it when we are far behind and down and out. That said, people who make films/pay for making films fail to see that millions of people watching something that is over-hyped, over-exposed and over-anticipated is not the essence of success. Like so many things we seem to prize these days, the mere fact it is popular does not mean it is good. Now this may become a philosophical rant about populism, culture, art and emotion. 


I could go to town about one woman's dross being another's escapist heaven. Indeed, I recall a friend lamenting my appalling taste in films when I said I would rather watch something that was screening about a shopaholic than "The Reader". You see, I had read the latter and knew it dealt with war crimes and older women interfering with impressionable young boys. I knew how it turned out and it just seemed that that little Australian actress who married Borat might be more diverting as she grappled with her shopping addiction and found love in the big city.  I do like to escape and relax, even laugh at the movies. So, no, please don't infer that I am a snob when it comes to movies - I mean I call them movies (rawther than cinema or film). But even populist swill needs to deliver something other than ageing clothes horses whining about their lives. A joke or two would be something? (Mind you, the Alicia Keys tune, scenes of NYC and the photography were quite diverting...


Anyway, my proposal is to do a sequel - a SATC3 - that will be thought provoking and good. 


Here is a precis:


New York circa 2015
Samantha dies of a horrible STD after a lifetime of hedonism and sybaritc abandonment.
At her funeral where a sordid crew of former lovers and loveys are in attendance, Miranda finally makes peace with Carrie with whom she fell out some time before when Carrie hired a competitor law firm to represent her in a libel suit. Carrie lost the law suit and is now bankrupt. Her books have been blacklisted. Poor Carrie. Mr Big is hugely overweight after being fired from his vague but well-remunerated job in financial services as a result of rogue trading. The US Securities and Exchange  Commission is investigating him. Luckily Chris Noth has been under house arrest in other dramas (The Good Wife) so he is well equipped to play this role. 


Alas, bankruptcy and unemployment mean that the golden couple are living in Charlotte's guest house in the Hamptons - woeful, I know. Mr Big - diagnosed with stage 2 diabetes - faces some hard choices.


Charlotte has gone on to parent triplets and has had a breakdown as she grapples with the competing interests of motherhood, weight management, keeping her virile man happy and being a role model for 5 daughters. The Rehab song that tormented us a couple of years ago plays through our first encounter with grey haired, gaunt Charlotte. 


Meanwhile Miranda is managing partner at her law firm but struggling to deal with her family problems. Husband Steve is gay but won't move out for fear it will harm Brady and put his mother is a difficult position as she lives with the family.


The drama is taut, funny and poignant. 


And all is not grim, by any stretch of the imagination.


Mr Big and Steve become close and start to go to the gym together. Charlotte begins a long journey towards recovery and coping; letting go of her self-imposed unattainable standards. Miranda proves more likeable than any of them and starts an amazing mentorship programme for young street kids. Through this Steve finds love, Brady develops a passion for basketball and ambitions for the NBL (another sequel?), Mr Big requalifies as a personal trainer working with other Mr Bigs as well as troubled youth and Carrie breaks a nail or two avoiding the ball in the grand finale community sports carnival.


Carrie too evolves, at last. Forced to make money and with only her talent to fall back on, she starts writing under a pseudonym and publishes ebooks about - you guessed it - clothes and shoes. She does not make any cash but all her readers love her work. Miranda convinces her to help her protegees discover their own facility with the written word.


What do you think?


I am optimistic someone will pick this up and run with it. I feel connected already with these characters - well some of them.


The only thing that might cap this off would be some cameos from various other New York characters. Some cross-over! 


A little bit of Sopranoesque action for Mr Big before he finds fitness. Bree from Desperate Housewives might make an appearance in the therapy centre Charlotte frequents. Ross and Rachael could befriend Charlotte's husband at the synagogue and their kids have play-dates together under the guidance of bachelor Joey. Jerry Seinfeld would delight in the role of rival to Miranda for head partner at the law firm (and rival to Miranda for Steve!). Those nice FBI people in Without a Trace would get a look in as well, when Carrie goes missing for a day - drunk and confused she drives off the road in Queens and has to rely on her talent - yet again - to emerge mostly unscathed from a near disaster in a holding cell with Jeff Goldblum from Law and Order.


Too ambitious? Too silly? 


Yes - perhaps you are right. Best leave it to the experts. I would be better placed to do some ironing or sort a few jigsaws that seem to be muddled together. That said, I might see if they work out better when muddled up. Like some movies would, I dare say...

Wither Football and electronic devices?

The only thing nicer than a clear sunny day in London is a clear sunny day in London when everyone but me is holed up inside watching England vie for glory in the Football World Cup. There is a gloriously eerie, oddly reverent feeling as one wanders the peacefully deserted streets. Like Good Friday in sleepy 1980s Brisbane or Christmas morning in the middle of a snow storm. The traffic is minimal, pedestrians few and far between, the air is cleaner somehow; all that hope and anticipation somehow palpable and purifying.

An employee at Tesco today offered me three coloured foil wrapped packets for the Off-Spring - in tow for a mini-non-weekly shop (we have a teeny fridge so I shop every day). I said what is that - he said something about football match cards. Off-Spring 1 shook his head at me. Off-Spring 2 was oblivious - gazing at the ample rear of yet another scantily clad shopper blocking the aisle with her ample rear and trolley of alcoholic beverages, chips and dips - clearly a better social life than me. Off-Spring 3 was snoozing in the buggy. "No thanks," I said politely. "We don't do football." Well Mr Springgirl does and the Off-Spring follow it fleetingly when one of the nations of their parents is competing, but the idea of cards and what-not, well... just not their thing. I say all of that with no judgement or criticism of football, its followers or players. I think its like curry - you either get it or you don't, no harm done.

Anyway, while I relish the prospect of an outing to somewhere usually too popular and touristy to attract us on a weekend, I fear that the pollen count will be too high, as usual, to tempt me far from home. I have several new "fine lines" around my eyes after a vicious week or rubbing and attempted eyeball extraction due to the thick layer of tree and grass detritus accumulating in my facial orifices. I am now on not less than 4 medications, none of which seem to help. I did steer clear of the one with the stated side effect of "Agitation" feeling I had plenty of that already. Nevertheless, what might be a glorious Sunday in the city will no doubt be an itchy, sneezy, scratchy throated rush for indoors and air-conditioned comfort, sans TV coverage of sports.

I think the pool might be the trick. I would think even the Eastern European ladies (see previous post for insights on public pools) might be keen to see Germany defeated by England and stay home in honour. I would definitely will not want to be anywhere near a park or recreation centre tomorrow before the game as all those dads wanting a peaceful time come 3pm kick-off will be out in the morning earning their time off for good behaviour to watch the match and sink a few lagers.

I read somewhere about the lengths men will go to in order to secure football watching entitlements during the World Cup. I felt sorry for them, I have to say. Do they not know they can just watch it on line, or visit a friend or a pub or buy a second tv? Why so much drama? I am no fan of the beautiful game but I would hardly begrudge anyone else their 90 minutes pleasure. Also, have there WAGs not heard of credit?

I was, nevertheless, contemplating a world without football. How would that go? Can you imagine what men might do instead? It boggles the mind.

That got me thinking about imagination. I was at a meeting of parents at my sons' school discussing preparation for the school fair looming shortly. It was generally regarded as desirable that large raffle prizes or tombola (crikey) for kids prizes consist of something called a DS. I gather this is a hand held gaming device. I said - "Why not a scooter, a skateboard or a-?" I did not finish my question. The response was incredulity. No - they want DSs. It reminded me of the parents that say - how do you fly long haul without a portable DVD player? (If you are not acquainted with economy class travel on most large commercial jets you may not know that they now offer over 3000 forms of audio visual distraction per sector. I daresay a few less for the little ones...)

Has this generation truly lost all capacity to amuse their kids without a device? Could a child of under 11 not be expected to enjoy a board game, a trip to a country house full of treasure or the aquarium, an overnight stay in a museum for himself and some pals, a ticket to (God forbid) a football match or a even a voucher that he might redeem for lego, a bike, a present for a loved one, a train ticket on the TGV - or any other amazing and fantastic treat that only well-to do kids in a place like London can have access to?

Oh -no! For the pinnacle of all youthful ambition is the DS, of course. Just as the Gen Y hoards lining up outside the Apple Store and high street phone shops (Vodafone at High St Kensington, London sold its entire stock of 21 within 30 minutes of opening on Thursday) will attest, you ain't no one without the latest device (i-Phone).

We have attended parties for 8 year olds and had no one to talk to as all the children were busy seated next to each other on the sofa silently playing their DSs. Yes - this is a great time to be alive. I daresay what they lack in capacity to amuse themselves without technology they make up for in their concentration and hand eye coordination skills. Which, after all is all they will need going forward.

However, being something of a Luddite and having withstood the DS pressure - the Off-Spring are throwbacks - and fearful of the retardation of developing interpersonal skills in young people I established a coaching business aimed at nurturing a love of the spoken word and the great art and pleasure of verbal communication. It is great fun, replete with learning and challenge and the kids who participate seem to like it too.

However, a number of the attendees have what might be termed (by my "old-school" Dad, at least) ASS (Attention Seeker's Syndrome).  I am not a strict old fuddy duddy in these classes, despite what I may appear from this blog. Rather, I am all about the fun, creativity, thinking and speaking skills and imagination play. But even with that latitude for some it is a struggle to come up with an idea of their own. (If any parents are reading this don't take me amiss). But it is very interesting. Is this a symptom of modern life and the pace or style of family interaction? Is it common, or typical? Is it me? I love those children and I am privileged to be part of their learning journey but I wonder if there is something happening to our kids.

So I say, we levy a surcharge or tax on the sales of all kid oriented electronic devices (and food) and direct the takings to the Department of Education to fund research and interventions to manage the longer term impact of being amused all the time by a machine and thus deprived of human interaction at levels regarded as necessary for sustainable human development.

Might draft a letter to that nice new Prime Minister tomorrow while that match is on and the kids are busy building forts with the play-dough.

Port out, starboard home (via Waitrose, dahling!)

A recent opinion poll conducted by Opinium Research asked participants to comment on what makes a person "posh". I chanced upon this in an article in Waitrose Weekend. 


The poll was commented on by MSN UK:


Employing a cleaner, saying "supper" instead of "dinner" and owning an Aga are among the current indicators that one is posh, according to a study. A quarter of those questioned consider spending more than £10 on a bottle of wine to be posh... Other markers include telling others what school you went to while in your 30s, doing the weekly shop at Waitrose and drinking Earl Grey tea... Almost two in three people (63%) would not want to be considered posh but just 11% said they would not marry a posh person.


Quite apart from finding this alarmingly twentieth century, it was disappointingly self-congratulatory that Waitrose - a nice supermarket - featured an article by one of its contributors on this very topic. We should all be terribly pleased that by shopping there we are by definition posh (weekly shops only, note!). I am, as ever, struck, by the on-going fascination that British people have for their class system.


First, who did Opinium ask these questions of? Second, why "posh"? Is posh not a terribly antiquated concept? Third, does the Earl Grey have to be Twinings or Waitrose brand or can any wannabe-pretender shop for tea at Lidl and qualify? Fourth, many of the cleaners flourish due to the long hours their employers spend at work. Fifth, have you met anyone who does not mention their school? Schools seem to be the one topic one can safely rely on as an icebreaker these days. Do I only know posh people?


It seems almost Victorian to know (let alone care) whether the tea one drinks makes one a better class of person. What does lapsang souchong or orange pekoe say for one? For the uninitiated - like the unwary Australian who may have gone to the best schools and had opera season tickets - there are many pitfalls involved in this national preoccupation. How terrible to meet the admission criteria for Oxbridge but come unstuck when accidentally and unwittingly referring to the Ladies as anything other than the Loo.


I grew up thinking loo a rather horrid word, you see. Indeed, toilet is not great, but finding out that loo is the only acceptable middle class nomenclature took me somewhat by surprise. That was before I discovered that the room in which one sits and entertains friends, watches tv (if one is not so nouveau riche as to have a "media" room) listens to radio plays and "Just a Minute" on Radio 4 and sips one's prosecco also has a particular name. 


Choose the unacceptable working class names from the following:


drawing room
sitting room
living room
parlour
lounge
reception room


I was initiated into the vagaries of the class system when fresh off the boat from the colonies. It was all explained to me by my posh Cambridge (!) chums (this was 1995, not 1925, mind you). Naturally, the underlying assumption was that one wants to be perceived as posh or at least middle class (and not lower MC or recently joined the MC). Reading the correct newspapers and magazines will help create an image. As does allegiance to sporting teams and codes. The music acts or writers one follows can also be important. As can one's neighbourhood, pub, referred food and drink, holiday destinations, shops and ways of dressing. 


Over the past 15 years I can point to several rules that have been broken, flouted or abandoned by the MC. Discretion, being one that springs to mind. Hence, I dare say, this new poll and its futile attempt to reclassify the criteria for admission to the ranks of the posh. The ground has shifted and people need to know where they fit in.


Correct me if I am wrong, dear Aussie reader, but where we come from we seem to be less concerned with such ideas. Is ours a virtually classless society? Certainly, there are "haves" and "have-lesses" and the "right" schools, shops and brands have always been around, but we tend to prefer to view one another as mates, do we not? Success, energy and a smile for our neighbour carry more weight than the tea we favour. That is not to say that old school ties and clubbishness does not abound. But would we call such prejudices middle class? Perhaps we have more colourful terms for people that don't drink Earl Grey, than "working class". Or perhaps these sorts of distinctions have become blurred so much that the criteria applied in the UK would not really sort the toffs from the louts at all, down under. 


I accept that people love to know where they sit in the pecking order. But do one's proclivities towards eating crisps, rather than hummus, or camembert over beer nuts tells one very much?


Indeed, many of the best bred young fellows follow "working class" sports, anyone can find someone to sponsor their membership of the Turf Club, sit on a board or two or buy a boat. 


So I wonder if the selection criteria ought not to be challenged and changed. Assuming of course, that it mattered an iota.


It seems that being of a "class" is itself rather outdated. Very old world - old tech - if you like.


In a time when we have at our fingertips the means to discover not only what prosecco is, but God forbid, buy it from the comfort of our Reception Room, while watching football highlights or catching up on what Posh said to Becks in Hello, book a flight in "Upper Class", sip imported lager and special blends of tea flown in from Latin America via India and gain a university degree remotely, concepts such as class seem to have no currency at all.


The classrooms in the better public schools are a melange of second generation Brits whose parents have toiled night and day in off-licences, children of civil servants, surgeons and media dahlings and the cherubs of lingerie models and pizza franchise owners and made-it-big before the GFC city traders. 


Are we not all "middle class"? Do we not all aspire to holiday anywhere that makes a "Hottest" or "best" list? Don't we all want to give our children the best of everything? While it may not be a completely level playing field, all the privilege that the middle classes of yesteryear enjoyed are now easily attained. Indeed, with a limited supply of talent or good looks, plenty of luck and a rich pinch of connections, not even a parlous lack of education, intelligence or conversation can get in the way of the enviable celebrities of this generation. The privileges that the lower classes once aspired to? Mulitple tvs, annual holidays abroad, private school, straight (white) teeth? Hardly a big deal these days. 


How can foie gras or Rigoletto rate a mention these days?


It is time for a new poll. Class questionnaires are truly a thing of the past. 


The issues today are more substantial and heavy hitting. Try these for example:


Are you cool? 
Are you tech-savvy?
Are you green?
Are you organic, aruvedic, yogic or charmic?
Do you smoke?
Do you have a purpose?
Have you adopted a child from the developing world?
Have you posted a DVD on You Tube?
Do you know the lyrics of all the Lady Ga-ga songs?
Are you obese?
Do you drive a small or a large car?
Are you a domestic god/goddess?
Are you conservative?
Do you pay taxes?
Have you ever suffered from depression?
Are you extrinsically motivated?
Do you work?
Do you believe in (a) God?
Do you care who wins the World Cup?
Are you a Coke Zero or Diet Coke person?
Apple or PC?
Can you think for yourself?
Twitter?