It’s English, but not as we know it.

They say that travel broadens the mind.  Well it certainly introduces me to some beautiful uses of English.  Wherever I go I find English that is perfect in every way but just not quite right. 

On this trip, I came across a sign attached to the back of the driver’s seat on the airport bus in Hong Kong which said “Beware of your hands”.  I’ve lived with my hands for over 50 years and they’ve never done me any harm yet, but who knows?

Then on another airport bus, this time in Tokyo – “Please tell the driver if you see a suspicious thing”.    I’m not sure what a suspicious thing looks like, but I’ll be sure to inform someone should I come across one.

And the Finnair pre-flight safety video tells me “If you wish to sleep during the flight, please remain seated”.  As opposed to?  Curling up in the aisle?  Climbing into the overhead lockers?

Maybe I’m just a pedant.  OK, I admit it.  I’m a pedant.  But I’m a well-travelled one.

A Pilgrim’s Tale

On Thursday I’m going on my annual pilgrimage to England to visit my mother, who’s now 89.  A couple of days in Hong Kong, plus a night in Helsinki, on the way there, and 3 days in Tokyo on the way back.

Last year I had a dreadful time with internet connections – all my friends seemed to have computer problems simultaneously and on the day I went to a public library, even their connection was down.  Better luck this time.  And I’ve now got a netbook so if I can find a WiFi cafe, I’m all set up.   

One of the highlights this visit is that I’m spending a weekend with good friends in Bristol PLUS meeting up with Emily whose family lives just around the corner from them.  Should be a lovely weekend.  Also spending a weekend with my sister and her family and hoping to visit good friends and the rest of my family in London. 

I’ll try to keep in touch!

Things Your Mother Says

Well, my mother says them, anyway.

I’m going back to spend time with her in a couple of weeks (she lives about 50 miles north of London) and I know I will be constantly told “Mind the oven; it’s hot” and “Be careful with that knife; it’s sharp”. As though I could have managed to reach my ripe old age without understanding that ovens get hot and that knives that aren’t sharp aren’t much use.  I’ve lived away from home since I was 18 without too many burns and haven’t stabbed anyone yet.

When we were children, she often accused us of “treating the place like a hotel”.  Nothing unusual in that, you may think.  All parents have said it at some time or other to their teenage children.  But it WAS a hotel!  When we pointed this out to her, of course we were told not to answer back.

And now whenever we speak on the phone, she says “You sound miles away”.  Failing a move to the Outer Hebrides by my mother and my decamping to Antarctica, we really couldn’t be much further apart.   

Mothers tell me that they always told themselves that they wouldn’t say THAT to their children, then find themselves churning out the same cliches their mothers did.  I’ve no children but I’ve found myself saying to young women I work with who are complaining about the cold “Well, you’d be a bit warmer if you wore more clothes”.   I cringe when I realise what it must sound like. 

Maybe it’s in our genes. 

It Makes You Weep

Everyone knows I’m a hard bitch – people who don’t know me well think that anyway.  I’m deliberately barren for a start.  No maternal instinct; must hate children.  I even believe it myself sometimes.

But last night I watched a TV documentary and cried.  That was after I’d practically had to be restrained from throwing something at the screen.

The programme was about the adoption of Ethiopian children by American families.  I have severe concerns about international adoption anyway but that’s another story.  I can understand that a loving family, anywhere in the world, is better than NO family.  But the children in this story DID have families.  They had mothers.

An American Christian “charity” goes to Ethiopia apparently to ask the local people whether they’d like their children to be sent to the USA for a better way of life and education.  Ethiopian mothers, like their counterparts everywhere in the world, want the best for their children and when they’re at rock bottom, homeless and with little money for food they can see this as a way to give their children previously undreamed of opportunities. 

One mother was deserted by her husband and homeless so she agreed to allow her 2 children to be adopted, assured by the agency that the children would be in regular contact.  Two years later and not a word from them.  She doesn’t even know where they are.

Another woman, a widow, was having difficulty bringing up 3 children.  Along came Mr and Mrs Gooley, whose name caused the only light relief in this film as the presenter constantly referred to them as the Goolies (maybe that’s only funny in British English?).  The Goolies are a middle-aged couple with grown-up children.  So off they went to Ethiopia to fill their empty nest.  Before they took the children off to America, they presented the mother with a framed photograph.  She handed over 3 children and in return got a framed photo.  When she came to say goodbye to her children, I couldn’t help but cry along with her.

I know nothing about bringing up children.  But I DO know that mothers, or fathers, or at least a close member of the family, are the best people to do the job, other than in pretty exceptional circumstances.  Poverty shouldn’t be a factor. 

If the Goolies cared so much about children, why didn’t they offer financial help?  I would have thought that just a few dollars a month would probably cover the food/education/healthcare of this family.  If the Goolies cared so much about children, why didn’t they have any understanding that what they were doing was second only to killing someone’s child?

Maybe I’m imagining this but I also felt there were serious racist overtones to all this.  We take kittens away from their mothers, fairly safe in the knowledge that in a short space of time, the mother forgets.  The same belief once existed about American slaves.  Maybe these selfish, stupid women still believe this. 

If I, a hard-nosed barren woman, who really has no concept of maternal feelings, can cry over another woman’s children, how these mothers are going to get through the rest of their lives, I just can’t imagine.

“I Don’t Want Realism . . . I Want Magic”

Unfortunately, that’s not what I got.

On Tuesday night, we went to the first preview of Streetcar Named Desire at the Sydney Theatre Company.  With Cate Blanchett playing Blanche and Liv Ullman directing, this is the “must see” performance of 2009.  It’s been sold out for months. 

Cate is, in my opinion, the best actress of her generation.  And her performance was extraordinarily good.  Joel Edgerton, as Stanley, was excellent.  The rest of the cast can only be described as lacklustre.  Which makes the performances of Cate and Joel even more impressive . . . they had an uphill battle from the moment they stepped on stage.

First problem – extremely difficult to hear what people were saying but I suppose that can only be blamed on the acoustics.  I wouldn’t want to be the one to criticise their projection skils! 

Second problem – accents.  If performances are great, actors only need to hint at an accent to convince the audience.  The performance of the actress who played Stella (Robin McLeavy) can only be described as ordinary and her accent bugged me from the minute she opened her mouth.  It bore no resemblance to Blanche’s, her sister, and wandered into Irish a couple of times.  A bit-part player sounded as though they’d just picked him up from the streets of Sydney. 

Third problem – set.  I’m often struck by the wonderful inventiveness that goes into creating sets on stage.  The way these people deal with the problems of inside and outside scenes etc.  This one was created in rather a messy fashion with the cast weaving in and out of a staircase to get into the house. 

Fourth problem (and the most important) – energy, or rather lack of it.  I did wonder if I was the only person who found it a bit boring but then I noticed that the couple in front of me were nearly asleep and the theatre became quite noisy with the audience constantly moving around in their seats.  The applause at the end was generous but there was no buzz of excitement as we left the theatre. 

I love the theatre and was really expecting this to be one of those magical events.  But I’ve seen much better performances in theatres both here and in London.  Plays where I don’t move a muscle as I’m so entranced with what’s going on on stage.  Plays that stick in my mind for days afterwards.  Plays that I’ve seen two or three times – I went 3 times in London to see Amadeus for instance (with Frank Finlay) and twice to see Whose Life Is It Anyway?  (with Tom Conte).  I hate to be so harsh but this was not one of those events.

Last night, at the second performance, Cate was hit in the head by a radio that Joel threw across the stage.  At the performance we attended, it shot out of the window.  Last night it apparently knocked her to the ground and the performance had to be cancelled.  I hope she’s recovered today and will be back on stage tonight. 

I’d really like to hear that as the performances continue, they improve.  Do let me know if you see it and what YOU thought.

Not Even A Slap On The Wrist

Today David did something rather naughty – he made an illegal U-turn.  The police were sitting in wait.  They pulled him over. 

A rather stern woman gave him a bit of a lecture, while all he was thinking about was what this was going to cost him.  She handed him a slip of paper. 

But it wasn’t a fine . . . it was a Police Union leaflet explaining that the police are currently not issuing fines because of industrial action.  I thought he was joking but apparently not – I found a story about it here.

We’re having a Fine Free period on the roads at the moment so if you’ve ever had a burning desire to do an illegal U-turn this is the time to do it.   

 

Dark Siren

I have a really lovely husband – but most of you already know that.  He keeps me fed and watered (he’s a great chef) and he designs logos for me on demand (see the WWKIP one on my sidebar).  He’s incredibly supportive during all the scrapes I seem to get myself in to and full of wise advice (often of the “Tell them to F. Off” variety!)

He also writes.   And got a great review last week for a book he’s recently written called “Dark Siren”.  It’s a political thriller set in Australia, the USA and partly in a virtual world.  Metaverse is now serialising it.  You can buy the book (in pdf format) there or read the episodes as they’re posted (2 chapters a week).

OR you could win a copy from me.   

I’m going to give away copies next Monday to the best 3 entries I receive.  All you have to do is answer the following questions:

1.    Part of Dark Siren is set in a virtual world similar to Second Life.  What is its name?

2.    What is the name of the framed politician?

3.    What does the acronym AHTCC stand for?

You’ll be able to find the answers to 1 and 2 on the publisher’s website here.   Then tell me in fewer than 50 words why you’d like a copy.

Entries close at midnight (Australian EST) next Sunday 30th August. 

PS:  Clifford Wycliffe is David’s Second Life name.  If you’re a member, go over there and say hello to him and a couple of other characters from the book. 

 

Technorati Tags: Dark Siren

Pompom – A Name For All Seasons

Apologies!  I don’t think I’ve left it so long between blog posts and have no proper excuse to offer.  I’ve just been incredibly busy – work/Knitters Guild/life.

And apologies too to the recent visitors I’ve had who must have been sorely disappointed by what Pompom offered.  A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my trip to Sydney Zoo which has heavy breeding programmes and I entitled it “A Visit to My Local Brothel”.

Stupid me.  You’d be surprised (or maybe you wouldn’t) by how many people Google “Local brothel”   And of course they found me.  The name Pompom may have also convinced them they were coming to the right place.  But pictures of baby elephants and knitted scarves probably didn’t quite do it for them, I imagine.

Spurred on by having one pattern published and the fact that 90% of what I knit has been designed by me, I thought I’d start giving away patterns and selling them both here and on Ravelry.  Of course, I’ll be Pompom Designs.  But should I ever be looking for another career (one that would satisfy my recent Google visitors), I suppose Pompom would be as good a name as any! 

It’s My Special Day

I always miss out on these “special days”, usually Sundays.  Those that have been allotted by either tradition or, more usually, greetings card manufacturers to a special person in your life.  You know the ones – Mothers Day (nope), Fathers Day (obviously No), Grandparents Day (No, again).  I believe there’s a Stepmothers Day but as my stepson hasn’t spoken to me for over 3 years I’m not expecting flowers and chocolates any time soon.

But this morning I discovered that today is Sisters Day.  YES.  I’m one of those.  And I’ve got one of those.  My day has arrived.  At last, a day when I can be pampered.  So what did I get?

Unfortunately, Judith, our cards must have both been delayed in the post.

(PS:  There’s always Valentines Day to look forward to – I’ve got one of those)

A Visit To My Local Brothel

Oh, have I had a lovely day!  It’s my birthday so I played hooky from work and went out to play. 

First stop, the Zoo.  I’m not a great lover of the concept of zoos but I think the one in Sydney has got it about right.  It’s run mainly as a brothel for the animal kingdom.  Bring endangered species into the country, introduce them to others of the opposite sex and then sit back and wait for the babies.  As soon as they hear they’re being shipped to Sydney, these animals must be rubbing their hands (or paws or whatever) in anticipation of the pleasures that are awaiting them.  And the noise at night must be deafening.

On 5th July, an Asian elephant calf was born – the first in Australia.  And I really wanted to see him as I love elephants.  Unfortunately he didn’t appear to feel the same way about me and I couldn’t get him to look me in the face.  But isn’t he gorgeous?  His name is Luk Chai and his mother is Thong Dee 

And this is his father, who has so far thoroughly enjoyed his time in Sydney as he’s fathered another calf (by a different elephant) expected in November 2010. 

And this is what his mother and aunts thought of me:

‘We did find time to have a look at some of my other favourites -

Gorilla with baby. a beautiful giraffe, a red panda, meerkats and a stunning peacock.

And of course we finished with “my” animal.  I was born under the star sign of Leo and in the Chinese Year Of the Tiger, so if I believed in any of that rubbish, it may explain why I love cats, big or small.  

 

And then a proper afternoon tea, but I’ll tell you about that next time.