Posts

Showing posts from October, 2009

(Butt) Out of Africa

Sometimes we feel guilty even thinking such thoughts: People in Africa are starving from famine. But giving them food and money alone is not going to help them. Why is it that knowing that famines will occur they do nothing about it? Why is it that governance and infrastructure remain so bad in so many countries on that continent that the people cannot help themselves? Why are women still treated as bearers of children and objects for sex? Why don't they start educating their people and women especially in order that they could reduce their population issues? How is it that for countries which are supposed to be so poor they cannot feed themselves every time there is drought, leading to famine, leading to displacement, leading to atrocities, etc, etc. that the governments (or some sort of ruling elite) have money to go to war? That their wives and children can afford the best clothes and shop in the most expensive stores in London, Paris, etc? I have written about women , education

Granny Smith loves her Postie (part 2)

Image
What a relief I saw my postie this morning! It's the same guy. Last week I had the privilege of receiving a proper letter. Not a bill, not a statement, not a flyer to the "Office Products Buyer" with an offer, but a letter. It's from a women's charity helping women suffering domestic violence. It was asking for a donation for a November fund-raising event. Since I had also been very much involved with the local women's centre I really wanted to do my part. I decided to send on two new sets of Hemp Table Napkins embroidered with my original designs for their raffle. When I say 'original' I mean I use either my own or a non-copyrighted idea/concept and then digitize it using my embroidery software, going into the tiny details of the stitchwork to get the 'picture' right. This usually involves hours and hours of painstaking and finger-squeezing mouse-work. The two sets of colour-co-ordinated Christmas theme Table Napkins are as follows: (Unfortun

This Granny Smith loves her postie but ....

Earlier this year I found myself running to catch up with my postie to give him some Divine Easter Eggs, the dark chocolate ones. He accepted those with a great smile on his face. Then I realized that that was the second time I'd given him Easter eggs. I've had the same postie for TWO years. That is quite a record around here. Every time I get used to one face he/she goes on another walk. The impending postal strike is very frustrating. Last week someone from Business Link rang to find out how my business was doing. Well, apart from the fact that: they closed the sub-post office which means I have to drive to the next nearest post office, thus having to limit my despatch to twice a week the unabated rise of postage costs without a corresponding rise in customer service I could weigh and buy the correct postage online and stick it on my parcels but I still have to queue to get proof of posting just in case my parcels get lost* Royal Mail losing my orders and sending me at least

Back Out

I was just trying to sit down and it went. Went where? What went? Gone walkabout. My back. I heard a sound that resembled something being crunched, "crrrck," and I could not stand up. Then the memory was only of pain. I must not fall down, I must not fall down, I said to myself. If I fell here and lose consciousness, no one would find me for another, hmm, ten hours. Managed to get to the computer to send a couple of messages, then thought that lying down would help. It helped only insofar as Radio Four sent me to sleep and I forgot the pain for a while. Then I managed to have a phone conversation with husband. Until that point my fear was how do I get my son home from school? Do I call the school and ask them to ask another parent to send him home? Do I request a staff member to make sure he got across the road safely? Then what happens when he gets home? Could I get to the door to open it? What a relief it was that husband said he would come home to pick the son up. Meanwhil