tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-173977692024-02-28T23:43:28.404+00:00Organic-Ally<a href="http://www.Organic-Ally.co.uk">Organic-Ally</a> used to be the only website to sell organic cotton hankies and other eco-friendly stuff in the owner's bid to <b>reduce plastic and paper usage</b> and <b>dispense with disposables</b>. Not any more. So I must have been doing something right. This blog was largely about green/sustainability issues, becoming like Mother, being a mother and other issues of current interest. But it is perhaps more introspective now. LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.comBlogger394125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-52556446461707266662024-01-12T13:31:00.000+00:002024-01-12T13:31:32.091+00:00Upcycling clothing labels -- don't throw anything away!<p>Over the last two years I went through a period of buying new clothes to replace some "holey" ones. Each time I find a hard board label that comes with a punched hole and string, I say to myself: these are <span style="color: #fcff01;">too good to go in the bin</span>, even the recycling bin. (I am not sure if mixed materials like cardboard and metal can be recycled.)</p><p>As I started to write this, I googled and learned that these are called "string" or "swing tags". They are basically custom "travel tags" which you can buy at stationers. In fact, there are crafters who personalise travel tags and sell them on market platforms (five for £3.50!).</p><p>This is what I did for Christmas 2023.</p><p>I started with these tags, all of sturdy cardboard, with punched holes. I removed the strings, but kept them, and you can replace them later.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgr_2YpkmQeOAafg_DFRbBrxzzRJv7R1unLORfMKLuF-yMfxEvQx9k5oc0_zQ4m7hmMTaq6SXvnzqtgUAZzBck3ffDm6D4Cz95iLkgx0YoTuTIjCQaaS8wNRVHAvwFgBNvUheRGM6R-pOSRZln3CTeVwGpE8GI1CRL8h-95VOFWMlXIBnXCqtcC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgr_2YpkmQeOAafg_DFRbBrxzzRJv7R1unLORfMKLuF-yMfxEvQx9k5oc0_zQ4m7hmMTaq6SXvnzqtgUAZzBck3ffDm6D4Cz95iLkgx0YoTuTIjCQaaS8wNRVHAvwFgBNvUheRGM6R-pOSRZln3CTeVwGpE8GI1CRL8h-95VOFWMlXIBnXCqtcC=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>I then found my stash of Christmas cards from last year (ie those sent to us and saved from the bin). On the spot, decided to cut them into 1/2 inch strips. They could be any width, and don't even need to be the same width or length. I used a rotary cutter but you could use scissors or craft knife against a steel ruler. If working with a child and you wish to use a craft knife or even rotary cutter, I would suggest preparing the strips in a safe time and space, like when they are asleep!!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNFsUcgV-7RXj7SiDXgTy7Sx0chME8UkF_pLjCWYb4WhblCfKMw1pkO0b6CCNr8HltmZTb2N2daDJ-_f3f545B-ZBNnoHXrBo7StSf2I4u9whln3YAfHKH1NT88g-qfgZZO4m169_T-yZ7HECCX1Fxxjfgm9tr36CKY2Dbf2vuWFosOQganQis" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNFsUcgV-7RXj7SiDXgTy7Sx0chME8UkF_pLjCWYb4WhblCfKMw1pkO0b6CCNr8HltmZTb2N2daDJ-_f3f545B-ZBNnoHXrBo7StSf2I4u9whln3YAfHKH1NT88g-qfgZZO4m169_T-yZ7HECCX1Fxxjfgm9tr36CKY2Dbf2vuWFosOQganQis=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p>If you do not have a cutting mat, just use a very thick stack of newspapers, or a travel catalogue I happened to not need anymore.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE060oJyz7Rpnfj8pOWSyT981MVEd7vAGNrSaUnt-nFsEeQPT2SnuRLEUfp_oTY4PkWc3vXorfq9auTFpBM190p9rDGisMmDkV0kx_vrYwyCrRSXFU24ko5IkpOz1xdeWIL2gvQZOKzGiWcjV0hw_3UDM9uX9JRRKnaHByZsmLoFeAeFrQXKs4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE060oJyz7Rpnfj8pOWSyT981MVEd7vAGNrSaUnt-nFsEeQPT2SnuRLEUfp_oTY4PkWc3vXorfq9auTFpBM190p9rDGisMmDkV0kx_vrYwyCrRSXFU24ko5IkpOz1xdeWIL2gvQZOKzGiWcjV0hw_3UDM9uX9JRRKnaHByZsmLoFeAeFrQXKs4" width="180" /></a></div><br />After arranging the coloured strips roughly on the tags, I used PVA glue to stick them on, first horizontally, and then I experimented at an angle. Sticky fingers? I happened to have kept a disposable packet of "cutlery" that came with a gift of food. So I used the "spade-like" utensil to apply the glue and cleaned it off on a bit of scrap fabric. (Nothing goes to waste, see?)<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKk2Yk84j34CEdL_SX8D9Tk1703VcsbTppk3qVLvI5hpfiZH6T_1DCeYb4gzwNmYlRO6ayh8T9O_3b_CiE2-CT-nHNnweyCKRZ_zhT8MicDcYViBJT-8dl8C4AL8JRfLnfk8jGXK2Ia21YTLZIxp_I2bb_oYGOrvQE3v8_Y78wiutDfeF0wPv4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3067" data-original-width="1756" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKk2Yk84j34CEdL_SX8D9Tk1703VcsbTppk3qVLvI5hpfiZH6T_1DCeYb4gzwNmYlRO6ayh8T9O_3b_CiE2-CT-nHNnweyCKRZ_zhT8MicDcYViBJT-8dl8C4AL8JRfLnfk8jGXK2Ia21YTLZIxp_I2bb_oYGOrvQE3v8_Y78wiutDfeF0wPv4" width="137" /></a></div><br />Originally, the idea was to covered both sides with coloured strips. Then it struck me that by leaving one side white, I could write on it. Better still, why not use (borrow) the words on the greeting cards? <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWJ4I3DQVT4KiCTsIVGYPUOmCsYSKgDC1iI1UfF4dSaUz5LiKftt4P4emKAGUwZGPr4q21noaVnHceb-imUngC-DfrgZIej_NUJ1Z_ieO7Gg6KVw9K1_0kf3NY3VvhHk-dtP-TP2rMKKkLvl0sMuHizweB2n45FwIM6sjOzcUrlS-AScoeY5JA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWJ4I3DQVT4KiCTsIVGYPUOmCsYSKgDC1iI1UfF4dSaUz5LiKftt4P4emKAGUwZGPr4q21noaVnHceb-imUngC-DfrgZIej_NUJ1Z_ieO7Gg6KVw9K1_0kf3NY3VvhHk-dtP-TP2rMKKkLvl0sMuHizweB2n45FwIM6sjOzcUrlS-AScoeY5JA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>When you have both the coloured and white sides in place, you can trim the protruding bits. Really, there is no need to be overly scientific about this. Finally, rethread the strings into the holes, or in my case, I used the little strips of ribbon from Christmas crackers collected over years. </p><p>Here you can see how I got even lazier, and just cut out bits of coloured card that fitted!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqt0bNe4YpIHXjApKDMTba4pveAGtOAEtSiWdNMGvyRAGspIdpMseggx94LFaQbLCAtDZj9hRUz6SGpItC21fGeSmaHp7w3jVjOpwAvVcFiXxBya0a9A6DUNbtW59byTdCWw9H_FtC39T-QlB4QF7EpLY2dj6MRWOqOM1wGVA8ACSqeMZ8jfag" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqt0bNe4YpIHXjApKDMTba4pveAGtOAEtSiWdNMGvyRAGspIdpMseggx94LFaQbLCAtDZj9hRUz6SGpItC21fGeSmaHp7w3jVjOpwAvVcFiXxBya0a9A6DUNbtW59byTdCWw9H_FtC39T-QlB4QF7EpLY2dj6MRWOqOM1wGVA8ACSqeMZ8jfag" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>As noted elsewhere, I eventually decided to use these as place setting cards. We had seven guests who did not all know one another, so these tags came in really useful. Also, as I was giving them books, these tags had a "second" life as a bookmark, too.</p><span style="font-size: medium;">Am I pleased? Very much so. And it all started with, <span style="color: #fcff01;">"These cardboard clothing tags are too good to throw away."</span></span><br /><p></p>What do you think?<p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-3032609102645144892024-01-01T12:07:00.003+00:002024-01-01T13:09:34.474+00:00The garment factory supervisor<p><span style="font-size: large;"> I don't remember now what exactly caused me to think of this person. Maybe it was that I was working on a lecture on "sociology of work", accompanied by thoughts of the Marxist concept of "alienation", of meaninglessness, normlessness, etc.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I had worked two stints in two different garment factories. By coincidence, they were located in the same general location off Jalan Bukit Merah in Singapore.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The first time was straight after my 'O' levels and I needed to get out of school, to earn some money. My friends were vying to get into junior colleges (Sixth Form equivalent) based on their "mock" or preliminary results. I just wanted to try working.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I found myself, aged sixteen, a "finishing worker" in a small garment factory. My job consisted of cutting off lengths of thread that the sewists (not sure about calling them "sewers") had left in finished garments just so to increase their piece-rate. Sometimes I ironed out some creases.</span></p><p><span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: x-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5ePDJi1L4UuqoWaVBo_mHNCqXUV03YapaUUux2NDVVwbMm7yXVLqgrhDAGUDecVzgquLBtTb5NVnJJYYHpZTYhnG9LunwQQvijKgZgVhcgKbLegWka5OVxF5WgOLiqJbGFOr78c299ICXeN_xIqAhUHhbAkAjoc3xuUCjGxjYgcb42ScTfjDy" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5ePDJi1L4UuqoWaVBo_mHNCqXUV03YapaUUux2NDVVwbMm7yXVLqgrhDAGUDecVzgquLBtTb5NVnJJYYHpZTYhnG9LunwQQvijKgZgVhcgKbLegWka5OVxF5WgOLiqJbGFOr78c299ICXeN_xIqAhUHhbAkAjoc3xuUCjGxjYgcb42ScTfjDy=w415-h276" width="415" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/1721511950/photo/female-worker-in-garment-factory.jpg?s=612x612&w=0&k=20&c=zK1rNPtvliDuF0cezmen8hgWPpDXax3CLzt722LW9iE=" target="_blank">Source</a> </td></tr></tbody></table><span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Though my family had never been well-off, it was here that I first observed what it was really like to live from hand to mouth. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My heart went out to the tea lady who waited for the boss to return on a Friday evening to collect her wages. The boss did not return and the tea lady was not able to give her children the school fees they needed that following Monday. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">(No such thing as a free lunch. Even though we had "free education", we had to pay "supplementary fees", and we saw money being exchanged for that privilege, every month. Even those who were deemed too poor had to pay a token sum, if only to give us all the sense that our parents had invested in our education.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While working on my Master's degree years later, I needed to conduct some fieldwork amongst "working class" people. My sister looked after accounts in another small-scale garment factory and got me in.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This time I was packing. Because I could read the labels quickly, I became a very efficient packer. It mostly involved using a labelling gun to shoot a tag with a plastic tie into a garment and then packing them into full dress-length plastic bags. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This was tiring work because I had to keep raising my arm well above my head to put the dresses into the bags. I did this standing up, for hours on end. After a few days I started feeling a "shooting pain" in my feet that left me devoid of energy to do any cerebral work.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As a participant observer I tried taking in all that was happening around me. There were some really fascinating characters.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There was a "gopher" who ran all the little fetch-and-carry errands around the factory. Most of the workers were piece-rated. So there was a lot of fetching and carrying between stations. Everyone was shouting at her, giving her instructions to do these mindless tasks.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When a mother presented with her daughter whom we would now describe as having special education needs, the daughter was taken on. All of a sudden the gopher was no more the bottom of the food chain. Powerlessness was finally turned on its head. We soon got used to hearing gopher shouting instructions at the newest recruit. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There was the chief sewist. She was a wiz at sewing garments quickly and accurately and worked on the prototypes. She had no idea what secondary school meant, let alone university, and asked me if "university" (in Chinese "big school") was the same as "secondary four" (when students sat their 'O' levels).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There was the "ironist", one of two women who focused on steam-ironing clothes. She was a smoker and turned the air blue with the most filthy language I had been exposed to. Yet her life was built around giving her children the best in life.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She asked me to tutor her son. She did not have a clue whether I was any good, but simply because I had graduated university she was willing to pay me to help her son.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On the factory floor, made up mainly of women, the most well-paid and respected were the pattern-makers. They translated the designs into shapes on fabric after the prototypes were approved. All this was necessary to cost the production. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The men on the factory floor did the heavy lifting, and helped to roll out the bales of fabric several layers thick, on the long, long cutting tables. The patterns were marked on the fabric and the chief cutter used various mechanised tools to cut out the fabric. You don't want to make a mistake in this process. These are skilled workers.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The 'parts' were then sorted and distributed to the sewists who were given instructions and samples on how to sew the various parts: overlocking, buttons, zippers, etc, all repetitive, brainless tasks, all piece-rated. These were then given to the more capable senior sewists to assemble the whole garment.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Supervising these little operations was [drum roll] the factory supervisor. I don't know what her training and experience was, but she had the most amazing ability in estimating what hours, and by whom, were needed to finish certain "jobs" (consignments). Her little notebook (no computers) was all she needed. I don't think she even used a calculator. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I might have an Honours degree in Sociology (then), but I could not have done what she was able to do: manage all the chattering women, all trying to gain some advantage over another, at least reputationally, estimate the labour costs, estimate the time required, and cajoling staff to work overtime.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I had every admiration for her because she always managed to get the job done, as we finally seal the boxes and see these being loaded onto trucks to be exported to whatever country they needed to be in. On time, and on budget.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't last long in my first factory stint. I begged my former school principal to take me back as a student to do some 'A' level study, any study, before the official results were released.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The second time around, I lasted only as long as I could officially be away from my teaching duties at the university. What this second stint had taught me was: I had to get out of the very cloistered academic environment. If I really wanted to be a good university teacher, I had to get out of the university.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: x-large;">[I'm an academic. Get me out of here!]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As soon as I was able to, I left academia to work in industry. This was despite an offer of a job to lead the social scientific aspects of some research (at Architecture!!) and support to go on to do a PhD. It was at least another ten years before I returned to academic work. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Still, I can hear the voice of the factory supervisor, giving clear and precise instructions to her staff as to what needed to be done. What a superwoman. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I learned not to look down at people who work in factories.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-23652468904387773072024-01-01T11:37:00.001+00:002024-01-01T13:15:31.286+00:00Borrowed: The pen is still mightier than the keyboard<p>Credit: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-pen-is-still-mightier-than-the-keyboard-tksdpt77q</p><p>(as requested by <span color="inherit" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: inherit; white-space: inherit;">@letterappsoc)</span></p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Sorting 1,000 handwritten letters has proved an epiphany: it’s an art form we should cherish</div></span><div class="tc-view__TcView-nuazoi-0 responsive__Meta-ba1gpd-6 kXtrCm" style="-webkit-box-pack: center; background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; display: flex; flex-flow: wrap; font-family: TimesDigitalW04-Regular, TimesDigitalW04-Regular-fallback, serif; font-size: 14px; justify-content: center; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a class="tc-text-link__TcTextLink-sc-1voa8bp-0 text-link__LinkTextObj-xyehx2-0 vSslN" href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/profile/edward-lucas" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #006699; display: inline; font-family: Roboto-Regular, Roboto-Regular-fallback, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Edward Lucas</a></h3></div><div class="tc-view__TcView-nuazoi-0 responsive__Separator-ba1gpd-8 kBYuIq" style="background-color: #dbdbdb; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: TimesDigitalW04-Regular, TimesDigitalW04-Regular-fallback, serif; font-size: 14px; height: 15px; margin: 0px 10px; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; width: 1px; z-index: 0;"></div><div class="tc-view__TcView-nuazoi-0 responsive__Meta-ba1gpd-6 kXtrCm" style="-webkit-box-pack: center; background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; display: flex; flex-flow: wrap; font-family: TimesDigitalW04-Regular, TimesDigitalW04-Regular-fallback, serif; font-size: 14px; justify-content: center; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><div class="tc-text__TcText-sc-15igzev-0 responsive__DatePublicationContainer-ba1gpd-1 cDcZxX" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; display: inline; flex-flow: wrap; font-family: Roboto-Regular, Roboto-Regular-fallback, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><time datetime="2024-01-01T00:01:00.000Z" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Monday January 01 2024, 12.01am, </time><span class="date-publication__PublicationName-sc-1vdpzkx-0 brXzzz" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The Times</span></div><div class="tc-text__TcText-sc-15igzev-0 responsive__DatePublicationContainer-ba1gpd-1 cDcZxX" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; display: inline; flex-flow: wrap; font-family: Roboto-Regular, Roboto-Regular-fallback, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="date-publication__PublicationName-sc-1vdpzkx-0 brXzzz" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div class="tc-text__TcText-sc-15igzev-0 responsive__DatePublicationContainer-ba1gpd-1 cDcZxX" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; display: inline; flex-flow: wrap; font-family: Roboto-Regular, Roboto-Regular-fallback, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="date-publication__PublicationName-sc-1vdpzkx-0 brXzzz" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></div></div><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 82.5pt;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">S</span></span>pilling out of old cardboard files, the blasts from the past are strewn across my floor. Affectionate, gossipy, grateful, anguished, tantalising, they are scribbled in ballpoint pen on work stationery, typed on flimsy blue aerogrammes or penned in ink on tinted notepaper. <br /><br />They tell of faraway places and distant events — and of a now near-moribund epistolary culture. From the mid-1970s, at school, university and in a dozen foreign postings, I was an inveterate letter writer to far-flung friends and family. This was the result. <br /><br />Brought to light during a clear-out last week, the old letters, and copies of my own missives, triggered memories like a Proustian madeleine. The handwriting of long-dead relatives recalled their virtues and vices. I found notes from my mentor, <a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sorry-keir-we-know-you-hate-lib-dems-but-showing-it-wont-help-you-to-power-wzt50np0f">Paddy Ashdown</a>, then an unknown would-be MP, and, later, from <a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/rees-moggs-blacklist-is-positively-soviet-7kkp6cl5r">Vaclav Havel</a>. <br /><br />I was a hard-pressed freelance journalist in communist Czechoslovakia; he was a dissident playwright newly released from prison. A few months later he became his country’s president. Both wrote in green ink: Ashdown scrawling in ballpoint pen, Havel stylish in felt-tip. No emails could have such an impact. <br /><br />Waspish pen-portraits of people and places leap from other pages. Eye-popping descriptions of long-forgotten journalistic rivalries and accompanying sexual impasses are worthy of Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop.</p>But as I ploughed through the dusty, bulging files, rewards were mixed with frustration. I want to bellow instructions across the decades, both to myself and my letter-writing friends. Don’t bother with mere chronicles of events, or worse, their dearth. Give us texture. What did it smell like? How much did you pay? Who else was there? Did you like them? Were you scared? If you didn’t write it down, nobody will ever know.<br /><br />The poignance is enjoyable if self-indulgent but the most important effect of past correspondence is to correct the teleological edits that my ego imposes on my memory. Hindsight depicts me as better-informed, kinder, funnier and cleverer than I really was.<p class="MsoNormal">The letters don’t lie. Reminders of my own misunderstandings, rudenesses, Pooterish self-importance, and the resulting warnings and rebukes, are salutary, particularly when they were overlooked at the time. I must track down a couple of people from the 1980s to whom — I now realise — I owe belated, shuddering apologies.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Cost and convenience are the hammer and anvil that have pulverised our letter-writing habits. Why bother with the tiresome business of writing a letter, finding an envelope, getting the right (overpriced) stamp and hoping that the missive will eventually arrive when you can send it free from the keyboard in seconds?</p><p class="MsoNormal">It seems as archaic as the telegram, telex and ham radio. Over Christmas our visiting nieces, aged four and six, were initially bemused by our local postbox and then entranced by the system it sustains. Letters are like very small Amazon parcels but with a message inside, I explained.</p><p class="MsoNormal">But they are dead data. You cannot search a pile of paper for keywords or sort it automatically by length or sender. Dates and addresses may be missing, words hard to decipher, signatures incomprehensible.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Atoms are vulnerable in a way that electronic messaging, supposedly, is not. When paper is lost, it is gone for ever. The discarded letters, once a product of so much time and effort, plead with me from the recycling bags: surely someone, somewhere might like to read them again?</p><p class="MsoNormal">The electronic universe has its drawbacks too. Changes of employer, lost passwords and other technological mishaps mean my email archive is far patchier than its physical predecessor. And less rewarding. I can muster no great enthusiasm for trawling through my emails. Two days during the post-Christmas doldrums sorting out 1,000-odd letters has been an epiphany. The contrast between their length — typically two or three closely written pages — and their modern counterparts is stark. <br /><br />The Christmas cards being cleared away in most homes contain at best a scribbled signature and a well-meant sentence. Birthday cards signify endearment but rarely communicate it coherently. Thank-you notes for an overnight stay or a meal from the dwindling ranks of the well-mannered are welcome but seldom contain more than a formulaic paragraph. <br /><br />Condolences on bereavement are nowadays the main example of proper letters (and having received many in recent years, I underline the comfort they bring). Keeping a diary is not the same: trying to compose words that someone else may read with enjoyment sets a much higher bar. <br /><br />Writing letters has other pluses too. Using a pen engages a different part of our brain than the keyboard. Our word choice is subtly changed. The selection of paper and writing implement, and the need to think about presentation and legibility, engage our aesthetic sense in a way that choosing the font on a computer does not. We can add doodles and text boxes, and play little tricks: demonstratively crossing out a phrase we have rejected while still signalling that we considered using it. <br /><br />As my friend David Goodhart points out in his book Head Hand Heart, in modern life we overuse our mental capacities and underuse the fine-motor skills and emotional register evolution has bequeathed us. Composing in longhand, thoughtfully and even lovingly, redresses the balance. <br /><br />Goodhart’s new year’s resolution is to write more letters by hand. Consider doing the same. Your friends and family will be grateful now and, if they write back, you will have your own madeleines to savour a few decades hence<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">.</span> </p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-15138895481538579342023-11-26T12:33:00.001+00:002023-11-26T12:33:50.370+00:00The year that was 2023<p><span style="font-size: large;"> It's been another year of ups and downs. A recent trip to Montalbano and Godfather country (Sicily) to celebrate 25 years of marriage was certainly an "up", despite a burst tyre three minutes before reaching our first hotel (the "down"). However, I would place the highlight of my year as learning about <a href="https://goalballuk.com/" target="_blank">goalball</a> and watching it played 'live' at the recent "Blind Games" (IBSA: International Blind Sport Federation).</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuici6i4WEd4je6HMmmEq629yk_lfzAv_5HQhzCb15iv43EMugcI6a_ZEUkKzNcpVfVMIx9mZ1iS12TWgJkljLse-343TVO0Znqm9uIOXiXzqFaXAHekl40EzURcAY3w5mMh6FPlYGFJwTRmMbcraBTtgMpq1n4gKawe1oTvD3Ak6jyHoeXV6_/s4000/20230827_115042.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuici6i4WEd4je6HMmmEq629yk_lfzAv_5HQhzCb15iv43EMugcI6a_ZEUkKzNcpVfVMIx9mZ1iS12TWgJkljLse-343TVO0Znqm9uIOXiXzqFaXAHekl40EzURcAY3w5mMh6FPlYGFJwTRmMbcraBTtgMpq1n4gKawe1oTvD3Ak6jyHoeXV6_/w640-h480/20230827_115042.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> Back in August I decamped once again to a university in the Midlands to teach EAP (English for Academic Purposes) to incoming international pre-Master's students. Seven weeks away.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I really do enjoy teaching these students. Most of them come from university cultures where they do not question the authorities and certainly not their professors. They were used to quoting their professors in order to get a good grade! Talk about stroking egos. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Imagine their surprise when I tell them that, "Look! Teachers do not have all the answers. We make mistakes, too." In this country, you are welcome to challenge the professors. Demonstrate you can think critically on any subject. Just because so-and-so says this is true, how do we check/prove/gather evidence to believe that to be true?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As such, the UK universities are doing a great job sending these graduates back to their dictatorial regimes where, hopefully, they could make a political difference in years to come. Yes, little drops of water. It only takes a spark. <i>Et cetera</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, the tutors were put in this student accommodation complex requiring a 15-minute walk to and from the classrooms. While my hip was OK this year (an "up"), my dodgy knee played up ("down"). I put it down (!) to having to lug the heavy university-issue laptop in my rucksack. It got better when I decided to use a laptop bag, thus shifting the centre of gravity (down) a little, which appeared to help ("up").</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One day I came 'home' to see flags and banners welcoming athletes to the "blind games". "Blind games?", I said, "You're having a laugh."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But then from my shared kitchen window I saw them arriving. Busload after busload of athletes. I still had no idea what was happening as no one told us anything.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjboIDMD1LYlcpQpwpMIpScLJhbKg4YJYGQl74aXHxMsUFSI2b2CqyYHmN_3PpJwctdklpaKiymcJWJ2sL-3iMUfj8ya71yO0nxKy4ffQbDQyIGmiuV_EL9xh0eqjXJb0GurtM-bOirbGgd2oZJDhH_Z2PyDUEWD-2nU03eQD8pOSBuY6Fnaz/s4000/20230817_184034.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjboIDMD1LYlcpQpwpMIpScLJhbKg4YJYGQl74aXHxMsUFSI2b2CqyYHmN_3PpJwctdklpaKiymcJWJ2sL-3iMUfj8ya71yO0nxKy4ffQbDQyIGmiuV_EL9xh0eqjXJb0GurtM-bOirbGgd2oZJDhH_Z2PyDUEWD-2nU03eQD8pOSBuY6Fnaz/w480-h640/20230817_184034.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I saw the guide dogs. I saw the foldable white canes. I saw the long walking sticks with a ball at the end of it. I saw how the athletes put one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them as four or five walked like a little human caterpillar to their accommodation, trusting an athlete who had slightly better sight.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Eventually we, the tutors, realised that we were sharing the accommodation complex with a huge number of athletes as the complex had been designated a "transport hub".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">From my bedroom window on the other side of the building I saw the national flags go up. What is most telling was the noise. Loud chatter in the open air and shared kitchens, doors slamming, loud music.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The GB team blasting "Eye of the Tiger" as motivational music was understandable, but man, as the tutors all thought as one, we are trying to prep lessons and grade work. Could you please pipe down a little? Please, please?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A sighted volunteer at the hub office apologised on their behalf, "You know they are blind, or visually-impaired, right? They cannot see the other people using the complex." They were not aware of other non-athletes trying to write dissertations and complete academic tasks. All that loud music could be "psychological warfare". Fair enough.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I found myself searching out all the information and Youtube coverage I could find about goalball. It was so surreal to see a national team emerging from their block of flats, often cheered and applauded by the others not due to play a game, their being led to the bus waiting at the entrance to the complex, and then seeing them, an hour later, using their bodies to block a belled ball from going into a net, 'live' on Youtube. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Their meals were served in another complex five minutes walk away. I meet them every day as I walked to work and they were walking back. I remembered to step aside to let them pass as sometimes they did not see me. I wished them "Good morning" and they replied with courtesy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In the laundry room some tall and very large American athletes needed help to get the machines going. One of these tall ones offered to load my wet clothes into the dryer which was a bit too high for me to reach. I declined. No, not going to let a male stranger handle all my smalls! 😂</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">These were people with disabilities trying to live ordinary lives, but in a most extraordinary way. I have utmost admiration for them, every single one.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">T</span><span style="font-size: large;">wo weeks after they first arrived, they left. As busload after busload left for the airport, I felt rather forlorn. I sank ("down") into depression for a little while and had to psyche myself to get out of it. I was missing the hubbub, it seemed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Some other thoughts about goalball/levelling up/down here: </span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://organically.blogspot.com/2023/08/overcoming-obstacles-or-blind-leading.html" target="_blank">Overcoming obstacles or the blind leading the blind?</a> (NB. The final sentences were written with an election in mind.)</span><p><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I am still happy ("up") to be making and selling hankies in between more cerebral projects and assignments (like giving a lecture on 'sociology of work'). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A definite "down" was to discover that despite paying extra for a service, my confirmation emails to customers were marked [Spam?]. It took me some time to sort this out. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The accountant will not be impressed by the numbers this year. Just hanging on in there. I plan to return to doing more crafty and embroidery work soon.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do note: Second Class Large Letter stamp is now £1.55. I am still charging £1.44 for orders that require a £1.55 stamp. Once my old stamps run out, I will have to revise the P&P.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you once again for your support!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We look forward to your visit at <a href="http://www.organic-ally.co.uk" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-7576850126509171052023-11-18T13:24:00.000+00:002023-11-18T13:24:10.798+00:00We(don't)Work. Really?<p> <span style="font-size: large;">I've just suffered a most horrendous fortnight of coughing fits that kept me up at night, and now the headaches. But let's talk about WeWork.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A few weeks ago, for some unknown reason, I saw on TV a documentary about WeWork (which has since <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2023/11/06/business/wework-bankruptcy/index.html" target="_blank">filed for bankruptcy</a>). I've seen this business being advertised on TV but had zero interest in it.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm1p5Wm-Z2JZWthsLSWM6PFPvQINKh11liW7zFOo7AQ4VJuT6MNlpcSkP-3-LntZtRkpsGaXCNnX_RqKVhnMrWO8W5UvF6yhHpFdvLfMUrVpbhIEqLbhgyc2U1XLodWSUYMlVdsOgY7KyrBdZPKwnOGRnmsmfWuswvUePQkNfKio8ocJC4miQd" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="826" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm1p5Wm-Z2JZWthsLSWM6PFPvQINKh11liW7zFOo7AQ4VJuT6MNlpcSkP-3-LntZtRkpsGaXCNnX_RqKVhnMrWO8W5UvF6yhHpFdvLfMUrVpbhIEqLbhgyc2U1XLodWSUYMlVdsOgY7KyrBdZPKwnOGRnmsmfWuswvUePQkNfKio8ocJC4miQd" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.business-standard.com/article/companies/wework-starts-new-coworking-centre-in-pune-with-1-500-seating-capacity-123020700689_1.html" target="_blank">Picture source</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;">But there I was having afternoon tea with my family with the TV on in the background, and listening to previous employees of WeWork talk about its founder Adam Neumann. Within minutes I turned to my "boys" to say, "It is a cult."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Grounded in my research in sociology of religion, I saw that WeWork functioned essentially as a cult.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">Its leader could do no wrong.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">What the leader says, goes, and information is not triangulated, tested against other sets of evidence.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">If an employee has a problem, "Adam will solve it."</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Those are just some of the warning signs. Alarm bells should have been ringing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For this man to make his employees wear tracker bracelets? Come on, if you are god and omnipotent, you don't need these things.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But why? Why did his employees, typically young 20- and 30-somethings ("millennials"?) not realise that they were buying into a forceful personality who fancies himself "god"?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I will hazard a guess that this is the generation which has never encountered religion (the ones with a supreme deity) in any shape or form. Because if you have ever had the experience of worship (singing praises, bowing, praying, etc), then WeWork employees would have quickly realised that they were worshipping a human being, their cult leader.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There are other reasons for its downfall. But the founder/s (Adam and his wife) walked away with USD1.7BILLION. Eye-watering, huh?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As I have said before, there are easy ways to becoming a millionaire. Just convince 1 million people to give you £1 each. Then onto the next million, and the next.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> See also: <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-wework-documentary-explores-a-decade-of-delusion" target="_blank">The WeWork Documentary Explores a Decade of Delusion</a> (April 5, 2021)</span><br /><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-70509897929925104042023-10-23T16:32:00.002+01:002023-10-23T17:18:01.310+01:00Parenting a Sam Bankman-Fried<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">R</span><span style="font-size: medium;">eading <a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sam-bankman-fried-ftx-collapse-crypto-michael-lewis-bd90l2t2s" target="_blank">what Michael Lewis says</a> about the childhood of Sam Bankman-Fried (SBF) gave me the shivers.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SxjZ9BdlQphiauvFULISTOcNqe9cM-Ys_mCEkdMxVQ5csaxswl3xiaCw7H0hAPueSGBhywP2XvXywoIebALt8PGAH2RJBJcNhHIcOKa-gD8kscR7tUCOiGx7utMUhyphenhyphenLLgJI-GDt-ooI6liKV_6p5xWBeWItiqGIlCzdl_17DwEHcYDOR8PJT/s3000/stockvault-school-boy129760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="https://www.stockvault.net/data/2012/03/06/129760/preview16.jpg" border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SxjZ9BdlQphiauvFULISTOcNqe9cM-Ys_mCEkdMxVQ5csaxswl3xiaCw7H0hAPueSGBhywP2XvXywoIebALt8PGAH2RJBJcNhHIcOKa-gD8kscR7tUCOiGx7utMUhyphenhyphenLLgJI-GDt-ooI6liKV_6p5xWBeWItiqGIlCzdl_17DwEHcYDOR8PJT/w435-h290/stockvault-school-boy129760.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">https://www.stockvault.net/data/2012/03/06/129760/preview16.jpg</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">In his description of a child who was so bored with school, I saw my son. The main differences were that (1) we intervened when he was six; (2) I decided against pursuing an academic career to ensure making professor by age 60; and (3) we prayed for wisdom. I cried a lot. O, how I cried. </span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Thankfully, our son appears to be a well-adjusted adult now, because his emotional development finally, in due course, caught up with his intellectual growth.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Here's an extract with the focus on the childhood/education of SBF.<br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">“Childhood was a funny thing for Sam,” said his father. “He was never comfortable with kids, or with being a kid.”</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />By the time Sam was eight Barbara had given up on the idea that his wants and needs would be anything like other children’s. She remembered the instant that happened. She had been at Stanford for over a decade, a frequent contributor of difficult papers to academic journals. “I was walking him to school and he asked me what I was doing,” Barbara recalled. “I told him I was giving some paper, and he asked, ‘What’s it on?’ I gave him a bullshit answer and he pressed me on it, and by the end of the walk we were in the middle of a deep conversation about the argument. The points he was making were better than any of the reviewers’. At that moment my parenting style changed.”</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Bankman-Frieds weren’t big on the usual holidays. They celebrated Hanukkah but with so little enthusiasm that one year they simply forgot it, and, realising that none of them cared, stopped celebrating anything. “It was, like, ‘All right, who was bothered by this fact — the fact that we forgot Hanukkah?’ No one raised their hand,” Sam said. They didn’t do birthdays either. Sam didn’t feel the slightest bit deprived. “My parents were, like, I dunno, ‘Is there something you want? All right, bring it up. And you can have it. Even in February. Doesn’t have to be in December. If you want it, let’s have an open and honest conversation about it instead of us trying to guess.’ ” Sam, like his parents, didn’t see the point in anyone trying to imagine what someone else might want. The family’s indifference to convention came naturally and unselfconsciously.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Although Sam found it easier to talk with adults than with children, the connections he made with the adults were no stronger than those he made with other kids. In some deep way, he sensed, he remained cut off from other human beings. He could read them but they couldn’t read him.</span></div><div><span face="TimesDigitalW04-Regular, TimesDigitalW04-Regular-fallback, serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">“There were some things I had to teach myself to do,” he said. “One is facial expressions. Like making sure I smile when I’m supposed to smile. Smiling was the biggest thing that I most weirdly couldn’t do.” Other people would say or do things to which he was meant to respond with some emotional display. And instead of faking it, he questioned the premise. What’s the whole point of facial expressions in the first place? If you’re going to say something to me, just say it. Why do I have to grin while you do it?<br /><br />Very early on Sam realised that he’d need to acquire abilities most people just took for granted. But he also knew that he could take for granted abilities that other people sweated to learn.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />In kindergarten a teacher had suggested to Barbara and Joe that they enrol him in a school for gifted kids. “We thought she was bats,” Barbara said. For the next seven years they were given no reason to think they’d made a mistake. Right through middle school Sam was a good but not great student, defined mainly by his lack of interest in whatever his teacher was saying. “I was obedient in that I wouldn’t do shit I wasn’t supposed to do,” Sam said. “But I wouldn’t necessarily do shit I was supposed to do. I’d just be sitting there in a stupor.”<br /><br />It was in middle school that he became conscious of the fact he was not a happy person. Depression took many forms, and his was of the low- level, simmering kind. “I think in general when people are depressed they know they are depressed,” he said. “My form of it was not out-of-control negative. My form of it was lack of positive.” He had a fault line inside him, pressure was building on it and one day, in the seventh grade, it slipped. His mother returned from work to find Sam alone, in despair. “I came home and he was crying,” Barbara recalled. “He said, ‘I’m so bored I’m going to die.’”<br /><br />Barbara and Joe organised a small group of parents to beseech the school to offer an advanced math class. The school relented and brought in a special teacher. “The class met at seven,” Barbara recalled. “And for the first time Sam just jumped out of bed at 6.30. Up till then there wasn’t a real clear indicator that he was special.” It was then that Barbara and Joe decided to spend the money to send him to a fancy private high school, Crystal Springs Uplands.<br /><br />Crystal Springs made no difference. “I hated it there too,” Sam said. “The whole way through. I didn’t like classes. I didn’t like my schoolmates. I was bored.” The student body was a who’s who of Silicon Valley children. (Steve Jobs’s son, Reed, was in Sam’s class.) By most standards it was a nerdy school. “It was a lot of moderately unambitious, really rich kids,” he said. “The one thing they knew is they didn’t have to worry. So there was not a lot of drive and not a lot of pressure. Everyone went to Stanford.”<br /><br />He wanted to think about things other kids had no interest in — including thinking — and he had no interest in what they wanted to think about. He didn’t even bother trying to fit in. Everyone else carried a backpack; he alone showed up with a rolling bag whose wheels thump-thump-thumped over the cobblestones as he moved from class to class.<br /><br />By high school Sam had decided that he just didn’t like school, which was odd for a person who would finish at the top of his class. He’d also decided that at least some of the fault lay not with him but with school. English class, for instance. His doubts about English class dated back to the sixth grade. That was when the teachers had stopped worrying about simple literacy and turned their attention to deeper questions.<br /><br />“As soon as English class went from ‘can you read a book’ to writing an essay about a book, I completely lost interest,” Sam recalled. He found literary criticism bizarre: who cared what you felt or thought about a story? The story was the story, with no provably right or wrong way to read it. “If they said talk about what you like or don’t like, I would do that,” he said. That’s not what they were asking him to do, however. They were asking him to interpret the book, and then judging him on his interpretations.<br /><br />That he still received good grades from his English teachers didn’t lessen his scepticism of their enterprise. Why were they giving him an A? Why were they giving any grade to anyone for what amounted to an opinion? “I convinced the teachers that I was a good student, and thus I got good grades,” he said. “It was self-fulfilling to a decent extent.”<br /><br />They gave him an A because they didn’t want to explain why they didn’t give him an A. All of humanities was like this for him: dopey stuff he wanted mainly to escape but that somehow always lurked around every corner. In choosing a college to attend, Sam sought to ensure he’d never again be made to write an essay about Jane Austen.<br /><br />But even MIT, where he eventually landed, had a humanities requirement —a single liberal arts class, which he satisfied by taking film history, but even that grated on him. “Whatever ceasefire existed earlier in my life was gone,” he said. “I was starting to get a little bit of a whiff of ‘I don’t have to put up with it any more’. ” The very first question on the final exam set him off. What’s the difference between art and entertainment? “It’s a bullshit distinction dreamt up by academics trying to justify the existence of their jobs,” Sam wrote, and handed the exam back.</span><br /></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sam-bankman-fried-ftx-collapse-crypto-michael-lewis-bd90l2t2s</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-5234005386168050362023-09-29T12:04:00.009+01:002023-09-29T13:13:54.642+01:00Multiculturalism or multi-culture-ism?<p><span style="font-size: large;"> I come from a country where we started each school day by reciting the national pledge, either in front of the flag in the classroom or in a school-wide assembly.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We pledged, "as one united people" to build a "democratic society", "regardless of race, language or religion". Why do we want to do this? "To achieve happiness, prosperity and progress for our nation".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I always thought that it sounded like "The Lord's Prayer". Not my will, but yours be done, O Lord!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">After school exams we were often herded into the assembly hall where we learned to sing Mandarin, Tamil, Malay and English folk songs, whatever ethnic/racial groups we belong to. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWjPCwOUUY2Slrwgv_sUh9bJzkOAKs7RMqUGiKshyfZZDbAVJNTjLLcmJHeiuWeKIEcmMeusmR4OKd_qVhUcW8kscj69voGIzcVbMCsywEJQRgVIHAaVYrVn5_neN4DdeLhLjccnQ2Dv7eRHOlmU1or80iKnyUi-33Iahl0H4nwnVkMPzVd5c/s5400/junior_osd_yishunprischool_ng_xi_rou_2%20-%20liang%20tien%20ang.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="5400" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWjPCwOUUY2Slrwgv_sUh9bJzkOAKs7RMqUGiKshyfZZDbAVJNTjLLcmJHeiuWeKIEcmMeusmR4OKd_qVhUcW8kscj69voGIzcVbMCsywEJQRgVIHAaVYrVn5_neN4DdeLhLjccnQ2Dv7eRHOlmU1or80iKnyUi-33Iahl0H4nwnVkMPzVd5c/w395-h263/junior_osd_yishunprischool_ng_xi_rou_2%20-%20liang%20tien%20ang.jpg" width="395" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">https://www.sg101.gov.sg/social-national-identity/multicultural/<br />Primary school children celebrating "Racial Harmony Day".</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Seriously, after nearly 20 years of such practices -- some might call this indoctrination -- multiculturalism has become part of my DNA.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One day a much older classmate at university -- he was a mature student on an army scholarship -- asked whether I felt ill-at-ease being "the only Chinese" in a particularly small class studying "anthropological theory".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I remember this incident well because I remember stopping to think for some time, going over the faces of my four other classmates: two ethnic Indians, an ethnic Malay, and an ethnic "Eurasian" (East Asian variety). And me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"O! I had not thought of that. Didn't realise I was the only Chinese in the class."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">What my older classmate was getting at, I think, was that the Chinese made up the majority in Singapore. There I was, little me, bear of little brain compared to the others, who hailed from what would normally be termed as "minority groups" making up the majority of the class. Ironically, the "only Chinese" was the minority in this group.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Did I feel threatened? No. Did I feel ill-at-ease? Only to the extent that the others had more anthropology training, while I had switched from Sociology to Social Anthropology for that final year as an undergraduate.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In a strange sort of way I had become completely "colour-blind" to skin colour in Singapore. These other four were merely my classmates. I had to stop to think what ethnic groups they belong to.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">That is one outcome of multiculturalism that works. We were citizens of the same nation, "regardless of race, language or religion".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So when my PhD supervisor asked in what was clearly a cynical tone many years later, "So you think multiculturalism is a good thing?", I said "yes". </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Only later did I realise that "multiculturalism" in the UK means something quite different from my early socialization growing up multicultural.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Being multicultural for me meant learning about the religions and cultures of the different groups and respecting these for what they are. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I had Indian neighbours on one side, and Malay Muslim neighbours two doors on the other side, and Eurasian neighbours downstairs.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Come religious festival times these neighbours would always share festive goods with us. I totally enjoyed that. And festive greetings were always exchanged.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My father sold pork in a wet market. We were especially careful about pork products when dealing with our Muslim neighbours, who were always respectful to us as well.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In the UK, I see not the multiculturalism that I had learned and enjoyed, but a "multi-culture-ism" where some ethnic and cultural groups live in such a way that there could possibly not be any interaction at all with fellow citizens outside of that group.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This, I think, is where the UK has gone wrong.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In sociology there is another term for this: ghettoization.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-81567253769252325822023-08-31T16:29:00.005+01:002023-09-21T13:32:24.364+01:00Overcoming obstacles or the blind leading the blind?<p><span style="font-size: large;"> In sharing university campus accommodation with blind and partially
sighted athletes at the 2023 World Games, I learned of a most amazing game
called <a href="https://goalball.sport/" target="_blank">goalball</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">This comes amidst my contemplation of Martha Nussbaum’s
“capabilities framework”, which suggests that instead of making everyone “the
same” to achieve equality, we start with assessing the individual’s capabilities,
and then decide on the resources needed to make that person function at their fullest
(God-given) capacity.</span><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWuhRsWSfgoFymZsXqNUsj9pdPD5kZEsnlm9BV2YMRAxjUuVQdUOvP1GQmBGpZb8FANXcz5MnJ7LjcylaRyG6Y2aO-ZaOQDtzzGNBJ3qmRYkO40stFmwuAT3DcRRyQWORWM9qoDOiYKzCNITr4vAlTAPGcrCJkuiSK8a63DU_StIW5JH5QqWg/s4000/20230817_184034.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWuhRsWSfgoFymZsXqNUsj9pdPD5kZEsnlm9BV2YMRAxjUuVQdUOvP1GQmBGpZb8FANXcz5MnJ7LjcylaRyG6Y2aO-ZaOQDtzzGNBJ3qmRYkO40stFmwuAT3DcRRyQWORWM9qoDOiYKzCNITr4vAlTAPGcrCJkuiSK8a63DU_StIW5JH5QqWg/s320/20230817_184034.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Athletes arriving with guide dogs <br />and sighted supporters to help them <br />navigate unfamiliar terrain</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Goalball is a very physical game. Players use their whole
body to stop their opponents scoring goals stretched across the width of the pitch.
Bells inside the 1.25kg ball allow players to “see” where the ball.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">If you watched them ‘live’, as I did, you might notice the
<span style="color: #fcff01;">incredible</span> way players catch and block the ball as it bounces and rolls. You might
even forget that they are blind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">By embedding bells, the inventors of the game have helped the
blind players “see” the ball, thus allowing the blind to “level up”. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I lie, you can tell they are not-seeing because they wear wraparound
eyeshades and have to navigate around the court using tactiles on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">The eyeshades are to ensure a level playing field so that the
blind can play alongside those who are partially sighted.</span><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lB08Llg-8yeFYxEr5cewBeUwlxf-j0YxPq8w36fVmwh1KAnNux6zPj1YwtHzDSiWNw4Vwy-t-tkzF2fpHF5u0na76rz09Fe6vdIbgjeI17ABfvGkYxDwCohpqcBkVOprHGpd1z5HC1eNwxwjqbtskxmW_q0KEcP9zhcQtZ-yWtgYA29IUV5l/s4000/20230827_115042.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lB08Llg-8yeFYxEr5cewBeUwlxf-j0YxPq8w36fVmwh1KAnNux6zPj1YwtHzDSiWNw4Vwy-t-tkzF2fpHF5u0na76rz09Fe6vdIbgjeI17ABfvGkYxDwCohpqcBkVOprHGpd1z5HC1eNwxwjqbtskxmW_q0KEcP9zhcQtZ-yWtgYA29IUV5l/s320/20230827_115042.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Canadian women warming up against <br />the Brazilian team who won the Bronze medal.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Just as much as the bells have levelled them up, the eyeshades
have levelled the players down.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">In any debate about disabilities, abilities
and the responsibilities for those who must care for those with far fewer
resources, it might be worthwhile revisiting Nussbaum’s thesis on the
capabilities framework which, please note, is not without its critics.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">For example, we need to debate and decide: Do we wish to
level people up, by giving those less privileged with the wherewithal to
compete on a more level playing field?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or, do we prefer to level
abilities down, by making everyone wear eyeshades, to make everyone “equal” and
equally “unseeing” (or perhaps even “uncomplaining”) to enforce uniformity, and
thus achieve a form of equality?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">From watching goalball, I can see (in the physical sense at
least), that there are advantages to both.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Note, however, that when the players leave the court, many
are dependent on guide-dogs, a walking stick/cane or (partly) sighted supporters. </span><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwfNWdg4thOYukUF1kLG3QztvLXUYKFoNx3XYJPNhNYPk4HbSnlAOKFlMAM-nQZ0k2H6p7WHKZ5o_84YXTu8Hx-gdA4lidBG8-nvxNr9nnGVyukGKDhkP0sQjexq38GLYxADp-B_uQD9BstsGFOE4FdOFfjJYTORnIQd4ILsG7vWIB0_64RTx/s2536/20230818_181016b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2367" data-original-width="2536" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwfNWdg4thOYukUF1kLG3QztvLXUYKFoNx3XYJPNhNYPk4HbSnlAOKFlMAM-nQZ0k2H6p7WHKZ5o_84YXTu8Hx-gdA4lidBG8-nvxNr9nnGVyukGKDhkP0sQjexq38GLYxADp-B_uQD9BstsGFOE4FdOFfjJYTORnIQd4ILsG7vWIB0_64RTx/s320/20230818_181016b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best-behaved and most polite team! <br />Kept running into them returning from breakfast <br />as I walked to class.</td></tr></tbody></table> <div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Nevertheless, these players have shown me that physical blindness can be overcome with self-determination and a little bit of help, kindness, and understanding from others.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">More disconcerting, I think, are spiritual and moral blindness. Do we level up, or do we level down?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Choose wisely. Or we risk the morally and spiritually blind leading us all.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-29100919597860086852023-07-02T17:35:00.002+01:002023-07-02T19:16:01.328+01:00Swings and Roundabouts: social media<p><span style="font-size: large;">This morning, late as usual to the social media scene, I finally cottoned on to something that was a Twittering: <span style="color: #fcff01;">storm in a T-witter cup</span>.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdWXjlgeqoYksqO1l0PvZxb2iTIpOHfJ7v9c-5Q8JUE3rBnIyhBCKZONfhzgjV4xq87tf6e3p7NGZdKgFK0hPrwYw25w-LDNMfQ2HjclMrxzGZYhi-xF9UXobGm9veSUg1Rj8BXd_FCEGazOBMLDnXQY_YUIVmMafnkdGp7Oddl2vcstT3xM3/s754/roundabout.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="754" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdWXjlgeqoYksqO1l0PvZxb2iTIpOHfJ7v9c-5Q8JUE3rBnIyhBCKZONfhzgjV4xq87tf6e3p7NGZdKgFK0hPrwYw25w-LDNMfQ2HjclMrxzGZYhi-xF9UXobGm9veSUg1Rj8BXd_FCEGazOBMLDnXQY_YUIVmMafnkdGp7Oddl2vcstT3xM3/w483-h292/roundabout.png" width="483" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Elon Musk -- somehow he is "Elon Musk", not "Mr Musk, or just "Elon" -- has apparently restricted the number of daily Twitter posts that us lesser mortals are allowed to read. The numbers 500 and 600 had been bandied about. But a <a href="https://help.twitter.com/en/rules-and-policies/twitter-limits" target="_blank">helpful (?) page here</a>.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Following my <a href="https://organically.blogspot.com/2023/05/social-media-for-business-boon-or-bane.html" target="_blank">recent post</a> on how social media, professional SEO and content writers are driving me, a hobbyist seller, out of business simply because I cannot afford to pay to be "found", I wonder if this could be "good news" to some. The jury is still out. I am merely hoping for the best (ie my best).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This brings me back to my academic muse Henri Lefebvre and his exposition on "<i>rhythmanalysis</i>". We carry on as if life is normal; we do not note the ticking of our heart, for example, until something goes wrong. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Isorhythmia (harmony) gives way to arrhythmia (ie something goes out of sync). But note, rhythmanalysis isn't only about the analysis of rhythms, it is also about the rhythm going awry and THEN returning to what is now a familiar concept that we call "new normal", often after a period of polyrhythmia and/or eurhythmia. This happens to all rhythms.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Take Trip Advisor. Once upon a time it was the go-to platform to learn about an organization, a restaurant, a hotel, etc. Then people began to game the system, and "enterprising" people set themselves up to "help" people get the ratings one desired in its Trip Advisor ratings.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Result? I don't trust TA anymore. A headline number does not tell the whole story. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It's the same with most platforms where reviews can be freely submitted, or dependent on 'Likes' and 'Followers". Almost as soon as I ventured onto <a href="https://www.instagram.com/firsthankielady/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, in the hope of enlivening my hobby business, I got hit by queries about whether I was happy to pay to get more views and 'Likes'. (<a href="https://www.instagram.com/firsthankielady/" target="_blank">Please follow here</a>.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps it's time we got back to real people dealing with real people, shopkeeper and customer, friend and friend, instead of bots and third-parties acting as paid agents, to drum up business. And those inexplicable algorithms. (Everyone talk about these. No one has been able to define this for me.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps we can now get rid of the "influencer" influenza that has infected every aspect of our daily life. I don't know if these people add anything to the GDP. Do these people actually pay tax, for example? Is it a bit like supporting traffickers then?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I am naïve thinking that we can turn back the tide of technological advance in the face of artificial intelligence where social media is (are?) concerned. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I simply don't care anymore. I just want to go back to doing something I like, on and off social media. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-73903801801420288062023-06-20T18:17:00.000+01:002023-06-20T18:17:56.092+01:00Recent research on hay fever <br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span>The following from an article </span>(<i><span style="color: #fcff01;">Why is hay fever so bad this year? The pollen bomb’s to blame</span></i>) in</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/why-hay-fever-bad-this-year-symptoms-stop-g92thg7km" target="_blank"><i>The Times</i></a>. I am not happy with the way many phenomena are now described as a 'bomb' when innocents are suffering from real bombs somewhere. The less important bits have been struck out, while the important bits are magnified, to make it easier for you to read.</span><div><br /><strike> Dr John Bostock had tried everything — cold baths, opium, doses of mercury and even bloodletting — but he could get no relief. Every year at “about the beginning or middle of June”, the 46-year-old would be struck down by “the most acute itching and smarting, accompanied with a feeling of small points striking or darting” into the eye.<br /><br />It was March 1819, and Bostock, a doctor from Liverpool, was describing the first recorded case of hay fever to the Medical and Chirurgical Society.<br /><br />Nowadays the symptoms are far from unusual. </strike></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #fcff01;">According to Allergy UK</span></b>, one in four adults and one in eight children suffer from allergic rhinitis — the medical term for hay fever — and research shows the number of sufferers is rising each year.<br /><br />This group — roughly 16 million people in the UK — is having a particularly hard time right now. Britain is in the grip of a bad hay fever episode. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><strike>NHS England reports that last Sunday it received 27,834 visits to its hay fever web page — one visit every three seconds.</strike><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Levels of pollen — the cause of hay fever — often peak in June</span>, as Bostock noted two centuries ago. But this year sufferers have been hit by a so-called pollen bomb — a relentless run of weeks in which pollen fills the air. Its roots can be dated back to last summer, when a prolonged hot spell created perfect conditions for many trees — particularly birch — to start forming the pollen that would be released this spring. A wet and mild winter and spring promoted growth, particularly in grasses, another top source of allergens. By April tree pollen was filling the air at unusually high levels. And the present heatwave has created the ideal conditions — dry and settled days with a light breeze — for grasses and weeds to disperse their pollen.<br /><br />Beverley Adams-Groom, senior pollen forecaster at Worcester University, says we are experiencing the perfect weather for pollen dispersal. “Grasses will emit the most pollen on warm, sunny days with temperatures above 20C and up to 28C, which many parts of the country are now experiencing day after day.”<br /><br />Until we get some prolonged rain to wash the pollen out of the air, the high pollen counts will persist. But even a downpour may not bring immediate relief, because storms break up the pollen into even smaller grains, which travel deeper into the lungs, creating outbreaks of what doctors call “thunderstorm asthma”.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Scientists say hay fever has been exacerbated by <span style="color: #fcff01;">climate change</span>, which is both extending and intensifying the season. “Over the past few years the hay fever season has become increasingly worse for sufferers,” says Margaret Kelman, acting head of clinical services at Allergy UK. Higher temperatures — and carbon dioxide itself — encourage plant growth and pollen production.</span><br /><br />A recent study found pollen seasons in the US have lengthened by ten days since 1990 and the amount of pollen in the air has grown by 21 per cent. Similar trends are seen in the UK. Professor Sheena Cruickshank, an immunologist at Manchester University, says: “The way the seasons are changing favours an explosion of the kinds of plant that release pollen all at the same sort of time.”<br /><br />Scientists are not sure why the number of sufferers has increased — but <span style="font-size: large;">allergies in general are on the rise</span>. One theory is overuse of antibiotics, particularly in infancy, wipes out bacteria in the body and makes the immune system overly sensitive.<br /><br />Cruickshank’s research has shown hay fever is <span style="font-size: large;">often worse for people in cities than in the countryside</span>. She believes this is because air pollution damages and sensitises the lining of the airways, allowing pollen to cause more harm. Pollution also makes pollen more “sticky” — and likely to latch on to receptors in the nose and throat.<br /><br />So, if you are suffering, what can you do? <span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">Over-the-counter antihistamines</span> can be very effective, says Kelman. <span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">Wearing wraparound sunglasses</span> and a <span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">brimmed hat</span> outdoors reduces the amount of pollen that reaches your airways, and a Covid-style <span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">face covering</span> can work wonders. “When you come in, take off the outside layer of clothing so that you’re not bringing the pollen into the main body of your house,” Kelman says. “Shower and wash your hair as soon as you can.”<br /><br />Opium and bloodletting are not recommended.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">*****</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will add: using <span style="color: #fcff01;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/small-hankies/" target="_blank">reusable cloth hankies</a></span> to wipe up snotty issue is more environmentally sound than paper tissue. But I am, of course, biased.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>The Hankie Lady</i></span></div><div><br /></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-62721522558130298332023-05-30T17:47:00.002+01:002023-05-31T10:58:06.785+01:00Social media for business: boon or bane?<p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I started <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a> years ago, I had wanted only to change the world, that we learn to "dispense with disposables". Seriously! One <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/string-bags/" target="_blank">string bag</a> at a time. One <a href="https://www.uzbekforum.org/illegal-land-confiscations-in-uzbekistan-farmers-in-namangan-fight-for-their-rights-and-livelihoods/" target="_blank">organic cotton hankie</a> at a time. Here's what I did: </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/father-s-day-special/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2642" data-original-width="2794" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb30HmUegz0Gc8LzpdOLrsJQiaaJIo3B_ktckLGXMryNGepZBm8IllhSDJ2x_T8BrP-gf7e78uq4-VmDjOJ0Ak0vrORrA2RcrID5DXAo8AeAxfCbrpQmGJvSpGXLB7KREnMXPghHRqoWSrrKYmmLtcg_37IOrTXrh5R0Tp0cbYkulv6PGdkA/s320/20230509_154125%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/father-s-day-special/" target="_blank">Organic-Ally Hankie Gift - Father's Day Special</a><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: medium;">I found suppliers of organic cotton string bags, and organic cotton hankies. I placed my orders.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">I set up a "free" website, but this lacked a lot of functionality. So I paid for a website.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">I bolted on a free shopping basket software, but this only allowed me to take cheque payments. </span></li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span><span style="text-align: left;"></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Imagine my shock when the first order dropped into my Inbox. We had gone away on holiday and I came home to find an order with a cheque enclosed. I did not even have the right type of envelope to despatch the order.</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: medium;">So I migrated to a paying service.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">Then I integrated payment service providers and had been doing much the same since then.</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">How did we find customers on the internet? </span>At that time there were a number of like-minded businesses and we exchanged links. We each had a page that said: "these are retailers you can trust, and we all have the same ethics".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a> was, and still is, more of a mission than business, although at one point I had a business plan that was much bigger. That was before I decided to return to academia. I was able to do this because my husband's health had improved, and our son's SEN were being taken care of. But, of course, I took my eyes off the ball. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Fast forward to the present. Well, if you do not have people with the expertise to write SEO (search engine optimization) and content for you, or pay to get people to "Like" your Instagram, Twitter and FB, then you are stuck.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As I am now stuck. I am just rubbish with social media. I don't even like sending out marketing emails to customers because I find these intrusive.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Instead I get flooded by requests from the "experts" to re-model my website, to ensure I get page one ranking, to manage my social media, etc. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Please, please, by all means, do this for me. But would you take payment in hankies? String bags (like regrets), I have a few?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There is no money for marketing. If anyone wishes to improve my website/SEO/marketing for free (or be paid in hankies/string bags), please apply within. Or make me a case study to show your prospective clients what you are capable of?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Why not close up/down? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Good question. Now that there are hankie retailers all over E**y, etc and they seem to have won the SEO sweepstakes, whatever Google says, maybe I should just close. ?? (NB. Too many times I have googled "organic cotton hankies" and am taken to an E**y site where they do not, in fact, sell organic cotton hankies.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But I still enjoy making hankies. I still enjoy working with fabrics. The "organic" factor is still very important. <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/why-organic-cotton/" target="_blank">See: Why Organic Cotton?</a> And </span><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/" style="font-size: large;" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a><span style="font-size: large;"> allowed me to work around family needs. And I hope very much that one day, I can hand over </span><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/" style="font-size: large;" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a><span style="font-size: large;"> to someone who chooses to do the same.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></p><p><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/fabric-shop/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Buy organic cotton Birch fabric at reduced prices!</span></a></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-49285045348279210122023-05-16T17:02:00.010+01:002023-05-16T19:38:17.861+01:00Cutting our paper footprint<p><span style="font-size: large;">Since I started <a href="http://www.organic-ally.co.uk" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a> to reduce paper usage by using cloth hankies instead, there has been many developments, some good, some not so good, with regards to protecting our environment. Reducing the use of paper has been one of the effects of numerous campaigners. This post shows how one person tried to make a point and people have become very aware of how we are mis-using paper.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsftAEtU3T86Lrl-kPQAAQu2C8Vdxb7dQutg5yKszejaXYbZvifpyWMBe1lL0OTkUJ2ICcVIMzZ8lOWj8_n_YodTOPZmVIGMVO2xcFHBuUw8Nn-TMEFDunfwt_Qd-x-D115vDn_x7D9uo4qryLnc63gWc3SgYXju17v19wCUYMMFUPC40jGA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="1070" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsftAEtU3T86Lrl-kPQAAQu2C8Vdxb7dQutg5yKszejaXYbZvifpyWMBe1lL0OTkUJ2ICcVIMzZ8lOWj8_n_YodTOPZmVIGMVO2xcFHBuUw8Nn-TMEFDunfwt_Qd-x-D115vDn_x7D9uo4qryLnc63gWc3SgYXju17v19wCUYMMFUPC40jGA" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock picture (Office365)</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">However, I do wish to note how there has also been a <b><span style="color: #fcff01;">reversal</span></b>, again as a result of a successful campaign to reduce the use of plastic. Many of the mailers I once received that came wrapped in plastic now comes in paper envelopes. Is this a good result? I hope to be saying more about this later. Meanwhile, let me take you back to 2008 to show what we can continue to do to make a difference where paper is concerned. Let me also plug the use of my <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/gift-wrapping/" target="_blank">cloth gift bags</a> here!! </span>😃</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Adapted from: </span><a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/climate-change/news/how-to-cut-your-paper-footprint-863793.html"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">https://www.</span><span lang="FR" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: FR;">independent</span><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">.co.uk/climate-change/news/how-to-cut-your-paper-footprint-863793.html</span></a><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 28pt;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">How to cut your paper footprint</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18pt; margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-outline-level: 2;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 15pt; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">Each of us throws away, on
average, a quarter of a ton of paper every year. Vicki Hill meets a woman on a
mission to slash our waste and save the forests</span><span style="color: #646464;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Thursday
10 July <b>2008</b> 00:00<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
First came two great bales of flattened cardboard then a tower of 1,500 catalogues, magazines, reports and printouts, topped off with a tumble of 120 toilet rolls, two bin bags full of junk mail and a thick layer of brown paper bags. Finally, Mandy Haggith tipped hundreds of receipts and bus tickets over the 5ft heap. Then she stood back and waited. <br /><br />Villagers trickled into the hall one by one, smiles at the spectacle quickly fading as they realised that Mandy's mountain represented the 250kg of paper they, personally, had thrown away over the last year. Much of it barely used, most of it made by sending an ancient tree from the most threatened areas of the world crashing to the forest floor.
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"People were really shocked," says Haggith, 41,
who gathered the six loaded wheelbarrows full of paper from local businesses at
her Highland home of Lochinver. "Paper comes in and out of our lives so
fast we barely notice it. Put it in a pile and then get people to imagine it at
20 tons, which is the amount they will use in a lifetime, and it gets
frightening. Especially when they realise that apart from a few books, this is
also the amount they will end up throwing away."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">No one likes to think of trees being felled, but many of us
have a cosy image in our heads that it all comes from recycling or
"sustainable" woodlands growing in neat rows, perhaps somewhere in
Sweden. It's a myth. Globally, 70 per cent of the 335 million tons of paper the
world uses each year comes from <u>natural, un-farmed sources</u>. In Canada,
the UK's biggest source of pulp, 90 per cent of its output comes directly from
its ancient forests.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Paper production is revolting and it's lethal,"
says Haggith. "Leaving aside the destruction of the forests, the poisoning
of the rivers from the processing of the wood, the decimation of local
communities and wildlife ... the CO<sub>2</sub> that results is making a
massive contribution to global warming. Exposed peat lands and felled trees
give off huge amounts of methane and carbon and then you have further CO<sub>2</sub>
release when it all ends up in landfill at the end.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"The Bali climate change conference recognised
deforestation as the source of around 20 per cent of all emissions: that's
three times the amount resulting from global aviation. And for what? Flyers
advertising double glazing, fashion magazines we skim through, a bundle of
paper napkins in a café we leave behind on the table."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Haggith's paper mountain and a slideshow of what she
uncovered on her trip, had an immediate effect on her village. A Recycling
Group was set up with local parents, shop owners and a ranger. After lobbying
the Highlands council and a letter campaign to the local paper, the village got
its first paper bank – "which is always crammed". They are now
stepping up the pressure for cardboard recycling – one local shop has been
given a bailing machine and flattens and keeps all their old boxes until the
village can find a trader willing to buy the waste cardboard: "Or we will
come up with some other way of re-using it locally such as shredding it for
animal bedding or insulation," says Haggith. "The idea is to be able
to sell or reuse every bit of all the community's cardboard."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the first visitors to Mandy's Mountain was the local
school and now, led by enthusiastic teachers, they have set up paper recycling
bins all over school. There are very few people in the village who are not
involved in some way. "Telling people what is really happening is the
first step, then it's vital that you show them what they can do about it,"
says Haggith. "That's giving people back control and they can become very
motivated very quickly when that happens." Almost everyone has vowed to
cut down on their paper usage.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Haggith, a veteran forest campaigner and the co-ordinator of
the 21-member European Environmental Paper Network (EEPN), began the local
action on her return from the trip in 2006 which took her round most of the
great forests of the world for her new book: Paper Trails. It tracks the
devastation left behind by the production of the 12.5 million tons of paper
gobbled up by the UK every year.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although about 42 per cent of that figure comes from
recycled sources, we generally only reprocess paper once (it can be used up to
10 times). Haggith, an Oxford graduate with a PhD in artificial intelligence,
began fighting for the forests by developing software for organisations such as
the UN, to link people involved in forest protection across the world. She set
up "Worldforests" with her partner, land rights campaigner Bill
Ritchie, working with scientists and activists to bring governments and
communities together. By the time of her trip she realised the worldwide
consumption of paper had increased fourfold in her lifetime.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I had visited many forests in the early days of
campaigning and I wanted to see if anything had changed. In many cases it was
far worse," she says. In Indonesia, she describes how she stood at the
edge of a ruined forest in the beating Sumatran sun, weeping with rage. Before
her stretched thousands of acres of scorched, lifeless land. Beside her, Pak
Jafri the tribal leader of the nearby village of Kuntu, pointed to the area
where his people had picked herbs, to the hills where they had gathered honey.
All before the government licensed the forest to a multinational paper company,
which slashed it down to plant non-native acacias: fast growing, toxic, rampant
and perfect for producing office copier paper for the UK.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I was speechless," says Haggith. "Every last
living thing had rotted away except for these plastic-leafed acacias rising
like Triffids out of a dried-up moonscape. And I was embarrassed. As a British
person using copier paper, I was the root cause of all this destruction."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">The story was the same throughout Malaysia, Vietnam and
Thailand, but there was a brief respite for Haggith in, of all places, China.
Although using vast amounts of timber for construction, their paper record is
inspiring. Much of it comes from recycled sources – this is where most of the
UK's recyclable paper is sent. But more horror was waiting over the border in
Russia. Having traced UK copier paper to Sumatra, Mandy had also visited the
great paper mills of Finland, which supply most of our ready-made paper
products. While there was some good news – the Finns have tight pollution controls,
for example – despite being covered in artificial paper-producing pine forests,
Finland, Europe's biggest manufacturer and consumer of paper, is running out of
wood and is now importing it on a massive scale from Russia. "Forget the
Amazon," says Haggith. "Russia and Canada, between them, hold 50 per
cent of our vital forests. But where the Amazon can regenerate very quickly,
these northern <u>boreal forests</u> take 200 years to re-grow."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a good start in Karelia, where hard-line campaigning
has managed to protect some of Russia's primeval forests, Haggith visited the
ancient shores of Lake Baikal, which contains 25 per cent of the world's fresh
water. It is also the home of the Baikalsk pulp mill. "It stank,"
says Haggith. "This is partly because it has been pouring lethal chlorine
compounds into the lake for 40 years. The lake hosts the only freshwater seals
in the world and 75 per cent of its species are only found here, all of which
will now have absorbed, irrevocably, the mill's carcinogenic effluents.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"But it was Canada that depressed me the most,"
she says. "Canada is incredibly wealthy, yet <span style="color: #fcff01;">90 per cent of its logging is
from old growth forests</span> and its pollution record is horrific. It has some of
the worst cases of paper mill pollution I found. Native Americans living near
the mills have nerve and skin diseases and soaring rates of cancers from the
bleaches used on the pulp."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Canada is also relentless in its pursuit of profit.
"Ten years ago I was one of the blockaders fighting to stop the building
of logging roads into the temperate rainforest of Clayoquat Sound on Vancouver
Island," she says. "It's a vital forest of giant red cedars and
spruce and home to bears and wolves." After years of campaigning, a
moratorium was finally set to halt the felling. "To my horror, on my
return, I discovered this had been arranged to last only 10 years. I had to
watch as the logging trucks drove past me and back into the forest. It was
chilling."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Haggith is appalled by the paper industry, but years of
experience have taught her that focusing on shreds of hope is the only way
forward. She highlights the reforms sweeping the book publishing industry after
Canadian publisher, Cindy Connor, insisted that the Harry Potter books were
printed on recycled paper. This has had a direct impact on companies such as
Penguin and HarperCollins who are now changing their paper sourcing policy in
the UK.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another success has been the UK's newspaper industry which
voluntarily agreed to raise its recycled paper content to 70 per cent.
"This led to a UK paper mill converting to processing recycled
paper," says Haggith. "It's an invaluable example to try to pressure
the government to set up more." And ironically, it was through
conversations with the paper barons that Haggith began to realise where the
real answer lies. Presenting to corporate chiefs at the Paper World conference
in Frankfurt at the start of her trip, she was expecting opposition and instead
found common ground. "Many of them genuinely want to clean up their act,"
she says. "But they are waiting for the demand to come from their
customers. I now know that I don't need to go to Borneo or Ecuador or Russia
any more to find the people who can save the forests.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">The answer lies right here, <span style="color: #fcff01;">it's us</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">"We have enormous power. By simply making sure we only
buy loo roll from recycled sources, we will have an immediate effect on what's
happening. Then we need to influence the business consumers who make the
decisions for us – such as the producers of junk mail. That starts by simply
saying: no."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">... And although she has had
to stand before so many of the scarred and bleeding forests of the world,
Haggith still has unshakeable hope for the future. "It’s a wonderful
feeling to fight back," she says. "Not just for us but people in the
paper industry, too.<span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">When Cindy Connor placed her recycled paper order, she said it felt great that she was no longer signing a death warrant for the trees. The forests are, quite literally, our future. If we realise we have the power to save them, there's just a chance we'll act now and stop chucking them in the bin."</span>
<p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 17.3pt; margin: 12pt 0cm;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Paper Trails by Mandy Haggith is published Virgin Press £12.99<strike>. To order this book for the special price of £11.69 (including p&p) call Independent Books Direct on 0870 0798897 or go to <a href="http://www.independentbooksdirect.co.uk/">www.independentbooksdirect.co.uk</a></strike> is now out of print. See <a href="https://www.mandyhaggith.net/links.asp" style="background-color: transparent;">Mandy Haggith | Non-fiction Writing</a></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">How to save the trees</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">* Do not pick up paper napkins in cafés.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">* Ask yourself: do I need to print this? If so, use both
sides of the paper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">* Sign up to the Mail Preference Service: <a href="http://www.mpsonline.org.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ec1a2e; text-decoration: none;">www.mpsonline.org.uk</span></a></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">* Make sure any paper you buy (toilet rolls through to writing paper) comes from recycled sources. <br /><br />* Re-use paper bags or compost receipts and torn-up bank statements <br /><br />* Cut down on and share magazines, return unwanted catalogues to the sender. <br /><br />* Re-use envelopes and make your own cards. <br /><br />* Read small print carefully and never tick the "more information" box. <br /><br />* Ask your boss to buy recycled paper for your workplace.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page; mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">Pulp facts [NB: Some of the figures below may no longer be accurate.]</span></b></p><span style="font-size: large;">
* Deforestation caused by paper production is thought to be a bigger cause of global warming than transport. <br /><br />* Each person in the UK gets through 250kg of paper a year. The worst offenders are the Finns at 333kg. The average Somalian uses 20g. <br /><br />* Much of the UK's paper is barely used and a large proportion ends up in landfill. Just 42 per cent is recycled – but as there are so few recycling mills in the country, most of this ends up being sent abroad. <br /><br />* It is a myth that most paper comes from sustainable sources. Seventy per cent of it comes from natural forests. <br /><br />* The UK produces virtually none of its own pulp and imports 80 per cent of its pulp. <br /><br />* Around 75 per cent of the paper for magazines is production wastage and is never read. <br /><br />* Advertisers know that 99.7 per cent of recipients of junk mail throw it away unread. They think it's worth it for the 0.3 per cent who might.</span></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-73610701958153197622023-04-17T13:28:00.003+01:002023-04-24T14:15:05.907+01:00Bolstering good sleep with a "laam jaam"<p> <span style="font-size: large;">Growing up in Singapore, I never went to bed without my <i><b><span style="color: #fcff01;">laam jaam</span></b></i>. It's a long cylindrical pillow which translates from Cantonese as "hug pillow" (or "hugging pillow").</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My mum had a more sophisticated term for it. She called it a "Dutch husband", her take -- as a woman -- of what was known in colonial Singapore as a "Dutch wife" (feel free to google this term).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I don't remember how or when I outgrew it. When heavily pregnant I requested my dear sisters who were visiting to bring me one, and they did.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Recently I had been waking up every morning with pains down my thighs. They always seem to be on what appears to be "acupressure" points. Poke your finger or thumb at the correct spot and the point goes right through you.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So began a daily ritual of finding/discovering where those points are on waking, and massaging with my fist until the pain eased, before getting out of bed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While hunting for some missing bedding last week, my son and I found the bolster, and His Mature Loveliness said, "Mum, why don't you use it to see if it helps."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So I did, but had to wait for the weekend to make a cover-case for it. From my stash of <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/fabric-shop/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">organic cotton fabric</a>, of course.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUA3NO4ycl1S31n6Axqfqji7ejgtAYhTBtynP7YeNIMXXmgwXlYeo0XzVSQPZAhHqLXShr7KkjbOMglAy43fibYJuCOXvLdzh9He7uiFvqefZqjNieu5jm26BI76ze8cO5VWWrzaFsJnR-ikncprA2C2k8iiFR08uQiXRrBP8Duze5iBQWA/s3666/IMG-20230416-WA0000%20(002).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2056" data-original-width="3666" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUA3NO4ycl1S31n6Axqfqji7ejgtAYhTBtynP7YeNIMXXmgwXlYeo0XzVSQPZAhHqLXShr7KkjbOMglAy43fibYJuCOXvLdzh9He7uiFvqefZqjNieu5jm26BI76ze8cO5VWWrzaFsJnR-ikncprA2C2k8iiFR08uQiXRrBP8Duze5iBQWA/s320/IMG-20230416-WA0000%20(002).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: large;"> Previously I had asked my GP this convoluted question: If the pains in my upper arms point to a problem with my shoulder (I had two frozen shoulders, thankfully not at the same time!😅), then does it mean that when I have pains in my thighs, they point to a problem with my hip joint?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, he said, giving me a strange look.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">If you were to look up "pillow between knees", etc, you will see numerous write-ups on how these pillows, recommended by physiotherapists, are said to help relieve all kinds of joint and muscle pains by helping to align the spine while you sleep.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So, there.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I could not find a new painful spot this morning, although I'm still nursing one from a previous night. Maybe the bolster is helping.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'd also been suffering from leg cramps in my sleep, but managed to get through the night without being woken by one. Maybe the bolster is helping.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Call it a "Dutch wife", "Dutch husband" or "<i><b><span style="color: #fcff01;">laam jaam</span></b></i>", if it works, it's good! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do tell me your bolster stories.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="color: #fcff01;">Update:</span></u></b> Used the bolster for a week. I can't say it has made my pain go away, but I am not getting additional pains every morning. The residual pain is just an indicator that I need to do the exercises prescribed by my physio. </span></p><p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-77851299841828499332023-04-09T22:00:00.005+01:002023-04-10T11:06:34.040+01:00Little children in the "Quiet" coach<p> <span style="font-size: large;">I was just wondering whether to have a rant about this and came across (yes, it is a Mailonline article) <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-11933015/I-booked-quiet-carriage-four-hour-train-journey-mum-let-child-run-screaming.html" target="_blank">I booked a seat in a train's quiet carriage to work and was disturbed by a mother who let her two-year-old run around screaming - was I wrong to ask them to keep it down?</a></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXIrM6KPFdWPhEEhhtoIjLRPEpvxcU3ssdq5JVuqRY1puxmS5Aloj7V2EdIMVzx6_MSh-PiUtc4U4AtaTpq2SF5D9MxitjFjCpIOXcWUugzwFIAz23nqTjFXVhYvtbW8i6O-BxdP4UA9jQhvmLkc8nRrihW4QGdib99yCT4WNi4jgO3anQJw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="1070" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXIrM6KPFdWPhEEhhtoIjLRPEpvxcU3ssdq5JVuqRY1puxmS5Aloj7V2EdIMVzx6_MSh-PiUtc4U4AtaTpq2SF5D9MxitjFjCpIOXcWUugzwFIAz23nqTjFXVhYvtbW8i6O-BxdP4UA9jQhvmLkc8nRrihW4QGdib99yCT4WNi4jgO3anQJw" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">On long journeys I always book on a quiet coach with the aim to either relax and have a snooze, or do some serious thinking/reading work.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Why on earth would people with young children book on the Quiet coach, you might well ask. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On the last occasion, I first found someone sitting in my Reserved seat. My son tells me this happens to him very often on GWR. This man, doing a crossword, was sitting in my window seat. A young woman was sitting in HIS Reserved aisle seat.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I got on the train the young woman looked apologetic and asked if she was sitting in my seat. Well, yes, and no. She moved, but the older crossword gentleman was living up to his hobby, "Do you want me to move?", he asked gruffly.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He said he could not tell which was his seat. The big rectangle against the number indicates the window, for future reference, I said. He was not well-pleased.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The young woman who was clearly associated with two young children across the aisle then moved one of the children somewhere else, to a parent, perhaps.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But she then proceeded to talk loudly to the remaining child about their holiday so far, and coaching her on spelling and pronunciation. She appeared to be an American <i>au pair</i> to a non-English speaking family.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I could not concentrate, and moved to another seat where a young man was working on his laptop. Occasionally he would be tapping on his keyboard, but at least it was not that kind of furious and loud "look-at-me-I'm-a-busy-and-important-person" kind of typing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What should parents/carers do when placed in a Quiet coach?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">(1) ask to be moved: so often off-peak reserved seats are vacant because the ticket holders have gone on an earlier train. I could have gone on the earlier train, but refrained, thinking that I could enjoy my quiet coach. How wrong I was! It is very likely that you would find vacant seats in a non-Quiet coach.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">(2) try to restrain/distract your children: yes, they may be two, or five, but it is a good opportunity to instruct them of the importance of "the time and place" principle. There is a right time and right place to be loud and boisterous, but sometimes it is right/proper/better to be quiet. I taught my son this principle, and it has helped him to cope with situations with which he often found difficult. Parents who think that young children cannot learn to be disciplined are storing up trouble for themselves.</span></p><p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-69607496549264966352023-02-18T11:47:00.000+00:002023-02-18T11:47:03.559+00:00The Story of Rachel Don't<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">For those of you old enough to have watched the old TV comedy series <i>Drop the Dead Donkey </i>you might remember a character (the news presenter) who talked often of how she was abused by her grandmother.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQqlkLkAfJzKhpN5MuT5YyZQ2MzQ3xrA3JpLIJrO2tPSjM3aemM9X9YVJFTUaTYQzrEanmOiXAuO9Dzfqttv0CUhMLVPUYGhERtXutQRl4yyovv4I90C9DYtR6GwKeWDy6ulSKESA4xD-bI6nYZDuOzSzXgpUIK0cAzwp6FjI0Z9cIzJVtyA/s5252/annoyed-dissatisfied-wrinkled-woman-with-curly-grey-hair-stands-well-dressed-complains-about-high-prices-points-right-copy-space%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4922" data-original-width="5252" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQqlkLkAfJzKhpN5MuT5YyZQ2MzQ3xrA3JpLIJrO2tPSjM3aemM9X9YVJFTUaTYQzrEanmOiXAuO9Dzfqttv0CUhMLVPUYGhERtXutQRl4yyovv4I90C9DYtR6GwKeWDy6ulSKESA4xD-bI6nYZDuOzSzXgpUIK0cAzwp6FjI0Z9cIzJVtyA/s320/annoyed-dissatisfied-wrinkled-woman-with-curly-grey-hair-stands-well-dressed-complains-about-high-prices-points-right-copy-space%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="<a href="https://www.freepik.com/free-photo/annoyed-dissatisfied-wrinkled-woman-with-curly-grey-hair-stands-well-dressed-complains-about-high-prices-points-right-copy-space_15097789.htm#query=angry%20grandma&position=24&from_view=search&track=ais">Image by wayhomestudio</a> on Freepik" target="_blank">Image by wayhomestudio on Freepik</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I cannot understand how grandmothers could be evil, but then there are mothers who are evil, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was on the bus home from the university and feeling tired. As usual I whipped out my phone to read another instalment of the book on my phone. But there was a voice shouting, "Me want Mummy! Me want sit wif Mummy!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Where was "Mummy"? After faffing about for several minutes while the bus was stopped, she had proceeded to the back of the bus, sitting just behind me, facing towards the back of the bus.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As "Me want Mummy" got louder and more persistent I looked up to observe that a girl, quite a big girl, about three years of age, was strapped to a push-chair at the front of the bus, in the care of her grandmother. Behind me set the girl's mum with her bulbous headphone stuck on her ears, oblivious to her daughter's shouts.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Little girl: "Me want Mummy!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Grandma: "<span style="color: #fcff01;">She's not interested</span>. She's got her headphones on. <span style="color: #fcff01;">She does not want you!</span>"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Mummy: [oblivious]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Me: [in shock]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There is another person involved: little girl's brother, perhaps about 8 to 10 years of age, sitting right at the back, facing forward, trying to look indifferent.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Me want Mummy!" the shouts got louder and louder. Other passengers at the front tried to pacify her by smiling and distracting her.</span></p><p><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><b>"Me want Mummy!"</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the end I had to tap "Mummy" on the shoulders, "I think your daughter needs you."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She whipped her headphones off, went to the front to grab her daughter. There was a seat at the front reserved for the elderly and disabled, "I'm not going to sit there!" and took the girl to the back.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Wow! Peace? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">No. From what I could hear -- I refused to turn round -- the little girl then started to chat with "Mummy", but soon little girl was "chatting up" another passenger at the back of the bus. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What troubled me was her laughter. It was not the natural laughter of a young child having fun and enjoying some play. It was a very contrived laughter, mechanical it seemed, and I just felt that this little girl was "performing".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She knew that her laughter would get her something: a smile, a hug, a kiss, or maybe a treat. And she continued to try to engage the attention of another male passenger who soon tired of responding to her squeaks and squawks.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, at some point, big brother tried to distract her. Lily, he called her, and what a lovely big brother he was.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Rachel Don't" is the name I gave a "Rachel" at a toddler group I used to attend with my toddler son. She attended with her grandmother who sat far, far away from her. When she saw Rachel doing something she shouldn't have, a voice would ring out across the hall, "Rachel, don't ...." And this would happen several times over the sessions.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Rachel's grandma also sometimes disappeared to the Weight Watchers group in the hall downstairs to be weighed. I don't know if she even bothered to ask someone else to keep an eye on Rachel. Once Rachel was crying, distraught, and I had to go downstairs to fetch her grandma. And grandma muttered, "But I'm only gone a few minutes."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't know which is worse: being told "Rachel, don't ...." every few minutes. or being told, "Your Mummy doesn't want you."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What hope has Lily got? I pray Lily's brother, who spoke the best English, would become a force of good for himself, his sister, and the family.</span></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-29773906238036120372023-02-11T21:53:00.000+00:002023-02-11T21:53:07.994+00:00Making Christmas Card Baubles<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I had some time on my hands. Looking at the pile of Christmas cards I was hoarding, I thought I should put my plan into action and made these. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8BbxeAW2P8V4SWfGzcgGtzQtjYYGStZobysg5SJZWLAcYwMk5vl6pNjKceovZduNdJXKf3U56exZ0uFMbwgNP06YlphiUOrA0vpLQgVOSs3ZJ3-tUKRN6fYC4rC9sasb9rtWOxB8AACZhq7GlJaf9WdYH_okRfYpS-WZ6765UNORUDwXMA/s4000/20230203_145546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="495" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8BbxeAW2P8V4SWfGzcgGtzQtjYYGStZobysg5SJZWLAcYwMk5vl6pNjKceovZduNdJXKf3U56exZ0uFMbwgNP06YlphiUOrA0vpLQgVOSs3ZJ3-tUKRN6fYC4rC9sasb9rtWOxB8AACZhq7GlJaf9WdYH_okRfYpS-WZ6765UNORUDwXMA/w371-h495/20230203_145546.jpg" width="371" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">They are not difficult to make and would keep some young ones occupied for a little while, if you do not mind cleaning up glue-y fingers. The materials required are:</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispjJwRyekNeq3b0cOIYaOgmqGKQH6wbUyxGlmfEGc2cVUs4d6zPok_Z9nbFtKLpxGn9oqfitPwCx5sbeD3sqsIxZ7A_4pNSEmfQ5B5GKyI94VO9eZPs3YuxDbUOzKWc8VwLVZ73skyWUNN5MSrkDLuYkIuJqxZJgyRmiuJng2w6_6gGWAsw/s4000/20230203_130622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispjJwRyekNeq3b0cOIYaOgmqGKQH6wbUyxGlmfEGc2cVUs4d6zPok_Z9nbFtKLpxGn9oqfitPwCx5sbeD3sqsIxZ7A_4pNSEmfQ5B5GKyI94VO9eZPs3YuxDbUOzKWc8VwLVZ73skyWUNN5MSrkDLuYkIuJqxZJgyRmiuJng2w6_6gGWAsw/s320/20230203_130622.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Old Christmas cards</i></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6aNcRRxAflNeaNi20yorwnDmbD19gPna_q8AVpsWoa8FPkv87V1EzpJZSha1h3x2aiTNWuszkpK9GGx4ILV_VId_rWAzHMvx-iHF4e3pDj-NVVCl-Wc34rBU7XN12U3SmINpQt4pgR-vfLD2eHT7JraMkvrl0bmBxINPbb-OAhhWGDdZxQ/s4000/20230203_131707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6aNcRRxAflNeaNi20yorwnDmbD19gPna_q8AVpsWoa8FPkv87V1EzpJZSha1h3x2aiTNWuszkpK9GGx4ILV_VId_rWAzHMvx-iHF4e3pDj-NVVCl-Wc34rBU7XN12U3SmINpQt4pgR-vfLD2eHT7JraMkvrl0bmBxINPbb-OAhhWGDdZxQ/s320/20230203_131707.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Ribbon which I had salvaged from Christmas crackers, some glue, a pencil, scissors and something to draw the circles with. I used a cake cutter.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then it is just a question of deciding which parts of a card or cards you wish to use. You will need at least three circles to make a 3-D bauble. I used up to five circles. Four circles seem the best compromise.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8d0D3sK_a364FWYB6RjocWgG23dsJbUt4IUghxCVW_dBxVXQeUpLbmOZ5ulMv17H55yC9lWMOdwb33kA4o86M53GR_fhxXTo9HCmiV-GChWRu1fwK7KotsUngY45Yh6X_HdiRlqkRKWy3GqN2H6nVXSowznhpQ-RgCjMeW71YUCjoRRRTQ/s4000/20230203_133534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8d0D3sK_a364FWYB6RjocWgG23dsJbUt4IUghxCVW_dBxVXQeUpLbmOZ5ulMv17H55yC9lWMOdwb33kA4o86M53GR_fhxXTo9HCmiV-GChWRu1fwK7KotsUngY45Yh6X_HdiRlqkRKWy3GqN2H6nVXSowznhpQ-RgCjMeW71YUCjoRRRTQ/s320/20230203_133534.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">When you have cut out the circles, fold them into half. When you have a good half circle, use this as a template to make it easier to fold the other circles into half.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then decide on which way you wish to glue them. I wanted one that included the names of the people who sent the card, but I made a mistake and it got glued on upside-down.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggShPJsXN7BGNyH8-Pd29IFGxp6zZtIXajLy-g7D0MR_60MUGK3oRbT7LjuyoVgkQ7A0vQYr65LY0Km4SVlp3iXklZRIKgTueDx3HVKBjbq0-3ZV6jklx-9oyyOjIQY2v4T_UQ3zJbCGIKQeaOVzmxmg980HkluIhRyykLHl8KHKkM2WwKw/s4000/20230203_142248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggShPJsXN7BGNyH8-Pd29IFGxp6zZtIXajLy-g7D0MR_60MUGK3oRbT7LjuyoVgkQ7A0vQYr65LY0Km4SVlp3iXklZRIKgTueDx3HVKBjbq0-3ZV6jklx-9oyyOjIQY2v4T_UQ3zJbCGIKQeaOVzmxmg980HkluIhRyykLHl8KHKkM2WwKw/s320/20230203_142248.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">I usually collect the ribbon from Christmas crackers, and the panettone, chocolate boxes, etc and give them a good pressing, as follows,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz5Ai5vt-nIzrc7_DkDJVHujGzvdYqP42AGQa9KaHNHMK_xmiNJ60KdfVVEHtJV27VcOSdJiaI-P3SgNMDNoebIyVNFxfD9cRUHDvi8d0xcpSGxT80nLcFGOCQ2voezjcQd47l9jr3Wy2CMjHgj1i1zZmSlWxrBLmyx39ot7-xpS6kC8Xtg/s3698/20221228_191507%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2746" data-original-width="3698" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz5Ai5vt-nIzrc7_DkDJVHujGzvdYqP42AGQa9KaHNHMK_xmiNJ60KdfVVEHtJV27VcOSdJiaI-P3SgNMDNoebIyVNFxfD9cRUHDvi8d0xcpSGxT80nLcFGOCQ2voezjcQd47l9jr3Wy2CMjHgj1i1zZmSlWxrBLmyx39ot7-xpS6kC8Xtg/s320/20221228_191507%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">The ones from Christmas crackers are the perfect length for sticking between the final two discs to make the "cardboard baubles". The best thing is, these decorations can be folded down for storage. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDY5ldYncJj6hsIPqN-Bq4zvSWkPS-eYcxNBsa-v_ABo8-FfB7_LWCFWS5ZANuhzZbk5bDv2cJaB7jMKEOxq7YSfTiCZvLM74V8aFl5kN4VDR_82F_59CM_3J0VriC_gagBzOuGbvnD0Ngj3inXTQXekzlKAzU7Yg1nOSWrex4kv17eMkbA/s4000/20230203_143103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDY5ldYncJj6hsIPqN-Bq4zvSWkPS-eYcxNBsa-v_ABo8-FfB7_LWCFWS5ZANuhzZbk5bDv2cJaB7jMKEOxq7YSfTiCZvLM74V8aFl5kN4VDR_82F_59CM_3J0VriC_gagBzOuGbvnD0Ngj3inXTQXekzlKAzU7Yg1nOSWrex4kv17eMkbA/s320/20230203_143103.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It's as simple as that. It will also keep a child occupied for some time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Feel free to share photos of your attempts at this.</span></div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-41051300519388411472023-01-12T19:12:00.009+00:002023-01-12T19:16:27.375+00:00Mrs Harris goes to Paris, New York, Moscow<p> <span style="font-size: large;">Writing this while still in the middle of reading <i>Mrs Harris goes to Moscow</i>,
having been rather enchanted by her achievements in <i>Mrs Harris goes to Paris</i>,
and <i>New York</i> by Paul Gallico.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p>Together with her best friend Mrs Butterfield, they encounter a paper
salesman in Moscow, after they discovered that loo paper was in short supply. The
salesman grumbled:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><i>“Paper! … There ain’t enough of it to go round. Everybody
wants paper! You can’t buy it, you can’t find it and there won’t be enough
trees left to make it ….</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><i> “Wrapping paper! Greaseproof paper! Wallpaper! Paperbacks! Paper towels! Nobody blows ‘is nose into a good old-fashioned ‘andkerchief any more. No, you got to blow it into paper what comes from those poor blinking trees. I tell you there ain’t no end to it! Blotting paper, legal paper, lining paper, paper napkins, paper cups and plates, …! Paper hats on New Year’s Eve!”</i></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/gift-wrapping/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1883" data-original-width="2159" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6k-ZwSCiMGa9dStCTIeR_-rNA48sZDoUUhZnc5NEQjlbb_Oywib7iDyIZd3KEzLklEjqpgKRTHJFgyucT91wC67NDW2OPBX1yJt0kg_XVUh56zfo_QYshmbukgwC5Y-Dbcl8dojXBjUookILpLSvFm4BvRvL1QZghOj6LMx_EFSwKqpR2fw/s320/20211130_115912%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/gift-wrapping/" target="_blank">Reusable Gift Wrapping</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So just in case you don't already know, you can can find substitutes for:</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Wrapping paper <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/gift-wrapping/" target="_blank">here</a> (https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/gift-wrapping/)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Paper towels/napkins <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/table-napkins/" target="_blank">here</a> (https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/table-napkins/)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">and, of course, handkerchiefs <a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/handkerchiefs/" target="_blank">here</a> (https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/handkerchiefs/).</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Enjoy the books!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-68199090503295233272022-11-19T16:51:00.027+00:002022-11-26T13:31:41.995+00:00The year that was 2022<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The beginning of the year found me being employed on a zero-hour contract at a local university (there are two close to me). My job was to support hybrid teaching, making sure that online students were well looked after.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Because the students (as well as faculty) were logging in from very different time zones, I was working rather strange hours. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Once we found ourselves being an hour late for lunch because the lecturer's "ten minutes" (he was in a totally different time zone) became a full "sixty minutes" by which time the catering staff were all anxious to leave. So, for the first time, as a zero-hour contract worker, I began to imagine what life might look like if employers simply change one's hours without warning. What protection do workers have?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If I had spent x amount of money travelling to work and then the employer says I was only needed for three hours instead of six, would that be fair? I'm still working and thinking through this, for a conference paper I hope to write.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVR3cJ7CN3iWUIp07tEV_cqDVsmvjHvPjhkjP6uo-O16pnxBSx5e1xObT5j43EwIU0LZJZdXpbPCQUiltNRsGX6vl7-Weh6whhoOqm892sHof-QOuVO21IAQkD19OFuxePhxfVqpttHbyaBVJvH8-Kt_K6PPAZ_xCbdJeGtHjfo-sYgqZ8nw/s2692/20221008_120217%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2243" data-original-width="2692" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVR3cJ7CN3iWUIp07tEV_cqDVsmvjHvPjhkjP6uo-O16pnxBSx5e1xObT5j43EwIU0LZJZdXpbPCQUiltNRsGX6vl7-Weh6whhoOqm892sHof-QOuVO21IAQkD19OFuxePhxfVqpttHbyaBVJvH8-Kt_K6PPAZ_xCbdJeGtHjfo-sYgqZ8nw/s320/20221008_120217%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: medium;">(Meanwhile, we are now properly plugged into the solar panels and when the sun shines, we can see the above on our smart meter.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I thought I had seen the last of this university as I headed back to the Midlands for my summer stint teaching EAP (English for Academic Purposes) to incoming Master's students at another university. By accident (she claims) <span style="color: #fcff01;">I started a revolution</span>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wrote to the VC to say how disappointed I was that we were not being given a "thank you payment" like full-time staff even though we worked through two torrid Covid years under very trying conditions with no admin support. One year we had to complete 127 forms, I kid you not.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Even a pro rata "thank you payment" would have gone some way to mitigate our reduced remuneration, I suggested. Then all hell broke loose. Turned out, seething underneath what appeared to be a sea of calm, my fellow tutors were pretty annoyed by the pay cut we had to suffer as a result of our notional hours being reduced. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">(We were paid 40 hours a week though working from 8am to 10pm every day is more than 40 hours a week. Our hours were reduced to 36.5 and we were still working long (if not longer) hours due to the nature of the beast called "Pre-Sessional English".)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We kind of agreed to the pay cut before coming to work, having been assured that all the materials required for teaching would be provided. Many of us had invested in drawing up lesson plans for six weeks and only tweak them as we go along the course, making them relevant to the particular cohort of students we were teaching.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We discovered that it wasn't true that all the materials were being supplied. Not only do we still have to find/prepare materials to teach, we had to teach to a new pedagogy which most of us did not quite understand. We could not turn to our previous tried and tested teaching strategies and PowerPoints. Worse, teaching linguistics theory to students only served to confuse and distract the students.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The end-result was extra one-on-one tutorials to bring students up to the required standards. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyhow, I survived that. But that also means the shop had to close for seven weeks while I was away during which time something happened: I completely lost my SEO ranking.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wasn't even aware of this until I realised that my only customers were returning ones. I'm always happy for customers to return. Clearly they found my products superior. But new and prospective customers now cannot 'discover' me in search results.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The next step? Sell in a marketplace like Etsy? But I am reluctant to raise my prices to make up the fees they charge. Get someone to write Page One SEO? I cannot afford such a person (unless they accept hankies as payment!), but volunteers are welcome. Sell only as wholesale? Hmm. Many options to mull over.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Meanwhile the local university has asked me back time and time again even though I was out of contract. They just keep making new contracts for me! Apparently I make the job of the programme managers much easier. That is a consolation!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Recently we had Toto Wolff online to take students' questions. I might just follow his example, study all there is need to know about something, SEO in my case, and try to steady my sinking ship. Meanwhile, I am praying for a miracle that, somehow, my shop will start floating nearer the top of the SEOcean with the help of existing customers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Would you be kind enough to share about <a href="http://www.organic-ally.co.uk" target="_blank">Organic-Ally</a> with all your friends?</span></p><p><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: medium;"><b>PLEASE HELP!</b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-3996639640517602192022-09-26T14:17:00.002+01:002022-09-26T17:58:47.211+01:00De-skilling wives<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIaAjxVfe5LyRn0roJVsw1BEYvOyryDpqRJG9U-JB5DpCcXikUt-4u4ouY40-p6Wq2Z7c7JLpdX65A9olq_PdkY0Y0P6ubl3xCnm5ztftdgbuBKRUbhmKphB9IrO-47xxWXy_1D6jw6F13RraSdlofxfm0aP62VvBSY-SjB3pQPmQTfNeRg/s4000/20220810_072030.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIaAjxVfe5LyRn0roJVsw1BEYvOyryDpqRJG9U-JB5DpCcXikUt-4u4ouY40-p6Wq2Z7c7JLpdX65A9olq_PdkY0Y0P6ubl3xCnm5ztftdgbuBKRUbhmKphB9IrO-47xxWXy_1D6jw6F13RraSdlofxfm0aP62VvBSY-SjB3pQPmQTfNeRg/s320/20220810_072030.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Today is a day of celebration for me. It has been since 1998 when I got married.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sadly as I pondered the blessing that my husband has been to me, I know of friends whose marriages have fallen apart.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What appears to be common in these is that these friends are/were married to high-earning lawyers. As my son is just about to start on his law conversion course (after an undergraduate degree in Classics), I had spent many hours mulling over why some marriages hold and some don't.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">These friends and I also share another characteristic: we are all highly-educated women, previously with enviable careers working for some of the top multi-nationals, had kids, and we became stay-at-home mothers.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Why did their lawyer husbands then decide to explore and then prefer relationships with other women, themselves also lawyers?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I can only think that their ability to earn high incomes meant it was easy for their wives to remain at home. This, in itself, is not a bad thing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">However, as I learned, staying at home, talking baby talk to infants often turn our grey cells to mush. I needed to get away from just "being mum".</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Slowly, but imperceptibly, we lose our identity. I was no more "Miss", "Mrs" or "Dr" so-and-so. I was somebody's mum. Outside of the schoolgate context, people do not recognise me as the whole person that I was.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was "somebody's mum", and that was the be-all and end-all of my identity.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">With the loss of identity came the loss of confidence.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I could never understand why people said "women lose their confidence". "How could that be?" I asked. When women have been a leader in their high-powered job, travelling the world, meeting people, etc. how could a stint as a stay-at-home mother rob these women of their confidence?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then I became one of these women.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I -- still unemployed -- had to go to Paris to present an academic paper, I was so lacking in confidence that I dragged my family along, and pretended that it was a good idea to turn this novel experience into a family holiday. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was too scared to travel abroad on my own. Fact!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Meanwhile my friends got very good at organising their children, ensuring that uniforms are laundered and pressed, everything needed for school trips was ordered and delivered, they were well-fed, well-behaved and performed well above average at school.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Their friendship circles shrink.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There weren't any women friends they could lunch with regularly who could/would have alerted them that their husbands' behaviour was suspect; nip the problem in the bud.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And when the nasty stuff hits the fan, these high-earning lawyer husbands say, "All that you are doing for me, I can pay someone else to do."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">That must have hurt. <b><span style="color: #fcff01;">SO VERY MUCH</span></b>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So I tell my son (in anticipation), if you could afford for your wife to stay at home to look after the kids, you can afford to hire someone to do the cooking and cleaning, etc. If you choose to marry an intelligent woman, </span><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;"><b>please do not de-skill her</b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> to the point where you cannot have an interesting conversation with her, to the point where you need to seek the company of a lawyer colleague, to the point where you think it's preferable to leave the wife who had supported you in your early legal career, and your children, and in the course of that, strip her of every shred of financial entitlement that she had helped you to accumulate.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It hit home again last week when we looked into the Bible and were reminded in the book of Malachi: "So be on your guard, and do not be unfaithful to the wife [read husband as well] of your youth." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Your comments are appreciated.</span></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-80733582880819457412021-12-23T13:35:00.001+00:002021-12-23T13:35:54.478+00:00Oxfordshire in the rain<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">On this day last year (2020), we first clapped eyes on our
new home. We had driven through the rain and came across a signboard on the
motorway that said something like “Tier 4 residents should stay home”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">When I first stepped indoors I saw the space beside the
staircase, which the owners had reversed from the original position, and
thought, “perfect place to put in a lift”. Unbeknown to me, the husband was
thinking the same thing!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">After a burglary in our previous home, I was really keen to
move. We had also come to a point where we needed to think of moving while we
still have the energy to form a new friendship network locally. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Either that or risk being moved into a nursing home when our
physical and/or mental health fails (usually after a triggering episode like a
fall or serious illness). When this happens, we will not have a choice of where
we prefer to go. Someone else will be making that decision.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Dire, you think. But my research in ageing has led me to
think the best way to age is to buy the biggest house we can afford, with the
potential to convert downstairs rooms into ensuite bedrooms, and space for a
live-in carer (in the house, in the garden, etc).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I watched how my mother-in-law had to pay more than <b><span style="color: #fcff01;">£1000 a
WEEK</span></b> to share a room with another woman. That is £52,000+ a year, when the
average wage was £26,000, and her carers were getting minimum wage which I
would generously place at £17,000 a year at that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">At £52,000+ a year she could have had THREE full-time carers
at minimum wage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I also know of family members of friends who pay not a
single penny for their nursing home care. Conclusion: my mother-in-law was
subsidising someone else “in the system”. It could well be the unfriendly woman
sharing her room! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile we had to sell her house, etc, etc, to pay for her
stay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Knowing that dementia runs in my husband’s family we decided
that the best way to prepare was to put money aside (we don’t go on many
holidays) and make plans for a live-in carer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Actually we will need a second carer when the first is on
leave, at weekends, etc, and we hope to find a regular stand-in carer when the
time comes. (Or three households can share four carers.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">We might even offer an ensuite room to a good friend (or
two), and through sharing resources, provide the best care for ourselves in our
old age. Instead of three of us <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(each) paying
£1000 a week. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course, we would need a trusted person to manage this
arrangement. (We hope our son would live up to expectations!)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">We are going to try “co-housing” if necessary, and we needed
a property that could support that, with or without a lift put in. Until
nursing homes are designed and managed to the standard that residents can be
safe from physical, mental and financial abuse, that seems to be the best way
out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">In this I have been inspired by the “Greenhouse Project”
started by a wacky (some say “maverick”, or he could just be “inspirational”)
doctor in USA where homes are built around a kitchen/living area, and residents
are able to come and go as they pleased, eat what they like, when they like. A
home, not an institution. And it will cost more than £52,000 a year by then!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">So far, we have enjoyed our time in the new house. It is not
perfect and lots of repairs and “improvements” have been made. Most of all, we
are delighted that we are able to make new friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Our new church has been welcoming. Our neighbours have been
welcoming. There is a bus three minutes’ walk from our front door that takes us
to the heart of Oxfordshire every 20 minutes. The journey takes 40-50 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Despite all the doom and gloom of this year (and the last),
we feel that we have been very blessed. I wish </span><b><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: x-large;">every blessing upon you this
Christmas and in the new year. Peace on earth. Goodwill to ALL men and women</span></b><span style="font-size: large;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: large;">NB: I’m happy to correspond with anyone who has anything
to say about caring for the elderly. Is the current “social care system”
sustainable? Does domiciliary care work? Etc.</span><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-25832751087851092842020-12-30T17:09:00.040+00:002020-12-31T13:09:54.649+00:00Saying Goodbye to 2020 / BEE positive<p><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: medium;"><b><span>PLEASE remind your friends to dispose of their face masks with care:</span></b> (see </span>"<a href="https://www.mcsuk.org/news/face-coverings" style="font-size: large;" target="_blank">Correctly dispose of PPE to stop new wave of plastic pollution</a>" <span style="color: #fcff01;">)</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmLYxnGVIrjTFZzBPw2opHkWeniH6zU4jnwG-fx4iwoQgPyu6PYq7JVCSL8wOdQ8xbUwosarR6FXocstfxWsHdtMMrDhr-FYc20SraU0x0D_MX-7rmhwFKlXZ4ivZV56wPLuQJ/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmLYxnGVIrjTFZzBPw2opHkWeniH6zU4jnwG-fx4iwoQgPyu6PYq7JVCSL8wOdQ8xbUwosarR6FXocstfxWsHdtMMrDhr-FYc20SraU0x0D_MX-7rmhwFKlXZ4ivZV56wPLuQJ/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="https://www.mcsuk.org/news/face-coverings" target="_blank">https://www.mcsuk.org/news/face-coverings</a></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p><span style="font-size: large;">What else is there left to say in a year in which everyone has been touched by some effect of the pandemic?<br /><br />Let me dwell on the positives.<br /><br />My husband and I spent the best part of six months straddling 2019/2020 making once/twice-weekly bus trips to the local hospital to support a friend whose</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: large;">mental health</span><span style="font-size: large;">, for no apparent reason, took a huge hit. Friends rallied round, prayed, and supported the family. <br /><br />We saw no apparent progress for weeks and weeks and weeks. Suddenly from about February he began to show improvement, to the point of being discharged -- just before the first lockdown. It would have been impossible to continue to make those visits post-lockdown.<br /><br />As Christians we are thankful to God for answered prayers. As ordinary human beings, we are thrilled to see how the combination of the right environment, a well-trained medical and nursing staff, and the continuing support of a loving family all contributed to his recovery and subsequent rehabilitation.<br /><br />There IS hope. As a result of the pandemic, there has been an exponential increase in the number of people -- young ones, in particular -- who are in need of mental health support. Our recent experience proves that there IS hope and we must continue to help and support those who need that support.<br /><br />A hospital stay should never been seen as a stigma. In our friend's case, it was the only way to break a cycle. He was, clearly, physically and mentally exhausted, and so was his family.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Covid-19</span></span><span style="font-size: large;">: We had been warned right from the end of the first lockdown that there will be a second and even a third wave. So I was amazed to see the number of people who behaved as if the virus will suddenly lose its potency one midnight past midnight because the politicians said we could relax a little.<br /><br />Could we have avoided the current (third?) lockdown if we were able to keep that social distancing and other anti-Covid disciplines? We will never know.<br /><br />Still, I must be positive about the <span style="color: #fcff01;">vaccines</span> available. Yes, they have just approved the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine today. <br /><br />Another positive is the number of people taking on new challenges, starting new and innovative <span style="color: #fcff01;">businesses</span> because the traditional jobs are gone. This bodes well for the British economy.<br /><br />Some<span style="color: #fcff01;"> beekeepers (eg in India)</span> had a difficult time tending their bees during lockdown, but there was a little bit of positive news for wild bees and keepers elsewhere:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: medium;">There is one silver lining to the COVID-19 emergency. Across the world, as nations went into lockdown, bees and other pollinators are flourishing in the wild, as some of the harmful practices that led to dwindling populations have reduced during the crisis. But as people return to the outside world, any long-term benefits for bees would depend on these changes being carried forward – and the recognition that bees are essential workers for our food security.</span></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>(Source: <a href="https://www.ifad.org/en/web/latest/story/asset/41918963" target="_blank">https://www.ifad.org/en/web/latest/story/asset/41918963</a>) </p>See also <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hsf4lmHhG3A" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hsf4lmHhG3A</a> about beekeepers in Albania.<br /><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Brexit</span> has been a touchy issue. As I write, the "Brexit" bill has just been passed. I hope that when the dust has settled, everyone would work towards making it work for everyone else. In business we have mergers and sometimes de-mergers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As I support a friend going through the throes of an ugly divorce after months of hoping that they would stay together, there is the same need to move on. Dwelling on her past and "what could have been" would only prolong the pain. In recognizing that her circumstances have changed, the challenges are different, and that goals can be re-set, she has a better chance of finding happiness and success in areas in which she is naturally gifted.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Whether we think of Brexit as divorce or de-merger, I hope and pray that once the ink is dried, all the stakeholders will try to make the best of it, in a fast-changing world. </span></p><p><span style="color: #fcff01; font-size: x-large;"><b>Wishing you a much more sane 2021!</b></span></p><p><br /></p></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-25083860616969921762019-12-31T21:53:00.000+00:002019-12-31T22:11:54.563+00:00The year that was 2019An unusual year all round.<br />
<br />
January to March: Most of this period was spent in Singapore where I was officially an "academic visitor" with my own small but adequate flat. I had access to a dining hall with the widest choice of food, which resulted in my putting on five kg by the time of my return.<br />
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April to July: Returned to the husband, now fully retired. Felt a bit remiss that I was not around for his numerous retirement celebrations. But as I had been writing about since Sociology 205 (Sociology of the Family): a spouse's retirement has a huge impact on the stay-at-home spouse.<br />
<br />
I decided to forgo employment to help us transition through this period and I think there was a lot that we had to learn.<br />
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We've enjoyed many walks around the park -- brisk walks to lose some weight -- and I am delighted to see how he who was 'limping' has now acquired a more healthy gait and weight. I've also lost those five kg. We spent quite a lot of time planting, and later harvesting, food as well.<br />
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Salads and other vegetables from our own vegetable boxes were very satisfying.<br />
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Sadly I was now suffering my second <a href="https://organically.blogspot.com/2016/11/cold-shouldered.html" target="_blank">frozen shoulder</a>. I put it down to sleeping awkwardly on my long flight to Singapore. And so followed a series of visits to the GP and physiotherapist.<br />
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For some time it was too painful to cut and sew and the shop was left pretty bare. In between painful episodes, I sometimes managed to blitz a batch of hankies, and then they were gone rather quickly.<br />
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August/September: Back to teach at a Midlands university despite the pain, which was then more or less constant. A commitment is a commitment. But prior to this I managed to hurt the ankle on the same side as my frozen shoulder. Pavements around here are dreadful.<br />
<br />
Due to the left side of my body being quite immobile, getting in and out of the bath for my morning shower was a challenge. I managed to take a fall in the bath after its weekly clean. Did the cleaner leave it a bit slippy? Who knows? (I was in student accommodation.)<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
As I went down, swishing left … right … left … right ..., my prayer was "Please don't let me bump my head. I don't want to lose consciousness and be found naked."</blockquote>
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Clearly and thankfully I survived to tell the tale. Bruised all over, and potentially susceptible to a third frozen shoulder (!), I dusted myself off (metaphorically) and went off to teach … after my next-door neighbour and colleague applied an anti-inflammatory something on my right shoulder (which I could not reach with my frozen left shoulder).<br />
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<div>
A couple of weeks later the husband whatsapped in the early morning hours to say we had been burgled. Passports taken. Jewellery left by my late mother, gold and silver coins left by his late father, gone. They had entered through the front door, discovered the safe and removed the bolts that anchored it to the floor.<br />
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Husband and son were sleeping upstairs. Husband thought it was the son mucking about when he heard noise, until he heard an almighty crash -- the safe being dropped? -- and got up to tell off the son and found son soundly asleep. Alarm bells. Police. </div>
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It took me some time to process all this, actually. I was busy marking essays. The tears and anger did not come till weeks after.</div>
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<br /></div>
October to December: coming to terms with the burglary, sorting out insurance to replace missing items, acquiring new passports, repairing damage. Cutting and sewing and packaging and despatching hankies.<br />
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We hosted my nephew from the States, the one who couriers fabric for me. He and his wife were travelling with their ten-month-old baby. We had to install a travel cot for this visit.<br />
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Let's just say when we heard the baby cry, it was a <b><span style="color: red;">glorious</span></b> feeling to know that we did not have to dash out of bed to settle him. He was someone else's problem!<br />
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January 2020: I will be teaching two full days a week at a London university. Despatching speed might be lower. I hope all my wonderful customers continue to be understanding. Thank you for all your support and lovely messages this year.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>A very successful and healthy 2020 to all!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><b></b><span style="color: red;"></span><br />
Shopkeeper<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
<br />LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-1395296190204136592019-12-24T19:26:00.000+00:002019-12-24T19:26:37.787+00:00Christmas Eve 2019I'm feeling pretty relaxed now, and at the same time a bit excited. It's Christmas eve!!<br />
<br />
Just finished my annual felting project. I like to have a new bauble every year for the tree. Since I was gifted a felting kit a couple of years ago, I'd made a 'bauble' without bling to mark the passing of years.<br />
<br />
This year I left it very late and decided to do a baby Jesus, not on a sphere but like a little 'hanging pillow' -- I don't really know what else to call it. And did.<br />
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Woke up this morning thinking: that old scarf of my husband's -- the one where the silk had become 'hole-ly' and the stitches to the wool part had become ragged and loose -- I could perhaps use that for my project. And did.<br />
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Last year, I managed sort of felt a camel shape from a decoration bought from The Leprosy Mission (TLM). This year I looked for a clipart. Is it simple enough for me to transfer to felt? And it was.<br />
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<div>
I did the baby Jesus side. Then I started felting 202 .... Ah! I was one year too early. Ripped it out and did '2019'.</div>
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But how should I join the two sides together? I did not want to stitch as it is supposed to be a felting project. I decided to experiment with felting the two bits together with more roving (wool).</div>
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I'm quite pleased with the result although the bauble is too large to hang on the tree. Husband said to put it at the top of the tree. So that is where it is sitting (standing? lying?).</div>
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Having a quiet Christmas this year instead of an 'open house'. Only family this year. </div>
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As I said at church two Sundays ago: it is mind-blowing to think the God who created the earth could come to seek us out (his creation) as a man, washing his disciples' feet and so on. My own previous religious background was to burn huge amounts of joss-sticks, hell bank notes and making food offerings to appease the gods: 'gods' that needed to be 'fed' with food and water.</div>
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<br /></div>
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What if I didn't make enough of such offerings? Would I miss going to heaven with five bank notes or seven joss-sticks too few? These 'gods' were unreachable.</div>
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But the Jesus whose birth we celebrate tomorrow, he was Immanuel: God with us.</div>
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Celebrate! </div>
<br />LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-91656511627298376132018-12-05T13:56:00.000+00:002019-01-03T14:40:39.103+00:00W/rapping Plastic UseA few customers have taken me to task for using plastic when despatching orders. Let me explain.<br />
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Some items are sold as 'Gift Packs' and so come in a presentation pack. They also contain instructions for use in the case of Pocket Pouches (how to fold the hankies back into the pouch).<br />
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Sometimes, especially when the weather is wet, I wrap the whole order in re-purposed plastic. This is plastic salvaged from a dry-cleaning business. You see, when the paper envelopes are damaged and orders get wet, I also get complaints from customers.</div>
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At other times this plastic is used to ensure that your orders do not exceed the one-inch depth as the postage jumps from 79pence to £2.95 (yes!) when it exceeds that depth. I trust that you will agree that if I am charging £1.20 for shipping, it is not fair for me to ship it at £2.95.</div>
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If orders are not tied down this way and items move during transit to more than one inch, the recipient has to pay the difference (£2.95 - £0.79) plus a surcharge to collect the item. Ludicrous, I know, but that's the Royal Mail for you.<br />
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From the latter part of 2018 I have avoided the use of plastic in all new products. So they are 'secured' with a band of brown kraft paper and sticky labels.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9beCN2p8gC5N_8OkCE0e4JMIEnitkSQEbH4I3VMdHijpJqGmy_4rXMn4c7cREIQHJsC-fiMsXqMmgObjDJ33zJMXJSddy4rxL5OpfSLIah2_t15oQhWsl-RRJuZprbvPrV6UC/s320/Flannel+Bamboo+Gift+Pack.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.organic-ally.co.uk/handkerchiefs/gift-hankies/large-gift-pack/" target="_blank">Large Hankie Gift Pack</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><br />
I am also trying to reduce the use of re-purposed plastic by using cut-up envelopes to maintain the depth of orders.<br />
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I have some legacy jiffy bags with recycled plastic. I use these sometimes if it reduces the weight and postage, or if the weather is wet.<br />
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So I hope that you would be kind and understanding in terms of my use of plastic at despatch.<br />
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In reality, it is <span style="color: red;">SO MUCH EASIER</span>, if everything is packed in plastic bags and I charge a standard high postage (probably £5.00 at today's prices) without having to worry about the weather! I now spend a lot of time doing the shipping, a cost which is often not adequately reflected in what I charge for shipping (postage + shipping materials + time to pick, pack and despatch).<br />
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Thank you for your kind understanding.<br />
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<br />LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17397769.post-43201560602843976532018-05-23T11:40:00.005+01:002021-01-01T20:06:42.399+00:00Diesel cars and wood-burners Update<div style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>Update 1st January 2021: </b></span></span><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/jan/01/avoid-using-wood-burning-stoves-if-possible-warn-health-experts" target="_blank">Avoid using wood burning stoves if possible, warn health experts</a></div><div><br /></div><blockquote>But a growing body of research reveals air pollution may be damaging <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/ng-interactive/2019/may/17/air-pollution-may-be-damaging-every-organ-and-cell-in-the-body-finds-global-review">every organ in the body</a>, with effects including heart and lung disease, diabetes, dementia, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2018/aug/27/air-pollution-causes-huge-reduction-in-intelligence-study-reveals">reduced intelligence</a> and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/dec/18/depression-and-suicide-linked-to-air-pollution-in-new-global-study">increased depression</a>. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2018/nov/14/diesel-pollution-stunts-childrens-lung-growth-london-study-shows">Children</a> and the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/dec/05/air-pollution-harm-to-unborn-babies-may-be-global-health-catastrophe-warn-doctors">unborn</a> may suffer the most.<div style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></div></blockquote><div style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>Update 23rd May 2018</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #274e13;">: </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5760051/CHRISTOPHER-BROOKER-political-classs-obsession-global-warming-rotting-brains.html" target="_blank">Scandal of 'killer' wood burning stoves and the question - is the political class’s obsession with global warming rotting their brains?</a></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">"So generous was the Northern Irish scheme to businesses, offering £160 for every £100 they spent on wood chips, that firms used it to heat disused warehouses and long-empty offices, knowing the more they spent on wood chips the greater their profit would be.</span></blockquote>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Some users of the scheme kept heating systems running flat out night and day because they made such a profit from the subsidy scheme."</span></blockquote>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><b>Update 26th January 2017</b></span>: <a href="http://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/news/wood-stove-fad-is-blamed-for-pollution-wbm50l5cl" target="_blank">Wood stove fad is blamed for pollution</a></span></div>
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I have spent quite a bit of my younger life in cities full of diesel cars. The fumes from these cars made me quite ill. As such I could not understand why the UK government was giving incentives to drivers of diesel engines.
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"Diesel was supposed to be the answer to the high carbon emissions of the transport sector, a lower emitting fuel that was a mature technology – unlike electric or hydrogen cars. In the early 2000s the Blair government threw its weight behind the sector by changing ‘road tax’ (vehicle excise duty) to a CO2-based system, which favoured diesel cars as they generally had lower CO2 emissions than petrol versions. <br /><br /><div>It inspired British car makers to invest heavily in a manufacturing process that most countries outside Europe have ignored. In 1994 the UK car fleet was only 7.4% diesel. By 2013 there were 10.1m diesel cars in the UK, 34.5% of the total. <div><br /> But studies have since shown that diesel cars’ emissions of other pollutants can have serious impacts on the health of people exposed to them." <br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Source: <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/mar/11/have-diesel-cars-been-unfairly-demonised-for-air-pollution" target="_blank">The Guardian</a></span></div>
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What about wood-burners? Again I lived with my frugal mum who used charcoal to cook for much of the time we shared our flat. Those choking fumes are not so great when it is not for the occasional open-air barbecue. <br /><br /> Now living in Greater London where we are never cold enough to require a real fire and, as I also understand, there is a ban on polluting wood and coal-based fires, why has the wood-burner been touted as an 'eco alternative'? <br /> <br />I could not get my head around it. <br /><br /> On one hand I am telling people to stop using paper tissue made from wood, and on the other we were told that burning wood in wood-burners was eco-friendly. ??? How? It just did not add up. But fearful of being told that I was stupid, or worse, being trolled, I had kept my opinion to myself all this time. <br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin: 0px;">Now we are told about this new <a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#">'inconvenient truth</a>':</div><blockquote>"But the cold truth is that — at odds with its perceived green credentials — the wood-burning craze is posing a real danger to the environment, and to our health. <br /> <br /> Air quality experts say the stoves contribute to an ever-thickening cloud of smog engulfing our towns and cities, which is increasing the risk of cancer, lung disease, heart attack, stroke and even dementia. <br /> <br /> Exacerbating the problem is the seemingly innocent habit people have of throwing open the doors of the stove to recreate the effects of an open fire or to warm up a room more quickly — thereby flooding the air with a deadly cocktail of noxious gases and toxic wood smoke particles. <br /> <br /> Wood smoke is a cocktail of gases and dangerous microscopic particles. Some of these blobs of soot, called PM2.5s, are 100 times smaller than the diameter of a human hair and can get deep into our lungs. They’re so tiny that experts think they may even be able to get through the lungs and into other organs." </blockquote><div style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;">Source: <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3972966/Inconvenient-truth-wood-burning-stove-bad-environment-health.html" target="_blank">The Daily Mail</a> </div>
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We want to care for the environment. But let us not be too hasty in trying to resolve one issue without considering its impact on the rest of the situation. Or, as social anthropologists would say, we need a holistic approach.
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br /></div></div>LSPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03420334197135378369noreply@blogger.com0