Posts

Olivers

First there was Jamie Oliver (JO) telling us about what to feed our children -- good on him -- and now Oliver James (OJ) tells us what my husband and I have believed in for a long time: children should be looked after by their own parents. OJ coined the term "affluenza virus" which causes victims to place "a high value on money, possessions, appearances (physical and social) and fame" (see Times article here ). He puts this down to the legacy of both Thatcherism and "Blatcherism" (never heard that one before, does he really deserve an 'ism'?) Is there anything new in what OJ is saying? Listen to the writer in Ecclesiastes: there is nothing new under the sun. Or to borrow another cliche: the writing's on the wall. It would seem logical -- to me as a social scientist any way -- that excessive consumerism (that was what we used to call it) would lead inevitably to the type of symptoms now so obvious and making OJ's thesis so credible. Back in

Another scan

This morning found me trudging off to the hospital again, this time having drunk nearly two pints of water. I couldn't get through the whole two pints. It was making me feel quite ill and I felt like throwing up. Then I found myself shaking, as the cold water made its way into deeper parts. I had been recalled so that the sonographers could decide whether or not I actually do have an abnormal womb (see another post ). Bus journey and a long wait at the waiting room later, and after two other sonographers have had a go at scanning (both external and internal -- ouch!), the opinion was I do not have an abnormal uterus after all. What I have is probably a fibroid growing from where the surgeon had closed me up after a Caesarean-section. I'm not sure if I'm any happier or clearer about the situation. Now we wait for the doctors to decide what could exactly be wrong with me and what therefore should the course of action be. Meanwhile, life goes on. There are customers' order

Lessons in the snow

It's a few cm of snow on the ground and everything grinds to a halt in the UK. Why is it, I ask myself, that if our Scandinavian friends can cope with much more snow and higher summer temperatures, etc, that when weather conditions deviate slightly towards 'extreme', nothing works on this island? Husband had a text from London Underground to say the station is closed due to 'unsafe platforms'. They knew it was going to snow and yet these platforms have not been made safe. Somewhere further down the line a faulty train was holding up the system and had been since early morning for I don't know how long. At his 'alternative' station trains were running late as well due to 'adverse weather'. Knock-on effects? Son's school is closed. We were already warned about this yesterday. The fact is a number of teachers and children depend on public transport to get in. Our roads were also not gritted, making it quite unsafe for children to be walking alon

Bird Flu

Suffolk this time. In a factory farm. Am I surprised? Not the least bit. See Bird farms, bird flu Hopefully, more people will begin to realize the dismal conditions that these cheap supermarket birds are reared and think about better animal welfare and stop buying cheap-cheap-cheap all the time. At this factory farm, there's no more chip-chip-chip. See previous blog . Back to Organic-Ally .

Thank God for Common Sense

The staff were out in force at my local train station last Friday to catch fare dodgers. It's great, I think. Such people are making other passengers pay for their free rides. But it was rather inconvenient for me, and could have been worse, as I use the station as a short cut. When I need to walk to church some 25 minutes away, the station is a convenient short cut as I can keep to paths with low traffic and although I need to use lots of steps instead of walk up and over the railway bridge on the road, I prefer the cleaner air. I was asked for my ticket as I entered and I explained that I was only passing through the station. I was told I needed a pass or they would charge me when I exited the station. They gave me a pass and I was grateful and exited the station with no bother. It was a different story on the return journey. I was at the other entrance. I explained that I was only walking through the station. The guys refused to let me through. I said I had a pass a couple of ho

I forget

Wanted to say something about son's achievement at school yesterday in my other blog . But there was such a kafuffle getting onto the blog -- because Google decided to switch us bloggers all over to Beta whether we liked it or not, after which I couldn't log back on -- I've forgotten what I was doing to say. There must be a reason for 'Old Blogger', for bloggers who are old and short on memory power and who want life kept simple. Digital clocks are OK so long as the instructions on the display aren't so small I can't read them, for example. My son's clock-CD player-radio was broken and we bought him a new one. The writing is so small on the display and the buttons so minute for my fat fingers I find it very difficult to get it to do what I want. There's the trouble these days with young prime ministers, young politicians, young designers, they don't realize what life is like -- going to be like for them in years to come -- when life, vision and t

A Windy Day

Gales. I'm nervous. I have visions of objects falling on me. Our water feature in the garden has fallen over. The doors in a shed had blown open. I managed to secure them temporarily. Just heard the news about fifteen (15!!) lorries being blown over. Planned to take son to the dentist by bus, both for the experience of travelling by bus, and for green reasons. But roadworks meant there was zero chance of us getting to the dentist on time as I had hoped. So I had no choice but to take the car. Even then I expected fallen objects to cause delays. Well, typical of a post-rugby lesson Thursday afternoon, the boys were late in being released. Just managed to get to the dentist in time. Driving back, the car was acting strangely as it was buffetted by wind. So I am really pleased to be home, well and safe now. Back to Organic-Ally .

More selfish behaviour

I was at Marks for some fresh bread rolls. Woman beside me decided to forgo the tongs provided to pick up the bread and other goodies. She decided to use her fingers instead. That I didn't mind as she only picked out the buns she wanted. But instead of replacing the tongs -- putting them back in the holder provided -- she let them drop on its 'leash' so that they touched the floor. She wasn't even remotely apologetic. Immediately I alerted the staff working behind the counter about the situation. He cleaned the tongs immediately. Top marks to him. He even thanked me for bringing this to his notice. I think I spoke loudly enough for woman to realize that I did not approve of her behaviour. Back home and emptying my kitchen waste into the Council Brown Bin, dog-walker walked past and the dog decided to stop. There right in front of my house, just inside the boundary of our drive, the dog did a wee. I said to the dog-walker, "Thank you very much!" She had the aud

A failing mother? A story of selfishness

OK, I am not a perfect mother. But what would you do if you were at a nice restaurant/cafe and your 18-month-old is screaming for attention because she's been left in the pushchair too long while you have been reading your Sunday papers? Would you: (a) stop reading and give your daughter a cuddle? (b) give her a new toy to entertain herself? (c) say, "Wait! You have to wait another five minutes." While waiting for my son to finish his golf lessons, I sit in the cafe area of this restaurant and I cannot remember the number of times my quiet, supposedly relaxing afternoons have been ruined by this toddler who screams at the top of her shrill, sharp voice as toddlers are able to do. Mum does not care. Dad, if he's there, does not care. Every one else in the restaurant/cafe -- and we pay for food and drinks -- have to endure her screaming. Today Mum was heard to say several times, "No, you're not getting out (of the pushchair) yet," and "No, you have to

An invite ... to make an outpatient appointment!!!

I recently got back in touch with a school friend. I remember us fondly as -- amongst other memories -- wearers of tooth-braces. It was like a badge of honour back then. I had my regular visits with the orthodontist and was told after each visit when I should next visit. Then I'd go to the nurse with her big diary and she'd flip the pages to four weeks or six months after and we'd fix an appointment, making sure that it did not clash with a band practice. She would write the date and time on my appointment card and I went home to note that date on my own calendar, diary, whatever. If, for whatever reason, I could not make the appointment, I rang to say, "Please could you re-schedule?" That way my slot was freed up for other people (especially emergencies) and I could rest assured that nobody's time was being wasted. Today my husband received a letter "An Invitation to make an Outpatient Appointment in --- Department" it said. My husband has a chronic

Whose rubbish is it anyway?

I was measuring out washing powder to put into the washing machine and I thought: why on earth do manufacturers have to package some washing powder or liquids into tablets or gel sachets, every one of which is encased in some form of pl-st-c? The answer seems to be: because we are either too lazy to measure out the right amounts of washing powder/liquid, or too stupid to do so. I remember washing powder as my mum used it came in big cardboard boxes. In fact everything came packaged in cardboard boxes of different weights. She would measure out the amount of powder she needed for each wash. If those boxes were put into landfills, they biodegraded in due course. Or if they were incinerated (which is more likely the case in Singapore), it just broke down into ashes. It is interesting to read: Me pay? I didn’t ask to be buried in bubble wrap by Martin Samuel in The Times . Basically he is saying: why should I be paying to dispose the rubbish I did not ask for? "We did not ask for gre

Beauty of reusable whatever

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1st April 2016 Update: We do not stock Hankettes Cosmetic Squares any more, but have made-in-UK ones here . ===== The customer is always right. So give them what they want, not what the shopowner wants. Because I do not use make-up now, I didn't even think of selling the washable reusable cosmetic pads on the Organic-Ally business site. When I took the risk and imported my first batch, I was pleasantly surprised to find these quickly becoming very popular. So it was a bit of a shock when I received an email from a prospective customer who told me that she liked the idea but does not like the pl-st-c packaging. Immediately I had a quick pow-wow with my supplier and we now have the same soft reusable cosmetic pads packaged in an organic cotton gauze bag. The bag with a twine tie doubles as a 'wash bag', to stop these pads being lost in the washing machine. We are proud to present reusable washable organic cotton cosmetic pads in new packaging . Whatever hel

New Year Scramble

Usually we host a lunch at Christmas and New Year. The Christmas crowd consists mainly of people who are either new to the country or just visiting, those who live on their own, or one or two who have no where else to go at Christmas. Since we were away for Christmas, it was only New Year lunch this time. Our usual 'select' crowd gathered, mainly friends whom we've known for a long time and family who live further afield. We had a lovely time. Food was OK but simple. Company was fine. Son was not as anti-social as he often is. In fact, after the Christmas pudding (which apparently was generously laced with cognac) he was definitely on a high. I do not usually like Christmas pudding, by the way. But we managed to get our hands on an organic version, packed "in an earthenware basin with cloth" and it was delicious. Unlike other Christmas puds I've tasted, this was very light in texture. We were also impressed that there was not a bit of pl-st-c packaging in sigh

Christmas in Devon

This is the first time ever that I’m spending Christmas at mum-in-law’s house. I was really looking forward to a 'restful' time as recent poor-ish health has made me irritable and quite depressed at one point. It was nice that we could look out of the window and see sheep wandering on the Devon hill-side. When we did go out, it was not unusual to see tractors (real ones, not Chelsea versions) holding up long lines of traffic. There was no internet service. Ah.... There was also a lot of food. We had brought with us a lot of fruit from our weekly organic fruit bag, not wanting it to go to waste. My ‘job’ on Boxing Day was to make a fruit salad. With all that rich food, ultra-sweet Christmas puddings and all that, husband and I thought a refreshing and detox-ing fruit salad might be a good idea. So it was a bit strange, as far as I am concerned, that mum-in-law kept asking whether she needed to make a (sugar) syrup for the fruit salad. No, I said. And thought, 'Syrup on fresh

The magic of Christmas

And peace and goodwill to all man (ie including woman). This is supposed to be 'the season to be jolly', but do you see a lot of jolliness around? Go into a supermarket carpark and you will find cars parked most indiscriminately. Shoppers do not bother to look for a space. They simply leave their cars where they think they should. Getting in and out of a tight space in a supermarket is difficult enough at the best of times. When motorists choose to park in a non-designated parking area behind you, it is even more difficult to maneouvre out of it. So I was stuck in a spot coming up to Christmas some years back because some moron was parked behind me. The woman driver next to me was trying to leave at about the same time. I indicated to her that she should go first as her path was not blocked by this other car. She glared at me and through the window I could hear her say, "What? You can't reverse?" I've lived with that for a few years thinking that my driving sk

My name, her name, His Name

Husband and I hosted our annual champagne party last night. Sounds a bit posh, doesn't it? Actually it is a very informal 'champagne and Cornish pasty' party. Husband (who usually has more note-worthy role models) took the inspiration from a certain Jeffrey A. We had champagne and shepherd's pie one year, but shepherd's pie for 15-20 guests without a catering size oven was a bit difficult to manage. Last year we experimented with Cornish pasties, bought from the best CP shop in the area (supplied by makers in Cornwall). This year we voted to have the same. 'We' are the eight or nine church members meeting fortnightly at our house as a 'fellowship group'. The party (a Christmas celebration, if I hadn't made it clear) normally includes those members who cannot usually attend due to class schedules, invited guests of the members and members of their families. Last night started out alright. I had cooked the pasties in good time, unlike the previous

Christmas Cards

Son came home today with a card from every other boy in his class. To be fair, he also gave a card to everyone in his class. So we ended up with a pile of torn envelopes and cards that he is not likely to look at again. Why do we do this? This card-giving business? When I was growing up we weren't so much into sending each other cards. Certainly we did not give cards to people we saw all the time. What a waste of paper, especially of the envelopes which can't go into the recycling (because of the glue, unless your local authority specifically allows this). Perhaps we should just put out one card for each child in the class, and everyone gets asked to send greetings (ie sign) to everyone else except himself/herself. Then each child takes that one card home before Christmas. Personally I can't be bothered to send cards to people I see the whole year round. Why send a card when you could send personal verbal greetings? Back to Organic-Ally .

Have a go at the minister ... again

I remember once sitting at church in Singapore and felt myself getting hotter and hotter under the collar. After the sermon I marched up to the preacher to say, "There wasn't ANY thing in your sermon for the single person." The following week he told the congregation, "Last week, SP came up to me to say .... So this is what I have to say to the single person...." Living in a 'family-friendly' culture, the singles can be forgotten even at church. Last week I did it again, sort of. I've been having some health problems. My husband was sorting out the screen projector for the service. The topic for the sermon was: How does God heal today? "You're not going to give the example of the woman who was bleeding for 12 years, are you?" I asked the minister. "Uh, well, yes I could have chosen that story from about 3 million examples, but no, I'm not using that story." "Well, I was just saying to [husband], so many male preachers

Non-stick uniforms

Do you, like me, take your children's uniforms out of the washing machine only to see them sort of 'stand' on its own and wonder what sort of material it is made of? No matter how much they have been wrung in the washing machine, they are still wearable without ironing. Convenience to you and me perhaps. But something about these uniforms scare me. To make anything 'iron-free' is to make it 'non-stick' so that creases do not set in. Non-stick means using that stuff they have been using to coat your pots and pans. My son is moving from short shorts to long trousers next year and I cannot bear to think of all that non-stick uniform next to his bare skin. But where can one get old-fashioned school uniforms these days? Well some 'research' came up with Clean Slate , for organic cotton (yay!) fair trade (better still) schoolwear. Parents should be aware (and wary?) of the PFOA (perfluorooctanoic acid) in the family of PFCs (perfluorinated chemicals) used

Dry Skin Oily Skin

When you've spent most of your adolescent life (and your twenties, thirties and forties!) finding 'stuff' to rid your face of the grease that gives you zits, pimples or 'youth spots' ( qing chun dou as we call it in Mandarin), would you not, like me, be taken aback when you are then told that your skin is 'very dry'? So it was that when I used mum-in-law's birthday gift money to treat myself to a salon massage and facial, I was told, 'Your skin is very dry.' But I don't like the idea of slapping cream and stuff on my face. I was therefore chuffed to discover this helpful page from Lyrae's Natural. Lyrae's and Hankettes formed The Good Life Collective some years ago to market their natural and organic products. The advice here is to use oil, like jojoba oil which I happened to have, and work it into the skin with the help of water. Simple. So simple. I don't know if my skin has got less dry as a result, but it is much more shiny a

My son, my pension

Last Sunday at church I commended one of our oldest members on her very smart suit. 'O! Thank you, my dear! I bought this in America.' I knew she was recently in America. She's 90-something and she tells me she wakes up each morning saying, 'Thank you, God, I'm still alive!' She then went on to tell me how her son who is soon to retire had bought a retirement home in Palm Springs. He had arranged for her to fly first class with a companion to see his new home. She has one grateful son (amongst others) who is mindful of the sacrifices she made while he was younger. A successful businessman now, he has seen fit to make sure her mother travelled in the utmost comfort to visit him. She then commented on how my own son was growing. (She first saw him at two weeks old.) 'Look after him. He's your pension,' she said. The truth is I grew up in a family and generation where people had large families because 'our children are our pension'. My parents u

Green Car for Husband ... Wow!

Must be doing something right. Husband has decided that he will swap his gaz guzzler (not a Chelsea tractor) for a hybrid car. He's finally seen the light! Readers with a spouse/partner who does not seem to share your conviction about going green: hang in there! Back to Organic-Ally .

A second car? You must be joking!

Everything in the house belongs to 'Mum and Dad'. But the car is 'Daddy's car'. Somehow I can never think of the car as 'our car'. It's long, it's wide, it's a gas guzzler. It also sits on our front drive for most of the week doing precious little. There's the weekly shop and the airport run for our hordes of visiting relatives ... well they do seem to visit all at the same time. When son was in a push-chair, I pushed him everywhere. Then he started school and I found myself driving everywhere, and putting on weight, and feeling a lot less fit. So I've started walking every where again. I feel much fitter and I get to meet more people, talking and chatting with my neighbours, etc. I hate 'Daddy's car' and avoid driving it as much as possible. I have not driven it through a width restriction as I am almost certain that I would bash the mirror in. Being rather short, I have the seat pushed up right to the front to reach the peda

Rant about Mobile Phones

Husband and I went to see our accountant last week to sort out our tax. I'm a bit of what Singaporeans would call 'sua-ku', meaning 'mountain tortoise' with a very limited view of what life is all about. I don't often travel on the Tube now. (I used to have to Tube and bus to and from work. Tedium.) The thing that struck me was the sheer number of people, especially young people, walking about with their ears glued to a mobile phone. OK, a mobile phone glued to their ears, maybe. 'How soon,' I asked,'would we have babies born with mobile phones stuck to their ears?' 'Don't be silly,' said husband. 'You know that is never going to happen. What might happen is that they would be born with ears modified to fit with the shape of the phone.' 'Ha-ha,' and a few minutes later, 'What about babies born with elbows crooked to keep their phones in place?' People do not sit and wait any more. As soon as they sit down, out

Raising Boys ... and Girls

After my last post I realized that some readers might think that I am really old-fashioned. What do you expect but for 13-year-old girls to be rowdy? I don't know about that. I wrote this next section in my son's school newsletter recently: ======= As I mentioned books for mothers last week, I should also mention a very good book for both mothers and fathers: Raising Boys by Steve Biddulph. Biddulph divides boyhood into three parts. Age zero to six: the boy ‘belongs’ to the mother; age six to thirteen: their father becomes the ‘hero’; from thirteen onwards, with the second surge in testosterone, boys wish to ‘declare their independence’ and look for influences outside the home. This division makes a lot of sense to me as a social anthropologist. We know in many ‘pre-modern’ societies, boys reaching puberty are taken away to undergo special tutelage by their fathers (and often mothers’ brothers). They go through a stage of ‘liminality’, of feeling ‘between and betwixt’. Then, w

Girls Aloud -- very loud

Been feeling a bit down with the cold. Husband has been working the weekends. Son has got a golf lesson to attend. So we decided to eat at the restaurant where the golf lesson was taking place. For the first half hour we could not hear ourselves think, let alone talk. A few metres from us were a group of 14 to 16 young girls at a birthday celebration. They were talking so loudly -- you would think it was a hen night party -- with the birthday girl's brother and parents looking on. Shrieks, screams, loud raucous laughter. Noise. The parents looked on and even joined in conversation, sometimes shouting across the table. I stared and caught the attention of one young girl, but she pretended that she didn't see me. Then I caught the eye of another diner and he shook his head in disgust. Our meal at this otherwise good restaurant was ruined. Girl's father came back with a bin liner of birthday presents. Girl opened the presents in turn. I saw a card which declared that it was he

P&P ... again

Finally, the new structure is 'sorted' and put in place. I hope customers are happy with this. I have 'agonized' over this for some time as you can see here . Occasionally I still get the odd combination of purchases that make the postage unfair to either the customer or myself. Thankfully, these are few and far between. Back to Organic-Ally .

Busy Bee-zy

The past few weeks went by in a bit of a whirl. I spent a lot of time looking through someone's doctoral thesis. His PhD and career depended on my input, so I felt I needed to give it some attention. Which meant a lot of other work could not be done. Including setting up the new P&P system for the Organic-Ally website. Never mind, things are 'slowing down' a little. It is less of a 'blur' now. Back to Organic-Ally .

P&P Conundrum - Thinking Aloud

It's been some time now since the new Royal Mail postage charges came into effect . According to their publicity, "over 80% of all mail will cost the same or less to send". Is it any surprise that over 80% of my mail to customers now cost more, quite a bit more, largely because they now fall into the 'Large Letter' (minimum 44p) or 'Packet' (minimum 100p) category even though something may weigh very little. I have had to stump up higher postage -- or 'post-rage' as I accidentally typed! I run a 'happy' business. I am happy that Organic-Ally sells only what I believe to be earth-friendly goods made in people-friendly environments. Customers are happy and they write to tell me how wonderful these goods (reusable hankies, cosmetic pads, gift bags, string bags, etc) are. My son is happy that Mum is working from home and is there to pick him up from school. And husband is happy that ... well ... husband is happy that I am happy. This new posta

When it comes to climate change, I'll take a small bet that Pascal was right

It makes me feel good whenever I read of someone else in the press sharing my point of view. The title refers to a column by Gerard Baker who is basically saying what I said in a previous post . Baker's full article can be found here . Back to Organic-Ally .

I'm Rubbish

At one point I was hoping to make my name as the social anthropologist to make the study of 'anthropology of junk' fashionable. Yes, people will say at my funeral, 'She will be remembered for her rubbish.' As a mother, though, how does one respond to a six-year-old who is convinced that he is 'rubbish'? Son was clearly distressed when I picked him up yesterday. The Form was preparing for a football match against another school. My son isn't any good at kicking a ball. Offers to start him on lessons (like many of his classmates have done) were turned down. He was just not keen on football. The school requires him not only to play football, but in inter-school matches as well. He was not a happy bunny. Today they were supposed to have a first football lesson with the Games Master (or whatever his title should be). I was dreading the tears that would greet me at the school gates. We did think perhaps he should impress on the Games Master that he is utter rubbis

Organic Milk

Really pleased to read this piece 'Organic milk is healthier, scientists say' in The Times . My husband and I were just mulling over how my hayfever this year has been 'so good'. Apart from three really bad days, it has been tolerable. We don't know how much this is down to our 'detox' in the last six to seven years switching to organic food where possible. Back to Organic-Ally .

Missing 'my boys'

Our church missionary to Spain was bringing a group of young Spanish people to the UK and we were asked to provide accommodation for them. I had refrained from offering because I knew we were going to be just back from a trip and there will be lots of unpacking, laundry, cleaning, etc. But husband agreed when approached ('cornered'?) by the minister's wife. Our two young Spanish lads, the only boys in the team, came on Wednesday and left yesterday. They were no trouble at all and now I miss them. (I say 'lads' and 'boys' ... they are in their early 20s. Yeah, husband and I are well old enough to be their parents.) Though speaking little English (which was one of the reasons they are visiting the UK), we managed to communicate adequately, if slowly. They left early each morning and let themselves in whenever. On the first morning they were so shy they did not dare eat anything more than a bowl of cereal. On the second morning they learned to use the toaster a

Doing right, doing wrong

Our six-year-old son told us early this morning what he had been mulling over overnight: "There is no right in doing wrong and there is no wrong in doing right." We don’t know how he comes up with thoughts like this, but he did. It appears that he was pondering the relationship between right and wrong and he came up with this new (to us at least) ‘thought for the day’. His thought (maxim?) reminds me of Pascal’s wager : You may believe in God, and if God exists, you go to heaven: your gain is infinite. You may believe in God, and if God doesn't exist, your loss is finite and therefore negligible. Or: You may not believe in God, and if God doesn't exist, your gain is finite and therefore negligible. You may not believe in God, and if God exists, you will go to hell: your loss is infinite. Likewise I could apply son’s formulation to the environment. Some people still insist: show me proof that my gas-guzzling habits (eg) are having a negative impact and I would start do

Green with anger

There's been a lot of debate in Singapore in the last few weeks about how Singaporeans do not speak English properly. We speak a brand of Chinese-tinged English called 'Singlish' which is basically English spoken with a Chinese dialect (Hokkien) grammar. I don't speak Singlish very well as I cannot speak Hokkien and so do not have Hokkien grammar to begin with (it's slightly different from Mandarin grammar, I believe). While I speak English quite well (I write it even better), what stumps me are the idiomatic phrases which I tend to confuse with Chinese idioms. 'Green with anger'. That's a new one. It's me being green and being diligent in the 3Rs -- reduce, reuse, recycle. It's me being angry that someone saw fit to walk onto my drive, removed the cardboard boxes in my green recycling box, dumped the cardboard boxes on my drive and walked off with my green box. Yes, the audacity of it! This is the SECOND time in less than three months that our g

Organic news

I don't usually get to read much of what is printed in the papers (when we do buy the papers), but there has been some interesting 'organic news' this last week or so. I was delighted to read one journalist's view on Why we should buy organic milk . Jane Wheatley says 'It makes me furious to see two litres selling for the “bargain” price of 65p in my local corner shop.' 'It’s not a bargain at all; it comes at a terrible cost to farmers and to the cows that are endlessly bred, pumped, primed and medicated for higher yields in an effort to reduce the gap between the price the farmer gets for his milk — around 18p a litre — and what it costs to produce it — about 21p. ' We have been very blessed in being able to have bottled organic milk delivered to us once a week. Sadly our fridge can only take so many standing bottles and we need to supplement these most weeks with store-bought organic milk. But we do buy it from the supermarket chain that this report hi

My son ...

Yesterday was Speech Day at son's school. Son was joyous that he had won -- second year running -- the 'Attainment Prize' for his Form. Husband and I went in a bit later than most other parents although we were not late. The church where this took place was quite full. We were sitting second row from the back. The Headmaster came round and said, 'Like your hat,' to which I politely muttered 'Thanks'. I think he was just checking my presence as he called me up with a few other ladies to accept bouquets for the work we do for the school community. (I organize fund-raising projects.) It was an embarrassing walk right from the back of the church to the very front. I was thinking, 'Hmm, the last time I did this was at my wedding!' Later on, husband quizzed son, 'Why is it that you've got a prize, and mum has got a 'prize' but I haven't got a prize?' Son, without hesitation, 'Of course you've got a prize. You've got a pr

Illegals against illegals

I was just entering the shopping precinct when I realised that a couple of guys ahead of me were fighting, with two appearing in support. People stopped to stare, but only one -- the guy in an ill-fitting suit who had earlier crossed a pedestrian crossing with me -- went forward, held out his hand and told them calmly and firmly to 'break it up'. He appeared to be so casual, so cool, as if he had broken up many fights before. I guess at six-foot-something he was not in awe of the two smaller men fighting. One was a dark-haired Chinese and the other a very blond younger man. It looked like things had quietened down as I walked on. I saw a couple of security guards for the shopping centre outside which this was taking place and told them. Obviously as the fight was 'outside' the building itself, it was not really their responsibility. Nevertheless they went to investigate. I walked on a bit, stopped, turned and had a look. The guys were at each other again. I decided that