Casual cruelty

My daughter; Pip, is approaching the end of year 5. I have watched grow into a confident, strong young woman...and I have watched her grow right out of it again. She fell apart and burst into tears at her poetry recital, her solo in assembly and yet she came to audition for the local play. I don't understand and I totally understand. It is difficult being a girl and growing up and I struggle to support her appropriately. This week, support meant taking her to the audition even though I still have 100 odd papers to mark.

I won lots of speaking competitions at that age. But I would never play the piano in public. I tried to get my diploma in piano after a few years break in my early twenties. It was a disaster. My confidence had gone completely and I shook, my hands were sweaty and I went to pieces. After 36 years of playing the piano, I was horrified to find out that the piano player who leads the singing at church was not going to be there for a week. I would have to abandon the guitar (safe, accompanying) and play with everyone listening, and sometimes when there was no other music.

I wasn't very good. But I sang as well, and covered up the worst because I have always been able to sing. I don't have a great voice but I can hold a tune. The other week, however, I was left completely on my own, not only playing but singing on my own as well. One person ( a teacher) was marking, one was in hospital, one had a poorly mother and one was moving house. So it was just me. I wasn't very good again, but the hands are not as shaky. One year 8 girl sang aloud, a cappella today in assembly. How marvellous I thought. I know some will knock her and I thought of the times I smugly watched other singers or pianists knowing I was better. It doesn't matter, I realised, I'm not brave enough to be up there.

There is plenty of praise, as there always is when people are grateful and there's no one else to do it. I am leading again this Sunday, I have chosen songs I can play and know well enough - it will be ok. But to my shock tonight, I'm back to shaking. I was working in the kitchen and listening through the wall to some kids' talent show on tv. They were struggling to hold the notes, but then even the live music of your favourite artists can sound off key listened to later, whereas at the time, in the moment of the performance it sound phenomenal. I came into the room to ask if the performances had been great because the singing wasn't. "Well, it's better than yours." Husband said from the sofa. "I have to listen to you all the time, the same songs over and over, you should at least be good at something yourself before you criticise others."

I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I know I can sing, I thought I could play, but just one comment from the only person whose views really matter to me sends me all to pieces. That's it, I think, I can't practise in the house any more. I don't even know if I can sing on Sunday. Why am I so weak? I trust my own judgement on some things but not my own abilities. I was expecting a bit of light hearted banter and general agreement on the quality of these singers, I thought I was being uncontroversial. Instead I learnt ...well, nothing. I don't know what I learnt, not to put my head above the parapet in case I get smacked down.

What has shocked me most is how helpless I feel towards my own daughter, I was going to ask her to sing with me on Sunday, I thought it might help to build up her confidence. I don't want to expose her to criticism and how could I if I am not prepared to do it myself? It isn't a good feeling, but I am lot more empathetic.

Poor grammar

Once again I am limping towards the end of the month, desperately waiting for my wages to be paid into my account, having to put £10 worth of diesel in the tank just to get to work. And when I do get paid, I won't have as much money as I did last month because of my overdraft. You could say I am starting April at a slight disadvantage. I anticipate, that notwithstanding my winning the lottery, I will be at a slightly greater disadvantage at the start of May - I am getting no pay rise, there is no real possibility of me increasing my hours until September, I am a full time teacher and writing this at midnight, so it doesn't look like I have any chance of earning any extra between now and ever. So that pattern continues to be consolidated for the foreseeable future. I don't think I am qualified for anything else, but I would quite like to work in Aldi right now.

A report on the BBC website today suggests that "Grammar schools perform no better than non-selective state schools, once their pupils' higher ability and wealth is taken into account" 

I can almost hear every teacher glancing at the report and barely raising a "meh?" in unimpressed response to this report. The study has found that "the "apparent success" of these wholly selective schools was down to their brighter and more advantaged pupils."

So what it's saying is that grammar school would not really increase social mobility? And that those students would be likely to do well in comprehensive school? But the government still want to work "to widen access to grammar schools." You could say that this is consolidating the advantage of the wealthy and the disadvantage of the less wealthy. What government would want to do that? Perhaps a government that doesn't really have any interest in increasing social mobility. Perhaps a government that would prefer all of us to stay in our places. 

When we find out who wants grammar schools it tends to be parents. Middle-class parents, that is. Right up to the point that their precious little Toby fails his 11 plus. I trained in a Secondary Modern. There was a pass score of 120 to get into the local grammars. Every student who scored around 117 was repeatedly sent for re-testing by their parents. At least the well-off ones. They didn't rate the school, they didn't respect the teachers, why would they? Their parents told them every day that they were better than that school, and every time they failed the test and their parents they were reminded that they could not succeed. 

Then there are parents like me who are opposed in principle - but what would I do if I lived in an area where there was a choice of school? We are teachers and want the best for our children. Of course that wouldn't happen. We would have to acknowledge that we are not the kind of people that grammar schools want. My son has special needs, I am a teacher, which is financially acceptable, but my husband also is, which is not. I have debts and an old car. I am not as middle class as I think I am.  

I don't think the government needs a report to tell it that grammar schools don't really work. Teachers could have told you that, but when do we ever get asked. We are sick of experts, or at least those who don't get listened to. However, if that government fancies paying me for my opinion, it would go some way to paying off those debts, giving me the chance to have a fair start, or even a slight advantage. It might even give me a chance to be a bit more middle-class. Perhaps if I stop buying avocados, I could even pay off my mortgage...

The reading rooms

Our county council is in trouble. It must be in trouble, and that trouble must be big because it's been on Radio 4. I love Radio 4, but it very rarely concerns itself with anything that happens in the "Regions" - that anomalous part of the country that has the rare distinction of being "Not London". According to my beloved Radio 4, and for that matter, most of the national newspapers, the "Regions"; that part of the UK that is not London; has more in common with itself than it does with London. This is not my experience. So the fact that our county council is in trouble and has made national news tells us that things must be really bad.

Our county council can't afford to pay its bills. I can't really afford to pay my bills so I know how that feels. I keep trying to sell stuff on ebay. I've sold some Next clothes of the children's and some of the expensive clothes that I have kept, but as it happens, we don't have an attic and there is no cash in it. There is nothing antique in my house and most of my clothes are from Oxfam so I don't have many assets. The council had assets, but it has sold most of them off to keep things going, which is not a good thing when you are a council, also you can only sell assets once, so it's not much of a business plan.

The residents of the county collectively feel quite frustrated by this turn of events, although it has been mooted in the press that our council is only the first to reach this crisis point, and others may follow. The reasons for the frustration are primarily anecdotal, but simultaneously easy to understand. We pay council tax for services. Our council tax hasn't gone up loads recently. It feels as if it has, but that is partly because things like petrol and diesel have gone up something like 20p a litre, my pay has gone up by - well - nothing, so even if council tax didn't go up at all, it has remained a substantial proportion of my income, and so, I assume, everyone else's. The village facebook page is full of complaints of poor rubbish collection, lack of policemen on the street, people dropping litter and parking badly and inconsiderate drivers. Primarily things for which we ourselves are responsible, but things we as councillors are periodically asked to resolve, while simultaneously not nannying or controlling lives.

Impossible? Perhaps. However, litter on the streets is something visible,  whereas litter in bins is something invisible. A very large and newly built council building in the centre of the town is something very visible, and visibly expensive, so residents may be forgiven for believing that a council prepared to spend that much money on a new building must be a very organised and efficient council. For that not to be the case is somewhat disappointing.

One of the council's solutions to the crisis it has found itself in has been to propose getting rid of libraries. We were consulted about this, but then they ran out of money and so our consultation really ended up meaning very little. I and others campaigned hard to get people to contribute to the consultation but few people did, believing that it might not make difference, turns out to some extent they were right.

There are nearly 60 county councillors with around a third of them women. I mention that in passing. I haven't looked at the breakdown in ethnicity and I don't know much about their social background. I don't know how much that matters, but for me, libraries play a massive part in supporting communities and often those in the community who are less represented in society as a whole. There are those who don't have a vote - like children; there are those who don't have access to a computer, like those in temporary accommodation, or older people; there are those who don't have full time or regular employment, those who can't easily pay for their heating bills when it is so incredibly cold like it has been this week.

Despite democracy's best efforts, not everyone has an equal say. It is up to those of us who have a louder voice as a result of our income, our gender, our age or any other accident of serendipity to speak on behalf of those who don't currently have as loud a voice, who we may become, or could become, or have narrowly avoided becoming.

When people tell me they don't use the library, I think "you're missing out", I think "aren't you lucky?" I think "what a shame". Our library building houses a community centre, a cafe with a lunch club for older people, the council committee meetings, a village information point. The library itself is a meeting point, a drop off point, a place to shelter, a place for calm, a place for fun. I didn't go to the library much before I had children. As soon as I did I went there for books, I went there to sit down when I was tired, I went there to get me out of the house when it was the only place I could afford to go. I talked to other mums there and sometimes it was the only adult contact I had all day, and sometimes I think that saved my sanity.

If only I could give up working and had another few hours free a week, there are lots of things I would like to do - but I would do them all through the library. Perhaps I would need the bus timetables and the community help offered by the librarians. There are some libraries in our county that have already had that opportunity taken from them. The libraries will be closed. Some will be offered to community groups to take on. How on earth could that be done? I cannot get anyone to help me manage 18 6 year old girls for 45 minutes a week. I do not believe I have the powers of persuasion to talk some friendly volunteers into giving up 2 hours a week to manage a library, a job that previously took a qualified librarian in full time or on a job share, managing three other people.  Who would take on that responsibility only to fail a few months later and have the libraries closed anyway only for the blame to be foisted onto the local community rather than the council?

The support offered by the libraries may seem intangible, amorphous even, but what is saved further down the line in NHS bills for depression, for hypothermia, for social care, for A and E stays, for extra out of work benefits and emergency payments when a job seeker cannot prove he has been looking for work? These are rarely measured except afterwards when we look at the number of people who have waited for a bed in a hospital or the number of job seekers.

What happens to the current county council? Perhaps they will get voted out or resign, perhaps even a different political party will become the majority for a short time, but I imagine it will be a short time, because they will be unable to sort out the mess that has been left for them in the short term that they will be allowed, and anyway the people who caused this will have long gone, not picking up after themselves, just like the people complaining on the village facebook page, leaving the mess for someone else to sort out and them blaming the community for the state of the place. I hope for better, but expect the worst.

To my sisters...thanks.

At about 16 years old I decided not to eat meat; I also decided not to drink tea, coffee, alcohol. All through my student years I was fairly evangelical about all this. I don't remember all my motivations, I have a fairly strong sense that I may have embraced this hipster-way-before-millennials lifestyle as a reaction to the conformity I struggled to meet.  I wasn't beautiful, so I was unconventional.

These days I am not as strict with myself. I found I could like coffee, I trained myself to like it after I had children and needed some artificial stimulus, in fact, since having children I have developed an ability to sleep at almost any time, just by sitting down. Saturday morning kids' cinema is a particular favourite. This hasn't yet proved a problem, as most of the time I don't sit down. 

I have a small suspicion that there may another reason. I never had my ears pierced, somehow I know- even now, that one hole in each ear would not satisfy - would two, three?  Perhaps I knew it's all or nothing, I'll find another way of being unconventional. 

I am worried at the moment. Everyone is right? Brexit, the recent school shooting in America, our local libraries closing, the factory in our village expanding, the council running out of money. Things aren't really getting worse, I am realistic enough to realise this. Life seems hard in our middle age as our responsibility increases. Our wages have to pay for our current existence - our increasing council tax and mortgage, the price of food going up every month, fuel continuing to increase at the petrol pumps; but also our future; our pensions, our lack of job security, our children's potential university fees. But then there is also the future of others that we will have to pay for; what if our children can't buy house? What if our parents have to sell their houses to pay for social care? We are responsible for our lives and the happiness of all those around us. 

I pour a glass of wine that I'm not used to and mostly fall asleep - thank goodness.  After 12 years of being able to sleep whenever I could, I am starting to wake at 4:30 each day. So anxious am I about waking up late or sleeping through the alarm, or pressing the snooze button one more time, that I wake myself up after a disturbed night of anxiety dreams. If I wasn't so tired, perhaps I would drink another glass, or finish the bottle, because then I might sleep or at least be able to ignore all of these thoughts weighing so heavily on my narrow shoulders. 

Last night, I nearly forgot a whatsapp invitation, nearly ignored an evening at a friend's. I nearly couldn't be bothered to re do my eye make up, brush my hair and change out of work clothes. But of course I didn't have to. All I had to was leave the house - quite a big deal in itself, to a group of girls who don't care about my make up or hair. And today out for lunch with my lunch ladies. And last week for afternoon tea with my scone sisters. I feel better and less like finishing the bottle I opened. I don't need to moan or whinge (but I do a bit) but the giggles and the prosecco, the swearing and gossip, the philosophy and shared history is enough keep me going for another week.

The thrifty girl's guide to love.

Happy Valentine's Day. Or not. My husband and I don't believe in Valentine's Day. That is to say my husband believes it is more appropriate to show me that he loves me every day of the year and will not be constrained by a single day of the year to buy me an over priced rose because that is the day that has been designated as love day by the card companies.

I have never been drawn to romantic men and really am a bit cynical about all that rubbish. It doesn't seem terribly appropriate for a feminist to demand gifts from her male partner. I don't really want a big card. Or a teddy. Or flowers. Or chocolates . In a red box.

In fact my husband and I have systematically avoided celebrating Valentine's Day since we were married. (I can't remember if we experienced any Valentine's Days before we married.) And it turns out that Alf knows exactly how to please me, and that is to do it on a budget. It would appear that the one thing that makes me happier than a box of chocolates is a free box of chocolates, so this is how it happened this year.

1 Valentine's Day was during half term. That means that Mum and Dad could have the kids; Pip, Rex and even Max who generally believes he is too old for that rubbish.
2 I booked a hotel on Groupon. Two nights and checking out on Valentine's Day. With breakfast which is the way to my husband's heart.
3 We had coffee at Cafe Nero free with Nectar points.
4 Dinner was at the best Indian restaurant I may have ever visited at The Viceroy. With 2 for 1 on tastecard which is free for 3 months trial.
5 Pizza was free the next day with Wuntu the three app with my mobile phone.

So I know I'm broke and I still have 2 weeks of the month left with no real prospect of any more income, but even if I were out of debt and earning twice as much, I honestly don't think I'd be happier with a bunch of flowers and a huge card than I am with a man who appreciates me appreciating a free lunch. Next week we'll go for Pizza at Pizza Express with my Tesco vouchers. That is my sort of love.

The body confident

I am sitting on the side of a pool in France, watching my children play in the water and wondering how long and how often I have been merely an observer of a life rather than one who participates.

I love watching my beautiful daughter stride around the pool with her long,long legs and hate it when she says she won't wear her tankini because it shows her belly. I hate looking at Max's wobbly belly and knowing that is my fault for not making him have a more active lifestyle.

I'm watching French, Dutch and German mothers in the pool with their offspring and am hearing them repeat, almost word for word the same things I say to my children.  "Ca ce n'est pas gentil" "Bien, jolie!" "schnell !" Then there are the mostly British mothers, like me, sitting on the sidelines, rolling our 3/4 trousers up past pasty knees, slipping our cardigans onto the floor for a moment.

But all these women in the pool look fabulous. Better than me, I think. Or maybe not. Do they look so good because they take part and do the exercise and don't waste time caring what anyone else thinks about -and now I look closer, I can see them- the stretch marks and broken veins and tan lines, and not wearing underwired bikinis or even shaving every bit of body hair.

If I hadn't been so self conscious about what I now realise was my flat stomach and toned thighs, perhaps I wouldn't have become the two stone over-weight blob fish I am now. And if I don't strip off and get in that pool I won't get any browner or lose any of that belly that has resumed the approximate size and quality it had immediately after my fourth pregnancy.

Maybe next year, knowing I have to get undressed, I will behave better throughout the year. Otherwise I'll be waiting until I'm 65, the see when most women feel body confident.  Of course by that time,my daughter will believe that sitting on the sidelines is an option. I need to take responsibility.

Oh. "Is this OK?" the French woman asks me, moving the chairs. Despite the fact I am pretty fluent in French and German everyone speaks tome in English. Is it the fat?  Is it the pink hair? No, just the fact that I am watching from the edge while everyone else takes part. There is definitely a metaphor here....

XS ive

There is a new perfume advert on tv.  I don't know why. It isn't Christmas. Perhaps it's for those people who go on holiday and think they need to spend all their money on over priced aftershave on the way home.

I think this may be the most ridiculously sexist advert for fragrance I have ever seen.  Until the next one obviously.  The fragrance is Pure XS by Paco Rabanne, which as far as I can remember, actually smells quite nice, but I won't be buying it for my husband any time soon.

You can watch it here, should you wish to.

Ok. So this is partly an indication of my age, but the boy in the advert looks very young to me.  He is far too clean shaven, far too hairless, I really am not a fan of this massive over grooming trend at the moment, I like my men to be a bit hairy, but perhaps I should be encouraging the equality of difficulty.

Anyway, this pretty little boy is going to have a bath in a very nice bathroom, or is it a library? There are books all round the walls and it turns out that some naughty little minxes have just placed a bath in the middle of a posh room with a two way mirror to spy on any passing boy who fancies having a bath.

The oversexed young vixens are getting very overheated, hiding in the book cases and in the cupboards as they spy on the boy who starts to get undressed. They are terribly excited by his smooth, smooth tanned and perfectly sculpted chest, in fact he is pretty excited by it himself and keeps touching it as he poses in the two way mirror - unknowingly watched by a dozen or so attractive women, who have literally nothing better to do than wait in the cupboard for unsuspecting boys to come along and have baths.

He seems to forget that he wants a bath, or rather, starts to think like the teenager he actually is, and realises that it is much quicker to just spray a load of scent over the smell rather than really have a wash.  So after stroking a couple of brass taps, which spurt water in a way which suggests that the girls might need to employ a passing plumber to come and fix the waterworks at some point, he unfastens his trousers and gives a cheeky squirt.  At which point, all the girls faint or fall over in rapturous ecstasy.

All this time the Habanera from Bizet's Carmen is playing in the background.  I am no expert in opera, but everything I remember about Carmen suggests to me a strong female role model - teasing and manipulating a male audience at this point - "If I love you, then beware!"  Perhaps I am missing the point. Should I be celebrating the objectification and voyeuristic treatment of the male body?  I don't think so.  He seems a little too aware of his audience and he is not being observed by one woman but several. When he removes his trousers he seems to be controlling a whole brood of women with whatever is under there.

I may once again be showing my age, but I seem to be seeing many more genitals on tv at the moment - it may be my choice of Amazon over Netflix, but I haven't yet seen a show that has justified any use of genitals, I just can't quite see the point.  I have never yet seen a group of young women lose control of their dignity over the sight of any man's penis. And that includes the women at work the other week googling a particular Love Island contestant (?), competitor (?) and discussing his size, girth or length I don't remember. They passed round a phone screen, zoomed in on the poor man's organ, reducing him to a single attribute and passed interested comments, but no one fainted, or declared it a beauty.

What is this advertisement trying to say? And who is going to buy the fragrance or the image on the basis of this?  A young woman, who wants her man to appeal to a large group of other women?  A young over-groomed man who buys his own eau de toilette?  And what is the image being sold? That men are sex objects too? That the best we can hope for is that pretty young men's bodies are exploited as much as young women's bodies and that is the kind of equality we have achieved in advertising?

The ASA is planning to "crack down" on sexist advertising and adverts that perpetuate sexist stereotypes.  I am not sure that this is what they had in mind, but I don't intend to give a company that suggests women need to fall at the feet of a man who unzips his fly any of my spare euros this summer.