P'Od

I tell you, I am po'd. Yep, my blood is - if not boiling - is darn right simmering. Dang it. And I'm afraid I'm kinda pissed off at the whole of the UK.

Now British readers, don't take too much offense. This is a natural thing for a foreign resident to feel from time to time. I got hacked off with American culture, too. But listen, what the Brits know about customer service could be pulled out of my ass. No, wait - that's too much.

Let me give you a little bit of management advice. For free.

POLITENESS COSTS NOTHING.

APOLOGISE IF YOU ARE WRONG. Offering an apology for my inconvenience is not an admission of liability. Don't make every customer service interaction a freakin' trial.

And just like the Harvard School of Business does, I will use case studies to illustrate my point.


Case One: The Ikea bookcase

OK, y'all don't start laughing - I know you're thinking. What did you expect? It's Ikea. But really, this experience sank beneath my already low, low expectations.

We loaded up the baby and our measurements and we drove down to Croydon. We bought a bookcase. We already had one like it, so we knew what we were getting into. We thought.

Once we got the thing home, I looked after the baby while the Vol-in-Law assembled the bookcase. He couldn't put it together. Nope. Not at all. He was really struggling. I walked in and said "That's because you've got two right sides and no lefts." Basically there was no way in heck that the bookcase could be put together.

So, we load up the car with our redundant second right bookcase side and go on down to Croydon to change it out. The ViL queues for ages. He gets the third degree, but eventually, and with some effort, we get a left side. We get home. It doesn't fit. It's been machined differently. The holes just don't match up.

So we load up the car with whole bookcase this time and take it down to Croydon. This meant that the ViL had to spend time disassembling the darn thing as well. We queue for freaking ages in the customer service corral. We do get our money back.

But do we get an apology. We do not. Not anything for the time that we've spent driving, the frustration, the anguish, the effort. Not the freakin' 20 questions from the 18 year customer service manager, the looks of disbelief, the "are you sure you had two right sides?" Yes. Yes. We were sure. Your goods were simply not of merchantable quality.

Believe it or not I'm pretty easy going. What would have mollified me was:

I'm sorry the bookcase didn't work out. That must have been very frustrating, sorry you had to wait. Sorry you had to make two trips. Here's your money back.

An apology costs nothing.

Oh, and by the way, I know we told you that we had returned all the screws and washers with the bookcase since you were so concerned about that. But when we got home we found a screw that had rolled under a chair, so nah.

Case Two: The ASDA video game

A note for American readers: ASDA is a grocery store chain owned by WalMart. Like most major groceries in the UK, they've branched out into other retail goods - like clothes and DVDs and lawn chairs and stuff.

The ViL told me that all he wanted for Christmas and his birthday were some Bruce Springstein CDs and a certain computer game. I gave him the CDs for his birthday. Well, apparently I bought the wrong CDs by the Boss, and the ViL bitched and moaned about it most ungraciously. (Really bad form from a guy who often doesn't get me any birthday gift without some serious hint dropping.)

I bought the certain computer game at ASDA. Picked out the case, went to the counter where they keep the actual discs, paid and was on my merry way.

Come Christmas morning the ViL was so happy to receive the right gift. Until he opened it. The ASDA game and music person had put the wrong CDs into the case. She had put the original game (which we already owned) into the case rather than the expansion pack (which we did not own). The ViL noticed it right away. We never even loaded the CDs into the PC.

The ViL did remove the top CD to see if both CDs were the wrong ones. They were. That's all the touching that we did of that game.

So, after Christmas, I go back to ASDA. First checking at the media counter to see if I can make a straight swap. Nope. The correct discs are vanished and there are no others. An apology? Nope. Not even when the guy manning the desks tells me he can't give me my money back there, but I'll have to queue up at the erroneously named customer services desk.

Oh and what a queue. Ahead of me was a woman who was returning a jar of unused Christmas nuts. I guess she didn't get as many guests as she had hoped for over Christmas. Hardly surprising for someone so cheap they would return a jar of unused snacks. And then there were a couple of crazy dudes, without much English, trying to get some kind of rebate on 94 packs of Splenda singles. Ninety-four. And the "customer service" agent was gonna count them up. Crikey.

Once I get to someone, I explain my story. Do I get an apology for my long wait? No. Do I get an apology because my husband's Christmas gift was ruined because they gave us the wrong discs? No. I just get all kinds of palaver about how the CD is scratched and how that means they can't resell it. I just get the third degree, like I'm trying to pull some kind of stunt.

I say I don't care. Just give me my money back.

Case Three: Curry's

Curry's is an electrical retail chain. Everything from headphones to dishwashers.

The ViL buys some kind of cable connecty-thing for our new DVD player. He asked if it didn't work, could he return it. Yep. He does buy the cheapest option.

After tinkering for quite.some.time - he realises that it doesn't work with our system. Whether there's something wrong with the cable or we were sold the wrong thing, I don't know. But it doesn't work.

So we decide to take it back and exchange it for the not-the-cheapest-option. I go to the counter with my new purchase and my return and say this didn't work out.

Instead of oh, that's too bad, or well, I hope this one works better. I get a ten minute freaking lecture on how it has to be returned in its original packaging in a resalable condition. (This isn't true, by the way, the law says otherwise.) We didn't mess up the cable, but the box is a write off - because well, it was one of those all sealed up plastic things that had to be torn into.

I tell the woman I don't want to argue about it, I just want it credited against the cable which I'm buying that costs over twice as much. She goes off to her manager, while I'm left with a fretting baby.

I do get the credit. But do I get an apology? Do I get the slightest little pleasantry. Nope. I get MORE GUFF about how I've returned it the wrong way.

I tell her that her customer services skills are lacking and that politeness costs nothing. I probably should have added that I've spent hundreds and hundreds of pounds in that shop over the years. No more.

BONUS CASE 4: My GPs

Here's another one. Don't insult your clients. Here's what I saw today when I took Buddy to the GP.




I told the GP I saw that as an American, I found it a bit unwelcoming. She laughed at me. Another tip. Don't do that either.

Career advice

I need some career advice. I'm bored with mine.

I'm looking for something that:

• starts late
  
• finishes early
  
• sparks my creativity
• allows me to expound (love to expound)
• exposes me to a significant degree of adulation
• has lots of new technology toys
• allows me to dress flamboyantly

I know the job for Wizard of Oz has already been filled, so if anyone has any thoughts on anything else.

Unwell

buddy in the garden, originally uploaded by London looks.

Poor old Buddy is sick. He hasn't been sick before, not really. He come down with the horrible, vomitous cruds. He's got some explosive yellow, baby poo. Ewwww.

He's had a fever, too - and just generally feels bad.

And he was supposed to start daycare this week.

Who's the daddy?

Yes, I've blogged about my love for paternity testing tv shows before.

Deadbeat punk, you ARE the father.

I know it's trashy. I know it's low class. I know it's wrong even to be entertained by the obvious misery and personal train-wrecks of these "guests". But I can't help it.

And now, apparently, my home state is trying to get in on the act. But instead of being piped into your living rooms, the touching DNA scene will take place at the side of every post-partum bed in the state. Or it will if SB3717HB2964 goes through. According to the Archcrone:

Basically, this bill provides that each child born in the state of
Tennessee will be tested for paternity before the father’s name can be placed on
the birth certificate. The state will take up the cost of paternity testing when
parent’s are unable to afford the test. Oh, and married couples are not
excluded, making the overt presumption that women are “unfaithful.”

The only thing better would be camera crews roving through the hospital waiting to capture the special moment of revelation. Blecchhhh.... (Though I hate to admit, I'd probably watch.)

(In an interesting side note, this seems like the ideal way to collect a nifty database which would eventually hold the DNA of all citizens.)

-0-

I think it's an interesting touch that the state will pick up the cost of testing for the low income. Ironic, even, considering rape victims were being charged for the cost of their rape kits. I was reminded of this by an email I got to my Vol Abroad account.

A young woman emailed to thank me for blogging about the outrage of women having to pay for their own rape kits in the state of Tennessee. She'd been raped. She reported the rape. She agreed to the rape kit, necessary for collecting evidence - and then she'd been charged for it. For whatever reason, probably stunned by disbelief, she didn't pay and now she's received a summons from the hospital that administered it. Sick. Sick. Sick.

When I was mugged on the streets of Knoxville, I got probably two or three hours worth of police time spent on my case that I was aware of - including at least a half hour with a detective. Given salaries and overheads, that wasn't without cost. I never got a bill. That one was on the good citizens of Knoxville.

When our house was broken into here in London, the Met sent round some forensics blokes. They dusted for fingerprints - which led to a conviction. We also spent about an hour talking to a detective, plus whatever time was spent by uniformed police. We never got a bill.

It's bad enough that victims of crime are left out of pocket for their medical treatment. And if they're uninsured, they're robbed twice. A rape kit, as far as I know, isn't for the medical benefit of the victim. It's used to collect evidence. That is purely and simply the responsibility of the state in its role of prosecuting public crimes, for the safety and protection of the public.

Now, thankfully, victims of rape can claim back the costs of their rape kits, according to the Nashville Women's Political Caucus:

Victim’s Rights – Payment of Forensic Sexual Assault Examinations – Worked
successfully to pass legislation that authorizes payment of costs for
forensic sexual assault examinations (for the purpose of gathering evidence of
sexual assault) from the Victim’s Compensation Fund for sexual assault victims
and establishes a “Sexual Assault Examination Fund” to reimburs victims for
these expenses that are not compensable under the victim’s compensation
fund.

But that's just not good enough. That means that the victim has to wade through one and perhaps two compensation schemes with the paperwork and the triplicate and the requesting of forms. Talk about adding insult to injury. The only reasonable approach is that the state has to pick up the tab in the first place as part of normal police work.

If I were one of those angry, radical feminists - I might say the link between these two stories is the presumption that all women are whores. Sluts who lie about sleeping around in order to screw some poor guy in the first case or some poor guy and the taxpayer in the second by reporting a rape. She must be a lying hoor, so why should the state pay? But in the case of paternity testing, she must be a lying hoor - so why should the poor, cuckolded schmuck have to pay?

The ViL's poppy

P1020577, originally uploaded by London looks.

On our walk in the cemetery today, the Vol-in-Law said he wanted to check the war memorial to see if his poppy offering was still there.

It is.

It's the single poppy beneath the wreath.

In a way, it's kind of amazing it's still there. It was place on 11 November and the first time he tried to leave it on the memorial it blew away within seconds. He retrieved it, replaced it and there it's stayed for over three months.

But it's not that amazing.

The only reason I'm blogging about it is because he said:

"You should take a picture of my poppy and put in on your blog"

What can I say? I'm a surrendered wife.

Roll it up and smoke it

A Brit policy wonk (Julian Le Grand) is suggesting a smoking license. For the nominal cost of £10 - that's about $20, but really not much considering that's less than the cost of two packs of twenty cigarettes.

Professor Julian Le Grand, chairman of Health England, said more people might stop smoking if they had to "opt in" by applying for an annual permit and paying a £10 fee. "Some 70% of smokers actually want to stop smoking. So if you just make it that little bit more difficult for them to actually re-start or even to start in the first place, yes I think it will make a big difference," he told BBC Radio 5 Live. He said some people would be deterred from smoking if they had to make the effort to fill in a complicated form, get a photograph taken and pay a charge.

While I can see that would piss a lot of people off, I actually think this idea has some merit. More important than making people choose to continue to smoke, it might actually have a greater deterrent effect for the recovering smoker. It would make that first pack on the way to permanent backsliding all the more difficult.

I only question whether the £10 would actually cover administration costs.

Crystal meth-ods

This morning there was a news item on the radio about crystal meth. It's only starting to permeate these shores. From having no meth labs a few years ago, the police now estimate that there are twenty.

Coincidentally a few years ago, I considered introducing meth to the UK market. I used to have a long running riff with a friend of mine about how we were gonna become crystal meth queens. That we could cook it up in my shed at first and that we could use new migrants from Eastern Europe to be our runners, distributors and a sizeable part of our customer base.

I once even suggested the plan to an unemployed American rocket scientist (she was a chemist working with rocket fuels at one point) that she could come in on the plan and help us cook it up. Her boyfriend (perhaps lacking the appreciation for the high irony of the joke) was clearly appalled and said he didn't want her blowing up their flat. I said that I was sure he was underestimating her abilities.

We didn't see much of them after that.

My friend and I talked about marketing plans. Once in front of gen-u-ine London ad man. He said we were going all wrong with a piece meal approach to product introduction. He said what we really needed was a high profile celebrity arrest while hopped up on meth - and that the lower socio-economic profile groups would follow. That probably would have been a very expensive piece of advice had he charged.

Anyway, obviously, being law abiding types, we didn't even take the first step toward completing our plan. I haven't even bought sudafed when I've had a cold. I didn't even clean out my shed, which needed it anyway.

So it looks like we may have missed the boat on the meth thing. Just as well, I'm sure. The Texan has gone on to get her MBA and I have an ickle baby.

It couldn't happen here

The copper on the news piece this morning acknowledged that it was a growing problem, but was optimistic that it wouldn't become as rife as it has been in the US and in Australia. I do wonder if this isn't a bit of wishful thinking. According to one Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) rep:

Victoria Machin, secretary to Acpo's national methamphetamine working
group, which produced the study, said: "We have found clear evidence of meth
production, distribution or use right across the country." She said the
numbers involved remained small, although she added that it was difficult to get
an accurate picture as some people did not realise they were taking the drug.
"Drug users who are thinking 'This crack is good' are sometimes taking crystal
meth; that's the information we are getting off the street and that seems to be
the way it is creeping into the system."

...and....

Metropolitan police commander Simon Bray, who leads Acpo's work on
methamphetamine, said: "What we are finding now is that crystal meth is being
found in people who think they are taking cocaine or heroin ... In a pilot
scheme recently where those arrested were tested for the substance 4% were found
to be positive. "We approached one [police] force who assured us they did
not have a crystal meth problem in their area. After we had given them more
information about the drug it emerged that there were in fact two or three towns
where crystal meth was readily available."

But what really indicated it was wishful thinking was some nice little code for it couldn't happen here. The copper on the radio this morning said -

There are some demographic differences from the US and Australia.

Oh yeah? Does that mean you think there's more class and less trash in the UK? Hmmm...I think perhaps he hasn't watched any Jeremy Kyle* lately.

____________
*UK trash talk show specialising in the DNA and lie detector tests

Happy V-Day

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, originally uploaded by London looks.

Happy Valentine's Day!

New shoes?

I've just been watching the BBC science series Horizon program on decision making. Verrry interesting.

I've learned a couple of things.

1. If you go for a job interview - make sure that your hands are warm before you shake hands with your interviewer. If you've just come in from the cold, buy a coffee or something to warm them up. (People's views of you, including hiring decisions, can be influenced strongly by temperature.)

2. Risky shoes choices are best left to single women. That is - the more married you are - the more sensible your shoes should be.


Tip 1 is useful. Tip 2 - less so. I've always bought sensible shoes. Plain dressing dikes think my shoe choices are sensible. My problem - according to my husband - is that I buy a lot of them. He calls me the Imelda Marcos of black leather sensible flats.

There's even a handy calculator for decision making. Good old weighting of cost and benefit using a collection of nifty little variables. Apparently, I should buy the fake grass and my husband should apologise. (Hey baby, it's all in the weighting.)

Yawn

Buddy has been going through some kind of growth spurt or he's teething or an upset tummy or some combination of the above or all three.

I haven't been getting much sleep. Not much at all. He's comfort nursing much of the night. That is over the weekend he was waking say every 20 minutes to half an hour for most of the night. And when he finally did get to sleep (long about four of five) for a good couple of hours, I couldn't sleep, because I kept waiting for him to wake up again. It was so painful to be jolted awake again just as I was going off that I was nervous of falling asleep.

Buddy's heavier now, too. And his weight and his constant nursing have given me some kind of weird tennis elbow from where he lays in the crook of my arm. What with the no sleep and lugging him about, I'm tired and sore all over. Dang.

My husband has had disturbed sleep these past few nights, it's true. But I haven't slept through the night for about - oh, four months now and even on the bad nights where sometimes he'll help, I still deal with Buddy more, simply because I'm nursing.

Anyway, tonight the Vol-in-Law says to me, apparently in all seriousness: I don't think you understand how tired I am.

Yeah, he's probably right. It's been a long time since I've been that tired. I wish I could go back to mere exhaustion instead of long term sleep deprivation.

It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood

Walking around the neighbourhood yesterday,


we saw that the denture plate store had changed its window display



and



Which is a step up from what it used to be...,

but not as good as has been in the past

(What are these people thinking?)

We also saw an unusual estate agent's board in front of a house. Seems like everyone's getting excited about the US elections.




Then we went to the local park so that Buddy could swing. And we saw this in the park:



I was told by the Head of Parks in a borough where I used to work that this is the sign of someone training up their dogs to be mean. We've seen a big increase in the number of pit bulls or staffordshire bull terriers or whatever (junkyard dog looking bruisers) recently. They're on the streets and they're looking mean. I know that there has been some discussion of breed bans in my home state of Tennessee and there are some vocal opponents. But dang it, these dogs scare me. They could have my Buddy out of his stroller and dead or damaged in seconds. There used to be dog licenses in this country. I think maybe it's time to investigate a return of the dog license - perhaps just for built up areas or just for certain breeds.


Won't someone think of the children and the trees?

*******

We went back today to the same park. And we did see a big scary dog. But we also saw this.





London's air ambulance landing in the park. It was kinda cool and kinda scary. We were well close enough to get hit by the dust blown up by the blade. Buddy just stared at it until it was a dot in the sky after it took off again.

Gap

We watched the first episode of Ashes to Ashes the other night - the follow up series to Life on Mars. (Do y'all get that on BBC America?) Anyway, it's a weirdo show about time travelling cops who might or might not be dead, in a coma or genuinely sent back 30 years in time.

But whatever, the show is all about giving us a view of life in another era which we might or might not have lived through.

It does get you to thinking about how Buddy will see scenes on tv of people smoking in restaurants and bars and stuff and how alien that will be to him. Back in my day son, I'll say, we could light up in church.

Anyway, I think it all sort of reminded us of our generation gap. We're kinda old to be having kids. He thought it would be like the 50s to the 70s (our own childhoods) - but then realised that difference between us and Buddy is like the difference between us and someone born in 1933.

Someone born in 1933 might remember the needfulness of a childhood in depression, Pearl Harbor, would well remember World War II and advent of the civil rights movement. Someone born in 1933 would be old enough to shake their heads in disgust at those crazy kids protesting against the war in Viet Nam.

I'll be able to say I can remember where I was when I heard Reagan was shot. I can remember the Iranian hostage crisis. Heck, I remember where I was when I found out Bear Bryant was dead (apparently the 25th anniversary of his death was fairly recently).

But I don't know if any or which of these or what else will capture Buddy's imagination.

Six more weeks of spikes

Hedgehog!, originally uploaded by David Reece.

Today I overheard an Eastern European fellow telling his very pregnant Japanese partner all about "a movie where the weatherman experienced the same day over and over again - it was called Hedgehog Day"

Them internet searches

Somebody just came to my blog from the search term

Inducing cat labor

Don't be messin' around with that. Just don't.

Why I move right - but could never vote Republican

In accordance with the old truism, I've moved right - I've become more conservative - as I've gotten older. This is partly the natural cleaving to the old ways, it's partly getting an MA in Economics from the University of Tennessee, and it's a lot about moving to the UK and seeing the consequences of a true welfare state. You talk about dependency culture - whooo-weee, daaaang - there are generations of people here who don't have the foggiest about work.

So in Mitt Romney's withdrawal speech (full transcript from the NYT) there were some things I agreed with:

Dependency is death to initiative, risk-taking and opportunity. Dependency is culture killing. It's a drug. We've got to fight it like the poison it is.

Yep. I agree. It is a poison. A poison that rots the soul.

But he goes on in that mean spirited Republican way which just sickens me. Sickens me with its mantle of "personal responsibility" - which is just a slick cover for tight-fistedness, for I-got-mine-so-screw-you, and most shamefully for sticking their noses in the trough of public goods that they like (highways, infrastructure, business tax credits and subsidies, policing and defense) and turning off the tap for other social goods that they have access to privately ( i.e. health care) despite the fact that this approach is actually economically inefficient and delivers poorer outcomes overall.

Now, some people think we won that battle when we reformed welfare. But the liberals haven't given up.

At every turn, they tried to substitute government largess for individual responsibility. They fight to strip work requirements from welfare, to put more people on Medicaid, and remove more and more people from having to pay any income tax whatsoever.

And the crowd cheered and the band played on.

Is this the latest sick, selfish Republican mantra? Make sure that poor folk don't have access to health care? Make sure the low paid pay through the nose but get rid of taxes on unearned income (e.g. capital gains, estate taxes)?

One thing I've learned about a dependency culture in the UK is that you want to make the transition into working as easy and rewarding as possible. One truth about universal health care that the Selfish-right don't want you to know is that it actually encourages economic activity and entrepreneurs. In the US, some people get caught in the trap of losing health benefits when they start to earn too much money. In the US, people are stuck with dead end jobs or denied the opportunity to go out on their own because they must cling to their employer provided health care.

In the UK, the non-working have every incentive not to work (at least in the short run) as they lose benefits pound for pound as they start earning (which doesn't take into account that leisure does have value) and they come into a rather punitive and regressive tax system. My tax burden is far lower now than it was when I was barely scraping by (though of course I am paying far more overall - it annoys, but it doesn't hurt now.)

The point is, of course, that everyone has to start somewhere. And unless you're the privileged child of wealth, the place you start is at a very low wage job. You work your way up. And you should be rewarded for trading a life of penurious leisure for penurious labor by keeping as much of your wage as possible when you're at that rough, rotten bottom rung of the economic ladder.

It's not as if the low-paid don't pay taxes. They pay a lot of tax (proportionately). They pay taxes on goods and services. They are almost certainly paying other payroll taxes (FICA in the US, National Insurance in the UK). And they can't escape the taxman with sheltered income and offshore accounts.

I believe in the hand up, not the handout. But forcing the poor to hand-over disproportionately, making their precarious situation all the more tottering is just wrong.

Sharia in the UK?

The Arch-freakin'-Bishop of Canterbury* is saying that sharia law in the UK is inevitable? Holy-effin'-moly! Where's your convictions man? I'm nearly (but not quite) struck speechless.

In one breath the Archbishop says

Nobody in their right mind would want to see in this country the kind of inhumanity that has sometimes been associated with the practice of the law in some Islamic states: the extreme punishments, the attitudes to women,”

Well, yes, I would certainly agree with that. But then he goes on to say:

“But there are ways of looking at marital disputes, for example, which provide an alternative to the divorce courts as we understand them.”

Arrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Sorry I couldn't come up with something more eloquent, but I did say I was nearly struck dumb with the stupidity of it all.)

Doesn't he get it? Doesn't he understand? Enforcing sharia based decisions in matters of family law - and especially in matters of divorce - is exactly what underlines the barbaric attitudes to women.

There's nothing to stop two parties coming to an agreement based on sharia and abiding by it under current UK law. Women - in case of separation, do you want to hand over custody of your children? Do you want to have a "mosque-based" marriage in which you have no rights when it comes to property? Hey, fine by me. Do what you want.

But no way, no how should British courts be enforcing such decisions or routing women of Muslim origin into sharia based civil court hearings. That's what a tandem system of sharia law for Muslims would mean.

It's wrong.

Equality before the law. One law for everyone. We may not always get it, but we must always , always aspire to it.


_________
*head honcho bishop in the Church of England


UPDATE: At Harry's Place, just as one would have expected there's a discussion about this. They call for the sacking of the Archbishop and the disestablishment of the Church of England. No need. When the head of the CoE calls for sharia law - the church done been disestablished.

Romney drops out

Mitt Romney drops out. The best I can say about him is that had he won, I reckon he wouldn't have been the total disaster that that crazy McCain would be.

They're still doing it.

Looks like they had quite a shindig going on in London for Democrats Abroad where I could have cast a ballot. Didn't make it because my dad and brother were visiting, but the news coverage made me kinda sad I missed out.

But I'm so grateful for the opportunity to cast my ballot online in the DA Global Primary. Come November, I'll vote in my home state. Hillary won there last night without my vote and this fall she'll win in Tennessee with my vote.

-0-

My brother backs Obama. Tsk, tsk. But he also voted for Nader in 2000, so I think we know how politically wise he is.

Obama could still win and as a good Dem, I'll vote for him, but I tell you I hope he cuts out the backsniping bullshit pronto. That's not helping anyone.

-0-

I've noticed the Hillary Clinton coverage is all spun negative. They're still doing it. In one sentence it's all "Hillary wins more delegates..." in the next it's all "Hillary is struggling, Hillary is losing her advantage..." blah, blah, blah.

Hello, people - she's winning. WTF?

The Tennessee Guerilla Women have a good low down on the misogyny and last night's coverage.

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But you know the weird press coverage is not just about misogyny. John Edwards couldn't have got 30 seconds if he were the man biting a dog. And poor old Mitt Romney had been winning until the media anointed that crazy McCain. And Huckabee? Well, he's getting good coverage, cause he's winning in the snake handling states. (Yeah, I know.... I'm bad.)

With friends (and MPs) like these...

There's a big furore here over the potential bugging of a conversation between an MP and his friend and constituent. This MP happens to be my MP. This constituent lives within easy walking distance from my house. That is he lives there when he's not in jail - on terror charges.

Sadiq Khan is at the center of a controversy about whether his jailhouse conversation with Babar Ahmad should have been taped without his knowledge. Doubtless, all of Mr Ahmad's conversations are bugged (except probably privileged conversations with his lawyer) - given that he is, in fact, a terror suspect awaiting extradition to America. It's all so very complicated why he's to stand trial in the US and not in the UK. But what appears to not be in dispute is that the man helped raise money for the Taliban.

He raised money for them, but this wasn't a crime in the UK at the time he was doing it because the Taliban wasn't a proscribed organisation at the time. Not that we didn't know they were nasty pre-9/11, just that they weren't outlawed.

From the Washington Post:

In late 1996, while a 22-year-o.ld undergraduate at Imperial College in London, Ahmad launched a Web site dedicated to promoting Islamic fighters in Bosnia, Chechnya and Afghanistan, according to U.S. federal prosecutors. Dubbed Azzam.com, in honor of Abdullah Azzam, a Palestinian who served as bin Laden's spiritual mentor, the Web site rapidly became a prominent and influential English-language platform for Islamic militants.

...snip...

"It was the very first real al Qaeda Web site," said Evan Kohlmann, a New York-based terrorism researcher who has tracked Azzam.com since the late 1990s. "It taught an entire generation about jihad. Even in its nascency, it was professional. It wasn't technically sophisticated, but it was professional looking, definitely more professional than any other jihadi Web sites out there."

...snip...

According to a U.S. indictment filed in October, Ahmad used Azzam.com to
solicit donations for Chechen rebels and the Taliban, and arranged for the
training and transportation of Islamic fighters. Among the specific charges is
one alleging that Azzam.com posted messages in early 2001 containing specific
instructions for supporters to deliver cash payments of up to $20,000 to
Taliban officials in Pakistan

And I blogged about this two and a half years ago (post has links to US extradition request).

-0-

Now, Sadiq Khan, MP feels aggrieved because there is an established convention that MPs' conversations won't be bugged. I guess I can understand that, though it was Mr Ahmad and not Mr Khan who was the explicit subject of surveillance.

But in news story after news story Babar Ahmad is listed as both a constituent and a friend. They did grow up in the same area, so childhood friends they may be - and I'm sure we all had playmates who turned out not as well as might be hoped. But Mr Khan should consider whether he really wants friends like Mr Ahmad. And Tooting constituents should consider whether we want an MP with friends like that.

It's like groundhog day

If I'm not mistaken, tomorrow is Groundhog Day. In Britain that has no resonance. At least no weather predicting resonance. Instead when folks here say "It's like Groundhog Day," they're not saying today will be a bellweather for the next six weeks, they're saying "It's like deja vu - all over again." It means that the same [stupid] thing happens again and again and again. Based purely on that film.

And each and every year, when I say "Hey, I think it's Groundhog Day," they say "Is that for real?"

And I explain about the weather predicting abilities of Punxsatawney Phil and how we'll have six more weeks of winter - or not. I have to do it every year. It's like Groundhog Day deja vu all over again.

Funnily enough the origin of Groundhog Day is not some kooky American nonsense, but rather is steeped in European superstition - Candlemas Day -which falls midway between Winter and Spring Solstice according to a Groundhog Day history page. Or as they used to say in England:

If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter has another flight.
If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,
Winter will not come again.

-0-

I'm preempting the Pennsylvanian rodent and guessing that there will be six more weeks of winter. Blehhh.

Cheesecake

So how much will Buddy hate me for this photo (and publishing it on the Internet)?

Kids these days

Last week I was joking with a colleague about the futility of consulting with youth (much to the horror of other colleagues). I told him that all they ever say is "There's nothing to do, nowhere to go." We had a good snicker over that.

The colleague in favor of consulting with the yoof-of-today hadn't heard my earlier summation and proudly pronounced that some research she was involved in with youth rioters had gotten to the root of the problems. It wasn't just the racism and the poverty - no, they also didn't have enough youth facilities.

Well, no wonder the windows were smashed and the cars were burned.


-0-


Tonight the Vol-in-Law and watched a programme called Why Kids Kill.

As it turns out, the reason is: there's nothing to do and nowhere to go.

-0-

Chores. That's what these kids are lacking. If they're bored, if they've no place to go, if they're brimming with excess energy that has no place to spell itself out except into property damage and fighting it's because they simply don't have enough chores to do.

Fearless leader diary

The hardest working Mayor in the World

Tonight I’m at my desk until 3am, updating my Enemies of London list. Enemies of London are in their own especially high council-tax band. Their Oyster cards deplete faster. Nobody collects their bins or recycling.

Right now, Enemies of London include my rival mayoral candidates, Trevor Phillips, anybody who works for the Evening Standard, Channel 4 or the New Statesman, Jews, Americans, somebody who once pushed past me in the queue for a cash machine and people who don’t like bendy buses.

High-larious.

Help needed for a lazy Southern cook

Hey y'all - I'm jonesing for some biscuit. I was going on about it all day yesterday and I'm still wanting it today. Mmmmm....biscuit.

But my biscuits are SUB-PAR. I have to confess:

Hello, my name is the Vol Abroad...and....[sob]...I can't bake biscuits.


Now, I know I'm not alone in my poor biscuit making skills, but for the Southerner at home there are many ways to compensate. There are the fast food restaurants, there are those biscuits in a can (blechhhh - though flaking apart a Hungry Jack biscuit is oddly satisfying) and there are those frozen biscuits which are actually pretty good. And, of course, best of all there are networking skills - i.e. get to know somebody who can bake biscuits.

Sadly, none of these options are open to me.

Now, I know there are mixes that make kick-ass biscuits. For example, when a cousin of mine worked at a well-known fast food restaurant she stole some of the biscuit mix and baked it up for our Christmas eve dinner which that year was fried chicken and fixin's. Mmmmm - they were good.

You can buy Bisquick in England. But I don't like it. I mean, it's OK, but it's not what I'm going for. I want a biscuit that looks like this.

What dry mix do you suggest? I need suggestions this week, 'cause my dad and brother are arriving on Saturday. They live in South Georgia and East Tennessee, in case there are some regional specialties.

The camellias

Camellias in Isabella Plantation. There were quite a few winter blooming shrubs in bloom.

A memorial to a Polish bear

There's a campaign to erect a memorial a Polish bear. Well, an Iranian bear enlisted in the Polish army.

No joke.

Known as the "soldier bear" he saw action at Monte Cassino, in Italy, before being billeted - along with about 3,000 other Polish troops - at a camp in the Scottish borders.

And like any other combatant, he is even said to have had an official name, rank and number.

Now a campaign is underway to build a permanent British memorial to the remarkable bear who fought so valiantly for the Allied forces and lived out his final days in Edinburgh Zoo.

Voytek the Bear carried munitions for the troops and also discovered a spy. And his reward? Beer and cigarettes and access to the shower hut. Oh, and a retirement villa at the Edinburgh Zoo, where apparently his old comrades tried to chuck him cigarettes.

Polish veteran Augustyn Karolewski, 82, who still lives near the site of the camp in Berwickshire, said: 'He was like a big dog, no-one was scared of him. "He liked a cigarette, he liked a bottle of beer - he drank a bottle of beer like any man."

When the troops were demobilised, Voytek spent his last days at Edinburgh Zoo, where died in 1963.

Mr Karolewski went back to see him on a couple of occasions and found he still responded to the Polish language. He explained: "I went to Edinburgh Zoo once or twice when Voytek was there. "As soon as I mentioned his name he would sit on his backside and shake his head wanting a cigarette. "It wasn't easy to throw a cigarette to him - all the attempts I made until he eventually got one."

Yes, you can just imagine the Polish old soldier tossing lit cigarettes into the bear enclosure. Or did he toss him cigarettes and a lighter. If so, that's one talented bear.

Anyway, best of luck getting a memorial to Voytek the Polish bear.

---------------

Reminds me of that bear that lived at a gas station in Pigeon Forge, TN. It was before my time, but I've been told that there was a bear that lived in a cage at this gas station in Pigeon Forge. It was kind of a tourist attraction. Obviously you can't do that sort of thing anymore, but folks would do anything to drum up business. Even cage a bear and show it off to the motor tourists. Sad really.

And like Voytek, this bear was partial to treats of a human nature. You know, junk food. Snack cakes. Peanuts. Bottles of coke and 7-up. He especially liked the coke. You could hand it into his big paws (if you were brave enough) and he'd tip it up and drink it right down.

Well, one day some drunken rednecks or maybe it was some uncouth yankees who weren't raised to know any better gave the bear some gasoline in one of those coke bottles. Just handed it right over. They probably reckoned that the bear wouldn't actually drink it. But it did. Just tipped the bottle up and drank it right down.

Well, that gas didn't agree with the bear. It started frothing at the mouth and raging and rattling in its cage and throwing itself about. And to be honest, the workmanship on the cage maybe wasn't what it should have been. Anyway, the bear got loose (scaring the pants off the drunken rednecks or uncouth yankees, depending on who's telling the story). And it took off up the road. Back towards the park. I guess it wanted to go home. (Well, who can blame it?)

That bear ran right up the road. And the people in the cars were pulling over. It ran up past where the outlet malls are. It ran up past the all those miniature golf places that are there now. It ran past where Porpoise Island used to be. It ran on past where Dollywood is now. It just ran and ran.

It was running up toward the park and then, just about where the welcome sign is for the park it just stopped. Fell over in the road. Fell into a huddled hunk of bear right there.

And you know what happened?

...



....

....

....

It ran out of gas.

_________

Sorry. Sorry. My friend Vol-K told me that story one time as we were leaving the park, just as we were passing the sign and going the other way into Pigeon Forge. Man, she totally got me, too.

Years and years later she was visiting me in London and telling me about the bear scene in that horrible movie Borat and I said -"Did I ever tell you about that bear that was up in Pigeon Forge?" And she said no - and she had totally forgotten the story and I got her with it. Ha, joke revenge.


-0-

Check out these awesome bear pics. Including this one, which should be a lesson to all gas station bears.

Welcome sign photo from Flickr user The Paradigm Shifter used under Creative Commons license.

Anticipation

Genderist is still waiting to find out about her thyroid cancer treatment:

I'm still waiting until May to know how well my November's treatment worked. To say I'm pre-occupied with thinking about May is almost accurate. I think about it when I wake up in the night, when I hit the alarm clock, when I drop the soap in the shower, when I'm packing my lunch, when I'm stopped at a red light, during meetings, when I read email, when my patients at work come and tell me either really good news or really bad news, when I'm waiting for the microwave to cook my lunch, when I check my pedometer, when it's time for my three o'clock snack, when The Hater sends me sweet text messages to tell me he loves me, when I'm trying to look busy, when I actually am busy, when the cat runs to meet me at the door, anytime in church that anybody refers to faith or hope, when I water the plants (including John Wayne, which still isn't dead after 2 years under our care), when I'm grocery shopping, when I tie my shoes, when anybody asks me how I'm feeling... and any other time when I breathe.

Unhypothetical

"It won’t be hypothetical if and when it occurs. We are not legislating now on
the basis that we are bringing it in now for something that might happen in the
future; we are bringing it in now for something that might happen in the future;
we are bringing in a position for if it becomes unhypothetical. If,
unfortunately I and many other experts are right and we do need it in the future
it is in place."

Jacqui Smith, Home Secretary, securing her place in history. Sadly, only in the book of ridiculous political quotes.

I heard this on the radio while still lying in bed unfreakin'-believable. Iain Dale posted the words.

About the quote:

Jacqui Smith wants new legislation which would allow the police to hold "terror" suspects without charge for 42 days. (I use "terror" in quotes not because I don't believe that there are real and legitimate threats, but because I worry that the Government will use terror charges without real and legitimate threat.)

Not in good conscience

Londoners were treated to a Channel 4 Dispatches expose on the methods and madness of our dear leader, Mayor Ken Livingstone. Among the charges:

• violating electoral rules - appointed staff working on his re-election campaign while being paid from the public purse - on his orders.




• spending vast amounts of money on thinly justified foreign junkets




• allowing millions of pounds to be funneled to sham companies owned by cronies and fellow travellers




• drinking on the job, not just at his desk, but brazenly drinking whisky at council meetings and at "town hall" style question time with the public




• appointing inappropriately skilled cronies to high paying jobs

Really, this is more than enough to not only turn the man out of office - this is enough to start criminal investigations. Any one of these alone represent a bad sort of politics, but together render the man wholly unfit to represent perhaps the finest capital city in the world.


And this is before taking into account that the man acts like an ass. That he refuses to answer legitimate questions from friends and foes alike - the key means of accountability for elected officials. That he bullies, blusters and evades. That he name calls like a child in the playground.


And this is all before you take account that he associates with some rather nasty characters like Qaradawi and seems to overtly endorse a radical, political Islam. And anyone who questions his association with Muslim Brotherhood fronts and members is called an Islamophobe.

The worst thing about all of this is that dear old Red Ken is likely to get away with it. His jocular bluster seems to sway large parts of the electorate. And in this country Socialist is not a dirty word, so his association with the Socialist Alliance doesn't sound so bad. Never mind that they don't practice the kind of socialism that's essentially benign -no - it's that deconstructionist, let's destroy everything that's good so somehow, some way a new society will come rising from the ashes - meanwhile we'll wander around drinking champagne and totter around on our hind trotters unless our snout is in the trough type socialism. And folks seem blind to the difference.

I know a lot of people don't like Boris Johnson. I know his manner is odd and his hair is wild and he's a master of the self-deprecating. I know that Mr Johnson hasn't yet really communicated his vision for London - and he must do that. But please, Londoners, you cannot in good conscience re-elect Ken Livingstone.

Why him?

Both the Vol-in-Law and I reacted a little more strongly to the death of Heath Ledger than we would have thought. It's not like we were big fans. It's not like we even go to the movies. But it did seem a little shocking.

The Vol-in-Law said "He seemed so full of life, and yet that Shane McGowan just goes on and on and on."

"Why couldn't it have been Amy Winehouse or somebody like that?"

Signs of life

I tend to think of the horticultural year following the calendar year. I often have a few hardy flowers hanging on in sheltered areas of my garden well into December. The weather in England is mild, but the early days of January can bring some harsh cold. But rarely, if ever, pipe freezing cold.

But by the end of the first month I expect to signs of spring, the hellebores in bloom - the green tips of narcissus and snowdrops poking through.

The hellebores are in bloom (pictures from last year) and the bulbs are coming up.

We took a walk in Richmond Park today - for the first time in a while. The weather has been so rainy and overcast that we can barely go for short local walks some days.

In Richmond Park, the witch hazel trees are in bloom. I've never been able to take any photos of witch hazels that I've been happy with - so this one is from Mason Bryant that I found on Flickr. It was too gray today to an attempt a shot against the sky and I can't seem to get the effect I want with the camera's automatic flash. And I guess I can never quite capture the sweet and spicy smell of the witch hazel or the brightness of the yellow in a bare and cold winter forrest.

I did photograph some other signs that the horticultural cycle is starting over. Like these incredibly early azaleas



or these mahonias - another sweet yellow bloomer in the winter woodscape

Buddy guest blogs

Hey Coach Pearl



Are there any vacancies on your staff? Or is more formal attire required.

Or maybe with my skills, I should be applying to Coach Fulmer:



I'll do anything:



I'll be the mascot



-Big Orange Buddy
________

Out for lunch today I overheard a father at the next table say to his toddler son "How would you like to wear a track suit like that?"

He said it like it would be some kind of joke or punishment or something.

You could tell it just slipped out. You could tell that he was thinking "Did I just say that, like that, out loud? I know they heard me."

And I'm thinking - "Hey, we're just at the next table. We heard you."

And then he says to us "That's a really nice track suit."

Errrm....thanks. Fact is, you don't see an outfit like that in South West London every day.

Wither Freddie?

So is the Fred campaign at an end? I bear him no personal ill will - but I do find it ironic that he seemed to do so much better before he was an official candidate. And I do agree with Knoxviews contributor Elrod that Fred's campaign provided a distracting magnet for TNGOP cash and attention. I just hope he stays in until the 5th of February so he can continue to do so.

I am a little sad that the value of my little personal heirloom has probably already bottomed out. Any offers? No timewasters, please.

But the best thing about the Fred campaign has got to be this picture. If I'm not mistaken, I know this woman. I don't know if this is her grandson, but I guess it must be. She's had some bad luck lately, but this is a fantastic photo. (It's published under a Creative Commons license under the Flickr ID Freddthompson).
There are some other great pictures of Lawrenceburg around and about because Fred's homecoming. (The bloggers who bring us the great pics and blogs at Sugarfused and Nashville Files were there with their cameras.)

One Saturday in January

Hey South Carolina and Nevada - what a great day to hold an election. Seems like maybe more people could get out and vote on a Saturday, maybe that's what the US should do. And then I wouldn't feel bad about staying up all night to watch the returns. But of course, so many states are going for the early voting that maybe it doesn't matter anymore.

-0-

My dad and brother will be visiting soon and will be here on election day. Both of them have opted for early voting. Apparently VolBro has already voted and we don't agree on a primary candidate.

VolBro says that Hillary Clinton is the Republican's best chance at the White House because she's so divisive. You know, I used to think that, too. But the Clintons have overcome that before.

Besides, seems to me like the last election we had was the Democrats to throw away - given that the Republicans were running that "uniter" George Bush. If ever a candidate was divisive, that must be the guy. Seems to me divisiveness maybe isn't the handicap people think it is.

-0-

I sure hope Fred does well. It'd be great to see prices going up on this thing..

At least he made the buses run on time

While the American readers will be focusing on an election months and months away (ok, I know the primary season is upon us), the London electorate have a campaign coming up in May. For London mayor.

It's Boris v. Ken - and it should be interesting. And just based on the names, if you didn't know the characters involved, you'd be surprised at which one of them has nasty Trotskyite tendencies.

It's no secret that I really, really, really hate Ken Livingstone. I hate his Marxist style empire building amongst the London boroughs. I hate his divisive politics under the name of cohesion. I hate the cozying up to the Islamist elite.

Apparently there's to be an expose on some of his political shenanigans on Monday night through Channel 4's Dispatches programme.

Check out a little foreshadowing here at Harry's Place.

secret high school diary

Now, I'm not really into the teen tv scene. I know what Hannah Montana is, but I'd never heard of this Zoey 101 until she turned up knocked up. Minor relatives of washed up musical celebrities, anyway...

I assumed that Zoey 101 was an American only thing, 'cause I'd only heard of through blogging world. Good for her for keeping her baby. Bad for her, 'cause she's a role model, etc. etc. etc.

OK, then.

Well, as far as I knew she wasn't on tv here in the UK. But since we have 10 year Sally Jesse Rafael's in endless rerun on British tv, why wouldn't a current teen phenom also have some place on children's channels? Anyway, she must be on Brit tv somewhere because today I saw a Zoey 101 part series advertised on tv.

The part series

I don't think Americans do the "part series" - at least I never noticed it. Anyway, these are things where you buy a part of a model of a sailing ship or a toy dinosaur skeleton, a chunk of mineral, some beads and gew-gaws or improvised explosive device each week and each part is accompanied by a magazine explaining the wonderful world of pirates, dinosaurs, geology, jewelry making or insurgency or some such and further instructions for the use of the part you bought.

The first "part" is usually at some knock down price and then once they get you hooked, the price jacks up. And these magazines with crap attached in a plastic bubble are available at your local newsagent.

Like Zoey 101, these things seem to be aimed at the 8 to 12s. Anyway, the Zoey 101 part series and magazine advertises "tips from Zoey" like "get the Zoey look" and "Zoey's secret high school diary". I don't know why, but that sort of cracked me up.

Dear Diary

I wondered what was in Zoey's secret high school diary...


16 August 2006

My sister thinks she's so hot, but she's not. Ever since she got pregnant she got fat.


10 February 2007

Now that I've got this tv show, I'm earning enough money to live in my own apartment. I'm 15, so I think I'm old enough to live on my own. It's not like I won't have my boyfriend with me.


11 October 2007

I think I might be pregnant. Thank goodness my tv high school has one of those in school day care centers, although I plan to raise the baby in Louisiana where it can have a normal life. At least, now I can show the world that I can be better than my sister at something.

the lottery dream

VolBro has a recurring dream where he wins 41 or 43 million on the lottery. He's very specific about the amount. And he told me that if the lottery jackpot ever reaches 41 or 43 million, I should buy a ticket because it's kinda preordained. He's very specific about the amount. He says the type of currency doesn't matter.

I just can't remember if it was 43 or 41 million - or was it 45? No. Definitely 41 or 43.

Tonight's estimated jackpot is 41 million - pounds. I think that's roughly a squillion dollars with the current exchange rate. I've been thinking about calling him and asking him what numbers to pick.

Would I be morally obligated to share the winnings with him if he told me some numbers to pick on this preordained lottery win? Or could I, you know, just buy him a beer?

Back to work

I went back to work today. I'm only working one day a week for a little while. But it's good.

The Vol-in-Law called me at about 11am. When I got off the phone, my co-workers wanted to know if the baby was doing alright, if the ViL was doing alright.

"Oh no, everything's fine" I said. "He was just in the cemetery and told me there was a floral tribute of leaping dolphins that I'd probably want to photograph tomorrow."

Old co-workers were not surprised. New ones - well, they thought that was a little weird.

Keep on rockin in the free world

Yesterday I got my paper notice about the Global Primary. (If this link doesn't work, don't worry - more info below). Since Buddy is eating paper these days, I wanted to get it on the bulletin board and out of his way. But of course, I forgot and left it dangerously close to the changing area.

Me: Hand me that voting thingy.
Vol-in-Law: Voting thingy?
Me: Yeah, that paper there.
ViL: Oh, your voting thingy. (Extra derisive tone where you see italics).
Me: Yeah, you know the vote the directs activities in the free world.

_________
Living abroad? Want to vote in the primary? Check out the Democrats Abroad site.
Need to register to vote? Check out - www.votefromabroad.org

Your good advice, I disregard it

That's not really true. I've asked for reader advice before and I always - always listen. I've often changed my mind or at least moderated my course of action. But y'all told me it was tacky - but I've decided to go ahead anyway.

I've submitted info to receive a quote on the fake grass lawn.

But let me tell you, y'all saved me. 'Cause there's been a huge advance in fake grass technology between then and now.

I'm telling you, at a glance, the stuff we're getting looks really real. Even the chunk of sample turf looks like a little chunk of real turf - like maybe a zoysia - or a really fine, fescue blend.

Oh, it's sweet. It'll look like the lawn I'm too lazy to ever have.

-0-

Here's a picture of Buddy watching me take the pictures to send off to the faux lawn place. My brother and I wore similar expressions when VolMom made us come outside and keep her company while she gardened.

Unforgettable

I've got this user ID and password for this website that's kind of important, but not something I'd be checking all the time.

So I chose something unforgettable.

I've pretty much been through all my unforgettable combinations of user IDs and passwords and no dice. (Yes, I do know it's not as secure as it could be, but I do have a little collection of these passwords)

Dang it.

Reliance on appliance

Steve at WhitesCreek Journal has a busted dishwasher. The way he's written the post, I've just totally spoilered it, but I think it'll be alright.

He thinks the modern human cannot live without the dishwasher. Millions of Britons would disagree.

But they are, of course, in the wrong.

-0-

My in-laws are kind of anti-appliance. Well, they're anti-convenience. I've joked with the Vol-in-Law that there's the easy way, the hard way and then there's his dad's especially difficult way. Seriously, that man goes way out of his way to make his own life hard*.

But anyway, they don't have a microwave, a dishwasher or a dryer. They don't even have a hairdryer.

My father-in-law told me once that by the time you've unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher you've spent just as much time as hand washing the dishes.

I asked him if he'd ever had a dishwasher. No. Well, then, I've lived with dishwashers and lived without them and I guarantee it takes less time than washing up by hand.

-0-

The Vol-in-Law doesn't have his parents ideological opposition to labor saving devices, but he doesn't have an American's experience of them either. So it took me a while to convince him that we needed a dishwasher. Once we had one, he agreed that a dishwasher was a higher priority than a washing machine. When our dishwasher went bust last year, we wasted no time getting a new one. We probably should have spent a little more time, because the new one isn't nearly as good as the old one.

And as for dryers.... I don't really know why but he resisted that one for years. Years I tell you. Which was kinda dumb because he was the one who did the laundry. And like millions of Brits we had laundry hanging off radiators and drying racks in our living room and in our kitchen and goodness knows where all.

But once he had the dryer, he felt that his life was transformed. Transformed, I tell you, and we don't even have a good set up. We don't have room in our tiny house for a dryer, so we have it in the shed. But still what took him all day now takes him mere hours. And sometimes a lot less, because with the dryer I'm sometimes willing to do a load or two myself.

But now our dryer has had an accident. A stroller and extension ladder precariously stacked on top of the dryer fell off the other day, striking the door and causing it to be - and this is a technical term - wonky. So now it cuts out, unless you prop something against the door. (I'm thinking of rigging it with a bit of bungee cord). Until we figured it out, the dryer was suffering from a mysterious ailment. I was panicking about the dryer situation.

But the ViL, his view was starker. "Our whole way of life depends on a working dryer."


___________
*Although my husband has given them the URL for my blog, I think my inlaws don't read it. Though I would be so curious I wouldn't be able to help myself. You know, to see if there were any posts like this one here, for example.

Reunion

Nicole -another South London American expat blogger - wants to go to her 20th high school reunion this year.

I do, too.

I mean - not to hers. That would be weird. Plus, I bet her reunion is in Vegas and I've kinda sworn I'd never pay to go there again.

No, I want to go to mine. Mine should be sometime this year, too. My 20th high school reunion. Holy moly.

I gotta lose weight and make up a convincing, yet over-the-top tissue of lies and half-truths about my glamorous London lifestyle. And get a haircut.

And now I ask you...

OK, do you like the new look? The Vol-in-Law hates it. He's offered some constructive and un-constructive criticism. He says I should go on my baby discussion forums and say:

"DH says my blog looks like cr@p. Tell me it doesn't, support only please." (You have to spell crap like that because the discussion forum has naughty word filters.)

I don't have a lot of time to wrangle with HTML or CSS, but I can always go back to an earlier version.

-0-

How do you feel about the Princes in the Tower. I mean did Richard III do it, or did he do it? VolMom passed along a book which exonerates Richard. I haven't finished the book, but I'm pretty unconvinced.

-0-

Tortillas: Corn or flour?
Popcorn: Butter or plain?
Peanut butter: Crunchy or smooth?

Dog bites man

I don't really know how to tell my non-Tennessee readers just how ridiculoso this headline is:

Moonshine and marijuana found in Cocke County

And in more breaking news...

Pope confirmed Catholic
Shocking new evidence: bear poo found in woods.

Even the discovery of a stash of oxycodone along with the grass and whiskey isn't in the least surprising. Perhaps if the police had bothered to check the back yard they might have found the chop shop and the fighting cock houses.

Thanks to KAG for that gem.

The disputes of the wallabies

Doot-do-do, I'm eating my cabbage, yummy cabbage.


That's a tasty leaf you got there.


Hey wait a minute, that's mine!



Maybe we can share?


Or maybe not now that it's got your slobber on it.



Or yours.

Hurray for Hillary

I've already stated that my preferred candidate in the Democratic primaries is Hillary Clinton. But I'm not bashing anyone else in the race, because we've got a bigger, more important race coming in the Autumn.

However, with yesterday's election results I was quite happy to say Ha ha

Not to the other Democratic candidates, certainly not to any of their supporters. But to the media who gleefully predicted Hillary Clinton's demise in this "fight of her political life."

New Hampshire is just a small Northeastern state, not a deathmatch. But even so, I'm glad she won.

And now I will blog about the 2008 Presidential race

For so long I've avoided blogging about the 2008 run for the White House and sworn I wouldn't until it was seemly. Maybe it was because I was a bit sickened by the campaigning kicking off before the 2006 Midterms even concluded. It's like retailers putting up Christmas decorations before Halloween. It ain't right.

I did have a post or two about Fred, but I tagged them Not the 2008 election, so I feel I kept my promise in a moral sense.

But now it's 2008, so I'm ready.

To the Republican party:

Y'all are making me laugh. Your candidates are crazy or lazy.


To the Democrats:

Can we please avoid having a nomination until the rest of the nation freakin' votes? We did this last time and look who we got. A loser. A guy who was so lacking in charisma and winning-ness that he couldn't resoundly beat that no-hoper George Bush.

To the "liberals":

Stop calling Hillary Clinton "shrill" or "close-to-tears" when she's not. Y'all need to take a look in the mirror and think about where this attitude is coming from. From what I've seen Hillary Clinton has acquitted herself admirably. Yes, I am voting for her.

But here are two people who probably/certainly aren't voting for her who've spotted the woman bashing, too. (Kathy Flake and the Tennessee Guerilla Women here and here and elsewhere). Heck, even my husband who subscribes to Pat Buchanan's American Conservative magazine noticed and has been stunned by the level of woman bashing.

To the British media:

Stop pontificating on this election as if a) you have a vote or b) you deserve a vote. You are merely outside observers. You do not get to anoint your chosen candidate - Barrack Obama. Although, maybe I shouldn't say anything since I believe that The Guardian with their stupid letter writing campaign along with the some vote tampering managed to lose Ohio.

And since I'm supporting the shrill and close-to-tears Hillary Clinton (yes, this according to the British media), go ahead, please shoot yourselves in the foot on this one, too.

The mismanagement of the social diary

Do y'all remember that Andy Griffith episode wherein Andy is overwhelmed with social engagements? A dinner party and a bridge night. And he reckons that he can go to both if he skips dessert. But the problem is that he goes to dinner at the bridge folks' house and then he shows up to play cards after the dinner party is over.

Yep.

We were invited to a family party this weekend several hours away by car. The Vol-in-Law isn't especially close to his extended family, but he really wanted to show off his new boy - especially since he's the first of his generation to reproduce.

The last time we went up there we did have two social engagements. A traditional wedding in this quaint East of England village and then a wedding reception back in London with yummy margaritas made with real limeade smuggled in from the States. We actually did go to both.

And did you know that champagne does not mix well with tequila? I'm saving you the two-day hangover by telling you now.

This time we didn't have two social engagements.

But we got the day wrong. (And by we, I'd like to make it clear that I'm taking corporate responsibility for the actions of another member of our family management team.)

Because of the baby, we went up the night before so we'd be fresh and ready for the day long party. Only as soon as we arrived, after packing and dealing with the baby. And did you know how much stuff you have to pack for a baby? And then driving up and checking in. And then we discover that we got the day wrong. And the party is almost over.

So we change out of our baby food decorated clothes and run up there. Where Buddy appeared for a quick photo call (at one point there were four or five cameras flashing and popping in his face), which Buddy loves. He's ready for his close up now.

And then we go back to our bed and breakfast. And that's it.

Oh, except for the travel cot which Buddy mistook for some kind of Dick Cheney approved interrogation cage and just would not use. And the bed that was way too small. And the heat that went off at two in the tiny room with no insulation - meaning it was hot, hot, hot and then freezing cold. So no sleep.

But all was not lost. For on the way back we stopped at Woburn Safari Park, where we petted wallabies.

Seventy-six trombones

If you're the hoping, praying, rub on a brass monkey, knock on wood, send good vibes type person please hope for me that a daycare place at my preferred provider opens soon.

I'm ready to go back to work. I've been at home long enough.

I'm hoping to go back part time which actually shouldn't be a problem, but I need to a place to stick Buddy. We went by the place the other day and said "Puuhlease, next available slot please." We're waiting to find out if someone else is declining a place. They're vacillating, apparently.

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Returning to work will obviously be a little bit bitter-sweet. Probably more on the bitter than the sweet. I've been unhappy with my job for a while. It's not the work (well, a little bit) or the people (hmmmm) or my short attention span (this is the longest I've ever held a job - though I've worked in this field for a long time). It's mostly the h.ot.des.king. You see I have an office job, one that requires a small amount of travel (like maybe once every six weeks or so and can be a lot less) and that does require meeting with folks off premises on average once a week, but mostly I'm IN. But without a desk to call my own. Top management, who all have desks of their own, were sold a pig in a poke by some fancy-dan architects.

What, you don't have h.ot.des.king? Why, how can you even call yourselves a _______ business. Everyone has h.ot.des.king these days, prevents the corruption of the workforce, you know.


I could go on and on and on and on about the stupidity of all this, but I really don't want to give away too many details on a blog that I have pretty much tried to keep work-blogging free.

When I was pregnant, I insisted that they keep a desk reserved for me on health and safety grounds. Which was mostly rubbish, there was kind a tenuous argument because I use a footrest and it was uncomfortable to get down on the ground and move that around. Really I needed the desk reserved because I'm a human and therefore a creature of habit. But pleading the belly worked. But now that I'm not pregnant any more it'll be back to rats in a sack when it comes to finding a place to plug in my laptop and park my behind.

But I have to go back for at least three months or else I have to pay back maternity leave. (Yikes). But I also resolve to be looking for something new, too. Something maybe with a desk.

Namer's remorse

Katie Allison Granju points to an article highlighting the phenomenon of baby namer's remorse. Too many people on the baby forums I frequent were "I don't care what other people say, I'm going to name him Laffable McStoopidname or Ridiculously Over-popular if it's a girl."

Maybe, just maybe, you should care what other people say. Now, I'm not saying you should necessarily bend to other people's whims. There are lots of names that might be perfectly acceptable but that I would never use because it's the name of an ex-boyfriend or that boogery girl in 3rd grade. But maybe a little market testing isn't such a bad idea. And then you wouldn't have to re-name your child. Not that I would do that, I've tried it with pets and unless you do it straight outta the pet rescue it doesn't work. (Our own Fancy was aka Missy at Battersea.)

I knew the first name we had chosen would be popular - maybe even the number one choice in Tennessee (it has been for several years) and it makes the Top 10 in England and Wales, where it's probably been since the decade or so after 1066. Although it's not the US national choice, not even in the top 10. But it's a name with a little bit of choice for nickname and it's a family name. His middle name is in current vogue - not sure where it figures exactly - but again it's a family name. And given that it's a family and coincidentally reflects the Vol-in-Law's Ulster heritage, too, it's gone down well with both sides.

For a girl's name, our choices were less solid. My favorite shortly before the gender was revealed to us rendering the discussion moot was Edith. No one much liked it, but I didn't care - I was thinking of using Edie as a nickname. But recently I read that Edith might be on the comeback - and while for a boy's name I like the traditional yet popular, for girls I like the traditional yet unusual. (Not unlike what my parents and the ViL's parents did.)

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In the UK, I think it's a bit easier and a lot cheaper to change your or a kid's name.

down home taste

I didn't actually give him SunDrop, I mean do you know what's in that stuff?

They shoot kitties, don't they?

VolMom bought her most favored son-in-law a BB gun for Christmas. She tried to make me promise not to tell my brother about this gift, but she'd already bought the thing. There would have been times growing up that VolMom could have made VolBro the happiest boy in the world if only she'd given him a BB gun. Or maybe he would have put his eye out. But my mom was so anti-gun than I'm pretty sure he never even asked for one.

Anyway, the gun was a gift to me too if I could say "Hey, my brother, mom bought my husband a BB gun for Christmas. Something she still wouldn't buy you."

This BB gun is some sort of "safe" version, though - hardly what a boy most desires. For one thing, the safety won't stay off unless you're actively pressing on it. For another, it's battery operated with a constant force of BB expulsion - that means you can't pump it up higher and higher and higher resulting in a more painful shooting experience. And it uses plastic pellets, not those little metal eye poppers.

But it still hurts to be hit by this BB gun. I know this because that's what the Vol-in-Law told me when I shot him.

It sounds like a domestic, I know, but it wasn't. It was a carefully controlled experiment. Kind of like science.

First I put on the ViL's down jacket and had him shoot me in the back. I couldn't really feel the impact, though I kinda felt the fabric move. That was a bit disappointing, given what we had in mind. Then the ViL put on the jacket. Similar experience. Then I tried to convince him to let me shoot him in the chest with only a shirt between him and the plastic pellet. He said no. He did let me shoot him in the butt. Over the pocket, he felt it, but it wasn't painful. Above the pocket he said it stung.

Good.

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We want to use the BB gun to shoot cats. We don't really want to wound them, but we do want to scare the begeezus out of 'em. There are a couple of neighbourhood toms that come into our house, eat our expensive anti-allergy cat food, terrorise and wound our kitties costing us money on vet bills and piss on our stuff. Not acceptable. We've tried locking them out, we've tried squirt guns, yelling and arm-waving.

Now it's time to bring out the small guns.

So far, the Vol-in-Law has managed to wing one of the cats. The result is that the cat does make itself scarce - as in over the garden fence - when he sees us, where before he arrogantly retreated a mere few feet.

That's a start.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year - I hope every day next year is lucky for you.

And for those not in the know - black eyed pea eatin' for us is like dram drinking or first footing for the Scots.