THE HAY BLOG

No Net

I'd been hoping there would be internet access at the hotel so I could blog as I go, but no joy.

Instead I'm writing these posts in longhand and will type them up from home.

You'll need to imagine me typing this in a Welsh field as opposed to a London flat ...

Ready? Here we go then ...

Thurs 24th May
Wails from Wales

Arrive at hotel.

'Debi Alper? How are you spelling that? We don't have a booking in that name ...'
'Oh! Is it booked in the name of Sky Arts? Or ArtsWOM?'
'No ... Hang on a sec. You're not something called a ... blogger, are you?'

45 min wait for room.
I use the time to go to a cash machine.
£51 train ticket.
£33 taxi from Hereford to Ross.
Hay is nearly 50 miles away and I've been quoted £50 for cab to get there from hotel.
There'd better be no problem claiming those expenses ...

Where are all the punters?

The taxi from Ross to Hay takes an hour and costs £70!

The driver asks me - 'So do you write ... books?'
He infuses the word with the same degree of blank incomprehension as the hotel receptionist when she said 'blogger'.


So now I'm at the 20th Hay Festival.

It's not what I was expecting.
I imagined it taking over the town but it's in a big field.
(You probably knew that already, but I didn't.)

They're still setting up.
I eventually find some nice friendly people from Sky Arts and pick up my tickets.

But the festival itself so far has an eerie Mary Celeste feel about it.

Some small groups of media types.
Bunches of people in fluorescent jackets.
Some seriously hard-looking security - all suits, shades and shoulders.
The odd tractor ...
I buy a coffee.
I'm the first customer.
The guy can't get the till to work.
A woman at a nearby table gives me change.

Being accustomed to the toilets at rock gigs and marathons, I am s-o-o impressed by the upmarket portaloos.
I spend some time admiring them.
There's not a lot else to do.

Pick up a copy of the Festival programme.
It says, '... the Hay audience ... some of the most interesting, intellectually adventurous, socially attractive people on earth.'

So where are they??

Warming Up

Ah, here they are.

I find the Greenprint event, chaired by Adam Boulton (Sky News anchor) and featuring Zac Goldsmith (The Ecologist), Jeremy Leggett (Solarcentury) and John Sauven (Greenpeace) discussing the adoption and advocacy of environmental sustainability for the creative industries.
This is the last part of an informal 5 event conference.

Jeremy Leggett warns the audience that the government have 'lost the ability to be embarassed' as the current situation is 'disfunctional to the point of being suicidal'. He points to some leadership from local governments and also some businesses (though he says the committment is sometimes less than the claims would suggest). Carbon rationing is inevitable, he tells the audience. He believes that supplies of oil and gas are far less than we are being told and that they are going to run out within the next few years.

Zac Goldsmith is upbeat, saying that retailers are now competing with one another to appear green - essential as science has come as close as possible to a consensus on the dangers of climate change. He's clear that the way forward has to be a combination of energy saving, energy management and exploration of alternative energy. It's therefore essential to price environmenmtalism into the market by way of carbon trading and offsets. He also teels us that the most important thing ordinary people (that's us, guys!) can do is put pressure on central government.

John Sauven points out that if energy inefficient lightbulbs were phased out, the savings would be the equivalent of 2 power stations. He also mentions bloggers (yay!) as one example of people using alternative means of spreading the word and putting on pressure.

A couple of facts to chew over:
If everyone in the world consumed as much as the average person in the US, we would need the equivalent of 5 planets to meet the demand.
The figure for the UK is 3 planets.


The comments from the floor are intelligent, articulate and well-informed.
One person points out that climate change itself is only a symptom - over consumption of resources is the real problem that has to be tackled.

Sandi can't see me now

I was supposed to be booked into The News Quiz hosted by Sandi Toksvig.

But I've just checked my sheaf of tickets and this one's not among them.

I wander round the marquee maze 'til I find the venue.
It's full.
So the milling crowds I'd expected are packing out the events if not the walkways.

I spend some more time wandering and gawping and feeling vaguely spectral as anyone else around (and there's not many of 'em) seems to be rushing round doing things.

The one thing that does hit me is that there's a huge emphasis on the environment - which I'm delighted to see and support.

But it doesn't seem very ... er ... lit.
Like ... er ... where are the books, man?

Maybe tomorrow ...

I've made a friend

A big up to Sam, the taxi driver, who works 15-18 hrs a day, 6 days a week, fuelled by Red Bull and roll-ups.

He's not the 'what's-a-book?' cabbie, but the bright, intelligent, good-looking one who's agreed to fulfill all the rest of my cabbing needs while I'm here.

So, Sam, if you're reading this ... thanks for driving me round and being such good company.

I hope you find a woman who deserves you!

Friday 25th May

Today's the Day

After breakfast, I jump on the shuttle bus from the hotel with Samantha and Colin from Sky Arts and Sarah Jane from the Evening Standard diary.

An hour's bumpy ride through the stunning countryside brings us to Hay.

This is it.
My one full day.
I'm excited ...

But the atmosphere hasn't changed much since yesterday.
It still feels somewhat surreal and disembodied.
As though it's teetering on the brink of something about to happen.
You know that feeling when you're throwing a party and you're not sure if anyone's going to turn up...?

I sit in the Sky Arts cafe to take stock and I can hear applause from somewhere.
That's reassuring.
I'm not the only person here ...

I work out that it's coming from the Segovia stage.
The programme tells me that Carmen Callil is behind the shrouds of white canvas, talking about pieces of writing that have meant most in her life to Diana Quick and Richard Mitchley.

Fateful Choices

This is a little strange.

I realise that although I'm booked into 4 events today and will be on site for 13 hrs ...
... only the first event is about a book.
A flick through the programmme reveals that the more obviously literary events start tomorrow.
And I leave ...
... tomorrow.

My first event is with the historian, Ian Kershaw, talking about his about-to-be published book, Fateful Choices, which recreates the thinking about 10 critical political and military decisions made between May 1940 and December 1941 that dictated the course of the war.

His lecture makes you realise how easily the future of the world could have been changed if any one of these decisions had gone a different way - there may have been no Holocaust, no Israel, no Middle East conflict ... Alternatively, the Nazis could have won ...

I find it fascinating - and heartening - that more than 60 years after the end of the war, there is still room for new analysis.

A week ago I went to the Margaret McMillan Centre in Kent with Little Guy's class, looking at the experience of evacuees.

It's vital to keep the lessons of the Holocaust in public consciousness and I'm relieved to hear Ian Kershaw say that the further we get from those horrific events, the more important they seem to be in the historical perspective.

I agree. I lost one branch of my family tree to the genocide.

Think Link

Check the Festival blog here at the Guardian.

You can also follow the Hay Relay Story as it unfolds.
Started by Beryl Bainbridge, a new chapter will be written each day by a different author.

Deckchairs

A roundup of my favourite deckchair quotes:

'Politics hates a vacuuum. If it isn't filled with hope, someone will fill it with fear.'
Naomi Klein

'Everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.'
Margaret Atwood

'Only the impossible is worth the effort.'
Jeanette Winterson

'The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.'
David Hare

'Everything has a meaning, if only we could read it.'
Philip Pullman

'What one writer can make in the solitude of one room is something no power can easily destroy.'
Salman Rushdie

Books - at last

I've met up with my guest.
Meet the wonderful Fiction Bitch aka Elizabeth Baines.
Now I have a fellow wanderer (and her partner) and together we ...
... find some books!

It has to be said - books don't really take pride of place at the Festival in the way I'd imagined.

There's one large marquee, selling work by people appearing at the Festival and one smaller tent with children's books.

The other stalls are mainly concerned with the environment.

Not that that's a bad thing - just not quite what I'd expected ...

Smile - you're on tv

The dear Bitch and I go to the televised Hay on Sky event with Mariella Frostrup -
- aired each day during the Festival at 8pm on Sky Arts channel no 267.

Ah. Nice comfy chairs for this one.

Lights, camera, action!

The first guest is Peter Florence - the founder of the Festival, who tells us that 20 years ago, when he approached Arthur Miller to ask if he'd like to participate in the first festival, the response was,
'Hay-on-Wye? Is that some kind of sandwich?'
(See here for the history of the festival.)

Peter justifies the move away from the strictly literary focus of previous years and says that the festival now welcomes anyone who's 'good with words - brilliance with language is what's interesting. But the spirit remains the same.'

He points out that the careers of many diverse household names were launched at Hay, including Eddie Izzard, Bryn Terfel and Arundhati Roy.

He also says that the official start of the Festival is today - which certainly explains the lack of buzz yesterday!

During the commercial break I watch as a makeup artist scuttles over to Michael Nyman, the next guest, with a powder brush to take the shine off his bald pate.
Michael tells us about his interesting way of working - when composing he does so with a background of noise from both radio and tv.

Seth Lakeman, who is described as being influenced as much by Led Zeppelin as by English folk music, then performs a track from his award winning album, Freedom Fields.

The final guest is the very funny Sandi Toksvig, recently named as radio broadcaster of the year. Among other things, she talks about her friendship with Bonnie Langford - on the face of it an unlikely partnership, though in fact they have been close friends for 25 years. (See here.) Sandi tells us they have plenty in common - for example her knee is the same size as Bonnie's arse!

She also talks about how much she hates pigeonholing. (A subject close to my heart too, as many of you will know.) Interestingly, she reveals that of all the activities on her eclectic cv, her favourite activity is writing.

The show winds up with each of them talking about the 3 books they will be taking on holiday with them this year.
(Dammit - none of them are mine ...)

Ghost Town

The Bitch and her partner have discovered there's a frequent shuttle bus service running between the Festival and town, so we jump on.

Once in Hay, there's no indication that there's a major international event going on just up the road.

The setting is just as I'd imagined (those wonderful bookshops!) but the streets are deserted.

I'm wondering if I should worry for the retailers and cafes in the town.
The shuttle bus isn't widely publicised at the festival and the site is very self-contained.
We pick up a leaflet for the Hay Fringe, which does take place in the town itself.

Don't forget that Hay, where there is one bookshop per 36 residents (could this be what heaven's like?) is the inspiration behind the festival.

I speak to one bookseller who's quite upset.
She says the festival has become a corporate event having outgrown its roots, but she reckons it has lost its original inspiration and atmosphere.

But then someone else tells me that everything will take off this weekend, when the town and the festival site will be awash with people moving between the 2.

So that explains it -
- they've been waiting for me to leave ...

Short and Curly

Back at the festival site, the Bitch and I take our seats for the show by Bonnie Langford and Sandi Toksvig.
In spite of hearing a couple of the same jokes as she'd told to Mariella Frostrup earlier, Sandi is one of the few people that truly crack me up.

Think Link (2)

For festival news and a daily podcast, check the Haycast.
To follow the virtual festival online, go here.

The thanks bit

Big thanks to the following people:

John Baker - for the invite
Samantha and Colin from Sky Arts - for looking after me
Simon from Artswom - for the advance organisation
The dear Bitch - for the company - and the grub!
The staff at The Chase - for not setting off the fire alarm (more of this later)
Sam the cabbie - who I mentioned earlier
G - for keeping the home fires burning (but not literally I'm relieved to say)
First Born and Little Guy - for the phone calls and texts

In conclusion

Although I've never been to the festival before, my intial instincts about the way it had changed were confirmed.

It's clearly outgrown its original location in the town - which many would say is to be welcomed as evidence of its huge success.
(At the larger events I calculated there were about 800 people.)

Whether the gap between the current site (about a mile outside Hay) and the town itself will prove problematic remains to be seen.

Opinion was divided among people I spoke to.
Some feel the town and its traders will lose out.
Others predict that, as the Festival hots up, particularly over this bank holiday weekend, the roads outside the site will be packed with milling crowds.

It's moved beyond being a literary festival and now offers a much more eclectic mix.
Again, some people will welcome that as progress and others may complain at the loss of focus on authors reading from their work.

Clearly, it's become far more of a corporate event as the years go by.
The evidence being the self-contained site (you have to make the effort to go into town) with roaming guard dogs, police tape and security guards resembling bouncers outside a heavy London club, the expensive food (£1.80 min for a coffee, £3.80 min for a sandwich) and the limited number and range of books on sale.
(On the other hand, it was pointed out to me that if more books were sold on the festival site, there would be less incentive to go into town and the Hay retailers would be more likely to lose out.)

The Hay Fringe, which started last year, seems to be the answer to the possible problems of the town feeling neglected.
If, as I very much hope, Fringe events are a roaring success as much as the main festival, then presumably you'll get that rare occurence - a win/win situation in which there's something for everyone and everyone's happy.

The final word

My final Hay experience was giving Sam, the cab driver, a signed copy of Nirvana Bites.

So ... I went to Hay ...
... and did a book signing!

The final FINAL word

As I'm walking up the street towards home, 6 hrs after leaving Ross, the Bitch phones me and says that today both the festival and the town were heaving.

I'm delighted to hear it and don't feel in the slightest bit peeved that they waited for me to leave before starting the party proper!

Hey, man, everyone has their own trip and this was mine.
I hope you've enjoyed it.

Here endeth this lit blogger's experience of the 20th Hay Festival.
This post has taken me nearly 5 hrs.
Some kind of record?

Over to you now, John.

A Hay-sty post (groan)

Emails, phone calls, printing, lists, packing ...

... dash into kitchen to make boys' lunches for tomorrow and realise ...

... EEEKKK!!!

I promised to make FB 2 cakes to take in on Friday to share as it's his birthday next week.
(Yes, 2 - there are 28 kids in his class.)

So ... chocolate cake and lemon cake are now in oven.

Lads are shrieking - Liverpool's scored.
Do I have time to care about that?
Only if the jumping up and down makes the cakes sink.
They still have to be iced, dammit!

Anyway - I know where I'm staying now.
Good innit?
Except - gasp - no smoking policy ...

And also I have more of an idea what my role is.
I'm press!
That means that as a lit blogger/author I'm representing the blogosphere ...
ie you lot.

So I hope you're going to follow my progress and show them what we're made of.

Hay ho and away we go ...

It all started yesterday morning when I received an email from John Baker asking if I wanted to go to the Hay Festival.

Expenses paid, hotel booked, tickets to events of my choice ...
All I have to do is blog about it.

I leap to the festival site to check the dates.
Thurs 24/5 - Sun 3/6.
Next week is half term and we're going away for a few days.
But if it's the following weekend ...

I email John and ask for details.
Back comes the reply.
It's Thurs - Sat.
This Thurs - to this Sat!

Cue a day of frantic phone calls, emails and surfing.
Simon at Artswom has problems with emails bouncing.
My broadband connection keeps going AWOL.
And my browser keeps closing down too.

Another complication.
I'm allowed to take a guest.

But who can drop everything at a moment's notice?
(Apart from me it seems ...)
G can't come of course - someone has to stay with First Born and Little Guy.

Last thing yesterday I finally receive the wandering emails.
I send back my booking form and list of events I'd like to attend.

Then this morning - more emails confirming my place.
But no one's told me yet where I'm staying!
Or how I go about claiming those (all-important) expenses ...
So I don't dare book the train tickets yet.

But meanwhile another email -
- I might have found someone who's up for sharing the experience.

Only I have to go out.
For the whole day.

Arrive home 4.30.
One email confirming that I'm booked for this:

Sky Arts film a daily round-up show presented by Mariella Frostrup, featuring Hay news and author interviews. Hay-on-Sky airs daily at 8pm on Sky Arts channel 267.

But still nothing re the hotel etc.

A nice comment on the last post though.
I decide to be reassured and book my tickets.

Techy trauma!
What's with my browser anyway?

Give up and use the phone.

So now my train tickets are booked for tomorrow morning.

But I still don't know where I'm going to be resting my weary head ...

I'm going to be making Hay (hope the sun shines)

Spontaneity thy name is Debi.

I'm going here.
Tomorrow!

All expenses paid.

Details to follow.
You better believe it (cos I'm not sure I do ...)

Meanwhile in Lit-Blogworld ...

Minx is trying out a new genre. (Swoon.)

Atyllah has turned her back on humanity. (Sob.)

Cailleach has cause for celebration. (Cheer.)

Tim Footman has posted on Comment is Free re this lot. (Spit.)

Fiction Bitch has tagged me. (Ouch.)

Norm stands up for hairy bloggers. (Respect.)

Maxine is eclectic as ever. (Click.)

Caroline's counting the days. (Hyperventilating.)

Clare and Lucy Pepper have both pointed out the forthcoming Big Blogger. (Look out - there's another Minx in there.)

And Skint's only gone and lost his blog ...

An episode in the life of Debi

Monday morning.
I'd just dropped off Little Guy at school and returned home to find J from upstairs knocking at my neighbour's door.

J has severe mental health problems and is in and out of hospital.
She also had a stroke recently and is partially paralysed down one side.
She was crying.

She had flooded her bathroom (again).

After ascertaining the neighbour (elderly, dodgy hips and knees and disabled wife) was able to cope, I took J back upstairs in the lift to survey the damage.

Flooded, all right.
The hall and bathroom were awash.
Lucky she'd taken up the fitted carpets after the last episode.

Back downstairs, gather mop and bucket, back upstairs and start sluicing.

Her flat is oppressively hot.
The heating is on, the windows are closed and the curtains drawn.
The tv is blaring.

Sluice, squeeze, sluice, squeeze ...

'At least the floor's clean,' I say.
J manages a laugh.
'I was up at 3.00 cleaning,' she says. 'It's part of my sickness to keep cleaning.'
'I've got the opposite problem,' I tell her and she laughs again.

Sluice, squeeze, sluice, squeeze ...

I roll up the sodden rugs.
They're heavy.
J stumbles to help me.
She calls out.

It's only at this point that I realise her bloke is in the front room watching the tv!

A while later, I'm back home, thinking I should never complain again that G doesn't do enough in the home.

Later still, I open my front door and find a little bunch of flowers.
No note, but I assume they're from J.

She didn't have to do that ...
I was just being a neighbour ...

Bloggers in uniform

This is an interesting piece of news.

The U.S. Army has ordered soldiers to stop posting to blogs or sending personal e-mail messages, without first clearing the content with a superior officer. The directive, issued April 19, is the sharpest restriction on troops' online activities since the start of the Iraq war. And it could mean the end of military blogs, observers say.

Ticking the boxes

I've posted before about my feelings re labels and the way society attempts to push us into neat pigeonholes.

This last week we've bought 2 new gadgets - a cordless phone and a digital camera.
(Actually the camera belongs to First Born and Little Guy but I'm hoping they'll let me play sometimes.)

Along with the packaging and manuals (byebye, rain forest) both have those product registration leaflets that are used for marketing purposes.

Here are the options for you and your partner's occupations:

• craftsman/tradesman
• education/medical services
• housewife/homemaker
• manual/factory worker
• middle management
• office/clerical
• professional/senior management
• retired
• shop worker
• unemployed
• student

So where does a swimming teacher fit in? Education?

And what about me - is a writer a crafts(wo)man?
If writing keeps you sane, would that put you into the medical services category?
More than likely you're also cooking, cleaning etc ie homemaking.
But if you're lucky enough to be able to churn out words, is that like working in a factory?
If you type those words, isn't that a clerical function?
But you're your own boss - senior management?
And it's vital to keep your mind open to new experiences - so maybe a student ...

How did he know?

The death earlier this week of Jerry Falwell, the founder of the so-called Moral Majority, has meant there's been a glut of articles in the papers about the other evangelical whackoes out there.

My personal favourite, if I can call him that, is Pat Robertson - the guy who believes the world's ills are down to the Illuminati - but luckily that shouldn't phase Pat as he has the power to divert hurricanes and cure AIDS.
Of course he has. He says so, right?

Here's what he has to say about feminism:

'... a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians.'

Blimey, sisters. How did we manage to miss this guy infiltrating the movement and stealing all our secrets?

On a more serious note, these evangelical lobbyists have vast wealth and a deeply frightening amount of political power.
These are the fundamentalists we should really be afraid of.

A pointless question

What do the following people have in common?

• Balussou Krasts
• Bounthiang Glensvang
• Cathal Volker
• Ishak Novakovic
• Ivy Oldack
• Kelsy Randolph
• Mario Menell
• Nathaniel Watson

Answers in the comments box please.

I failed. Miserably.

Here are 4 questions.
Don't take your time - answer them all instantly.

Ready? GO!!!(scroll down)


First Question:
You are participating in a race.
You overtake the second person.
What position are you in?







Answer:
If you answered that you are first, then you are absolutely wrong!
If you overtake the second person and you take his place, you are second!

Try not to mess up in the next question.
To answer the second question, don't take as much time as you took for the first question.

Second Question:
If you overtake the last person, then you are...?







Answer:
If you answered that you are second to last, then you are wrong again.
How can you overtake the LAST Person?

Third Question:
Note: This must be done in your head only.
Do NOT use paper and pencil or a calculator.

Take 1000 and add 40 to it.
Now add another 1000.
Now add 30.
Add another 1000.
Now add 20.
Now add another 1000.
Now add 10.
What is the total?

Scroll down for answer.







Answer:
Did you get 5000?
The correct answer is actually 4100.

Don't believe it?
Check again!

Fourth Question:
Mary's father has five daughters: 1. Nana, 2. Nene, 3. Nini, 4. Nono.
What is the name of the fifth daughter?







Answer:
Nunu?
NO! Of course not.
Her name is Mary.
Read the question again.

So how did you do?

I got .... zero.
Oooops ...

A full day gig - if you have the energy ...

Remember a while back I introduced you to my mate, John Bently?

I've just received this from him ...

Afterrabbit Gig Winchester College of Art Friday 13th July 2007

Just some early details about upcoming Afterabbit gig at Winchester School of Art. We're playing as part of a one day academic Symposium about Artists' Books. The gig lasts a whole day! There'll be talks by various artists and curators and a guided viewing of ... trumpets sound, drums roll .... The complete set of all 23 years worth of Liver & Lights publications and graphics, followed by a Make Your Own Instrument Out of Rubbish workshop, led by us!

....and then we're going to play our most rippping set, some of which will be accompanied by you on your home made instruments. Then we'll all get drunk together in the bar. A most enlighteningly educational day...If you want to book a space at this unmissable event, or for full details of the whole day, contact Sarah Bodman on sarah.bodman@uwe.ac.uk. Hope to see you there.

Education, education, education

If you're as cynical as I am about the government's supposedly brilliant idea to allow people with no experience whatsoever to control our children's education, you might like to sign this petition,
protesting against the creation of Academies.

Remember - for £2million someone gets control of a state school and can disapply all sorts of national agreements.
Plus the Government gives them another £35 million of taxpayers' money.

You can find out more about this stunningly stupid idea at the Anti Academies Alliance here.

Putting on the glitz

I received the following email this morning and thought I'd share it with you ...

I was due for an appointment with the gynaecologist later in the week.
Early one morning, I received a call from the doctor's office to tell me that I had been rescheduled for that morning at 9:30 am.

I had only just packed everyone off to work and school, and it was already around 8:45 am.
The trip to his office took about 35 minutes, so I didn't have any time to spare.

As most women do, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn't going to be able to make the full effort.
So, I rushed upstairs, threw off my pajamas, wet the washcloth that was sitting next to the sink, and gave myself a quick wash in that area to make sure I was at least presentable.
I threw the washcloth in the clothes basket, donned some clothes, hopped in the
car and raced to my appointment.

I was in the waiting room for only a few minutes when I was called in.
Knowing the procedure, as I'm sure you do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended that I was in Paris or some other place a million miles away.
I was a little surprised when the doctor said,
"My,we have made an extra effort this
morning, haven't we?"

I didn't respond.
After the appointment, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home.
The rest of the day was normal.
Some shopping,cleaning, cooking.

After school my 6 year old daughter called out from the bathroom,
"Mommy,where's my washcloth?"
I told her to get another one from the cupboard.
She replied,
"No, I need the one that was here by the sink, it had
all my glitter and sparkles saved inside it."

NEVER going back to that doctor ever!!

A literary joke (sort of)

Did you know that Tommy Cooper once went into a library, cut off his trouser leg and handed it to the librarian, saying,

'Here's a turn-up for the books!'

You can see more Cooperisms here.

What lurks beneath the covers?

Check out these book covers - all from different publishers.

Start here with the book by Girl With a One Track Mind.

Now look at the latest edition of Belle de Jour:

and this one from the US ...

and this ...

and even the classics are getting the treatment ...

Notice any ... er ... similarities?
So what's going on here?

Is this:

a) a clever marketing ploy to cash in on a winning formula
or
b) a symptom of laziness and lack of imagination in some of the publishing houses
or
c) complete coincidence. None of them knew about the others. It's just evidence of how tuned into the zeitgeist they all are.

One Day ...

A day will come when the number of male items on the washing line shall equal the number of female items.

And on that day, the female of the species shall breathe a sigh of relief as she fills her lungs with sweet-smelling air.

And the young males of the species shall vow to never smell as foul again and they shall declare their intention from henceforth to take responsibility in all matters related to personal hygiene.
Even, yea, unto changing their pants and socks more than twice a year and aiming their todgers within the porcelain of the toilet bowl.

And on that day we shall look to the heavens and, behold, from horizon to horizon our vision shall be filled with ...

... flying pigs.

Debi meets Norm

Norman Geras, has a regular series on his blog (see here and here) where he asks a writer or journalist to talk about a book that has been important to them.

This week it's the turn of number 101 - 'tis I!

I chose The Bridge of Beyond by Simone Schwarz-Bart, which I've mentioned before here.

Many thanks to Norm and to Maxine who made the introduction.

A bank holiday joke

Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after the night at a business function.
He forces himself to open his eyes and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table.

And, next to them, a single red rose!
Jack sits down and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed.
Jack looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly clean.
So is the rest of the house.
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror and notices a note on the table:

"Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to go shopping -Love you!!"

He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast and the morning newspaper.
His son is also at the table, eating.
Jack asks, "Son...what happened last night?"

"Well, you came home after 3 am , drunk and out of your mind. You broke the coffee table, puked in the hallway and got that black eye when you ran into the door."

"So, why is everything in such perfect order, so clean, I have a rose and breakfast is on the table waiting for me?"

His son replies, "Oh, THAT!..
Mom dragged you to the bedroom and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, "Leave me alone, b*tch, I'm married!!!" ...

> Broken table - $200
> Hot breakfast - $5
> Red Rose bud - $3
> Two aspirins - $0.25

> Saying the right thing, at the right time... Priceless!!!!!

Are you climbing mountains?

Have you heard Joe Simpson's story?
He was a mountaineer who, after a horrific accident in the Peruviuan Andes, wrote a book about his experiences called Touching the Void, which was later made into a movie.

His is an astonishing story of survival against the odds.
After a spectacular fall which shattered his leg and landed him deep in a crevace, he climbed up and spent the next 4 (yes, 4!) days crawling on hands and knees back to camp.
As well as coping with his appalling injuries, he had no food or water to sutain him.
Nothing but his own unstoppable will to live.

When he arrived back at camp on the 4th day, he had gone from 10.5 stone to just over 6.
He was 'in a very bad way', he says with classic understatement.

He wrote Touching the Void in 7 weeks, the words tumbling from him, determined to be recorded.

Since then, he has continued to write.
Books in which he struggles with the nature of aggression and violence, the dangers of climate change and the urge to test one's body and mind to the limits.

He's a cool guy is Joe.
This is what he has to say about politicians:
Politicians - absolutely vile breed of self serving, dishonourable, corrupt, self aggrandising liars without a shred of integrity when their self-interest is threatened. Should all be put in a sack and drowned.

And this is what he has to say about writing:
Writing is just as exciting - and as frightening - as mountaineering.

And he should know ...

How are you on forgiving?

It's hard sometimes, isn't it?

Some people believe that nursing old grievances is a cause of sickness.

But it can be hard to let go ...

Carrie Fisher apparently said that refusing to forgive is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Clever Carrie ...

Anyone can make a mistake but ...

There is huge media saturation re MI5's failure to spot the 7/7 bombers - not 'clean skins' as originally claimed, but men already known to the security services.

Rachel from North London, and other survivors, are calling for a full independent inquiry.

As she says here, 'We all make mistakes. I do not blame people in the security services for their mistakes and failure to use intelligence. It is failing to admit mistakes and then trying to cover up mistakes which is unforgivable and inexcusable.'

Please check Rachel's posts and links for full details.
If this is something you feel strongly about, please sign the petition calling for a public inquiry here.

Seeking Retribution

I need your help to devise a suitable punishment for G.
It goes without saying that it needs to be hideously painful, but also it has to leave indelible psychological scarring as a disincentive to future iniquitous transgressions of similar nature.

Although I'm aware that the following will cause inevitable distress, I'm going to give you the details of said heinous sin.

There we were, in the park.

In spite of pleading unsuitable footwear (open toe backless sandals) ...
In spite of pleading irredeemable incompetence ...
In spite of arguing that I had deliberately given birth twice thereby ensuring offspring had lifelong playmates and I'd be able to lie on a rug and stare at the clouds once in a while ...

In spite of all this ...
... I found myself in goal.

As the ball trickled into the gap between the water bottle and a rolled up sweatshirt and between my leaden be-sandalled feet for the umpteenth time, G (my so-called team mate in this torture) called me ...

... a donkey!

Now I know that several times a year, when I'm carrying kit-stuffed bags on each aching shoulder and dangling from every bloodless finger, dodging fitness fascists and tramping from start to finish lines on interminable runs around the country, this appellation could be considered apposite.

But on this particular occasion I took umbrage.

So help me out here.
What do you suggest would be appropriate revenge?

Fight! Fight!

We witnessed a really vicious fight in the park yesterday.
As usual when something kicks off big time, a large crowd soon gathered, gawping and even taking photos.

The protagonists were two sets of parents.

The alphas, let's call them Gnasher and Slasher, had 5 tiny babies.
Their opponents, we'll call them Distraught and Bereaved (you can see where this is going, can't you?) had yet to bring their young into the world.

The aggression and the sheer level of violence was shocking, even to those brought up in the urban heartlands.
Each had their feet on their opposite number's shoulders and was attempting to throw them and hold them under the surface of the lake.
They raked each other's chests, shrieking wordlessly.

The end result was as sad as it was inevitable.

Distraught and Bereaved could do nothing but watch in despair as Gnasher and Slasher rolled their precious unborn from the nest and proceeded to feed them to their own babies.

Sometimes I'm really glad I'm not a coot.

Dreams, themes and schemes

I have this dream.
I've had it - oh, like for ever.

But considering what's happening to our planet it's become ever more urgent to find different and more sustainable ways to live.

So this is my dream.

There's this large bunch of diverse people.

We have this plot of land in a beautiful location.
On this land, we have an allotment where we grow all our own veg.
We have solar and wind power and generate all our own energy.
We each have our own home that we have built ourselves.

Though there is a degree of collectivity, we have autonomy in our own homes and over our own lives.

We compost, recycle and reuse.

Between us all we have the skills to build, garden, plumb etc.
Everybody will have their own skills or resources to contribute.
Some may bring more £££ - others will work harder.
(From each according to their means.)

Some may need or choose to have jobs outside the community.
Others will be able to work from home (me!) or on the land (me again).

Inevitably there will be some disagreements.
But we'll work them out.
Because we'll be a real community based on altruistic principles and mutual support.

Some people might think it sounds like a nightmare.
Others might say it could never work.

But I think it's a lovely dream.

Anyone share my dream?

Quaking ...

No sonner had I posted about global warning than I read about the earthquake this morning - in Kent!

Several thousand homes in the Dover and Folkestone area are without electricity.
There are 300 possible gas escapes.
The British Geological Society described it as 'a very significant tremor ... of sizeable magnitude'.

Nothing to do with global warming of course ...

Blahblahblahblahblah ...

How many words do you reckon you speak aloud each day?

The answer is 2-4,000 -

- if you're a man.

If you're a woman the answer is 6-8,000.

Now why do you think there's such a discrepancy?

I have my own theories, but I'd be interested to hear what other people think those extra words are ...

(I don't know how reliable these figures are. My source is a throwaway line on Have I Got News for You.)

Hot Stuff

July 2006 - Britain's hottest ever month

Autumn 2006 - Britain's hottest ever Autumn season

Winter 2006-7 - Britain's 2nd hottest ever Winter season

31/04/06 - 01/05/07 - Britain's ever hottest 12 month period

Still reckon global warming's not a problem?

A paucity of posts

I've been blogger-lite this week, as you've probably noticed.

So much life to live, so few days in the week to live it in ...

Here are some of the things conspiring to keep me from you all.

• I'm still post-marathon pooped. (Yes, I know I didn't run the damn thing, but it feels like it.)

• I'm getting a lot of freelance editing work. (Good for the cash flow, bad for my own writing.)

• Little Guy's school swimming gala. (They came 2nd in the borough.)

• Dad. (Still thriving at 92.)

• Little Guy's assembly. (In French!)

• First Born and I taking part in a major research project. (Hence this question.)

• Agreed to produce regular parents' newsletter for FB's school.

• Something exciting (watch this space) coming out of a certain forum.
  

So it's all good stuff. Just there's a lot of it.
Which means less time for communicating with you all.

I'll try to find time to visit all your blogs ASAP.
Meanwhile, have a hug from me.

Techy spitting

I just drafted a really long post asking for advice -

- and it's gone.

Fffft. Just like that.

Where? There? Grrrr ...

So to cut a long post teensy, what I really wanted to know is if anyone has any info re ERP and MRI scans and whether they are safe for children.

Those marathon details

I promised you the full story of G's marathon.

Let's start the evening before.

He wasn't confident about his blood sugar levels and for several hours was doing blood tests every 10-15 mins and then hourly through the night.

Not ideal.

Sunday morning.

7.30am cab comes.
7.42am G calls. He's virtually the first person on Blackheath! Unsurprising since he's 2 hrs early.
7.47am G calls again. He's left his insulin here! Disaster! We rack our brains but can't think of any way to get it to him in time.
8.09am Another call. He says there are more people arriving now and the atmosphere is building. He feels ok.
8.21am Another call - to say his blood sugar is going up.
9.05am Last call. He's just run 20 times around the field, brought his sugar down a bit but now it's on the way up again.

10.00am First Born, Little Guy and I leave home and get the bus to Westminster Bridge.
11.00am Take up usual position on Embankment 100m from Big Ben.
12.15pm Meloney and family join us. (Mel ran the marathon in 2005 - they have always been a wonderful source of support. Thanks!)
12.30pm Start looking out for G. If he's going to bust the 3 hr mark (remember he was less than 2 mins outside that last year) he needs to come through in the next 8 mins.
12.40pm Accept he's not going to achieve his target.
12.55pm Accept he's not going to beat 3 hrs 15 mins.
1.10pm Or even 3 hrs 30 mins. Panic building now. Holding phone in hand (he has my mobile number on the back of his race number in case of emergencies). Something has gone badly wrong. But how bad??? Kids getting anxious and I can't reassure them.
1.30pm Imagine for yourself!
1.35pm Here he is! He stops. I've never seen him looking so ill. He has pain in his left hamstring, stomach cramps and he can't breathe. Not as in puffed out ... as in can't breathe!

Don't know if he needs insulin or sugar. Neither the Red Cross stations nor the ambulance he has approached have testing kits (!) and (rightly) they won't administer insulin. They can only offer to take him to hospital, which he refuses.
(In previous years he has been able to get his sugar tested en route, which is why he hadn't carried his own testing kit.)

He insists he still wants to get to the end. We agree to meet as usual in Trafalgar Square.

Crisis! The police are stopping everyone from going down the subway! We are directed the long way round. We jostle through the crowds, trying to keep an eye on 5 kids but we can't cross the road! The marathon cuts us off. There's no way to get to Whitehall and up to Trafalgar Square.

I talk to another cop. It's an emergency. I have G's insulin in my bag - it's vital I get to him ASAP.

Cop: (shrugs) Nothing I can do.
Me: But it's an emergency. He might have ketoacidosis (potentially life-threatening condition resulting from high sugar).
Cop: You could talk to St John's Ambulance people.
Me: How will that help? It's not me that needs the help! I just need to get across the road ...
Cop: They have transport.

St John's Ambulance person: We don't have transport. We could radio ahead to the finish line ...
Me: How will that help? I have his insulin ...
SJA person: You could try going round to the crossing point ...

At this point Mel and co break off so I can concentrate on getting through with kids.

At last! A wonderful marathon marshall breaks down the barrier and shepherds us across the road weaving between the runners.

FB grabs the insulin and sprints down Whitehall to Trafalgar Square, where we all finally meet up. Everything is now in one place: testing kit, insulin, sugar - and Greg - and we can take back control and he can sort himself out.

He's very disappointed with his time (3 hrs 53 mins) of course - nearly an hour longer than his aim. But it's all part of the learning curve and I'm proud of the way he's handling it.

Most important of all, he's ok. That's the only thing that matters.

From his point of view, he still finished (with a sprint!) and has a 7th medal for his collection.

Out of 7 marathons, he has completed all well within 5 hrs, 6 within 4 hrs, 5 within 3.5 hrs and 3 within 3.25 hrs.
Which ain't bad for a 49 yr old with diabetes!

You can still sponsor him as the site remains open 'til 22/6. Thanks.

All over

It's over.

The good news is that G finished the full 26.2 miles.

Of course he finished.
He would have finished if he had been forced to crawl.
Backwards.
With his ankles tied.

The bad news?

He had a bad time.
A VERY bad time.

He'll be ok.

Though you know what this means, don't you?
He's planning on doing it again next year ...

Details to follow ...

Oh and please sponsor him here if you haven't already done so.
It's what it's all about ...

Next time you hear from me ...

... it will all be over.

Blood, sweat and tears are guaranteed.

That's if G has any blood left after doing blood tests every few minutes since he woke this morning ...

He's been fighting off a low sugar all day, terrified of over-compensating and ending up high.

Bloody diabetes.

I'm thinking of starting a support group for diabetic marathon runners and their partners.
It's a lethal combination, believe me.

Don't forget it's still not too late to sponsor him here and raise money for Refuge.

Conversations

# 1

G: I'm getting a cough.
Me: Oh dear.
G: No really. I am. I mean it.
Me: Hmmm.
G: I can feel it. It's here. (Taps chest.) Ahem. Ahem. See? I'm coughing.
Me: Ah.
G: Why don't you believe me?
Me: Oh I do.
G: It's real. It is. A year of training and now this. It's a disaster.
Me: Ooooh.
G: (Dry scraping sound as he desperately tries to drag up non-existent phlegm from clean as a whistle tubes.) I'm going to do another blood test.
Me: Good idea.
G: (Wafts away steam from ears as attempts complex calculations to ensure blood sugar is at optimum level tomorrow.)
Me: Well?
G: It's quite high.
Me: Well that's better than low.
G: Why won't you believe me? I'm going down with something. I am. I'm coughing. Ahem. Ahem.
Me: There is such a thing as a nervous cough ...
G: A nervous cough? A nervous cough? Are you mad?
Me: (Sighs.) This happens every year. You just forget when you're in the middle of it.
G: I'll do another blood test. Agh! Disaster! It's low. That's completely blown it. I'll have a throwback high this time tomorrow. I won't be able to run. It's all over ...

# 2

G: I'm ready now. I'm up for it. It's ok. I'm on track. I'm gonna do this. I feel good.

# 3

Me: Boys! Do your homework now. Just get on with it. We can't have any aggravations today.
First Born: You're abusing your power. Just wait 'til I'm your mother!

# 4

Little Guy: I can't find my gym kit.
Me: Isn't it where it usually is?
LG: No. Dad put it somewhere ...
Me: Well, that's it then isn't it ...
LG: Yep. We'll never find it now.

# 5

FB & LG: Phwoar. Don't go near dad. He's just chewed a whole bulb of raw garlic ...
Me: (through gritted teeth) Hang on, guys. Less than 25 hrs to go ...

# 6

Me to all of you: Please make all this worthwhile by sponsoring G here. Big thanks to those of you who have already done so.

Techy tantrum

I don't hate you.

I'm not ignoring you.

There's nothing wrong with me.

Or you.

But there evidently is something wrong with my bloody email - again!

I've had phone calls from people worrying that there's some nameless crisis going on.

I've had emails from people worrying if they might have upset me ...

And they're only the ones I know about.

There could be loads of people out there feeling irritated or rejected.

I think the problem's only with my sent mail not arriving.

(I hope so - otherwise I'll need to have anxiety attacks that there are emails floating round in the ether from my agent promising the earth - but for a time limited period ...)

I know about some of the ones I've sent that never arrive (even though they don't bounce back and appear quite happy nestling in my sent list).

But it's inevitable there must be more that I don't know about ....

I have 3 different email addresses.
The Freeserve one that many friends use and that also have 'official' stuff carefully filed in.
The one attached to my website.
And a Google one.

I think the Google one might be faring better ... (though I know of at least one person not getting my mail from there either).

If you think I've gone all quiet, I haven't.
I've probably been shrieking into cyberspace at you and wondering why you weren't responding.

Sorry.

Wonder where all the lost emails go ...

Maybe I'll find them in the airing cupboard where I located G's lucky tights ...

Definition of a writer

I've lost count of the number of times I've read about people wondering if they can call themselves a writer ...

It seems different people have different definitions.

Here are some of the most common:

• if you write, you are a writer
  
• you're only a writer if you're published
• you're only a writer if you've earned money from it
• sod other people's definitions - it's how you FEEL ...

An American woman in my writers' group has come up with a 5th definition.

Apparently, according to US law, if you have received a minimum of 3 rejections, you are allowed to call youself a writer and use related expenses on your tax return.

Whoever said there's no such thing as a positive rejection?

Succumbing to the G-force

Maniacmum is hosting an online marathon party here.

As you all know, running is not my thing but I do love a good online party ...

And it will be interesting to attend an official one, as opposed to a squatted rave in an abandoned comments box ...

Since all life is now geared to G's run on Sunday, I thought I'd post here the interview G did for the author of this book, so you can see what he (and yours truly) are contending with.

Greg Kat – marathon story

My running career started strong, petered out in my teens and then took off again when I was in my forties.

When I was 14, I was the Junior All-London 1500m champion, but gave up running soon after due to teenage angst and a lack of confidence.

Over 3 decades later, I started running again to keep fit and decided to enter the London marathon in 2000. I chose the marathon as it’s the ultimate challenge. I work in the leisure industry (at that time as a lifeguard and now as a swimming teacher) so managed to get a place through work.

I ran for Diabetes UK. When I was 21, I was diagnosed with insulin-dependant diabetes and inject 4 times a day. A marathon is high endurance, when the body is constantly taxed over a long period of time. I knew that even if I got my sugar levels spot on at the beginning, they would be bound to fluctuate during the run. It was impossible to predict how my body would react, so I decided I was in it for the experience, not to achieve a particular time. If my sugar went low, I risked collapsing. If it went high, there was a risk of ketoacidosis – a potentially life-threatening condition.

I started at the back of the field, where it takes ages just to reach the start line, and refuelled during the run constantly with Lucozade and jelly beans. I completed the course comfortably in 4hrs 33mins 28secs and was happy with that. I saw it as the first part of a steep learning curve.

In 2001 I ran again – this time for a small charity called Equal Weight – and knocked over an hour off my previous time, finishing in 3hrs 27mins 52secs.

The following year, when I ran for the Child Poverty Action Group , I improved my time again – this time to 3hrs 11mins 25secs, qualifying me for an automatic place the next year in the ‘Good for your Age’ category. Suddenly everything seemed possible. I set myself a target. I wanted to complete a marathon in under 3hrs. But then in 2003, when I ran for a small school in north London, I had a disaster. On the 10^th mile my sugar plummeted to a dangerously low level. I ended up in an ambulance and the woman wouldn’t allow me to continue until she was confident I was stable. She eventually let me go (reluctantly) but radioed ahead to the first aid station on the 16^th mile and told me to stop there and have my blood sugar checked again.

When I got to the 16^th mile I felt fine and would have run past. But the wonderful marathon team were having none of it! The guy ran out into the road holding my number aloft and demanded I stop. When I said I didn’t want to, he ran alongside me and tested my blood!

I met my family and friends on the 25^th mile and stopped to tell them what had happened. I completed the course in 3hrs 33mins 51secs. People told me that in many ways this was my greatest achievement yet, considering the circumstances, but I was really disappointed. I was desperate to crack that 3hr mark and had failed in my own eyes.

In 2004 the experience was better. I ran for Kids Out and was back to my previous time – 3hrs 11mins 14secs.

I decided to take a break and didn’t take part in 2005, though I continued to train as well as running half marathons and in other events. I was averaging 60-70 miles per week. Every week. Come rain, snow or sunshine …

Last year I was tantalisingly close to my target. I ran for ALD Life and finished in 3hrs 1min 47secs.

This year I’m running for Refuge , the domestic violence charity. You can sponsor me here.

Will 2007 be the year I break that magical 3hr mark?

It will be my last opportunity to do it before I turn 50 …

The blogosphere at its best

This here blogosphere has no end of detractors.

But sometimes something comes along that proves it's worth beyond any possible doubt.

That's when someone comes up with an idea and spreads it via the blogs.
An idea that makes a real difference.
To real people.
With real lives.

This initiative from Wandering Author is one such initiative.


Please go here to support his project ...

... and make a real difference.

Serious countdown ...

Right. 8 days 'til marathon day.

G's training is supposed to be winding down now.

Everything else is winding up.

Big time.

Neurosis - several points up.
Terror of getting last minute virus - at the max.
Losing things (today it's his mobile and his 'lucky' running tights) - on the red.
Mood swings - at tipping point.
Strange habits - no worse than usual. (Still going to bed with a hot water bottle and wearing woolly hat.)
Last minute horror - this could be it. The running vest he has to wear to show he's running for Refuge is not only shocking pink, but also has the Sun logo on the back.
Blood sugar - swinging.
Teeth - ground to stubs.
Support - superb. (Lots of emails, texts and phone calls wishing him luck. Also Marathon Mum kindly sent him a copy of her book, Running on Empty, which he's buried in when he's not running, testing his blood, chewing raw garlic or searching for lost items.)

So - looks like we're nearly ready then ...

If you want to make all this worthwhile, please go here to sponsor him.

Update: That link should have been Maniacmum. Sorry. And the book is brill ...

Quick - this invitation has a time limit

It seems I've organised a blog squatters' party.

Not quite sure how that happened - though I doubt if that defence will hold up in court ...

Anyway, slip on the glad rags, gather the party faithful and get yourself down to the comments column here.

(For previous parties, check the comments here and here.)

On blogging ...

Some good debates taking place on blogs re blogs.
(We do so love 'em, don't we?
Personally I can never get enough navel-gazing.
Only the other day I found a piece of virtual fluff from the last millenium.)

Anyway - Norman Geras talks here about political blogging.

And Atyllah talks here about whether we need a civility code to prevent blog abuse.

And how did I miss that March 30 was supposed to be Stop Cyberbullying Day?

Bah! See what happens if you look away from the screen long enough to do pointless things like eat, sleep or speak more than 2 words to your loved ones? (The 2nd word usually being 'off'.)

technorati tags: takebackthetech
stopcyberbullying

London Life - it ain't so bad ...

My general take on life is that happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.

Although that doesn't mean that:

• you shouldn't recognise negative aspects and strive to change them
• you shouldn't be on the lookout for ways to improve the quality of your life
• you shouldn't dream

But it follows that while we would love to live another way - as part of a real community as opposed to being forced to live as a nuclear family in a council flat - and out of London, away from the noise, pollution, crime and grime - there are still plenty of positive aspects to focus on.

Here we are, it's the holidays, the sun is shining - just look at what's available a short walk from home.

There's Peckham Rye, with its history going back to Boadecia (or Boudicca as she seems to be known these days).

Or Dulwich Park created in 1890 with its lake, cafe and sporting facilities.

Or the Horniman Museum with its new aquarium and mega £££ refit.

Then there's the Horniman Gardens with the nature trail, animals and glorious views right across London.

We also went to Dulwich and Sydenham Woods - the last vestiges of the Great North Woods that used to cover the whole of SE England.

A short drive took us to Battersea Park a couple of days ago, where we gazed over the Thames and romped with Meloney and her family.

Another slightly longer drive took us to Godstone Farm where we played all day in sandpits, castles and with various children and animals.

And today I met the writers' group for the coffee caucus.

Pretty good, eh?
Life - it's what you make of it.

One for the techies

If such things matter to you, check this out re blogging ranking.

Also according to this lot, wireless thingy wotsits are crapola:

The WEP security protocol that encrypts data carried over WiFi networks, used widely by businesses and consumers, can be cracked in seconds with nothing more powerful than a standard laptop PC, according to security researchers from Darmstadt University of Technology in Germany. The researchers claim that they have discovered flaws in the WEP algorithm which would enable a hacker to identify the security key required to gain unhindered access to the wireless network in very little time, less than a minute to capture the required data and then just a few seconds to extract the key from that data.

The WEP protocol has never really been considered particularly robust, and this discovery renders it practically useless as a serious security tool. Organisations using wireless networks to carry any sort of sensitive information are advised to use the more advanced WPA protocol which is available on more modern wireless equipment, or to consider third party security products to strengthen their networks.

It probably goes without saying that my eyes glazed well before I got to the end of the first line, but in my infinite generosity I thought some of the less technically-challenged among you might appreciate the info ... (whatever it means - and that's NOT a plea for someone to explain it to me!)

Blaugustine blast

What are you doing tomorrow (Thurs 12/4) between 6.30 and 8.30?

I know what I'll be doing.

I'll be at the Cartoon Museum celebrating the launch of Natalie d'Arbeloff's book.
(Natalie blogs at Blaugustine.)

You are invited to the launch of

The God Interviews

at the Cartoon Museum
35 Little Russell Street, London WC1

on Thursday April 12
6:30-8:30pm

The book will be introduced by
Ernesto Priego,
comics historian, critic and poet

See you there?

UPDATE: Yes, yes, I know. It wasn't 'tomorrow' when I posted this. But it might be when you read it. Not that I was thinking that at the time. More a matter of not knowing what day it is ...

The blogosphere is 10 years old

10 years.

Can you believe it?

My blog is 1 year 2 and a bit months old and I can't imagine life without it.

But the first blog started back in April 1997.

The Guardian Unlimited News blog has a great round up of the last decade.

I may never move away from my laptop again ...

Another kick in the teeth

Since the death of Jean Charles de Menezes, the innocent Brazilian shot on 22 July 2005 at Stockwell Station by police who mistook him for a terrorist, there has been a public shrine outside the tube.

The shrine is maintained by local people, friends and supporters.
You can even send letters to it.

At one point there was also a mural close by but it was painted over by a Lambeth Council anti-graffiti team.

Now the local paper has just carried a report that Transport for London want the shrine to be taken down and replaced with an official plaque.

The family have had little from officialdom apart from cover ups and attempted character assassinations.

The only support they have had has been from the public.

Now it seems they're not even going to be allowed the visual symbol of that public support.

You too can be a travel writer

Dorling Kindersley has a cunning plan to turn just about anyone into a published travel writer.

If you go here, you can select from thousands of destinations, browse around, add your own images and craft your unique Eyewitness Travel Guide which can then be downloaded or posted to you.

But surely that must cost a fortune ...?

No - it only costs £2.50 per guide or £10 a year for unlimited access.

Cool, huh?

Women + writers + photography = exhibition

As a woman who writes and also takes photographs, this is one exhibition I really don't want to miss.

The National Portrait Gallery has an exhibition of photographs of women writers from 1920 to 1960.

'Being single, and having some money, and having the time - having no men, you see' was how the writer Ivy Compton-Burnett rather bluntly explained why so many women were writing fiction after the First World War. The photographic portraits in this display were made in the period 1920 to1960 when the majority of fiction was written by women, a phenomenon that can also be explained by improved access to education and society's growing acceptance of the working woman.

The writers of this new wave of women's fiction were professional and prolific - by the age of thirty-two Pamela Frankau had published twenty books and Enid Blyton could produce a children's book in five working days. The popular romance writer Ruby Ayres declared she 'wrote for money' and in 1955 told the Daily Mail about her creative process; 'First I fix the price, then I fix the title, then I write the book'. She could write as many as 20,000 words a day.

Virginia Woolf believed that women's fiction in the 1920s was 'far more genuine and far more interesting to-day than it was a hundred or even fifty years ago'. The diversity of women writers over these four decades is remarkable. This display includes crime, romance and children's writers, literary and 'middle-brow' novelists, and those who tackled issues of female sexuality, and faced scandal. The photographers in this collection include Paul Tanqueray, Cecil Beaton and Man Ray; the images range from studio portraits to portraits of the writer at work.

Yummy.

To whom respect is due ...

I've already told you about Rachel here and here.

Another survivor of 7/7, Gill Hicks, has published a book a couple of days ago.

Here's the synopsis for One Unknown:

In this personal memoir, Gill recounts the events of that day, from facing the very real prospect that she might die and her subsequent fight to live, to later coming to terms with losing her legs and living life as a disabled person. The book includes excerpts from the diary she wrote during her rehabilitation, an account of her wedding day in December 2005, when she hit headlines all around the world, and traces the journey of her extraordinary recovery. Having survived this life-shattering experience, Gill asks important questions about how we set our priorities and the way we live our lives. She motivates readers to 'seize the day' and live life to the full while striving for a better, more tolerant world. Her powerful message has a broader audience than most 'ordinary' motivational books because of the experience out of which it was borne. This moving account is told with great integrity and honesty, and Gill's lack of self pity and keen sense of humour lighten the tone and make this book very special indeed.

Gill is now an ambassador with Peace Direct and has made a film with them.

Watch it - I'm sure you'll agree that Gill has set whole new standards for the word 'inspiring'.

As a result of the film, the group set up Practical Peace, who (in their own words) provide:

Links, quotes, books, anecdotes and tips on small things we can all do to make the world a more peaceful place. Each month we send out a Practical Peace e-newsletter offering simple suggestions on things you can do, read, buy, question or change to help make moves towards a sustainable peace.

You can sign up for the newsletter here.

It's so hard to spel in Inglish

Such an illogical language.
Bah.
Such a trial if you happen to be dyslexic -
- or just a common or garden crap speller ...

You're not alone.

There are even poems pointing out the absurdities.

Hell, there's even a whole website devoted to poems pointing out the absurdities ...

Blogging from the dark side

All life is here in the blogosphere.
The good, the bad and the very deeply disturbed ...

We've all moaned about our own blogging nasties at one time or another.

But few of us have had to put up with a case of blog harassment so bad it has ended up in court.

And even if we had, it's doubtful we would have handled it with the intelligence, sensitivity and balance of Rachel from the north (who I mentioned here as a thinking blogger).

For Rachel's story pre-stalker - and evidence that she is the last possible person to either deserve or need the harassment - see here.