Sunday, July 8, 2012
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Terror Alert up a Notch
Hummm ...Here we are are so what is this new alert? From 'be a bit scared but its not too bad' to okay 'now you need be at nearly poo your pants' stage. Clearly once you have actually defecated over your Calvin Kline's then you know stage 4 is here.
While I agree there should be a warning system we, as a race, are not bio-engineered to be constantly scared. We are survivors so we process the new information and set out own mental alerts. Fear comes in waves with specific triggers. Look at the millions who live on the San Andreas fault or in the shadow of Vesuvius most of the time they live and laugh and cry. But one wee tremor or a rumble of ash and fear comes to the surface. They hold their collective breath and the threat passes and life continues as before.
In the 80s (God now I feel old) I would cack myself at the sound of a siren. The four minute warning was the BIG THING. Jason Robards was in The Day After Anthony Andrews in Z for Zacharia and the threat of all out Nuclear warfare looked survivable - for some at any rate. And that is the problem right there...HOPE...it may happen but not to us, it may happen but we will be okay-ish, it may happen and we will survive with interesting scars and stories or it may happen and we won't know anything about it. We saw survivors among the catastrophe. We rely on our ability to endure, but maybe one day we won't.
There will always be evil in the world. There will always be good. There will always be fear, it is what keeps us alive. But when we are told stage 3 out of 4 it should be a tangible and specific threat otherwise we become complacent, Vesuvius will erupt again the San Andreas fault will move dramatically again, but if we are constantly told to be alert and nothing happens we will not believe it. Not even when it really hurts.
While I agree there should be a warning system we, as a race, are not bio-engineered to be constantly scared. We are survivors so we process the new information and set out own mental alerts. Fear comes in waves with specific triggers. Look at the millions who live on the San Andreas fault or in the shadow of Vesuvius most of the time they live and laugh and cry. But one wee tremor or a rumble of ash and fear comes to the surface. They hold their collective breath and the threat passes and life continues as before.
In the 80s (God now I feel old) I would cack myself at the sound of a siren. The four minute warning was the BIG THING. Jason Robards was in The Day After Anthony Andrews in Z for Zacharia and the threat of all out Nuclear warfare looked survivable - for some at any rate. And that is the problem right there...HOPE...it may happen but not to us, it may happen but we will be okay-ish, it may happen and we will survive with interesting scars and stories or it may happen and we won't know anything about it. We saw survivors among the catastrophe. We rely on our ability to endure, but maybe one day we won't.
There will always be evil in the world. There will always be good. There will always be fear, it is what keeps us alive. But when we are told stage 3 out of 4 it should be a tangible and specific threat otherwise we become complacent, Vesuvius will erupt again the San Andreas fault will move dramatically again, but if we are constantly told to be alert and nothing happens we will not believe it. Not even when it really hurts.
Monday, August 10, 2009
EEEK TEMPUS effed off as it were
well a363 has been and gone. I achieved the grade I wanted with the score I didn't.
The course was fine but would have been much better with an experianced tutor. To have a novice 'teach' an advanced course was barmey. I used inverted commas for 'teach' - the tutor in question merely observed. Not my favorite OU experiance.
Still U211 beckons and I am really excited by it, and that it is my last course for honours, not completely sold on the russian roulette at the end...aka EXAM!!
The course was fine but would have been much better with an experianced tutor. To have a novice 'teach' an advanced course was barmey. I used inverted commas for 'teach' - the tutor in question merely observed. Not my favorite OU experiance.
Still U211 beckons and I am really excited by it, and that it is my last course for honours, not completely sold on the russian roulette at the end...aka EXAM!!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Oh jings where has the year gone to?
Funny course that E301. Great brilliant and utterly compelling. But could I write diddly squat thereafter? Nope. So here I am on A363. Big hopes and expectations and struggling every word of the way. Ideas are there but they are not at the forefront of my brain. Like familiar faces in the crowd but the name only comes to when you have passed them by.
So how do i release the beasts? Simple really...NANO...yep it is there looming large on the horizon...
So how do i release the beasts? Simple really...NANO...yep it is there looming large on the horizon...
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Big Boy Is 21
Hard to believe that time zips forward, my placid baby a young man. How proud I am of him and how lucky I feel.
It was a good night, we ate and drank way too much...but at least it was more civilised than the night he was born and John and his brothers celebrated Brians birth at Panama Jax. The aforementioned bar/club was down on the Clyde waterfront, the only thing they did not know was that Monday night was gay night.... It is still funny to hear them recount that first moment of realisation.
'We had ordered 3 pints, the barman smiled, seemed like a nice boy. Then as I raised my pint to my lips I saw 2 blokes dancing together, then another 2 kissing...thats the only place we have ever left our pints untouched. When we confronted the doorman on the way out, he said 'you can't tell by looking at a person sir.' That was bad enough...but there were three of us!!'
They then returned to our little home and bizzarely played monopoly drinking beer into the wee small hours.
21 years further home we returned and played Singstar and drank beer into the wee small hours...somethings are constant!
It was a good night, we ate and drank way too much...but at least it was more civilised than the night he was born and John and his brothers celebrated Brians birth at Panama Jax. The aforementioned bar/club was down on the Clyde waterfront, the only thing they did not know was that Monday night was gay night.... It is still funny to hear them recount that first moment of realisation.
'We had ordered 3 pints, the barman smiled, seemed like a nice boy. Then as I raised my pint to my lips I saw 2 blokes dancing together, then another 2 kissing...thats the only place we have ever left our pints untouched. When we confronted the doorman on the way out, he said 'you can't tell by looking at a person sir.' That was bad enough...but there were three of us!!'
They then returned to our little home and bizzarely played monopoly drinking beer into the wee small hours.
21 years further home we returned and played Singstar and drank beer into the wee small hours...somethings are constant!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Little Britain meets Cocoon
Mum was 80 at the end of January so we (my sister who lives in England and I who do not) decided to take her to London, correction -we decided- I took her.
She is still reasonably mobile but cannot walk far or very fast so a wheelchair is essential for zig-zagging through the terminals. I found an abandoned one in the car park at Glasgow airport so I acquired it, put mum into it, and charged on to check-in.
It was an overnight visit so we only had carry on bags. I keep using ‘we’ I mean ‘I’ had all the carry on bags apart from mum’s briefcase and walking stick that she used to crack strangers shins with-either Americans or what she considers good looking men. Anyway I Ayrton Senna’d her around the queue streaming system (and made her slightly dizzy-oops) to the desk, then we had the fun of a security frisk. I pushed towards the gate we had 40 minutes to wait so I got her a coffee and a bun, I sat down started to read the paper, realised it was very quiet and low and behold one empty wheel chair. Mum had decided to go for a wander…ok I know it’s not a major thing but sitting in the special needs area with an empty wheelchair was just plain embarrassing.
The return journey was marginally better. There is a buzzer to press in the car park and a ‘skycaptain’ comes with the wheel chair and deposits her in the waiting area with the other disabled punters. A gaily dressed college boy walks past.
‘See him;’ she points to someone’s back, this is Heathrow it is busy, ‘yes’ I stupidly reply ‘he is the one I told you about.’
‘Eh?’ I stupidly continue.
‘That MP, the one that embezzled all the funds.’
I groan, this has gone on in a loop, for the past twenty three hours. The skycaptain saves me from anymore agony. Again security frisking takes place, shoes off, coats off probes in. I know that they have to be suspicious but surely when they got a whiff of Eau d’Urine they would not bend down??? Nope these guys live on the stuff-not a career path I would choose! Anyway there were two wheelchairs on the Glasgow flight and the flight was full. Wheelchairs whipped away at the entrance to the air bridge the ladies are cajoled out of their new weapons. Assured that it is just a short walk they are suddenly a lot more disabled. These two limping matriarchs bobbled towards the plane. Mum was in second place as the lady from Uganda had clearly been on steroids but she got stuck at the plane door. She could not get her leg up. I watched in disbelief as she attempted to swing her leg over the threshold several times. Scared that I was going to giggle I turned round, to see a long line of impatient travellers look straight back at me. I suddenly felt very responsible and was relieved when she got her leg over. I helped mum on the plane we were in row 6 the Ugandan lady in row 18…perhaps check-in staff were having a laugh? Any way we are ready. Mum is strapped in at the window seat and watching intently for terrorist activity. She spies the long metal poles that are attached to the squat tugs that push the aircraft back and decides that they could be pipe bombs. I explain their function and obligingly a neighbouring plane is being pushed back. ‘Oh’ she says. Eventually everyone is on board and the steward makes his announcement on safety. '
'His diction is appalling'
'um' I reply deciding to ignore her. Mum nudges me and points out the ‘mobiles must be turned off’ instruction. I nod. She taps one long red fingernail against the laminated safety card, rather like the raptors in Jurassic Park. I then rather theatrically flourish my turned off mobile. She nods.
We begin to taxi..and taxi..and taxi…Mum decides she will go for a sleep. WOOHOO I uncharitably think, peace to read. But no she decides to try and have a conversation about the lady who lost her legs. I am grunting in the pauses. Then the plane speeds up and we are off...she is awake and watching again. She decides to read the Sunday newspaper and comment on everything. ‘Would you look at that…he is not a very good speaker you know!....I don’t like Colin Dexter he is so morose…Coffee and a flapjack please.’
and a large gin for me!!
Long and the short of it Mum had a brilliant time, enjoyed seeing her granddaughters, enjoyed the adventure, but has not quite forgiven 5 year old Jennifer for noticing that she looked ‘very old.’ Certainly not as old as I felt!!
She is still reasonably mobile but cannot walk far or very fast so a wheelchair is essential for zig-zagging through the terminals. I found an abandoned one in the car park at Glasgow airport so I acquired it, put mum into it, and charged on to check-in.
It was an overnight visit so we only had carry on bags. I keep using ‘we’ I mean ‘I’ had all the carry on bags apart from mum’s briefcase and walking stick that she used to crack strangers shins with-either Americans or what she considers good looking men. Anyway I Ayrton Senna’d her around the queue streaming system (and made her slightly dizzy-oops) to the desk, then we had the fun of a security frisk. I pushed towards the gate we had 40 minutes to wait so I got her a coffee and a bun, I sat down started to read the paper, realised it was very quiet and low and behold one empty wheel chair. Mum had decided to go for a wander…ok I know it’s not a major thing but sitting in the special needs area with an empty wheelchair was just plain embarrassing.
The return journey was marginally better. There is a buzzer to press in the car park and a ‘skycaptain’ comes with the wheel chair and deposits her in the waiting area with the other disabled punters. A gaily dressed college boy walks past.
‘See him;’ she points to someone’s back, this is Heathrow it is busy, ‘yes’ I stupidly reply ‘he is the one I told you about.’
‘Eh?’ I stupidly continue.
‘That MP, the one that embezzled all the funds.’
I groan, this has gone on in a loop, for the past twenty three hours. The skycaptain saves me from anymore agony. Again security frisking takes place, shoes off, coats off probes in. I know that they have to be suspicious but surely when they got a whiff of Eau d’Urine they would not bend down??? Nope these guys live on the stuff-not a career path I would choose! Anyway there were two wheelchairs on the Glasgow flight and the flight was full. Wheelchairs whipped away at the entrance to the air bridge the ladies are cajoled out of their new weapons. Assured that it is just a short walk they are suddenly a lot more disabled. These two limping matriarchs bobbled towards the plane. Mum was in second place as the lady from Uganda had clearly been on steroids but she got stuck at the plane door. She could not get her leg up. I watched in disbelief as she attempted to swing her leg over the threshold several times. Scared that I was going to giggle I turned round, to see a long line of impatient travellers look straight back at me. I suddenly felt very responsible and was relieved when she got her leg over. I helped mum on the plane we were in row 6 the Ugandan lady in row 18…perhaps check-in staff were having a laugh? Any way we are ready. Mum is strapped in at the window seat and watching intently for terrorist activity. She spies the long metal poles that are attached to the squat tugs that push the aircraft back and decides that they could be pipe bombs. I explain their function and obligingly a neighbouring plane is being pushed back. ‘Oh’ she says. Eventually everyone is on board and the steward makes his announcement on safety. '
'His diction is appalling'
'um' I reply deciding to ignore her. Mum nudges me and points out the ‘mobiles must be turned off’ instruction. I nod. She taps one long red fingernail against the laminated safety card, rather like the raptors in Jurassic Park. I then rather theatrically flourish my turned off mobile. She nods.
We begin to taxi..and taxi..and taxi…Mum decides she will go for a sleep. WOOHOO I uncharitably think, peace to read. But no she decides to try and have a conversation about the lady who lost her legs. I am grunting in the pauses. Then the plane speeds up and we are off...she is awake and watching again. She decides to read the Sunday newspaper and comment on everything. ‘Would you look at that…he is not a very good speaker you know!....I don’t like Colin Dexter he is so morose…Coffee and a flapjack please.’
and a large gin for me!!
Long and the short of it Mum had a brilliant time, enjoyed seeing her granddaughters, enjoyed the adventure, but has not quite forgiven 5 year old Jennifer for noticing that she looked ‘very old.’ Certainly not as old as I felt!!
Something New
It has been said that you should try something new every week. Basketball-watching that is.
The schools had a ‘Jump to It’ Competition, culminating in the semi final and final being played at the Braehead Arena. I have been to the shops (too often) and seen the signs but never been in, further more the Scottish Rocks were playing the Newcastle Eagles at Basketball, another first. Mid January is a lean time moneywise so as the tickets were free, we went.
The Arena was a pleasant surprise, a tardis moment in truth, hidden behind the shops a different if not slightly tired world. We sat and watched the melee and at 5 pm tip off occurred. The game was faster than I had imagined and more physical too. I suppose I had the naive idea that it would be one touch Hollywood basketball, and to be fair sometimes it was. The game was interspersed with time outs which allowed the scantily clad Rockettes to do their thing. Once John had decided that they were legal, he was curious to know if anyone could call a time out!
The Rocks need to win by 24 points to progress in the cup, they agonisingly won by 22 points and right up to the last seconds they could have done it, but a series of technical and sportsmanship fouls allowed their dream to disappear. John prefers his sport to be more streamlined without the interruptions-although he seemed more interested in the interruptions than the game.
The schools had a ‘Jump to It’ Competition, culminating in the semi final and final being played at the Braehead Arena. I have been to the shops (too often) and seen the signs but never been in, further more the Scottish Rocks were playing the Newcastle Eagles at Basketball, another first. Mid January is a lean time moneywise so as the tickets were free, we went.
The Arena was a pleasant surprise, a tardis moment in truth, hidden behind the shops a different if not slightly tired world. We sat and watched the melee and at 5 pm tip off occurred. The game was faster than I had imagined and more physical too. I suppose I had the naive idea that it would be one touch Hollywood basketball, and to be fair sometimes it was. The game was interspersed with time outs which allowed the scantily clad Rockettes to do their thing. Once John had decided that they were legal, he was curious to know if anyone could call a time out!
The Rocks need to win by 24 points to progress in the cup, they agonisingly won by 22 points and right up to the last seconds they could have done it, but a series of technical and sportsmanship fouls allowed their dream to disappear. John prefers his sport to be more streamlined without the interruptions-although he seemed more interested in the interruptions than the game.
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