Firegoat Rant

Tookie Williams executed

2005-12-13T18:08:00.000Z

I’ve never respected him. He pumped his body up with steroids, starred in Hollywood movies with no acting skill yet made millions, and later became the republican governor of California. Yes, I’m talking about Arnie.

I’m sick to my stomach at what he has done today, ordering the execution of Tookie Williams the founder of the notorious Crips, who later reformed and wrote loads of books exhorting young black men to rise above the gangs and live constructively. I would like to ask Arnie in what situation would he grant clemency? I can’t think of a better case, so if he can I’d like to know. And if he can’t I’d like to know why the policy of clemency exists there at all?

I’m a little biased I suppose, as I oppose the death penalty. George W Bush put 84 people to death in Texas before he was president, and recently the 1,000th person was executed in the USA. Has it worked? Is the USA a peaceful place? Is there an unusually low murder rate as a result of this deterrent?

In my opinion the death penalty should not have been given to this man, or any other person. But it was, and there is a policy called clemency, I just don’t understand when it might be used.

Giving clemency in this case would have given hope to millions of Black people in America, hope that they could escape the trap of ghettoes and gangs, hope that they could turn their negative experiences around and create something positive and lasting. This will be the legacy still, but those millions will understand in their bones that even if they do turn around and start living constructively, they will never be forgiven for falling in the trap in the first place. With such an unforgiving state, what is the point in striving to be accepted? Millions may now give up hope.

I am not suggesting that he does not pay for his crimes. I understand that he admits various previous crimes, but claims he is innocent of the murders which have led to his death penalty. I believe murder requires a life sentence. In fact, I believe the judicial system needs a major overhaul, here and in the USA; the system of prosecution and defence does not recognise the vast grey area between truth and lies, creates a combative atmosphere and does not necessarily illuminate anyone as to what actually happened. I prefer a system of village elders, who listen to all sides and decide on appropriate actions. The problem with putting laws into books is that justice is not a ‘one size fits all’ phenomenon, a more individual approach is needed. Even Sharia law offers a more positive outlook, where ‘blood money’ can be paid to victims/relatives instead of receiving a harsh penalty.

God bless America, God save America. God save us from America.

The end of immortality

2005-11-30T16:39:00.000Z

I’ve reached a new stage in life. No more for me the youthful folly of believing oneself immortal which I’ve held onto for far too long in the misguided belief that I’m holding onto my youth. No, I’m feeling my age, a mere 38, but full of responsibilities which I haven’t been taking seriously enough. The wolves are baying at the door, and they haven’t had a taste of blood yet, but one day they’ll get a taste and they’ll be all over me and my beloved family.

My family is what sustains me. My family has led me to this point, where I leave behind the old me and embrace a new sensible Firegoat.

What will this new Firegoat be like? For a start, it will open letters even when they look like frightening bills. Next it will not smoke. Smoking is a waste of money, and makes the wolves excited. Next it will organise activities for the children. We’ve been making some progress, finally we’ve joined the library and get lots of pleasure from it, but absence of money halts any ideas we have of holidays, trips out, inviting people round for tea. This must end.

At all costs, I must resist turning into my mother, even while being more sensible than I currently am. She is a model of responsibility and sensibleness, to the point where frivolity and revolution are frowned on. £1 from the tooth fairy? It would’ve been sixpence in her day. But I must find a balance between being stupid and being her, and one that works for me.

A pension is something else I have neglected to arrange. I don’t know what I was thinking. Partly it was having no money. I’ve been in debt since I was at university in the 1980s and it’s only got worse since I got tangled up with a certain man. After a while, I realised whatever I did he’d go and spend anything he could on beer and little presents for the kids. Small amounts, but adding them up is scary. Once I realised it wasn’t in my control I gave up opening letters. Anyway, a pension was unaffordable, but also it was unimaginable that one day I’d be old and unable to work and that I’d need some income.

The new me will sort this out.

Passport, driving licence, other things I’ve been avoiding. Partly because they cost money, but also because, perhaps, they give me options and choices. I feel trapped, but I make my own trap by refusing to take on these simple jobs.

I do feel trapped. I feel like I’ve made personal compromises over the last few years. I’ve compromised to keep the family together, and to keep income coming in. Most of the time I can put this to the back of my mind, but sometimes I can’t. As I age, I wonder how I’ll see the compromises I’ve made, will I think they were worth making, or will I regret not having been more independent, or arguing more with people. Maybe every relationship is a compromise, I’ve written before about people’s bubbles, and I do recognise that no-one is truly there for me. I suppose I wish they were, but perhaps this is just an echo of the romantic childish fairy tales which have been so pervasive in our culture. I feel a sense of loss that no-one in my family of birth, no-one in my own growing family and no-one in my professional circle is empathetic to my needs, no-one knows me or even truly wants to. I do get nurtured though, and that is through friendships with mainly women which have developed over many years. With them I can really talk, be myself, examine my weaknesses and gain support that is not based on their own agendas and needs. And in return I can offer the same, which is what most of us women are doing for everyone around us all the time.

The other major compromise is about school. I hate my kids going to a school where they are bullied, and there is at atmosphere of bullying amongst the staff and between the school and parents. The bullying, I know, comes from the very top (Bush, Blair and co.) and rolls all the way to the bottom of the shitheap where my children find themselves trying to get an education. My son wants to go to university and finds he learns nothing at school. It’s a compromise too far and I’m desperately trying to work out how this can change.

The new Firegoat is trying to work out how many compromises she can manage, and how to break free from those that have already been made. The new Firegoat wants to live more responsibly, but also more honestly, as the trap she’s built for herself is damaging her. The compromises have been to keep others happy, but the cost is becoming too high.

Southall Story - Eid Scream

2005-11-04T11:44:00.000Z

Coming home from the station last night, Eid. I was by Sira cash and carry. In the day time fruit and vegetables pour out of the front of the shop onto the pavement and into the slip road which is separated from South Road by a thin strip of tarmac with bollards and a bustop. I think the slip road is called Hamilton Road. I saw two women in their early twenties, each dressed in an identical and beautiful Salwar and Kameeeze of turquoise with much embroidery and many sequins and beads catching the light. One of the women had her two hands clasped over her mouth, her thick hair hid her face and I could sense she was about to scream, though I didn’t know whether it was with laughter or fear or what. I followed her gaze to a battered little car in which sat two Asian men. The windows were all closed except for the triangular back window which consisted of cardboard and sellotape. The other woman stood back several metres away. I looked at the men but couldn’t discern their expressions, perhaps they were smiling slightly. The woman took a step backwards, with her hands still to her mouth, and then another step. Then a deep earthy scream rose from her, her hair blew in the wind, she stepped back again and howled again. She kept stepping back, all the time staring in to the car, and then turned, the disturbing howls all the while emitting from deep inside her. She took flight up the other side of South Road, now and then turning to look back at the car and scream and sob, her vivid Kameeze flapping and everyone on the street standing and staring after her. By this time I was half way up South Road, but she had overtaken me and my eyes followed, concerned. I wanted to know what was wrong. I wanted to help. But I was cold and I wanted to get home. She stopped momentarily and leant against a wall, then picked herself up and flung herself further down the pavement. I looked at all the people watching her, noticed they were nearly all men, in dark colours. Lots of Moslems of different cultures celebrating Eid, a few women, it was late. When I looked for the woman again she was gone, and although I searched up and down the street with my eyes I couldn’t see her. I was just reaching the top when I noticed the other woman running up the street, pausing outside the cinema and then going inside.

Paranoia List 1-3

2005-11-04T11:43:00.000Z

Sometimes the whole world seems like it’s out to get me. Actually this seems to be the case rather a lot of the time.
At the moment I have a long list of paranoia. Here’s just three:

Kids were discovered to have nits last night. Husband ran to chemist for special shampoo while I cut longest haired child’s mop turning her into a boy, or so she desired! She decided to adopt her brother’s name with the surname ‘Cake.’ Truly her mother’s daughter. Treated all kids’ heads, ran out of shampoo. Dreadlocked husband is having nightmares and swearing he will not trim.
Three story flats going up outside my front window, over the road. It’s been a long time coming, but now dark red brick walls are appearing and every day the light is reduced and my heart sinks a bit more. The thought of multiple windows looking into the kids’ bedrooms is not appealing. A few years ago a note appeared on the doorstep which said ‘I like to have sex with little tiny boys. You?’ I handed it to the police but it makes paedophilia too real for comfort.
I took my son for a hospital appointment today. We’ve been waiting for about six weeks to get this thing sorted out. It’s not been nice. When I asked if I in the right place for General Surgery, and gave my son’s details, I was told his appointment was yesterday. Now I didn’t look at the letter recently, but I wrote the appointment in my diary and on my calendar, and I can’t quite believe that the hospital isn’t lying to me. Most of me, however, believes I’m really stupid and too stressed out to think straight.

Trouble with Electrics

2005-10-29T18:42:00.000+01:00

Just a few minutes before taking the kids out to Wallace and Grommit. Busy busy busy. Had a nightmare last week when the rain came down so heavy and the gutter overflowed and overflowed and water ran down the wall and soaked into the wall and through the wall and into the electricity supply and…

Nothing happened when I turned on the kettle, no hot water came out when I turned on the shower, and memories of returning from our honeymoon came flooding back. We got married on the cheap. We’d been meaning to do it for a while, but I’d got pregnant and money was really short. In the end we thought we’d better do it and had a quiet do in the registry office in Hove followed by a small reception in a local pub. It was great fun and unexpectedly moving and everyone enjoyed the informality of it. Afterwards we stayed in a hotel on the seafront with a group of friends, ate fish and chips in one of the rooms, and took a married walk in the brisk November air the next morning.

Then we went on honeymoon to Malta. It was a last minute deal and we didn’t quite know what to expect, so we weren’t particularly surprised to be in a Saga hotel with a bunch of 90 year olds as well as the Moldovian football team and all their hangers-on. Having a two-year old and a pregnancy to take care of, it wasn’t the most carefree of holidays. Finding good vegetarian food was difficult; even though we tried a lot of the local fish we weren’t really impressed and felt hungry a lot. It was worse for our son because the food was quite unfamiliar to him, and after a few days he caught Salmonella from a badly boiled egg at the hotel. Luckily the shits didn’t begin for a few days, but he was quite weak and poorly for the rest of the holiday.

One day we were walking around and were approached by someone offering us a free lucky dip which we accepted and then she told us we’d won the first prize, a gold pendant. I don’t know why we were sucked in, we must’ve been incredibly distracted, but we followed her to a hotel where we were supposed to pick up the prize. After waiting a while in the hotel she came and told us that we would be taken to another hotel to collect the prize. By this time we were a little suspicious and our son was getting disruptive, but we allowed them to persuade us into a dodgy car with a dangerous driver who drove us what seemed miles through the bumpy dusty streets of Malta to another hotel. We got out there and had to wait again. We were wanting to go back to our hotel by then, but were determined to see this ‘prize.’ In the end someone came and gave us a hard sell on a time-share. Gave us a tour, schmoozed us good and proper. Despite the fact we had no spare money at all he persuaded us this was our dream, and it was possible. We were just about to sign on the dotted line (really) when common sense intervened.

‘Let’s go and have a sandwich and think about it over lunch,’ I said to my husband and after some hard negotiating with the salesman who didn’t want us to get out of his clutches, we extricated ourselves and he left us in the restaurant downstairs.

We sat and ate our sandwiches and drank our drinks. An old man sat near us, and we got into a conversation. We asked him whether he had a timeshare here, and he advised us not to touch it with a bargepole. Some might say he was an angel or a messenger. He saved us thousands and thousands of wasted pounds, but in the end we pissed off our salesman, didn’t get a lift back to our hotel and had to carry our exhausted and ill child many miles back in our arms.

We’d almost reached home when the shits started. I didn’t know until we got there. It was dark and we were tired. It had been a long journey. We’d had trouble getting a connection from Gatwick, had to wait around for a bus, then had to get a cab from Heathrow. When we reached the front door there pinned to it was an A4 piece of paper with small hand writing all over it. We pulled the note off and entered the dark house. The note was from our friend who had been house-sitting. We read it by the light of the streetlamp outside. It explained that the water and power were both off as the boiler had gone very wrong, there had been water pouring down it and another friend had suggested turning everything off.

It was clear that our son had exploded somewhere between Heathrow and home, so I took him upstairs to change his nappy. This required candles and many many baby wipes as well as some careful manoeuvrings to avoid getting shit on the sleeves of my lovely fake fur coat which I was regretting not removing.

After a few frantic pleading phone calls we arranged to stay with friends for a few days, which turned into a couple of weeks, and by sheer good luck or blessings from on high, our friend won a lot of money on the lottery and was able to hep us pay for the repairs we needed so we could finally move into our home for the first time as a married couple.

It didn’t feel like a good omen for the start of our marriage, and things certainly got hard for a while, but we’re still together, and the house is just about still standing too.

We got the gutter sorted out and now we have to face up to the damage that was done by our tendency to bury our heads in the sand, or in wasting time blogging.

Wednesday 19th October 2005

2005-10-19T12:39:00.000+01:00

Wednesday 19th October 2005

Today it is 11 years since my father killed himself. I woke up in physical pain, feeling guilty because I hadn’t called my mother for a while, and knowing how difficult she finds this day. I spent the first few hours of the morning swearing at everything; it was one of those days when everything seems to be conspiring against me. I dropped things as I made my kids packed lunches, I hurt myself opening their drinks bottles, and I felt under immense pressure because I had so many things to do. I had urgent shopping to do, I had to go to the doctors to pick up prescriptions for the kids and I had to be back by 12 for a meeting.

After the kids were dropped at school I came home to pick up what I needed, and then started leaving for the doctors. When I opened the front door I realised it was raining so had to hobble upstairs to find my umbrella. When I got to the bus stop I realised I didn’t have some paperwork I needed so had to walk back home again. It took a few minutes to locate it but I got there in the end. As I walked up a little side street on my way back to the bus stop my attention was drawn to a Budweiser can perched on the back shelf of a car parked in a front garden. Soon I was saying ‘Oh my God’ as I noticed torn rizla packets, large rizla papers and then a small paper bag whose contents of weed were spilling out over the shelf. It looked a bit like someone had been having a small party in the car and had forgotten to tidy up. Looking up I noticed a window was open on the house, and I went on my way. I wasn’t sure if I should have done something. I thought (very briefly) about whether I should have contacted the police, as a good citizen should do (?), but I couldn’t see what good this would have done. Perhaps I should have been a good neighbour and knocked on the door and suggested they be more discreet. It’s hard to know sometimes. I just walked on.

I just walked on again later. After I’d been to the doctors, picked up the prescriptions and filled in their survey I returned to another bus stop and was wondering whether to wait or walk to the next one when I heard screaming. Screaming which was going on and on and on, and it seemed to be coming from a particular house. I hate hearing screaming, especially if it sounds like a child, which this did. My head becomes full of pictures of children being hurt, and the many real stories I’ve heard about abuse. Then I think, well my kids scream a lot, and that’s not because they’re getting hurt but because they’ve been told ‘no’ or they’ve hurt themselves, or they’re playing some game. I wouldn’t like someone to call the police or social services on me! I hear a lot of screaming from my back garden. I think about all the dead kids where the news says that people heard screaming, but did nothing. I do nothing. I don’t know if anyone’s being hurt or not, and if they were I wouldn’t know which house the noise was coming from. I’m not an uncaring or disengaged person; I have got involved in ‘society’ in other ways – I’ve stepped in on the bus when a man was beating up a woman; I’ve called the police when I’ve seen young lads ‘tooling up’ in the alley; I’ve contacted the right authorities about discarded needles and syringes, and human crap around the streets, and I support friends who seek justice for themselves. It’s an uncomfortable feeling though, when you hear screaming and there’s nothing to be done, so again I walked on.
I like the 207, even if they keep changing things about it. The bus runs from Uxbridge in the far west of London, all the way into Shepherds Bush. When I first started using it in the 1980’s I used to get on at Brunel University, near Uxbridge, and most of the occupants were White people. Looking out of the window you saw the RAF base then lots of trees and nice semi-detached houses. After a while you reached Hayes and the scene became more urban, with shops, a bingo hall and lots of people walking around. Then you reached the dividing line, the bridge over the canal. The first time I came this far, the older students I was with pointed out the Hambrough Tavern, the first pub over the bridge and into Southall. ‘That’s where the riots started in 1979,’ they told me, ‘It was burnt down.’ I didn’t know anything about Southall at this stage of my life, and it was dark that evening as the boys took us to their rented house and cooked me and my friends a nice dinner. It was only later that I travelled into the town and experienced it in the day. Soon I was a regular visitor, seeking out fresh spices and interesting ingredients for the authentic curries I’d started making. As soon as you crossed the bridge you noticed the Asians, Southall was full of them. In fact, you had to look very carefully to spot a white person. Every man seemed to be wearing a turban, and the women all wore beautiful colourful Salwar Kameezes. The shops overflowed with vegetables of all sorts of colours and shapes, huge green watermelons, bright white moolis, brown pistachios and dark green coriander whose irresistible scent tempted me in. At first I felt on edge. I felt I had to tread carefully as I didn’t want to offend anyone. This seemed like someone else’s town, with someone else’s rules which I was unaware of. I didn’t want to eat on the street, or look too directly at people, especially men. I felt obvious, as if I was the only white person in town, which was not true. As time went by I became a regular at the Hambrough, and at Rita’s on the Broadway, sometimes I’d be in there two or three times a day. By now I was living on Ranelagh Road with a bunch of students, and Rita’s was a cheaper option than cooking for real. It’d be a really sociable place, I’d often meet friends. One time my hippy friend left his wallet behind which had a little hash in it, but it was returned untouched. The man that ran Rita’s was legendary in our circle. He was truly massive. Every time we went in he was sitting down eating his way through huge platefuls of fare from his menu. While we spent £1 each on an Alu Tikki Chaat we watched him gorge on pakoras, dosas, rice, naan and all sorts of other dishes. I didn’t go for a while, and then went in and found he had shrunk. He looked similar but much thinner, and instead of eating he was focused on using a computer. Behind his counter, pinned up proudly, was a newspaper article about him. He had achieved ‘weightwatcher of the year,’ having lost 22 stone! It was a really impressive achievement, and following on from this his restaurant became posher too, introducing a fantastic fish tank and a fast food counter at the front. But the next time I went in, about a year later, the slim manager had disappeared again, to be replaced by the larger version, and the prices had gone up too.

After Southall the 207 goes past Ealing Hospital and then through Hanwell and Ealing. These used to be fairly monocultural places, but now show a really good mix of people. You had to wait until you reached Acton and Shepherds Bush for another change in culture, as that was where a lot of Black people were based, and they would get on the bus here, filling it with patois and the clean smell of coconut. Now it’s all changed, from Uxbridge to Bush the bus community is mixed. Today I sat at the back with two middle aged Irish women who were sharing family stories, two Somali women who were chattering away to each other and also to other Somalis on the bus, a Black man whose nationality and culture I couldn’t ascertain, a white woman and her child who gazed wide-eyed at the Somali women, and an Asian male, who was probably a Sikh. This kind of mix happens all the way along the route now and I find it really stimulating.

People are still surprised to find an English person in Southall, because despite the larger numbers of white people around, many are Eastern European or Irish, but after 20 years of visiting, and 15 years of living here, I no longer feel obvious and strangely out of place, as if I’m on fire. I feel at home, and when I places that are pure white I suffer snowblindness.

National Boundaries - a Solution

2005-10-18T16:25:00.000+01:00

Virginia Woolf said something like ‘As a woman I am not a citizen of any country, I am a citizen of the world.’ This is something I agree with, and want to write about today.

The dominant civilisations through human history, especially the last 2,000 years, have been patriarchal, and these are the guys that created national boundaries. Why? Well, before that they were fighting a lot over who controlled what bit of land, and eventually they had to get down and talk about it, and the solution they came up with was a fairly arbitrary system of conceptual boundaries. Presumably these made sense at the time, but many were, or have become, unfair systems of keeping poorer people away from richer people, and keeping their hands off their wealth. Did women get a say in all of this? Probably they were exerting pressure from behind the scenes, but most of the meetings consisted of men. Boundaries were drawn up on the basis of men’s issues like race, religion and political persuasion, but womanhood can and often does transcend all these dimensions, leaving them largely irrelevant to womankind. If I sit down with a woman from another race or culture for more than a few minutes we find a lot in common. We share issues with our bodies, our relationships with men and with power, and childbearing and rearing. We swap ideas and perspectives, and we gain strength from hearing about each other’s struggles for recognition, love and justice. In short, we don’t fight about it. So national boundaries for us are false and meaningless.

People often accuse me (yes accuse me) of being idealistic, as if it’s better to put up with everything just as it is, as if none of us have any power to change anything at all. I say if we all just sit on our backsides complaining then nothing will ever change. I say that there’s only a few people who hold all the power in this world, and we let them have it. I say there’s more of us who are poor and powerless, than those that are rich and powerful, so we do have the strength to change things, just by our sheer numbers. But if we sit quietly, or refuse to dream of possible solutions, everything will stay the same, or get worse, and the kings and queens and presidents and prime ministers – the world aristocracy – will continue to treat us as unfeeling unthinking pawns in their self-centred game. Do you really think these people have our best interests at heart? Do you think they are altruistic beings who seek justice and equality? I don’t. I think they might like to think of themselves that way, and it stops us going mad to think of them like that too, but in reality they’re self-centred individuals who would do anything to hang onto their power. That’s why they’re so happy for us to fight each other, man against woman, adult against child, race against race, religion against religion; at least we’re not fighting THEM!

So, back to national boundaries. If we got rid of them all overnight we might have anarchy and lots of murder, so a more sophisticated plan might be needed. I propose a world government which would evolve out of the United Nations. Kofi Annan for World President! This world government would restrict itself to a few simple and basic tasks, for example ensuring everyone has food, clean water, shelter and vital medicines. Seeing as how this UN hasn’t been able to arrange a piss up in a brewery this is quite enough work for them to be going on with, although I’d quite like them to be peacekeepers too. I say this about peacekeepers because it looks to me as if President Bush has elected himself world president and his army the world police force. There hasn’t been any international input into these decisions, whereas the UN is supposedly representative of many nations and is ‘democratic.’ Therefore any kind of army or police run by the UN is more representative of the world at large and less likely to be serving the interests of the world’s richest most selfish nation.

I know I’m only a lowly blogger, but I think deeply about world politics, and I care about the planet and the human race, of which I am a well-connected part. Us little people can make changes, but only by sharing views and discussion. All I hope is that the seeds I cast into cyberspace meet some water and sunshine….

Young people, citizenship and democracy

2005-10-17T14:51:00.000+01:00

Today I wore a suit. It doesn’t happen very often. Usually I’m fairly informal in dress, as I’m occupied doing housework or painting pictures with my kids, or I’m working alongside youth workers or young people. Now and then I get a chance to dress up a little bit and it feels nice.
Today I dressed up for a youth conference. It was all about citizenship and democracy and involved about 100 kids. I came in on a discussion about citizenship lessons and it was quite enlightening. Out of the seven or eight young people in my group only half were having citizenship lessons, although others had had occasional lessons, or lessons in previous years. It was clear the young people thought the lessons were important, whether they were about legislative processes or drugs and alcohol. They had enjoyed lessons where they played games about jobs and mortgages, practiced dispensing criminal justice and took part in other highly participative activities. Sometimes they didn’t like the delivery, especially if it involved filling in worksheets. They also noted that the subject was often taught by form tutors who sometimes did not have the expertise to talk about the topics that arose. They suggested more use of outside experts and activities to keep the subjects alive.

When they were asked what they thought the lessons were for, there didn’t seem to be any common understanding of what they were supposed to achieve. One thought citizenship was about the community. Another said it was for all the bits and pieces that couldn’t be fitted into the curriculum elsewhere, so in some schools it was combined with PSHE (Personal, Social and Health Education) and in others RE (Religious Education) was also added into the mix. Some thought the lessons should teach them to think and debate freely and to be diverse, but some thought the curriculum was not neutral (the word ‘propaganda’ was used) and aimed to create similar-thinking humans. For example, some of the young people wanted to discuss immigration and asylum, but felt they couldn’t say certain things and so the debate was stifled and they were forced to be politically correct. These young people did not have dangerously racist views, but admitted it might be tempting for them to rebel and take on that stance, just because they didn’t feel like they were trusted to have a proper debate. Others wanted to talk about drugs and sex but had to wait until it came up on the curriculum (often too late).

I think the education system aims to create ‘chips in the motherboard of the nation’ when it should be concentrating on creating good citizens and good parents. Citizenship, including parenting, should be the curriculum, and maths, science, literacy, etc should be built onto it where appropriate. It’s all arse about tit if you ask me. That’s all I’ve got to say for now, except that young people are quickly wising up to the fact that it’s a ‘fake world’ and that what is presented to them is not necessarily the whole truth, or any of it. If you think you can pull the wool over their eyes, you’d better think again. This generation are smart cookies like you’ve never seen before. Mark my words.

Friday 14th October 2005

2005-10-14T15:55:00.000+01:00

10 minutes to blog before the school run. There’s been quite a lot going on, and nothing, not sure where to start.

Work is good, lots of direct work with young people at the moment, helping them to take more part in the running of services. I was always a revolutionary, but now I can’t believe I’m getting paid to create rebellion. It’s always fun working with young people, and when you go into a meeting with them, you can never quite know what to expect. Last night it could have been 50 or it could have been five, so we had to have a very flexible plan. In the end it was about eight. Actually our plan was so flexible it could bend itself backwards and touch its own ankles, and it was certainly required to do some contortions on the night. We were also working with colleagues who we didn’t really know too well, so their actions were unpredictable too. In fact the only thing we already knew about was the youth centre.

It was quite a chaotic meeting, and some people might have had a problem with that. Our thing is informality; we aim to be as little like school as possible. Unfortunately, those young people who thrive in school are not so comfortable with that. Some wanted to come out of their first meeting with decision made about things that were going to change in their centre, but most of the meeting was taken up getting them to define themselves as a group, and how they were going to operate. This involved lots of input from all those present, some of it completely barmy, but we always listen and give appreciation.

Uh oh, 10 minutes nearly up.

At the end they had decided to have an elected forum of seven who would be responsible for consulting with the rest of the membership and they also made decisions about how and when an election would run. They also decided what they wanted to do for Halloween. I thought, how long did it take parliament to set up all their rules and regulations, and how ineffective is it? And I thought these young people, who were a fairly diverse group, at least in terms of social background, were pretty clever to have created a youth forum in two hours.

Time’s up

WAR (DEN)! What is the good of it?

2005-10-06T16:11:00.000+01:00

WAR (DEN)! What is the good of it?

Today I have been wandering around my front room/office like a bird on hot coals, unable to settle for more than 5 minutes. Keep wandering out into the kitchen to make coffee and have a half a smoke in the back garden. I must admit to having a problem with smoking, and it’s next on my list of weaknesses to overcome, so don’t have a go at me please.
My work is sometimes inspiring and sometimes very very dull. Like today. I’ve had lots of little jobs to do, but nothing that means anything, and the sum total of my face-to-face social contact has been with the cashier at Somerfield and with the PCSO who picked up the needle I found in the street. I have had a few phone calls, including from friends, but each time I put the phone down I had a feeling that I’d been chattering meaningless nonsense for a while, and now it is all quiet and kind of lonely again.

I loved the fake doctor’s website, I was almost pissing myself laughing, that has been a high point of my week so far.

Creeping debts are frightening us at the moment. I’ve never been in a position to save anything, ever since I got into debt as a student, and the banks kept offering me more and more credit. This was fine while I was earning and could pay it back, but once I stopped work to look after my children our family income dropped massively, then my husband had a period out of work and after that he was only doing agency work for a while. It doesn’t help that he likes to buy DVDs for the kids and beers for himself, but don’t tell him I said so!

To be honest, I wanted to be funny on this blog, but life has become quite serious for me, so it’s not something that’s coming easily. I’m not going to fight my state of mind, so you can either read or not.

The PCSO was just returning to the police station at the end of my road when I approached him. I was on the phone to the council, in a queue, waiting to talk to highways, but thought I’d see if there was anyone else around who could help. Excuse me, there’s a needle round the corner, can you find someone to remove it? He didn’t say much, but indicated he was coming to have a look. I asked him if he was a PCSO or traffic, looking at his label (presumably there to remind him) which said Community Support Officer Traffic. He said he was a PCSO traffic. I remained confused. I’m still not sure who all these people in uniforms are, but I especially like the street wardens’ red Frankie Goes to Hollywood ‘WAR(DEN)’ t-shirts. I’m sure they encourage a spirit of peace and love wherever they go. Actually I thought wardens worked in kennels or prisons, so does that make us all dogs or prisoners?

I said to the PCSO that I’d heard the drugs minister on the radio earlier, saying that drug problems were going down. He was a portly dark-skinned man, I couldn’t tell his race, but that’s why they dress them up like that, but he had his opinion. They’re too lenient. Do you think so, I replied, but by then I was wondering if he could smell ganga on me (there is something about my house that people seem to come out smelling of ganga, I don’t know why). He wasn’t very conversational, so I was left without a political debate, which as you know I rather like. It’s probably a good thing, I would probably have got onto Iraq and then had a heated disagreement with him, calling him part of the axis of evil like I did to this poor young ex-army man I was training a while back. I have learnt since then that I need to avoid the subject at work; it’s bad enough stirring people up about young people, drugs, sexual health and diversity and sometimes their attitudes are appalling and I have to be very careful about how I challenge them, so Iraq and work shouldn’t mix.

Want a laugh?

2005-10-06T12:37:00.000+01:00

Check this website out, it's a hilarious blog by a 'fake doctor'

SAFETY INFORMATION for WOMEN

2005-10-05T10:41:00.000+01:00

Hi All
Please see below & pass it on! This is from Bedfordshire police....

Women.... In light of the recent kidnapping and now murder of Leigh Mathews I think it is important to read the following info for your own safety. Things women should know to stay safe:

Please take the time to read these pointers. There may just be one or two you hadn't thought of.

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do!
2. If a robber asks for your handbag, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you.... he is probably more interested in your handbag than you and he will go for the handbag. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!
3. If you are ever thrown into the boot of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm through the hole and start waving. The driver won't see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.
4.Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping, eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their cheque book, or making a list). DON'T DO THIS! A predator could be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side, and attack you. AS SOON AS YOU GET INTO YOUR CAR, LOCK THE DOORS AND LEAVE.
5. A few notes about getting into your car in a car park: A.) Be aware: look around you, look into your car, at the passenger side floor, and check the back seat. B.) If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most attackers surprise their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars. C.) Look at the car parked on the driver's side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the shop, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)
6. ALWAYS take the lift instead of the stairs. Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot
7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; and even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!
8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked "for help" into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.
9. Another Safety Point: Someone just told me that her friend heard a crying baby on her porch the night before last, and she called the police because it was late and she thought it was weird. The police told her 'Whatever you do, DO NOT open the door." The lady then said that it sounded like the baby had crawled near a window, and she was worried that it would crawl to the street and get run over. The policeman said, "We already have a unit on the way, whatever you do, DO NOT open the door." He told her that they think a serial killer has a baby's cry recorded and uses it to coax women out of their homes thinking that someone dropped off a baby. He said they have not verified it, but have had several calls by women saying that they hear babies' cries outside their doors when they're home alone at night. Please pass this on and DO NOT open the door for a crying baby.

Our Bubbles

2005-10-02T12:17:00.000+01:00

Our Bubbles

What is it about people? People walk around in huge bubbles and only occasionally bump into someone else’s bubble which might have impact. People only hear and see what they want to, they only broaden their minds and perception to a very limited degree. Most people can’t take on anyone else’s point of view, or even believe their experiences. I was like this as a teenager, probably still am largely, but I hope I’ve developed a little bit. I used to not believe my school friend Angela. I don’t know to this day whether she was telling the truth, or whether it was a rich fantasy land that she inhabited. She told me she was due to inherit a million pounds on her 21st birthday, she told me she was going out with Mike Gatting’s brother and most of the rest of the Brighton & Hove football team, she told me about snuff movies. I didn’t believe any of it, but now that I know snuff movies are real I doubt my disbelief, and I wonder at how much we don’t believe. In hindsight I worry how she knew about snuff movies at the age of 16 in 1985 in rural Sussex, and I worry about her relationships with the footballers, and I worry about the fact that she used to go home from school and drink spirits at lunchtime. There’s a lot to worry about afterwards when at first you refuse to believe, but there’s nothing on earth you can do about it. Anyway, I didn’t like her because I thought she inhabited this fantasy world but now I think she was probably in some dangerous situation. If a 16 year old was talking to me like that now I’d be very concerned about what might be going on in her life.
I just wonder how much we refuse to see.

Schools should be like safe families

2005-10-02T12:16:00.000+01:00

Schools should be like safe families

What is it about schools? Why are they all such sick places? My kids’ infants’ school tries to create an image of a happy family, but every day my kids are coming home complaining about being tripped up, kicked and punched. Other kids have complained of being attacked with dinner knives and being strangled. The head teacher is baffled that this could be happening, but frankly I’m baffled that she doesn’t know anything about it until a parent informs her. Surely a head teacher should know what’s going on in her own school playground? If no-one’s telling her then there’s a problem with communication and accountability.
I know this school is no different to any other. It has unique issues but is also wonderful because of the amazing cultural diversity of the pupils. As an example of this, on the ethnic monitoring form there were two or three languages I hadn’t heard of, and I would say I’m fairly knowledgeable about languages. The head tries to use this as an excuse, but that is not appropriate or fair. Heads are responsible for creating an environment that is good for kids’ learning; in my mind that means a place of safety where the kids feel secure. But schools seem to be dangerous unruly places where kids have to learn to be physically tough, even to be bullies, to survive. This is all a distraction from their education, let alone the physical damage that can be done. My daughter particularly suffers from asthma as a result of stress, and has been suffering badly since being back at school. How is a loving parent supposed to send their daughter, whose very life they have fought for, into somewhere so brutal?

A Southall Story

2005-09-14T12:14:00.000+01:00

A Southall Story about immigration, homelessness and community action

My friend lives in a particularly busy and fairly unpleasant part of Southall. Her block of flats lies opposite the main Gurdwara, (Sikh temple) which you’d think might provide some respite from the chaos and lunacy of daily Southall life, but this is in the centre of what I call ‘crack corner’ as there is so much blatant dealing going on - not a salubrious place at all.

She was telling me about a tramp that was living outside her block. She said he didn’t speak English and because he was an illegal immigrant he couldn’t get any help, or work or do anything to improve his situation, so he slept outside her block with the rats crawling over him. She said that in the summer she’d got so fed up with seeing him and smelling him that she’d hosed him down, not just once but on about four different occasions. I asked what he did, and she went on to say that the police were there at the time and they just laughed. They said she could be done for assault, then she said ‘You’re not going to do that are you?’
And they said ‘no.’

Now They Come for the Muslim Man

2005-07-26T10:23:00.000+01:00

Now they come

Now they come for the Muslim man
Peaceful faithful man of Islam
Next for the men with skin black or brown
Then the foreigner, now the homegrown
First the one with a beard at his throat
Now the man with the baggy coat
Now the man with a black rucksack
Shoot to kill, in the head, from the back
They jail the men who shout and yell
Killed the man who tripped and fell
Now they make war on every man
And everyone sentient must make a stand

I know no-one wants to die in a suicide bomb, but is it really necessary to make life unliveable for Muslims and others who might appear to be potential bombers? I’m hearing of people moving away from and avoiding sitting next to Muslims, and taxi-drivers refusing to take them in their cabs. I’m also hearing about this happening to Sikhs and Christians. How pointless this is, do you think the next batch of bombers are going to be in traditional Islamic dress, or baseball caps and ‘New York’ tops like the last? Are you moving away from everyone wearing street fashion or casual clothes? Don’t you think they can wear suits if they want? Or are you just moving away from those with brown, black or olive skin? Didn’t you notice how light-skinned some of these boys are? Is it the rucksack you’re worried about? Black and Asian people are worried about carrying bags, or even going out at all, in case they suffer discrimination or even street execution. It can’t go on like this otherwise we become fascist, we’re getting very close. The fact is the next bombers could be anyone; fatally alienated people do not appear any different from those who feel socially included; thinking that we can avoid death by sitting away from dodgy looking people is wishful thinking at best. These murderers are not stupid enough to make themselves obvious before attack, and the consequence of our attempted avoidance can only be stress and trauma for the millions of innocent people who become suspects - the bombers have family histories representing at least three continents.
As a White woman I probably will not directly experience the discrimination being faced by so many people now, but it’s like the old poem for me (I paraphrase):
‘First they came for the Jews, and I did not say anything, because I was not a Jew’
If we learnt anything from the second world war and Hitler, can we please put it to use now?

Despair and headwear

2005-07-25T22:02:00.000+01:00

It looks like we’ll have to get used to living in this new war, inflicted on us by greedy politicians too eager to exclude the majority from their wealth and power. I always said they (Blair & Bush) were making war on us, as well as Afghanistan and then Iraq, and now their methodology has become apparent on British soil, rather than ‘far, far away’ where most Brits don’t notice. Gunning people down in the street had been practiced, how many innocents have died in Iraq for example? And taking lessons from the Israeli’s is hardly conducive to good relations with their suicidal or moderate opponents. I utterly despair of these politicians, they say all the right words about resolving the Israel-Palestine conflict, and say they want peace, but they have done nothing to support the Palestinian cause, in fact they have armed Israel with helicopter gunships etc to use against those pitiful stone throwers (oh yeah, I noticed they’ve got shoulder-launched missiles now – hardly a match for a helicopter gunship). I despair of the generations of Palestinians growing up, unnecessarily, in refugee camps, while holiday brochures advertise Israel as a land of glistening white beaches and blue skies and seas.

I hoped to inject a sense of humour into this blog, but somehow it seems to have deserted me completely. I do have one in real life! I suppose I feel frustratingly powerless, I can see how wrong the path is that Bush and Blair have taken, I can see the solution is in reducing the sense of alienation and exclusion all sorts of people feel by creating a more equitable world, and that this would have a wider benefit, but it seems however loud we shout no-one is prepared to even start listening. You’re either with us, or against us, if you’re against us, you’re part of the axis of evil. They’ve killed all debate by refusing to listen.

For me the solution has to be in future movers and shakers, and you don’t know who that’s going to be, so working to empower young people and those who work with them is part of my solution. Writing is another, but this sort of politics doesn’t get much press.

Ask me a question and give me something else to write about!

Oh yeah, how about this for a very unworked out idea - in support of Islam we all cover our heads – we could wear any adaptation of Muslim headwear, Hijab or even full Burka, if we are women, or prayer hats for men. My concern here is that Muslims are getting harassed, some are finding themselves unable to go out for fear of attack, and I cannot support it. If we make ourselves indistinguishable from Muslims, we stand in solidarity and if the racists want to attack, or the police get trigger happy, or the government wants to start internment, they’ll be distracted and confused in their evil strategies. Personally I’m sick of seeing wobbly white flesh everywhere I look; girls could do with a bit of decorum (!!!) Also it’ll show solidarity with those who wear hoodies and baseball caps! We could all do it for a day, or as an ongoing campaign. Any volunteers to take charge of distributing the headwear (that’s my organiser speaking)?

Incitement

2005-07-21T11:23:00.000+01:00

Incitement

Murder is wrong in London
Murder is wrong in New York
Murder is wrong on the battlefield
Murder is wrong

The government are proposing to introduce a new law to ban ‘incitement to commit terrorist acts.’

Obviously I have a problem with this. I can see what they’re trying to do, and I’m sure it’s all for the best intentions, but it seems incredibly ambiguous to me.

For one thing, just what is the definition of terrorism? What makes it any different from any other sort of murder, such as that committed by American and British war criminals in Afghanistan or Iraq? This makes me very nervous, not least because of what I saw on the TV last night. Sheikh Omar Bakri Mohammed (hope I got his name right – this is from memory) was paraded as an example of someone Blair would like to expel from the country, because he incites terrorism. There he was being asked about his attitude to Osama Bin Laden. He condemned Blair and Bush for their actions in Afghanistan and Iraq, but no, he said, he didn’t condemn Osama Bin Laden because he didn’t believe he was responsible for 911or 7/7 (how trite these cool nicknames are). He was going on to say something else, but the clip was cut. I certainly didn’t hear him say he supported terrorism or any other kind of murder. Perhaps someone else saw the same clip and heard something different? I must admit I haven’t followed this cleric closely, so I don’t know what else he has said in the past, but I didn’t feel this clip supported Blair’s intended new law. If they want to throw him out of the country, what are they going to do with me and all the other people I know who don’t support any kind of murder whether perpetrated by governments or ‘terrorists’ or ‘freedom fighters.’

What about the respected Islamic scholar I saw on Newsnight a few nights ago who unequivocally condemned 7/7, but stated clearly that suicide bombers in Palestine were a different matter, because they were fighting decades of illegal occupation? Will they throw him out? Blair refuses to talk about Iraq, Afghanistan or Palestine in relation to these bombs, despite warnings after 911 and before the invasions, despite warnings and evidence since such as the recent evidence of the JTAC report which stated clearly that these three conflicts were a source of inspiration to would-be bombers. Blair took the wrong path and should be man enough to admit it. I voted him in because I hated Thatcher and the Tories for what they did to poor and vulnerable people, and I supported Blair because he offered us a brighter future, but I couldn’t bring myself to vote for him again once he became a war criminal, and I will never forgive him for all the innocent blood on his hands. Perhaps he did it to pull Bush back a little, and the bloodbath might well have been worse without British troops involved, but I think Blair should have stood up to Bush and condemned his actions in the strongest possible way. The UN had Saddam fairly well under control by the time of the invasion; the threat he posed was nothing compared to the threat posed by the Nazi George W Bush. It’s certain that Iraq is less peaceful since the invasion.

I’m not sure who the terrorists are and who are the freedom fighters. There’s no doubt today that Nelson Mandela was a freedom fighter, although he was labelled and treated as a dangerous terrorist for decades. And he didn’t take up arms, he only used his intelligence and charisma. Although there was a significant anti-apartheid movement in Britain, I remember at that time that I was considered radical (just before Mandela’s release) because I argued that he was a freedom fighter, I boycotted Barclays, Shell, Del Monte and other firms benefiting from and propping up apartheid, I marched, I even got sacked from Pizza Hut for discouraging customers from choosing the South African pineapple topping.

Bush’s evangelical mission to spread ‘democracy’ across the globe barely disguises his real motive to control global oil wealth. The published ‘Project for the New American Century’ is chilling in its cynical 100 year strategy to conquer the world by diplomacy, persuasion, stealth or ‘shock and awe bombing’ campaigns. If I say this is bordering on Nazism, are they going to throw me in jail for this heresy? All the time Bush accused Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein of being Nazi’s my stomach turned, it’s him that wants to change everyone else’s way of living, it’s him that wants to take over the world, it’s him who has no understanding or tolerance for other’s ways of life. You only have to look at America itself, look at how Black families live in the Deep South to this day, no jobs, no money, short of food. Compare it to some pictures of impoverished African states, and it’s like spot the difference – similar life expectancy, similar infant mortality, similar lack of interest from those in American Power, only this is the reality of the great American Dream. I now boycott America and American companies, and have done for decades. I encourage you to do the same. It makes me anxious to think that there is a powerful Nazi taking over the world and because the propaganda and brainwashing has been so effective, no one is noticing.

Sod them, they can throw me out, send me back where I came from. My ancestors came here a very very very long time ago; I don’t think we have records of where they came from, but I know our human race did not begin on British land, but in Africa. As long as they pay my airfare, and my kids and husband (because I’m sure they all incite terrorism in some way too, especially my 9 yr old son who likes designing bombs) I’d be happy to get out of here and stop paying taxes to support this confused government topped by a war criminal.

I feel like Blair has dragged us all into this war, kicking and screaming. No-one wanted to invade Iraq. It pains me to think of how much money is spent on arms to fight these wars. It pains me to see children starving and dying of malaria and AIDS while Bush focuses on world domination, and all the money is spent on weapons. It is sick and obscene. It is disgusting. The west created Saddam and bin Laden; while they were on ‘our side’ the west trained them in bomb-making, insurgency, terrorism. They remain the same people with the same skills, but because they’re not on ‘our’ side any more, they are now terrorists. If we had supported them 10-30 years ago, no problem. We support them now – well, there will be new laws to deal with us.

What is the solution? I raise lots of questions, but I like to pose a solution too, or at least make some suggestions.

Blair should apologise for his war crimes, stand down as Prime Minister, and submit himself to trial at the international war crimes tribunal. If he’s not willing, someone should perform a citizen’s arrest (I hear Peter Tatchell’s pretty good at this).
The government needs to deliver a clear message about murder, and it needs to act as a good role model. The government needs to cease direct and indirect involvement in and support of murder at home or overseas. The role of the armed forces should be to participate in United Nations actions and to defend Britain from mass murderers, whoever they are - citizens, invading forces, freedom fighters or terrorists.
We must stand up against Nazism and Fascism. We must be able to recognise it. We mustn’t let this powerful media machine brainwash us. Every argument they give us, we must turn it around, and find the hidden motive, the hidden agenda, for they are very sophisticated at this, with decades of experience behind them. We, as individuals are small and powerless against their power, but if we see and think clearly we will know what’s really going on, and who the Nazi’s really are.

Brainwashing

2005-07-18T11:01:00.001+01:00

Brainwashing

Young people, usually boys, every day fall into the hands of fucked up people, usually older men, and become embroiled in the world of alcohol, drugs, crime and violence. As a result some go on to commit truly horrific crimes, like gang rape, violent murder, taking a gun and, to quote Geldof (!) shooting ‘the whole school down.’ It’s been going on since he wrote that in the 70’s and a long time before too. Why do they fall into these dangerous hands? Because those hands are the only ones offering love, warmth, comfort, acceptance. Because those hands share things, like ideals, political viewpoints, cynicism, a feeling of belonging to something that is outside the ‘system’ that has so neglectfully failed to care. If the parents loved more, the schools cared more, perhaps it wouldn’t happen, but the truth is it does. So 10 year olds murder toddlers, 15 year olds rape teachers, 14 year olds rape little children, and 13 year olds kill fathers. Just how many people die and suffer each year at the hands of disengaged teenagers and young adults?

The question is; are they brainwashed? I’ve never heard any news item or radio debate suggest that they might have been, not one. Whatever age, 18, 15, even 10, they are held responsible for their actions, tried and punished (often held in adult jails, but that’s another rant).

I am confused about the media’s use of the word ‘brainwashed’ to describe the recent London bombers; as far as I could understand they were all adults and legally responsible. The fact that they might have been part of an organised network doesn’t stop this. I suspect it’s something to do with them being identified as ‘British’ and public squeamishness about the possibility of any one of ‘our own’ consciously doing something like this. It’s probably a bit early for us to face up to that fact, if it is true, but for me the young one’s anyway were lost youths who fell into the wrong hands, and we (as a society) should have been looking out for them better. We let them down.

Note to government: Should do better for young people.

Walk in the Park

2005-06-21T17:59:00.000+01:00

Sometimes the problems of the world weigh heavy on my shoulders; then I take a walk in the park (obviously not Southall Park!) and a new lightness appears.

I had the unexpected opportunity to spend an hour in Regent’s Park today and it was such a relief to be able to walk around alone, happy in my solitude, without fear of anything weird happening. It’s amazing that it takes going into London to find peace and safety. It was so pleasant to just wander round, quietly observing the people resting, jogging, sun-bathing and enjoying school outings. I didn’t see a single drug deal, not one trick and the most dangerous dog I saw was a placid looking Jack Russell waiting patiently for its owner and companion dog to catch up. The most yobbish behaviour I saw was from the wildfowl, stunning in their number and diversity and for being by far the noisiest creatures in the park.

Recent events have got me avoiding my local park (there’s been another murder there in the last couple of days), so I’m seeking out safer places to take my three little nippers; Regent’s Park is definitely on my list and quite accessible too.

I kind of dread going ‘up town’ because of the heat, busy-ness, traffic and almost total self-obsession of most of the people living and working there. I usually come back sweaty and smelly, knackered and irritable. Today I found myself having a coffee with an artist friend/colleague on Regent’s Street in the middle of a building site. Our table was outside the café between two boarded off sections which made us a private little alcove. In fact, we probably found the most comfortable place to sit outside on such a hot and sweaty day.

After my walk in the park and my pleasant meeting I even managed to get to school early, so for once I’ve had what you could call a ‘nice day!’ I guess all it takes is to get out of Southall!

I can’t leave on that note, as I’ve always loved and defended Southall from all those wankers, like the taxi drivers who ask in that tone of voice ‘Do you like living in Southall?’ (yeah it’s great, I love the diversity and the sense of community, I feel strange anywhere else!) or those that say Southall smells (yeah, with every step you enter a new and wonderful olfactory experience – coriander, Chinese herbs, coconut, cardamon, mmm!)

What I detest is the lack of informed focus by the local and national governments: Southall has a peculiar and unique character and unique needs. For 50 years wave after wave of new peoples have moved in, first Irish, then Asian, then Somali, now Eastern European. Other smaller groups have moved in too, I’ve met people from so many nations – from South Africa, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Tanzania, Iraq, Nepal, Jamaica, Barbados, Ghana, Kenya and many more. We all live together in relative harmony despite powerful forces trying to stir up hatred and violence. Southall is a model of multicultural harmony, but the authorities have no concept of how much support is needed in a town with such a transient population. There are massive levels of TB, HIV, poverty, unemployment, domestic violence and all sorts of other difficulties faced by our community here, and the input from ‘above’ is complacent to say the least. A clear policy to work with the many communities here, to build cohesion and understanding, to create education and employment opportunities is vital but sadly missing. The work is being done for sure, by hordes of committed locals (go to any Gurdwara, Mandir or Mosque to see some for yourself), which is why there’s not even more drug dealing and murder on the streets, but governmental support is inconsistent and usually lacking.

How can we Make Poverty History without government?

2005-06-20T10:54:00.000+01:00

Thank you ‘anonymous’ for your response. Excellent, there is life out there! I got my first post from this site, and I’m very happy – keep ‘em coming!

I’d like to take a few moments to reply to my respondent…

Firstly, don’t worry, I’m sure no-one will boycott anything on the basis of my ranting.

I know there are loads of fantastic people and organisations doing fantastic work out there. It’s exciting that so many ‘stars’ can get together and organise such an international event, and it’s getting more exciting with the new concerts announced in J’burg, Tokyo, etc, as well as the inclusion of Black artists (even if the ones chosen are the same ones always reeled out for such events and could have been predicted - I still want Jah Shaka to play!) It’s terribly sad and predictable that people are getting sidetracked from the issue of poverty into concerns about celebrities and money-making.

I certainly do advocate lots of letter-writing to politicians and involvement in appropriate campaigns, but I also want to explore what we can do without government and without organised bodies. This probably reflects my lack of trust in organisations, which I’ve generally found to be unhealthy, bullying and based on abuse of power. I can’t see what they do so I can’t believe their words; all I truly believe is what I experience for myself, and that tells me if you want change, you have to make it happen for yourself. Also I’m really beginning to wonder about the financial and environmental cost of live8 – the venues, the stars, the roadies, the technicians, the publicity, the transport, the power, the days off work! If I was evaluating it I’d be running a tight cost analysis; I suspect there are better ways of using all that tremendous energy and money.

What I want to debate is how people can make a difference every day of their lives, and there are many ways to do this. I’m not trying to preach and say that I live my life perfectly; instead I’m trying to use conversation to seek out ways to really make a difference. For example, I was thinking about many of the African people I’ve met who have been working so hard and living in difficult conditions, in order to help people back home. Some are putting children through school, others are supporting elderly or disabled relatives, still others are investing in businesses. I’ve been privileged to work with Heritage Ceramics (see links), specialists in providing education and training in traditional West African Arts, and I’ve been able to introduce them to various organisations which work with young people. This has not only bridged the gap between urban British youth and traditional Africa, but helped to support the artists’ children, families and a business in Africa. It has also helped my business. This sort of collaboration can directly help alleviate poverty, and it’s a way we as individuals can do something practical and meaningful.

It’s funny, while I write this I can feel hordes of Daily Mail readers reading over my shoulder, muttering about ‘them’ taking ‘our’ resources – jobs, homes, money, women(?) – I wonder if they’ll be going to Live8? If there is going to be any real difference made then some of ‘our’ resources have to move towards Africa, we have to face it, and we have to support it too. One thing I already suggested was to seek out and buy African products; but in our personal and professional lives we can also collaborate more - without being patronising we can work alongside Africans, trade with African companies, make African friends, employ Africans and support them to support their continent. Then it’s not something that ‘we’ are doing to ‘them,’ it’s something we’re all doing together.

Another is to give blessings every day for every luxury we find ourselves with, to appreciate as much as possible how much we have, and to dedicate ourselves to finding meaningful ways of making poverty history. Got any more suggestions?

The last straw(s)

2005-06-14T13:16:00.000+01:00

That’s it, the last straw. Well, that’s yet another last straw; when the old tramp shat on the pavement outside my front window with my little daughter watching that was the last straw; when the same daughter, while playing in the bushes in the park, stood in human shit that was the last straw; the other day when a bunch of young men wound their killer dog up then let it go on me and my three kids, that was the last straw; now the usually polite and respectful young men in the alley have gone a step too far and graffitied on the front window of someone’s house, someone who I’ve watched painstakingly caring for his house. It feels like another last straw, and the camel/firegoat’s back is not well.

Today I feel terribly miserable about living in Southall. I’ve really enjoyed lots about living here for over 15 years. Southall provided me with cheap rented accommodation as a student and it was where I learnt to house-share. Southall gave me cheap and nutritious food when my budget was tight. Southall educated me about difference and diversity, and my own reactions. I’ve loved meeting and mixing with people from all cultures and religions, and learnt so much. I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I’ve lived here in this town, in this house, I feel a sense of community I’ve never felt since childhood. Yesterday when I walked down the Broadway I met and spoke to my next door neighbour, the grandma of my son’s schoolfriend, my neighbour’s friend, a work colleague and the mum of another of my son’s friends twice, the second time she was with a bunch of school children and teachers doing a survey so I stopped and let them ask me questions. The first one was ‘what do you like about Southall,’ and for the first time ever I was speechless, I couldn’t find anything positive to say at first, and could only come up with ‘colour.’ Maybe I was particularly inarticulate that day, but really Southall is beginning to piss me off big time. No wonder I’ve always got back ache with all these last straws piled on it.

Boycott Live 8

2005-06-07T13:45:00.000+01:00

Where is it then?

Have Bob, Bono and Midge never been to a Jah Shaka dance or a Misty in Roots performance? All the faces at Live 8 in Hyde Park are to be white, no represenation from Britain's or Africa's Black artists. Apparently there is no-one of enough stature in these communities. Well that's plainly rubbish, Shaka, Misty, Steel Pulse, Aswad (if reformed like the Spice Girls?), Asian Dub Foundation, Miss Dynamite, the list goes on and on. Many of these individuals and groups have been working tirelessly for decades on creating constructive links with Africa, yet the three wise monkeys prefer to ignore this. OK so they put on a concert every twenty years, and do the odd TV special, but the rest of the time they're enjoying their yachts and many houses fitted out, no doubt, with the best studios. On the other hand Shaka has been involved in African projects for literally decades, when he's not playing out with his incredibly loud and highly concious uplifting words, sound and power, he's spent his life on the cause.
Frankly, this live 8 is an insult to Africa, an insult to Black people and black talent, and an insult to all the people that have worked tirelssly with unending committment for years and years and years.
Frankly if they did put Misty on stage no-one would want to let them leave; the whole world would be jumping up and down as one body and everyone would see what crap Elton John and Bono are by comparison. They think their lyrics are 'meaningful'? They are listening to the wrong influences, get down Southall Community Centre and listen to Aba Shanti then you'll really know conscious lyrics, love, humanity, acceptance - not something you'll get on the stage at Live 8.
I am boycotting the whole event. I do want poverty to be history but getting people to spend millions on a crap pop concert and walking to Edinburgh will not achieve anything useful. I say, if you're going to walk, walk to Gleneagles, or walk to Africa with your skills and a container load of materials to help with sustainable projects - get out there and dig wells, build condom factories or health centres or schools, but whatever you do don't think Live 8 will solve anything... it's just a conscience purging exercise, yet more white people doing 'good things' for poor black people with the result that the white people feel better about themselves and their unhelathy wealth and Africa sinks further into debt, despair and poverty.
Gordon Brown, now there's a decent white man. I hope I'm not wrong when I believe his committment to doing something truly meaningful to end poverty, and his new 'Marshall Plan' certainly looks like it's coming up with the goods. Something useful to do would be to write to him offering your support, and asking him to pass this onto the G8. A million such letters would have more impact than walking to Edinburgh.

Mortality, child care freeform rant

2005-06-07T13:20:00.000+01:00

Suddenly I'm struggling with my mortality. The new and wonderful NHS called me in for a routine check up, something I've been asking for for decades (nearly) but is now apparently happening. I wasn't expecting anything to come up, and sure enough, the nurse was pleased with my diet and exercise, and, not unexpectedly, suggested I give up smoking. I explained that I was currently giving up caffeine as I'd grown an unhelathy dependence on my 10-15 cups of coffee per day and that smoking was next on my list, and she was even happy with this. She checked my urine and that was perfect and then took my blood pressure which was unusually low. Nothing to worry about, she said, but come back in a couple of weeks for another check. That I did, only to find it had dropped even lower, so today I spent the morning at the hospital having 9 tubes of blood taken for various tests - on thyroid function, T-cells, calcium levels, vitamin D, iron, etc etc. To be honest this has got me a little bit rattled, as despite various disabilities (Scheurmann's Osteochondritis and palindromic polyarthritis) I've always been fit and healthy, I was never expecting to have problems like this.
Part of the problem is that I fear I'm becoming my mother. Like me she had back problems, sciatica and also low blood pressure resulting in lots of dramatic dizzy spells and enough medication to make her rattle. Suddenly I've entered another age of life, which I've observed from a distance up till now. This is the age where daily pills are required to keep one alive, I remember adult friends taking blood pressure pills, cholesterol pills, pills for this and pills for that. I don't actually believe in the benefits of pills (which incidentally saved me from the hype of Ecstacy) so I'm not at all keen to go down that kind of route. Anyway, it was enough to cause me lost sleep while I tried not to listen to the beating of my heart.

Then life can always show you a deeper tragedy. Today I heard about a Jamaican woman who is dying of cancer. As she is not a British citizen she is getting little help. She is living alone on £35 per week with a young child and a baby to care for. The school, in their infinate compassion (not) are unable to take anything other than the full fee for her child's school meals, which at £7.50 per week, is a substantial proportion of her income. she is fortunate to have neighbours and friends who help her out, buying her nappies and food for the children, but I don't think this should be happening in our 'civilised' society. I'm appalled at how children are let down by us.

I work with young people experiencing challenges, yet the response of agencies like Connexions or Social Services seems to be to increase the risk to them. A young blonde girl of 16 from Richmond was put in a B&B in Southall, a place she had never even passed through before, while at the same time an 18 year old also from Richmond clearly stated that she did not want to live in Richmond because there she was at risk of violence. She was put in a hostel in... Richmond. Both these girls have had their risk unneccessarily increased.

We do not care for our children very well here, and that indicates to me that this is not a civilised society, far from it. How many children are being torutured as witches, how many are torn from their mothers arms because of social services inability to understand 'other ways' of parenting (and the earlier the better because they're easier to adopt), how many are involved in drug dealing, petty crime. It sickens me to think about how much abuse and neglect are going on, and how much I've heard about from the horses' mouths. If we can't sort this out there is no future.

Jelebi Man

2005-06-02T12:15:00.000+01:00

The Jelebi Man sits in a wheelchair on the street
Watching as the world hustles by, some stop to eat
Some chat, some abuse his lack of feet.

Don’t go to Edinburgh - Buy African

2005-06-01T09:27:00.000+01:00

I’m sure we all agree with Sir Bob Geldof’s sentiments, don’t we all want to make poverty history? The question is, how is that going to happen? What can we do to help?

A confession…

I’m feeling a bit inhibited now because I’ve publicised this blog to a few people and I might have readers now. It’s one thing writing into the ether certain that no-one knows the blog exists, but now people might read it and form judgements about me – they’ll think I’m mad probably. I hope my friends forgive me.

Anyway, back to poverty, and Bob. My friend introduced me to the Boomtown Rats when I was 11; ‘I don’t like Mondays’ became a school anthem along with ‘Another Brick in the Wall’ by Pink Floyd – no wonder I’m a rebel! (Pity kids today are still just more bricks in the wall and still wanting to murder teachers). Then there was Live Aid, 20 years ago, when I was a tender 18 year old, which made us sit up and think about Ethiopia, famine and starvation. I’ve sort of followed Bob’s career, and even had the experience of working with a client who was the lover of his ex-wife Paula Yates, but more importantly I’ve followed the debates about Africa and poverty with interest. I’ve always striven for fairness, and reacted strongly against injustice in any area – this led me to lead a movement to outlaw uniform for my 6th form, to become the first women’s officer at my university and to build a career around trying to right social wrongs. I can’t stand by and watch millions of children and adults die of starvation every year, merely because they are in a different country and we can’t be bothered.

Bob wants us all to descend on Edinburgh while the G8 meet to discuss poverty. At first this looks like a good idea – surely they’ll take notice? But Gleneagles, where the G8 are meeting is 50 miles from Edinburgh, perhaps they won’t hear the crowds after all? Even if they did hear, what message will they get – a very clear and simple one – that we want an end to poverty. Clear and simple, but I don’t think that message is deep enough – how do we want to end poverty? What are we prepared to let go of?

A small percentage increase in trade between Europe and Africa would solve a lot of problems so why don’t we ask for that? The problem with Bob is that his ideas are too easy, scratch the surface and I don’t think you’ll find a sophisticated plan to end poverty. Perhaps we need a more imaginative campaign, Bob’s getting too old! Perhaps we should look more closely at consumer power for example; I’ve boycotted lots of countries and companies for their actions before – South African products during Apartheid, Israeli products because of their brutal occupation of Palestine, Nestle products because of their indirect murder of millions of African children due to their baby milk policies, etc. Surely we can also positively use our money to seek out products from African countries that need us. I know lots of Africans involved in import-export businesses; if we abandoned evil capitalist American products for sustainable African products I’m sure we’d achieve more than by going to Edinburgh for a shout. Bob could even help out by heading up the campaign and helping African manufacturers to sell their products here.

What do you think?

Pity

2005-05-26T21:22:00.000+01:00

Pity

Pity the poor bastards who believe God is evil
Because children slaughtered, women raped
Communities destroyed in the name of God
Because ‘His’ messengers preach fear and guilt
While leaders fatten and congregations starve.
Pity the poor bastards who believe they know God,
And that God is the hardest criminal around.
Pity the poor bastards, for I am God, and you and they.
For God is larger, wider, higher and deeper than us
And the messengers are God though they run from God
And speak for themselves in tongues of corruption
Pity the poor bastards, for they still seek God
Despairing that God is not around, while they never seek within.
Pity the poor bastards, and pray they can love themselves
For only love can reveal their Godliness

Anthropomorphism and drugs

2005-05-25T10:38:00.000+01:00

Anthropomorphism and drugs

I always thought it was a great word, but I never knew quite how much of it goes on. Take drugs, for example. ‘Drugs are bad’, we hear, ‘drugs can kill’. But they’re not, and they can’t. Drugs are inanimate objects which stay in one place and do nothing, until some human being ritualistically takes them into his or her body. If human beings never picked up drugs, there would be no ‘drug problem’; so blaming drugs for it is pointless and rather stupid. In fact, it’s an addict’s argument, ‘It was the drugs that made me do it’, says the armed robber/prostitute/shoplifter. Yeah, right, a rock of cocaine and a wrap of smack put a gun to your head and made you do it. Of course, I know what they’re talking about, but it’s ridiculous.

Perhaps I am too strong and insensitive with my language, after all, everyone knows that drugs don’t literally kill people, or make people commit crime; these are just turns of phrase. But I do think their use suggests we are avoiding taking responsibility for ourselves. It’s very selective how we do this. Take cars, for example. I don’t know how many people die on the roads every year, but I suspect it’s quite a few more than die in gun crime or from illegal drugs. However the message we receive from the media is ‘guns are bad’ and ‘cars are good’. Cars are symbolised as sex objects or faithful friends. We are almost complacent when these desirables mow down children. Drugs and guns, however, are made into malevolent characters purely seeking to kill and maim, especially children, so there is little opportunity for anyone to offer the view that either might be neutral, let alone have some beneficial effects.

The most startling example, perhaps, is that of alcohol. Alcohol has been characterised as humorous, friendly and sexy, and I’ll admit it does that for me. This effect only lasts for the first few drinks. After a few more the outrageous ranting, falling over, and vomiting begins, followed the next day by a stonking great hangover. Not very sexy. Thousands of people die every year from alcohol related disease and incidents, yet it is our good friend, always there whenever you want to celebrate or commiserate, or kill yourself.

This anthropomorphism is getting in the way of a decent debate about some very important issues. It’s time to get real and acknowledge that humanity are responsible for themselves, and for how they choose to relate to potentially dangerous things. If we were living beneath a smouldering volcano, it would make no sense to be saying ‘ban the volcano; the volcano is evil.’ Making it illegal would not make it go away, nor would reclassifying it. In fact, nothing would make it go away, and nor should it, as it is a marvellous manifestation of the power of nature. Instead, humanity should take sensible precautions for themselves.

As for drugs, are they a marvellous manifestation of the power of nature? Yes indeed, for they can have powerful medical, therapeutic and spiritual uses. But with great power, comes great danger. Calling them bad and banning them has not reduced their negative effects one iota. Calling them good and promoting them like alcohol, would not do so either. Instead, we should take a neutral view of a neutral entity, and think about how we can maximise the good, and minimise the negative effects.

A Poem

2005-05-23T12:10:00.000+01:00

The human fear

The human is sitting on the grass,
Forgetting this day could be his last.
His face is tipped up towards the sky
Watching his life passing by.
And the clouds pass him by
As the moon lights the sky,
There’s music in the wind that he can’t hear.
Do you know what’s stopping him
From really listening?
It’s that age old human fear.
What’s stopping him from living
Is the fear that he can’t win,
The fear that he’ll ultimately die.
So he sits watching nothing,
And listening to his mind,
Forever wondering why.

Starvation and Asylum - What can we do?

2005-05-21T09:49:00.000+01:00

starvation and asylum - what we can do

My friends are beginning to get irritated with me. I’m becoming impatient with everyone’s complacency. All they’re concerned about is getting a pay rise, or better working conditions. Their ambition reaches only as far as their bank balance and other material things. My ambitions are much greater. First I want to write, and I hope my writing will change the world for the better, but I’m going to have to go gently with the readership. They will think I am dangerous, they will be scared of what they might lose, and I’m sure I will be unpopular with many.

I have a proposition to put to the readership. Isn’t it time we took a long hard look at how we live our lives, and what position we hold relative to the rest of the world? I doubt if you’d agree, after all, you’re overrun by stress, you’re thinking about getting a bigger house/car, or looking forward to your next holiday. There’s enough to think about already, anyway, there’s nothing you can do about the 10 million people starving in Africa. Frankly, I’m sick of people stopping me, or sending me stuff, asking for money for this cause or that. It feels pointless, putting a few quid in a pot, or signing a direct debit (it would bounce anyway). The solution to worldwide poverty surely requires a more profound strategy.

I have a number of fundamental disagreements with the whole Asylum Seekers debate. A young man I was working with recently put a knife to someone’s throat, because they came on ‘his’ estate. Surely his behaviour only reflects that of national leaders the world over, yet he is likely to go to prison, whereas they enjoy status and wealth. I’ve always been with Virginia Woolf; I’m a ‘citizen of the world’. I don’t really understand the need for national frontiers, except as some perverse extrapolation of masculine territorialism. It’s one planet we occupy, with one atmosphere, one sun, one moon and one mass of water that we all share. In the interest of mutual understanding, knowledge and resources all people should be allowed to go wherever they want. It’s outrageous that we take for granted a comprehensive range of possible holiday destinations while others cannot enter ‘our’ land.

I don’t believe many people genuinely want to ‘sponge’ off any system; greater humanity lies in resourcing one’s own life. I trust in humanity enough to believe that diversity is strength; the more perspectives that can be brought to a debate, the more enlightened it will be, and the more cultures clash and merge, the more creativity will be released. For too long ‘we’ in Britain and America have made plans for ‘them’ in other parts of the world, in their absence. No wonder some of the decisions have been questionable, to say the least. I have benefited enormously from living and working in a multi-cultural environment; I have a much broader, deeper perspective than I would ever have received in rural Sussex. I believe wider society could similarly benefit.

The government is on a self-defeating cycle. It promotes the UK as Cool Britannia, and it has long been seen as a land of opportunity where the streets are paved with gold. We’re just the best at everything these days, a place people really want to be. If you do try to come though, and you’re from a non-white listed country (or whatever the latest terminology is for ‘the unwelcome’), you will be denied access, grilled, put in detention, or allowed to live on a pittance in a squat without the opportunity to work legally. The UK is a reasonably good place to be, especially if you’re escaping from persecution, but some immigrants suffer more persecution here than anywhere else. Perhaps if we were a little more humble, people wouldn’t kill themselves in tomato consignments or falling out of aeroplanes to get here.

Another problem I have with the debate is that it scarcely recognises the reality of British history, not only our role in creating many of the conflicts or famines which lead to refugee crises, but the fact that our society has experienced numerous waves of immigration, and has been multicultural, for ever. Humankind did not evolve n this landmass, we moved here.

I suppose I’m an unusual white person, as I have no fear of immigration, in fact I love it. I live in Southall where my local primary school boasts pupils from around 40 nations. In my street are Sikhs from India and Africa; Moslems from Somalia, Pakistan, Afghanistan and many other places; and Christians of numerous denominations from at least four continents. Rastafarians, Buddhists and Hindus are also represented. This experience has given me a more global view of politics, and I am now astounded at how narrow most white people’s view is. The fact is that we once elected ourselves to be the moral guardian of these poor ‘savages’ in other countries; we stole their land, gems, culture and even people; and we continue to intervene from on high in an inconsistent way, purely based on self-interest. I understand that you do not want to hear what I’m saying, but I think it is in our self-interest to allow 10 million starving Africans to eat decently, and even have real autonomy and power. Yes, we will have to lose some of our daily comforts. No, you will not be able to lie guilt-free on a tropical beach while people clamour to land on our own shores. But, I hope to persuade you that allowing equal access for all to world resources, will make you more human, and genuinely satisfied.

Schools Discipline and Parenting

2005-05-20T18:20:00.000+01:00

Schools Discipline and Parenting

The debate on radio five this morning was about school discipline, an issue very current for me at the moment as I’ve been asked to make comment on my son’s junior school.

I have strong feelings about this. The state obliges me to give up my children to the ‘education system’ at the age of 4 or 5, unless I want to give up my life to do home education. Therefore I expect the system not only to provide a good education, but also to act ‘in loco parentis’ – in my place as a parent. In terms of discipline, this means it should be fair, reasonable and consistent. Does your school provide this? My children come home talking about bullying incidents, inconsistent and unfair discipline and teachers ‘not hearing’ them when they try to bring it to their attention. I do not want to hand my children every day to people I do not trust to look after them properly.

The education system should be about more than curriculum learning. The state needs our children to be good ‘cogs in the wheels of industry’ or to bring it up to date ‘chips in the motherboard of the nation.’ But most of them will also become parents, so schools should teach about parenting too. They teach about sex and contraception, but little about parenting, which seems to be in crisis. They can teach this in structured lessons like PSHE, but also by example, by providing a model of good parenting. Children would learn from this, and parents would trust the schools more and may even imitate some of the parenting methods, especially if they are clearly explained and understood.

We all know how badly some parents are failing their children; we can’t avoid daily stories of children beaten, starved, sexually abused and murdered in their homes. In these extreme cases schools have a vital role as second line of defence, yet they clearly fail in this. Even in so called ‘good homes’ like mine (I hope) schools should act as good parents.

School discipline should be a model of good parental discipline, and no-one is suggesting we cane our own children. If schools could provide a positive model then parents could trust it and even learn from it. In the long term this would help resolve both the school discipline problem and the parenting crisis.

2005-05-19T10:26:00.000+01:00

Condoms and Young People

another day, no more dollars...

i suppose this is something I won't write every day, I'm not a very disciplined person.

The subject for today class is condoms and young people. I've just been listening to a debate on radio 5 about whether schools should give out condoms. I was very nearly moved to phone in, but that's not really my thing.

I think condoms shold be freely available to anyone that wants them. My first job out of college was on an HIV prevention project as an outreach worker. In this role i gave out lots of condoms, and had long discussions with people about how to make their sex safer. Our philosophy with young people was to familiarise them with condoms early on, before they were sexually active, so that when the moment came they were well prepared. We would encourage boys to practice putting them on alone, in the dark under the duvet, to prepare them as much as possible for the real fumbling. We would show girls how to put them on chocolate bars and fake penises with their hands and by mouth. The aim of this would be to take the embarrasesment out of the moment, and give young people the skills and confidence to actually use the horrible things.

Most of all we'd recognise and acknowledge that condoms aren't very 'nice' to use, and can be embarrassing, and we'd certainly encourage abstinence and other methods of safer sex. Some people seem to think giving out condoms and encouraging abstinence are mutually exclusive, but not so.

Many, many condoms were blown up, put over boys' heads or filled with water and thrown around. We would often have to clean the surrounding streets of discarded condoms afterwards. This all served its purpose, the young people got over their embarrassment, saw how much water a condom could hold (so no more excuses about them being too small or not strong enough) and it led into serious discussions about when sex was appropriate, where to get more information or advice, what sexually transmitted diseases existed and their consequences, and many other issues important to the young people.

I don't know of any evidence that this work, or other similar projects, increased the levels of sexual activity, STIs or teenage pregnancies.

Moving on a bit, I think parenting is the vital missing ingredient out of our children's education. Neither parents nor schools seem to focus on the one role that most young people will eventually perform - that of parent. If there was more focus on what parenting actually entails I'm sure young people would act more responsibly. They need to know not just about the endless nappies, bottles and sleepless nights, but also about the lifetime commitment that is required both to the child and to the other parent, whether or not they are still getting along. They need to discuss what they want to pass onto their children, and to do this they need to discuss how they were parented themselves. There are too many chioldren suffering from poor parenting - I work with young people who fear going home becuase of the violence that exists there - this society needs to have a massive review of what's been going wrong and to involve children and young people. They are the future parents, and right now we are teaching them some very bad habits.

2005-05-16T16:00:00.000+01:00

Zombie Crack Heads

In the next couple of hours I have to pick my three kids up from nursery and their schools, walk them home, cook them dinner, feed them and get out to work. I suppose I've had quite a relaxing day. I'm supposed to work when my youngest daughter is at nursery, as we're paying for her to be there, but actually I haven't got much work to do. Self-employed, unemployed - what's the difference? Anyway, my printer had broken, so I had to go out and buy another one.

Nothing's ever simple in the area where I live, everything has to be planned around developing circumstances. The bus came ok; I thought that might be a good omen, and I got off the stop at the right place. However, I felt a little unsafe; my hackles wree rising. I know this part of Northolt, and it's got a bad history of muggings, murders and armed sieges. It wasn't long before I spotted the crackheads, two girls looking like famine victims, eyes like vampires checking to see if i'd got any blood. 'Have you got 20p please?' asked the white one. Her cadaverous face reminded me of Michelle, an old client of mine, whose life story could fill several volumes. She too had that sunken eyed look, all cheekbones and yearning, due to the crack and the smack. She ended up jumping out of a high window and dying with her chest opened up on the pavement - a death in custody as the police were knocking on her door at the time.

I shook off the zombie, then stepped in front of the waiting dealer's BMW, its engine revving waiting to take the money and be off. I wondered how long it could take these girls to get enough 20ps for a single rock, or a half a bag of heroin...

Once I got the printer, the cables, the ink cartridges I thought it better to get a cab home, but of course all the vampires had gone by then, probably looking for the next fix by now.