Last week after several months of deliberations, I finally went out and bought a Kindle. A Kindle for those that do not read books (I really pity those poor souls what they are missing out on), or otherwise live on Mars, is an electronic reading device similar to an Ipod, whereby books are downloaded via a computer direct to the device where they can then be read.
There are quite a few of these on the market, but the Kindle is by far the best in terms of value, not least of all because of the screen which enables you to read in bright sunlight without glare. There are two (in the UK at least, in the US there are three) versions available, one of which works on a normal Wifi signal and one of which works on 3G. 3G is the signal normally used by mobile phones. What this means in layman's terms is that the the 3G model can be used to download books anywhere that a mobile phone can also be used, whereas the non 3G version, which I plumpled for, mainly because of security concerns, can be used only at home or in secure Wifi "hotspots", such as coffee shops and the like. The most obvious advantage of this is that books can be downloaded where and when you like (in some instances I am told, for the more unethical readers, Waterstones - a practise I would never condone). This would be little comfort though if your password details were stolen and your accound hacked into because the network was not secure, as many of them are not, so for the moment at least, I prefer the non 3G version.
This small device though with its six inch screen (the perfect size for a girl), has revlutionised my reading habits. I no longer have to go to bookstores and spend hours browsing the aisles, but can now order everything from the comfort of my own home. If I am not sure as to whether I will like the book, instead of flipping through it in store, I can download a free sample chapter direct to my Kindle in less than a second, and peruse it at my leisure.
Increasingly books are being published only as e-books with no paper edition at all, so it has also opened up a whole new world of choice - books from all around the world in all different genres. In the short time (nine days now) since I have had the device I have downloaded sample chapters from books set in at least six different countries, most of which I will buy. I would almost certainly not have been aware of any of these had I not purchased my Kindle.
Sure, it has taken a bit of getting used to, and nothing will ever compare to the feel of paper and the smell of an old book, but these will still be around for the collectors to enjoy. In practical terms the Kindle will win every time, for that one small device, not much bigger than the palm of my hand can hold 3500 books, more than I am likely to read in my lifetime, with a battery that lasts up a month. How much space would 3500 books take up in your house? It is also better for the environment, since all that paper and ink need no longer be used. E-books may have VAT on them, but in most cases they are still at least a few pence cheaper. The biggest advantage of all though is for the person who actually writes the book, as for the first time, they can publish books direct to the Kindle, taking 70 percent of the profits and cutting out all those middle men - except of course Amazon, who I am beginning to realise are not so evil after all.
The Kindle then for me wins every time, for with this, everyone especially the author, really is a winner, and that is what it is all about.
Friday, 2 September 2011
Monday, 15 August 2011
Olympic Test Race comes to Box Hill
The preparations though began in earnest 10 days before the event. The ZigZag was closed over several nights much to the consternation of residents, and red circles were very much in evidence along Boxhill Road. The National Trust car park was turned into a makeshift storage depot for the hundreds of barriers which were gradually placed at various points around the Box Hill loop towards Dorking and Leatherhead town centres and along the A25. Once the barriers were erected, the storage area became the medical centre with first aiders and ambulance crews in attendance. It was difficult to imagine the scale of the event until we saw the infrastructure actually being set up, and it was only at that point that it began to seem real.
As Editor and (unofficial) Asistant Editor of the Box Hill News, Coran and I were lucky enough to secure media passes giving access to the restricted areas, so as to photograph the event. There were three such positions available, one immediately opposite the wristband area, one at the first hairpin bend along the Zig Zag, just past the National Trust car park, and one up at the Donkey Green. We had originally intended that Coran would stay near the hairpin with me at Lodge Hill for the first lap, swapping over for the second, but on the morning of the race after a particularly bad night, Coran did not have the energy for the three mile walk down the ZigZag and so I covered both of these areas while he stayed around the Donkey Green and the village. I was a little concerned as to whether I would have the time to swap between the two areas in between laps, but in the end it worked out well, and we got some great pictures which I hope will be more than adequate for our needs.
We left home shortly after 7am in order to get to the bottom of the ZigZag by 8am, the time alloted for the media gates to open. Walking through the village at this early hour, large amounts of people were already starting to make their way down the Hill. There were groups of marshalls stationed at various points throughout the village manning the crossing patrols and making sure the road remained free of traffic, other than offical vehicles used for testing the route, and ferrying essential personnel back and forth (the roads were closed to the public shortly after 6am and did not re-open until 1.30pm). The Neighbourhood Council and a large team of volunteers were busy at the Village Hall serving drinks and bacon butties, while a few enterprising villagers were doing the same from their front gardens.
I left Coran at the Village Hall and made my way down Burford Spur to the media entrance shortly after 8.15am to be greeted by large amounts of spectators who were waiting patiently for their own entrance to be opened. Most of the media personnel opted to walk to their positions, but having already walked down once, I had no intention of walking back up, so gratefully accepted the lift that was offered. We finally made it to our position opposite the wristband area by about 8.45am. We then to wait what seemed like eternity for the race to begin.
I spent the time walking up and down, watching and photographing the crowds and chatting to the Marshalls and Police Officers, most of whom seemed unaware that Box Hill News even existed. The rest of the media seemed very impressed when I told them that I lived on the Hill, and I soon became enrolled as an informal advisor, letting them know about the geography of the Hill and more about the importance of protecting the natural beauty and wildlife. I stationed myself slightly away from the other photographers to ensure that they did not step in front of me while I shot my own footage, and chose to stay on the left bank opposite the spectators,. This ensured a clear view of the road below and also meant that I had a view of the crowd in the background.
Announcements were made every so often as to where the riders were so that we knew approximately how long we would have to wait, with the crowd becoming more and more excited the closer they got. When the announcement was made that the riders were approaching Dorking, I telephoned Coran to let him know so that he could get into position and be prepared and I set my own camera to burst mode to take a series of shots in quick succession one after the other.
When the lead car arrived shortly after 10.30am, we were informed that Kristian House from the Rapha Condor Sharp team was leading by 6 minutes and 7 seconds.
My position opposite the spectator area provided an excellent vantage point and a bird’s eye view of the riders as they approached around that first hairpin bend. House was the first to appear, closely followed by three others, with the main peloton several minutes behind. A big cheer went up from the crowd, with everyone waving their flags, with the last of the riders receiving the biggest cheer of all.
For the second lap, I hotfooted it down a very steep slope to the photographer’s area at the first hairpin bend. Once again, I chose to stay slightly apart from the other photographers for an uninterrupted view. I had a hairy moment when I thought my camera had frozen, but it later turned out that I had been unable to hear it firing over the noise of the support cars and Police escorts.
With the second lap over, I made my way back to the spectator area at Lodge Hill, and joined the throng for the walk back to the National Trust Centre at the top. Coran met me halfway up and so we walked back up together, feeling very important in our media bibs and beaming with satisfaction for what we had seen and achieved. We handed in our passes before grabbing a bite to eat and a much deserved cup of tea, and then the long walk home.
We had been told to advance to expect crowds of anywhere up to 35,000 but the total was probably less than 10 percent of that figure. The turnout for the stall holders was then very disappointing. Issues with communuication no doubt played a huge role, as all the websites and printed literature advised people to avoid Box Hill as it was retsricted access, and instead watch the race from other parts of the route. This was not strictly true, as it was only the wristband area which was restricted, with the rest of the Hill, from the National Trust centre onwards open and available for all. The organisers in their infinite wisdom failed to differentiate between the different parts of the Hill, assuming that people would know what they meant, which of course they did not, and as a result, people took them at their word and stayed away.
There are many lessons to be learnt from this, and I am sure that meetings will be held in the coming weeks to discuss all these issues and many more. From the point of Box Hill, despite the inconvenience, and the gripes of a small but nevertheless singificant minority, it remains a once in a lifetime opportunity that we have to embrace. No matter how much a small minority might complain, the real race next year will happen and nothing can change that, so we have to embrace it and go with the flow. I for one felt honoured and priviliged to have the opportunity to watch it from this beautiful spot.
Friday, 12 August 2011
The London Riots from my own unique perspective
Important as the forthcoming Olympic Test Race is the people of Box Hill, the biggest story by far on a more national scale has to be the largescale riots which have seen across London and much of the Midlands this past week.
What precipated is hard to tell and depends on whom you spoke to; some say the lethal shooting of Mark Duggan, who was rumoured among other things to be a gang member and drug dealer with an altogether unsavoury past. He was also though rumoured to be a respected member of the society in which he lived, the notorious Broadwater Farm Estate in Tottenham, North London, and a loving father and partner to this girlfriend (fiance) of 12 years. Whatever the truth, what followed was and is truly shocking and a sad indictment of how far our society appears to have fallen.
It is all too easy to fall into the trap of name calling and issuing blame - the words thug, and animal (unfair as always to the animal kingdom who would never behave in this fashion) spring to mind, but this solves nothing, and in fact makes the problem even worse. It is the mob mentality pure and simple, but we are all guilty of that - of following the crowd and being swept along, losing our own sense of identity in order to conform and fit in at some point in our lives. Every ounce of instinct that I had told me that getting embroiled in the emotion of the situation was useless and would not help me, yet being at work the morning after it all erupted, watching it on television, and seeing the girls talking about it non stop, it beccame all too easy to do just that, and I found my own anger spilling over as I joined in the banter and the discussions.
What brought me down to earth with a bump were some comments posted on a reading site that I frequent from one of the US based members. She pointed out that such violence in the United States is in fact nothing new, and that as a Black American (it is a fact and it is not racist to state that the majority of those filmed committing these crimes were and are black skinned), she can see it both ways. But she also acknowledged that not everyone will be able to see it that way - I guess you would have to walk a mile or two in their shoes first. In her own words, when one is pushed beyond reason it is human instinct for either flight or fight. Pent up rage, anger and frustration spills over and results in an outpouring of violence.
Ther are of course though many reasons why people strike out, and not all of these are justified. Some do it simply to get attention, or due to the afforementioned mob mentality, but the majority do it because they feel they have no other recourse. This is not of course an excuse for what has happened, but it goes someway towards explaining and helping us to understand the underlying cause, for there always has to be one. People do not behave in this manner for no reason.
It is easy to say that we have to pull ourselves up and make things happen, but it not always that easy. When you grow up in an environment where the majority are impoverished, poorly educated, and come from highly dysfunctional homes, what else can you expect. The kids who grew up in such an environment know no different; no matter which way they look, everyone else is the same with the same lack of prospects, and seemingly powerless to change their situation. They feel that they have to adopt that 'swagger' and the gang mentality in order to fit in, as if reinforces the idea that they are helpless victims, or are they?
Youngsters today from my perspective have far more opportunities than my own generation ever did - there were no youth clubs in my area, at least not that I was aware of, but the kids did not run riot in the streets. There was little career counselling either, or advice on drugs, birth control and how to stay out of trouble. The youth today have all this and more. They even have the opportunity to go and meet the Mayor of London and sit on a special session just for them, something that would have been unthinkable a generation ago. They have a greater voice than my generation ever did, but the apathy still remains.
I remember something that one of my white South African colleagues told me about her own time working in the townships in her own country, that she would organise various iniatives to try and help the residents and not one of them would turn up. It was almost as if they did not want to be helped. I suppose it goes back to that sense of hopelessness, that if a people are downtrodden for long enough then they start to believe that there is no point in anything that they do to try and help themselves, as it will not make a genuine enough difference to their lives. This is of course senseless and could not be further from the truth, for if nothing else, it makes them feel better about themselves. The collective consciousness then come into play, starting off in a small way, but from little acorns big oaks do grow, and you have to start somewhere.
Of course not all the rioters come from this impoverished background, many are what I would term professional people, who are fairly affluent, and come from good homes, one is a millionaires daughter and so wants for nothing. This is the mob mentality, pure and simple, and these people deserve to have the book thrown at them, so that they can then experience the other side of the coin. It is all about cause and effect.
Those who are not so affluent should of course also have to account for their actions, but this is not all about them, it is about society as whole. If society cna be judged on how they treat the poorest and the weakest, I wonder what it would say about us? And those that serve to criticise the Government and lay the blame at their door for all the cutbacks they have made, should also ask themselves that if the inner does indeed refect the outer, what does that say about them?
What precipated is hard to tell and depends on whom you spoke to; some say the lethal shooting of Mark Duggan, who was rumoured among other things to be a gang member and drug dealer with an altogether unsavoury past. He was also though rumoured to be a respected member of the society in which he lived, the notorious Broadwater Farm Estate in Tottenham, North London, and a loving father and partner to this girlfriend (fiance) of 12 years. Whatever the truth, what followed was and is truly shocking and a sad indictment of how far our society appears to have fallen.
It is all too easy to fall into the trap of name calling and issuing blame - the words thug, and animal (unfair as always to the animal kingdom who would never behave in this fashion) spring to mind, but this solves nothing, and in fact makes the problem even worse. It is the mob mentality pure and simple, but we are all guilty of that - of following the crowd and being swept along, losing our own sense of identity in order to conform and fit in at some point in our lives. Every ounce of instinct that I had told me that getting embroiled in the emotion of the situation was useless and would not help me, yet being at work the morning after it all erupted, watching it on television, and seeing the girls talking about it non stop, it beccame all too easy to do just that, and I found my own anger spilling over as I joined in the banter and the discussions.
What brought me down to earth with a bump were some comments posted on a reading site that I frequent from one of the US based members. She pointed out that such violence in the United States is in fact nothing new, and that as a Black American (it is a fact and it is not racist to state that the majority of those filmed committing these crimes were and are black skinned), she can see it both ways. But she also acknowledged that not everyone will be able to see it that way - I guess you would have to walk a mile or two in their shoes first. In her own words, when one is pushed beyond reason it is human instinct for either flight or fight. Pent up rage, anger and frustration spills over and results in an outpouring of violence.
Ther are of course though many reasons why people strike out, and not all of these are justified. Some do it simply to get attention, or due to the afforementioned mob mentality, but the majority do it because they feel they have no other recourse. This is not of course an excuse for what has happened, but it goes someway towards explaining and helping us to understand the underlying cause, for there always has to be one. People do not behave in this manner for no reason.
It is easy to say that we have to pull ourselves up and make things happen, but it not always that easy. When you grow up in an environment where the majority are impoverished, poorly educated, and come from highly dysfunctional homes, what else can you expect. The kids who grew up in such an environment know no different; no matter which way they look, everyone else is the same with the same lack of prospects, and seemingly powerless to change their situation. They feel that they have to adopt that 'swagger' and the gang mentality in order to fit in, as if reinforces the idea that they are helpless victims, or are they?
Youngsters today from my perspective have far more opportunities than my own generation ever did - there were no youth clubs in my area, at least not that I was aware of, but the kids did not run riot in the streets. There was little career counselling either, or advice on drugs, birth control and how to stay out of trouble. The youth today have all this and more. They even have the opportunity to go and meet the Mayor of London and sit on a special session just for them, something that would have been unthinkable a generation ago. They have a greater voice than my generation ever did, but the apathy still remains.
I remember something that one of my white South African colleagues told me about her own time working in the townships in her own country, that she would organise various iniatives to try and help the residents and not one of them would turn up. It was almost as if they did not want to be helped. I suppose it goes back to that sense of hopelessness, that if a people are downtrodden for long enough then they start to believe that there is no point in anything that they do to try and help themselves, as it will not make a genuine enough difference to their lives. This is of course senseless and could not be further from the truth, for if nothing else, it makes them feel better about themselves. The collective consciousness then come into play, starting off in a small way, but from little acorns big oaks do grow, and you have to start somewhere.
Of course not all the rioters come from this impoverished background, many are what I would term professional people, who are fairly affluent, and come from good homes, one is a millionaires daughter and so wants for nothing. This is the mob mentality, pure and simple, and these people deserve to have the book thrown at them, so that they can then experience the other side of the coin. It is all about cause and effect.
Those who are not so affluent should of course also have to account for their actions, but this is not all about them, it is about society as whole. If society cna be judged on how they treat the poorest and the weakest, I wonder what it would say about us? And those that serve to criticise the Government and lay the blame at their door for all the cutbacks they have made, should also ask themselves that if the inner does indeed refect the outer, what does that say about them?
Friday, 5 August 2011
The race is on ...
The London Surrey Cycle Classic (otherwise known as the Olympic test race), is fast approaching next weekend. It will be an interesting weekend for the small village of Box Hill where we live, with 148 cyclists doing 2 loops of the Hill right through the centre of the village. Preparations are in full swing with bunting ordered and tea ladies at the ready, not to mention the cameras of yours truly and her intrepid partner as Editor and unofficial Assistant Editor of the Box Hill News.
Our media accreditation has just arrived, so I have spent the last half hour printing it out to make sure that everything is clear and reading it through. We can collect our passes next Friday afternoon but on the day itself have to be at the media entrance by the bottom of Hill by 8am, an hour before the riders leave The Mall. I was excited to hear that Mark Cavendish, the fastest man on 2 wheels will be among them.
This though is a real opportunity to put our village on the map and to celebrate the unity of village life. It's a pretty good one when I come to think of it, and I would definitely not want to live anywhere else. Moving here was the best thing that both of us did, and it will be five years this December.
Our media accreditation has just arrived, so I have spent the last half hour printing it out to make sure that everything is clear and reading it through. We can collect our passes next Friday afternoon but on the day itself have to be at the media entrance by the bottom of Hill by 8am, an hour before the riders leave The Mall. I was excited to hear that Mark Cavendish, the fastest man on 2 wheels will be among them.
This though is a real opportunity to put our village on the map and to celebrate the unity of village life. It's a pretty good one when I come to think of it, and I would definitely not want to live anywhere else. Moving here was the best thing that both of us did, and it will be five years this December.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
A test of strength
Yesterday Coran and I attended a one day workshop with our friend Shirley Flint entitled Rituals of the Dark Moon. This was an invitation to meet and work with the Dark Mother or Goddess in all her glory, transforming our hopes and fears along the way. It was a powerful and tranforming day for both of us, uncomfortable in places, since it meant a willingness to let go of everything and strip it all away (in a spiritual sense), until we were laid completely bear, facing the true reality of who we really are.
The Dark Goddess represents the dark and hidden face of our nature, the wise woman
within. She represents the journey to wholeness through our willingness to look at our inner darkness in all its facets - our beliefs about love, about life and about who we are, both conscious and unconscious.
It had been several years since I attended a workshop of this kind, and to begin with I felt more than a little uncomfortable about sitting round the circle in the Sanctuary sharing what I hoped to get from the day. I had meditated on this beforehand and was clear about this was - the thing I wanted to work on the most was the need to gossip and criticise others, particularly at work, in order to fit in and feel part of the crowd. I received some very practical help with that, and was told that like most other things, it was and is a choice that I have to make. It is as ever about how it makes me feel, for I know in the moment that I do this that it does not make me feel good, about myself or about the person whom I criticise, both spiritually and energetically. There is a better, more appropriate way of doing things and that is simply to speak as I find. What I find is that each being in whatever form they choose to inhabit is a being of love, who is doing the best that he or she can do, the same that I also am. As such, they should be treated with compassion and reverence, for we do not know the agenda of their soul. They should be honoured for the contribution they make to our own evolution in the same way that we ourselves would wish to be honoured.
That is a really big thing for me - the need to be honoured and the need to be acknowledged. I always felt in my current job, that this was not happening, yet during one of the many meditations that we did yesterday, I came to realise that this is far from the case. I have in fact been seen very clearly for who and what I am, by all those whom I come into contact with during my work, including those who own the business. It is that in fact that presses their buttons, in the same way that they appear to press mine. I detect then a large amount of mirroring, but then again, isn't that what happens?
I found myself relaxing more as the day progressed and thinking about why I had stopped attending events of this kind. It started I suppose when we moved to our Surrey village 4 1/2 years ago from the Surrey/south London subburbs. Up until then I had been attending events on an almost weekly basis at our local non denominational church. When we moved here the distance seemed too great for us to travel and so we gradually stopped attending, until we no longer went at all. I did not exactly lose my faith, but my faith changed to one where I was no longer dependant on the 'crutches' of crystals, angels etc that many on the path still seem very hung up on. Many of these things seem to me so very last decade. I have moved beyond the point of needing to attend these workshops, read the latest new age books etc, and am at the point now where I want to just live it.
This is not meant as a criticism to those who feel that they do still need these tools or 'crutches' as I sometimes call them, for they serve a valuable role for those that are new to the path and those who are learning about their own personal power. Many are now coming to the path who previously poo pooed these ideas as new age psycobabble. For me though it is not where I need to be, I am however immensely grateful to those teachers who helped me to reach this point. It is a marker of how well they taught me, and how far I have come.
The Dark Goddess represents the dark and hidden face of our nature, the wise woman
within. She represents the journey to wholeness through our willingness to look at our inner darkness in all its facets - our beliefs about love, about life and about who we are, both conscious and unconscious.
It had been several years since I attended a workshop of this kind, and to begin with I felt more than a little uncomfortable about sitting round the circle in the Sanctuary sharing what I hoped to get from the day. I had meditated on this beforehand and was clear about this was - the thing I wanted to work on the most was the need to gossip and criticise others, particularly at work, in order to fit in and feel part of the crowd. I received some very practical help with that, and was told that like most other things, it was and is a choice that I have to make. It is as ever about how it makes me feel, for I know in the moment that I do this that it does not make me feel good, about myself or about the person whom I criticise, both spiritually and energetically. There is a better, more appropriate way of doing things and that is simply to speak as I find. What I find is that each being in whatever form they choose to inhabit is a being of love, who is doing the best that he or she can do, the same that I also am. As such, they should be treated with compassion and reverence, for we do not know the agenda of their soul. They should be honoured for the contribution they make to our own evolution in the same way that we ourselves would wish to be honoured.
That is a really big thing for me - the need to be honoured and the need to be acknowledged. I always felt in my current job, that this was not happening, yet during one of the many meditations that we did yesterday, I came to realise that this is far from the case. I have in fact been seen very clearly for who and what I am, by all those whom I come into contact with during my work, including those who own the business. It is that in fact that presses their buttons, in the same way that they appear to press mine. I detect then a large amount of mirroring, but then again, isn't that what happens?
I found myself relaxing more as the day progressed and thinking about why I had stopped attending events of this kind. It started I suppose when we moved to our Surrey village 4 1/2 years ago from the Surrey/south London subburbs. Up until then I had been attending events on an almost weekly basis at our local non denominational church. When we moved here the distance seemed too great for us to travel and so we gradually stopped attending, until we no longer went at all. I did not exactly lose my faith, but my faith changed to one where I was no longer dependant on the 'crutches' of crystals, angels etc that many on the path still seem very hung up on. Many of these things seem to me so very last decade. I have moved beyond the point of needing to attend these workshops, read the latest new age books etc, and am at the point now where I want to just live it.
This is not meant as a criticism to those who feel that they do still need these tools or 'crutches' as I sometimes call them, for they serve a valuable role for those that are new to the path and those who are learning about their own personal power. Many are now coming to the path who previously poo pooed these ideas as new age psycobabble. For me though it is not where I need to be, I am however immensely grateful to those teachers who helped me to reach this point. It is a marker of how well they taught me, and how far I have come.
Friday, 22 July 2011
Shine, shine on ...
It's five days now since I returned from the Isle of Man, and already it feels like a lifetime ago. I had a wonderful time, in almost complete solitude, and will almost certainly go back. The overriding memories are ones of mountainous glens and rushing waterfalls, a cacophony of birdlife and beautiful sunlit coastal walks. Also of delicious seafood and fresh gluten free cakes (no Ray, it is not pronounced gluton, but gluton is spelt June).
I stayed a small hostel called Junior House, part of King Williams College in the south of the island near Castletown, which once acted as a dormitory for younger pupils at this famous private boy’s school. The accommodation was a little spartan, but comfortable nevertheless, fulfilling my meagre requirements of a bed, a shower and a well equipped kitchen in which to self cater (important if you have special dietary needs as I do). I ate out a few times, mostly at The Sound cafe, near the most southerly point of the island, but for the most part, catered for myself. Doing so meant that I could control what I ate, ensuring that the food would not make me ill, at the same time helping to keep costs down.
I rented a car for the first week from Isle of Man Car Rentals, and despite requesting a small automatic, on arrival was presented with the keys for a brand new Mondeo. This was a bit bigger and much more powerful that I am used to, so initially I was quite nervous about driving it, but once I got used to it, I found the larger engine invaluable for negotiating the mountain roads. The island, despite its small size (33 miles long by 10 miles wide), has a lot of mountain roads. The hairpin bends where I live are nothing compared to these, and the views were tremendous. During the second week I relied on public transport, which I found to be excellent, and for the most part extremely punctual and reliable. I found it was much better than driving, since when you take in so much more when walking, and can stop to take photographs where and when you like, without worrying about whether it is safe to park or who might come up behind you. Given the high cost of diesel (almost 149 pence per litre), if and when I do go back, I am certain to use this method again.
Most of my time was spent around the south, as that is where I was based, but I managed to explore most of the island, from the northernmost Point of Ayres to Peel in the west and Douglas, the capital on the eastern side. I must admit that the car was useful for reaching these out of the way places, as not all of them were directly served by busses, necessitating a walk of several miles from the nearest stopping point. One of the highlights was a visit to the Calf of Man, a small bird sanctuary on an island off the southernmost tip, and also the Manx Museum in Douglas, where I learnt all about the islands history and native language. There is much of which I could write, but the memories are best kept to myself as the personal mementoes that they are.
So, on Monday it was back to work and right back into the fray. While I was away it seems that the boss was complaining yet again - not only regarding the standards in general, but also about me, who committed the heinous crime of going upstairs to get changed on the eve of her holiday, having just worked for seven days in a row, five minutes early. The Director wanted the Acting Manager to ring me at home and reprimand me but to her credit she refused, stating that I had probably already left for the airport! If this were not so stupid, it would be almost laughable, but actually this is deadly serious. There is something seriously wrong with someone who is this petty and it is to my mind frankly ridiculous to get upset over a few lousy minutes.
There is no space for anyone in the care home business for anyone who does not come from the heart. The Director does of course have a heat as we all do, but he is first and foremost a businessman, an investment banker with political aspirations, who thinks that the minimum wage should be abolished to make Britain more competitive, and went into this business as he realised it was a growth opportunity that presented the means to make even more money. Care homes are of course a business like any other, and do have to make a profit in order for the Directors to live, but this needs to tempered with the needs of the residents and the staff who work there and should not come at their expense. His attitude then needs to change in order to reflect this.
Given the problems that we have recently experienced, and the criticisms levelled at the housekeeping department, in order to increase accountability, it has been decided that for the foreseeable future, I will work only downstairs and my colleague only upstairs. I am not completely unhappy about this, as I do prefer being downstairs, as you are more involved in what is going on, but at the same time, it also means that I will no longer see those room bound residents who reside upstairs and whom I have bonded with and have a good rapport. We will I am sure both miss each other a great deal. This though is the decision he had made, and I have to go along with it.
I can though turn this to a positive, as the kitchen, lounge and dining room are all downstairs and these are the heart of the house, where all the activity takes place. I am then exactly where I need to be. These areas are by their very nature much more visible, meaning that I too will be more visible, with the fruits of my work on display for all to see, as will also be my ability to interact with and make a difference to the residents with which I do remain in contact. When one works upstairs, one remains unseen, disappearing into the background, whereas downstairs is the opposite, making this role I some ways, much more important. I have had issues with many of my jobs regarding being unseen and unnoticed, and have often felt this here too; this then is an opportunity to shine loud and clear and be seen in all my glory.
I stayed a small hostel called Junior House, part of King Williams College in the south of the island near Castletown, which once acted as a dormitory for younger pupils at this famous private boy’s school. The accommodation was a little spartan, but comfortable nevertheless, fulfilling my meagre requirements of a bed, a shower and a well equipped kitchen in which to self cater (important if you have special dietary needs as I do). I ate out a few times, mostly at The Sound cafe, near the most southerly point of the island, but for the most part, catered for myself. Doing so meant that I could control what I ate, ensuring that the food would not make me ill, at the same time helping to keep costs down.
I rented a car for the first week from Isle of Man Car Rentals, and despite requesting a small automatic, on arrival was presented with the keys for a brand new Mondeo. This was a bit bigger and much more powerful that I am used to, so initially I was quite nervous about driving it, but once I got used to it, I found the larger engine invaluable for negotiating the mountain roads. The island, despite its small size (33 miles long by 10 miles wide), has a lot of mountain roads. The hairpin bends where I live are nothing compared to these, and the views were tremendous. During the second week I relied on public transport, which I found to be excellent, and for the most part extremely punctual and reliable. I found it was much better than driving, since when you take in so much more when walking, and can stop to take photographs where and when you like, without worrying about whether it is safe to park or who might come up behind you. Given the high cost of diesel (almost 149 pence per litre), if and when I do go back, I am certain to use this method again.
Most of my time was spent around the south, as that is where I was based, but I managed to explore most of the island, from the northernmost Point of Ayres to Peel in the west and Douglas, the capital on the eastern side. I must admit that the car was useful for reaching these out of the way places, as not all of them were directly served by busses, necessitating a walk of several miles from the nearest stopping point. One of the highlights was a visit to the Calf of Man, a small bird sanctuary on an island off the southernmost tip, and also the Manx Museum in Douglas, where I learnt all about the islands history and native language. There is much of which I could write, but the memories are best kept to myself as the personal mementoes that they are.
So, on Monday it was back to work and right back into the fray. While I was away it seems that the boss was complaining yet again - not only regarding the standards in general, but also about me, who committed the heinous crime of going upstairs to get changed on the eve of her holiday, having just worked for seven days in a row, five minutes early. The Director wanted the Acting Manager to ring me at home and reprimand me but to her credit she refused, stating that I had probably already left for the airport! If this were not so stupid, it would be almost laughable, but actually this is deadly serious. There is something seriously wrong with someone who is this petty and it is to my mind frankly ridiculous to get upset over a few lousy minutes.
There is no space for anyone in the care home business for anyone who does not come from the heart. The Director does of course have a heat as we all do, but he is first and foremost a businessman, an investment banker with political aspirations, who thinks that the minimum wage should be abolished to make Britain more competitive, and went into this business as he realised it was a growth opportunity that presented the means to make even more money. Care homes are of course a business like any other, and do have to make a profit in order for the Directors to live, but this needs to tempered with the needs of the residents and the staff who work there and should not come at their expense. His attitude then needs to change in order to reflect this.
Given the problems that we have recently experienced, and the criticisms levelled at the housekeeping department, in order to increase accountability, it has been decided that for the foreseeable future, I will work only downstairs and my colleague only upstairs. I am not completely unhappy about this, as I do prefer being downstairs, as you are more involved in what is going on, but at the same time, it also means that I will no longer see those room bound residents who reside upstairs and whom I have bonded with and have a good rapport. We will I am sure both miss each other a great deal. This though is the decision he had made, and I have to go along with it.
I can though turn this to a positive, as the kitchen, lounge and dining room are all downstairs and these are the heart of the house, where all the activity takes place. I am then exactly where I need to be. These areas are by their very nature much more visible, meaning that I too will be more visible, with the fruits of my work on display for all to see, as will also be my ability to interact with and make a difference to the residents with which I do remain in contact. When one works upstairs, one remains unseen, disappearing into the background, whereas downstairs is the opposite, making this role I some ways, much more important. I have had issues with many of my jobs regarding being unseen and unnoticed, and have often felt this here too; this then is an opportunity to shine loud and clear and be seen in all my glory.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
It is better not to know ...
A month, maybe more has gone by since last I wrote on this blog, and as usual too much has happened to detail or even remember for that matter. For the moment then, I havr to concentrate on what I feel right now, in this moment (knowing of course that this moment is all I have). So, how do I feel? In some ways this is a difficult question to answer, perhaps it should be what do I feel?
What I feel is a sense of relief. A sense of relief that the heatwave that we have been experiencing for the past day or so has broken, also a sense of relief in the fact that four days from now I shall be on my way to the Isle of Man, in fact, four days from now, I shall already be there, probably trudging around Tesco's - and I am looking forward to that?!
Seriously, I do need this holiday. I have been getting way too stressed (as usual)of late, with work, with the newsletter that I edit, and with life in general. The Manager of the nursing home where I work left abruptly at the end of May, without the staff being informed until right at the very last moment. She wrote us a letter supposedly letting us know what the situation is, but it left us with more questions than answers. Rumour has it, she experienced some kind of breakdown due to stress - I know her mother died recently, but really it is all conjecture. We will probably never know, but one thing I do know is that if these rumours are even halfway true, then she did the right thing in resigning in order to take time out, as that is the only way to truly heal and reflect on your life. Whatever she is doing I wish her well, but life goes on, and as the Directors atated in their own letter to us, she was just one member of staff, and the rest of us have to carry on doing what we are good at. I just realise that sometimes that was recognised a little more. We have received a staff satifsction survey to fill in detailing our thoughts as to how the home can be changed, so this is our chance to be totally honest and say what we feel, and I for one have taken the opportunity by the horns, knowing that I may not get another opportunity, and that if I fail to take this one, then I have no right to complain.
It seems a lifetime ago since everything kicked off with my sister, but she remains in my thoughts, and I do wonder how she it, and what she is feeling. I had a card from her on my birthday last week, and I gather from that that she is back in psyciatric hospital. They were unable to talk to me without her permission, and in order to get that permission they would have had to tell her that I had been in contact, so it is better at this stage that I do not know. They do however know where I am should there be an emergency.
So for the moment, I sit here at the computer drinking my tea and listening to the rain, wondering what the next few weeks will bring - it is better perhaps not to know, for the fun is in the sense of discovery that not knowing brings.
What I feel is a sense of relief. A sense of relief that the heatwave that we have been experiencing for the past day or so has broken, also a sense of relief in the fact that four days from now I shall be on my way to the Isle of Man, in fact, four days from now, I shall already be there, probably trudging around Tesco's - and I am looking forward to that?!
Seriously, I do need this holiday. I have been getting way too stressed (as usual)of late, with work, with the newsletter that I edit, and with life in general. The Manager of the nursing home where I work left abruptly at the end of May, without the staff being informed until right at the very last moment. She wrote us a letter supposedly letting us know what the situation is, but it left us with more questions than answers. Rumour has it, she experienced some kind of breakdown due to stress - I know her mother died recently, but really it is all conjecture. We will probably never know, but one thing I do know is that if these rumours are even halfway true, then she did the right thing in resigning in order to take time out, as that is the only way to truly heal and reflect on your life. Whatever she is doing I wish her well, but life goes on, and as the Directors atated in their own letter to us, she was just one member of staff, and the rest of us have to carry on doing what we are good at. I just realise that sometimes that was recognised a little more. We have received a staff satifsction survey to fill in detailing our thoughts as to how the home can be changed, so this is our chance to be totally honest and say what we feel, and I for one have taken the opportunity by the horns, knowing that I may not get another opportunity, and that if I fail to take this one, then I have no right to complain.
It seems a lifetime ago since everything kicked off with my sister, but she remains in my thoughts, and I do wonder how she it, and what she is feeling. I had a card from her on my birthday last week, and I gather from that that she is back in psyciatric hospital. They were unable to talk to me without her permission, and in order to get that permission they would have had to tell her that I had been in contact, so it is better at this stage that I do not know. They do however know where I am should there be an emergency.
So for the moment, I sit here at the computer drinking my tea and listening to the rain, wondering what the next few weeks will bring - it is better perhaps not to know, for the fun is in the sense of discovery that not knowing brings.
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