Friends

Friend is a word we all use quite loosely to describe someone we know and their relationship to us. We may only have spoken to them a couple of times, but they quickly gain the status of a friend, because to say that someone is a woman/man I have known for a while, we're not close, but we pass the time of day and we both support Sheffield United, is a little too long-winded to explain who they are, so friend fits the bill.

My brother and his wife don't really have friends. They know a lot of people but my brother and his wife are with each other all the time.  They do not seek time away from each other - ever. In fact, they do whatever they can to spend every minute of the day together. I have often thought that if they each walked their (very lazy) dog separately, that the dog would benefit from two walks, rather than the inadequate one that it has currently.

My mother pointed out to me, from a young age, that I was very lucky because I had a lot of friends and was gregarious. She's right. To this day I have been lucky to have such great friends. Along the way you lose some as your circumstances change and you are very busy with work and looking after children. Or sometimes, we just grow out of each other, no harsh feelings, it's just how it is.

This weekend I met up with the 'girls' I was at school with from age 11. I had been in touch with them  on and off since leaving school, for big birthdays ending in a 0, weddings and so on. But never had the four of us met, not at a birthday or wedding, but just because we wanted to. We met in a cafe and stayed there for 5 and a half hours. During that time we had several drinks and lunch and filled each other in about the ups and downs of our lives.

It was great. I felt very at ease -as at ease as I did with these 3 when we were at school together, decades ago.  Next year, it's a long weekend away.  Can't wait!

 

Ebay - it drives you mad!

Have you ever bought or sold anything on eBay? Was it a smooth transaction? For your sake, I really hope so.

Last summer, I bought several pairs of sandals at half price or less, admittedly having become a little carried away over the tempting bargains. This summer, I see that several pairs are not suitable. So I am going to put them on eBay and take my chances. But, I am doing this with some trepidation. Past experience tells me that I may not receive the money for them. It is worth knowing though, that  this may not be eBay's fault, or the Royal Mail's fault, but the buyer's fault. The buyer can simply say that they did not receive the parcel. They may actually have received the goods but will say that they haven't.  Hard to fathom why someone would do that other than to get something, by cheating, for free.

If someone says that they have not received an item, after a reasonable length of time, they are encouraged to be patient a little longer, and then to 'open a case'.

I have been an eBay user, on and off, for over ten years. I have had a case opened against me twice. One in 2008 and one today.

The one today somehow doesn't surprise me, which may sound odd. I decided that I would only sell in the UK, thinking that there was a much greater chance of something getting lost, the further it travelled. When a person from Poland contacted me to ask if I  would send the necklace she wanted to Poland, I agreed. I shouldn't have done. First of all, she took ages to pay. The vast majority of people pay within twenty-four hours. This buyer took a month, telling me that she had various bills to pay, but not to worry she would pay. I was really regretting this.

Today, my suspicions were confirmed. She complained once that she had not yet received the necklace. I sensed where this was going. She asked if when I posted it I would send it signed for. I did. It cost £8.70. She only gave me £5, despite my request for more. I just wanted to get it over with so sent it anyway. And what do you know?
 
Today, she opened a case. She hadn't received the necklace. GRRRRRRRRR!
 

A monkey in a cage in a house.

The way in which a society treats its animals is a reliable way to judge just how humane and compassionate that society is. We are, as most people have known since childhood, supposed to be a nation of animal lovers.

Recently, I have seen and read much that suggests otherwise. One horror which has come to my notice is the puppy farm. Here, in many cases, the dogs are kept in disgusting conditions - insufficient food and water, no feeling of affection for the dogs and the over -breeding of the bitches until they literally die of exhaustion caused by this over-breeding.Those breeder-bitches are a sorry sight - litter after litter, sometimes of as many as ten puppies, each time they give birth. Their teats after feeding so many puppies, almost reach the ground.

In the paper today was a story about a woman who kept a monkey in a cage for ten whole years in her flat in Hampstead, North London . I know - madness. This woman brought Joey, a capuchin monkey from South America. Incredibly, it is legal to do so. She quarantined him for six months and obtained a Dangerous Wild Animals licence from the local council.

This woman was a fraudster who conned people out of vast sums of money on the pretext of being able to heal their terminal illnesses. Cruel, yes, but these people had a choice - Joey the monkey did not.

When Joey arrived in Hampstead he was a baby and in good health. Then Joey began to suffer from brittle bone disease and became progressively deformed. There he was in a cage in a house in Hampstead. Is it any wonder? And what of the mental torture, the trauma of a monkey being away from other monkeys and his natural habitat? Such an act of self -indulgence, for a con-woman in a wealthy area of London, absolutely defies reason, belief and any semblance of humanity.

Eventually, Joey was rescued. He was the most traumatised monkey the sanctuary who rescued him  had ever seen. He also had poor bone density, curved bones and a fused spine. It was thought he would never make it but Joey had a fighting spirit which he put to good use to save his life.

Joey now socialises with other primates and helps rehabilitate other distressed monkeys at the sanctuary.

Joey is just one animal and he has had a rare happy ending after much suffering. It is our duty as the most intelligent animals on earth to look after the animals with whom we share the planet and never ever to inflict unnecessary cruelty.

A clear preference for Winter.

British people, on the whole, become very excited about the advent of summer- looking forward to hot sunny days, holidays and barbecues in the garden.  A hint of sun and warmth is sufficient for the British to begin flinging their clothes off, sunbathing and turning the music up loud.  Got to make the most of it while it lasts, is the philosophy and hope, for its continuation seems to be almost universal.

There are though some of us who, when people tell us how beautiful it is, have to agree, but do not have their heart in what they say. If someone comments on the hot weather favourably as the vast majority do, it is expected that you will agree. If you express instead your real view, that you do not like hot weather, it rings a discordant note, and it causes confusion and a little embarrassment, just as if you are trying to be clever or be deliberately difficult, so it is a damned sight easier to simply agree.

Though it makes you come across as strange, in some people's eyes, I nevertheless will, unabashedly state that I do not like the summer. I do not like being hot and feeling sluggish, the way heat makes me feel. Barbecues are never very successful and it will take a while to forget the ice and the pink in the middle of a supposedly cooked sausage. Standing to eat is not something I relish and it is what happens at most barbecues.

Airports - the very word fills me with horror. Hoards of people flying off to hotter climes, the waiting,  the squabbling, the tiredness, the disgusting food at insane prices, the security check, the little plastic bag to put cosmetics in, the removing of the shoes, the jacket, the scrabble to reclaim your goods from the grey plastic tray and the putting back on of the shoes.

And if that's not enough, the seemingly eternal wait at the the gate, the trips to the toilet to save you from having to queue on the plane. Then there is the boarding. The false smiles of the flight crew, having to push past people who are putting luggage in the overhead storage, the tuts of disapproval and then the finding of the seat. The poor steward who performs the safety routine and then finally a tray of barely edible food. You eat it though as it passes the time.

On arrival at the resort, there is often an all day buffet which people eat too much of because it's an all-in deal and you want to get value for money. Cake, bread, eggs, beans, bacon, sausages - no limit - eat it all.

Families flung together all day every day - there's bound to be tensions with no escape to work, school or any other distraction. Parents then often argue over child discipline, ice creams and treats generally.  All told it is an achievement that any marriage  survives.

It's not just the holidays of summer which make it unpopular for me. There is  always a drowning, often of a child and a parent/adult who tries to save the child. Often too a child is abducted. Coming out of nightclubs in summer can be a flashpoint for a fight. People don't seem to mind hanging around post 3am in the warmth of a summer night. The blood is hot and a brawl begins.

Sweating, not being able to sleep, the dawn chorus at an unearthly hour and the pressure on women to pass themselves off as never having had any hair anywhere other than on their head - all difficulties.

As the clocks go back towards the end of October, I relish not only the extra hour, but also the knowing that we are heading towards Winter. I still love Christmas despite its excesses, and sitting by the fire on winter nights watching television or reading (or blogging).  Big jumpers, boots, gloves - fabulous.        

To adopt a child...

Rigorous assessments are in place for anyone who wishes to adopt a child and rightly so. Every single aspect of a person's life is under investigation, including the relationship they have with their partner, who will be the other adopter. Questions of an intensely personal nature are asked and used in
a bid to discover whether or not a person is suitable to adopt a child.

In addition every member of the extended family has to be assessed too. Clearly, this has to be done because the likelihood is that close relatives will be asked to babysit and will probably have contact with the child at Christmas and other family occasions.

All this is right and necessary. I never thought I would feel like this but my brother, who is a foster father, has had involvement with children who have had truly dreadful beginnings. It seems undeniable  that children are scarred by this pitifully poor start in life. Some, incredibly, do thrive despite their early experiences, though in later years, neglect, abuse and an absence of love can and sometimes will, turn to anger, which may result in violence.

Many of these children, when they are born are not looked after properly, are sometimes not really wanted and almost always do not get what should be every child'd right, the all encompassing love of a mother or a father, preferably both, or the love of a same sex couple - it really doesn't matter -  as long as the child is loved.

Anyone, anyone at all can have a child as long as they are not in prison. Anyone can produce a child and neglect him/her or abuse the child. This strikes me as outrageous. But what can we do? Is it possible or even desirable to limit people or prevent them from having children. Part of me screams yes, we must! But another part says that would be entirely wrong. Forced contraception? How would that work? No checks, no family investigation, anyone can have a child.

Whatever the moral arguments are, the fact remains that some children are born, mistreated and have to go to foster homes or are adopted. The adopted ones, if it works out, are the lucky ones. The worst result is that the ones who are fostered are passed around from one home to another and never arrive at a permanent loving home.  It is tragic, truly tragic.                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Motherless children

When my children were growing up my greatest fear was that I would die. I wasn't afraid of dying in itself (or per se, as some might say) but the fear which haunted me was because if I died, then who would look after my children? No, that's not exactly the right question.  It was a question though, and I decided that the person/s I would like to look after my children would be my brother and his wife. I asked them if they would do that and they said yes. A relief, undoubtedly, but it didn't satisfy satisfy me.

My brother and his wife have four children between them and three foster children, all of whom they look after very well. I didn't doubt that my children would have love directed their way, but, and this is the real insurmountable difficulty, they would not have a mother's love.

There is nothing unusual about my sense that if I died, nobody, not anybody, including their father and their grand-parents, would love them like I do. And, arrogant though this thought may be, it's true.

Though I have no statistics, I believe that mother are hard-wired to love their children more than anyone else, a claim which contains two meanings. First  - mothers love their children more than they      love any other person and second, that mothers love their children more than anyone else would love their children.

These two claims are not universal, just as any other generalisation about human behaviour and feelings are not universal. I have a friend who would have sold her children to the slave trade if the man she was in love with would have asked her to live with him. Some mothers find life too difficult and put drugs and alcohol, for all sorts of reasons, before their children, often resulting in those children going into foster care.

My fear of dying before my children grew up was to do with the intensity a mother feels regarding her children. Mothers know their children, usually, more than anyone else knows them. Children deserve to know that there will be, always, someone who will love them no matter what. This does not mean that a child should not be reprimanded for wrongdoing - of course they should. Most children know when they have done wrong and take the punishment. To love a child no matter what means that hey will not be let down at important times, or indeed any time, any time at all, important or trivial.

When my youngest child reached the age of twenty-one, a huge weight fell off my shoulders. Much as it was far from what I wanted, if I did die, at least my children were old enough to see their way through life and to remember that they were very much loved - very much.

 

Do we ever really change?

'That was then,' people say, 'but I'm different now, I've changed.'  But do we ever really change?
Our life continues , we get older, we meet different people, we do different jobs, or the same job for a long time, hopefully getting better at it. Many of us become parents, thereby taking on responsibilities for the lives of others. Mortgages, cars, in-laws - the outward signs of  having grown up.
Though we do undoubtedly take on these indicators of a life maturing, our basic character remains unchanged. Often this is most obvious in situations which are unfamiliar to us. For instance, on our own in a strange place, at a job interview, at a party where we know no one, the fear that you might have felt as a small child when you couldn't spot your parents for a short while, returns, and the distress you experience and the fear you feel is, more or less, the same.

So what about our personalities and our own specific characteristics? My eldest son used to play football on a Sunday morning for several years. In my son's team was a boy whose father I knew - we had been at primary school together. On the touch line, in some god forsaken place, on a freezing cold Sunday morning, with a mountain of work waiting for me at home, I saw, acted out in front of me the same madly competitive behaviour of my old school friend, who was now about forty, as I had seen over thirty years earlier at any sporting event or PE lesson in which he was involved.  

Roars came from him, sometimes of praise, but mainly of disapproval, along the lines of, 'E's nowt! He's a rate pansy. What have you let 'im get the better of you for, you dickhead?' These comments directed to his own son.  There were more similar statements, some directed at the referee, a hapless bloke who had come out to referee the match for the princely sum of five pounds. The referee is a sitting duck for the wrath of parents who imagine their children being scouted by Manchester United and a place in the champions League. My 'friend' was right there, in the very thick of it.

Infuriated by one incident when his son didn't get the benefit of the doubt in a tackle, a free kick being awarded to the opposition, I thought my ersatz classmate might have a heart attack, right there on the pitch on which he was remonstrating. Mouth wide open and yelling, face bright red, arms wheeling round, he reminded me of the day his relay team came second at sports day, aged eleven. One child in his team had fallen down, and had slowed them down. The child bravely carried on, but was not fast enough.With knees ripped to shreds,tears pouring down his face, my classmate shouted his head of at him until a teacher puled him away. That day at the football match, it felt as if that relay race, three decades ago, could have been yesterday and the intervening thirty years were as a blink of an eye.

This is, of course, only one instance, but it seems to me that our basic character is formed at an early age, whether that is through nature or nurture, remains a mystery.  Once formed, it stays with us; maybe hidden at times, but it's there and it will emerge.