The Bermuda Triangle

 It’s been quite a week and I’ve not written a word about any of it. If you were sometime in the future looking back on this blog for source material of how middle-aged nobodies felt about life then you might be fooled into thinking that we are all content. 

Teachers fall, exhausted, into the final half term holiday of the year. Reports, data, plans for shows, concerts and school trips, occupying too much brain space when behaviour management is taking every ounce of energy. A cold will inevitably appear. After the last few years where there has been so little money in school and even less in the services that support schools the announcement made in the rain by a drowning prime minister might have had us jumping for joy.

I suspect that fellow teachers of my age are also too exhausted for jumping. 

Despite the announcement feeling like a metaphorical moment, I sent my daughter a text.

‘I haven’t got the energy for a General Election. Thank goodness I’m not an MP.’

It turns out that many of the Conservative MPs feel similarly. So far, a record breaking 80 conservatives have declared that they won’t be standing. 

I’d like to pretend I’m impartial but I’m not. I want Labour to win. They don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to believe Kier Starmer is the most interesting, beautiful man on the planet, I just need them to win. I need funding for programs like Sure Start, SingUp, manned Health Visitor clinics and for the NHS waiting lists to go down. I want a shift of focus on how they spend what little money they have. I’m realistic enough to know it won’t be perfect and that as soon as they say they would consider raising taxes, at a point where everyone feels as though they have less money and people are more post-pandemically selfish than they’ve ever been, then they will probably lose and that terrifies me. 

I say this as someone who was there, in my living room, in 1987, completing my first election spreadsheet (hand drawn, of course). The Conservative Party had run the NHS into the ground and had some dodgy dealings with a helicopter manufacturer. Neil Kinnock appeared to be a great, charismatic leader and didn’t own a single Michael Foot donkey jacket. The bump from the Falklands war was over and veterans were on the telly showing us their disfigured faces. And although they had won the miner’s strike, many couldn’t forgive the Tories for such heavy handed tactics. Nobody really knew which way it was going to go because there was a fetishist-love for a woman in a suit skirt, weird sleeping habit and a purposely lowered voice. Then on Wobbly Wednesday (or whichever day it was) my parents decided to host a “Goodbye and good riddance Maggie party,” because the polls suggested Labour would most definitely win. 

It seems odd to cite that election as the one where I realised that perfection was the only way the Labour Party would win an election, when in 1992, Neil Kinnock lost an un-losable election by falling over on a beach and in  2015 Ed Miliband ate a bacon sandwich. However, as the evening of 11th June 1987 wore on and began to turn my living room into the commiseration bender of all benders, it became clear that I didn’t understand the world. 

Anyway this election is the Labour party’s to lose by all accounts and that terrifies me. It seems to have put the fear of every one of Rishi Sunak’s gods into him too. So worried that he might win, he took the day off yesterday to come up with a series of policies that would help. Today’s announcement made the Long Suffering Husband swear at the radio, even though his golf-club buddies will no doubt be rubbing their thighs with excitement. We all love to hark back to a mis-remembered past and so those who are old enough to know it existed but not old enough to have done it get very excited by National Service. 

If that doesn't work for him, I have some other suggestions. We could bring back quicksand, killer bees, piranhas, random unattended boxes of matches, tablecloths, pans on the stove, strangers or even, if they're desperate The Bermuda Triangle. 

Or, maybe, we could get Barry Manilow to sing about the Conservative government and they would disappear too.

Well Read

The front page of the Times is full of misunderstanding. This is not that unusual. From the lofty position at the top of the news building, fronted by London Bridge and backed by the Shard, it can be difficult for the editor of the Times to understand everyday reality but rarely is is so starkly illustrated. 

There are often stories about how there are jobs for the unemployed, if only they’d “get on their bikes” and look for them, which is nearly always wrong. Normally, they’d leave insider trading stories alone because you don’t drop your friends in it but if it’s about Essex criminal buying flats in Dubai from prison then the term can be adopted with impunity. 

Do you remember Section 28? It was a piece of homophobic legislation that banned teachers from sympathetically answering confused children’s question. The Times seems to think that in the few dying months the Conservative Party can remain in power they will pass a dictat that is Section 28 for those who are triggered by transgender people. According to the article teachers must not talk about sex until children are 13 but must teach about online dangers, including revenge porn. Now, I wonder how that’s possible.

If all this wasn’t confusing enough, the front page also shows the first portrait of the King. I imagine the initial conversation went something like this.

‘Does your Highness have any wishes to how he is portrayed?’

‘Hmmm. One should appear well-read.’

My face in now well red at the joke that I’m sure many other people have made.

Looking with a naked eye

 Do we ever really see everything? Some things are too small to be seen with the naked eye. Most are too small for my naked eye. Thank goodness for contact lenses.

On the sixth anniversary of my mum's death, after a week of rollercoaster emotions (that I will vehemently deny because 'Really? You should be over this by now.') the sky filled with colours and it was a Eurovision that caused everyone to be united by song. 

One of my grief quirks is that I look to the sky for messages on anniversaries. It makes absolutely no sense and I chastise myself over this thought.

'What on earth are you thinking? Why are you even looking?'

'Well', you never know, do you?'

'You do. You don't believe in an afterlife.'

'I know... but... there was that heart shaped cloud....and the polo.'

'A polo? That's a stretch. Why would you interpret a cloud with a hole in the middle as a polo?'

'Well, Mum loved mints. If she was going to send a message it could be a polo.'

'Look, even if there was an afterlife what makes you think your parents are suddenly wielding such enormous power that they can move clouds?'

'Now you put it like that.'

And then I come back to my senses. Except that on the day before the 6th anniversary I had reached a hyper-state that out performed even the twitchiest of kids I teach and so when I went to bed I crashed and actually slept. In the morning of the anniversary I woke to see that Mum had filled the sky with pinks, purples and greens and I had missed it.

'How could you?' I berated myself, 'She went to all that trouble and you just slept. You don't normally sleep, why did you choose that night?'

'I know. I can't believe it. Northern Lights too and those pictures on Facebook look amazing.'

I wondered about Mum's choice of sky message. They had been to stay at the Ice Hotel (blooming freezing) and been on a snowmobile (I'm never letting your dad drive that fast again) and been very disappointed with the half-hearted Northern Lights display. She would watch the news of Northern Lights being seen in Scotland or off the North Yorkshire coast and complain that she'd been 'all that way and they're so much better in the UK.' They were so disappointing she hadn't even bothered to take photos.  

Anniversary days are never as bad as you think they'll be. The sun shined and I was left alone to read, walk, clean the house and collect cheese for the Eurovision cheese-fest. 

The Eurovision song contest is may favourite political event of the year. If you look carefully, even with a naked eye, you can predict future wars. Countries that are likely to come to blows in the future make fun of each other, or vote for the other, despite it being the worst song in the world and occasionally someone has a punch-up and gets banned. This year’s Eurovision was “United in Song” only if you looked with the naked eye. Any kind of visual aid would have highlighted the divisions. The Irish ballet dancing witch had a runic message tattooed on her face (Ceasefire in the rehearsals), boos were blended out in the audio as Israel performed (although they got loads of public votes). Europapa wasn’t able to perform because of an “incident”.  Ukraine sent a message of peace to Russia and this year they didn’t retaliate with bombing the singer's home city despite the fact they weren't allowed to perform as the EBC aren't on their side in their war. Thank goodness Palestine aren't allowed to compete as they aren't in Europe, unlike Israel, so they were saved from having to pick a side. I might need better glasses to understand all of this, however, mine, do allow me to see just how wonderful it is to have the country known for peace being the runaway winner. 

During the boring bit my son rang from the station and enquired, politely about the possibilty of a lift. It was the quiet time I needed after the excitement. Driving back into Maldon the sky looked lighter towards the estuary.

'Oh, look, it's lighter over there. Maybe there'll be more Northern Lights and I won't have missed them,' I said to my son hopefully.

'That could be them,' he said, 'You do know that you can barely see them with the naked eye? You need a camera to pick up the wavelengths.' (This was a much more detailed and scientific reply, which I am sparing you in case your head also explodes.) 

I laughed.

So, Mum went all the way to Norway to see the Northern Lights, saw them and was so unimpressed she didn't even take a photo and if she had it could have looked like Facebook did this morning? Well, that's quite a sixth anniversary message.

Not Northern Lights

Here we go - Eurovision (Live-ish Blog)

 The cheese is ready, the score sheet prepared and we are ready and we are off to Malmo. The only thing we are waiting for is the rest of the family to arrive, so the TV is on pause and we will be a little behind.

Sweden - Marcus & Martinus - Unforgettable

Forgettable twins in a grid of flashing lights and numbers. Dance music. It's meant to be great staging but  too flashy for me. In fact the whole thing is making me a bit twitchy tonight 

Ukraine - Jerry Heil - Teresa & Maria

Fire and water. Gladiator in a bandage, climbing a rock from the water with fire. Oh I like this rapper. She's a Japanese warrior. 

Germany - Isaak - Always on the Run

I hope he's got some marshmallows. That's quite a fire. Quite a catchy tune. I love the lighted farts of Eurovision. I'm glad to see  the tradition hasn't stopped. Boring costume but he has nice painted nails. 

We still miss Terry. Sorry Graham but you are not Terry.

Luxembourg - Tali - Fighter

This was the year 6 French class choice I believe. More lighted farts and workout clothes. Great plaits. Look at those killer pussy cats! It has an Egyptian feel too. Very 90s classic Eurovision. We like this too. You want chocolate now. I'd go for a fighter bar.

Netherlands - Joost Klein - Europapa

Disqualified for hitting someone backstage because they dissed his Euro Papa

Israel - Eden Golan - Hurricane

Controversial to include Israel anyway but this is boring on every level. Bandages are very 2024. Boring wails. Not a fan.

Lithuania - Silvester Beslt - Luktelk

 I like his costume and the nose jewellery. E17 vibes.  His name is popular in this house. 

Now we've caught up we can concentrate on the presenters. A goodie and a baddie. Black and white. We are loving the boob slash. I'm 92 but not deaf - I'm going to adopt that as a catchphrase.

Spain - Nebulossa - Aorra

Reclaim the foxes! A year younger than Kylie. I'm sorry Graham but that is old!  Look! Little keyboard guitars. We always give extra points for instruments. This is a proper throwback.  She looks a lot older than Kylie. This is very popular in the auditorium. Oh wow! Bottoms. The LSH is wondering when Eurovision got so gay. Shush. Don't tell him. OOOH. Splits. Go Mary. That is a Eurovision classic. That gets 10 from me in the Eurovision vibe section of my score sheet. 

Estonia - Smiinustx Puuluup - Narkootikumidest

This makes me want to dance. I like the traditional instruments. Full admiration to the sunglasses indoors. Break out those dancefit moves. Look at the big boys in the background is the quote in the room. Bon Jovi and Simon Pegg.

Ireland - Bambi Thug - Doomsday Blue

Pagan witch. Great name. Goth witch has a lovely sweet tone to her voice. Maleficent vibes. She must be a ballet dancer. Freaky teeth. A Bucks Fizz costume whip off. Blink and you miss it. That could have gone horribly wrong. I want to pass her some cheese. That's quite a scream. Crown the witch or not. Grunge isn't for us.

Latvia - Dons - Hollow

Jasper Carrot in a blue fake muscle top. This is the Bond entry. He has a nice ring. We are chatting through this but I like the tree. Harlow. A proper Essex entry. 

Greece - Marina Satti - Zari

We usually like Greece but the purple nappy and TikTok live vibe isn't doing it for me. Chunky dancers. Floating above finished buildings that's less Greek than you'd imagine. Pass the feta and olives.

United Kingdom - Olly Alexander - Dizzy

I thought he was an actor but he was a singer first. I really like him but this is not good. He doesn't have the voice for a stadium of this size. The crowd are not listening. Are we heading for another nul points? That was a much better job than he did in the semi finals. Oh Graham. You are delusional. We all know how it will do. It will bomb.

Norway GAte - Ulveham

Instantly forgettable.

Italy - Angelina Mango - La Noia

I do like it when there are trees. She's scoring fairly high on how attractive she is with the men in the room but the women are less impressed with the ugly boots. More chunky dancers. Explosive farts. 

Serbia - Teya Dora - Ramonda

A flower. It's snowing. 2nd rock of the night. We are talking about other things.

Finland - Windows95Man - No Rules!

Graham has embraced the silly. I love silly. Not Lukas Graham or that horrible man that does through the keyhole - Keith Lemon. This is so brilliant. This would have won in 2001. Proper belly laughs her. It's a good song too. This is our winner. No contest. Even the jean dress is great. firework wires!! We love this so much. NO RULES. The jury vote will do badly but we love it. 

Portugal - Iolanda  - Grito 

Hospital vibes about this. We got bored and paused her to clear away the cheese. I like her make up. Dance group with heads completely covered - it's the shame.  That's a power note. Don't you hate it when the padding comes out of your bikini.

Amenia - Ladaviva - Jako

Miming trumpet player. What board game is this? Ludo? Fake lute - no strings. JESUS! We liked this. 

Cyprus - Silia Kapis - Liar

Australian Cypriot. Holly Vallance before she married a very rich man and became the most right wing person you can imagine. How did this get through? Tie dye lightshow is quite cool. The song is catchy. 

Switzerland - Nemo - The Code

I love the outfit. This is a great song. Chanelling their inner Mikka. Love a skort and feather jacket combo and the platform work is brilliant. This has to be the winner. Surely. Great core. Whoever found Nemo deserves all the prizes. 

Slovenia - Raiven - Veronika

The boys are initially impressesd but the the costume isn't going to get many points they might as well not have bothered. It's a whiny song. Snake tattoo. 

Graham? Are you OK? You aren't saying much this year.  Wail. 

Croatia - Baby Lasagne - Rim Tim Tagi Dim

Ramstein meets Adam and the Ants. Grapevine dancing. It's a drum beat - Rim Tim Tagi Dim. Explosive farts. We like this. There's no going back my anxiety attacks. We can relate to these lyrics. 

This was also a favourite of the French class. 

Georgia - Nutsia Baladze - Firefighter

This could grow on you if you listen to it enough. She has the power voice. She-ra.

France - Slimane - Mon Amour

I think he's got tummy ache. Gauze top. It took someone in this room a long time to get the word gauze. That is an incredible vocal. 

Austria - Kaleen - We will rave

She has demons in her hair. Do I spy a new Sparkle Club outfit? The cameraman had a stroke as she was chucked around. Catchy - we will rave.

My scores

Jury votes

Switzerland , France, Croatia, Italy top 4.

Zero points for the UK from the public.

Eurovision found Nemo!

 

Who needs a critical inner voice?

 I have a love-hate relationship with self help books. I've read them all. I can feel the fear and do it anyway, win friends and influence people or have seven habits. I can calm my monkey mind, I know where my cheese is and I can hold my clutter and ask if it sparks joy. I want to improve myself. It seems important but it's so irritating. So many sentences start with. "Ask yourself..." and if I had the answers I wouldn't be reading the books.

The books firmly warn about the critical inner voice but I wonder if it is there for a reason. If the little voice that puts you down is pointless then why is it so persistent? My current read, called 'You've got this' which I read in the voice of a 20 something black woman from South London (don't ask, I don't know) is very critical of my critical inner voice, so I've been trying.  

I was determined that I wasn't going to let my mind say anything negative about myself all day. One day had to be possible, surely?

Morning break. First warm day of the year. Children wildly overly excited, bringing woodlice to see me, licking their hands clean of satsuma juice before holding my hand to take me to show me where a bee is on the ground. Two girls, desperate to be chosen to ring the bell, barely leave my side. After 10 minutes one of them starts a conversation that isn't, 'Can I ring the bell?'

Girl: You've cut your hair,

Me: I've had it cut, yes,

Girl: Hmmm

Me: .......

Girl: It doesn't look as bad as it did before.

Me: Oh.

Girl: I suppose.

Me: .....

Girl: Less knotty. It should be less knotty. Easier to brush.

I told my colleague and she said, 'Oh children. They have no filter. They just can't help telling the truth.'

Come back my own critical inner voice. I think I preferred you. You didn't care about my hair.