I Was Wrong

Yesterday, I sounded grumpy about people celebrating the VE anniversary. I’m glad to be able to report that I was wrong.

To be fair to myself, I was never against bunting and cake, commemorating the end of a war, or making learning exciting to hook the interests of children. For me, it was more a dis-ease at forced camaraderie and accidentally promoting a ‘war is good’ message.

When I went for my walk, I found that I was cheered by the decorations, the feeling of hope and the idea that humans always find a way around their difficulties. The celebration probably wouldn’t have happened like this if we hadn’t been in lockdown.

Our local council had plans in place and I know that if things were different, my Youth Orchestra would have probably been at the park, playing Lambeth Walk, We’ll Meet Again and Let’s All Go Down the Strand (‘Av a banana). People would have been encouraged to commemorate with street parties but I doubt as many would have done. With children off school there was plenty of time to make bunting, chalk flags onto the pavement and make scones (another way of getting grubby fingernails clean), the whole town came to life more than would have normally happened.

As I walked I had small conversations with people. We talked about the weather and what they were drinking. Each street that participated had done so in different ways. My favourites were those where older couples were just sitting in their gardens with a pot of tea, saying, “Good Afternoon,” as you walked by. Some streets, had everyone out in force but it wasn’t a surprise.
“Normal for King Street,” I muttered to myself before consoling two small ginger girls by saying,
“Ooh jam tarts. Perfect. You have the most authentic VE Day tea I’ve seen,”
“Thank you for saying that,” their mother said, as their faces brightened and their red rimmed eyes paled. “They’ve been really upset that ours wasn’t as good as the neighbours.”
The most authentic street seemed to be Victoria Road complete with opportunistic bike theft.

One street had the speeches of Winston Churchill blaring out and another looked dangerously close to getting a bit snoggy and gropey (made up words) as the alcohol started to flow. I’m sure there will be backlash in the papers today as people are pictured not observing social distancing rules but I am unable to get cross about that because all I saw was hope.

When the Nazi forces in Germany surrendered 75 years ago, the world felt hope. Yesterday, the sun was shining, people talked to their neighbours and felt hopeful that we will soon be out of this lockdown situation, without the complete devastation of our country. There was also a feeling that even if Boris announces another 12 weeks of lockdown then we will cope.

Music, Cake and Politics

Maybe you wouldn't choose to book a mini-break around an election but it can add a tiny air of excitement if you enjoy politics and percentages.

I am fascinated by politics. I wouldn't want to do it and honestly don't understand the people that do but watching politicians and how people react to them is one of my passions (along with music and cake). So, you can imagine my excitement when I arrived in the land of music and cake (Vienna) to find they were in the middle of an election.

It appeared that the Viennese (who still have a passion for lederhosen) were in a whirl and about to elect an ayrian president from the Freedom party whose political beliefs are on the far right. Every country seems to have one. Norbert Hofer is Austria's Farage or Trump: a fresh faced, blue eyed man whose posters looked like an advert for the Hitler youth (a thought that occurred to me before I spotted the graffiti moustaches)

Austria's President is mostly a ceremonial role with few powers but this candidate had promised to disband parliament if they didn't do something about immigration. This surprised me because Vienna seemed such a nice safe city. People happily gave money to the few people that were sitting on street corners and shops are able to have a display cabinet full of knives outside all night, without fear of inciting violence.

We even saw someone stop next to a woman with a dog, headscarf and sign that said, "Hunger", sit down next to her and empty Tupperware cartons of hot food onto a paper plate. When the woman had eaten she picked up her sign and belongings and went for a nice walk with her dog. 

This election was interesting to me, not only because of the right wing phenomenon that is sweeping the world but also because of the actual election system. This was a second vote, which is    usual in Austria. The first vote is for all the parties that are standing. If one candidate gets more than 50% of the vote then they are the winner. If not then the second vote is between the top two parties. This seems to be a much better system. It would stop people saying that their vote doesn't count. Austria used to have compulsory voting, of which, surprisingly (as a normally liberal person) I am in favour. I'm not sure when they stopped making people vote but they still managed a 78% turnout (uk: usually around 60%).

Norbert had won over 30% of the vote in the initial round and everyone had expected him to win the second round. He was up against a Green Party candidate, Van Der Bellen, who has a nice white bushy moustache (not the black toothbrush version drawn on the poster) and a nice looking dog.

The election closed at 5pm and they were expecting the results to be announced soon after. We walked past reporters and their man with an i-pad (BBC), practising their smiles and serious faces, and larger crews with proper cameras and fluffy things on sticks pointed at men in suited top halves and more casual below the camera wear, and we could almost taste the anticipation and excitement.

We chose a cafe in the Hofburg Palace to sit and watch.  The LSH  tried to ask about the election but the waiter just waved towards the corner of the building and mumbled something about the President living in, "that part there."  Having missed the memo about not talking to the famously grumpy waiters, he persisted and even tried talking in German.  It turns out that the waiter hadn't voted, didn't care, wasn't even Austrian and wasn't a "politicky person."

The results came in.  Or rather, they didn't come in because they were 50:50.  Not exactly but it became clear that the postal votes could change the whole situation.  The reporters did their piece to camera and packed up, resigned to coming back tomorrow morning for more of the same. At that point Hofer had 51.9% of the vote.  

The next day they were back and by late afternoon were beginning to look more than a bit fed up.  Eventually, Hofer conceded and Van der Bellen had won with 50.35% of the vote.  People in Vienna seemed happy.  

"I would ask for a recount, if I were him, That can't be statistically significant," said the LSH sounding like my son.

We both expect that this isn't the end; that there is an appetite for very right wing politics, even in lovely safe and happy places like Austria.  Even the cake and music can't stop the shift to the right.

Visitng the Student

It's half term, which seems to be when most parents feel that an acceptable amount of time has passed for them to visit their child (yes I do mean child - they will always be a child to the parent) at university. All my friends have managed to squeeze in a visit to their studying offspring and I am no exception.

In the first year the visit is all about putting your mind at rest.  As a parent, you have missed your child like crazy, you've had a cold that just won't shift and you've worried.  You've worried about whether they are doing their work, whether they are living with nice people, whether they are drinking too much, whether they are eating properly, whether they are managing to cook without burning the halls down.  You don't relax very much on the visit.  You go out to lunch and take them to the supermarket for a big shop.  You clean their toilet or kitchen because other people are just disgusting. You try not to cry as you leave them again. You think that you are being silly and should really try to pull yourself together and you do.  It's a good job that you do because when they come home at Christmas they are foul.

In the second year the first half term visit is still focused around food and mopping up tears.  This time it's their tears, as they admit that the quick decicion of who to live with made last October may not have been such a good one.  You take them out to lunch so that you can spend as much time out of the house as possible.  Besides, it smells odd with a curious mix of damp and stale deep fat frying oil that you remember from your own student days.  You take them to the supermarket and show them how to label or hide their food, luckily you remember your student days well enough. You clean their bathroom (but only when no one is looking so you don't seem like too much of a fussy mum).  The good news is that they will be much nicer this Christmas.

I have just come back from the third year visit and if you are a parent in one of the first two please be encouraged.  This visit is a delight.  It's like visiting some really nice friends.  Their flat is cleaner than your house and you get told off for not switching the plug off at the wall after you've unplugged your iphone.  You have really good conversations.  For me, this visit was still food based (although I didn't clean anything).  We had a fantastic curry, soup and cake and she even tried to pay.

As this could be her last year in Leicester I insisted that we went to Melton Mowbray to get a pork pie.  As a vegetarian, she wasn't too thrilled with the idea but we had such a brilliant day out.

Melton is a town a bit like home; the ratio of old men to everyone else is quite high, their 6th form college has a good performing arts course, so that student who have snuck out at lunch time for a Costa fix, serenade you at traffic lights, with a version of Don't Stop Believing by Journey, where they have changed the words so that you know exactly what they have done and are going to do today.  Melton Mowbray is the place where stilton comes from and so I also managed to buy and obscene amount of cheese.

 It has a beautiful Art Decco cinema and very clean public toilets, although a wee does cost 30p.

Toy soldiers in Melton Mowbray are very special.  You might imagine that they are magic, coming to life on a Wednesday night for band practice.  There must be lots of them and they must be quite good too.  Why else would they need their own band room?

Maybe this is the start of an adult relationship with my daughter. Even if we don't see each other too often we will always share a love of the bizzarre and cake.