Blue Witch

It's MrBW's birthday tomorrow, and Witches' Christmas on Monday.
So, we're having a few days off.

Blog speak

What's the half-life of a blog?
Or the quarter life?

I'm just thinking about some new terminology.... given the number of blog acquaintances who have fallen off the blog planet in recent times.

Maybe the quarter life is the first time you think to yourself, "Hmmmm, wonder if I really want to carry on blogging?"

And the half-life is the first time you have a real, announced, hiatus?

Those of you who've been around for more than a couple of years will remember the days when a post of a hiatus would elicit many comments of a pleading or empathising, or 'are you sure?' nature, and then there'd be great jubiliation and links all over blogland when the hiating blogger returned. These days, news of a departure is more likely to elicit a sigh and a quick delink, and I'm getting the impression that returnees (or ex-bloggers who start new blogs) don't always get back their old audiences.

As I've said before, my interest in blogging is primarily an interest in the social structure and connectivity of blogland, and a curiosity about the evolution of the form over time. How better to research something than to be a part of it?

I suppose that my central (informal/subconscious) 'research questions' are:

1. Given the extra 'shared personal information' between bloggers, that is rarely as evident in real-world relationships, are blogland relationships as transient, superficial, and ephemeral as relationships in the 'real world'?

2. Is there any correlation between longevity of blog and stability of bloggers' lives and relationships in the 'real world'? (eg Are those in long-term relationships more likely to be long-term bloggers? Do those who change their blog templates frequently also redecorate their homes frequently? Do those who change job frequently also change blog frequently? And then I get on to thinking about things like - Do those who are sexually frustrated write more about sex than those who aren't? Do those in debt write more about material things? etc etc)

And, something else that keeps popping into my mind...

Why have so many people fallen off the blog planet recently? Too many other distractions? Work servers increasingly blocking access to blogs (I'll blog on work time but not on my own time?)? A feeling that there's nothing more to say? Different stages in individuals' lifecycles being reached? Boredom or frustration with the medium? Something else?

Hubble, bubble, growth and trouble

Once upon a time there was a yellow datura (or brugmansia, depending on how good at spelling you are).

It infrequently appeared as the radom pic at the top of the right sidebar when BW visited NiC.

Now, BW coveted that yellow plant with beautiful trumpets. So she did a spell. It was a very strong spell because BW liked it very much. Even though she doesn't normally like yellow flowers at all.

Very soon BW's spell began to show signs of working.

First, her inbox was full of a full-resolution picture of said yellow beauties. Then the owner of the nice yellow trumpet plant took a cutting, which grew, and grew, and grew.

On the night of the Blue Moon in the summer of 2004, the spell came to full fruitflowerition and the coveted plant's cutting arrived at The Coven. BW smiled lots and was extremely pleased at how well the spell had worked, and at how kind fellow bloggers can be.

Since then, the plant, called "BW Brugmansia" (it says that's its name on a label in its pot), has grown, and grown, and grown.

By September this year it was as tall as BW and had hundreds of yellow trumpets. BW decided that enough was enough, this was fast turning into BW and the Datura Stalk, and tried to stop the spell.

The next day a big wind came and blew over the pot containing the BW Brugmansia, and BW was cross. That pot cost £30, she thought. That wasn't meant to happen. And she took the spell reversal concoction off the Aga and threw it out of the window in disgust.

BW asked MrBW to mend the broken pot with his magic mastic gun. When he picked up the huge fallen-over plant, he noticed that a couple of small branches, with tiny leaves, had broken off, and put them in a vase of water, thinking that they might grow roots and become more new plants.

As you can see, the one on the right grew roots. But the one on the left just grew a yellow trumpet.

Sometimes my spells scare me...

Thought for the day

To fulfill a dream, to be allowed to sweat over lonely labor, to be given the chance to create, is the meat and potatoes of life. The money is the gravy. As everyone else, I love to dunk my crust in it. But alone it is not a diet to keep body and soul together.

- Bette Davis

Paper buses

Still no time to post anything proper, as I am decluttering.

Now, this is serious decluttering.... I have 2 years worth of accumulated paper put on one side 'until I've got time to read/file it properly' in The Inner Coven and in the Walk-In Cupboard off The Inner Coven (which is probably the size of the smallest bedroom in most moden houses). And as I already have seven, four drawer filing cabinets in The Inner Coven, all of which are pretty full, I need to do some industrial strength shredding of unnecessary documentation or I am going to drown in paper.

And then, after that, I have to empty The Coven Attic, because MrBW gave up badgering me to do it (I'll admit that there are boxes in there that are unopened since I packed them when I moved from my first house in Somerset to my second house in Somerset in 1985) and agreed instead to creating an art/craft studio in the roofspace. Clever that, because it means it will have to be totally emptied by the end of February when we have a builders' slot.

This new room will be huge as it's going to cover the entire floor space in the original single-storey part of The Coven - and give us flexibility for future projects and directions (courses in spell-casting anyone?). And it'll provide an endless source of blogging material from now until next summer, no doubt. If I had time I would tell you about the fun we had Interviewing Potential Architects yesterday. But I haven't, so I can't. Sorry.

If you came here because you're bored and looking for something to distract you, go and see DG's post today on the 38 routemaster and play the refresh game or the probability game I've suggested in the comments...

I've just realised... it would be much easier and cheaper to buy an old routemaster to use as an art/craft studio (or as a mega filing cabinet), wouldn't it? Oh... OK, I'll go and get on... Still, if we don't get planning permission, it's a thought...

Thought for the day

Agriculture is just that, agri-culture. It's not agri-industry.

- Prince of Wales, today

Locked up

I am a Busy Witch.
In fact I am so much of a Busy Witch this week that I hadn't noticed that the Ginger Familiar has been missing since Sunday evening.

MrBW (who also hasn't missed her as he has been a Busy MrBW too - mostly telling lies embellishing the truth to judging panels so that his company can win awards, and discovering that his CEO has moved to less than a mile away from The Coven, as the D'Ove or Broom flies, but, fortunately about 3 miles as the car travels) has just discovered her - locked in the summerhouse for the last 60 hours.

She seems none the worse for wear, fortunately, and she's managed to sort out the knots in her 2" long fluffy coat during her enforced captivity. She doesn't seem to want to drink though, which is a bit of a worry...

Anyway, as I am So Busy that I don't actually have the time to tell you why, I'll just point you in the direction of Scott Adam's new Dilbert Blog (in case you haven't seen it):

"Welcome to my first blog entry.

If you’re reading this on company time, congratulations on beating the system. If you’re reading it on your own time, you really need to find a job where they pay you to do this sort of thing."

And this is the bit from the email I got (about which I can make no comment :) ):

When I see news stories about people all over the world who are experiencing hardships, I worry about them, and I rack my brain wondering how I can make a difference. So I decided to start my own blog. That way I won't have time to think about other people.

People who are trying to decide whether to create a blog or not go through a thought process much like this:

1. The world sure needs more of ME.
2. Maybe I'll shout more often so that people nearby can experience the joy of knowing my thoughts.
3. No, wait, shouting looks too crazy.
4. I know - I'll write down my daily thoughts and badger people to read them.
5. If only there was a description for this process that doesn't involve the words egomaniac or unnecessary.
6. What? It's called a blog? I'm there!

The blogger's philosophy goes something like this:

Everything that I think about is more fascinating than the crap in your head.

The beauty of blogging, as compared to writing a book, is that no editor will be interfering with my random spelling and grammar, my complete disregard for the facts, and my wandering sentences that seem to go on and on and never end so that you feel like you need to take a breath and clear your head before you can even consider making it to the end of the sentence that probably didn't need to be written anyhoo.

If that doesn't inspire you to read my blog, I don't know what will. You can find the Dilbert Blog at

http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/

Security

Alarming stuff about how easily computer passwords can be acquired on Channel 5's Gadget Show last night.

The little gizmos that plug into the back of computers and look exactly like some sort of connector, but harvest passwords entered into websites, are particularly alarming I thought. Bond-esque. (*checks back of PC to ensure that Cleaner BW hasn't installed one*)

I already use different passwords for almost everything (combinations of letters and numbers, but having seen last night's programme, I might now add in a few special characters too), but I do write them down on index cards, with the exception of those for any financial institutions. There is no other way I could ever remember them.

Until now, the choice has been using the same password for everything, or having to write them down.

But, a new security system has been developed that uses the innate ability of the human brain to recognise faces. I could actually explain exactly how that works to you, but I won't, because (a) no-one would be that interested, and (b) it would be showing off. Although I am amazed that I could still do it, 22 years after first writing an essay on it, which got A+++, even though A+ was the top mark.

Ha! I thought, that system won't work for me as my visual memory is dreadful. Truly dreadful. At the 2nd percentile for my age (well, OK, for my age when I was 26, actually, but it's doubtless got worse since then). I couldn't even manage to produce a photofit of someone I know well - like Mr BW.

So, keen to prove that it wouldn't work for everyone, I decided to try it out.

Surprisingly, although it took me a while to learn my pass faces initially, the training system is very good, and will provide as much practice as you need. After 6 or 7 practice trials, I did manage to correctly identify my sequence of faces last night, and still managed to remember them this morning. Try it out for yourself. It seems to have real potential.

(*bets that Mr BW, who has an excellent visual memeory, can learn his faces on the first trial, if not from just looking at the intial faces displayed in a line*)

Thought for the day

He who can take no great interest in what is small will take false interest in what is great.

- John Ruskin

The end of the tale

Thought for the day

You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements.

- Norman Douglas

Autumn colours

Chopping down, pruning, washing down, wrapping up, putting inside, dividing, replanting, and planning for the future.

We're busy putting the garden to bed.

And planning to drastically alter The Coven. If we can ever find so-called professionals who actually understand the concept of professionalism...

How do some people manage to run small businesses when their standards, and ability to do what they say they'll do, when they say they'll do it, are so sloppy?

All I can say is, on the basis of what we've seen in the last couple of weeks, no wonder people fall over themselves to work with me, and recommend me. I must be one of a rare and dying breed. Someone who actually delivers what is agreed, when it is agreed, to the agreed price, and to a standard that meets or exceeds expectations, regardless of the personal cost. Which, of course, makes it impossible for me to understand why others can't manage it.

And, as Mr BW keeps telling me, it's going to get a whole lot worse before this project is finished...

Identity theft insurance is daylight robbery

Enclosed with this month's Morgan Stanly credit card statement (another one of my current 0% portfolio that save/gain us £500 a month) was something that made me very, very cross.

An offer for identity theft insurance - at a cost of £49.99 a year.

Apparently this has been available in the US for over 5 years, but this is the first time I've heard of it over here (but, Morgan Stanly are a US company, so that may explain its early entry into this market). It's so new that it doesn't even appear on their website.

Now, I'm always banging on about shredding all personal information (CBAtolookupthedetialsofmylastpostonthesubject), and am totally fanatical about destroying every last bit of anything that might give any clue to anyone about anything. I even remove addresses or just names on junk mail or mail-order catalogues before recycling them.

But, not everyone is as careful.

An article in the Guardian this week asserts that, "77% of bins in 10 south London streets contain at least one item sufficient to steal an identity." and this C4 news page states that, "By the end of the year, the UK's fraud prevention service Cifas estimates there will have been 135,000 reported incidents of identity theft in 2005 - compared with just 20,000 in 1999. Most of the victims are ordinary consumers. The spiralling crime is now thought to cost the UK at least £1.3 billion a year, but the true figure could be higher."

But, no matter how careful you are, it can still happen to you. Other information is out there... for example, I know of a lady whose dead husband's identity was stolen using information from his tombstone.

As far as I see it, credit card issuers and other financial institutions aren't making adequate checks to ensure that they are opening accounts for real people. They are just so keen to get accounts open to maximise their profits.

Banks bemoan the fact that people give away security information to trickster callers, but yet my own bank is always incredibly shirty when I refuse to talk to them when they call me out-of-the-blue, until I have verified their identity by calling them back on their usual number.

So - rather than improving their security procedures, and closing loopholes in their own systems, what do financial institutions do? Start selling identity theft insurance to make themselves even more profit! That, IMHO, is outrageous.

More info on identity theft as a growing problem here.

Witch Gogh

(I nearly called it Van Witch, which might have been more appropriate...)

Unfortunately a confusion over dates led to me having to work yesterday (dreadful, isn't it?), so I had to miss the art class. Instead, Good Friend BW and I decided to paint some of the mini-sunflowers still blooming away merrily in The Coven Grounds. Except that we didn't paint them in The Coven Grounds as it was raining, we painted them on Friend BW's kitchen table; and we didn't paint them yesterday as I was out, we painted them on Wednesday instead. Just to be clear.

I did the one on the left, then decided there was too much paint left on the palette to waste, so did the other one. So, no thought at all to composition.

Update: I didn't like how the image above appears on screen, without the detail in the original (I've seen better paintings of sunflowers from 8 year olds), so let's see if a portion looks better:

Unsolved cases

Well, you disappointed me.

Neither the identity of the tortoise abandoner nor the marrow adder was guessed yesterday, although both bloggers appeared in the comments...

Thought for the day

Desperate affairs require desperate remedies.

- Horatio Nelson

Whodunnits?

Following my Monday/Tuesday posts about Mr BW's childhood tortoise, a tale of truly shocking emotional neglect and abandonment has reached my in-box.

The blog world needs to know about this, in the interests of animal welfare. (Well, it probably doesn't, but it's going to anyway ;))

Which blogger do you think would cruelly abandon their faithful reptilian companion (pictured below)?

And, while on the subject of whodunnits, the true perpetrator/instigator of the marrow graffiti has confessed. And it wasn't who I thought it was...

You can guess who that was too, if you like.

And, later, I shall ask those accused if they'd like to say anything in their defence... and then, depending on the number of suspects, there might be a vote.

Who are the most suspected people in blogland?
You decide.

Thought for the day

Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

- Lewis Carroll

From cradle to grave

The media is a-buzz with stories of the new Work and Families Bill which includes increasing paid paternity leave from 2 weeks to to 3 months, with an entitlement to a further 3 months of unpaid leave.

What will this mean?

It will mean that companies, particularly small companies, will be loath to employ people who are of a likely age to reproduce.

A brilliant way of the Government solving the problem of people needing to work until they are 70 to avert the pensions crisis (of their own making), but firms not currently wishing to employ older people.

And, on a related note, I've always said that employers get much better Value from professional women without children.

Thought for the day

Our energy is in proportion to the resistance it meets. We attempt nothing great but from a sense of the difficulties we have to encounter; we persevere in nothing great but from a pride in overcoming them.

- William Hazlitt

The answer to yesterday's "Guess What?"

Well done to GoodTwin, who correctly identified it as a portion of tortoise head. Probably a delicacy in some land somewhere... (more info at the foot of the comments box under the original image)

Thought for the day

"...bloggers publishing books of their work is a ridiculous defeat of their point."

- Vaughan

*we interrupt today's 'Guess What?' feature to warn those responsible for something round here that I've just noticed, that others may or may not have noticed, that there will be spells* :)

Guess what?

Thought for the day

Autumn

Strange week weather wise here - gloriously sunny and 24 degrees Monday and Tuesday, rained warm rain all day on Wednesday and Thursday, grey but warm on Friday, sunny and nearly 27 degrees yesterday, and almost white dewy grass this morning.

We reckon that the garden is about 3 weeks behind where it normally is this time of year. The summer tubs and pots are still doing so well that we can't bring ourselves to compost them. By now we usually have all our winter bulbs and pansies planted.

This is the tree/shrub that was meant to be that we saw last Autumn in a NT garden. It isn't, but it's still very pretty right now.

The Tale of The Witch and The Marrow

Once upon a time there was a Witch, who lived in the country. The Witch didn't like going out much, because lots of things often annoyed her when she did, particularly crowds of people, inconsiderate behaviour, and bad driving.

Now, this Witch was generally a good Witch, with a penchant for being arty and creative. The Witch had a Good Friend, who encouraged her to improve her artiness by going to a weekly art class in Small Local Town.

One grey and rainy Autumn day, the Witch and her Good Friend had spent the afternoon at their art class, painting pictures of artefacts connected to a 'Harvest' theme. The Witch had painted a marrow and a patty pan, and the Good Friend had painted some mushrooms.

After the class they were standing talking, in the 60-space small car park by the hall where the class was held, when a Boy Racer in a large vehicle with blacked-out windows, go faster stripes, lots of extra lights, wheels that were hugely out-of-proportion with his vehicle, and jacked-up suspension, decided to see how quickly he could get round the tight corners in the car park, and how much of his lorry-sized tyres he could leave on the surface of the car park.

As he screeched off in his Tank, Boy Racer nearly knocked over a lady walking across the car park with her shopping, and she shouted at him to slow down. This made him go even faster, and, because he hadn't got any driving experience, let alone enough to permit him to take a hand off the steering wheel to make aggressive rude signs at the poor nearly-knocked over lady, he narrowly missed the Witch's car, which was parked on the end of a row, some 20 feet from where the Witch and her Good Friend were standing, in the car park road behind the Good Friend's car, talking after their art class. Well, it wasn't actually the Witch's car, as her real car was in the garage that day, but it was still a car for which the Witch was responsible.

As the Boy Racer screeched round the corner near where the Witch and her Good Friend were standing, the Witch shouted out, at the top of her very loud voice, "Oi, slow down you idiot, you're going to kill somebody!" The Boy Racer then drove straight at the Witch and her Good Friend, knocking the Witch's large art box over, and sending the marrow and patty pan that the Witch had been painting rolling across the car park.

It was only a quick spell, and a heck of a lot of luck, that stopped the Boy Racer's Tank ploughing right into the Witch and her Good Friend, and maiming, if not killing, them.

Now, when the Witch was a young Witch, a very close friend of hers had been killed by another, drunk, boy racer, and since that time she had been on a mission to make all boy racers aware of the error of their ways.

The blacked-out passenger side window of Boy Racer's Tank came to a rest against the Witch's shoulder, and the Witch, shocked and incensed, banged on the window and told the Boy Racer that he was a maniac.

The Boy Racer jumped out, nearly tripping over the Witch's Marrow, which had rolled under the Boy Racer's Tank. He ran round the front of his car and started shouting obscenities at the Witch.

The Witch was shocked, as, although she was a Witch of the World, she had never heard that many rude words strung together consecutively. However, the Witch happened to be an expert in dealing with naughty boys, and she let Boy Racer rant on at her, without responding, for maybe a minute, before saying, very loudly, but very clamly, "You are a total moron. You have just nearly killed me and my friend. You don't look old enough to have passed your driving test, but if you have, you're certainly not responsible enough to be let loose behind the wheel of a vehicle."

The Boy Racer then moved towards the Witch and spat right in her face. As he did, she noticed the 8 piercings in each of his ears, the eyebrow piercing, the nose piercing and the three tongue piercings. She also noticed that although he was a good 2 inches taller than her, he was only about 8 stone and had on very tight jeans and a bomber jacket with a collar that she could grab hold of, meaning that serious and painful damage could easily be inflicted, as taught to the Witch in previous self-defence classes she'd attended. "Do grow up!" said the Witch to the Boy Racer.

The Witch was about to render Boy Racer permanently incapable of producing any more of his kind (which would have been A Good Thing in its own right), when a loud female voice, with a strong Geordie accent came from behind her. "What would you do if someone spat in your mother's face?" "I'd fuckin' kill 'em!" shouted Boy Racer. "Well then, why do you think you have the right to spit in this lady's face?" she said. He was then treated to an onslaught of words from said lady that bettered even his own. Boy Racer went beserk, and headed towards that lady, hurling verbal abuse of the kind he'd previously hurled at the Witch.

At that moment, Geordie Husband of Geordie Lady miraculously appeared from behind Boy Racer. "You speak to my wife like that laddy, and you're dealin' with me!" Boy Racer turned round, fists up, and stopped in his tracks. Geordie Husband, although grey haired and nearing retirement age, was built like a proverbial shit house. Ooops, oh dear, you're not supposed to have those in fairy stories, are you?

Anyway, during the distraction, the Witch and her Good Friend had picked up the knocked over art box and retrieved the Witch's marrow from under the Boy Racer's Tank.

5 or 6 other people in the vicinity had run to see if they could help the Witch and her Geordie rescuers, and, presumably realising the futility of his position, Boy Racer started retreating back towards his Tank.

He then saw the Witch, with the marrow she'd just retrieved, in her hand. He must have thought that the Witch was going to hit him with the marrow, and he looked very, very scared indeed. He glanced around nervously, and seeing the gathered supporters, pointed to some dents in the wing of his Tank that had already been there, and started going beserk again, saying that the Witch had done them with her marrow, and that he was calling the police.

The Witch went into 'coping' mode as she always does at such times, and, ignoring Boy Racer's tantrum, produced a pad of paper. She calmly started taking down names, addresses, and registration numbers of the supporters, and a brief summary of exactly what they'd seen of what had happened.

Meanwhile, the Witch's Good Friend was listening to what the Boy Racer was saying on his phone. "Get yer arse round 'ere pronto and say you saw this mad cow 'ittin me mowta wiv 'er marrer!" was his first call. "Yer, police - I'm inna car park being attacked by a mad cow with a marrer, she's bashing up me mowta, she's gone nutty!"

The Witch was not prepared to call 999 herself, as she did not feel the situation warranted it (she had felt confident that she could physically take on Boy Racer on her own, and now there were a crowd of willing supporters). Having sneakily taken a picture of Boy Racer using the telephoto lens on the camera which is always in her bag, the Witch told her Good Friend to get into her own car, which was blocked in by Boy Racer's Tank, and lock the door. The Witch then got in her borrowed car and made a getaway in the direction of the police station.

Pushing to the front of the queue, the Witch yelled, "There's a rough young man being abusive and threatening in the car park round the corner, and he has my 71 year old friend trapped inside her car - I'm scared for her safety, you need to get there quickly!" The police sergeant at the desk assured the Witch that a patrol had already been dispatched, and that the officer attending would sort it all out. "But you don't understand!" stuttered the Witch, "it all started because I shouted at him for driving like a maniac, nearly killing a lady and damaging my car, and he drove straight at me and my friend, then he spat in my face and was generally abusive and threatening to me and others, and he's now accused me of making dents in his car with the marrow I've been painting in art!"

"Ah, right, so you're making a complaint of assault for the spitting and swearing?" "No, no," said the Witch, who had long professional experience of the youth offending system, and knew that there was absolutely no point in needlessly taking up everyone's time as the CPS would decide there was insufficient evidence to take the case to court anyway. "But, I do want you to come outside with me and look at my marrow so you can see it's still in one piece, and couldn't possibly have been used as a weapon, because I do know how stupid these things can get!"

Very reluctantly, the sergeant accompanied the Witch outside, and listened while she recounted a fuller version of the story, showed him her marrow, and her page of supporting evidence. Part-way through this, he got a call on his radio from the woman PC attending. He listened intently, then said, "Yes, she's a nice lady, seems very sensible, if rather shocked, and I can confirm the marrow is a nice large, healthy, green marrow, and that it looks exactly as it does in the nice lady's painting. Can't possibly have been used for any other improper purpose." He supressed a snigger.

"Go home love," he said to the Witch, "and don't worry, we'll sort it out, we know the young man in question well."

Several hours later, the Witch received a telephone call from the woman PC who'd attended. She was very pleasant, and concerned about the Witch. She told the Witch that Boy Racer had gone away with his tail between his legs, and admitted he had lied about the marrow. The humiliation of three women in one day standing up to him had been just too much for him. She said that Boy Racer, although only 17, had a long record of offences, but agreed with the Witch's stance that there was no point in pursuing this incident. "Couldn't you charge him with wasting police time?" the Witch asked. "Same reasoning for no," she said.

So - sadly there's no happy ending to this fairy true tale. Except to say that it was good to see people rushing to help the Witch and her Good Friend, rather than looking the other way.

And would the Witch do the same in similar circumstances in future? You bet she would. And she'll be doing spells. And eating the marrow for tea.

Art Class 2005: Session 5

Continuing the countdown to the marrow story...

(I'd suggest you start here and read up if you've not visited already today)

And so, we reach the famous marrow.

Or maybe that's infamous marrow?

This was its portrait.

New Art Tutor made me do the background purple btw. It wouldn't have been my choice, but she has a mission to make me less conservative, she said.

The after-story will be coming soon...

Art Class 2005/6: Session 4

Continuing the countdown to the marrow story...

(I'd suggest you start here and read up if you've not visited already today)

The first session with New New Art Tutor was completely different from any of Original Art Tutor's, or New Art Tutor's sessions (now, if you haven't read the story from the beginning, as I suggested above, you're going to be mightily confused right now, so either don't let it worry you, or start here and work your way back up).

For a start, she had carefully set-up staged still life compositions, inside vividly coloured screens, with clever lighting to make interesting shadows. Then she had her own boxes of more art materials than I'd ever seen in one place (other than a large specialist shop) spread around, which she encouraged people to try out. And she was fun.

"Today you're allowed 2 colours only. And you're going to play with them, making sure that the shadows are the most prominent part of whatever you do."

"Erm - I'm new here, that sounds a bit complicated, can I do that exercise in just one colour, please?" I asked. "No, just get on with it, surprise yourself!" she replied with a big smile. 10 minutes later I was still fiddling about drawing light guidelines with a pencil. I hadn't even chosen my colours.

She noticed and descended good-humouredly. "Oh for goodness sake, give me that pencil, and, hmmm, no paints out, OK, as a penance, you can use these..." She peered into my box of tubes of watercolour, selected 2 colours, and squidged out an inch of each.

I'd been thinking about maybe raw sienna and indian red - warm beige-y and terracotta-y - two colours that could quite easily be mixed and diluted to make a nice even continuum of colour that I could use to produce something muted and to my taste.
I was horrified to see her squidge out an inch of opera (a bright, deep magenta colour) and an inch of prussian blue (a dark blue). "Right now, quick, quick, loads of water, don't think about it, stop fussing about details, and remember, the shadows MUST be the most prominent part..."

She's cruel, but she's damn good at knowing where people need to develop. I learnt a lot from that session (oh, and the shadow on the extreme left is that funny shape because it was going up the vertical surrounding screen).

Art Class 2005/6: Session 3

Continuing the countdown to the marrow story...

(I'd suggest you start here and read up if you've not visited already today)

This one is much smaller than normal, because it's very, very bad.

In fact, it's so bad that I'm not sure why it still exists, let alone why I'm posting it here. Except that, 13 months ago when I started this series, I did say I'd post everything I did, and I'm a Witch of my word (by the way, the whole series is accessible from the sidebar - just above the archives - in case anyone's interested and hasn't noticed).

I was trying to produce a watercolour from a photo of a beach we'd visited on holiday similar to this beach, but not that beach (ah yes, that reminds me, The Fridges of Kefalonia Calendar... more coming soon ;))

Anyway, the photo I'd picked to paint had no shadow, and I'd put on the first few layers of wash and colour, but wasn't managing to get any depth or perception of height into it. So, I asked New Art Tutor for assistance.

"Hmmm," she said, "that's really difficult that is, I'm not really sure how you'd do that... wouldn't you rather paint something else? Go and have a look in my file of pictures and find something you'd like." "I quite like my beach, really, I just need some advice on how to develop it!" I said. And with that, she shrugged and walked off and ignored me and Good Friend BW for the rest of the session.

In retrospect, we could see that last week's 'charcoal episode' had been the beginning of the end, and this was the final straw. It dawned on us that New Art Tutor was an imposter. Not a proper art tutor at all.

Straight after the session, Good Friend BW and I went to see the centre administrator and arranged to transfer into a Thursday afternoon class, run by an experienced art teacher, with a zany sense of humour, with whom I'd done an inspiring workshop day in the summer. Thursday afternoon suits us less well than Tuesday morning, and the class is only watercolour, whereas the other one was mixed media, but at least the tutor knows more than us!!!

She has loads of imagination and a real "throw it on, loads of water, let's see some bright colour, experiment, be bold!" attitude. Which is exactly what we need.

Art Class 2005/6: Session 2

Before we can get round to the exciting tale of BW takes on a dangerous driver, in a car park, (allegedly) with a marrow drawn in art (trailer 2 posts down), I first have to bore you play catch up with the results from the art sessions I've managed to get to this term.

This was session 2, sometime back at the beginning of September.

"Utensils" - charcoal on grey pastel paper. A2 size.

You may remember that New Art Tutor (last year's excellent tutor unfortuantely decided to cut her teaching commitments) had been told we were all beginners.

Well, I scribbled this out, but wasn't very happy with the handles on the salad servers on the left. So I asked New Tutor for some help, and planned to draw them again as a separate, large, creation. She looked at what I'd done and said, "No it's fine, really - better than I could do anyway!" "No need to be modest!" I said, thinking she was joking, and handed her a piece of paper and my stick of charcoal, hoping she'd demonstrate a better way of doing it.

Only to find that she wasn't joking.

Good Friend BW and I were a little perturbed, but decided that maybe charcoal wasn't her thing, and, after all, she was very nice. As I shall show you later (I need to get some work done, so will make posting further Art Class instalments, in countdown to yesterday's marrow story, contingent on completing pages of report) it wasn't the only medium that wasn't her thing. Which probably wouldn't have mattered, except that we weren't the beginners she'd been told...

Thought for the day

Every man, wherever he goes, is encompassed by a cloud of comforting convictions, which move with him like flies on a summer day.

- Bertrand Russell

Coming tomorrow...

... the thrilling tale of the overgrown courgette!

Painted by BW in art class, then the major evidence in a case of BW v mad hooligan youth maniac driver.

Spoiler: BW says to police sergeant: "I'm not leaving here until you come and look at my marrow!"

New broom

I did 170,000 miles in my last broom (a Peuegeot 205 1.9 diesel), before selling it,at the age of 13, for £575, to a young lad who managed to get nicked for speeding the first week he had it (I know, the summons got sent to me as the DVLA hadn't had time to process the transfer of ownership form).

I was devastated when Peugeot discontinued the 205s as, in my opinion, they are the best small car ever made, and I was planning to drive them forever. But, after test-driving a 2 litre turbo diesel 206 in sports trim, I felt a little better. Not least because it was in the most environmentally friendly group of cars in terms of emissions, and promised 50+ mpg.

So we bought one. In BW Blue. It lasted 30 weeks before the engine burst into flames while it was stuck in a large puddle (long story involving a flash flood, a selfish idiot in a 4WD, and some hunky firemen).

But, despite the trauma, I loved its styling, the quiet, confident way it cruised on motorways, its oodles of mid-range grunt (more than enough to out-run any wannabee boy racers and white van men, of whom there are plenty round here), and the way it stuck to the road like glue.

So, a few insurance issues sorted, a new replacement was procured, this time in a darker blue. And it's served us well. Apart from niggles with a warning light coming on every time it goes through a puddle (of which there are lots in the lanes around The Coven) due to a ridiculously low air intake pipe, the fact that the front seat frequently fails to lock into position properly, so causing dangerously high-velocity movements at inopportune moments, and the alarming rate at which it gets through front discs and brake pads (which I don't think is entirely due to the way I drive as it never happened on the old 205).

I have a very low opinion of the service of all of the 3 Peugeot dealerships local to here. They have a disgraceful attitude to customers, their work is of a very poor quality and extremely expensive, and they never managed to do everything I asked - even when I provided them with a written list - or keep to the time-scale they promised. But, I've been happier since I've been able to take the car to my trusty independent mechanic who I've been using (when I've had cars outside dealer-specified warranty) since he started up back in 1991.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, 5 years down the line, Mr BW decided that we had to think about getting a new broom, because he is required to have a vehicle less than 4 years old to meet the conditions of the company car allowance he receives. Whilst he can usually travel the 9.4 miles to work in his smaller broom, he needs access to a larger, smarter, broom on days when he needs to venture from the office.

Over the summer we've been looking around but found nothing that met my criteria, that Mr BW, being 6'3" could fit into. My criteria are simple:

• Diesel
• Power
• Environmental friendliness
• Air con and power steering
• Small, with excellent visibility
• Good Value for money
• Blue
• Not made by Ford

Mr BW tried, and failed, to convince me that a Mini Cooper S was the car to have (for starters, it failed on 2 of my 8 criteria, and the tarty saleswoman in the dealership was clearly flashing her silicone-enhanced tits and fluttering her eyelashes at Mr BW provactively, as no doubt she'd been trained to do, which pissed me off). Then we heard about the new Renault Clio (crap website though), that launches tomorrow.

This includes a sporty diesel with 106bhp (that's 16 horses more than from my current nippy 2.0 litre broom, and a 0-60 time of less than 11 seconds) while only having a 1.5 engine (albeit 6 speed). Together with fuel economy of 61.4mpg overall and 70+mpg at 56mph, and a 5-star Euro NCAP safety rating.

Having registered an interest, we've been innundated with marketing bumf (some of it appalling quality and all of it an unnecessary use of trees and printing ink). A couple of weeks ago, Mr BW booked a test drive for tomorrow's lauch evening.

Since then I've just about convinced him that we don't need a new car, unless anyone at work says anything, in which case, I'll buy a cheap personal plate so the age of the broom isn't obvious (note to those outside the UK - you can tell the age of a car over here from the letters/numbers on its licence plate).

Besides, I have recently come up with other plans for surplus BW funds :)

I took the current broom into Trusty Mechanic's for its annual service and MOT this morning.

"I know it's a self-adjusting clutch, but could you see if there's anything you can do about the problems I'm having getting it into reverse sometimes, especially when it's cold?" I asked. "No problem, Mrs BW, it probably just needs the gearbox oil changing. We'll have a look at it and I'll give you a ring and let you know later."

Mechanic BW has just rung.

"Um, Mrs BW, we've drained a bit of the oil and it's fine, doesn't need changing. And it's not the clutch. It's the gearbox. While it's fine for the moment, if you can put up with the occasional sticky reverse, it will need rebuilding at some point in the not-too-distant future."

"But it's only done 53,000 miles!" I wailed.

"It's the third one of these we've seen where the gearbox has failed at around 50,000. The last one we sent off for a rebuild cost just over £700, before the labour costs for taking it out and putting it back in - you may want to think about whether you want to keep this car, before it becomes more obvious..."

A quick Google - and yes, others have also had this premature gearbox wear problem. Hmmm. Unimpressive Peugeot.

I think that Mr BW must have been peeping in my spell book...

Ah yes, now I come to look, it is rather creased on the "Spells to make your partner agree to purchase a new car" page...

Thought for the day

Many people who have gold in the house are looking for copper outside.

- Russian Proverb

It wasn't all fridges...

Driving along minding our own business, to misquote The Stranglers, we spied some more Kefalonian fridges overboard.

Turning around from our eager picture snapping, we spied something even odder.

"Oh shit," I thought, "that's another gone-wrong spell."

But, what was it?

The hidden secrets of credit cards

Because the Fridges of Kefalonia 2006 Calendar may not be to everyone's taste (*sniggers*), I shall put that aside for now and attempt instead to appeal to another minority audience segment. The stoozers of the world (and I know that there are at least 3 of you out there).

I'm a bit upset at the moment because I currently have nearly £3K of mortgage that isn't covered by 0% balance transfer deals. So living at The Coven is costing us about £14 a month. Which annoys me. I know that for most people, the idea of a £14 a month bill for their accommodation would seem like a dream, but I'm BW, and I don't do interest.

Anyway, the situation will be rectified in a couple of weeks when the Egg Anniversary 0% offer kicks in, when I shall once again have an excess of money over outstanding mortgage to stash in a savings account earning me 5% while it's being lent to me for nothing. Well someone other than the bank bosses and shareholders should benefit from the outrageously high interest paid by those who fail to live by their grandmother's maxim, "Cut your coat according to your cloth," surely? :) (and if it's you subsidising our lifestyle, thanks, but do rethink your finances and adjust your priorities so that your expenditure is less than your income, please).

Looking around recently for a 0% card I'd not had before - and there are over 1,300 differently branded credit cards available in the UK - I stumbled upon a very useful list of which company issues which cards. It may surprise you, but the majority of affinity (branded) cards in the UK are issued by just 6 companies - Co-operative Bank, HBOS, HSBC, Lloyds TSB, and MBNA.

There are several reasons that this list is useful.

1. You generally can't juggle 0% balances between different cards issued by the same company.

2. If you have a good previous credit record with a company, chances are they will give you a good credit limit on another card issued by them.

3. It's not a good idea to apply for too many 0% deals with the same issuing company at the same time, because they are more likely to turn you down.

So - here's the list - happy stoozing!!

Co-operative Bank:

Action Aid
Amnesty International
Barnardo's
Children's Society
Christian Aid
Greenpeace
Help The Aged
Labour Party
Liberal Democrats
Medical Foundation
Mothers' Union
National Association of Head Teachers
Northern Rock
Oxfam
Ramblers Association
RSPB
Save The Children
Smile
Stroud & Swindon BS
Tearfund
Terrence Higgins Trust
Vegetarian Society

HBOS:

Bank of Scotland
Battersea Dogs' Home
Birmingham Midshires
Britannia BS
British Red Cross
Cancer Research UK
Carphone Warehouse
ChryslerCard
Great Ormond Street Hospital
Halifax
Harley-Davidson
Intelligent Finance
JeepCard
Lawn Tennis Association
Little Black Card
Macmillan Cancer Relief
Marie Curie
Mencap
MercedesCard
National Canine Defence League
National Childbirth Trust
National Union of Teachers
NSPCC
Premier Rugby
Royal Horticultural Society
Royal National Institute for the Deaf
Sainsbury's Bank
The AA
TUC
UNISON
Welsh Rugby Union
Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society
Youth Hostels Association

HSBC:

Artscard
Beatties
Beneficial Bank
Cambridge University
English Heritage
First Direct
Furness BS
GM Card
Hamilton Direct Bank
HFC Bank
Household Bank
Institute of Directors
John Lewis and Waitrose
Kennel Club
Marbles
Marks & Spencer FS
Morrisons
National Counties BS
Open University
PC World
RSPCA
United Airlines
Wanadoo
Welsh

Lloyds TSB:

Accucard
Create Card
easyMoney
Goldfish
More Th>n
Scottish Widows

MBNA:

Abbey
Alliance & Leicester
AOL
Bmi
Breakthrough Breast Cancer
British Heart Foundation
Chelsea FC, Liverpool FC, Manchester United FC (and 28 other football clubs)
Cheshire BS
ChildLine
Classic FM
Conran
England Rugby
Golf Card
Homebase
Manufacturing, Science & Finance Union
Melton Mowbray BS
Motorcard
National Geographic
National Farmers' Union
PCA Cricket Card
RAC
Red Ribbon
Rotary International
Ryanair.com
Scout Association
Ski Club of GB
SonyCard
Star Trek
Thomas Cook
Toys 'R' Us
UNICEF
Virgin Money
WWF

The other, smaller, issuers are:

National Australia Bank Group:

Clydesdale Bank
Yorkshire Bank

Royal Bank of Scotland:

AAdvantage
Airmiles
Coutts & Co.
Direct Line
Lifeboats
Lombard Direct
MINT
NatWest
Shell
Tesco Personal Finance
Ulster Bank (NI)
Woodland Trust

Of other popular brands:

ASDA is GE Capital Bank
British Airways is American Express
Bristol & West is Bank of Ireland
Comic Relief is Nationwide BS
Caravan Club, CSMA and SAGA are Liverpool Victoria
First Trust Bank (NI) is Allied Irish Bank
Leeds & Holbeck BS is Morgan Stanley
Woolwich is Barclays

Thought for the day

If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path.

- Buddhist saying

2006 Kefalonia Calendar: The Alternative Views

April 2006:

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
--- --- --- --- --- 01 02
03 04 05 06 07 08 09
10 11 12 13 14 15 16
17 18 19 20 21 22 23
24 25 26 27 28 29 30

An ongoing series portraying large-scale environmental vandalism within the EU - that begins here.

So, here is The Official Tip, where all those fridges should be taken by the thoughtless Greek islanders, who are very keen to take the tourist Euro, but much less keen to invest a little of it in their future.

It's a pretty isolated, totally unenclosed and unmanned area, and it seemed to contain only marginally more scrap than that on view from the edge of most roads. As Mr BW mentioned in the comments to the 'March' picture, "There were no fences, so even if there were theoretical charges for disposal there would have been nothing to stop one of these fly tippers fly tipping at the dump. Reality is they could not be arsed to drive another 10 miles to the dump."

So, the people are lazy. But, people drop litter the world over (not near me if they have any sense, but that's another story for another time). But in other places there are official policies for doing something about it.

Greece has been in the EU since 1981. They know the rules. They are not a poor country. They're just sticking their fingers up to the rest of the world by allowing this sort of thing to go on.

2006 Kefalonia Calendar: The Alternative Views

March 2006:

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
--- --- 01 02 03 04 05
06 07 08 09 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28

If you're mystified by what's going on here.... start reading here, and scroll back up.

And so we arrive at March. A quarter of the way through the year, but, sadly, not a quarter of the way through our pictures of unloved and unrecycled fridges that literally litter the sides of practically every remote road in Kefalonia (and some main roads too).

I'm heartened by comments suggesting that others amongst my readers feel as incensed about this unchecked crime as we were.

But, realistically, what can be done to make the Greek government do something about it? (and, as I suspect the visible signs of poor waste management are just the tip of a huge iceberg of poor policy, planning and action, personally I'd like to see all EU money given to Greece stopped until they have cleaned up their act, but I can't imagine that is a possibility...)

Thought for the day

Technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards.

- Aldous Huxley

2006 Kefalonia Calendar: The Alternative Views

February 2006:

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
--- --- 01 02 03 04 05
06 07 08 09 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28

Another glorious dumped fridge, littering the landscape.

So, in response to comments under January below, let's just suppose that the locals on Kefalonia (Cephalonia, Kefallonia - let's get all the different spellings in, so that Google helps the world wanting to research 2006 calendars get the true picture) can't afford to pay the disposal fee for their dead refrigeration equipment, so instead dump it from the side of the road in beautiful, yet isolated, spots (this leaves aside the question of whether they have disposal fees, or indeed dumps to properly dispose of ex-fridges - other pictures I have suggest not, to either question).

Anyway, supposing that dumping is a given, why don't the government clean up the mess? And think creatively about how to stop it continuing to happen? It's a rich island, with plenty of affluent holidaymakers, and a growing number of second home owners, from the Greek mainland, Italy and the UK.

There really is no excuse for this type of environmental vandalism.

2006 Kefalonia Calendar: The Alternative Views

January 2006:

Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa
01 02 03 04 05 06 07
08 09 10 11 12 13 14
15 16 17 18 19 20 21
22 23 24 25 26 27 28
29 30 31

I think that this was the first dumped fridge we saw.

The first of many.

Yes, this is to be the sort of calendar that the Greek Government wouldn't like the rest of the world to see.

But, the sort of calendar that shows the grim reality of the complete lack of respect for the environment being shown by the residents on many Greek Islands.

A tough new European Directive on environmentally appropriate disposal of fridges and freezers came into force in January 2002. Complying with it has cost local councils (ie you and me) many thousands of pounds in this country.

Do the EU bods not visit Greece, or do they turn a blind eye? They're quick enough to poke their noses into matters of minor and inconsequential importance in this country, so why are Greeks allowed to get away with dumping CFC-laden old fridges indiscriminately around the countryside?

Fridges February to December will follow...

Thought for the day

Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe.

H.G. Wells

Sunday, and before

The less I post, the less I feel I want to post... Somehow the momentum disappears and it becomes more difficult to sift through things that have happened to find anything that I think anyone might consider even remotely interesting...

Have any other once-very-regular bloggers, thwarted by circumstance, rather than conscious decision to reduce blogging, found this?

In the past few days I have:

(a) Discovered why M&S have the business problems they do (they have until Wednesday to resolve that one to my satisfaction, or the world finds out... so, watch this space on Wednesday ;))

(b) Wondered why, given the choice of absolutely anything to eat on Saturday evening, I chose half a boiled cauliflower.

(c) Been concerned that global warming has moved the seasons on 3 weeks since 2002, according to my 5 Year Gardener's Diary. The Coven Grounds are looking as they did in mid-September in 2002. And it was 22.6 degrees at 4.45pm.

As it's been a while since we had a BW Special Story (and because I know he loves them, and he kindly provided Mr BW with his favourite snack for the weekend - clue: not boiled cauliflower), here's one from a couple of weeks ago.

Scene: Large Local Town Hospital car park entrance road (with 10mph speed limit), 7.50am, weekday morning. Sun just rising, very bright on the horizon. The only people around are hospital workers, scurrying like ants into work.

BW, having had very little sleep, is crossing the road, on foot, on her way into the hospital to meet up with Mr BW, who has spent the night sleeping on the floor, to have a discussion on 'life and the universe' with a Macmillan Nurse and a Junior Doctor, so is somewhat preoccupied.

Speeding Black Mercedes: HOOT! HOOT! HOOOOOOOOOOT! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

BW: *Stops in middle of road, effectively blocking road. Turns to face Speeding Black Mercedes, causing it to stop abruptly*

Driver of Black Mercedes: *Jumps out of car angrily*

BW: *Places hands on hips in defiant gesture*

Driver of Black Mercedes: DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

BW: *Pauses for effect. Raises eyebrows, very slowly* Some jumped up minor consultant with an over-inflated ego, an unrealistic sense of his own importance, and a misguided belief that he has a divine right to drive faster than the speed limit, so ENDANGERING PEDESTRIANS?

Driver of Black Mercedes: *Says nothing. Sheepishly gets back into car*

BW: *Continues to stand in road for a good 10 seconds, staring at Driver of Black Mercedes, shaking head sadly, before very slowly mouthing to him a word very rarely muttered by BW (6 letters, 2 syllables, 2 vowels), and continuing trek into the hospital*

On recounting this to Mr BW, he immediately deduced, "Driver of Black Mercedes obviously thought you were a nurse," which, I'm afraid, just made me even angrier. Had I realised that was where Speeding Doctor's question had come from, he'd have got a different response. That you'll have to imagine...

And relax

All went off well yesterday; and thank you again for all your thoughts and messages of support. It definitely makes a huge difference that people were asked not to wear black. Not least because it meant I could wear BW Blue :)

I always feel that it's sad that you never really know how loved and respected someone is until they're gone. The large chapel at the crematorium was absolutely full, with people standing outside (that's 70 plus probably 20 or so), and Mr BW's mother had received 106 sympathy cards as of yesterday afternoon. Incredible. Maybe Mr BW will want to write some more about it.

The Friday picture is one of the near-deserted Greek Island beaches we visited recently. We also have a series of other interesting shots of the trip. Let's say they'll make a very novel calendar.

Firstly though, you do have to guess what they are...

Thought for the day

The greatest sin is to be unconscious.

- Carl Gustav Jung

Thought for today

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

- Max Ehrman

That one is for Mr BW's Dad, whose life we're celebrating today, because he liked it particularly, so it will be read to those who gather later this morning.

And that was the early morning view from just opposite the friend's newly-built villa on a Greek Island where we stayed a few weeks back. Weirdly prophetic...

You are what you eat?

I studied for my PGCE (teaching qualification for graduates, for the non-educationalists/foreigners among you) in Cambridge, and my second teaching practice was in a school in what was then a SPA (social priority area). It was a scruffy, graffiti-covered, tired and uninspiring building, in the middle of a scruffier inner city council estate, where 80% of the children qualified for free school meals, and serial unemployment, between bouts of low-paid slavery, or time in prison, was the norm.

In those happy pre-National Curriculum days, when teachers were expected to be creative, and allowed to teach to, and from, their pupils' interests, we were encouraged to base what we taught during our 6 weeks in the school around a topic about which we were knowledgeable. At that time I was spending my free time and holidays in the west country, in the heart of a farming community, so had free access to lots of lovely visual aids and real-life artefacts. Animals and food were the things I thought would most appeal to 8 and 9 year old children, so I chose food production as my project base.

I had loads of lovely ideas for exciting activities in every curriculum area, and loads of enthusiasm.

First lesson, first morning.

"Where does milk come from?" I asked. "A carton, Miss!" came the reply. Really, it did. Wrong question. Ooops. I wasn't daft enough to dig that hole deeper by asking them where cartons came from, because I'd undoubtedly have been told, "A shop!"

I changed tack. "Which animal produces the milk we drink?" There was a long pause, then one brave soul put up her hand. I can still picture the little blonde girl with high bunches, tied with dark green ribbons, who said, hesitantly, "Sheep, Miss?" There was no laughter, because none of the other children knew the answer either.

I guess that was the first time I really realised that knowledge was not general. I was just 22.

I came from a reasonably affluent background where there were newspapers and books, games, trips to libraries, outings to interesting places, and holidays in the country. Where grown ups talked to children, and encouraged them to think, question, experiment and challenge. Where a lot of the food we ate was produced by my father on his allotment.

It had just never occured to me that some people would have no idea about where food came from, other than that it came from the shop where they bought it.

On holiday in Mauritius a few years ago, I was taken aback by some tiny green areas of intensive cultivation and irrigation on otherwise dry and dusty desert-like plots of land attached to shanty-type dwellings. This was where green beans were being grown for export to Europe. It was hard to equate those poverty-stricken, small-scale, subsistence-level, home-producers to the identical, cellophane wrapped, neatly labelled, packages on the shelf in Sainsbury's.

A couple of years ago, at a coffee morning to promote awareness of Fairtrade products, I saw a video of banana production. Traditional versus Fairtrade production and buying/export practices were detailed.

I was shocked and horrified by the exploitation exposed. And shocked and horrified by my own lack of awareness and knowledge of what is now going on in our food supply chain.

Now to my point!

I would suggest that food production has now got to the stage where the vast majority of people are as clueless about how, where, and by whom, their food is produced, as my class of 8 year olds, back in 1984, were about where milk came from.

I don't trust supermarkets.
I don't trust large food manufacturers and processors.

They are greedy, profit-driven conglomerates, whose every action and decision is driven by the holy balance sheet. A few give more of an appearance of caring about their staff, or the ethics of their trading practices, or how the goods on the shelves are produced.

But, the fact remains: producers are being driven to more and more radical and unnatural methods of food production to meet ever-increasing consumer-demand and expectation. Consumers don't understand seasonal produce any more, so producers have to find ways to beat the seasons to supply demand.

For instance, are you aware of Almeria, a 135 square mile area in Spain where tomatoes and other vegetables are grown, all year round, under vast areas of plastic greenhouses, in a soil-free, chemically-fed, pesticide-full environment (up to 40kg of pesticide are applied per hectare)? This development has sprung up in an unplanned and uncontrolled way, causing massive environmental damage, blocking up dry riverbeds and destroying mountainsides. And guess what? Much of it subsidised by the EU!

Tesco, Waitrose and Sainsbury are known to be sourcing salads and vegetables from there.

Read the full story. (via)

I'm glad that we grow a lot of our own food, organically.

And doubly glad that we don't eat ready meals, or eat out very much - because there's only one thing you can be sure of - that the ingredients in such food will have been sourced as cheaply as possible.

'Cheap' generally equals unnaturally mass-produced. Chemical levels and pesticide levels permissible in foodstuffs are controlled. But, as the article linked above says, "Something may have 10 chemical substances in it that are all at legal levels, but what does the mixture mean? Why not measure the combined effect of the cocktail?"

We're storing up problems for the future.

Thought for the day

I do not seek, I find.

- Pablo Picasso

Signs of ageing

I am dreadful at remembering which stars of TV shows - particularly those of 'proper comedy' (ie 1970s and 1980s series) - are alive or dead. I drive Mr BW to distraction with my constant questions while he's trying to watch programmes.

But, at last, at least for one person I'm never sure about, I have a peg to hang things on!

Ronnie Barker has just died, exactly one week after Mr BW's father. And he was one year older, so it's a nice logical, easily recallable, pattern.

Memory pegs. They're all one needs as one ages.

And his best role? Fletcher in Porridge. Definitely. I saw them all the first time around. And I wonder how many times since?

Comedy genius. And not a swearword in sight. Them was the days.

Thought for the day

Being incapable of conjugating the verb to be, we conjugate instead the verb to have. But as the verb to have can lead us nowhere, for nothing lasting can be acquired, we seek indefinitely to have more. Such is the source of our enslavement.

- Robert Linssen

Thought for the day

Anyone can do any amount of work provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment.

Robert Benchley

Catch-up time

Thank you from both of us BWs to all those of you who left a comment or sent an email in response to my previous post. Your thoughts are much appreciated.

We've another 4 days in that limbo-land between death and funeral, but, with our usual thoroughness and precision, everything that needed to be done and arranged was accomplished within a couple of days. That takes the pressure off a lot.

I think I have now found an unexplored niche in the Value Living stakes. Or rather, in the Value Dying stakes. If any publisher is interested in commissioning me to produce an easy-to-read, light-hearted, paperback on 'How to avoid being ripped off while giving your loved one a good send off' - the email address is on the right. And when I see said book in my local Waterstones in a few months time, with someone else's name on the cover, I'll know where the idea came from and there will be spells.

£9.62 for a litre jug of orange juice, £30 for one of the undertakers (who will be present anyway) to write down the names of people attending, or £150 for a limousine to make a journey of two and a half miles. Quite outrageous.

Anyway, here's an interesting underwater shot from our recent week away on one of the most unspoilt Greek islands. Seems a long time ago now, though...