Blue Witch

A Flash of Blue

Amidst the coughing and spluttering and exhausted sleeping that seem to have overtaken my life of late... I have, today, in my 27th year of working in education, divined a way of getting children to remember how to spell what is possibly the most difficult and oft misspelt word in the English language.

Parliament.

It's so obvious.

It's full if liars.

Two lessons taught in one.

I finally looked up something that's been puzzling me of late - only 17 days' notice have to be given of a general election. At least the late call spares us from months of American-style fiasco.

I thought Dear Vince won the Battle of the Chancellors last night. His position between the two crown princes made him appear as a second question master I thought. And no adverts on C4 for a whole hour. How novel. What a treat. But £167Bn deficit?! Gissa job.

The Friday Question

Yesterday The Independent and The Independent on Sunday were sold to the ex-KGB agent, who already owns 75% of the now given-away London Evening Standard, for £1.

The BBC web pages are apparently to be cut by a half, and online staff by a quarter.

Today, rumours that have been circulating for eons are confirmed: The Times and The Sunday Times will be charging £1 a day, or £2 a week, for access to their online service. But, I doubt whether the intrusive advertisments on their pages won't disappear.

Would you pay to access news online?

A brighter shade of orange

This gorgeous gerbera has been adding complementary colour to My Blue Life recently.

They say never to go food shopping when you are hungry. The same would seem to apply about going to places where one can buy fabric in bright colours when one is in need of cheering up. I now seem to have added rather a lot of orange, yellow and red to my stash (spread about on the left and centre of the picture). And I have ironed, differently refolded, and recategorised all of it in the last few days. When in doubt, reorganise.

And this is probably where all this orange started:

When Amber and Mr Mog dropped in a month ago (I can't believe that it's a month ago already) they were determined that my 5p1nning would improve, and Amber very kindly supplied some orange fibre for the purpose of the lessons.

The daffodils are just coming out here at The Coven. Finally. Over 3 weeks later than normal. As you can probably just-about see from the photo of The Studio above, that means High Growing Season is in full force. Seedlings everywhere.

Looking forward to the pre-budget comedy programme later on. It would be comic if it wasn't so tragic I suppose. Has anyone else worked out how a couple can make 12% tax and risk free in a year? One needs £1000 to bounce around, and to set up some electronic payments, but, Witchy loves legitimately taking candy from banks. I think that a couple can make 18% actually (but that could be a step too far), although single people can only make 6%.

The Friday Question

Why are widom teeth so called?

Several sources suggest that it is because they usually don't come through until late teens/early 20s, when one is assumed to be wiser. But, in my case, they are still growing. Every few years they annoy me a bit more by growing another millimetre or so. They're not impacted, but there's not much room for them, despite me only having 28 teeth, as I had to have four removed (on the day I took my Brownie First Aid Badge, when I was about 9, which amused the examiner no end) to make space for all the others.

I suspect they're growing again now to make more room in my head for new ideas. Or as A Sign of recent wise choices. The only good thing is that they hurt so much that they're neatly masking all the other current, usually debilitating, signs of physical exhaustion. But, if they don't stop soon, I shall be pulling them out myself.

How many wisdom teeth do you have?

Lies, damn lies, and statistics

For those of you who like these things, and so I don't lose the references, here are a couple of interesting articles on the use and abuse of statistics.

Being a social scientist, I constantly struggle with amalgamations of samples being mathematically manipulated to somehow prove or disprove something about an individual, or group of individuals, within a system, and regular readers will know how much I abhor the media's and governmint's use of pop stats in their manipulations of our world.

So, for your Friday reading pleasure, I give you, Odds are it's wrong: science fails to face the shortcomings of statistics. As a demonstration of my Witchy Powers, because, as you'll note from the date at the top of the article, it shouldn't even be published yet...

Thought for the day

Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.

- Stella Adler

In which BW changes tack

Do you know what? Events of late have made me realise just how much I've let myself be taken advantage of, and taken for granted. So, I've started being 'militant'. Nicely militant, but militant nonetheless.

There's no more filling up the kettle every time it's empty when I go to crafty days. If others can't be bothered to fill it up when they use all the water, then they'll have to wait next time they come to use it and it's empty. "I can't understand how the kettle is always empty when I go to it today!" was the comment I overheard. I can.

If someone rings me up or emails me for professional advice, I'm asking them if they'd like to book an appointment with me. Everyone else I know charges in these circumstances, so it's time I started. With a bit of luck that will lead to much less non-profitable work time. One works in order to be able to do the things one wants, after all. It is not one's whole life.

Someone sent me files in .docx format. Rather than scratch around trying to convert them, as I would have last week, or the week before, I simply emailed them back and told me that I'd need them in .doc format if I was to work with them. And what a stupid idea .docx is.

One of The Eight rang me and asked me to do something for them (without even bothering to enquire how I was). I declined. When asked why, I simply said, "Because I don't want to. Right now I'm having enough problem getting through the day without having to worry about other people..." and then made an excuse for terminating the phone call. I almost enjoyed that.

Enough is enough. My body is physically at a three-year low, so I need to start putting myself first and Mr BW second rather than constantly being there for the whole world, frequently to the detriment of both of us. Progress!

How's this for a stray apostrophe?


I hasten to add that I did not, and would not, buy water in this 330ml bottle. I took it from a child, "In the interests of education." How can Highland Spring say they are an 'ethical company' when they abuse plastic in this way?

Cash cows

I heard on the radio the other day that if the 3p rise in fuel duty due to go onto the price of petrol and diesel on April 1st were to be spent on repairing the dreadful state of the roads, then there would be enough money to mend every pothole and resurface every road requiring it within 100 days.

And that was if *just* the 3p rise was spent. Not if *all* the fuel duty levy was spent on maintaining the road network, as it should be. Motorists = cash cows.

" The price of oil is a major determinant of the price of petrol, and yet the current oil price of about $80 a barrel is far below the $147 a barrel-high seen in the summer of 2008, the last time petrol prices neared £1.20 a litre.

This has led many to question why petrol costs so much right now.

Lindsay Hoyle, Labour MP on the Commons business committee, told the Daily Telegraph: "Crude oil has gone up this year, but nothing like the rise in petrol prices. Motorists are being legally mugged at the forecourt by petrol companies."

He called the current high price of petrol a "complete disgrace". "

As ever, the governmint are trying to blame everyone but themselves for the high price of motoring. And there's more to come, if the EU have their way.

In the UK, fuel duty and VAT on petrol has increased by 11.46 per cent since the end of November last year, compared with only 2.23 per cent in Austria. The UK rise is more than double the 5.07 per cent average for Western Europe as a whole

And the Highway Agencies are blaming everyone but themselves for the state of the roads.

The reason that the roads are full of potholes and the surfaces have lifted isn't the harsh winter (Canada and Norway don't have this problem after all, and they have cold winters all the time) it's that, for years and years, ridiculous policies on taking the lowest bid in the road repairs competitive tendering process has meant sub-standard workmanship and substandard materials have been used, and finished work has not been adequately inspected before it is signed off and paid for. Cheap is rarely Value in the long term.

The roads are now like the railways. Not fit for purpose due to lack of investment. Those who need to use the roads are already paying far, far, more in vehicle excise duty (annual car tax) and fuel duty than is actually spent on them. This is manifestly unfair, not to mention dangerous.

Thought for the day

Over the years our bodies become walking autobiographies, telling friends and strangers alike of the minor and major stresses of our lives.

- Marilyn Ferguson

The Friday Question

In the last few weeks I've seen several people mentioning how many blogs and websites they read on a regular basis, and have been quite astounded at the numbers mentioned.

Now, maybe I'm odd, plus I don't use RSS, but I doubt I read more than 10 or 15 regularly, and maybe 30 in total occasionally.

How many blogs do you read regularly?

How are you?

If you are my friend I will do my best to be there for you when you need a shoulder and life seems bleak to you. I’ll try to notice when that’s the case, and I hope I’m never too wrapped up in my own affairs to show I care.

If you are my friend I’ll happily listen to your troubles for as long as you want to talk to me about them, and I’ll try not to be critical, or judgemental. I will offer solutions or ideas if that’s what you want, but I will also try to be sensitive if you just want to unload.

If you are my friend and you’re talking to me about something important to you, I won’t change the subject half way through, and I won’t bring my own unresolved ‘stuff’ into your situation.

If you are my friend I won’t mind if you ring me up when I’m in the middle of something, or about to go out, or it’s way past my bedtime. If it’s important to you to speak to me, I’ll always find time for you, generally even if it means inconveniencing myself; if I absolutely can’t, I’ll always tell you when I can be present for you, and I will make sure I do what I’ve promised.

If you are my friend I’ll happily take you to an appointment, and wait all day for you if necessary; even come in with you if you want. I’ll pick you up from hospital, I’ll visit you in hospital, even if I hate the places myself. If you have a practical problem, I’ll happily assist if I can, or ask Mr BW to help you out if I don’t have the skills.

If you are my friend, I’ll remember your birthday, and other days that are important to you. I’ll listen when you tell me things that are important in your life, and remember to ask how you got on, or to send you messages or cards of encouragement on the day.

If you are my friend I’ll ask about what interests you, even if it doesn’t interest me, and I’ll listen to what you have to say, and learn from it. I’ll remember what you tell me, because if it matters to you, it matters to me.

If you are my friend I’ll respect your right to hold opinions that are different to mine, and, although I may enter into discussion with you, I’ll never start an argument with you, or criticise you personally, rather than your opinion.

If you are my friend, I’ll notice when you’re looking tired, or unwell, and ask after, and be interested in, why, and take your answer into account before I share any of my own ‘stuff’ with you. I understand that there are times when enough of one’s own is enough and the last thing you want is all mine dumped on you too.

If you are my friend and ask me for information, or an opinion, I’ll happily give it to you, and remember to ask how you got on the next time I’m in contact with you. I won’t be at all offended if you choose to do something other than what I’ve suggested, so don’t pretend you did if you didn’t, I’m just as interested in what’s worked for you as what hasn’t. And I’ll say if I don’t know something you’ve asked me, rather than ignoring you, or giving you incorrect information.

If you are my friend and you've got nowhere to go, I'll always welcome you into my home, and help you sort yourself out, and give you all the time you need to work out the best way forward for you and for those you've left. I'll make you tea. I'll make you dinner. I'll make you breakfast. I'll make you lunch. And I'll give you tissues and as much space as you need.

If you are my friend and I ask you for something, I’ll always make sure I thank you for doing it.

If you are my friend and I go away on holiday, knowing that someone in your life is unwell, or facing something important, you can guarantee I’ll be in contact with you as soon as I get back to find out how things are, and offer anything I can to help in the situation.

That’s because…

If you are my friend I don’t want to be told you’re too busy for me on the very rare occasions that I’m down and needing a bit of support.

If you are my friend I don’t want you to forget days that are very significant to me, that I’ve told you about.

If you are my friend I don’t want to receive phone calls, text messages or emails moaning that I’ve not been in touch with you, when I’ve told you just a couple of days before what’s going on in my life.

If you are my friend I don’t want to be told how much money you’ve earned that week, or how much you’ve screwed the legal aid system for in professional fees, or how your kid’s friend’s mum snubbed you in Starbuck’s, or how your Sky Box failed to record Eastenders, or how terrible it is that the groomer can’t fit your dog in for another week, or how it’s disgusting that your kid’s teacher hasn’t changed her reading book for three days, or how your computer needs fixing and I’m the only one who can do it, or how much you need some more loo rolls next time I go to Costco and am I going soon because they’re really expensive anywhere else, or how much you’re going to drink when you go away with your three friends from school days at the weekend, or how terrible it is that M&S don’t have the dress you want in a size 20, or how 3 people have defriended you on Facebook, or how brilliant your new 58� plasma TV will be.

I don’t care about any of these things you see. Because you’ve forgotten something I’ll never forget. That people matter more than things or money.

All but one of the eight people I am in regular touch with who I thought were my friends, hasn’t bothered to be there for me these last couple of weeks. Only one person has asked me how Tuesday went. And she’s the person who works five separate jobs, has a teenage son and a near teenage son, a husband who works every hour of the day in an outdoor job that necessitates 2 loads of washing and drying every day, is currently having both the kitchen and the bathroom in her two-bedroom rented house refitted, and has a mother imminently dying of cancer.

Perhaps the others thought I was too far out and didn’t realise I was drowning not waving, I don’t know. I do hope that I’d have noticed if it had been them in my position, though. I’m fairly sure I would have.

It’s not me who’s changed.

It might be time I removed myself from their lives I think. I wonder if they’ll even notice?

RIP

A tale of good service

The dishwasher, that went wrong last September, 3 days outside its free 5 year guarantee, limped on, with loud watery banging noises and occasional encouragement from Mr BW's toolkit, until last week when it intermittently decided to either wash, or pretend to wash, depending on something we couldn't ascertain. By Friday it wouldn't even pretend any more, and no amount of fiddling with its power and water supplies would make its little electronic heart work again. On Friday evening Mr BW reluctantly certified it beyond resuscitation. In common with many things around these parts of late.

Last September, Mr BW spoke to Siemens, who said they'd have covered something 3 days outside a one or two year guarantee, but not 3 days outside a 5 year guarantee, and that the repair would be either £89 + VAT plus parts, with no guarantee, or £189 + VAT as long as the total cost would otherwise be less than £250, with a year's guarantee. Either way, considerably more than the annual cost of a ownership of a new machine with a 5-year guarantee (which was, then, just under £100 a year), so not worth repairing. Therefore, the machine had limped on, as I refused to consign it to expensive recycling process/landfill any sooner than it absolutely had to go.

I've mentioned our wonderful local independent one-shop supplier of white goods before. Last time I needed a new washing machine, I went into the shop, paid, and the delivery men were waiting for me on my doorstep by the time I got home.

I hoped that wasn't a one-off.

Knowing that we had a lot of crockery, glassware and cutlery that needed washing before Nan Mr BW's funeral tomorrow (yes, 15 days is a long time to wait for a straightforward funeral, with no post-mortem required - I never knew that 'old age' sufficed as a cause of death if you were nearly 97 - but, they're busy round here), I got to the shop at 8.53am on Saturday morning. The 'hours of opening' on the door said 9am-5pm, but, it being an independent shop, the 'open' notice was turned to the front, the lovely old bell jangled as I walked through the door, and they welcomed me in.

I'd already decided what I wanted (last September, when the problem first arose), and I was delighted to see that the price had gone down £79 to £420, despite the VAT increase. With its free 5 years of manufacturer's guarantee this makes the cost of ownership £84 a year; considerably less than that of any other machine. "When would you like us to deliver it?" asked Mr Camp the 50-something salesperson, who's run the shop ever since I've known it (so, for the last 17 years at least).

"Yesterday would be good..." I said. "Ah. We're good, but not that good! Would this afternoon between 2 and 4 suit?" "Lovely, but any chance you could narrow the delivery down a bit as I have things I need to do?" The delivery man, who was busily ordering receipts behind the counter, looked up. "Between 2 and 3 OK? And you're the one with the b33hive outside your house, who likes us to take things in the back door rather than battle through the inside doors in the house, right?" I was out of the shop, having paid and completed the paperwork, by 9.01am. 8 minutes.

Two men (one the spitting image of Bob Flowerdew) arrived at 2.30pm precisely. They carried the old machine out, and put it on their van to go to the recycling centre. They carried the new machine to just outside the back door, where they unpacked it, and broke up the polysterene to fit into the black bag they'd brought with them. (Aside - *why* do many manufacturers still use polysterene, which is probably now almost the only non-recyclable material? Ah, silly me, because the governmint hasn't got round to forbidding it.) "Would you like this wood for your wood burner?" they asked. "Yes, and leave that large bit of card too, that will be a good drip tray for Mi1dred." They looked a bit surprised but didn't ask who Mi1dred was.

They carried the new machine in. They refused to cut off the moulded-on plug that goes through the cupboard to the electric socket, as they'd done before. "They try to invalidate the warranty if you do that!" they confided. But, they did supply a short cable with plug and socket, free of charge, instead. They plumbed the machine in, tested it out, twice, and went on their way.

Same-day delivery, installation, testing, and removal all free of charge. And cheaper than the cheapest place on the internet (who couldn't deliver until some unspecified time on Tuesday anyway) by £19.

And, the Bob Flowerdew lookalike (delivery man's mate), who hailed from somewhere in Eastern Europe that wasn't Poland, congratulated me on my English. He told me that he's troubled by how few English people speak good English. Especially was/were and less/fewer.

But, compared to its 5 and a half year older same make and comparative model predecessor, the door mechanism's crap, the new design of the internal racks and the front door are crap, and the recommended detergent tablets don't easily fit in the dispenser. Ah, progress.

It washes better though (like low-energy light bulbs, which we recently renewed after 15 years service, you don't realise how dim/poor they've got until you replace them), and, despite Mr BW laughing at me keeping all the bits from inside the old machine (those tray wheels are £2 + VAT a piece, so why not pull off and keep 8 perfectly good ones, as spares?), he was jolly glad that we had two cutlery baskets last night, when we were doing our mammoth wash. How many place settings can you get in one cutlery basket, after all? Certainly not 20-odd.

I wonder what I'll do when wonderful small local shops like this no longer exist? The plot it's on must be worth a fortune - it's now surrounded by high-rise buildings on all sides, and I can't believe the owner hasn't been approached to sell for demolition/development. Long, long, may it last. Because even top-make machines don't last a sensible length of time any more.

The Friday Question

It occurred to me that I'd omitted the Party Logo from the top of recent posts. Sorry.

After some creative thinking in my sleep, while visiting Das Kapital, I think I might have now solved the vexing taxation question, and hopefully the involvement of people in politics one too.

When The BW Party come to power, income tax will still be payable, but under a much more sensible system. That is, we won't be taking money away with one hand and then giving it back to you with the other. This should make you feel you have more control over your budget, and save you time filling in forms and waiting in call centre queues when governmint departments get your handouts wrong. There will be a system of tax allowances, not benefits.

And, we will be giving you a big say in how you want the money you have to pay in taxes spent.

A system along the lines of Waitrose charity tokens will operate. For those who haven't seen this, it involves you being given a number of plastic tokens according to the money you spend: in Waitrose's case, in their supermarket, in our case, on tax. You are then able to place the tokens into a pre-selected choice of see-through containers, each supporting a particular cause: in Waitrose's, it is charities, in ours it will be governmint departments.

As with the Waitrose system, the total money available (in their case charitable donation, in ours tax revenue, raised that month) will then be split according to the distribution of tokens.

Governmint departments will not be allowed to spend (waste) any money on advertising for revenue, or to directly ask for funding for initiatives by (ab)using the media.

Plastic tokens will be cut out of plastic bottles (collected in recycling initiatives) by the unemployed. The amount of benefits claimed will need to be matched by the handing in of one token per 1p claimed. Such a mindless and finger-numbing task will drive all but the most hardened sofa loafer to look for work earnestly. It will also mean that those with lots of kids won't be able to cut out all the tokens themselves, so, if they want money, they will need to get their little blighters darlings to assist, and so concentrate on something for more than 10 seconds for once, so saving money on unnecessary drugs for mis-diagnosed ADHD. This will please teachers, and eye-hand co-ordination will also improve.

A similar system will operate at a local level, so, you will get a plastic token for each unit of council tax you pay, and you will be able to distribute them into see-through containers representing services provided by district councils, such as bin emptying, pest control, noise pollution control, libraries, care homes, creches, road maintenance, bus services, police, fire etc etc. This time, the tokens will be cut out by those claiming housing benefits.

Genius, eh? ;)

This policy is currently in consultation phase, so your views are encouraged. Unlike other Parties, The BW Party does listen.

Points

Apparently my blog is "infuriating", so I shall today give you pretty pictures of cushions instead of political comment.

Less than perfect points this time, as it was made last week which was undoubtedly less than perfect itself. It's hard to calculate/cut accurately when death is all around.

Exactly how one gets people who think that there's no point in voting, to vote (the "Infuriated" of BW Land, as well as the young who'll happily vote for pop or dancing show contests, but not take responsibility for shaping their future), I have no idea.

Silent armies of people who are so fed up with the current system of Men With Large Egos running/destroying the country, or hordes of people spoiling their ballot papers, achieves nothing at all.

How much is too much?

How did we get to a state in this country where the head of the BBC can propose cutting half the BBC website (amongst other things), while still himself taking a salary of over £800,000 a year? More than £800,000 a year, funded by all of us who have to pay £142.50 a year to have a TV. That can't be right.

How did we get to a state in this country where the bonuses recently paid to some RBS bankers (a bank 84% owned by the taxpayer) total £1.3 billion - or enough to run every hospice in this country for a year?

How did we get to a state in this country where hospices and air ambulances have to be totally funded by charitable donations?

How did we get to a state in this country where the average basic (ie before bonuses) salary of a premiership footballer is £676,000 (2006 figures).

I don't understand any of these huge salaries paid to people. Whilst I accept that people at the very top sometimes have hard decisions to make, most of those are made on the back of information and advice provided to them by those who earn a fraction of what they do. Not forgetting the 'shop-floor' workers who actually do all the hard grind, and frequently only get paid the UK minimum wage of £5.80 an hour, if you're over 22, and £3.57 if you're 16-18.

I was wondering the other day what a reasonable maximum salary for anyone would be?

I'll go for a total of £120,000 (including all benefits in kind), with the amount over £40,000 (roughly the current 40% tax rate starting point) being dependent on reaching set performance targets. The difference between the highest earners' current and future salaries could then be spent on more properly reimbursing everyone who works. I'd expect the minimum wage in this country to rise sharply, and the average wage to rise slightly above the current £24,000 (because it's not actually a true average).

A consequence might be that the richest leave these shores. I suspect we'll manage without them though, and the absence of their attitudes might do the country good. However, if the whole world adopted such a policy, then things might be very interesting indeed. And, although the tax take would drop overall, so would the need for many of the never-ending 'governmint' handouts to people.

Marry in haste, repent at leisure

I think splitting up is made far too easy these days.

Someone I know (already on second marriage, lad of 20 and girl of 14 from first marriage, son of 9 from second marriage) is splitting up from her second husband in 3 weeks time. "To see if we feel better about things apart."

All well and good, except that the taxpayers amongst us are picking up the tab for this. She delightedly told me that after all the benefits she's entitled to, for herself, the children, and housing, she will be £240 a month better off living apart from hubby and eldest son than living with them.

It's time the governmint made it more financially viable for couples to stay together than to split up. And for couple counselling to be compulsory before handouts to support break-ups are made available.

Yes, it takes give and take and respect to make relationships work, and that's what I suspect many people don't take into account in this disposable age of impermanence. "Oh look, I don't like this one any more, never mind, can't be bothered to repair it, or see if it can be modified, let's chuck it in the bin and get a new one..."

No wonder the country's broke, the divorce rate is so high, and there are so many single-parent families.

Thought for the day

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt