Frustrated by a non-learning moment

So I recently got some new specs. Two pairs. Because I'm that old. One pair for reading. One pair for getting through the day without falling over or having a car crash.

The latter pair cost an arm and a leg, and comes complete with designer label... among other things.

Starting from top left of the picture and working our way down we have:

• The case, with a Velcro strap thingy which can convert into a nifty little handle (although I can't think of a single situation in which I would need to use a handle to carry my glasses case!),
• the specs themselves, all gorgeous and pink,
• a little booklet, containing the guarantee information in about a gazillion languages,
• a little lens cleaning cloth, pristine white (with logo, of course) in a little plastic bag, and...
• ???

Let's take a closer look at the mystery item.

It's a little resealable plastic bag containing:

Here we have about 25cm (10" give or take) of cat gut and about 15cm (6") of 4mm wide, white florist's ribbon. There are no instructions, no labels.

I have posted that last picture on Facebook and Twitter, but no-one has yet said, "Oh yes! I know what that is. It's a...." One person did suggest that it was meant for running repairs in the future, which is entirely possible, but I can't imagine what repairs I might carry out using these bits and bobs. I have visited the D&G site (which takes quite a while to load), but there doesn't seem to be a page on which I can find the purpose of these items.

I hate not knowing stuff!

Do I throw these things away? Do I store them in my jewellery box?

Any suggestions?

BBC 4: The Joy of Stats

The BBC occasionally turns out some cracking documentaries. This one is no exception. Hans Rosling is an animated and passionate presenter who loves numbers. The clever use of animation is hugely informative. Although the comments on the BBC's site make it clear not everyone agrees with me.

One of the visualisations used in tonight's episode was David McCandless's billion dollar-ogram, a diagram designed to help people get their heads around the huge numbers that get bandied about in respect of the cost of this war or that oil spill. The result is very interesting!

If you are able to access BBC programmes via a feature such as iPlayer, I strongly recommend this - particularly if you're keen on facts and figures.

If I were measured by the company I keep...

I am very blessed to include among my friends, some extraordinarily talented people. Two of them feature in this post.

The first is Jeremy (Jerm) Nell, a South African cartoonist of note. I have known him since he was just a boy, and have watched his talent blossom into something that has made people around the world sit up and take note.

Jeremy recently got married. And this is where the other half of today's equation comes in. Justin de Reuck is an exceptional photographer, and he did the photos for Jerm and Janel's wedding. Oh... and Jeremy would like to make it known that he was not crying in that photo of him first catching sight of his bride, 'kay? Yeah. Right.

Both of these men have the uncanny ability to see things in a way that others might miss, and then to draw that perspective to our attention. Jeremy casts a cynical eye over situations and lampoons them mercilessly in single frame political satire cartoons, then proves he has a whimsical side with his Biggish Five strip.

Justin sees potential in angles and lighting and goodness knows what all else and captures a fleeting moment. His photographs of his own family and friends are achingly beautiful, and his wedding photography is among the best I have ever seen.

On Thanksgiving

I'm sure you already know that we don't have Thanksgiving in the UK. That would just be silly. But I have many American friends, readers, followers, etc. in the various spaces I occupy online, to whom this holiday is very important.

This post is for you. I would like to wish you a happy Thanksgiving, although I'm sure you have better things to do than read my blog today.

Americans tend to be much-maligned in the UK, but my own (entirely unscientific) observation is that the very people who thus malign them are often equally guilty of the characteristics they disdain so very vocally.

So may I say that I am thankful for you?

Thank you for your warmth, your acceptance, your support, your enthusiasm. I am glad you and I have crossed paths.

Nancy Stevens says...

I'd like to give a plug to a brand new blogger.

No, she's not a learning guru. Or even a social media guru. She's not a teacher. Nor is she a techie.

She's an image guru. One of those people who looks at you and knows exactly what colours you should be wearing and what styles of clothes suit you and how to accessorise and all that stuff.

She's feeling very brave at having entered these scary social media waters, so ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Nancy Stevens.

Cherry tree census

The Natural History Museum is currently running a census of cherry trees in Britain. The idea is for people to go on walks and spot cherry trees and then record them on a map.

Guidance is provided on how to identify cherry trees and how to distinguish between the various types.

I really like these attempts to engage the wider public, and to publish this user generated content. My parents regularly participate in similar exercises in respect of birds and plants in South Africa, setting off at ridiculous hours of morning to count parrots or heading off on some jaunt to record clivia numbers (they're very keen on clivia, my folks!)

At the moment, my town shows only four cherry trees, two of which I recorded. I know for a fact that there are hundreds more. Let's hope that we see more being added.

If you're based in Britain, or even if you're just here for a conference or business trip, why not add to the census?

Blog Interviewer

I was recently interviewed by Blog Interviewer in respect of this blog. You can see the results here.

An unexpected hero

If you live outside of the UK, you may not have heard of Eddie Izzard. Okay, you might have done - he appeared in My Super Ex-girlfriend as the misunderstood baddie who was in love with the super ex of the title.

In the UK, he is better known as a comedian (severe language warning on linked video) and a transvestite who frequently appears at gigs in towering heels and a full face of make-up.

He's intelligent and articulate, but he is not an athlete... or so you would think.

But with relatively little fanfare, last year he ran 43 marathons in 51 days in aid of the charity, Sport Relief... and raised £1.6 million!

He prepared for only 5 weeks and at the start, was carrying a fair old spare tyre. But he argued, this is what we were designed to do. And I guess he's right. Before the wheel came along, we had to walk or run everywhere, and the stone age didn't boast a Tesco or a Walmart, so it was run - a lot - or go hungry.

He ran mostly alone and largely unremarked, as this article in The Guardian explains. Catching snippets of the BBC series about his efforts, I have to say that my heart swelled and I developed a new found respect for this rather unusual man.

Well done, Eddie. I salute you. You put us all to shame.

Keeping things current

As you may know, I am in the process of acquiring a new passport, my previous one having expired.

I visited the space that glories in the misnomer 'website' to find out what I need to do. The website consists of one page, regardless of which of the links one selects. The only thing that changes is a line of introductory text across the top.

I printed off a checklist of everything I needed to take with me, and made sure I had it all. Two forms, completed. Check. Previous passport. Check. Two certified copies of data page of passport. Check. Two certified copies of full marriage certificate. Check. Four passport photos of an old and haggard looking woman that people will insultingly believe is me. Check. Cash to pay for passport (no other tender accepted). Check.

I joined the back of the queue outside the consulate. The man in front of me told me he had come to collect his passport. He applied for it in July and received an email yesterday to tell him it was ready for collection! Speedy service it isn't. I only hope mine is quicker than that, I have a fair amount of travelling planned.

While I was waiting, I noticed several people being sent away to a nearby photocopy service to get this or that document copied. Two thoughts occurred to me about this. First, the website informs visitors that documents can be copied on the premises. I had chosen to get mine done in advance because the cynic in me wanted to avoid the possibility of "the machine, she is broken" - heard all too often in South Africa. Second, why hadn't these palookas printed off the list as I had done, to ensure that they had everything they needed. I began to feel a little smug. Obviously, the machine, she - blow me down - was broken, and I was going to be one of the few who had prepared for this possibility. Ha!

When I finally got the front of the queue, I opened my neat envelope and handed all my tidily organised documents to the lady on the desk. She told me my application was incomplete because it did not include two certified copies of my UK permanent residence permit. I pointed to my neat list and explained that this was not a requirement for this application. Oh, but it is, apparently. The website is wrong. I would have to go around the corner to a photocopying place and have it done. I reminded her that the website clearly states that copies can be made on site. I asked if the machine, she was broken. Apparently not. Apparently the website is incorrect on this score, too.

So, like all the other 'palookas' before me, I had to go off and have some additional items copied.

Some time ago, I created an online resource for a client. Included in the deal was that I taught them how to update the site whenever any of the data it contained became obsolete. I encouraged them to use fresh, up-to-the-minute material, but to keep a weather eye out for the need to change it.

In a situation where users are dependent on the accuracy of the content of a site, it is important not to let them down.

Sadly, although I'm sure several people have tried to explain this to the South African Consulate (myself included), they seem to think that it is sufficient to simply say to a person who has gone to significant expense to be there in person (my train ticket was over £80!) that the website is wrong.

The machine, she is not the only thing that is broken!

My breasts and I...

...will continue to have one another's company, it seems.

Over the last few weeks, the Romeis household has been waiting to hear whether or not I had developed breast cancer - the scourge of the women on my father's side of the family. There was reason for concern after a recent mammogram, and an ultrasound confirmed the presence of cell clusters, but the biopsy results have returned with the good news that I am in the clear.

I learned something about myself during this time, and that is that I am unafraid to face death.

Because of my family history, most of us feel as if we live under the sword of Damocles anyway. A few have opted for prophylactic subcutaneous mastectomies. I have occasionally toyed with the idea, but that is as far as it has gone.

In South Africa, with the joys of private medical care at my disposal, I was able to have screening from an early age whenever I felt the need.

When we moved to the UK over 10 years ago, I lost this safety net. Screening here is only available to women between the ages of 50 and 64, and only every three years. For a decade I tried to persuade doctors that I should be screened earlier, to no avail. They only changed their minds recently, when HRT was indicated (for obvious reasons) and I declined on the grounds that it increases the risk of breast cancer. The doctor concerned (a student, as it turned out) asked myriad questions and sent me to a geneticist who concluded that I certainly have an increased risk in comparison with the rest of the population.

She set the wheels in motion and the very first screening in more than a decade took place a few weeks later.... and revealed shadows.

We now know that the shadows are no cause for concern. But while I was waiting for further tests and the results of those tests, I realised that I was utterly calm about the whole thing. Whatever transpired, I would deal with. My faith was tested - not for the first time - and came through with flying colours.

For those who already knew about this and have expressed support in various forms, I thank you.

Goodnight Harry

Today was the funeral of Harry Patch who died last month aged 111. His death follows shortly after that of Henry Allingham, another WWI veteran who had been the world's oldest man at the time of his death. The officiating clergyman called it "the end of an era". That phrase gets used a lot and is seldom warranted. Today I believe it was justified. With Harry's death the last first hand voice from the trench warfare of the First World War has been lost. From now on, it all becomes hearsay and second hand accounts.

Harry kept silent about his war experiences for decades after the war. When he did speak, it was to condemn war in the strongest terms. He said no conflict was worth the loss of a single life. I tend to agree with him. Having heard since his death of some of the atrocities that he witnessed, I find it remarkable that anyone returned from the trenches to lead a normal life.

At Harry's request, his funeral was attended by a German Charg' Affaires, whose reflection can be heard here. His whole life was about peace and reconciliation, which was further reflected by the choice of song performed for the occasion by a chorister, and performed here by the inimitable Joan Baez.

Sanctuary

Alex Dawson has put out a request: Where do you find sanctuary? He invites replies in whatever medium you like: words, images, video, etc.

So here's mine. There are a few places.

The first is in prayer. When I pray I feel as if I am surrounded by an inviolate bubble. As if I have taken refuge in the biggest, safest lap in the universe.

The second, more corporeal place is right here. In these eyes:
Twenty one years later, after two children, innumerable wrinkles, several grey hairs (in spite of my best attempts with hair colour), and a significant increase in weight, he still looks at me with love, affection, fondness and - blow me down - desire.

The third is here. Our family room at home. People boggle at the colour scheme of neon colours but we absolutely love it. It is our family bolt hole, and we spend a lot of time here together.

On being a nitpicker

Yesterday, I posted the contents of an email from a friend. He means well, but he sends me an awful lot of these things - warning of supposed scams. I always check them out to see what I can discover. Occasionally - as I did yesterday - I ask the question of this community if I am unable to get to the bottom of things using the resources I know about. This serves the dual purpose of resolving the question and alerting me to resources that can help when it comes to mythbusting.

Once yesterday's myth had been completely busted, I sent an email back to my friend and everyone else on his distribution list, sharing the reality behind the hoax. This is not the first time I have done this.

The response, to my surprise, was howls of derision. Why did I always do this? I take myself far too seriously, it seems. Poor old X, is it absolutely necessary for me to keep bursting his bubble? How unkind of me!

So, it is acceptable for X to forward an email to a hundred people warning them of some or other bogus scam without researching the facts, but it's not alright to check the facts and reassure people that the whole thing is nonsense. I'm sorry, but for me, that's too close to saying it's okay for kids to print out great wadges of stuff from the web without even reading it, and call it research.

Telling a story

Thanks to Cheryl Cooper for posting this on Facebook and drawing it to my attention. This was taken from the Ukraine's version of the 'Got Talent' TV show. UK entrants are never given that long, but this story is quite rivetingly told. Watch the beautiful young woman who tells the story, too - she's dancing. Performing. Her face and body show the passion of the story she tells with hands in the sand. Quite extraordinary!



Later edit:
Wes Fryer shares the interpretation of this story by a friend who is fluent in Russian.

The video is from the Ukrainian TV Show – Ukraine has Talent. It is called a Requiem in the Sand by Ksenia Simonova. The girl starts by drawing a village and two people on a bench. Then the announcer uses the actual radio announcement of the German attack on the USSR on 22 Jun 41. It is followed by a Russian song about a quiet night during the war. It is followed by an instrumental score and then another Soviet song about soldiers that died for the Motherland. The final instrumental score shows a girl looking through the window and seeing a shadow of her sailor husband. The child puts his hand on the window and she writes "you are always close by."

So much sadder than I had realised. I thought the husband had unexpectedly returned home at the end of the war. Now I realise the wife sees the husband in the child's face every day.

Ending on an up

I've just taken a body blow in the form of an email purporting to contain 'constructive criticism'. The thing is, it wasn't criticism of my work. It was criticism of me, suggesting that I become less like myself in the future. But then Garry Platt's comment on my Musical Mash-up post came through, with a link to a video clip I had wanted include in that post, but had been unable to find.

To my delight, I found that PS22 (does that stand for Public School 22?) has put out several such videos. Since you have already had Viva la Vida this week, how about a taste of something else? Something with a title I need to own right now!



But head over to YouTube and search on PS22. There are several others to choose from. Just watch how every child sings as if it is a solo performance. Heart and soul. Learn more about them and their wonderfully enabling teacher here.

For richer or for poorer

Today John and I have been married for 21 years. In just four years' time, we will be celebrating our silver wedding anniversary. It will be a miracle if we have any silver left, by then!

Since I haven't had a paying contract in some months, our 'for richer or for poorer' vow is being proven at the moment. John commutes 2 hours each way every day and works his tail off to bring home a decent salary. But that salary isn't enough to cover our overheads. Unless things turn around for me very soon, we will find ourselves experiencing significant changes of circumstance imposed by our bank and the bailiffs.

But, while I feel as if I am dragging the family down, somehow John manages to remain supportive of me.

John wasn't my first suitor (what a quaint word). Before he came along, there had been a few near misses. Some of them rather wealthy and a few of them extraordinarily handsome. But, hoo boy, am I glad I had the wherewithal to know enduring quality when I finally found it. I doubt that any of the other guys would have put up with 21 years of the rollercoaster ride that is marriage to me!

Here's to you, my snooks, and to many more years.

Smile!

Cynics move along. Nothing to see here.

I like TJ Thyne's work, being a Bones fan. But this little video says so much. Yes it's cheesy. But what the heck? It's Saturday and I'll be cheesy if I want to.

Smile!

If the earth were a sandwich

A nice tool from zefrank for kids and adults alike to have a play with. Find out where you would end up if you dug a hole clean through the centre of the earth from where you are now.

We learn that:

• The British would not wind up in Australia, after all, although I suppose it's not far off
• It would be the South Americans rather than the USA who would end up in China
• South Africans would end up in the Pacific between the north west USA and Japan
• Canadians would end up in the ocean in the region of Antarctica.

LPoD - a horse of a different colour

Having posted a photo of a spotted horse for today's pic of the day, I decided to find out what the proper term was for such a horse. According to this article, it is a leopard appaloosa.

I didn't realise how many different named varieties there were. I'm glad I looked it up, too, because I learnt something else. There is a certain colouration that I have always loved, but I have never known what to call it. No-one I have asked has been able to help me, either - not even horsey people (obviously my description left much to be desired!). But this article tells me that my favourite horse colour is a palomino, closely followed by a buckskin.

Rosa sat

You have to know a little about the history of the equal rights movement for this little song to make sense, but how cool is it? Via Eugene Chan (aka @eugevon) on Twitter, whose 6 year old attends the school.

Can you not just picture that wonderfully enthusiastic teacher singing in a little Baptist church come Sunday?

Rosa sat so that Martin could walk
Martin walked so that Barack could run
Barack ran
He ran and he won
So that all God's children could fly!

Later edit - courtesy of Eugene again. Here's the original. I think I like the kiddies' version better. No offence.