Minnie’s Musings

Random ramblings of a middle aged, middle class, middle income woman

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  • Just Knackered

    Term time hump… it seems that even when you teach part time in sessions rather than full days in the classroom there is a point in the term when you are just knackered.

    In anticipation of my evening online class last night I set my phone alarm to 6.45. Just in case I got so engrossed in writing slides for a lesson on expressions next week (as if! … well, it happens. I like making slides).

    Said alarm failed to go off and I had a brief panic at 6.55 only to find no one else had arrived for class.

    Said alarm did go off, however, at 6.45 this morning. Followed 15 minutes later by my bedside alarm.

    My bedside cabinet – or rather the floor around it – now look like a post apocalyptic war scene, after I knocked everything off trying to stop the successive infernal rackets.

    A cup of tea was required, so I made one.

    I shall tidy up later. Perhaps.

  • Incensed, Again

    Toothless Ofcom has taken yet another light touch approach to protecting women and girls online with its optional guidance that the tech giants introduce a prompt for those trolling on their platforms.

    Quel surprise. Because we couldn’t possibly stand up to or even have the modest expectation that a bunch of juvenile dweebs take some social responsibility for the garbage that is too frequently published on their platforms.

    I could digress here on whether we should regard a social media platform as a publisher (we should) in the same way we do print and broadcast media. Primarily because the same defamation laws could then be applied and all sorts of garbage would have to be withdrawn.

    But I must keep to the point.

    The irate pundit on the Today programme has just announced that schools and colleges need to take a lead on teaching students how to behave on social media platforms and respond to the nastiness that has transferred from the playground to the ether.

    After over a decade of doing just that in form time, PSHCE, parent teacher conferences not to mention using up my balsam tissues (I am so good to my students) comforting a variety of distraught teenagers following an online, late night spat with former BFF, I find this kind of demand vexatious in the extreme.

    What on earth do politicians and pundits think we have been doing?! Advising our junior citizens to read a good quality broadsheet over their boiled eggs and toasted soldiers?!

    Most schools in the locality have introduced magnetic phone pouches to take it a step further. And introduced fines for broken pouches. And identified students who have two phones if not three. And confiscated the lot.

    Pray tell. What more do people want? Perhaps parents need to take up the cudgel in the 17 hours students are under their supervision. Perhaps parents should encourage their offspring to come off platforms which make them unhappy. Or remove phones at least an hour before bedtime to be produced again at breakfast.

    Perhaps parents need to take a lead and be prepared to withstand the temper tantrums that will ensue. It won’t be easy, but the results will make for a happier young person whose confidence and self esteem isn’t constantly undermined. After all, you would conduct an intervention if they were addicted to drugs or alcohol.

    Twice I persuaded our youngest to take herself off InstaSnapShit for a while and she was so much happier.

  • Sunday Night TV

    Last night I sat down to get my weekly fix of quality drama (can’t tell you how much I enjoyed Riot Women – awaiting release of the single) anticipating the latest “obsession” (daft phrase) on BBC One.

    And switched over to Netflix for another couple of episodes of the anodyne and predictable “Nobody Wants This” (which is curiously sweet, as an extended advert for Judaism, complete with cute rabbi who delivers thoughtful sermons on life, love and relationships).

    Anyway, I am curious as to why I swerved away from the dramatisation of Nazanene Zagari Radcliffe’s abduction and imprisonment by the Iranian government. When I switched back to catch the headlines before bed, Joseph Fiennes had morphed into the epitome of terrified, helpless husband, already exhausted at the very start of his battle.

    Just two minutes of watching him try to engage the FCO was enough to convince me that this will be well worth watching. On another night.

    Like many people in the UK, I watched to snippets from this lengthy saga as Richard Radcliffe battled all and sundry to get someone to sit up and take notice. Then switched my attention to the latest war, famine, and taxation v. benefits brouhaha.

    Therefore I really was surprised at myself that when Nazarene’s release was announced. I was driving down the motorway at the time and found myself sobbing with relief. Sobbing because this strong, brave woman was going to be reunited with her young daughter, after years of separation.

    It genuinely surprised me how much I cared about a woman I have never met.

    Such is the nature of news that random figures who pop up on a regular basis and worm their way into your subconscious. John McCarthy was one such person. When a litany of bad news breaks into a ray of light, we are inevitably moved as we should be.

    So I shall watch this on a Monday, when I am not in search of distraction. Or a wet Saturday afternoon with a tissue box to hand. It is an important drama well done.

  • Am Shocked

    Salman Rushdie has just selected Walk on the Wild Side on Desert Island Discs. Apparently he had Lou Reed’s phone number.

    Well, it is quite filthy. And I quote,

    “Candy came from out on the Island

    In the backroom, she was everybody’s darling

    But she never lost her head

    Even when she was giving head”

    I think there are lots of songs like this. Of which I am largely oblivious. Not prone to remembering lyrics as I am. Am prone to telling filthy jokes on occasion so am not a prude.

    There is nothing wrong with this portrayal of a liberated woman. After all we should be allowed to do what she wants. As long as it what she wants.

    The world described is one where the young travel to the big city in search of adventure. They land up on “The Wild Side” by accident or design.

    Whether they enjoy it, thrive on it and, more importantly, live to tell the tale is a different matter. Some do. Some don’t. Rites of passage and all that.

  • Time to Get Up

    Or not?

    I am minded to rise and do something useful.

    I am also minded to stay in bed and listen to Broadcasting House.

    Informative discussion on Ukraine. Do like Steve Rosenberg. He plays the piano rather well.
    Jeremy Bowen is also there, selecting his clip of seminal moments. In this war of existential aggression. Was that meeting in the Oval Office really back in February?!

    I think I hear the faint clink of a spoon against a tea cup. Does this mean a cup of tea is in the offing?

    Here it is. Must go!

  • Two Tits for One Tat

    So says one’s Best Beloved (BB).

    We have been debating the implications of America’s big idea for ending the war in Ukraine. Which has been set according to an American deadline governed by an American holiday, brokered by an American posse with no regard for anyone’s opinion who is not American or America’s new best friend.

    While there is some merit in the argument that Russia gets spooked by any former Soviet Bloc country who wants to join NATO (without stopping to wonder why any ex chattel state might think joining said defensive alliance might possibly be a good idea), it did not and never would give it a legitimate excuse to invade a sovereign nation.

    My worry is that the European Coalition of the Willing is not yet in a position to go it alone against Russia. We are still too reliant on the USA for our continental security. And America clearly doesn’t see us being ready any time soon.

    As the current administration indulges in more and abusive swagger and frankly ill thought out acts of violence at home and abroad (somehow convincing itself that it has ended seven or eight wars) there is the tiniest glimmer of hope.

    The Republican Party, or at least 100 members of it, were prepared to support the bill to release the Epstein Files. Could they be scenting an opportunity to get rid of the orange bacon…? One can but hope.is

  • And the Earth Moved

    Apparently. As some Scottish bloke lobbed the Danish goal keeper securing a spot in the World Cup for our kilted cousins. Yay!

    The British Geological Survey has announced that the celebrations rocked the ground to the extent that a very small earthquake ensued. Heaven knows what seismic event would ensue were they to get beyond the first round.

    Because we regard winning a World Cup as a right that we have long been deprived of, would we – down South – greet such an achievement with such earth shattering ecstasy. Hmmmm…

    Scotland has not got itself into the World Cup finals since Blue Peter ran a competition to design a mascot badge thing several decades ago. I think I might have entered. Along with thousands of other children who diligently coloured in their pictures of Nessie inevitably adorned with a tartan tamershanto (?!). I didn’t win. I am still bitter. I think.

    Anyway, we shall look forward to the invasion of the Tartan Army across The Pond who will no doubt drink several bars dry and sing Flower of Scotland into the wee small hours. As long as they don’t beat us and deprive God’s own country of our God given right to win the bl*%dy thing. Where are the women when you need them…?

  • Damp Squib

    Teachers and school children across the South East got terribly excited for roughly one hour yesterday morning as a blizzard engulfed the Home Counties and telephone trees got ready to ring into action.

    And then the fat, fluffy flakes (alliteration there) turned to half hearted rain and hope faded. Not a snowball in sight by break time.

    One snow day is fun. The covering is crisp and the hillsides are ready for trammelling by sleds. Snowmen benefit from a carrot nose and an old scarf, happily hosting a robin on their bonnets (better a red breast than a crow). Warm clothes and boots are largely holding back the chill. And the fridge still has food.

    Day Two and things go rapidly downhill. Snow is is pockmarked and increasingly grubby. The radiators are festooned with soggy gloves and coats. The milk has run out and the snowman is looking suspiciously at the sky. Teachers are beginning to plan for squishing two hours of learning into one and school children are glued to Netflix (blithely pretending they don’t know Snow Day resources are on the website).

    By Day Three we silently debate whether slush covered pavements are better than treacherous ice just waiting for a pensioner to break a hip. The street starts to resemble a post apocalyptic bomb site with dirty boulders of snow and shovelled piles littering gardens.

    Teachers are now panicking that mocks are in the offing and valuable learning time is evaporating. Children have been forcefully reminded that there is online material to be getting on with as the smart TV is turned off and phones confiscated (I wish).

    Return to school is welcomed by Day Four. But not the grey, half melted snow that finds its way into classrooms. Students sigh with resignation as pens and exercise books are dug out of bags and attention swings to the white board. It was nice while it lasted.

  • Theory Two: Trusted Outlet

    Whatever happened over the Panorama programme, the BBC will remain (probably) the most trusted news outlet globally. The World Service and the 24 hour news service are two of our most valuable soft diplomacy assets..

    Attacking it – and drawing everyone’s attention back to just how close you came to inciting insurrection on January 6th – is a bit of an own goal.

    But is he acting like this because Americans can access the World Service and 24 hour BBC News channel? Methinks he has done his level best to bring CNN etc to heal and has discovered that viewers who are interested in truth and balance will seek it out. And that does him no favours.

  • Theory One: Ick Sticks

    Donald Trump (DT) loves to distract attention from negative news stories.

    The current hop-hah over BBC splicing is a neat distraction on this side of The Pond from guess what? The Epstein Files.

    If there was anything good in those files about DT, he and his people would not have spent so much time and effort trying to keep them under wraps. And the time and effort spent in stopping the release only exacerbates the suspicion that there is something explosive within those pages.

    However, this won’t work with the US public – who probably don’t give that much of a hoot about a half forgotten news documentary shown over a year ago on a Monday evening when everyone was still at work in the US, even on the West Coast. And they couldn’t watch it anyway because BBC iPlayer is blocked overseas – as I discovered earlier this summer in Holland.

    The “ick” will stick. As “ick” does. Even if it can’t be proved that you had sex with a minor and/or committed statutory or actual rape. Look at Andrew Windsor. He hasn’t actually been committed of a crime and said crime would not be a crime in the UK anyway. But he has been tried the court of public opinion and lost everything. Lying did not help his case, but he was toast before that particular nugget popped up.

    You can run but you can’t hide, DT. Even if you cower in your marble bath tub with its gold taps and top of the range bubble bath in you not so discrete Florida getaway.