Minnie’s Musings

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

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  • Breaking News

    Interrupted Question Time. It was greeted with applause. And probably a sigh of relief.

    Perhaps this rather unpleasant individual who has done The Firm no credit whatsoever for decades will now go away.

    He might wander down to the local shop from his shed at the bottom of the garden, but he will inevitably feel as if he is imprisoned (in the lap of faded luxury, maybe) but so be it.

    He has been more than disingenuous. He has lied. To his employer (us), presumably some of his friends and his family. And he cannot claim that he hasn’t had a chance to defend himself. He tried and look what happened. His sidestep to avoid grubby exposure in a court of law has resulted in a far more protracted and painful process, namely trial by the court of public opinion.

    Immediate members of the family (late or otherwise) may well have chosen to do that thing which people choose to do when children and siblings are attacked, which is take protestations at face value and defend their own. How many of us have a knee jerk reaction to defend first, think later when our child, our brother, our sister is attacked? It starts in the playground and continues throughout life (with a marginal hiatus in teenage years).

    Therefore the statement from the King is quite some thing. He has made a very public decision to let the bus his brother threw himself under, reverse back over and deliver the fatal blow. One can only hope that his brother has too great a sense of his own victim hood and self-importance to top himself, as he clearly feels no shame.

    But most importantly the final note is for the victims. Because – whether or not he would have been branded a paedophile here (as Virginia Guiffre was 17 and therefore above the age of consent according to UK law) – Andrew Windsor was guilty of the kind of abuse of power that has been exercised for millennia by men, particularly towards young women and girls.

    Goodness me, it has taken a long time.

  • The Flick

    Je suis avez le hump. Bad Franglais, I know, but have the hump, I do (is that Yoda-speak?)

    A new bus driver (well new to me) actually flicked my phone (with which I was trying to pay my fare) out of the way yesterday. And he did it with one of those nasal sighs that my children emit when exasperated by my lack of technical expertise.

    Barely old enough to have a driving licence let alone one that permits you to drive a double decker bus, he was.

    And then he had the temerity to scold me for standing beyond the line when I was rushing to get off, thinking I had missed my stop.

    It’s a drizzly day, so I might let this fester for a while.

    Until my hair frizzes. And then I can grumble about that.

  • Suspicious Mind

    Now what’s-his-name has been caught and everyone and his mother has huffed and puffed with real and feigned outrage, the minister (oooops, sorry, Secretary of State no less) has fumed and two police forces have doubled the overtime bill for the weekend, it is time for some wanton speculation.

    My curiosity has been piqued… How can a prison officer – presumably someone who will have been party to a canteen discussion or two on which news worthy criminal is gracing the cells this week and who might possibly have followed a news bulletin or two (especially when the location is down the road) – fail to recognise a man whose image and name has been all over the place for weeks?

    Checking my knowledge of libel law by clearly flagging this as “opinion “ on an individual who hasn’t been named and therefore isn’t be publicly shamedI would be interested to know if Christmas presents have gone up a notch or two this year at chez prison officer.

    Switching hats from conspiracy theorist to sanctimonious scion of society, one might argue that this is what can happen when a wad of cash is waved under the nose of an over worked, under paid, under
    trained public servant trying to make a broken system work in the face of punishing cuts.

    Anyway, this farcical episode has been a welcome break from speculating over how long the Gaza ceasefire will actually last, Prince Andrew’s personal housing crisis and which head of state DT has insulted, shouted at or greased the palm of this week.

  • Giving One a Way In

    I am still beetling my way through my data analysis course (after a brief hiatus while I started two new jobs and attempted to turn over a new leaf of the exercise front – both works in progress, needless to say).

    I have now taken up my cudgel again and am working through the revision package for Exam No 1 and learn Python on a Jupyter notebook (grow up, learn to spell). Again, needless to say, my laptop ate my link to the revision program, hence leaping ahead to start in Python.

    My computer likes to eat anything that is remotely useful. Anyone would think it still holds a grudge for when I spilt a cup of tea over the keyboard. Maybe it was two. Or three.

    Anyway, it is clearly not familiar with the concept of forgiveness. Well that is its right. And it is my right to consider upgrading it to a newer, prettier model.

    Anyway, as a Maths teacher one of my standard practices when faced with a student who responds to the question, “What don’t you understand?” With a n unhelpful “”Everything” is to go step by step through a method until we get to the sticking point which is usually rapidly resolved with a single tweak to the explanation. Then the student can fly off to Mathematical Elysiium.

    This type of tiny hurdle comes up in learning new software or coding or whatever you want to do. If you don’t know how to get onto the platform, or understand what it does, or how to tell it to do something you want, all you need is some nice, time rich person to explain what to do and off you go.

    So, my youngest came to the rescue the other day when I was trying to get rid of a bright green screen in my online class. For which I am infinitely grateful.

    But it is so much better for the soul to pop and see a husband of friend who can walk you through it (grumbling about techie foibles and the current state of the nation) without flicking your hand off the mouse and snapping at you because you haven’t yet absorbed such obvious information as dual screen functions by osmosis.

    I now have a Python friendly IDE (no, don’t know what it means either) and a useful online idiot guide to support my ongoing learning. I am blessed to have friends with spouses who know things.

    One day I will be a spouse who knows things. In the meantime I shall content myself with being a spouse who folds the laundry properly.

  • ‘I Swear’, I wept

    I Swear is a blub fest par excellence. Bucketed through the family tensions, the isolation, the abuse, the lack of understanding, the redemption through a handful of people showing both compassion and a capacity to look beyond the surface.

    At one point (probably when a family meal is disrupted by an explosion of tics) my hand slid into that of Best Beloved and stayed there for the duration. I suppose it is because there are some experiences which are universal to families of the severely neurodivergent .

    I have a strong memory of the original documentary on Tourette Syndrome and discussing the condition with my parents. Therefore when walking down Finchley High Road with a friend almost 30 years ago, and a lady with Tourette’s shouting “Dirty English slut” at my friend (who being Scottish shouted “I’m not English” right back), I recognised the condition.

    I have an even stronger memory of we mums of His Nibs classmates congratulating one of our number when her son made it all the way through the Christmas show without telling the audience to f-off.

    Anyway , we were with our youngest whose passage through life was profoundly affected by the antics of her brother. Her observation was “I didn’t even hate the mother. I’ve been there. I get it.”

    And with that, almost without pause, we morphed from wiping tears and thoughtful quiet into laughing about compulsions, such as meticulously wiping rainwater off railings and bollards, wherever we go. Not quite the same as kissing lamp posts, but hey.

    So, take a packet of Kleenex with you, and enjoy. Its worthiness towards the end is actually a paean to the power of education to engender understanding. And make life just that little bit easier for people and families whose lives are on a different path.

  • On a Scale of One To Ten

    Watching The House of Dynamite tanks at roughly negative two as something to watch to settle one’s equilibrium after a long half term. A vivid account of the US response to an imminent threat, it is heart in mouth stuff very well done.

    As our world tips ever more on a precipitous axis, I have long had a plan that Best Beloved should go for the girls and I would race to Oxford to get to our son.

    A friend – failing in their attempt not to scoff – pointed out that there would be no time to do either.
    “I’d rather die trying” muttered I in manner of John Wayne pretending he was at the Alamo (rather than a dusty backlot in Burbank).

    Of course one needs to share said plan with Best Beloved, and then refrain from arguing about whether to take M40 or zip along the back roads. Or whether a the train or car is best for a rendezvous with the girls somewhere between central London and our front door.

    And let’s not even go near what we do about the cat (likely as I am to observe “She’ll live. She’s got nine live.” Which will invariably precipitate a piercing glare full of accusation that I am inhuman etc etc.

    I shall go forth and plant some daffodil bulbs to make myself feel better. That will put off the imminent threat of nuclear annihilation and give me something to look forward to.


  • Timely Tetchiness

    Time for a modicum of tetchiness on a Friday morning. While neatly hiding the fact that I have changed my mind.

    Actually – in the interests of developing national civil discourse and debate – I am going to celebrate my change of mind. See, am progressive person.

    Until really quite recently, I was very much in the “We are no longer an agrarian economy, so why do we still do this?” camp when it comes to the clock change. However I have had a volte face as I increased the depth of my knowledge just this morning.

    I had thought a change would reduce road traffic accidents for school children, but previous attempts showed a change has the opposite effect.

    Having witnessed some truly insane driving in recent weeks as well as bemoaning the antics of idiot parents on the school run over many years, road safety is a favourite hobby horse. To which I would add unsupervised children and teenagers whose desire to play chicken significantly exceeds their desire to stay safe.

    Anyway, BBC Breakfast had an item comparing the attitudes of pensioners with that of young mums. Now, guess which group shrugged off sleep ‘anxiety’ with a slightly bewildered matter of factness.

    Now I am safely beyond the 3am feeds stage but have shifted into the 3am festering about some random and extremely minor aggravation phase, I now spend an inordinate amount of time fretting about my sleep.


    However, the talking head sleep expert said not to panic. So I shan’t. I will merely relish my extra hour in bed, stare quizzically at the clock on Sunday evening as the sun sets before I am ready and look forward to several days of moderate grumbling about the clock change. As, needless to say, I do not do on return from a sunny escape on the Continent.

  • Can Hubris Get it Done?

    I am in pursuit of hope through twisted logic.

    There was much fan fare (primarily from the man himself) and some decidedly grudging admissions from his critics, when DT got his plan for peace in the Middle East over the line last week. “Kudos”, I muttered through gritted teeth…while all the while placing bets on when the first bullets would fly as this “peace” broke into smithereens

    So I suppose I should admit to some grim satisfaction when Hamas and the IDF went at it again over the weekend.

    However wrists have clearly been slapped and the ceasefire has been reinstated. While Israeli settlers knock an old lady to the ground during the annual olive picking season and Hamas shots young men in the back of the head, but the aid is still flowing as this blip is dismissed and the US envoys realise that they have to in situ to keep the ceasefire in place.

    The fear is that DT will lose interest. Hmmmmm… I suspect not. At least not until this time next year when he gets his horrid little hands on the NPP and
    gives his acceptance speech which will no doubt tell his audience how he is the greatest, most worthy, most historic winner of the NPP in the last 500 years (oh, please do point out that the NPP isn’t 500 years old), this is a man who thinks you can drop the price if medicines by 1000%…).

    So, we must challenge the envoys and diplomats and rulers and peacemakers (hell, even Tony Blair, if we must) to get their backsides into gear and get the structures in place to make this work.

    You’ve got less than 350 days to embed a two state solution, undermine the clout of Hamas by ensuring Palestinians have the infrastructure to survive without them and obliterate the stranglehold of the far right in on Israeli politics (for which read his Bibi-ship).

    What could be easier?


  • Diversity V Unity

    Still listening to Amal and his radicals.

    One week you get a radical headcteacher saying that diversity isn’t a strength. The next week a radical climate activist argues that diversity is a strength.
    The former said the strength can be found in unity.

    But are they polar opposites? I think not.

    We can be a diverse society and have a strong sense of being British, European, Londoners, Mancunians etc, etc.

    We can throw up the bunting and bake our scones, then order a curry for supper We can value our Christian traditions that anchor our calendar and also celebrate Diwali, Eid and so on.

    We can examine our history, our geographical world view and so on. We can look at science through diverse physiologies. And we can study Shakespeare who provides an avenue to discuss racism, antisemitism, Adrian, gender fluidity.

    By creating a diverse curriculum full of variety we explore skills such as critical thought and analysis as well as alove of learning.
    But we can also celebrate our unity in pride in our form, our house, our school, our community, our region, our country and our continent. Very little is all bad

  • Radical Ideas

    I have been listening to Amal Rahman’s podcast Radical and his interview with Katherine Barbarsingh. Hugely enjoyable and thought provoking.

    I like many of her ideas, particularly in relation to the importance of uniform and collective identity. I like her emphasis on discipline. I love her expectation that her students appreciate the importance of manners .


    Her views on how much emphasis should be placed on difficult backgrounds and whether allowances can and should be made is more challenging.
    This debate is hideously complicated. And this issue is hideously difficult to navigate in today’s education environment.

    So, I am going to wade in and say that we should be sending a firm – if complex and nuanced – message to all our students. Namely, “I know your individual circumstances and the impact they have on your life. I appreciate that this scenario is a challenge for you. However I expect you to rise to the challenge and meet my expectations. I expect you to do this, because I believe you can. And I will help you to do so.”

    I would combine this with “Your behaviour today was unacceptable. You know better and can do better.. I know this because I know you as a person and want you to make better choices for yourself. Because you matter.”

    It matters to all students that they are listened to and heard. But it should also matter to that this does not always mean they are right and their expectations are always valid. Vibrant, ambitious adults can grow from young people who are challenged to go above and beyond their best, in their learning, their engagement and their behaviour, aided by the security of clear boundaries and clear expectations.