A new start

I'm starting afresh. Come find me at  http://ostensiblyowl.blogspot.co.uk/

RIP Pete Barnes

Tragically this morning, a helicopter in London crashed into a crane and subsequently burst into flames, killing the pilot of the helicopter and another person.

I don't know the exact circumstances, but I did know that Pete Barnes, the pilot, was an exceptional man. As a teenager, I was lucky enough to be taken for a spin in a helicopter by this gorgeous man, and I also had the pleasure of giving him a lift in my car on another occasion. Charming, witty, handsome and polite, even to a gawking teen.

Tributes pouring in acknowledge his flying skills, his bravery, his heroics and, most of all, what a thoroughly nice man he was.

It is indeed a tragedy that he was taken so young (50), doing what he did so brilliantly, and I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to have met him so many years ago. May he rest in peace.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm jumping on the bandwagon

Yeah, I'm late. Checking into Twitter, I find some amount of venom aimed at Ms Julie Burchill.
So I Google her name.
So, we don't like transsexuals today. Or we do, and we don't like them being slagged off.
Sigh. Here *we* go again. Feminists versus the world.
I didn't like Ms Burchill's piece because it is vile. But I also resented being involuntarily lumped in as an uneducated, working class drone that wants nothing more than feminist supremacy.
No, thanks, I'm quite posh and clever and I'd quite like to just get on being me and letting everyone else get on with their lives. Unless they make a lot of noise, steal from me or vote Tory, what they do/are is no concern of mine.
Oh, I'm not linking to the article, it's horrid. Go Google and you too can experience the surreal experience of the Telegraph castigating the Observer for being bigoted.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life... and I'm feeling meh

Ok, it's not a new day, dawn or life, and it's not quite new year any more either. But I haven't blogged in a while, no, really, and so I feel compelled to say:

A very merry Christmas to all the bots out there! And I do hope all the legions of real people anxiously awaiting my latest bloggage had a most splendid Christmas. And indeed, anyone else. Them too. A really happy one.

Christmas for me was a bit spoiled by the illness of everyone, but the children had a brilliant time and were more or less well on the big day. Poor grumpypants had tonsillitis and couldn't eat or particularly stay out of bed. Most everyone was frugal this year, myself included, which puzzles me slightly as to why it took 4 years of recession before this kicked in. Grumpypants was most generous; I received a Chromebook, which is quite brilliant and shall be blogged about in due course. This was on top of the Kindle Touch I received as an early Christmas present in October. 

Yes I know, patience would have yielded a Paperwhite, but no Chromebook. So I win really, I have a shiny new Touch that does the job just grand, and a Chromebook. Way. How many times can I mention the Chromebook? Many.

So that was Christmas. Me being spoilt mostly. I'm not holding out for much for my birthday on Friday. I may pretend the Kindle was a birthday present.

Happy new year also. May 2013 be bountiful. I type 2014 first almost every time I type the year. I'm obviously not anticipating a good year and want this one out of the year.

According to my 2012 new year spraff, which can be revisisted here, I undertook the following for 2012:

* Finish my dissertation and finally get the MSc I've been doing since 2007.
* Lose the baby belly. 
* Move to a house that's big enough for 5 of us. 

No, no and no, although I did submit the dissertation today so that just missed. Although it was a big bit rubbish so may need redone. 

The other two, well, no go. 

The baby belly is marginally smaller, having toyed with various fixes, the most successful of which was a low carb diet, which was surprisingly easy, effective, solved all my niggly ailments, and which gave me agonising pains that may well be gallstones. So we're back on the carbs, with the accompanying belly, stecky joints and perpetual hunger. I may one day master the art of moderation.

We're still in the same old 2 bed flat. We have lived here for ten years this year, seven of which with two children and a bit over a year with a third. She's still in our room, is ever accumulating belongings and it is a Bit of a Problem.

So for this year, things are quite simple resolution wise:

1) lose the belly that's hung around too long to be called a baby belly
2) move house
3) learn the art of moderation

Anything else just seems a bit ambitious. I can't think of anything else I achieved last year. Ooh, other than successfully icing the Christmas cake with royal icing. The year before I had a daughter who I had long hoped for but neither planned nor expected. This year I plan to enjoy her as much as I can before she grows up at a rate of astonishing swiftness. Her brothers turned seven last week. Seven??!! I'm not sure how that happened. Yes, I know. Passage of time, constantly, and all that, it's a turn of phrase. Gad. My imaginary reader is so pedantic!

2011 - had a daughter
2012 - iced a cake

Doesn't quite compare. Although the latter required skill, the former just happened all by itself and all I had to do was not smoke, drink or eat swordfish.

So. I do intend to blog more but I always intend to blog more, except that time back then when I used to blog more.

We'll see what 2013 brings, and perhaps find out why I'm so keen to deny it.

It's the end of the world as we know it

Ooh. Today is the day the world ends, except it doesn't.

According to Mayan calendars, December 21 2012 marks the end of the 13th baktun, which means that they've been through 13 cycles of 394 years and today marks the end of the current one.

The existing Mayans who live in Belize point out to the scaremongers that it is simply the end of a time, not the end of time. For them, a new cycle is due to begin.

Which is a lot like us with New Year, every year. You know, resolutions, traditions, something called redding that I have Never Heard Of, despite being from the town of Hogmanay (Edinburgh you know). And even more like us at the end of 1999 when, oh yes, the world was going to end because of the Millenium Bug, or Y2K.

Oh right. Redding means cleaning the house thoroughly on Hogmanay. All ready for the new year, and I guess it means "readying". I know that's a belief that you must be careful what you do on New Year's Day so you get out of the way all the unpleasant tasks you don't want to have to do.  Apparently it also entailed repaying all debts before the bells at midnight. Aye, right.

I do like reading about how we live in Scotland. Fascinating.

Anyway, back to the doom and gloom of the end of the calendar. The Mayan calendar that we don't usually pay a whit of attention to, remember?

Assuming an apocalypse was to happen, which it won't, there are various proposed mechanisms by which we meet our demise.

First up is an alignment of the planets that causes us to disappear into our pet black hole.

Naturally, there's the potential for a collision with a previously unnoticed, sorry, unacknowledged planet. Or a meteor couldn't strike us.

There's others, along the same lines. Random negative energy, pole reversal and other astronomical disasters that might just have been predicted by now. Doommongery at its finest. We do love a good apocalyptic panic.

I believe that the solstice is due to happen at 11.12 this morning, and that this is the time of the "apocalypse".

I bet I forget. I always do, then a few hours later I'm pleasantly reminded that it hadn't happened. Again.

Wiggo!

How gratifying to see Bradley Wiggins win BBC Sports Personality of the Year. A truly deserved win.

First he won the Tour de France, the first British rider to do so, and then right on the tail of that, off he went to the Olympics to win gold.

Brilliant sportsmanship, and what a thoroughly nice man he is. Not arrogant in the slightest, humble and just an all round good bloke, as well as being truly talented.

Pleased I am.

December 14th

RIP innocent children in Newtown, Connecticut.

There are no words for this tragedy other than sending thoughts to those who have lost their precious angels so close to Christmas. May they be at peace.

Cuddle your own babies close to you.

The glorious 12th

No, not that one. The date today, being 12/12/12, marks the last properly matching date in our lifetime.  Which is sad, if you're sad like me and have a mild obsession with dates and numbers.

We've been spoilt, with all the lovely dates starting on 01/01/01, running through 02/02/02, 03/03/03, passing my mother's brilliant birthday on 07/07/07, and onwards up till today.

Not to mention the other great dates such as my brother's wedding date of 10/11/12, a pattern which reaches its final, for our generation anyway, incarnation on 11/12/13, a year from yesterday.

My own much anticipated special birthday date was 11.1.11, which has passed, but such palindromic dates are what we have to make do with. My sons have the next one on 3.1.13, although if you want to be pedantic it is better on 31.1.13. My daughter has to wait for her special birthday date until 2.9.29, and that's not even palindromic.

Maybe she'll be excited on her birthday in 2092, but then all will be looking onward to the 22nd century and the imminent 01/01/01 etc.

For the love of the flaming box

Have I mentioned before how great Firebox are? I should have, so we'll assume I have.

So, reasons why they are great:

I love most of their products. I want to gift everyone I know with nifty gifts, and I mentally categorise people by how much they would appreciate an unnecessary but cool gizmo. If they'd like a voodoo knife block, then I like them.

http://www.firebox.com/product/1109/Voodoo-Knife-Block

Yeah. Links. It's 2am and embedding is way too before-midnight-y to work.

Anyway. Other reasons why Firebox is the best website in the world:

They give you free sweeties. Or they did last time I bought anything. Everyone should give a wee bag of haribo with purchases. It's nice. It's always excitin get something extra in a parcel.

I have a memory of writing this before. Ah well. It was long enough ago that I don't really remember so what chance do my bot readers have of remembering?

Not YOU, obvs. You're special.

And now, further greatness is revealed after I made an order and received an email confirmation that made me smile with genuine smiliness. I do like a touch of silliness, it's like a sweetie for the inbox. And silly the email was, while imparting the relevant information. Huzzah.

What other reasons do you need?

So. Love Firebox.

I also quite love the Daily Mash, which is genius, and the peak of my love was upon reading their privacy and cookies thing. Which should be visible somewhere, wherever Blogger put it, and must be admired not least for the "whatever" button.

In a world that I mostly find unfunny, humour in the mundane is very much appreciated. Thank you internet peeps.

Royal miracle

It is indeed a miracle. The Duchess of Cambridge is in fact the first woman ever to conceive a baby. Ever.
Who knew there was so much gossip and humour to be eked from one small pregnancy?
I don't have much to say on it. Anyone who conceives just the one baby first time round isn't trying very hard. Get back to me if she gets upgraded to multiples. Although it will be pleasant to have the "too thin to conceive" silenced.

2013 is here.

Ok, not quite, but in a revisit of an old post I am delighted to bring you the predictions for the coming year.

Yes. December has just begun. We're not at New Year yet. But let's pretend there's a logical reason for magazines being a month ahead.

What untold joys does 2013 hold for us then?

Not a lot.

We will be settled, which is jolly nice if you are,  but a bit of an ask if you're not. Pressure is on a bit for the unsettled. The triangle of work, home and relationships should be in order and...

Wait a minute, what? All three? Cripes. That's a bit much. So that's our goal: achieve the impossible.

We are very self confident now. No we're not, actually. I do believe in myself though, there's a lot of evidence for me and not so for Santa, God, fairies etc, so that's a definite start. Getting there.

The technology stuff sort of tells me that we're going to be much the same as we are this year. Woo. And more of us are unemployed but this is good because it gives us more time to improve our minds.

I do find nothing broadens my mind more than sitting around the house conversing with a toddler and watching CBeebies. None of that pesky adult conversation stuff fuddling my expanding brain, nuh uh. And how nice not to waste my brainpower on work when I can be at home making life changing decisions such as "which shoes to wear". Maybe if I didn't have the toddler and was at home anyway I'd expand my mind with daytime tv? Yes, that must be what they mean.

Oh. Read books. Because the book that springs to mind as having been read by all women this year is positively mind enhancing.

No, wait, we're going to be doing puzzles and brain training. Yes, you did read that correctly. In 2013 Brain Training is going to become popular. I only hope they can put it on handheld devices, that would be fabulous. They could get someone like Nicole Kidman to do the advert. How modern.

Family stuff, we're going to have paternity leave, more single mothers and not have babies. All at the same time. And babies are really expensive so we'll take on more and take our parents on as well. Yay.

It's going to be a busy year.

We shall yearn for back to basics, which is a nice way of saying we pretend we like simple things and not nice shiny new things. And we'll be into bargains! Yay, maybe we'll discover eBay!

Yes, we're still skint and still making like it's a good thing because we will save money like non-rich people do anyway. We're going to plan our meals and make a shopping list? Radical plans.

Who are these people?

(Woman and Home incidentally. I think they've been away for a few years).

Meh. 2009 was going to be so much more exciting. We were going to go for walks and everything. Now we have to dig out Brain Training and move Granny in to our garden (I jest not).

Once every 824 years

I've encountered this thing mentioned that December is special as it has 5 Saturdays, 5 Sundays and 5 Mondays, which only happens every 824 years. 5 weekends!

Because nobody celebrates extra Mondays. Although they perpetually  follow Sundays so I don't really follow any excitement at all. Every seven days it is Monday again. That's something that only happens once every week.

But, December? Surely every month with 31 days that starts on a Saturday has this phenomenon? And that for it to happen in December presumes that the 1st is a Saturday occasionally. Approximately every 5 or 6 years I'd guess.

And yes. It last happened in 2007 and will happen again in 2018. How exciting it isn't.

My neural networks are twitching and it seems this has been put about before, with the amazing 5 weekends in August 2010.

I'm not sure why it is put about. A joke? A chain mail thing? General thickness? Supposedly it's good feng shui to share it, so no doubt I've unleashed the same level of misfortune upon my life that my refusal to relocate my front door or toilet causes.

Goodbye iPhone, hello Android

After much deliberation and a woefully disappointing new product from Apple in the form of the iPhone 5, I have made the move.

I was awaiting the arrival of Windows Phone 8, and was fully intending purchasing a Nokia. Until they priced it out of my prepared-to-pay range by a long way.

Then the Nexus 4 was announced with Jellybean the 2nd, or Jellybean as it is to be known. AKA Android 4.2. A groovy phone indeed, but with flaws. One giant flaw in fact: a glass back. Having dropped an glass backed iPhone 4 every day I've owned it, I will never own a glass backed phone again.

And so I find myself with a Sony Xperia T. It's rather nice, and is held for perhaps as many as three seconds by James Bond in Skyfall. But movie stardom aside, I likes, and it's costing me £20 a month. Half an iphone. Despite being sold on Jellybean the return, I'm not getting Jellybean until March (or so Sony say). But I do have the ludicrously named Ice Cream Sandwich, or 4.04, which tbh makes any version of iOS look positively quaint.

I don't miss very much about the iPhone. 'Touch to scroll to top' is about it. I have replicated all my apps, with the exception of Tesco Finder and Mood Pad, and the TV catch up ones. The latter I rarely used anyway, and are replaceable on proper screens.

I've got all my games :-)

How does the phone compare to the iPhone 5? Bigger, faster, better camera. And yes, it's got panorama. Yawn, although obvs as a previous iPhone user this is new to me.

I can dictate everything. Although as my diction is appalling this isn't all that successful.

This is me demonstrating speech element my phone.

Ok, that wasn't bad. It missed out "the" and "of" but otherwise, not bad. It fails to get my name, repeatedly. I may in fact change my name to Mark as it is determined that is what I am saying.

So. Better than Siri? I don't know because Apple liked to pretend it couldn't run on the iPhone 4.

The walkman music player is excellent. And if I get fed up, I can change it. I can add any song as a ringtone, which is exciting after 4 years as an iMuppet.

What else? I have obviously had to re-add my music, which was easy and my iTunes purchases were seamlessly copied. I had to somewhat time consumingly redo my playlists and decide which songs I wanted on my new phone. Having last decided this 4 years ago, this was exciting. Although I do seem to have done it with a nostalgic slant. Which may reflect more on my music buying habits of then (lots) and now (next to none).

Battery life is superb, but to be fair, it was cack on the iPhone 4 after iOS 6 broke it, no sorry, after 2 years use.

Do I miss my iPhone? No.

I regret not making the move two years ago instead of taking the iPhone 4 when the 3G became unusable. And I feel something akin to pity when I see an iPhone user. They haven't seen the light. 

Scotland the Significant

Hmph. Hmph. Now I do appreciate that I have been genetically programmed to complain about everything England does with regard to Scotland, but I'm irked by the attitude to us that has irked me all my life. Many "British" things count Scotland as one area, with England divided into umpteen areas by county.

The Olympic Torch spent one week in Scotland, out of its 70 day tour. For most of this week it was on a lorry. Fair? Not so for Fife, which it did not pass through, stopping only at the extremities to fulfil the "one hour" promise of it being accessible to 95% of the general population.

Except if you take into consideration that children have to be at their own school, so any school hour appearances of the torch were not possible for children outwith the town in question. So by bypassing our town and neighbouring towns, our children missed out. Some children whose parents have more money, patience and no babies, did travel to see it. How well they succeeded I don't know, other than the sensible sorts that took out a mortgage on a train fare.

Sadly the central belt got cherry picked for inclusion on the route, unlike Orkney and Shetland which were included. Was the flame itself more interested in a pleasant tourist trail? Or perhaps it enjoys sailing?

Marco Pierre White sought couples from around the UK for his Kitchen Wars programme. While he set up his kitchen van in various cities around England, (and Cardiff in Wales) to test out numerous couples, he didn't bother taking his van to Scotland, merely driving his 4x4 to visit just the one restaurant in Perthshire. He did stop for fish and chips, which at least acknowledges that we do them better than anyone else.

Scotland only accounts for a small percentage of the entire UK population, most of whom live in the central belt, with Glasgow and Edinburgh being the third and eighth most populated cities in the UK respectively.

But if you consider that the South East contains two thirds of the population, that only leaves 33% for the entire rest of the UK.

Scotland accounts for 8.4%, Wales for 4.8% and Northern Ireland 3%. So the rest of England - excluding the South East - only accounts for 16.8% of the population.

Taking up nearly a third of the land mass, I think it's time we stopped being treated as a remote outpost.

Formula for defence

Yet again, I read about breastfeeding and how "good" mothers do it. Formula bad, yada yada.

I have breast fed none of my children. The twins appeared to lack the instinct to breastfeed and did not latch on, or ever look for breast milk. They needed formula to thrive.

My baby girl was keen to try, although not at first, but she latched on and had some colostrum. And then her mother (me, using the third person unnecessarily) nearly died and decided that a live mother was more important than breast milk and so had to take medication that wasn't compatible with breastfeeding.

So am I a bad mother? It seems so. I feel entirely persecuted by the insinuation that formula is the lazy option. Reports that examine the relationship between duration of breastfeeding and anything the child does always conclude that breastfed babies do best. The one that's got my back up today concerns academic ability.

I've learned that mothers who breastfeed tend to be in better socio-economic groups, with higher levels of education and (grrrrrr) increased incidences of reading to children and general language skills development.

The insinuation being that the sort of mother who breastfeeds is a better sort of mother and is more likely to interact with and stimulate their children.

The underlying sentiment there is that mothers who do not breastfeed also don't bother reading to their children or generally attempting to educate them in their early years at all. Only the uneducated could fail to breastfeed!

This sentiment I vehemently oppose, mostly on account of being educated, older and damned hands on as a mother, as well as having phenomenally clever twins. One twin is way better than average, the other is constantly praised for his abilities. A doctor commended his vocabulary at the age of two; at the age of six he is far ahead of most peers at mathematics and reading. Books are important in our house, as are maps, languages, counting and measuring and other things that supposedly I shouldn't think of because I didn't breastfeed.

Furthermore, many other educated, older, brilliant mothers I know were unable to breastfeed for whatever reason, and yet still manage to read to their children.

Now breastfeeding may be better for baby, assuming mother eats an exemplary diet and baby thrives, but it is woefully inaccurate to suggest that not breastfeeding means you're a less good mother. Deciding to let your baby thrive is surely the most elemental aspect of mothering?

It would be good to see a study that properly demonstrates breastfeeding v non breastfeeding in like for like families, instead of making insulting guesses at what socio-economic group you belong to based on your ability to produce milk.

I'd like to put forward the hypothesis that clever parents have clever children. No?

Euro 2012 is practically here

Ooh, I do love a good football tournament. Far more exciting than old people not dying and Britain funding athletics by cutting payments to everyone.

Due to the aforementioned, it is time for my patriotism to arise and show my full support for France. And Sweden, but not Ukraine as "we" don't like them just now.

Euro 2012 starts tomorrow. Woop woop. England are in group D with Sweden, France and Ukraine, which is an amazing coincidence that these are the same countries I seem to be supporting.

Group B - Germany, Denmark, Netherlands and Portugal - is my favourite and I'm a bit gutted those countries are in the same group so they can't all progress.

Germany are my favourites, obviously, and in the unpleasant situation that England qualify for the quarter finals, it is down to Germany to beat them on penalties because that is always fun.

I usually support the Netherlands because they have the best fans.

Denmark have a special place in my loyalties as I have Danish relatives and because of Schmeichel and the Laudrups.

And I like the Portugese because they're generally good and I like the Portugese people (based on one holiday and their general fitness).

So that's me pledged my allegiance and stamped the kiss of malfortune on the above teams.

One year it would be nice to support MY country. IF we ever qualified.

Incidentally, I do get that it would be courteous to support the home nations, but England produced David Cameron and that is unforgivable.

And R. Ireland isn't a home nation even if that's oft forgotten.

Whatever happened to every day?

A long, long time ago, but I can still remember...

I said that I would write every day. I thought I'd have something to say. I thought that my old followers would still be there.

I didn't think I'd be looking at stats from bots. Bots that live where my old followers live and made me think they're real.

But it matters not who reads it.

Ha.

Why write a blog if not to be read?

I could consider that I don't have much to say. Babies aren't all that interesting to people uninvolved in said babies.

Or I could admit to myself that I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I always have lots to say. Sometimes it comes out tedious, sometimes it amuses, very occasionally it is interesting.

Shall I pick up for the second half of the year? Can I? Should I?

BTW: American Pie. You knew that.

Fire fire.

Having been given a 3DS, I now spend a lot of time playing Brain Training, a game I already had on the DS lite. Don't ask.

One of the games on either Brain Training or More Brain Training is a syllable counting game. Easy enough, you'd think.

I make typos, and annoyingly at the moment (baby brain, or so I tell myself as that's preferable to ageing as a concept) I forget a lot or say/do entirely differently to that which I had planned. So mistakes are a-plenty. But woe betide anyone who suggests I am incorrect when I am not. (I'm likely to cry).

Dr Kawashima marked me incorrect when I was not. And so I hate him.

The word we disagree on was "fire". I say one syllable, he says two.

So I ask my boys how to say it. They dutifully answer "fy-a" and I curse Fireman Sam. Love the Welsh; have been way over subjected to Fireman Sanctimonious Sam.

This is what great uncle google says:

fire/fī(ə)r/

Which I think means that you can add in the extra syllable if you like and is entirely non committal of uncle googs.

The Free Dictionary agrees with me. One syllable.

Oxford dictionary gives this:

ˈfʌɪə

which I don't understand. I think that may be the Welsh way.

CBeebies 0 - 1 me

Ha! CBeebies can't defeat me with their obscure song.

The new (May 2012) CBeebies weekend trailer features "Good Times" by Gene Chandler.

Oh how long that took to find, so I'm double blogging it in case anyone else cares.
Shush.

Diddy politics

So last week we had our council elections. Woo.

Now, I feel people should vote, especially women, as other people* worked rather hard in the past to ensure that we can. So I always vote regardless of the election's importance.

*Mr Pankhurst especially. Yes. Much more than his wife or daughters.

And so, on such a day as last Thursday, I find myself at the polling station. Sadly this time with not one clue what I'm voting for. I'm not sure why, I do normally find out. I think this may be due to not caring much because councils are pretty much useless regardless.

Outside polling stations there are usually candidates seeking your vote. This time there were two. So I told these two young men outside that I didn't know what I was voting for and that they had one minute to convince me.

They spoke. I listened. I asked idiotic questions. They answered. The SNP chap gave me a card with his name on and told me to copy it, which impressed me more than the non-answers they gave me.

Bloke two was the second Labour candidate, he had no card and so made less impression. But in light of the other parties being respectively hateful and hated, those are the two parties that don't hurt.

Results were good, even if nice SNP bloke didn't get in, his SNP colleague did. Bye bye 94 LibDems in Scotland, including one in my area. We don't forgive easily.

Which reminds me, I must buy the local paper so I can get a simplistic explanation of the implications.