Long weekend coming

Off to visit Mr B in the 'bul. I am very excited. And in need of a break. Sadly the parentals and little sister won't be meeting us for dinner as planned, as her major surgery has put the mockers on their hols.

But she's ok. We're all ok. Break out the meze!

joella

fwiw, the joella snapshot on TB's speech yesterday

"Britain is stronger, fairer, better than on 1st May 1997."

For the record, all else aside (and I know there's a lot), I do still believe that.

joella

The joy of stats

I think paying for blog stats is a bit sad, so I never have, and instead live with the basic SiteMeter info. Which until recently gave me number of visitors and their IP address and time zone but not much else. But hey, better than nothing.

However, they've recently improved things, and I now sometimes get 'referrer info', ie if people have linked through from somewhere, I now know where. This has mostly been a bit depressing (you would not believe how many people click through from Google Image Search to my photo of hardcore), but is sometimes hilarious.

For instance: today someone came through who was looking for photos of Laetitia Cash. She is a posh bint who pissed me off in M&S in Summertown about two and a half years ago (more here). I have not given her a thought since, yet it turns out that she is a) actually quite It and (more interestingly) b) recently stood for the Tories in Salford.

And came third. "What's the point in walking into a safe seat in Islington or Chelsea?", she reportedly said. I can't quite believe she really has an interest in Salford (there aren't many M&S food halls there) but hey, who's to judge. But I'd say learn some manners, love, and people might listen.

Both the fact that I may now get hits from people searching for "Laetitia Cash hardcore", and the perverse pleasure that I might get from this, are of course entirely incidental.

joella

Pedicure

Pedicure
Originally uploaded by joellaflickr.

Ms Y and I took some time out this weekend and went to stay at a posh hotel in Tring which also has a spa. I was thoroughly exfoliated in a Clarins style (a style I could get used to...) and today I had my toenails painted. Parts of the experience were thoroughly bizarre (multiple wedding parties, many peacocks, eating in overheated and over-decorated function rooms, ordering the Observer and getting the Sunday Express) but others were splendid.

My favourite bits were sitting outside in a dressing gown in late September, sneaking in our own wine and bombay mix, and taking a stroll in the grounds as the sun went down armed with a book of matches and sets of Hopi ear candles. Someone's wedding photos are going to have a slightly surreal edge.

joella

... and in other news

... I've got a new job. Still in the same place, but in a different bit of it. I resigned this morning. My manager didn't really react, and I've had a weird day not knowing who knows and who doesn't. But the director's just come up and given me one of her famous hard stares and said 'you won't like it'.

So that's out in the open then. I don't think I've ever been so glad it's Friday...

joella

I sense a learning

[this title being a reference to Vernon God Little. No disrespect to my mother intended.]

I've been a little quiet this week. I've noticed that bloggers get quiet when really big stuff is happening. Few of us really do expose our bleeding hearts when the bleeding is hardest... perhaps because we rarely bleed alone, and some stuff it just ain't appropriate to share at the time.

So anyway. My little sister (also my only sibling) just nearly pegged it. Early Sunday morning, she awoke in biblical hellfire agony. My mother, who is a nurse and has witnessed much agony, reckoned it was probably her appendix. They took her to hospital. Four hours later they admitted her.

No, said the doctors, her appendix is not grumbling. It's probably a big urinary tract infection. They gave her some morphine and some antibiotics and said she could go home the next day.

Next day, more biblical hellfire agony, so antibiotics clearly not working. Hmm, said the doctors, might be a kidney infection. Scan her! said my mother. No need, said the doctors. More drugs.

Next day, more agony. Three days on morphine and something is clearly still very wrong. Eventually, after much maternal badgering, they scanned her. Well, said the doctors. There's a lot of fluid in her pelvis. It looks like she may have had an ovarian cyst which has burst.

Next day they started keyhole surgery to investigate and clear it up. Instead, they had to open her up and remove her... ruptured appendix. Four days *after* it ruptured. Because of the delay, she also has peritonitis. If we were Americans, we'd sue. Not sure what we'll do instead apart from stand in the corridors and scream 'you utter bastards why didn't you listen to her'?

As Bob Dylan says, sometimes you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

They moved her to a private hospital this morning so she can have some peace and quiet. She can't come home yet because she's still on IV drugs, but they tell me she's sleeping and ok.

joella

Death of a man with a mission

I was a huge admirer of Simon Wiesenthal, who died yesterday aged 96. By many accounts he was obsessed with his mission - to bring Nazi war criminals to account - but then we need obsessives in this world. Obsessives keep up the fight when everyone else has moved on.

We need to move on from the horrors of history if we are to evolve as human beings. There's a place for reconciliation, if only so there's a place to move onto. But there's a place for justice as well. We need people to say 'you may be old men now, but you are still accountable for your actions'. We need to keep caring about it, because atoning for the past is an important part of the future. And the present. There are abuses perpetrated daily by people who feel they are holders of power, so will never have to confront the survivors of those abuses.

And I admired Simon Wiesenthal for keeping on keeping on. Only a man who'd survived it could have done it, and many of those who'd survived it could think of nothing worse than devoting their lives to reliving it. I have never known any of my Jewish family Mention The War, but I know from lopsided family trees that many never survived it.

As the BBC obituary puts it:

... his dogged perseverance in hunting down those who had colluded in the most
barbarous of crimes made him a legend in his lifetime. He always claimed he sought justice not vengeance.

"I might forgive them for myself," he once said, "but I couldn't speak for the millions they killed."

joella

Halve's final gig

Halve's final gig
Originally uploaded by joellaflickr.

Farewell, housemate S. Hope you have a lovely time dodging bears and jumping from the sky.

joella

Structural inequality

So plumbing S and I met up this morning in search of boots with steel toe caps. First of all we went to Blanchfords - an occasionally patronising, sometimes overpriced but usually ultimately successful experience. They had nothing under a size 8 (S and I are both about a size 5) - but they confidently sent us to the tool hire place over the way.

The tool hire place said 'Size 5? Who are they for?' We turned round together from our viewing of their display of large boots and said in tandem 'Us', and waved our perfectly normal sized (if you are a girl) feet in their general direction. One wonders who else we might have been buying for. Who doesn't buy their own safety boots?

They burrowed through the catalogue and said there was only one style available in size 5 and that we would have to order them specially. This boot is available in sizes 5-11 and in two colours, brown and honey (= light yellow). Just underneath this it said 'size 5 available in honey only'. Jokes were made about girls and honey. But not in a bad way. We decided however to try the army surplus store before we placed our order. 'Not much call for 5s' they said as we left.

But over at the Army Surplus we were in luck -- plumbing S got a brown pair in size 5 and I got a grey pair in size 6: no 5 in stock but I'm a big 5 anyway and with big socks 6 is fine. So we are legit, and allowed into the workshop on Tuesday.

But jeez, I ask you. And what would Ms Y do with her size 3s?

joella

Construction time again

I've started my plumbing course. My proper, grown up plumbing course. If we stick it out, in two years' time plumbing S and I will be qualified plumbers. Walking through the door was a fairly terrifying experience. We are, of course, the only girls -- not just in the class but quite possibly in the entire college.

But when we got shown round the workshop, with its tools and stash of copper pipe and alcoves where bathrooms will be built and special lead beating room, I did start to get excited. It felt a bit like the chemistry lab at school but on a grander scale, and I always liked being in there.

Saturday, we have to buy boots with steel toe caps. And then go and fix J's toilet for a bit of practice.

I hope I am brave enough for all this.

joella

Berliner = better

The new look Guardian is being hotly debated in the office today. Much to my surprise, the majority are against. But I love it. I have never been able to handle broadsheets, I think they discriminate against people with short arms. So I would buy the Guardian, but only read the front and the back and G2. Now I can read it all. And the new Guardian Egyptian font is very elegant, especially in its thin and delicate forms. So. Nice one, I say, and I look forward to being better informed.

joella

Aquarians and Virgoans

Although I think astrology is bollocks, I am proud to be an Aquarian. It is clearly the coolest star sign. But that's not my point. My point is, how many people know FOUR OTHER PEOPLE who have the same birthday as them?

I do. And I think that's a bit spooky, even though I have A-level maths and I know that the odds of this are not as high as they might first appear. (If I have a birthday on 27 January, the odds of another person having that birthday are 1 in 365 and a bit, and they remain so no matter how many people I meet who have that birthday. This is quite counterintuitive. And actually I think probably not true as I'm pretty sure spring is the most popular season for conception. But I digress).

The next most popular birthday day* for people I know is today. Happy birthday P, D and N! It's a bit of a bummer of a date for a birthday these days, but on the upside, people do tend to remember it.

joella

* actually, this ties with 23 July, and I did know three people with that birthday before I knew three people born today, so really that should win. But one of them did me down, so it only counts as a two-birthday day these days -- tying with 6 November, which now I think of it should have the edge as one of those birthdays is my sister's. Oh, it's a complicated world.

That cake in full...

It didn't win, but I am not bitter. Plumbing S's Somalia cake did, and deservedly so.

joella

On the table

We have a small dining room. Well, it's not even a dining room, it's a little conservatory on the side of the house, where we eat. It has an enormous table in it. I protested at the size of the table at the time of purchase, but a) I was not paying for it and b) both my housemates loved it and wanted it badly, so I gave in reasonably gracefully. It's a beautiful piece of furniture, but it belongs in a room twice the size.

It can seat eight, but usually seats two or three. It also (therefore?) collects crap. I was looking despondently down it this evening, and decided to count the number of things on it.

There was:
1. One metal pot stand with a half a pan of split pea dal
2. One half bowl of yoghurt
3. One bowl of aloo sag
4. Two dirty plates with cutlery
5. Two empty wine glasses
6. One pair of flip flops
7. One plant mister
8. One polystyrene box of basil, coriander and chive seedlings
9. One fleecy top
10. One newly baked cake still in its tin
11. Two towels
12. One pair of swimming trunks
13. One little rucksack
14. One fruitbowl containing five pears
15. One candlestick with no candle
16. One washbag
17. One wooden pot stand
18. One egg cup containing beads from a broken necklace
19. One tin of Water Hawk
20. One pen
21. One clothes peg
22. One pencil
23. One rubber
24. One sellotape dispenser, with sellotape
25. One thank you card
26. One book called 'Amusements in Mathematics'
27. One book called 'The Computer Music Tutorial'
28. One letter from a life insurance company
29. One newsletter from Abel and Cole
30. One letter from the Folding Sliding Door Company
31. One local newsletter
32. One Turkish tile
33. One map of Israel from the CIA World Factbook

Why can't we be cool and minimalist? There aren't even any children in the house. And I didn't even think about counting the things on the floor... thought the list would start with 'several thousand hairs'.

joella

Cake expectations

We're having a big party in the New Building on Friday. Staff were asked to sign up on the intranet if they wanted to come, register the potential attendance of their partner and/or children, and say if they would bake a cake to represent one of the countries that we work in. You could choose your country from a drop down list, or state 'No cake'. Stop laughing at the back.

I thought about this for a while. I decided to bake a cake for the UK, as this is the country I work on behalf of, as well as the country I live in, as well as a country with a good cake reputation. But it had already gone. I then thought about baking a cake for Zambia, but it is not a place famed for its cakiness and the flag is mainly green, which is not a great cake colour.

So I plumped for Israel and the Palestinian Territories. Can you think of a Palestinian cake recipe? No. Are they a cake shape? No. Is the use of a flag fraught with issues? Yes. Did I decide this was possibly the stupidest idea I'd ever had? Yes. Was this compounded by the news that the 'cake competition will be judged by the Director'? Yes. Competition? It wasn't a competition when I said I'd do it. Shall I pull a sickie on the day?

But then I found this Nigel Slater recipe for orange and honey polenta cake, and a chord was struck.

It goes a little something like this. When I was little and food still had seasons my Israeli grandmother used to send us a crate of Jaffa oranges over from Haifa every winter. My mum would store them in the garage, still in their crate and shredded paper and exotic perfumed oranginess, and my sister and I would sneak in and feel and smell them and think about when we would get to eat them. I don't really remember eating them, I just remember thinking about eating them.

I first went to Israel when I was 10, and I was overwhelmed by the dry warmth and the orange blossom scent in the air. My dad's cousin took us out in a jeep and I stood up in the back getting blown to bits by the hot wind. We stopped in an orange grove and he twisted a big orange off a tree and gave it to me. I held it like a huge jewel, not quite knowing what to do with it, until he gouged a hole in it with his thumb and told me to squeeze it into my mouth.

It was juicy and sweet and warm from the sun and like nothing I had ever tasted. The Jaffas in the crate in the garage never tasted this good, even though they tasted a hundred times better than any other oranges we ever got.

So I associate oranges with Israel, with sunshine and with youth and wonder. An orange cake is the cake to bake.

joella

Waiting for a train

I think retrospective Flickr'ing might finally do for my wrists, but I have added a few from Zambia because I never posted any at the time...

joella

Game over

I ran out of time

joella

It's all too beautiful

Once upon a time, many years ago, M said to me 'you don't really like art, do you?'. This was an unfair and untrue insult, and one which was born, I feel, of a slight public school snobbishness on his part. I like art, I said, I just don't like the wanky stuff you like. I think he may occasionally still feel slightly ashamed of himself.

But our worlds collided, as did those of many other people, at the weird and wonderful Power Plant installation at the Oxford Botanic Gardens. These are weird and wonderful in themselves by day, with their Victorian greenhouses and exotic planting set against classic Oxford architecture. But they are never open at night, so this this was something amazing.

Said the blurb (paraphrased):

Oxford Contemporary Music have teamed up with the University of Oxford Botanic Garden to ... transform the Garden into an extraordinary world of sound and light. For three nights only, you will be able to explore the garden in the moonlight. You can take a magical musical and visual journey amongst intriguing constructions and installations around the walled garden, water garden, plants and trees... combining sound, fire, pyrotechnics and light.

And it truly was a beautiful thing. There was no light but the light from the installations, and it was a magical place of huge glowing balloons deflating through harmonicas, non-epilepsy safe neon flickering, whoomfing fire lanterns playing midi tunes in the gunnera, little buzzing red firefly machines, banging gongs, live projected technicolour snail action and so much more, all lit by candles in paper bags and whirring smoke and light machines. It was like being out of your head in a slightly edgy but very safe underworld.

I just asked M if he would say the same thing about me and art now, and he said 'no... I wouldn't say you didn't like art... but I also think you're more open to it'. Maybe we each had something to learn from the other.

joella

Finally engaging with Flickr

It's not that I haven't wanted to, more that I just haven't got it together. Anyway, now I have... starting with a few from last weekend.



More as I get sorted at http://www.flickr.com/photos/joella/

joella

Aftershock

It's been horrifying watching the scenes of chaos and violence unfold in New Orleans. Bodies lying in streets running with raw sewage, people looting and shooting, fights for food and water amid the squalor of the Superdome. It's hard to believe this could happen in the world's richest and most powerful country.

There's also been an interesting reaction from some of the world's press -- storms like Katrina, it is being argued, are one of the side effects of global warming. The US is the world's worst offender in this by far, and the most resistant to reducing emissions. It's a 'warning from god', said Hong Kong's Ta Kung Pao newspaper.

Which is a pretty hardcore point of view, and just one of many. 'This is our tsunami', some American commentators have said. Wrong, says Alertnet. I buy that. But this isn't the time for US-bashing, and it's maybe a little too easy to forget that the people trying to feed children and care for the sick amid piles of human shit are not the rich white redneck SUV drivers we all love to hate, but overwhelmingly poor and black.

As in most natural disasters, those who are the hardest hit and who lose the most are those who are least well equipped to recover: the poor and vulnerable. The difference in the US is that some of the poor and vulnerable have guns, and are markedly harder to portray sympathetically on the television.

joella