According to a Poll today 1 in 6 children think Auschwitz is a World War II theme park

News today shows that schools may not to be teaching children sufficiently about the Second World War and the events that surround it.

A poll of 2000 children, aged nine to fifteen, was conducted by a Scottish charity, Erskine, which provides nursing and medical care for veterans, and says it will now take part in a nationwide scheme to educate schoolchildren about the two world conflicts.

Some of the figures are genuinely shocking, but remind us, that unless we actively engage young people in understanding history, ‘we shall remember them,’ may not be a phrase that Britons use forever. I, more than once,  have been asked, by young people, why we wear poppies at this time of year.

• 1 in 6  thought Auschwitz was a World War II theme park
• 1 in 20 thought Adolf Hitler was a German football coach
• 1 in 20 thought The Holocaust was a celebration at the end of the war
• 1 in 10 thought The SS stood for Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven
• 1 in 12 though The Blitz was a big cleanup at the end of the war

Of the children surveyed, 40% said they did not know when Remembrance Day was, but thankfully 70% of the children surveyed said they wanted to learn more about the two wars in school.

There is hope then.

But, the work that Harry Patch and Henry Allingham both engaged in, as First World War veterans, should be encouraged in present day veterans, and they should go into schools to tell them more about our history, from the wars of the 20^th Century and those of the 21^st Century.

There’s more in The Telegraph here.

The fall of France in June of 1940 gave the British a new next-door neighbor.  And without a doubt, the Germans that moved in to the French countryside were most unpleasant.  Within weeks, the Germans were knocking on British doors, but they weren’t asking for tea and crumpets or Yorkshire pudding or even those delicious doughnuts that I love.  Instead, they were trying to shoot RAF fighters from the skies while bombing Britain’s industrial centers and ports, areas like Liverpool and the Port of London.  I imagine even the kindly Mr. Rogers would have been at least slightly perturbed by these “un-neighborly” actions.

Many of the Luftwaffe’s missions were carried out at night, and in 1940, sophisticated systems like GPS and inertial navigation were still years even from the drawing board.  So it was probably inevitable that, at some point, aircraft were going to lose their way and bomb an unintended target.  On August 24th, a handful of German bombers dropped their bombs, not on the port of Thames Haven as was their target, but on London itself.

Would you like to take a flying leap as to who appeared over Berlin the next night?  Residents of Berlin (well, all the residents of Berlin minus the 10 or so killed) were stunned to hear the crump of the anti-aircraft fire and the explosion of RAF bombs.  It was truly a new experience for them.  Residents of the German Chancellery, particularly the Chancellor himself, were incensed.  He ordered the Luftwaffe to attack British air defenses and the population itself in “day and night” attacks.

Those attacks began in earnest on September 7, 1940.  More than 360 bombers and 500 fighter planes flying escort participated in the late-afternoon attack on the Port of London.  While not strictly a civilian target, the residential areas surrounding it were, and they suffered heavily that afternoon, with 400+ killed and more than 1,000 wounded.

The attacks, which came to be known as The Blitz of London, would continue for months, reducing much of London (and many other cities) to rubble.  But they also freed the RAF and its airfields from incessant attack, giving them a chance to regroup.  Hitler’s orders to bomb cities, while incredibly painful for the citizens, was the first of his strategic errors of the war.

Recommended Reading:  The Second World War

Another in the excellent Telegraph series of videos and articles on WW2. This one about the Blitz and the Home Front.

the edge of love starring keira knightley, sienna miller, cillian murphy, and matthew rhys directed by john maybury.

There is talk about anger regarding the upcoming 65th Anniversary of D-Day, more over that no one thought to invite HM Queen Elizabeth to the party, the only living head of state that actually wore a uniform and worked for the war effort.

As such I have been reading various things around the Internet and blogashere that have not impressed me, yet there are many articles that have impressed me from nations like the USA.
Several things that are often said that really touch on a sore point with me are in regard to comments such as:
We came and saved your butts!
WE won the war! (often a US thing)
And the fact that many actually believe they came to war to stop the Holocaust!
So here are some facts – Britain had already fought her corner and had repelled and effectively won The Battle of Britain by the time our allies joined in.
No one really knew of the Holocaust until the very end of WW2.
If Britain hadn’t have been the only nation to stand up on her own and declare war – no one would have been along to stop the Holocaust at all!
WW2 for all it’s parts, took the relative equal involvement of all the nations involved, but one nation did lose and lose badly – Great Britain! 
For standing up and confronting the 3rd Reich initially on her own, the country was constantly hammered by German bombing, even my home town of Sheffield received no fewer than 22,625 bombs dropped on it, and yet Sheffield got away lightly compared to other cities.
So at the end of the war, this nation had given it’s all, it was completely bankrupt and food would carry on being rationed well into the 1950’s.

I’m actually smiling as I write this, the reason is simple – it’s all being organised by the Fr**ch!

So with the news that our Liz is not invited to the party, I recently wrote this piece on the American Princes blog – I have now taken the time to clean it up a little.

Presidents come and go, your HRH or should I say HM, does not. How many heads of state would give up there status and become a mechanic or a truck driver? How many of us would do the same? How many of us had our houses bombed? HRH did.

But, these days modern politicians seem to think the past no longer shapes the future – especially where personal commitment is concerned. Far worse affronts have happened to the crown and the UK – like the invasion of Grenada.
The US of course was born from the rejection of Royal tyranny – yet HM is no tyrant.
An Irony is that Obama himself was born a Royal Subject under HM Queen Elizabeth.

HM is the head of state of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua and Barbuda, Belize, and Saint Kitts and Nevis, where she is represented by Governors-General.
Further to these countries, she is also the head of the Commonwealth which include;
Antigua and Barbuda, Australia, The Bahamas, Bangladesh, Barbados, Belize, Botswana, Brunei Darussalam, Cameroon, Canada, Cyprus, Dominica, Fiji Islands, The Gambia, Ghana, Grenada, Guyana, India, Jamaica, Kenya, Kiribati, Lesotho, Malawi, Malaysia, Maldives, Malta, Mauritius, Mozambique, Namibia, Nauru, New Zealand, Nigeria, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea ,Samoa, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Singapore, Solomon Islands, South Africa, Sri Lanka, St Kitts and Nevis, St Lucia, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Swaziland, Tonga, Trinidad and Tobago, Tuvalu, Uganda, United Kingdom, United Republic of Tanzania, Vanuatu, Zambia, and Zimbabwe.

She still carries significant power which she used a little of last year by suspending the Canadian Government. Indeed, she can sack any of her governments and bring all her nations to war at any time if she so desires.
And with that level of power, you begin to understand the level of her reserved nature, not to mention the responsibility that comes with it.
Even in the UK, where many sometimes become vocal in questioning her role, they will still all come together in her protection because in essence, she signifies what we went to war for, she represents the true essence of democracy and even the basis of the American way of life.

Simply there is always something greater than yourself to believe in and fight for; your flag, head of state or simply the freedom that is our way of life.
What I’m saying is, we all have that rally point, that thing that drives us from within, that we don’t have to shout about – for us and the rest of those listed nations, it is Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

So Mr Sarkozy, all is fair in love and war they say, so as we and the rest of the allies once came to Fr**nce together before - and back then we really did Come, we saw and we…..

It must be nice to be able to pick and choose whoever you want to thank. Yes, Brown and Prince Charles will turn up – only because the beer is free, it is free right? and Obama has to come along to satisfy you’re freekish ‘man-love’ for him

Britain dislikes you just as much as ever – but these days, it’s by your own doing. Nevertheless, do please have a great day, remember it however you wish – as I’m sure you will.

David Davis

THe following picture is of “The Hitler-Cactus”. We call it that for reasons which shall become known. It is a variety of epiphyllum, I don’t know which one, because my old-fella died ten years ago and so it’s hard to ask him right now.

Survived 1930s students, the Blitz, a London windowbox.....

My father got it as a boy, from a botanist who’d been to South America in the 1920s. It was probably already old then. it lived in his house at “5 banbury Road, Hackney, London E9″ in the greenhous in the yard. In 1940 the house was vapourised along with the greenhouse (nobody was hurt, they were all in the Anderson shelter and my father was somewhere in Palestine with the British 9th Army. [Ever heard of that one? It did some interesting things. So did he - he was mentioned in dispatches for "continuing to conduct a malarial-mosquito-survey, while under enemy fire"...]  Honestly, if it wasn’t true, you could not make this stuff up…)

All that survived was a frond of leaf, rather lacerated, picked up in the rubble by my grandfather. it survived and regrew, and became the vegetative father of this plant in the picture, which is now about 67 years old, we are not exactly certain.

All my father’s orchids and strange south American climbing thingies, which he’d collected while a boy and a student, perished in the blast, but not this.

Neither this one, nor its “father”, ever flowered for us in London, not once. Nada. Zilch. Zero. not for us, not for my old man.

But in Lancashire, it does this every April (see above!) And we even keep it outside most of the year, and often forget to bring it in before the first frosts in November, by which time it’s got a bit scorched.

There is always hope, comrades. If humble cacti can survive all that leftwing collectivism can try to force upon thinking humans, then we can, indeed ought to, get through what is to come.

I’ve put it on now, because Sean Gabb will miss one of its best flowering-episodes otherwise.

And if socialism finally destroys civilisation, perhaps we will be able to grow this stuff and eat it: it might taste like runner-beans. I will have to do some experiments.

My mother-in-law recently gave me (temporarily) two books that were her dad’s.  She knows I’m interested in the history of Birmingham, so thought I’d enjoy both books.  The one I’ve read so far is called Brum Undaunted: Birmingham During the Blitz, written/edited by Carl Chinn. It’s full of fascinating stories of people who lived through it, and lots of photos of the damage.  I was certain I’d get bored – one can only read so much of that kind of thing – but I didn’t, partially because of the place names around the area, so many of which have become familiar to me, but probably an equal number of which I’d never heard of before!  New ground for exploring.

The other thing about these two books is that, a month or so ago, I’d done an on-line search of the Birmingham library to see which books of Carl Chinn’s they might have available, but just hadn’t had the time to go and pick any of them up yet.  And now I have a couple of them, temporarily, and I’m enjoying having them.

Birmingham was bombed quite heavily during World War II, which is something I didn’t learn about in my history classes or in all the reading I’ve done since, so this book was a real eye-opener.  I knew there’s been a lot of damage and thousands of deaths, partially because there is a memorial near St. Martin’s Church in the Bull Ring.  One of the last photos in the book touched me more than any of the others, partially because I travel through the area by bus everyday, and the photo is so different from what is there now.

For any of you reading who are familiar with Birmingham city centre, close your eyes and imagine before you look at the photo.  Imagine walking from the statue of the Bull down towards St. Martin’s.  As you walk, on your left you’ll see Urban Pie and Eat.  Directly on your right, Cafe Rouge and Starbucks.  As you walk along, you’ll notice the ‘hubcaps’ of Selfridge’s off to the left, and directly to your right, there’s Borders and Wagamama, with the church to the left in front of you down the steps and the rag market off to the right.  Compare what you see in your mind’s eye, the way it looks today, with what it looked like after some terrible bombing during World War II.

I emailed Dr Chinn to ask if there was any way I could purchase a print, explaining how the photo ‘got to me’ after reading the whole book.  He attached it to his return email, with his compliments.  That made my day!  He could’ve charged me for it, or sent me off to the archives of whichever newspaper it first appeared in…so, I say it again, thank you Carl Chinn!

So…. I need a hobby.

You see, for the last year and a half the Presidential election was my hobby. I spent quality time with Joe and Chris and Chucky T. Wolf and Anderson and Donna. Keith and Rachel. There was poll watching and primary concerns, then later scandals and smears to disprove and then an electoral map to study with the intense gaze of a jewelers eye. There may have even been a time when I created my own electoral map.

Let’s just take a minute to bow to that kind of *dorkiness, shall we?

Okay, moving on.

But now, it’s over. And although you all might try to come back at me with ‘there’s still weeks of the Bush term!” you and I both know that isn’t the same as standing on your couch cheering on a cold winter night while watching what goes down in Iowa. You know it. I know it. And Keith knows it too.

Which, leaves me with this gaping hole in my heart hobby schedule. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken steps back into society, I’ve contacted friends, I’ve started showering again. I’m sleeping better and dreaming less about Joe Biden (this is both a blessing and a curse, is there anyone cuter than Joe?). But I’ve learned that people no longer are interested when I repeat just exactly what Chuck Todd said this morning, and no one wants to talk about how the polls went down or just how mind boggling it is when you realize that Obama STILL would have won the election if he didn’t get a single vote from anyone under 30 years old.

People are tired. And truthfully? I am too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I will be placing bets on who gets top level positions in Obama’s government but for now I need to find something else to focus all my free time on. This is where you come in.

Keep in mind, I’m around people a lot, so I want a hobby that doesn’t focus on people (I’m not sure I could have made that sound any more anti-social if I had tried). I mean, I don’t suddenly want to join a thumb wrestling club or pillow fight organization or a debate group. I need something that I can do by myself, preferably something that encourages me to yell.

Football has been mentioned as a possible way to fill the void in my soul and so I spent the better part of my day watching the Steelers/Colts game. I cheered for the Steelers (mostly, I cheered for that dreamy Jeff Reed) but have been informed by one highly devout Colts fan that I’ve picked the wrong team.

So I ask you internets, what is your hobby, or what do you think my new one should be? And if it IS football, what team should I be cheering for?

*I love that wordpress suggests ‘quirkiness’ when I type ‘dorkiness’. Finally, someone who understands me.

Wartime romances are not generally on my list of must-reads. I expect schmaltzy love stories between doll-faced maidens and battle-hardened heroes. However, Catherine Law is a first time novelist and I’m a sucker for debut novels, so I agreed to take a look at A Season of Leaves. I found a vivid and haunting novel that has made its way into my top three favourite books of the year.

At the beginning of the novel we meet an old lady called Rose (echoes of the film Titanic in the structure of this novel perhaps) who has discovered some undelivered letters relating to a secret in her past. Her daughters have planned a trip for her to Prague, as they know she once lived there and Rose intends to read these precious letters once she arrives. The book then transports us back to Rose’s early life and we follow her on a journey through wartime Plymouth, Cornwall and onto Czechoslovakia.

A Season of Leaves is a finely-worked love story, one that had me on tenterhooks throughout and overwhelmed at the end. The young Rose, or ‘Ginge’ as she is known, is a land-girl sent from her home to work a farm in the Cornish countryside. She leaves behind her parents and her manipulative fiancé – who is an excellent baddie, incidentally – to make a new life with a warm but no-nonsense family. The work is back-breaking and as a city girl she has a painful initiation into the world of manual labour, but she perceives the beauty of the landscape, and she is keen to play her part in the war effort.

At a local bop she meets a Czech soldier named Krystof who is serving with the American forces. Their relationship is the backbone of this novel, and while it is undoubtedly a great love that ultimately leaves the reader with a sense of simultaneous euphoria and grief, it falls short of feeling like a literary love, i.e. one of those romances so perfect that it could only ever exist in a novel – see The Time Traveler’s Wife for an example of this.

A Season of Leaves made me consider the importance of timing in love. Both Rose and Krystof develop intense feelings for each other very quickly, and the reader is not blind to the fact that both are them are desperate for romance in their lives. They meet at a particular time when they are both ready to experience love. They need it. And it is as much about being loved, as about becoming a person who can offer love to someone else. I was left with the sense that if Rose and Krystof had met in a different place, on a different day, even at a different hour, they might have remained strangers forever. There is something both wonderful and terrifying about that.

In terms of style, with its attention to detail and narrative control, A Season of Leaves reminded me of the work of D. H. Lawrence, an author that I very much admire.

I have a tendency to write long reviews but this novel has me stumped. There is nothing within A Season of Leaves with which I can find fault. Put simply, I loved reading it. I suppose, being ultra-nitpicky, I could have done without the rather melodramatic ‘A secret kept for a lifetime…A love that never died’, which appears on the front cover.

I’m reluctant to give away spoilers but if you enjoy romantic novels told with finesse and compassion then this might be for you.

N.B. I feel compelled to own that as a Plymouth girl living in Cornwall with a mad desire to visit Prague, the settings of this novel could have been made for me, so my hands are up for potential settings bias! Also, I would have liked to have quoted some of the text, but I am afraid I read an uncorrected proof copy and therefore I cannot quote from it.

Preface Publishing, ISBN-13: 978-1848090415, 352 pages, 12.99.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, reminds me a bit of Charing Cross Road, in the aspect that the book is written from a series of letters between Juliet and the people that live on the Island of Guernsey during the aftermath of World War II.

Juliet is in her thirties, single, and an author of a newspaper column, that is filled with humor. She writes the column under a pen name. She lives in London, and is trying to find a subject for the story of a book. London is recovering from the WWII Blitz.

The novel is filled with delightful scents, scenarios, perspectives and images of Guernsey that took place both during and after the war. The individual letters are filled with subtle British humor in describing the events and people of Guernsey. I laughed out loud throughout many portions of the book, and I felt sorrow within some chapters.

The story line does bring a slight look into the period of WWII from the island resident perspective, It does not do so in an in-depth focus, and not in a compelling manner, but nonetheless does contain historical information regarding the German occupation. The reader is not overwhelmed with intense, factual incidents, but rather is given a light view of what life was like for the residents on the island during the German occupation. It strongly focuses on Juliet and the residents. The first half of the book takes place in London, where Juliet answers a letter written to her by a Dawsey Adams in regards to a Charles Lamb book. This sets off a chain of correspondence between him, her and the people on the island, who are members of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society book club. We see the beginnings of friendships develop.

The last half takes place on Guernsey Island, where Juliet is staying in order to write a book on The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. There are many interactions with the residents of the island, and their unwavering kindness and willingness to please is unmistakable. The foundations of trust are established between Juliet and the Guernsey residents. The characters are genuine individuals. Of course there is one lone person who has a dark personality, and doesn’t condone Juliet being there. That person is the typical “small town” snoop, and negative-minded individual.

I really don’t want to delve too much into the characters, as the book is a fast read, and in doing so, I would give the story line away. It is basic and informative in its presentation of what life was like on Guernsey for the residents during WWII.

I was looking for a light read, a fast read, and one that wouldn’t tax my mind too much, after reading the more serious non-fiction Survivor memoirs and compelling historical fiction books that I have read lately. This book was perfect in that respect. It was a break from the norm, for me, and a lovely and charming read.

The power of books and reading is emphasized within the pages, and if nothing else, books see individuals through adverse times. Those who never read before, take up reading and find they actually enjoy it. Books become the substance of existence for them, during dark days. They learn to critique books, analyze them, and become cognizant of writing style. Books equal power over the oppressor.

The authors write with humor, charm, and with delicious and delightful descriptions, including a recipe for “potato peel pie”. Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows know how to pour on the syrupy word-images, and fill the reader’s mind with visions of lavender, lace, books, cottages, and rural life. Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows know how evoke the reader’s emotions, and give us glimpses of a people and their way of thinking within the environment of Guernsey Island during both during the German occupation, and afterward. I’m glad I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and recommend it to all who want a light and humorous read, a poignant and emotional read, and a book they can enjoy for its vivid look at the lives of the characters within its pages.

I personally own and have read this book.

~~~~~~
Jew Wishes…Peace to you all.
© Copyright 2007 – All Rights Reserved – No permission is given or allowed to reuse my photography, book reviews, writings, or my poetry in any form/format without my express written consent/permission.

We had a spelling contest last week in my class and when the winner was picked, the runner up gave the boy who won a high five and yelled out a big, sincere “way to go!”.

Hillary Clinton could learn things from my class.

And that’s the nicest thing I have to say about it.

(And if this post wasn’t enough of a confirmation, let me assure you- the CNN addiction is back in full swing. Wolf Blitzer, will you be my boo?)

I just got back from viewing The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian at a new movie-viewing location near my new place.  So, let me get right to it without ruining the plot for those who haven’t seen it: 

I like C.S. Lewis, for both his fantasy novels and his philosophical works.  Part 1 (or Book 2 if you’re a purist) The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was a good movie adaptation because it effectively used tons of religious allegory to tell a mythical coming of age story about four kids sent up North during the Blitz of 1940 who stumbled into a mysterious land.  It was full of mystery and wonder and brought us into a new world in which the “Sons of Adam” and “Daughters of Eve” were delivered in order to make things right.

Prince Caspian does a similar kind of thing, but in my opinion with much less allegory and heart.  There were moments of struggle, choice, doubt, belief and introspection, but much of the wonder was gone, replaced by more battle scenes with little depth.  I liked the increased action, and on the surface it was a better movie than the first one, yet something was missing.  I read LWW, but never read Prince Caspian (which is technically Book Four of the series), so I’m not sure how it translated to film.  I just had the sense that some of the magic in the first movie was not here.  Maybe I needed more of an explanation, maybe I needed more Aslan, maybe I needed more back-story, but something’s leaving me unsatisfied.

I’d give the movie a “B.”  Great action, good story, but it left me wanting more — not in a good “I can’t wait for the sequel” kind of way, but rather a “Did I miss something?” sort of way.  I’m going to have to read the book now. 

Pic from Movies.com archive.

Hey, it’s okay…

- to not spend more money on shoes than you do on rent. As much as I want to be SJP, I need a roof over my head more than I need new shoes. (And that might have been the most difficult sentence for me to ever type).

- to believe in karma only after you’ve just done something selfless.

- to find that your best Saturday nights involve take-out, movies and pajamas.

- to believe food tastes better when you don’t use a fork.

- to not understand EVERY. SINGLE. COMPLICATED. rule/regulation regarding the Presidential campaign. I’m pretty sure no one does. Not even the Blitz.

- to conduct some of your best conversations over instant messenger.

- to flirt with someone you don’t want to date. (I like to think of this as ‘exercising the flirting muscle’. I may not be ready for a marathon, but stretching often makes sure I stay in form and ready for the real thing to come along)

- to not enjoy texting.

- for your deepest fantasies to involve your bed- and getting 9 solid hours of sleep.

- to secretly believe you would win American Idol if you auditioned.

- to like Mondays.

- to know that not everyone is going to like you, but still be hurt when they don’t.

- to miss The West Wing SO MUCH IT HURTS. sigh.

- to feel awkward talking to someone when they are eating a banana.

- to realize that you care a lot about the mascara running down your face when you are in the middle of a deep and ugly cry.

- to be counting down the days until “The Hills” comes back to television.

- to not want to be facebook friends with anyone from highschool.

- to have nothing to add in a conversation about Russian literature. Or daytime television.

- to blame the spam folder for emails you are late in replying to.

(Alternative titles to this post: “Things I do, so they should just be generally accepted as good ideas” and/or “This idea was stolen from Glamour magazine, one of the only beauty/fashion magazines I can tolerate because it doesn’t feature $9,000 dog carriers and there are no sex tips that involve donuts/midgets/ peacock feathers dipped in magical gold dust”).

There are words that I’ve heard used to describe me that have been less than flattering. I’m bossy. I’m loud. I’m over emotional and can be dismissive. Obsessive and oblivious. I can be ridiculous.

This weekend I was labeled a hypocrite.

By one of my very *best friends.

And she was right.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I do love American politics. My sweetest dreams are the stuff of primaries and caucuses. CNN has replaced Gofugyourself, as my first read of the morning. Wolf Blitzer reading off exit polls is as soothing as a cup of peppermint tea laced with tequila. John King and his quick fingers on the electoral map gets my heart all a flutter (thankfully the flying pie chart is gone. Because seriously? That thing was more distracting than an erection in a Speedo). For reasons I can never fully explain, a love for everything US presidential is embedded in my genes.

Canadian national politics? Not so much.

Canadian provincial politics? I’m officially comatose.

Tomorrow is election day in my province. There have been televised debates (but I missed them because I was watching Barack and Hillary duel in Texas), radio commercials, newspaper ads and an onslaught of pamphlets . My lovely friend asked me who I was voting for and I replied honestly (and shamefully)- no one. Because I didn’t know anything about any of the candidates.

This lovely friend said that she thought that was hypocritical- considering the fact that if I knew an American who wasn’t voting I would fly across the border to shove their ballot in their hands. I believe that strongly in people voting in the upcoming US election. And she was right. But it doesn’t change how I feel. Why don’t I feel that way about an election in my own country?

We continued this talk the next night (after playing a dangerous game called “Moose”), where I said it was a multitude of factors that caused me to care about US politics more than Canadian. There’s a stronger media influence, the issues are bigger, the leaders are more inspiring (My premier is so dull, I would wager all my shoes that his favourite color is ‘beige’)- I just find the US political system fascinating.

This got me thinking about all my hypocritical tendencies. I rant about global warming but let my car run for 20 minutes each winter morning before going to work. I shake my head when I see videos of celebrities swarmed by photographers yet I buy US weekly with only a trace of shame. I think Paula Abdul is a nutter but am glued to the television when she speaks.

So my friend is right. I can be a hypocrite. Though the words stung at the time, it’s nice to be forced to face them. And it’s confirmation that it’s only the people who know your best traits can so accurately call you on your worst.

Anyone else a hypocrite?

* Why does saying the term “best friend” make me feel like a 4 year old?

One of these Tom Bell productions where I haven’t been able to find neither a VHS or a DVD release is BBC’s 1996 TV series No Bananas. This is sad because I enjoyed this series very much when it was shown on Swedish SVT around 1997/1998 (yes! - it was shown in Sweden! =D). Tom plays the head of one of the two main families featured in the series; the Slaters. As his wife here, Mrs Slater, we see the really wonderful actress Linda Bassett! And alongside them; great actors such as Alison Steadman, Michael Byrne and Stephanie Beacham show up – all giving great performances! In the series were also a great deal of archive clips from WW2 London and England, if I recall correctly, as a background to the drama story delivered (the son of the Slater family falls in love with and marries the girl of the a bit more posher, middle-classy Hamilton family). A really great, enjoyable series!

But no DVD or VHS release so far, as it seems. However, I managed to find the soundtrack (!) to it, or atleast a small scan of the cover of the soundtrack, which features a picture of the whole cast including Tom (with a HUGE smile, standing; back-row, out to the left). I think this is the wedding pic in the series, when the children of two families marry…

I also found this book cover, using a photo from the series…

Hopefully this is a series that will be released sometime in the future..!

Happiness is ….

falling asleep at 8:30pm, grade two creative writing, kicking a satisfyingly large chunk of ice off the bumper of my car, an email out of the blue, hearing someone snoring, all green lights, receiving a Valentine still sticky with glue, hearing a speech that moves me to tears, a strawberry margarita with extra salt, clean sheets, big rings, the return of Jack Shepard, homemade meatballs, 15 kids singing along to Jack Johnson, the feel of new socks, getting it, remote car starting action, someone remembering to not put whipped cream on my hot chocolate, computer access, leaving work while the sun is out, feeling like I’ve said it all, finding my mittens, Blitzer & Anderson, sleeping in, a conversation about how absolutely scary whales are, a stapler full of staples, cheap gas, an apology, 15 glue sticks with all their lids on, Season 4 of the West Wing, being offered the first lick of someone’s popsicle, being offered someone’s piece of coveted KFC in a room full of ham and cheese and finding my journals from junior high.

Life is good.

Happy Valentine’s Day universe! Share the feeling, what’s been making you happy lately?

Tuesday morning I found myself surrounded by young politicos, as eager as I was to discuss all the political happenings in a country none of us live in. I was subbing and had been invited to visit an old teacher during my prep to listen to his class talk about Super Tuesday. (I suspect he could smell the Wolf Blitzer on me and deduced the dark circles under my eyes were related to late nights watching my love on the telly). The discussion was lively and I have to admit, I learned just as much in that 42 minutes than I did during a particularly ugly CNN binge on Monday. There was one moment however, that really struck a chord with me.

While discussing the difference between proportional and all or nothing delegate allocation, a frustrated girl raised her hand in the class and asked something so many people I know have asked lately “Why does it have to be so hard?”.

The teacher asked her to explain and she clarified that she didn’t understand why picking a leader had to be so complicated, so difficult, such a taxing process. She said she understood that people needed to take time to pick the right leader but that it just seemed so… hard.

Mr. S looked at her and then surveyed the class and said ” Sometimes, when you do it right- it should be hard”. He talked of how we live in a society where we hear ‘it was so easy’, ‘it just fell into place’, ‘everything worked out perfectly’ and how we’ve become accustomed to easy days and effortless achievements. Of getting our way without breaking a sweat, without lifting a finger. He talked of how sometimes, our most important achievements do not come easily, through simple words and spontaneous acts. Some achievements cannot be accomplished without strain- without backbreaking commitment. Sometimes we must struggle. Not because we don’t know an easier way but because there ISN’T an easier way.

Then he wrote on the board “Struggle does not mean failure” and 26 grade 6 students wrote it down so quietly, the only noise was a symphony of pencils scratching paper.

I realize none of what I’m writing may be soul shaking news to you. But, I’ve been thinking about this for the last day and it’s brought me comfort. You see, I DID get a job, the day of my interview. A sudden vacancy left an opening for a teacher needed immediately and the principal gave me that job rather than the one I had thought I was applying for. I’m happy- it’s the same grade (two!) as the one I had wanted, but this one left me no time to prepare. My first day was today. And I was left without any plans. For three months.

I wish I could tell you I was immediately overjoyed, but I wasn’t. I was suddenly… overwhelmed. Like, “I had been tied to weights and thrown off a boat” sort of overwhelmed. Like, “Tara Reid at a free bar” sort of overwhelmed. Because as much as I like to be the carefree hipster teacher, I need plans. I need structure and routine and lessons organized. And last night despite my best efforts, it was impossible for me to plan for three months. It was impossible for me to plan for three weeks. I planned for the day.

So I did what I instinctively do in such situations of distress- I blow some balloons and throw a pity party. I invited plenty of tears and three margaritas. Because I felt like, as silly as it sounds- that I should have been able to get everything ready last night. And because I didn’t, I suddenly questioned everything. The kind of questioning you do only when you feel genuinely scared, “What am I doing?”, “Is this the job I really want?”, and the ever present- “Where could I get a fake passport and a one-way ticket to Majorca?”.

I’m still a little overwhelmed, but I’m realizing that if I would have planned THREE MONTHS in one night, chances are- it wouldn’t be any good. Because human beings aren’t supposed to work like that. No one can plan that much in one night. So I will plan as much as I can, but do it in steps. It’s going to be challenging, and I know I will fail on a million tasks- but a million others I will get right. I will struggle. But I will also laugh when one of my new students talks to me about his serious new job- babysitting the family cat and making sure it goes to bed on time.

One last note, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who sent me good luck wishes. It sounds so cliche, but I don’t think I can properly express how fantastic it felt to see all of you leave a note of good luck. Such events make me want to hunt down Al Gore and kiss him properly on the lips for inventing the internet.

(Also- E.b’s world is in the running for FREE DIAMOND earrings! Please go here and vote for her!)

I would like to talk about the History of St Mary’s Church in Swansea.

St Mary’s Church was founded in 1332 and some of its architecure can still be seen in the pressent Cross Keys Pubthe church was in the Hands of the hospital of St David Adjacent to St Mary’s.  The fourteenth century saw the rebuilding of St Mary’s in the Decorated gothic syle and by 1343 it is know to have contained at least tow subsidary chapels dedicated to St Anne and the Holy Trinty Chapel.

During in the year 1940 The Church of St Mary’s suffered in the three nights Blitz of Swansea the Roof of the Church was desentigrated but the whole of the tower remianed intact, the Church itself was not officialy re-opend untill 1959

The Church today as it stands, is rather somewhat different, its certainly allot bigger to what I know of it to be.

Today, Church life is a very dedicated organisation, they have four churches as the central team ministery comprising of, St Mark’s Waun Wen, St Johns Church Haford, Christchurch Oystermouth Road, and the main church of St Mary’s. St Matthews I believe is now converted in a Worship/Homless Droping Centre, where.  They lead an active worship week, and have a strong music reportore, with a rather fine Organ in tow.