Scumbags & Scrotes and Carbon Footprints

As I only needed some Greek yoghurt for the other half's dhal I decided to risk it and stopped off at the skanky Sainsburys rather than unnecessarily increasing my carbon footprint by taking a tiny diversion to either big Tescos, big-new Tescos, old Tescos or the small (& slightly less skanky than Sainsburys) Tescos. 

(Morrisons is obviously out of the question as the traffic's hell and Asda, while conveniently situated, can't be relied upon as half the stuff you want is usually out of stock and of course shiny-new-newest Tesco's no good as it isn't quite open yet)

Is it only me that wonders how such a small area can support so many supermarkets?  And I haven't even mentioned the 'other' Morrisons, the three Aldis, two Lidls and a Farmfoods.  We only need a Waitrose for a full-house but the Giro to ISA ratio is way too high for them to ever consider setting up shop.

So, Greek yoghurt from skanky Sainsburys it was - after all, I'd only be in there for a couple of minutes and the chilled aisles with all the fresh stuff is on the opposite side to the ready meals and special brew.

Am I a snob?

I once had to sit on a bus for a very long time looking at the back of a lice infested head - I could see things crawling through the hair; hair that had passed through greasy to the other side.  Ever emptied the bathroom bin and had to remove a lump of hair deposited there from a plug hole - it's dried out and has a greasy but dusty feel to it and sets your teeth slightly on edge?

This lice infested hair looked like that - like it was dead, all clumpy and knotted and matted and just really really manky.  And then there were the clothes that looked like they'd been used to wipe down an oil spill.  Polluted would be an understatement.  And then there was the smell.  The smell was a mixture of stale sweat and other bodily fluids with subtle overtones of public toilet, wheelie bin, curdled milk and damp.

Having to sit on an overcrowded bus on a very hot day for a very long time in close proximity to a very very dirty, smelly scumbag makes you promise yourself never to have to do it again which was why I tended to avoid skanky Sainsburys - the store itself was fine it just had an unfortunate customer base.

So yes I am a snob if being a snob means disliking having to be near dirty people.  There is no reason whatsoever for being so dirty - and I'm not talking about a bit of body odour or the guy that's popped in on his way home from work after cleaning out the slurry pit or cleaning a septic tank.  Everyone's entitled to a day's grace.  Its the smell of the habitual soap avoider.  No one should be too busy, too tired or too poor to have a wash every day, brush hair& teeth and change (to wash) clothes every couple of days.

Anyway, those incensed by my unforgiving attitude will be please to know I got caught - punishment for my judgemental ways I guess - well done Mr and Mrs Karma!

Today I had the pleasure of being caught between a cage of semi skinned milk and a whole family troupe of Scrotes.  I'm not a particularly fastidious person myself but when your smell precedes and announces your presence with a scream of rotten odours you know it's time to say hello to Mr Water and Mrs Soap.

I don't even like dhal that much...

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Today, well ok, yesterday I started a new page - the good, the bad and the ugly.  

When I'm too tired, too apathetic or actually have something more interesting to do than write a load of guff I'll try at least to capture the good, the bad and the ugly moments, thoughts, news items etc etc that I've come cross during the day.

A bit of  cop out but no bugger but me reads this anyway!

The Last Sunday Before Monday

Sundays usually leave me feeling a little down due to the impending Monday and that back to work feeling but when you've had a whole week off that feeling's amplified tenfold and so here I am feeling as if the whole world sucks.

On the plus side the weather should soon be looking better!  (Why is it I always choose the coldest wettest week to have off?)

Photography, Me and Mental Blocks - the Journey

What is it with me and photography - admittedly I've finally made some progress and got to grips with aperture....in principle.  Well sort of.  Actually, thinking about it, I probably don't understand it at all.....well certainly not in practice.  Ok, let's start again.......

...what is it with me and photography - I just don't seem to be able to understand anything.  My other half bought me a fantastic camera a couple of years ago.  He was insistent I got a digital SLR rather than just upgrade my point and shoot.  I was reluctant as I had previous history albeit pre digital with an old Zenith my father had bought second hand as a birthday present.

That old camera was built like a brick and although it looked fairly benign it regularly had me in tears having built up my anticipation only to leave me frustrated, confused and finally resigned; a photographer I would not be.  After all my grandfather was renowned for being crap as well - it obviously ran in the family (but why was I getting all the shoddy genes?)

I used to spend all my pocket money on film and processing.  Buy the film one week then spend a few weeks taking pictures.  Week three would be sending the film off, then came the wait - the anticipation, the nervous excitement. Finally the tears.  

If I got two or three pictures out of the whole film (and I was always really good at getting the film in and managing at least 39 exposures per film) that were in focus I'd be lucky - forget exposure.  Pretty much every picture used to have it's own little sticker advising me of my mistake!  They must have thought some kid got hold of the camera.  

Anyhows I tried everything (even a new boyfriend who just happened to be a photographer) but nothing seemed to work so to save what was left of my self esteem and sanity the camera went.  After 18 months I had 18 packs of photos and two pictures that were worth keeping, one black and white portrait of a complete stranger but so sharply focussed and perfectly exposed it was worthy of something and a silouette of an apple - ok not so great but not a blur in sigth.

So yeah, two years ago I very reluctantly received a digital SLR.  I ended up agreeing by convincing myself that my previous ineptitude was down to being a glasses wearer - my lenses were obviously getting in the way of the camera lens.  I've since had laser surgery - so no glasses no problem.  Oh boy!

It has to be some sort of mental block.  I dont consider myself completely stupid, I know I'm not stupid.  Without sounding like a complete twat I know I'm actually quite a bit above average intelligence so why do I find it so bloody difficult to grasp?  I'm hoping with either enough persistence or a sudden eureka moment it will all fall into place and I can become the happy snapper I want to be.  

I went on a days course a few months back-  after the reading of several text books failed to sink in but was left more demoralised than I thought possible.  I went with high hopes, after all I was pretty confident that I'd be fine at composition - balance, perpsctive, colour, lead lines etc, my art background was solid.  I just needed someone to show me how to use the bloody camera.  I wanted to get out of automatic and start using it as it was supposed to be used.  

I was the youngest by about 40 years apart form a couple of school kids who came with cameras provided as they were unsure if it was something they wanted to take up.  The rest, like me, were wanting to escape automatic.  

Lets just say it was a bloody disaster.  After a couple of hours in the classroom we went out to take pics, the idea being we'd have a show and tell later.  I thought I did ok and went back with hundreds of pictures full of confidence.  To be honest I was feeling pretty smug.  You tend to, I find, just before some sort of impromptu or ritual humiliation

Basically we were shown the pics - everybody else had 15-20 pictures each that we all ooh and ahhed over.  I had 4 - basically to point out the 'what not to dos.  (looking back this was actually a nine-fold improvement on the 1 in 36 but it wasn't what came immediately to mind) 

I was by-passed on the the final round the table feedback but afterwards was told they really didn't know what I it was I wasn't getting!  I said everything, they said it really isn't that difficult, I said I know (the rest of the group had proved that) but I'm still not getting it they said keep trying, I said what, pressing random buttons?  It was all very messy and I'm ashamed to say ended with tears.

Breast is Best

I would like to thank all gods, earth mothers and other deities for my mammary glands and their spectacular failure for both of my pregnancies.

Not because I didn't want to breast feed and would therefore avoid the Breastapo police sending me on a guilt trip every time they came round - preaching in the most reproachful and condescending manner without actually tutting; didn't I know I was going to end up in hell?

They could have had a field day as I was also (through choice) a single mother on benefits (not by choice) which meant my kids were absolutely going to catch every disease going, be asthmatic, be in the bottom percentile at school, be pig ugly (I'm not sure what the logic behind this one was or if there were any studies backing it up but it's what the health visitors were saying and they're as close to proper witches as is so it must have been true!) and basically fail at life.

So, like I said,  thank all gods and goddesses I had my little get out of jail free card to push in front of their noses and thus avoided being the local pariah.

Of course I wanted to breast feed; it's cheaper, more convenient, healthier (probably) and would have made me look like the responsible mother I was trying really hard to convey..... I mean be!  Luckily my breasts had other ideas and simply refused to lactate.

So why am I thanking non existent entities and feeling so lucky I had such pathetically useless equipment,  especially when according to the latest study breast fed babies also turn out better behaved?

Well both my kids turned out healthy & robust, in the top ten percentile all through school, confident, socially responsible, and mostly well behaved (both went through stroppy periods but whose didn't?) and basically real high achievers to the extent that I'm a little in awe of them both.  Had I breast fed, according to the experts, both could have ended up god-like geniuses and no body likes a smart arse.

This isn't meant as a look how good I did as a mum piece.  It's meant as a don't give in and become a statistic piece - just because the indicators lean towards a shitty outcome / tidy you away into the 'failed' pigeon-hole doesn't mean you have to accept it.  Buck the trend - it's immensely satisfying and really upsets them!

Cake or Death, Apathy and the Guillotine

I'm not a political animal. Like most people I don't know each of the party policies verbatim.  I have a vague understanding of their main points.  Last election I read through each of the big three's manifestos in order to make more of an educated choice instead of the usual educated guess.  I tried to remove the noise that surrounds any election.  I put away as many preconceptions, family traditions, historical voting preferences and in the end did what I always do and voted for the party I've always voted for.

But my point is, I voted.  Now I could go on about freedom and democracy and why it's so disgraceful to waste our hard fought for vote - especially at the moment while other nations are fighting for those very privileges.  But this sentiment has been thrown at people before and never made any difference.  We seem to be a nation of arm chair politicians - we will moan and groan and complain and winge and whine to our little hearts content so long as we don't have to get up off our arses and do anything about it! 

Like Mr Izzard once said our country could never have hosted the Spanish Inquisition - instead it would have been an insipid 'cake or death'? before retiring back to the soft furnishings with remote control.

Now the French!  The French may be synonymous with a fast retreat but they're even faster off the mark when it comes to making their voices heard over unpopular internal policies.  They seem more than happy to start another revolution providing lorries and sheep are involved.

So why are we so crap?

And then it came to me, we aren't - it's the parties and their candidates that are directly responsible for our apathy.  For the last two general elections I've voted for the lesser of all evils - non seem to deliver anything close to acceptable across all areas so you go for the one you think'll cause least damage.  It's no good voting for the Independent who mirrors exactly your views because, I'm sorry, but it IS a wasted vote.  AND perhaps that's why AV didn't stand a cat in hell's chance of getting in.  It's bad enough choosing one party that doesn't totally abhor you but to have to choose another 2, 3 or even 4 would be inhumane!

Passions Come & Go; Olives are currently in

I used to hate olives.  They were vile.  Infact they were so fucking vile they were one of those foods I couldn't even swallow in haste in a bid to get rid of the vileness but had to instead spit out before the gagging set in.

Every few years I'd have another go in a desperate attempt to join the cool crowd but I kept having the same gut churning response.  Back in the day, get-togethers were lonely dining experiences - unfortunately I seemed to have acquired friends who all thought you could be satiated sufficiently with a couple of bowls of olives and a few anti pasta dishes (my evenings still contained nuts - sophisticate I was not!)  I used to crave home-time when I could feed my empty stomach on wheetabix or toast.

What were they tasting that I wasn't? It wasn't like, oh I don't know, - peanut butter, where distastes go unnoticed.  If you don't like beetroot it isn't commented on! Eyebrows aren't raised, knowing looks aren't shared or judgements passed.

Olives are things that people salivate over, people enthuse when olives are put before them.  They are things of passion.  Olives bring people together with a warmth and shared love.

I used to sit in uncomprehending silence while the rest of the group had in depth conversations; their mutual appreciation left me feeling as if I was missing out but more importantly, as if I was somehow 'less....' , not as good....

I suppose it's the equivalent of thinking you're quite well read on joining a book club; you read a couple of books a month, you've read quite a few of the English classics (not all in school time) and loads of best sellers while on holiday but then you find yourself in a group discussing Dostoevsky, Emile Zola or Voltaire and Chekhov and suddenly you're feeling slightly inferior, a little simple, a bit green.

So what changed?  When did I have my epiphany?  Was it a knock on the head or just pure determination in order to feel part of the crowd?

I just had an olive one day and I liked it, simple as that.  I remember that first enjoyable olive was in the context of a large celebratory meal, with good wine and other good food.  I was extremely hungry and the wine was flowing so in desperation I reached out and 'hmmm'.  So I had another go and it was ok.

Maybe you have to eat your first olive in the context it was originally designed to be eaten in to fully appreciate it's unique salty flesh?  I vaguely remember I ate the whole bowl in increasing wonderment but also in silence - after all I was still new at this; I wasn't sure if they were good olives or not and therefore how much to enthuse!

My second olive experience was on my first ever holiday abroad - a couple of years ago now (but not that many - I was only just on the young side of 40).  And that's when it finally all fell into place.  All I had ever  needed was to experience the olive in it's home setting where it was king and this was where it finally made it's mark, became forever part of my psyche by entwining itself in my heart.

Olives now are not only tiny bursts of salty wonderment they are tiny vessels that instantly transport me back to warmer climes and happy memories.

And yes I have been known to get giddy when olives appear unexpectedly before me and yes I have been heard passing what sounds like expert judgement on their taste, texture, etc etc - all of which is a ball of cock as one my my favourite olives is still the cheapest super-saver type from the local superstore rather than than the lovingly stuffed queen Greek whatever from the expensive executive type deli.

I just really really like olives now and can and am as passionate as all the other olive lovers out there.