Equinox

~ Sarada Gray ~ 4 Comments

You think you know what Spring is like until it comes – and then you realise that you don’t. In winter I am much more likely to imagine summer than to think of Spring, but in fact this year I haven’t dreamed of other seasons nearly as much; the reason being that we are in such a beautiful part of the world that no weather can depress me. The snow on the hills, when it comes, is lovely, and even dull, wet, misty days have a kind of charm. The only sort of day I really hate is when it’s persistently wet and horribly windy, so that you don’t go out unless you really need to. If that goes on for days at a time you can start to get stir crazy.

But Spring! Spring is here. The crocuses have been out for weeks, the daffodils are up, and all the bulbs are sprouting. But it’s far more than the sight of all these things. The very air is different; not just warmer but fresher, livelier, more energised. Everything’s waking up and getting ready to dance. And this morning I saw a grey wagtail on my windowsill, no doubt looking for stuff to make a nest. I didn’t immediately know it was a grey wagtail and it flew away before I could take a picture, but it was startling to see it just there, inches from my hand, in its plumage of contrasting black-and-white with a bright yellow flash down the side.

Image

Scottish Wildlife Trust, image removed on request

In our front garden we have daffodils and some bluebells struggling to get through (it’s not quite bluebell season yet) and some hyacinths which I planted a couple of months back which have yet to bloom. So today is the equinox, when day and night come to stand as opposites and bow to each other as equals before continuing on the dance as the night diminishes and the day extends until it hardly ever gets dark. I love summer, but the early light tends to keep me awake, so I usually have to sleep with an eye mask. And in a few weeks it will be time for the Spring Fling, an event in Kirkcudbright where artists fling open their doors and exhibit their works to all and sundry. I wonder if we could have a poetry fling, where poets fling open their doors and recite to all-comers? I’d be up for that; open up the living room, get a small gathering of people and recite some poems, have a few beers – grand.

Speaking of which, the poem I did at the vigil on Saturday (see Monday’s post) will be reblogged on someone else’s Substack next Monday. I’ll send you a link when it’s live. In the meantime, have a great weekend. We’re going to a climate event tonight, a vigil on Saturday and I don’t know what else – perhaps a trip out somewhere if the weather’s good. And I am determined to get in a bike ride, perhaps on Saturday morning. Enjoy your Spring – unless you’re in the southern hemisphere, in which case, enjoy your autumn.

Yay!

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Kirk out

In Defence of Jane Austen

~ Sarada Gray ~ 2 Comments

I know from your comments that some of you are not fans of Jane Austen, so following on from the last two posts I thought I would attempt a defence of her writing. Some people, particularly some men, characterise her as ‘light’ fiction or worse, chick-lit – though I’m sure none of you guys would be so crass as to call it that. She is none of these things. It’s true that the central plots of her novels are about a woman’s journey which usually ends in marriage, but in Austen’s time there were only three paths open to a woman: marriage, prostitution or being an ‘old maid’ – the equivalent of the ‘crazy cat lady’ so many fascists mock in the hope of persuading us that a woman without a man is nothing.

(A woman without her man is nothing.

A woman – without her, man is nothing.

A little joke there illustrating the importance of proper punctuation.)

There are examples of both happy and unhappy marriages in her work, perhaps illustrating Tolstoy’s later maxim that all happy marriages are alike and all unhappy marriages different – and while prostitution does not come within the purview of the novels, spinsterhood definitely does. ‘Emma’ begins with the wedding of Emma’s governess Miss Taylor, a woman who might well have been facing a life of celibacy but is proposed to by the unexceptionable Mr Weston, and so is accepted into society as an equal (though Mr Woodhouse persists in calling her ‘poor Miss Taylor’ throughout.) But the classic ‘old maid’ character in Austen is Miss Bates; a verbose middle-aged woman who lives with her elderly mother on a narrow income. But, figure of fun though she is, Miss Bates is nonetheless liked and respected in her community for her cheerfulness in the face of adversity: ‘My mother’s deafness is very trifling you see—just nothing at all. By only raising my voice, and saying any thing two or three times over, she is sure to hear.’ Miss Bates is a person who even the light-hearted Frank Churchill feels ‘one would not wish to slight’ and Emma gets thoroughly schooled by Mr Knightley when she is rude to her on Box Hill.

There is no getting away from the fact that women derive their status from men (Elizabeth Bennet declares herself the equal of Darcy because ‘he is a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter’) and Austen does not shy away from this fact. Neither does she romanticise it; she had witnessed too many marriages at close quarters to do that. Marriage is a matter of convenience, status and income but the central problem of these character is that, as Jane says to Lizzy: ‘I should so much wish to marry for love.’ To which Lizzy replies by advising her ‘to take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune.’ It’s light-hearted, but underneath is the brutal truth of their existence: marry, and marry well – or perish. On the other hand Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s friend who is a few years older and hence in the last-chance saloon of marriage, marries the dull and pompous Mr Collins, declaring: ‘I’m not romantic. I never was,’ and seeming to make a decent fist of the arrangement.

But Austen doesn’t just write a couple coming together; she writes a whole society. ‘Four or five families is the very thing to work on,’ she wrote in her diary. People are firmly located in society and setting; though there is very little natural description in her work, the importance of good company and good housing are key. But primarily she writes about people. How are people to be understood? This is a central question: when people say one thing and do another; when they leave town and don’t write; when they are secretive and mysterious – how are they to be understood? This is a society of manners and propriety; a lady cannot simply approach a gentleman and say, ‘what did you mean yesterday when you said so-and-so?’ Marianne tries it in Sense and Sensibility and comes seriously unstuck; though it’s only fair to point out that her over-serious sister Elinor also needs to loosen up a bit. So ‘how are we to behave?’ is another key question – not in the moralising sense you’d expect from a Victorian novel, but as a clue to how to get on in society.

There are many tests of the greatness of a work of art. One is the test of time; another is whether it translates into other languages and cultures. Her work passes both of these. Several generations later, Poet Laureate Tennyson was said to admire her so much that he kept a set of her novels in each of his houses. Another important test for women is The Bechdel test, named after cartoonist Alison Bechdel. It’s a test of how many named female characters there are in a book or film who talk to each other about something other than men. In Jane Austen women talk about all sorts of things; their problems, their families, their friends, whether so-and-so is likely to get a living or run a farm or set up a carriage, whether some information they have received should be passed on or kept confidential, and so on. In short, they talk about life. True, there isn’t much political or philosophical discourse in the novels but there are hints that it goes on: Emma refers to racism against the Scots when asking about a plan to hire a Scottish bailiff: ‘will not the old prejudice be too strong?’ (Let’s not forget it’s only a generation or two since the line ‘rebellious Scots to crush’ was expunged from the National Anthem.) And the slave trade is in the background in Emma too:

https://jasna.org/persuasions/printed/number9/deforest.htm?

There are also indications that society is changing when the Coles who have been in ‘trade’ become rich and are accepted into society.

These are not sheltered, clueless characters with no idea of what happens in the outside world, even though education for women in Austen’s time was a haphazard affair. Whereas boys were sent away to school from the age of seven or so, girls were usually educated to be ‘accomplished’: to play an instrument or sing, to sew and draw, to speak a little French, write a good letter, and so on. They might have tutors for some subjects but there were no universities to go to and no professions to practice; the emphasis was on preparing the girls for courtship and marriage. (Of course I’m talking about the gentry here: working-class women had no choice but hard labour, whether inside the home or outside it.) But some women found their own way: in Pride and Prejudice Mary Bennet, knowing herself to be plain, decides to educate herself (see yesterday’s post) by learning Greek and studying the classics in her father’s library. When Lizzie Bennet is asked about her accomplishments, she mentions that they had no tutors and that ‘those who wished to be idle, certainly might.’ Darcy then gives her his idea of an accomplished woman, commenting that he only knows five or six women who measure up:

“you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.” remarks Elizabeth.

“Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Darcy’s ‘faithful assistant’ here is Caroline Bingley, who is determined to marry him and so agrees with him on every point; it’s one of the ironies of the novel that Darcy, tired of finding sycophants wherever he goes, is far more piqued by Elizabeth’s disagreement than Caroline’s support. After this long diatribe Elizabeth drily comments that she is no longer surprised at Darcy knowing only six accomplished women: ‘I rather wonder at your knowing any.’

There is no pretence in Jane Austen of women being intellectually inferior to men. But neither is she a political radical, more or less accepting the position of women in society and making the best of it, as Charlotte Lucas does.

The Other Bennet Sister – Review

~ Sarada Gray ~ 1 Comment

This review contains spoilers

I’m not usually a lover of fan-fiction, especially when it relates to Jane Austen as her style is inimitable and any attempt to copy it always comes off as parody. But Janice Hadlow is savvy enough not to try; instead she creates a different, rather slow and ponderous style appropriate to the character of Mary. In P&P Mary is almost a non-character; a roomful of pious echoes with a dull quotation to dampen every occasion; a woman out of her time who would have done very well as a virtuous Victorian heroine. She is a sampler on a wall – you get the picture. But the 1996 P&P adaptation was clever enough to pick up on the idea that Mary Bennet might well have been attracted to the equally ridiculous and pious Mr Collins, and shows her casting some yearning glances in his direction; and here is food for thought.

I think there is a place for really good fan fic: where there are untold stories there will always be someone willing to tell them – Wide Sargasso Sea comes to mind, the story of Mr Rochester’s first wife who in Jane Eyre has no voice and no function but to be a burden on his life and an obstacle to his marrying Jane. But I was dubious at first about the idea of mining Mary Bennet for fiction: surely this was a step too far? Not a bit of it. In TOBS Mary is a sad figure unable to make an impression in a large family of strong characters; disparaged by her mother as ‘unmarriageable’ and ignored by her father, she retreats into books. Hoping to forge some kind of connection with her father she asks to use his library but although he agrees he shows no interest in her reading and insists on silence while he is there. But like all true heroines Mary grows. After her father dies and her other sisters are married, she shunts about from one house to another, feeling more or less equally in the way in each of them – until finally she hits on the thought of visiting her aunt and uncle Gardiner in London. In P&P these are shown as sensible, lively and thoughtful characters; the sort of parents Elizabeth probably wishes she had, and who are luckily on hand when by chance she runs into Mr Darcy at Pemberley. They take Mary sympathetically under their wing, allowing her to blossom. She discovers London, marvels at the shops and fairs and has more of a social life than she ever did in Hertfordshire – and in time she finds herself with not one but two suitors. It’s a good problem to have but she agonises over which of them to choose; however the man she really loves begins to absent himself after the over-confident Mr Ryder makes his affections known. After a dramatic near-accident on top of Scafell Pike (Mary making the trip to the Lakes that was projected with Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle) and a series of misunderstandings, she refuses Mr Ryder’s offer of not-quite-marriage (he claims to be a free thinker but is probably a libertine) and decides that, ladylike or not, she will make her feelings plain when she next sees her true love Mr Hayward. They meet, she does, he reciprocates – and all is well. Phew. I did wonder at one point whether she was going to make her way in the world as an independent woman, but I think she has a good chance of happiness with Mr Hayward.

All the main characters of P&P make an appearance here; Lizzy and Darcy, Mr Bingley and his sisters (Caroline Bingley always at hand to thwart Mary’s ambitions) Charlotte Lucas (a much more sinister figure here) and the redoubtable Lady Catherine de Burgh who in a fit of pique leaves all her money to Mr Ryder after her sickly daughter decides to marry her doctor. I gave a cheer at that. Poor girl; it can’t have been much fun being Lady Catherine’s daughter. The book cleverly picks up on aspects of P&P and echoes them but not in any cute, self-conscious way. It’s extremely well done.

I didn’t expect to like this book – I thought it might be a bit Bridgerton, a bit Austen-lite but I could not have been more wrong. I could not put it down. I read it in two marathon sessions over two days which, as it’s 650 pages, meant I had to be totally gripped. Janice Hadlow takes Mary from a dull, moralising Miss-Bates-in-waiting to a prototype modern woman; one who, although she refuses an almost indecent proposal from one man, decides to cast away ‘propriety’ and speak her own mind. You might say she forges her own destiny and is in many ways a modern heroine – though within the constraints of her time.

If you have any love for Jane Austen at all (and I know some of you don’t but I live in hope of persuading you) I urge you to read this. As for the TV series, I’ve only seen a couple of episodes but so far I’m not liking it nearly as much; whereas the other Bennet girls are in the background in the book, they are always on screen here and the trouble with bringing Mary to the fore is that characters we love like Elizabeth and Jane must sink into the shadows and become mere ciphers. So read the book first, is my advice – and then watch the series – of which I may post a review when I’m finished.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/45186556-the-other-bennet-sister

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/m002qkp1/the-other-bennet-sister?seriesId=m002qkp1-structural-1-m002qkp2

Kirk out

The Lesser-Known Thin Controller

~ Sarada Gray ~ 4 Comments

The day started unfeasibly early today: I think the extra thyroxine is affecting my sleep as I couldn’t get off last night and after waking at five struggled to sleep any more. Hence the mind is fairly blank. I had a trying day yesterday; I had to take the Focus in to the garage to find the source of a leak. Having got home by means of taking the bus to the station and walking from there I waited all day to find out what was happening with it and eventually phoned up to be told that he couldn’t fix it. It would take hours, perhaps days of work to strip the car down and find the source of the leak. Conclusion: it’s not worth it. So now we’re going to have to sell it. I’m sad that we can’t hand it on to Daniel; it’s been a good car for us and seen us through nearly ten years without any major hitches which, for a 54 reg vehicle, is not bad. It belonged to a friend who died a few years ago so for that reason also I’ll be sad to see it go. But there’s nothing else to be done.

I had to return a library book so went out at lunchtime to do that, plus pick up my new prescription and get some shopping. I was just browsing in the library trying to remember which of the Peter James books I hadn’t yet read when a volume almost literally jumped out at me. I’m not exaggerating (much) as it was standing proud of the others on the shelf as if desperately wanting me to borrow it. And what was this very forward volume? It was ‘The Other Bennet Sister’ by Janice Hadlow.* Serendipity! I did not hesitate but grabbed the volume with both hands and bore it in triumph to the counter where I discussed its merits with the librarian. So having no brain to write anything I spent most of the day reading it whilst constantly checking my phone to see if I’d missed a call from the garage. I hadn’t. So far I’m really enjoying it – it’s fun, engaging and unpredictable and seems to cast Mary Bennet as almost a picaresque 18th century heroine; a bit like Moll Flanders without the sex. I’ll post a review when I’m finished.

*fun fact: apparently Janice Hadlow used to be controller of BBC 2. It always amuses me that they talk about ‘controllers’ as it reminds me of The Fat Controller (and the lesser-known Thin Controller) in Thomas the Tank Engine.

I’m also working my way through The Official DVSA Theory Test for Motorcyclists ahead of my test next month. I’m getting most of them right.

So that’s all the news up to now. I thought I had something else to say but it escapes me so we’ll leave it there.

Kirk out

From Bikes to Jane Austen

~ Sarada Gray ~ 2 Comments

It’s quite a leap from motorbikes to Jane Austen, yet here we are. Austen is everywhere at the moment, what with it being the anniversary of her death, and yet somehow she is nowhere. Of all writers, Jane Austen is the most difficult to adapt and get it right; Janeites (as we call ourselves) mostly agree that the 1996 BBC adaptation of P&P was the apotheosis in this respect, managing to convey not only plot and character but tone and irony as well as getting the costumes and manners down to a t. Irony is key in Jane Austen – she is a master of the understated form – and it’s very difficult to get this across on the screen. The Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma gets many things right, though I have yet to see anyone do Mr Woodhouse justice, and Miss Bates was far too breathy and hesitant: Margaret Rutherford is my idea of Miss Bates. Other productions do some things well but skirt around the edges of the rest, content to let costume and manners carry it through. So it was with a mixture of anticipation and hesitation that I tuned in to watch The Other Bennett Sister on BBC.

The Bennett family have five daughters. This, coupled with the entail on their estate, is the source of their woes as there is no son to inherit, so when the father dies they will be, as his wife puts it, ‘sent out to starve in the hedgerows.’ The brutality of the marriage market is front and centre here: the Bennett girls, especially the two eldest Jane and Lizzie, want to marry for love but must ‘take care they fall in love with a man of good fortune’ as this is the only way to save their family from ruin. This they luckily do in the end; Lizzie falling in love with Darcy and Jane with Bingley, though neither marriage comes off without a great deal of tribulation. Lydia, the youngest, being wild and ungovernable, elopes with a man of dubious character and no fortune at all; and while Kitty remains unmarried at the end she shows every promise of finding a good match. But the fifth sister, Mary, is almost a blank canvas; a dull, over-studious, moralising figure whose function is to embarrass her other sisters or bore them to death with ‘improving’ quotations: she could have easily been a Victorian heroine but here remains a figure of fun. So I guess hers is a character ripe for reinvention. I’ve only seen one episode yet, but I like what they’ve done with her, though not with the other characters. I’ll post a review when I’ve finished.

Today has been somewhat trying and it’s only ten o’clock. I had to get up early and take the Focus to a garage to have a leak fixed. It appears to be the most impossible thing to fix an internal leak; the sort of problem that causes mechanics to breathe in sharply, suck their teeth, shake their heads and start explaining how difficult it all is. My usual mechanic can’t do it so I was forced to take it to a body shop in the middle of an industrial estate. This is quite easy to get to when you have transport but impossible if you don’t: I was going to get a taxi home but it was 8 am, the time when taxis are all booked up for the school run, so the guy dropped me off at the nearest bus stop 2 miles away. Fortunately I got a bus pretty nearly straight away which dropped me off at the station, by which time I was cold and hungry so I nipped into the station cafe, a lovely place full of African carvings run by a delightful Ethiopian man who makes a mean hot chocolate and chocolate chip muffin. Sustained by these items I walked home, and here we are. When the car’s fixed (or not, depending) I’ll ask the guy if he can drop it off; if not, I’ll have to get a taxi back there again. Absolute pain in the bum.

I had a great weekend: a terrific bike ride on Saturday (cold but sunny) followed by the Palestinian vigil where I did a poem (see below) and yesterday I did some (vaguely Spring-like) cleaning and started off a wine kit (Merlot style) which is now frothing nicely in the airing cupboard. In between I watched the excellent series Mrs Biggs on Netflix, about the wife of the train robber Ronald Biggs.

Here’s the poem I did on Saturday: it’s about ‘freedom of speech’.

This Will Be Edited Out

on what you can and can’t say

Because we have freedom of speech

they will let through the words of division

they will neglect 

to cut the ‘n’ word from the broadcast

they will run up the flags and salute them

but this –

This will be edited out

Because every hospital

is a tunnel

and every refugee a rapist

they will let through 

the dog-whistles

they will platform the turquoise candidates

and ask, ‘Are you ready to rule?’

But this

this will be edited out

You can talk about immigration

you can talk about small boats

you can talk about the terrorists

but the terrorist state?

This will be edited out

Don’t mention the genocide

don’t talk about Zionism

don’t mention Palestine Action

(I mentioned it once –

I did not get away with it)

Don’t mention when questioned 

anything you later rely on in court

don’t rely on anything in court

for this

this will be edited out

Don’t damage the missiles

we need to deploy

don’t mention the journalists 

killed while reporting

Don’t talk about the mother 

who lost all ten children

for this 

all this 

all this will be edited out

all this will be edited

all this will be 

all this will

all this 

all

(c) Liz Gray, 2026

Kirk out

Think Bike Three or Four Times

~ Sarada Gray ~ 1 Comment

It’s a long time now since I passed my driving test but I can just about remember the difficulties of mastering those skills; controlling the car and then dealing with road conditions all at the same time. But learning to ride a bike is like that times ten. First, you have to master a machine which is not designed to stay upright unless it’s moving or propped up. The same is true of a pushbike, but you can drop a pushbike without serious damage to yourself or bike. Not so here. So first you have to stay upright, which is not so easy when you’re going slowly or doing manoeuvres. You have to master clutch control, changing gears, going fast or slow and doing hill starts. On the Mod 1 test you also have to weave in and out of bollards, do u-turns and walk the bike backwards for 100 yards. On the road you have to act as if, despite your best efforts (wearing hi-viz vests and dipped headlights) you are invisible to every driver on the road, who will pull out in front, cut across and generally threaten your existence at any moment. You have to take extra care approaching junctions; turning your head and looking directly at waiting drivers will tend to alert them to your presence, but not always. Then there’s the road surface. Gravel, oil and mud are your enemies. Standing water can conceal pot-holes, which are also the enemy and can cause you to swerve to avoid them or risk going arse over tip and landing on the tarmac. You must know what to do in the case of an accident to another rider (car drivers should know this too) that as well as summoning help for them and doing the usual first aid things, you should find a way of alerting other drivers to the presence of a casualty, especially if the accident is just around a bend or over the brow of a hill. Obviously the first thing to do if you see a biker down is to stop – and this applies to car drivers just as much as motorcyclists.

All of which meant that I was very glad to come across Claire Jones. Claire has a website called Motorcycle Mindset Mastery and runs therapy sessions where people can talk through their fears and mental blocks. I had a session with her yesterday and talked about my anxieties about riding a big bike and my complete mental block about doing u-turns. Bike schools are geared to riding skills and can only do so much to help you psychologically, so it was very useful. I may have some more sessions with her once I start doing my training.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/mindsetmasterywithclaire

Have a good weekend.

Kirk out

I, Robot?

~ Sarada Gray ~ 2 Comments

Wow, what a day yesterday was! I did my yoga class in the morning (challenging stuff but they were fine with it) then to the Stove for lunch and the pots and pans protest for Palestine at 1. There were six of us there and I have to say public reaction seems to be more positive than before.

And so home. I thought the afternoon was going to be dull and by four I was about to give up and call it a day, but I just thought I’d look through my drama dialogues. One seemed to call to me; it was written from the prompt ‘That one’s not for sale’ and centres on a recalcitrant ‘antique’ shop owner called Dylan (based on Bernard in Black Books) and a persistent customer. I’d already written about 13 minutes so I started to add to that – and I did not stop writing until after 6. I mean I literally did-not-stop-writing. I did not lift fingers from keyboard in all that time. It just kept flowing – and I finished the first draft of what is now a half-hour play with a satisfying plot. I enjoyed it immensely; the plot evolved before my eyes like a landscape before a pilot, and I spent the whole evening in a state of energised satisfaction. It’s brilliant when writing flows like that; you’re ‘in the zone’ and everything goes right. It feels like everything has fallen into place and your whole life makes sense.

Ah, but. The trouble was, I then couldn’t get to sleep. I couldn’t even get to feel sleepy. I sat up watching TV, then I went to bed and immediately got up again because I was still wide awake. I went in the study and tweaked the dialogue a bit more. I picked a Harry Potter book off the shelf and took it to bed. I read several chapters. Surely I could go to sleep now? I went through my usual routine – meditation and reading a chapter of The House at Pooh Corner – and turned off the light. Sleep would not come. I tossed and turned, sometimes at the same time. My body felt heavy, stiff and numb. My brain was still wide awake. The clock ticked off another hour – and at some point in the early hours I got off. I woke again around six and then dozed a bit until eight. Result: a rather fuzzy head and stiff eyebrows.*

Round about now, I was going to interrupt this broadcast to attend a zoom talk on the Match Girls’ Strike. This is not something I know a lot about, so I was interested to go; however they haven’t sent the zoom link. It was supposed to appear a couple of days ago, and then an hour before the time. Nope, and no. I definitely registered for it – so I went on the site and tried to contact the organisers but I got stuck in robot hell; that box-ticking exercise which seems to send you round in circles and even when you get through, presents you with ten sets of fuzzy pictures and tells you to tick all the ones without lampposts. But today I never got past the box. Perhaps I am in fact a robot… so that’s not happening. I’ll just take a quick check in case the link has come through. Nope – no sign of it. Perhaps they haven’t sent them to anyone and are sitting there wondering why no-one’s logged on? Oh well, I have a busy day today so it’s not such a bad thing.

I had a call from the doctor earlier about my thyroxine levels. Apparently they’re too low again so they’re upping the dose. And once more we go through the dance of the underactive thyroid. Reminds me of a joke I always think of; that an inertia reel is a dance nobody can be bothered to get up for (‘Ladies and gentlemen, take your partners for the inertia reel…oh, all right then, just sit there…’)

Kirk out

*Don’t ask me why – they just are

Of Jiggling and Toggling

~ Sarada Gray ~ 2 Comments

Like most of us I suppose I have ways of reminding myself to do things. I know I have a tendency to get lost inside my mind and forget the time, so I set an alarm for anything I need to do. But having set the alarm means I don’t actually forget – because it sets a reminder in my brain. So I don’t need to set the alarm. But I do, because otherwise I might forget… there’s a lot of this sort of ‘liminal zone’ stuff going on in life; zones of inaccessibility, as it were, but I don’t know if there’s anything we can do about it – or even if we should do anything about it. I once read a short story called ‘Dead Space for the Unexpected,’ about planning a space when working for unexpected things to happen. But the thing about unexpected things is that they are – well, unexpected. So you can’t actually plan for them because your ‘dead space’ may be far too big – or too small – or in the wrong place, or the wrong shape. You just don’t know. So worthy as the attempt may be, it’s just not gonna happen. I’m working my way towards something here, but what it is ain’t exactly clear… bear with me. In the meantime let’s talk about yesterday.

Yesterday I went to the gym. This is usually a straightforward experience but on this occasion it was full of hassles. The car park, usually half-empty, was full to bursting *; I saw a space but too late so went round again by which time it had gone, so I had to park over the road in Morrison’s. Then my card wouldn’t work on the door. Then my locker wouldn’t work and swallowed my pound coin so I had to go and find a member of staff. Normally they hang around the gym by the desk or sit in the lobby but no-one was around so I went to the desk downstairs. She told me to ‘jiggle the toggle’. I had serious doubts about my ability to even find the toggle, let alone jiggle it in the right way to make my coin come back, but I did in fact manage the jiggling and the toggling and transferred all my stuff to another locker, dropping most of it on the floor in the process. Then I headed to the gym but my card wouldn’t open the door so I had to knock on the glass and wait for someone to let me in. By this time I was wondering if the universe was trying to tell me something; was I not supposed to go to the gym today? But I did in fact go and do my usual stuff – bike, treadmill and weights – and it was fine.

In the evening I met with a group of Palestine Support Group people and a couple of Quakers to go to the mosque for the iftar. Most people don’t realise that local mosques are open to everyone during Ramadan (and some are open year round) to feed anyone who comes. They regard it as part of their sadaqa, or obligation. So we joined them for food. It wasn’t as eventful or interesting as the open iftar in Loughborough, as that was geared to non-Muslims and there were lots more people – but still they were very welcoming. Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot of veggie food so I had to stick with the fruit and onion bhajis. But still it was nice – and to wash it down there was watermelon juice. Sweet and refreshing. If you want to visit your local mosque there’s a website:

https://www.mosquedirectory.co.uk/

I know a lot of churches also try to lay on food for people: our old place had a drop-in breakfast every fortnight ** and others do different things – but at many places you’d be lucky to get so much as a cuppa and a biscuit. (There’s a word for a cup of tea and a biccy in Gaelic: srubag. Useful. Why don’t we have a word for that?)

Kirk out

*School swimming trials apparently

** the church was called The Church of the Martyrs but a child once called it Church of the Tomatoes and the name stuck

Tomatoes! Tomatoes! Church of the Tomatoes!

Think Once, Think Twice, Think – Bike!

~ Sarada Gray ~ 4 Comments

I think I’ve mentioned these old adverts before but they’re worth mentioning again because it’s a powerful message. The ad is old-fashioned, low-budget and overwhelmingly male, but it gets the point across better than any amount of snazzy graphics. If a car is as wide as a fist, a bike is the width of an open hand. And this is what happens if you hit one. It’s shocking.

They should have more of this sort of advert now, if you ask me. Not that they do – although I am thinking of filling in a survey ahead of the upcoming BBC charter renewal. This is not a small undertaking; you are encouraged to read the Green Paper (oh sure, I read a green paper every morning before breakfast) and then to fill in a survey which, they blithely inform you, will take between 30 and 40 minutes. That’s a whole afternoon gone – so every time I look at the link I think not now, later and shelve it. And I’m pretty sure there won’t be any space for me to say what I actually think which is, Stop platforming Farage, stop appointing Tories to the board and get back to being genuinely independent of government.

Well. Yesterday I thought once, twice and then bike because I went to sit on a 650 ahead of booking some lessons. I was worried about this but I don’t know why: I got on it with ease and lifted it off its side stand with no problem at all. So I’ve booked my first lesson for 10th April. We have to go to Carlisle and practise at the test centre. I’d been building this up into some sort of massive ordeal but in the end it was a piece of piss. I think because I struggled with the weight of my 125 in the beginning I thought this would be twice as hard, but everyone tells me bigger bikes are easier to manoeuvre so I now believe I can do it. This will not, of course, prevent me getting nervous ahead of my first lesson, but that’s not for another month.

I can’t wait to pass my test and get a bigger bike.

Tonight with some friends I am going to the local mosque for the iftar, the breaking of the fast. This is not something I feel comfortable doing on my own, so I was glad to have this opportunity. Sunset is at 6.08 so that’s when we’ll be eating. You break the fast with fruit and nuts and then dive into other stuff. I have tremendous admiration for those who fast in hot countries where sunrise and sunset can be a long way apart, particularly as they fast from drink as well as food. And you have to get up incredibly early if you want to have something before the fast begins.

https://www.islamic-relief.org.uk/giving/islamic-giving/ramadan/ramadan-timetable/

I see the government are introducing a new definition of Islamophobia:

https://www.theguardian.com/news/2026/mar/09/definition-of-anti-muslim-hate-will-not-harm-free-speech-says-steve-reed

They are at pains to reassure people that this will not affect free speech. Hmm. No such reassurances were given with regards to antisemitism, the definition of which has most definitely affected free speech, not to mention people’s right to protest; the article above speaks volumes about who the government are trying to reassure.

Enough now, I need my cuppa.

Kirk out

A Sudden Spring

~ Sarada Gray ~ 3 Comments

Suddenly it’s spring, and all my cells have gone into overdrive. I have boundless energy and unexpectedly find myself quite busy. At the weekend we went to a rally against racism in the town centre. This was a response to racist associates of Tommy Robinson stirring up hatred and misinformation about asylum seekers in a nearby Mercure resulting in knots of people coming together to, as the police put it, ‘shout at a hotel.’ Saturday’s rally was organised by the local trades unions but all sorts of people were involved including the Greens, the Palestinian Support Group, Labour and SNP; about 150 in total. There were speeches and poems, songs and stories and it was a very moving event, a powerful demonstration of opposition to racism in the town. A few police officers were around but the counter-demonstration (if you can call it that) amounted to one guy with a union jack and a few teenage boys hanging around. I was glad to be a part of it.

After that we went home and mowed the lawn. Yes, I know it’s a bit early in the year but it had grown quite long in the autumn and we didn’t want it getting any ideas. Sadly our push-along mower can no longer cope but I was lucky enough to get hold of a functioning electric mower on freecycle which did the job admirably. So that’s done, and the garden looks much neater. In the evening I made a curry and we watched Casualty.

Yesterday after Meeting I went canvassing for the Greens. I’d been meaning to do this for months but this was the first time I’d actually been out and I had something of a baptism of fire. We went to a small town to the North-West of Dumfries and gathered at a hotel (not one with asylum seekers). I was slightly disappointed that we were meeting outside the hotel rather than in it, as it was a bit chilly and I’d been slightly optimistic in my choice of clothes, it being warm in the sun but not in the shade. The frustrating thing about canvassing is that you get your spiel together, psych yourself up and knock on the door – and nobody answers. After a few no-shows I rang one doorbell and when nothing happened, peered through the glass to see if anyone was coming. A man abruptly pulled the door open and said angrily: ‘Dyeallwys luke thru pipple’s dours?’ (Do you always look through people’s doors?) I apologised and tried to engage him but he was still angry so that was the end of that. Then another guy said in no uncertain terms that we need to ‘drull the North See!’ and when I asked him what he thought about climate change said ‘Ut’s a load ay nonsense!’ I left. I had a few pleasant chats with people and one or two maybes in response but on the whole it wasn’t a great afternoon. I am assured that other areas are much pleasanter to canvass. But what I find even more depressing than the angry people are the disengaged; those who don’t vote or who are ‘just not interested.’ I feel like saying to them ‘Are you not interested in your own life?’ or quoting Pericles: ‘You may not concern yourself with politics but politics concerns itself with you.’ But I suspect quoting Pericles might not have made me any friends in that area.

And so home to chill out for a bit.

I know that doesn’t sound like a frantically busy weekend, but take my word for it, I do feel very energised.

Speaking of energy, I had a call from the GP to request a phone consultation about upping my thyroxine. I had a blood test last week and evidently it’s shown up that I’m not taking enough. I think this is pretty much par for the course – I seem to remember my Dad was always having to change his dose. It’s a bit scary to think how much more energised I’ll be on even more thyroxine…

Kirk out