Good Teacher, Bad Teacher

Whatever goes on in our lives we are all a product of our education just as much as our parental upbringing, if not more so. When I heard that teachers from a school in Lancashire are striking due to allegations of violence and misbehaviour from kids, it begs the question: should we blame loud and raucous kids or just simply bad teaching?

If Jamie Oliver is to be believed it's the teaching. His Dream School series on Channel 4 is setting out to prove that with the right teachers, even the most difficult kids can become perfect students. On last weeks episode Professor Robert Winston (a famous infertility doctor) asked one of the students masturbate in a petri dish so they could all have a look at his sperm under the microscope. The kids were enthralled by this (not at the masturbating, this took place in a private room but still, THAT could have livened up Science classes). To me this proved that getting kids interested is less to do with subject, and a teachers passion for a subject, it's about how it is taught. 

Teachers get a bad rap from everyone. They have one of the most important jobs in our society and because of their position they get blamed for how our kids turn out. But I think it's a common misconception that anyone can be a teacher, that simply by taking your teacher training you become a good teacher. There was a saying a while ago "those who can't, teach" which has been rehashed by the Education department as "those who can, teach". Either way, there's a totally false belief that if you are good at something, you can teach it. To me, teaching is an entirely different skill all on its own. Some of the teachers on Dream School have been shockingly bad, totally unable to get any kind of control or interest out of the kids, proving that you can be brilliant and highly intelligent and really care about a subject, but that doesn't mean you can teach it well or appeal to a large number of students.

I remember very strict teachers at school who had the quietest most well behaved classes but they were still bloody boring. They were the old school style teachers who ruled by fear. We kept our mouths shut lest we got a black board rubber chucked at our heads but were we really engaged in the subjects or simply listening with half an ear while thinking about pooling all our dinner money to buy ten B&H at lunch break? I fear it was the latter.

The best teachers were the ones who were a bit batty. An old English teacher Mr K (god rest his soul) was a case in point. He would get the class going with just a clap of his hands. Precariously balanced on the back of the chair with his feet on the seat, looking like he could topple over at any minute (and occasionally he did, before jumping up grinning, much to the delight of the class), he wasn't only passionate about his subject, he was passionate about teaching. He wasn't young or cool, you knew not to misbehave because he was strict but kids always looked forward to his classes. He was a brilliant teacher.

Maybe fifty odd years ago, kids sat silently in class and obediently did as they were told. School wasn't fun, get over it. But something has changed. It's becoming clearer that kids these days just don't fit into the same boxes as each other, it is not a case of one size fits all. No longer can we expect kids to want to sit and listen when they have so much more seemingly exciting things to do with their time. Computer games, the internet, mobile phones, telly... maybe previous generations were so bored shitless that sitting around listening to some old dude drone on about Pythagoras seemed more interesting than any available alternative? Or maybe it was simply the fear of the cane that kept kids in check.

Let me make myself clear, I am not blaming bad behaviour on bad teaching. Everyone is responsible for their own behaviour, children included. My opinion is simply that if kids were being properly motivated in class maybe they wouldn't have time to misbehave because they'd be too busy learning. And I am not blaming teachers, I am blaming those who trained the teachers, those who set the curriculum and those who employ teachers who don't have the passion or skills to excite the kids. I have to agree with old clever clogs Oliver here, I know he's being crucified for his Dream School (which admittedly may not be going brilliantly) but he's got a point. We need to do something to make kids interested again. And as he has proven, just because someone is clever, famous or even brilliant at what they do, if they can't engage a class and fire imaginations, kids won't listen.

Teaching is one of the hardest career paths to take, with it comes huge responsibility, stress and longer hours than anyone gives teachers credit for. Maybe some of these teachers once were exciting, brilliant and engaging, but bad behaviour, having to cope with an ever changing curriculum and rapidly evolving society has made them lose their passion. You can't blame them.

Admittedly maybe any teacher is better than no teacher. We don't have enough good teachers, we don't have enough good doctors, we don't have enough good anything in this country. But unless we start getting education right we never WILL have enough. I firmly believe that there are plenty brilliant and exciting kids out there to fulfil our future needs for great teachers, doctors and so forth, but one look at Dream School and the fact that we have teachers unable to do their job because of bad behaviour should surely be a wake up call to curriculum makers and school boards everywhere.

Sore Loser? Moi?

The BBC News website this morning reports that, according to a recent survey of 8-16 year olds and their parents, we are a nation of sore losers. What constitutes a good loser? Is it simply a case of hiding your disappointment?

Like most people, I think, I would like to consider myself humble in victory and gracious in defeat, but I know the man would beg to differ.

A few weeks ago he suggested a games night; the Wii or board games? My ears pricked up at the suggestion of board games, how about Monopoly? He was surprised. I have always refused to play Monopoly with him because it has a tendency to bring out a fierce aggression in me, rarely seen when sober. However, given that we had never played it together in our whole 12 year history, it seemed safe to give it a go. Boy, was I wrong.

The very second he rolled the dice and bought the first property he landed on, a station, I could feel my skin crawling with tension and gritted my teeth while he cheerfully explained he never usually bothers with the stations. Fast forward 1 hour and he has more money than he can spend. I have very little money in the bank and despite owning Park Lane and Mayfair, with houses on both, when I land on one of his greens with a hotel I say "That's it, you win." 

"But you haven't even counted your money, or you could sell some stuff?" He says kindly. 

"Nope it wouldn't be worth it, I'd still lose. Anyway, for the last half an hour I've just been waiting for a point when I could say you have won and you have now, OK? That was so boring, I don't know why we even bothered playing it in the first place. You can tidy it up. I'm putting the telly on." With a barely audible harumph, I put my feet up and proceed to ignore him for the next 15 minutes. Yep, I'm definitely a sore loser when it comes to Monopoly.

Last year at my son's preschool sports day I was talking to some of the other mums and was surprised to learn that often sports days now consist of uncompetitive games, standing around throwing balls to one another, giving the children a chance to do sport without having winners and losers. This all seems so tame, and frankly a bit soft. As much as I hated sports a child, I like to think it was character building. Quite what character it built I don't know, but it's one of those sayings us parents like to use along the same vein as "you kids have it so easy these days" and "you don't know you are born Mister", all of which can be roughly translated as: I had to do it, so why shouldn't you?

As a total under achiever in the PE department, the sports days of my youth were bone chillingly terrifying. There was nothing more humiliating on this earth than gullumping over the finish line last, bright red and sweating buckets, only to find the rest of the competitors were already chatting to their friends and checking their make up, barely a hint of sweat at their brow. Swimming galas were just as bad. I was in my local swimming club which gave me a perceived degree of proficiency (which I was most definitely not worthy of), and therefore was often asked to participate in the back stroke race. No one ever wants to do the back stroke race, because the same thing happens to everyone (OK maybe just me, but humour me here, I would like to come out of this blog post with a teeny bit of dignity). The whistle blows and you start furiously wind-milling your arms and kicking your legs imagining the crowd excitedly cheering your name and picturing the glory of reaching the other side first, only to find yourself 3 minutes later having gone diagonally across the pool, bashed your head on the tiled side, no where near the finish line, with everyone pointing and laughing at you. Getting out of the pool to find your swimming costume has gone completely see through in front of the whole school does not help the situation.

Maybe these experiences of my childhood have made me less competitive, I have a kind of "Well I'll do it but just so everyone knows, I'm going to lose" attitude to most games. Because lets face it, there's nothing worse than really trying to win something only to lose. 

The man is highly competitive, though he will dispute that until he's blue in the face. The smug satisfaction on his face of being pretty good at most things is enough to drive me to distraction, and has contributed to more than a few arguments. I don't consider myself a sore loser, but in the face of a self-satisfied winner I have a tendency to get a well-timed headache or attack of PMS.

Maybe it's not a case of us being sore losers. Maybe it's that we are becoming more arrogant winners. Competitiveness can lead to great ambition which I am all for, but repeatedly winning can make people conceited. So maybe the focus should be on making us more gracious winners. My son has a current obsession with being the winner. Whether it's finishing his dinner first, or being the first one out of the door (usually pushing me and his little brother out of the way to get there) he can't wait to cry out triumphantly "I won! I'm the winner! Ha, ha, you LOST!" I have tried to encourage him to be less competitive and stop seeing life as a constant race or competition but as yet, I am failing. Maybe it's a boy thing. But I do get drawn into the competition just by his very smugness, I have found myself responding by saying things like "Yeah but you cheated" and "Look, its not a race OK?" Maybe a better mum would allow him his glory.

One look at any parents race at any sports day, at any school anywhere in the world, and you can see the people who are there for the win. Some of them even wear special trainers and tracky b's to give them the edge over us less prepared mums who have arrived in flip flops and jeans. The whistle blows and it's elbows out, trying to get a head start. My first ever parents race I came second to last, but I wasn't even trying to win so that's OK, alright?

I don't want to be a sore loser, but I would much less like to be an arrogant winner. I find the best way to avoid being a sore loser is to not compete in the first place (a tactic which I have grown accustomed to using), which is surely defeating the whole point? If you care about winning something you're going to be upset if you lose. And if you win, you have every right to be happy about it. Maybe pointing at someone and saying "Ha ha, loser" is taking a bit far but where is the line between healthy competition and smugness? And for those of us used to losing at pretty much everything from a young age, it makes no difference whether the winner is gracious, frankly they're all arrogant gits. But bravo to them. Really. The smug, self-satisfied, arrogant, conceited... 

The Social Kissing Minefield

Social occasions are ripe for embarrassing situations and a perfect opportunity for me to show the world how awkward, uncoordinated and socially inept I am. Saying or doing the wrong thing in a social setting can cause mortal embarrassment but before you can even get to that stage you must first negotiate the minefield that is social kissing. 

It's not just the question of to kiss or not to kiss; you have to decide how many, whether or not to add a hug, which side first and any number of possible combinations. How do you decide which one to go for? And as if going through the nightmare at the beginning of a meeting is not bad enough, you then have to go through the whole thing again on saying goodbye. 

A few days ago I saw a friend I haven't seen for a while who has been travelling. He went for the standard two kisses (he's been travelling after all), I went for the one kiss and a hug combo that I have become accustomed to and we ended up bumping noses and kind of nuzzling each others necks in a highly inappropriate fashion. Embarrassing right? A rare occurrence? Not in my world.

A few months ago the man and I went out for an evening with another couple. They dropped us home, so we were faced with a scenario where we needed to lean into the front seat to kiss goodbye. After almost putting my neck out but having a fairly embarrassment free farewell with my friend, I then turned to say goodbye to her hubby. Disaster struck and we went in for opposite cheeks, I wound up kissing him on the lips like some doddery old auntie. Needless to say I was mortified.

These two examples are a mere drop in the proverbial ocean that has been my experience of social kissing blunders.

Which is your greeting of choice? I personally like the one kiss followed by a brief hug formula. The hug can be long or short dependent on your affection for the person in question. I find air kissing too contrived and leaving out a hug can feel a bit cold. I think men have it easier than women, they only have to make the decision with 50% of the population. A strong handshake is all men need to show their affection for each other, whereas us women have to settle the issue with men, women and children.

The social kiss conundrum transcends all our relationships, and has to be addressed with each individual. One persons air kiss might be another persons bear hug after all. With friends and people you see regularly, the problem is dealt with after only a few meetings. The first greeting might be awkward but after that you quickly get to know someone's standard format, whether it's one kiss or two (or four kisses followed by a lip kiss which is the preferred pattern of my adorable, ever so slightly eccentric, uncle) or adding in a hug. But when you meet someone new, before you really get a chance to get to know them, you must first work out whether or not kissing them would be appropriate or make you seem like an overly affectionate puppy. Too appear overly affectionate to someone you don't know, particularly if it's someone who already makes you feel intimidated, can quickly dispel any social confidence you may have been coveting and make you look, frankly, a bit desperate. How familiar must you be with someone before you go in for a social kiss? I see my neighbour every day but I don't kiss him, and the woman who works in Tesco knows my kids names but I don't kiss her either. All of this has been further confused for me by having lived in Spain for two years, where everyone seems to kiss, even the bank manager. OK, maybe not the bank manager but you get my drift.

So you have decided who to kiss and how to do it but how do you decode in which situation kissing is appropriate? It might be common practice to kiss someone on arrival a party for instance, but what if you run into that same person in Sainsbury's? If you only stop for a quick hello you might find you spend more time having physical contact than you do actually speaking which surely would come under the general category of social in-correctness.

It's hardly surprising we're all so confused. Us Brits have never really had a standard mode of greeting, and I have a feeling we are only just starting to shake our reputation of being frigidly terrified of any physical form of affection with anyone other than our lovers (a handshake will suffice). But unlike our European counterparts, where social kissing is so engrained in their collective psyche that it is no more anxiety provoking than having breakfast, we are still highly inexperienced in this matter of social etiquette.

What we need therefore, is an agreed set of guidelines to follow. I know there are a million books out there on the subject but the standard mode of greeting in Britain seems to be constantly contradicted. Are we a two kiss nation? Or a simple air kiss? And unless we all read the same book we'll be nose bumping and neck nuzzling for ever more.

Have A Word With Yourself

Firstly, for those of you returning to read my ideas on why cats love to watch TV, apologies. As much as it was said as a joke initially I did then come to think it may be an interesting article. But, despite much pondering, I haven’t come up with anything more profound than this: they like it for the same reason we do, because it gives them something to focus on and keeps them entertained. Just because they can’t understand it doesn’t mean it can’t be entertaining for them. Which is true for a lot of things I guess, sometimes trying to understand something too much can totally overshadow any enjoyment. For instance, I found the TV series Lost complicated, confusing and I just wanted to understand what was happening. After each episode I would get so pissed off with it that I‘m surprised the man ever suggested we watch it, lest it brought on one of my torrents of TV abuse based around the general concept “why do we bother watching this crap?” Once I made a conscious effort to not try and understand what was going on, just to let it wash over me, and I found it far more enjoyable and less irritating.

So anyway, I have been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (my advice is to avoid the film until you have read the book, I have been told the film is simply a romance about a woman travelling the world who eventually finds love, the book is so, so much more than that, although I do intend to watch it once I‘ve finished reading it so I can comment with some conviction!). For those of you that don’t know anything about the book, the explanation on the front is “One woman’s search for everything” which kind of gives you a good indication of what the book is about. They say that life imitates art, and I do find that when I’m reading something that I enjoy it does totally consume me, and I tend to apply the things I’m reading to my own life. Eat, Pray, Love has certainly made me look a bit further into my mind than I would usually care to venture, given that most of my ventures into the weird and crazy world of my mind has often led to catastrophic results. The mind can be brilliant and enlightening but it can also turn on us, often when we least expect it. And the mind doesn’t always have our best interests at heart.

Thinking too much has long been my greatest downfall and my biggest asset. I can think myself into deep depression, panic attacks and general malaise, but I know, in some far off distant time, there must have been occasions when I have thought myself into a good place too. I just need to do that more often.

The other night, when discussing thoughts, a friend said to me “We must learn to be kinder to ourselves.” This statement rang so true with me that I have been trying to be more aware of my thoughts and recognise times when I am not being kind to myself. And it has come as little surprise to me that I am so hard on myself, so mean, that it’s a wonder I don’t absolutely despise myself and go around wearing a sandwich board pronouncing “I AM A TWAT“. My first thought on waking (after wondering if my beautiful boys slept OK and hearing the synopsis of the man’s dream about me - why am I always a bitch to him in his dreams? Is this something I should be concerned about? Anyway…) my ever present internal monologue went something like this: “Well you totally fucked up your diet this weekend didn’t you? What happened to being good? You have absolutely zero willpower. You‘ll always be unhappy with your weight” On the way to school this morning I was running seriously late, someone wanted to get out of a driveway and I was faced with the dilemma whether or not to let them out: “Should I let them out or not? Well I am running very late. OK just this once I won’t let them out, just because I’m late... Oh my GOD how rude was that? You could have let them out, it wouldn’t have made you any MORE late. Maybe that person is late too, maybe they’re trying to get somewhere really important. That wasn‘t what a nice person would do, a nice person would have let them out, rude, rude, RUDE!”  And so it went on, all the way to school. This kind of thought process is indicative of the kind of thoughts I have pretty much daily, almost constantly, and I don’t think I’m that different to lots of other people going about their daily lives while secretly being so hard on themselves that their internal monologue is like having Simon Cowell inside them critiquing their every move.

Sometimes I beat myself up for having thoughts (Why did you think that? You complete total and utter FREAK!) and other times it’s for something I’ve done (I can‘t actually believe you just burned those lentils, a CHILD could’ve cooked that), it‘s non-stop. But I think we all do it to a greater or lesser extent, whether it’s the occasional “Why did I get so drunk last night? They must all think I‘m such a knob” or the full on OCD fest that is my brain, and I don’t doubt there are others out there who are even harder on themselves than I am.

One of the problems with being so hard on yourself is that we make presumptions on what other people are thinking: “Now they must think I am an idiot”. When the truth is that other people are rarely as hard on us as we are on ourselves. Other people’s experience of a conversation or a situation with you is coming from an entirely different perspective, they see it from THEIR eyes, which will paint a completely different picture. They may be worrying about something that they have said or done, something you didn’t even take in.

I mentioned in a previous post about people who seem self assured and don’t seem plagued by this inner chatter, but I wonder if a lot of those people are actually (to use a much over used metaphor) swan like, to us seeming like they’re gliding through life without a care in the world, while underneath their little legs are frantically paddling to keep up with the rest of the pack. They may well be being just as hard on themselves as the rest of us, only we can‘t see it.

They say we should always treat others the way we would want to be treated ourselves, well how about treating ourselves the way we would like to be treated by others? Because once we take these insults out of the context of our thoughts, they become faintly ridiculous, laughable even. You wouldn’t ever be that hard on another person, so why do it to yourself? A very wise and wonderful friend of mine once said to me “You’ve got to have a word with yourself”. Well, the general rule of thumb, we are told, is that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness but I think we have already deduced that I am there already, so from my point of view that doesn‘t matter. However, we are all, always, talking to ourselves, in our thoughts, whether we are aware of it or not.

I think “have a word with yourself” is probably, almost without a doubt, the greatest piece of advice I have ever been given. It works in every situation and transcends every emotion. It implies we can give OURSELVES advice, something we are all so ready to do for other people. So what would I say to someone who was having these thoughts? “Stop being so bloody hard on yourself."

Nature Vs. Nurture? What About Destiny?

The other night, on One Born Every Minute, a lady said of her newborn son "and there he was, his life already mapped out for him..." I thought to myself "Stupid woman, talking crap. He's just a baby, his life isn't all mapped out, he could be anyone or anything! How do you know his life is already determined?" But could she be right? Is there really such a thing as destiny?

I like to think that I can do anything I want and be anything I want. But totally conversely, like most people, I often use the lines “everything happens for a reason“ and “it was obviously meant to be”. Ultimately we like to think we operate a policy of free will, we live by our choices. But if that’s the case why do we feel like there is a “reason” and things are “meant to be”? We have all read our horoscopes, indeed some people live by them religiously. The way the stars were set out at the time of our birth supposedly holds some kind of key to our future. Astrologists believe our futures are already mapped out.

Say there is no such thing as astrology, that it’s all a myth. What about science? You can’t argue with genetics. As I get older the more I realise that there are things about me that I was just born with, things I simply can’t change.

For instance, I’m messy. I’ve always been messy. No matter how much I try to be tidy and feign to be house proud, the fact remains that I am messy and disorganised and I don‘t care about a little dirt. I am capable of having a tidy house and I much prefer it when it’s tidy. And I do achieve it much of the time but it is a constant struggle, it’s not something that comes naturally to me. I have friends however, whose homes are always spotless, and they seem to manage it without thinking, barely lifting a finger. It seems so natural.

I have always found any type of physical activity a bit of a struggle, despite learning to appreciate the highs that come after exercising. But some people just seem to find running/jumping/being out of breath a natural state to be in. I personally would rather be sitting still, too much jumping about makes me feel a bit dizzy.

These things are just who I am and I have no doubt they were traits that I was born with. So if my personality determines what I can do with my life, and I am born with certain traits, then to an extent my destiny must already be mapped out. Call it destiny or genetics, I was never going to be a house proud athlete.

But was it destiny that chose my man? Was that already decided for me? Maybe every single choice that has led me to him has all been part of some bigger plan. I could have had children with anyone, and produced totally different kids? Was it my children’s destiny to have us as their parents? I like to think it was.

But destiny has it’s dark side. It is an accessible and easy scapegoat for lots of bad things that happen in life and things we can‘t explain. You don’t get the job you wanted and think “it obviously wasn’t meant to be”, but the reality is there were probably other people better suited, more experienced or qualified for the position. And even the more serious things in life that happen can be explained away with flippant use of the “everything happens for a reason” line, often meant to comfort when in fact that’s the last thing it does. The truly horrible things we can’t explain, miscarriages, cancer, heart attacks, deformities, you name it, at some stage or another someone out there will have blamed destiny.

How much of who we are and what happens to us do we have control over? Why do some people seem to have it easy while for the rest of us it’s a struggle? Is that destiny or just bad luck?

Humans have long been arguing nature versus nurture. But doesn’t destiny have a place in this argument? Or does destiny fit within one of those two camps? Or work alongside them?

My four year old son has just started having nightmares. He wakes up moaning and groaning, crying and sweating. Being the slightly sad and obsessed mother I know I am, I googled it. Apparently at his age, his imagination is just starting to develop and he is learning the difference between reality and fantasy, while some nightmares are caused by things he has seen and experienced in his day. "We must protect him!" I said. I can (to a certain extent) control the external factors (such as something he's seen on telly or in a book for instance) but his own imagination developing? That's way beyond my control, indeed anyone’s control, even his own. His imagination is developing and his personality is being shaped, who or what decides who he will be? Destiny, God… himself?

The fact is some things just happen. There are nearly 7 billion people on this earth, all born in to different genetics, different geographics, upbringings, religions, the possibilities are endless. We can make our own choices and choose our paths but maybe some things are already mapped out for us. I have no idea whether or not I believe in destiny. But I like to think that I hold my own key, and can change it at will.

Phew, that was all a bit philosophical wasn't it? Coming up next time, why cats love to watch telly.

Cognitive Deterioration, Baby Brain or just getting OLD?

Sometimes I worry I may be losing my mind (OK los-ing and sometimes might be slightly optimistic but bear with me here).

Over the weekend I was reminded of this on two separate occasions. I came downstairs with a little pile of rubbish in my hand and went to put it in the fridge. And later, when putting washing on, I almost put cat food in the detergent drawer instead of washing liquid. The latter thankfully I realised what I was doing before I did it, that could have been a costly mistake.

And these were not isolated incidents.

How often do I get to the top of the stairs and wonder, what the hell was I coming up here for? 

I've also started getting peoples names wrong. My grandmother used to say the first syllable of every family member's name before she hit on the person she was addressing. Everyone would stop in their tracks when she started speaking, pausing their activity to see if she would stop at their name or sail past to the next one. My mum does it. Now I have started to do it to. And it's not just family, I do it with friends too. Friend's kids names are particularly interchangeable.

Often, especially in shops when I have to ask for what I want, I'll be practising in my head what I'm going to say then when I get to the front of the queue it comes out all garbled and wrong,. So I have to stop, compose myself and repeat it, the irritatingly young person behind the counter looking frustrated at my lack of ability to communicate effectively.

Is it baby brain, nappy fever, whatever you want to call it? Or is it simply (scarily)... age?

I'm aging pretty well for the most part. I have a few grey hairs. Mercifully few enough that I still have to search for them. Although when I do finally find one I am hit with the crippling dilemma whether or not to pull it out, just in case two might grow in its place - if anyone knows whether or not there is any truth in this please let me know. I have to carry my drivers license with me everywhere because I am always asked for ID, which, at 33, I get an immense amount of pleasure from. But while I am smugly physically holding my own (save the grey hairs and the odd wrinkle, well I do have two kids after all) my mind seems to be speeding through the aging process making me feel old way beyond my years.

Is it age related deterioration though? Or is it just that as we get older we have so much more information we have to hold in our brains that there simply isn't enough capacity to retain it? 

It's kind of dangerous, socially speaking. I have lost count of the number of times when I have said to someone "oh yeah do you remember when we did that?" only to realise the minute it passes my lips that actually it happened with someone else, particularly embarrassing and potentially damaging when you are talking to a current boyfriend and it turns out it was a previous boyfriend you are talking about. 

Other little pointers keep coming at me, reminding me I'm not as young as I once was. Hangovers seems to last at least 2 days now (shockingly making me question whether or not getting drunk and forgetting an entire evening was worth it in the first place), and I keep finding myself using sentences like "I can't eat that, it doesn't agree with me." Something I always found highly irritating in my own mum, sorry Mum, I now feel your pain.

I've done a little bit of googling for the purpose of this post and discovered a study the Salthouse Cognitive Aging Lab in 2009, which found that the age at which our brain starts to deteriorate is 27. Twenty-seven! I hadn't even had kids then. But on the plus side, some studies have shown that women's brains actually get bigger after having kids (along with everything else that gets bigger I suppose that stands to reason).

There is surgery and botox for physical aging, but what for cognitive aging? It seems we must we rely on that game for the DS - Dr Something or others brain training (and no, the irony of not being able to remember the name of it is not lost on me) and Sudoku to keep our brains functioning at their optimum.

Maybe they will discover a "cure" for this as they have with so much else. In the meantime it is yet another inevitable thing we just have to learn to live with, like death and taxes.

Time for a bit of telly. Now where did I put that remote? Oh yeah, right there. In the freezer.

Idols, Gurus and Eric Cantona

Some people I know are so self assured. They know exactly who and what they are. I don't know who I am. I have (and will probably continue to) spend my life trying to answer the constantly nagging questions "who are you, what are you, why are you here, and just WTF are you doing?" Sometimes I think it must be so much easier to be one of those people who live without the constant chatter of questions, enquiring, pushing me to find answers. Frankly it's quite exhausting. But at the same time, looking for the answers means I'm constantly striving, and it's the times when I have given up on the striving that I have been at my lowest points, and the times when I'm looking for answers that I feel a sense of fulfilment. 

I wonder how these people know the answers? How do they have this peace within them? Would those who believe in reincarnation think these people have been reincarnated so many times they have answered all the questions? And those of us still stuck in the investigative phase are all newbies?

Last night, for want of anything better to watch, the man and me watched a film called Looking for Eric. It's about a down and out guy who has pretty much zero self confidence and his life is looking pretty bleak, until his idol Eric Cantona appears to him and starts coaching him in the ways of the world, and very quickly his life is turned around. It turned out to be a pretty good film.

For some people, life seems so easy, they just get on with it, get through life without the endless questions and analysis. But for the rest of us, frantically zigzagging through life, trying to make sense of it all, we need a bit of help. And we often find help in other people, idols, gurus, whatever you want to call them, people who inspire us. Just like the man in the film was inspired by Eric Cantona, by channelling or thinking about people we admire, we gain confidence and a focus.

How many people wear WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) bracelets? You can now get bracelets asking "What Would insert the name of your idol here Do?" for pretty much anyone you can think of, now or in history.

Most of us don't actually know what we're doing in life, and many of us face situations daily where we simply don't know what to do. From the big questions: "Should I buy this house?"" Should I have a kid?" etc to the relatively small and seemingly unimportant "What should I wear today?" Asking ourselves "What would this person who we admire do?" can give a focus for our thoughts. Often we don't even know the person personally, or if we do, maybe we wouldn't want them to know we are channeling them, lest they think us creepy or wierd. Many times we don't know what they would really do but imagination is a pretty powerful tool and sometimes just by imagining something you can find an answer.

I am willing to lay myself on the line here and admit to having a style crush on a friend. Some people just seem to be born with an innate sense of style, elegant and always right for the occassion, and always age appropriate. I, however, I was born with a totally schizophrenic style sense, never able to decide what I like, going through the complete spectrum of outfits, sometimes dressing too old, sometimes dressing too young, sometimes wearing it all at once. I think I have unsuccessfully tried just about every fashion and fad throughout my life. About a year ago I got sick and tired of my wardrobe and feeling like I was always getting it wrong so I started asking myself "is this something Soandso would wear, and what would she wear it with?" before every purchase I made. That I'm aware of this person doesn't know I do this, and I wouldn't tell her because I wouldn't want to make her feel uncomfortable (or think I was creepy and wierd), but unknowingly she has really helped me out. I can't say I am now getting it right all the time but I do now have a better focus when I'm out shopping, because frankly, the choice is so overwhelming it's no wonder I was getting it wrong alot of the time. Once I started doing this I noticed other people who "fit" the look I was trying to get. And now I have a number of style "idols" I draw on when I'm out shopping.

Let me just clear something up right now. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but blatant copying other people is tantamount to not only social death but complete loss of your true self, which doesn't help in your quest to find yourself and who YOU are. At the furthest end of the scale you also have stalking which is just plain scary. I am not talking about copying or stalking here. I'm talking about being inspired by people. I wouldn't go out and buy the same top as my style crush for instance (we have a different body type so I would look like a knob in it anyway), just trying to give myself a sense of direction. A psychological style sat nav if you will.

I am like an information sponge but I think more than that I like to soak up other people. Most of the people in my life are idols in some way, because they all have certain points or traits which I admire. You can find something great in everyone, if you know what you think is great you can find it in people. I think we all (quite often unconciously) emulate people we spend time with, particularly if we admire them. I don't think it's necessarily genetics that are to blame for us ending up like our parents...

When I started this blog post (this morning, while battling screaming kids and mounds of mushed up Shreddies on the kitchen floor) I was mainly thinking about the writer Gretchen Rubin. I have mentioned her before in a blog post, I won't go into it too much now but I recently read a book she has written called "The Happiness Project" where she sets herself resolutions to live by with the goal of increasing her daily happiness. It's a fantastic book and if you want to know more you can check out her blog at http://www.happiness-project.com/. The point is, she really inspired me. And it got me thinking about all the people in my life who have inspired me, pretty much everyone I have ever met has given me something I could learn from, often an impulse to do something or change something I don't like. Once I started thinking about it I starting seeing inspirational people everywhere, and this was just in the space of a few hours. Chris Moyles and Comedy Dave doing the longest ever radio show on Radio 1 (donate to their plight by texting "Chris" to 70011), that's pretty inspiring. Not only have they inspired people to donate just by texting in, but I bet lots of people have decided to do things not only for Comic Relief but for other charities, after thinking about those guys. Our kids, our families, our friends, writers, artists, celebrities... they all help in our quest to do better, be better and find answers.

Gossip Girl...

Why do we all love to gossip so much? Come on admit it, even you men (in fact you're often worse than us women!). 

I personally find gossiping quite an uncomfortable pastime. I feel bad about talking about someone when they're not there, even complimentary things (although I do have an over active guilt reflex instilled in me as a child, that prohibits me from doing anything hurtful towards others, lest I spend the rest of my life feeling bad about it - and believe me in 33 years I have built up quite an impressive bank of things to feel bad about), because I can't bear the thought of being the cause of any hurt or upset. The only person I can really let loose and have an enjoyable gossip with is my bloke because we're so close it's like talking to myself. So doesn't actually count as gossiping, in my book anyway. And, that I can remember, we have never really discussed any of the malicious stuff (some people would call it juicy) anyway. I never discuss other peoples secrets (in fact I often avoid hearing them in the first place, because frankly I don't have enough space in my already guilt ridden psyche to carry around other peoples skeletons).

Gossiping has become much more intelligent and accessible these days. Not to mention dangerous. When I was a kid, it was whispered rumours and scratched in graffiti on desks that took at least one double PE lesson to get around, these days with Facebook and Twitter a rumour can be out there and doing damage in a matter of seconds. There is also that gossip website that was in the news recently, basically an online hurt book where kids can post rumours and gossip about other kids at their school. The idea actually leaves me cold at the thought of the number of people being hurt by that. And it's not just the school kids, we are all at it. We may not all gossip about real people (although if we're honest, most of us do at some stage) but how many of us buy those celeb magazines? Come on, if you're not going to admit to buying them yourself at least admit to having a sneaky peak at your girlfriends/wives/friends/doctors surgery copy (although the latter so out of date it's hardly worth it).

Why do we all love the gossip? As far as celebrity gossip is concerned, I do think there is a sense of living vicariously, it is an escape from the often banality of our lives, we think we are getting a piece of the rich life through them. The media is guilty of building them up then revels in watching them fall. But we play our part in it by (however secretly) enjoying the circus.

And why do some people seem to attract so much more of it? Because I'm sure there are a lot of "celebs" out there acting scandalously but they don't attract half as many column inches as people like, say, Jordan and Kerry? Are they more interesting than the others? And why is it that the celebs we love to gossip about seem to always be the most hated ones? It doesn't make any sense to me.

But local gossip? I don't really get the attraction. Especially if it's about someone I don't know very well (if at all) and don't give a shit about. In my research for this blog post, one theory that repeatedly crops up is the idea that gossiping helps establish a social pecking order, the people at the top (the gossipers) gossiping about those at the bottom (the gossipees). That doesn't say much about me, given that I have always been more of a gossipee than a gossiper.

We've all been the subject of rumour and gossip at some stage. What can begin as a harmless conversation can easily get out of hand and turn into a full on bitch fest. Malicious gossip could, I suppose, be considered a form of bullying. That word crops up a lot in our lives these days I know, but the effects of gossip and rumour can be totally devastating. One look at a newspaper you can find stories of children committing suicide after things that have been said about them on Facebook or a text message viral.

Thankfully for most of us, me included, gossip and rumour is actually harmless. In fact, as devastating as it felt at the time, I couldn't help but feeling a little bit cool that people actually thought I was interesting enough to talk about. God knows why they did, but I was so uncool that I wasn't going to correct people when they actually thought I might be interesting enough to be the subject of their conversation, however untrue the rumours may have been. The sad thing is, it can take a lifetime to live down negative and untrue gossip. I'm sure some of those kids at school, who I haven't even seen since and know nothing about me (and didn't actually know me or anything about me then either), would still think of me as I was rumoured to be, and I'm sure I am guilty of feeling the same about some of them.

But gossiping does not have to be negative or untrue. I heard on the grapevine that the headteacher of the local primary school had done all sorts of fantastic fundraising for the school. I had no idea whether it was true or not but when it came time to do my sons primary school application? I knew who I wanted to be teaching MY son.

That's partly my problem with gossip, right or wrong, good or bad, it shapes opinions. People pass judgement on others based on gossip, when judgement should, morally speaking, be made on fact and all the facts alone.

I think in this new intelligent gossip age we all have a responsibility to be careful about who we gossip about, who we gossip to and what we say. I would like to think I act fairly responsibly as far as my blog is concerned, I never ever use peoples actual names, and would never ever ever knowingly use my position to reveal scandal, or discuss anything hurtful. So those of you worried about conversations "popping up" in my blog can rest assured that you will remain anonymous and the conversation would only be discussed in the first place if it was considered appropriate and not gossipy!

But in my private life, as much as I would prefer not to consider myself a gossip, I expect I do do it more than I will admit to myself. But now I have worked on this piece, maybe I'll be more aware of it and change my behaviour.

Are you a gossiper or a gossipee? Or do you keep yourself pretty much out of all of it? Is that even possible?

XOXO!

Out with the old, in with the new?

There is such a thrill about having something new. Getting that shiny new telly out of the box, taking the tags off those pristine new clothes, discovering another person through those all consuming first few months of a new relationship, and the ultimate in newness, a new baby. Old stuff gets a bit tired. You've seen it day in day out for months, years even, and there's no mystery around it anymore. You've seen it from every angle, in light and in shade. The telly turns out to just be a telly, same as any other. Those features you thought were so exciting to begin with soon become the norm and you're craving the next best thing. The clothes you were so exhilarated by when they were in the shop become worn, or worse still unworn, a constant guilt trip of money wastage every time you open your wardrobe, "I've got nothing to wear!" you wail, but it's not that, you just want something new. The relationship gets kind of comfortable, nothing exciting seems to happen anymore, you're living the happily ever after. They don't tell you what happens after the happily ever after because as much as it was filled with mystery and intrigue at the beginning, quite frankly, it's not usually very exciting as time goes on. And those adorable little exciting bundles? Well, more often than not they grow up to be little shits (although we can live vicariously through their excitement and discovery).

Sometimes moving on and getting new things is unavoidable, but sometimes we choose to waste something that is, other than us becoming bored with it, perfectly good.

We have long been told we are throwing too much away. We are a generation of waste. The new telly, the new clothes, we don't always appreciate the things that still work, still look good or do the job because we are too busy thinking about the shiny new stuff we could get. Oooh, that's new, it must be better than my old one. We're like a bunch of magpies constantly searching for shiny things. But is this right? The fact is, we all love a good purge and replace, it's refreshing to be around new and different things.

Maybe this is one of the reasons why so many marriages aren't lasting these days? People want the excitement of a new relationship, or to escape the boredom of the old. But really, what's the point? It's very likely that the excitement and spontaneity of that new relationship will at some point get just as dulled as in the previous one, and you end up just where you were in the first place, same set of circumstances, just with a different person. Very often, particularly with human beings, just when you think you know someone, they go and do something exciting. Maybe this isn't the case with old or broken technical equipment (although I do think that as time goes on that will change, look at our current obsession with retro this that and the other) but with clothes you can customise, or wear it in a different way, but the fact is, so often it's down to YOU to make it exciting again. And it often just seems too much like hard work when you could just go and get something new. But this just adds to the ever growing amount of waste in our lives. We are being suffocated by landfill, devastated by waste, our obsession with the new and dealing with the fallout is slowly squeezing the life out of us.

Previous generations were wise with their old adage "make do and mend". I always thought this was about saving money. But I have come to realise it's more about preventing waste and making the most of the things we have. If we're constantly searching for the next best thing we will never ever find satisfaction and fulfillment. Old things may not be exciting, but there can be comfort in things that are old, security in familiarity and satisfaction in making things work, be they old tellies or tired relationships.

Besides, by it's very nature, excitement is only fleeting. And to be honest, being in a constant state of excitement is exhausting and irritating for all around (just ask my 4 year old).

Honesty the best policy Vs. some things better left unsaid

I was born with a compulsive need to tell the truth. When asked a question it almost spews from me so uncontrollably that I've said something before I've even had a chance to think it through. I can't tell you how many times I've been left not listening but nodding along to a conversation while trying to keep up with my internal monologue of "You complete fuck wit, what did you say THAT for? You should have just lied." Great for my parents when I was a rebelious teenager, not so great for me as it seemed like I was constantly in trouble or upsetting someone. But I always believed that people knowing the truth was a lot better than being a liar. As a teenager, I even declared in the front of my diary "Do Not Read This. If You Do Read It And Don't Like What You Read Tough Shit You Shouldn't Have Read It." What a delightful young girl I was, no, really.

I'm not sure why I'm this way. Partly I think its becasue I have seen a lot of pain caused by lies. Partly its because my mum always told me honesty was the best policy and deep down I'm a good girl who wants to do as she's told, not to mention my other compulsive need to please people, but that's a whole nother blog post. Despite all this, as I get older I am coming to realise that maybe some things really are better left unsaid.

We all tell tiny white lies to be polite: "What a cute baby" (actually it looks like a chewed up toffee), "You look well" (I always feel like this translates to "you look like you've been treating yourself to too many takeaways" but I may be wrong) and millions of other niceties we use to be polite. You can totally shoot yourself in the foot by telling polite white lies: "What an interesting sounding job, tell me more" (Oh bollocks, why did I say that? Now I'm going to be sitting here listening to the ins and outs of his boring job when I could be replaying the latest episode of The Real Housewives of OC in my head).

Sometimes we ask questions that we don't really want to know the answer to and we force people into lying to us: "Is that girl prettier than me?" and the ultimate "Do I look fat in this?"

Sometimes we tell a white lie to protect someones feelings then, because we feel we might not be being completely true, we add a back up statement. "Yes it's a lovely top/dress/shoes. Not something I'd wear myself though." Which I'm not sure actually makes that much sense and think may be more of an underhand put down than telling the truth in the first place.

Most of us tell lies every day, especially to our kids: "Yep we'll be there in 5 minutes" (when actually its at least half an hour away), "no you wouldn't like this cream cake its made from cheese and you don't like cheese do you?" And my personal favourite: "playing with your winky will make it fall off".

But let's be honest here, seeing as we're talking about honesty, none of those little niceties really matter. Being polite is just curteous and helps maintain the status quo but what if it's something you feel is important?


I can name a number of situations, usually between friends, where one person feels the other person needs to know that they are not happy about something that has been said or done. This is a tricky situation. Things are said. Feelings are hurt. And sometimes friendships have been destroyed by what at the beginning was a simple clash of principles (let's face it, everyone is different and if we were all the same we would be bored). Should you speak up if you disagree with something someone has done, even if it has nothing to do with you? What if they have said something that has hurt your feelings?

I used to think yes, in particular if it's someone you love you should tell the truth, get it out there and have a grown up discussion about it. Try and resolve it. But sometimes in life things just can't be resolved. Things can't be undone and actually talking about it just creates momentum behind something that might not have really bothered you in the first place or at least after a few weeks of things settling down. My new rules are to ask myself: Does that thing that you have a problem with really affect YOU? And if so how much? Enough to hurt someones feelings? Enough to destroy a friendship or at the very least cause weeks of potential stress and upset? Nope, I have learned the hard way that some things really are better left unsaid.

I'm not going to change the habit of a lifetime and start lying all over the place, so those of you that know me can feel safe in the knowledge that more or less, what you see is what you get and I will continue to spew forth random truths that have no real place being anywhere other than inside my head, but I am certainly going to try to think before I speak and try and decide whether or not telling the truth is really worth it.

What does everyone else think?