tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26817755642586284072024-03-01T14:13:06.584-08:00Carol HedgesI write. I sleep. I try to resist cake.Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.comBlogger441125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-91149364678967695662023-07-26T09:21:00.010-07:002023-07-27T00:58:30.543-07:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: 'Speak the speech trippingly on the tongue'<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGrfZ0BwURGq01vi19t-Bp4CYI9i9nSPZ0wZeXu03i7VS8lcNIyE0AXChrk0qTVp96LTarwsTsYDyPhgKlRgN8OK_XdjdUCWItUdzZcMcTKOhRALoHbb1zQ74jLSXYmsO5UZ55LarJjLse12zMlXmur3-LcJZwl6qpJrH--cF6YunIl1uhXInSExwN-vY/s768/yiddish.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="768" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGrfZ0BwURGq01vi19t-Bp4CYI9i9nSPZ0wZeXu03i7VS8lcNIyE0AXChrk0qTVp96LTarwsTsYDyPhgKlRgN8OK_XdjdUCWItUdzZcMcTKOhRALoHbb1zQ74jLSXYmsO5UZ55LarJjLse12zMlXmur3-LcJZwl6qpJrH--cF6YunIl1uhXInSExwN-vY/s320/yiddish.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">So my Yiddish class is now on its annual break. This means that as a keen student and committed adult learner, it behoves me to continue working by myself over the Summer.</span><p></p><div><span style="font-size: large;">Thus I am ploughing on with Colloquial Yiddish (the textbook), commiserating with Dovid that his family are all totally <i>meshuggeneh </i>(mad) while admiring Chana's extensive apartment.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I have also purchased a Yiddish Dictionary & Phrasebook because it seemed like a good idea. Now, a quick recap: Yiddish is the <i>lingua franca</i> of the Jewish population (not all: in Israel they speak Hebrew). It is a universal way for Jews to be able to communicate with other Jews whose first language might be Polish, German, Lithuanian etc. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My mother who worked for a Berlin-based refugee organisation trying to get Jews out of Germany before Hitler closed the borders, used to go to international conferences where Yiddish was the language employed by delegates and speakers. However, although it is a recognised language in many countries (Sweden, I learned recently), it has no country of its own. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Like its speakers, Yiddish wanders the earth, refusing to be wiped out by events like the Holocaust and allowing itself to be mangled by people like me. This lack of a 'Yiddish country' is reflected in the phrasebook. For instance, search as I might, there are no phrases demanding consular access. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">However, on the plus side, the Yiddish Dictionary & Phrasebook does go into great detail about the three <b>big</b> Jewish concerns: food, health and how to complain. Other phrasebooks might have a few instructions on ordering a meal or dealing with an illness ... the Yiddish Dictionary & Phrasebook has PAGES! </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #04ff00;"><u>Dining out, 9 pages/ Food & Drink,13 pages</u></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> If the food is too hot, too cold, not what you ordered, too expensive, too spicy, not spicy enough, if you want to sit over here, over there, by a window, in a corner, you think the waiters are inattentive, too attentive, if you have waited too long, if you want to pay separately, together, by cash, by cheque, by barter ... you will find a phrase.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><u>Health, 20 pages</u></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Similarly, if you have any minor, major, strange, unidentified, possibly fatal, ailment involving some body part, if you are limping, bleeding, allergic, vomiting, anaemic, constipated, need pills, potions, a bandage, a doctor, a hospital, medical attention of any sort there will be a phrase. Believe me. I have read them all.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Armed with these essentials, the Yiddish speaking traveller is equipped to confront the perplexities and problems of modern travel. Thus, if a fellow voyager asks <i>Vos makst du? </i>(how are you?) it is possible to reply with absolute accuracy. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Similarly, an invitation to <i>brontsh</i> (brunch) or <i>vetshere</i> (dinner) can be accepted in the full knowledge that one's ability to <i>kvetch</i> (complain) is amply and fully catered for. Which, in essence, is all the Yiddish speaker needs to know.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-25799642692699044042023-04-01T04:01:00.011-07:002023-04-01T04:38:41.081-07:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: Wine & Tears<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXf1RAtfL7KrXVh74R3VVqMgKgTvDyfYZH5_JeYFwK3EQnV8igkZqSJisJS2Vt2JUp1SImCJeF68aC2v7avdSl2Zki2pac_Fg175vkpscK44PpdoCfxI1LZpYYzprMErUO3yqhwPTNf_Fg_ifwfD3fdE4c6XV4_Hdmzc9yHhbk7mPfLlDE355CKWW5w/s400/JEWSPASSOVERthumbnail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXf1RAtfL7KrXVh74R3VVqMgKgTvDyfYZH5_JeYFwK3EQnV8igkZqSJisJS2Vt2JUp1SImCJeF68aC2v7avdSl2Zki2pac_Fg175vkpscK44PpdoCfxI1LZpYYzprMErUO3yqhwPTNf_Fg_ifwfD3fdE4c6XV4_Hdmzc9yHhbk7mPfLlDE355CKWW5w/s320/JEWSPASSOVERthumbnail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">This month (April) marks the festival of Passover (Pesakh in Yiddish), when Jewish communities and families remember the story of how the Jews, led by Moses, escaped from slavery under the Egyptian ruler Pharoah. It is a festival of joy at liberation, but sorrow at the suffering that preceded it. Passover always comes before Easter. There is a reason for this and I'll explain it shortly.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The festival is celebrated by a special family meal, called a Seder, which consists of prayers, blessings, songs, giving thanks for deliverance and looking forward to the coming of the Messiah. The photo shows my Passover plate: each of the little bowls represents some symbolic item relevant to the biblical story, which is told over the course of the evening, culminating in a lovely meal. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">(You can find out more about the plate and its symbolic contents here https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-seder-plate/ )</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Passover meal was the one Yeshua (Jesus) took part in and is referred to in the Christian New Testament as 'The Last Supper'. This is where the two religions (or the extension of one by the other) coalesce. Christianity focuses on what happened AFTER the meal, but it is clear from reading the text, that it was a traditional Seder.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My family always used to attend synagogue for the Seder meal, which meant we kids had to behave better, couldn't leave the table for any reason whatsoever, and we got ribena instead of wine (such a disappointment). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The whole concept of the Seder is not only to recall a very grim period in Jewish history, but to make sure the memory is passed on to future generations. Thus there is a point, early on in the celebration, when the youngest child asks 4 questions. They're called the <i>Ma Nishtana</i>, and revolve around querying why this night is different from other nights in food, in the way people sit at table etc. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fnhix69GRBL7gOQhRltgXfwK_3F3cBjiDXf6LtW1euGQ3_Giif1YEvFi4fwtpIHzWgLJg1Q7JHc3KYZ3lcm1Jpul9rX44fb9iw-cnG4Id3A5ePkUsDKVOhahhJUr43EasD6BWIjnW7cPRbpNj-Kh9KH6jO0oAGocDUV2_--2lkgQGcuKjsk1jQIMsw/s780/Ma-Nishtana-780x337.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="780" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fnhix69GRBL7gOQhRltgXfwK_3F3cBjiDXf6LtW1euGQ3_Giif1YEvFi4fwtpIHzWgLJg1Q7JHc3KYZ3lcm1Jpul9rX44fb9iw-cnG4Id3A5ePkUsDKVOhahhJUr43EasD6BWIjnW7cPRbpNj-Kh9KH6jO0oAGocDUV2_--2lkgQGcuKjsk1jQIMsw/s320/Ma-Nishtana-780x337.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Every Jewish child in a religious household HAS to learn it, in case they end up being the youngest. I remember the sheer terror of realising one year that I was that child and I was going to be called upon to perform. I think being able to recite the <i>Ma Nishtana </i>is another of those Jewish identifiers, along with possessing your mother's recipe for chicken soup. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It is also something that never leaves you. Even at the great age of 72, I can still, if prompted, recite the <i>Ma Nishtana. </i>If you are Jewish and reading this, I bet you can too!</span><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-38372267549459238922023-03-15T08:21:00.003-07:002023-03-15T08:23:52.195-07:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: Homework (Jews do it backwards)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon47ltY0wpvoKbyzsxQrORgTzFeiVYrt0VlxdzO2RgA7-NHnAHlYWLgX78uJJ09nTIJowUtv-UZbmd3QBbQqLMUJQ7D2y0wpk4xANup3M3l6eJ0bfER9jtO7o4SkRev_Q3tN6WzhJ77lXgmEwi6Ximi6MeaMUxPiwWrBpr2j6C95AhdKUoQ3ZzauB2g/s650/yiddish91eaf2beacb36c2413a8190d423cc4ed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon47ltY0wpvoKbyzsxQrORgTzFeiVYrt0VlxdzO2RgA7-NHnAHlYWLgX78uJJ09nTIJowUtv-UZbmd3QBbQqLMUJQ7D2y0wpk4xANup3M3l6eJ0bfER9jtO7o4SkRev_Q3tN6WzhJ77lXgmEwi6Ximi6MeaMUxPiwWrBpr2j6C95AhdKUoQ3ZzauB2g/s320/yiddish91eaf2beacb36c2413a8190d423cc4ed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">So, I have come to the conclusion that these gurus and so-called lifestyle experts who recommend learning a language in old age to keep the brain active, haven't actually tried it. As soon as a new piece of vocabulary arrives, one learned earlier disappears.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In nautical terms, we are Week 5: Still At Sea.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Luckily there are only three main tenses in Yiddish: present, past, and future, although I have discovered a fourth one, which creeps over me whenever I am faced with another piece of dialogue featuring Rokhel and Dovid, the Janet and John of my Yiddish primer.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For those who have never seen Yiddish on the page, it reads right to left, which meant initially I found myself writing the English translation back to front. Don't know what part of my brain that came from.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then there is the vexed question of the vowels. In Hebrew, which I learned from age 7, and have now forgotten entirely, the vowels are lavish, plentiful and sit under the consonants like good helpful little soldiers. In Yiddish, they lurk in unaccustomed places or are absent without leave and you are just expected to know they are there. Even though they clearly aren't. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The rest of the class marches on. I straggle behind them, laboriously spelling out the words letter by letter in a strangled whisper and hoping that the very sociable cat that belongs to one of the younger students will make an unexpected appearance on her screen, so we can all be distracted and I can catch up, albeit briefly.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For our current homework (Yiddish: <i>heimarbet</i>) we have been asked to write about our family. The rest of the class, shiny-eyed and keen, have requested complicated lists of words like 'step grandchild', 'adopted daughter', 'same-sex couple' etc. My offering consists of four short sentences:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have a husband. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have a daughter. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She has 2 children. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My parents are dead.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">time in better get will it but</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-20333467486620182062023-03-02T03:36:00.003-08:002023-03-02T07:30:20.608-08:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: Bus Girls<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEKcpKDI8xVQYTiOXCN1ylSskRDTpywBtNjC2PJEFx5FtiYI2g6EqKMdSZ1-ds83NskEm-yoebA2rAMpXrC4xP2UcXHlmlsKiIBbscwPV8B1CtenvoUuwgGP2EluS5Pd9iFBb57kiq55VTdo0X-wWXXkhjd_A50pd_g8tDBJaxgzkuvL-dcA7Y7WSNQ/s400/Yiddish331480146_934710954641238_98747464963423323_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEKcpKDI8xVQYTiOXCN1ylSskRDTpywBtNjC2PJEFx5FtiYI2g6EqKMdSZ1-ds83NskEm-yoebA2rAMpXrC4xP2UcXHlmlsKiIBbscwPV8B1CtenvoUuwgGP2EluS5Pd9iFBb57kiq55VTdo0X-wWXXkhjd_A50pd_g8tDBJaxgzkuvL-dcA7Y7WSNQ/w300-h400/Yiddish331480146_934710954641238_98747464963423323_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Jews are probably the most travelled people on earth, and I'm not talking air miles here. From the Diaspora to today, they have <i>schlepped</i> their families and belongings from one country to another, building communities, setting down roots, starting businesses, and then at the whim of a ruler, a government or a baying mob, packing up and <i>schlepping</i> their stuff somewhere else.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am in New York, having <i>schlepped</i> myself here via American Airlines. I'm not immigrating, I'm visiting family, but I know there have been Jews coming here since the 1840s, so I'm hoping to encounter some Yiddish speakers to try out my very basic attempts at speaking.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">First attempt comes while visiting the Jewish Museum close to Central Park. I spot a couple of Jewish mums with their daughters. I edge closer and ask if they <i>'rednt Yiddish?' </i>One nods. I try a bit more. She frowns, corrects my pronunciation (Two is '<i>zway</i>', not '<i>zwei'</i> ~I have defaulted to German again). Discouraged, I move off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now it's my final day in the city. The kids are back at school and I'm on the Lower East Side, visiting The Tenement Museum, one of my favourite places. I lunch at Katz, managing to try out a few basic phrases, much to the amusement of the cutter serving me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then back on the bus. Two stops and a couple of women my age get on. They park themselves behind me and ... whoah! they start chatting to each other in Yiddish. At least I think it's Yiddish. Now's my chance. I turn round. Take a deep breath and launch out. "<i>Shalon aleichem. Ick heisse Carol. Ick com fum England," </i>I say, smiling with fake confidence.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There is a pause. I am eyed thoughtfully. Then the greeting is returned, politely. I explain about learning Yiddish at 72, and why I'm doing it. The women (we'll call them Sara and Rokhel) smile back cautiously. There is another pause. The conversation founders. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then inspiration hits me. <i>"Host du ayniklakh?"</i> (Do you have grandkids?) Immediately, their eyes light up. They nod. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes completely. Phones are dug from handbags. Photos are found, passed round. I show them my pictures in return. We coo and admire.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And all at once, we are no longer three strangers; we are united in our love for our grandchildren. There is a word for this in Yiddish: <i>naches</i>. It means bursting with pride over a child's achievements. So here we are, three dames of the Diaspora, three bus bubbes, sharing a moment's <i>naches </i>on an uptown bus in New York<i>. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And it makes all my linguistic struggles totally worthwhile.</span></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-86008934787504189582023-02-14T05:18:00.000-08:002023-02-14T05:18:29.578-08:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: The Tao of Chicken Soup<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsipEoeQ32hp8h_4q-gLYadfB9n7HHCKSJ9R16TMwltPfo1JcMFj0zFSu4qYsR01JBBOzr4WnOgsQSgGcV8ygLGflsxeIKzNOCLwqYk8yfKnxpJMvW1wtG9_1V-0cEPxUiJu5FYk3_gjdK2vWOYxTmuLQY-DEeI_UwEE6MkYpjkJz42Pwf4KyMY9PKA/s350/JEWISHbe19fced5fdff7034090b8d614c01d8e.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsipEoeQ32hp8h_4q-gLYadfB9n7HHCKSJ9R16TMwltPfo1JcMFj0zFSu4qYsR01JBBOzr4WnOgsQSgGcV8ygLGflsxeIKzNOCLwqYk8yfKnxpJMvW1wtG9_1V-0cEPxUiJu5FYk3_gjdK2vWOYxTmuLQY-DEeI_UwEE6MkYpjkJz42Pwf4KyMY9PKA/s320/JEWISHbe19fced5fdff7034090b8d614c01d8e.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">What makes me a Jew? It's a good question. And like everything else connected with Judaism, there isn't one single answer. Sorry. Look up an official definition and you get something like: <i>Jews are an ethnoreligious group and nation originating from the Israelites and Hebrews of historical Israel and Judah. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So, maybe that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Jewish law (<i>Halacha</i>) states that to be Jewish, you have to be born of a Jewish mother, as the descent is matrilineal. However, the Bible (<i>Torah</i>) sees Jewish identity as patrilineal. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">See what I mean?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When I was applying to get my family's German citizenship 'restored' after the UK left the EU, the German government was only interested in whether my family's loss had occurred on my father's side. However when my brother's secular marriage broke down and he went <i>frum, </i>emigrated to Israel and subsequently wished to marry an Orthodox Jewess, my mother had to prove she had married in synagogue for it to be allowed. (The first marriage was discounted as the former wife was a gentile).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There are also various rules, complicated definitions, arguments, counter arguments etc. for people who decide to convert, or people who have one non-Jewish parent. We Jews love a good debate. We will <i>kvetch</i> and <i>kibbitz</i> until the sun goes down. And then some.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">However, I believe there is one question that covers everything, and the answer to which proves definitely, once and for all time, whether you or I are <i>really</i> Jewish or not. And it is this: Do you have your mother's recipe for chicken soup?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I do.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> <u>My Mother's Chicken Soup</u></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For this you will need a large pot, into which you put chopped celery, chopped onion, sliced carrots, then place on top a chicken (my mother used to actually pluck the chicken, then singe the remaining quills. I can still smell it). Add salt, peppercorns (my brother and I used to have a competition to see who had the most peppercorns: think <i>'Tinker tailor'</i>, Jewish style), and enough stock/water to cover the bird.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Slowly bring to the boil. Skim the fat off the surface ~ it's known as <i>schmaltz, </i>until the liquid is clear. Then cover and simmer very gently until the meat is so tender it falls off the bones.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Add some noodles to the pot and let them soften, just before dividing up the meat, the vegetables, and the lovely broth and placing it all in soup plates. My mother always served ours with thick slices of white bread to mop up the last of the soup.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Ess gezunterheit!</i></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: -webkit-right;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-80467785715179766912023-02-06T00:33:00.001-08:002023-02-06T00:40:38.784-08:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: Screentime<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDKBy1InIzF37QbnIFv_W_0KjLnnKNY0s-wIKL8HncetV9zSQtGzFjrf5osrz39ccQyQEApzk-fVBAWIFfAdLr2sMFdaPel8pHrXVGQXBlP2Dw-9i5kWxQ-eSwFiN9kXBxeD9PNC41Hbq2QOXKzEoqVujJ0Sy1TApp6sbUstzdrc1KYTbNlgoaE0w2Q/s400/Yiddish329557872_500891978783210_7472842401106478665_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDKBy1InIzF37QbnIFv_W_0KjLnnKNY0s-wIKL8HncetV9zSQtGzFjrf5osrz39ccQyQEApzk-fVBAWIFfAdLr2sMFdaPel8pHrXVGQXBlP2Dw-9i5kWxQ-eSwFiN9kXBxeD9PNC41Hbq2QOXKzEoqVujJ0Sy1TApp6sbUstzdrc1KYTbNlgoaE0w2Q/s320/Yiddish329557872_500891978783210_7472842401106478665_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">The last time I studied a language, I was 12 years old. I wore a pleated navy skirt, shirt and tie, and sat in a room with 28 other girls. Back then, the biggest problem was always where to sit. The swotty teacher-pleasers positioned themselves at the front, where they could show off their ability and get their hands in the air a micro-second before everyone else had processed the question.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The back row was reserved for the slackers and troublemakers, who passed the time creating their own charisma-free environment while contributing as little as possible to the class. I was the only Jewish girl in a school of 800, at a time where teachers could nickname you 'it', or refer to 'people like you' without being accused of antisemitism.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Therefore, my<i> modus operandi</i> was to maintain as low a profile as I could, which was why I always lurked in the middle of the fourth row, head down, studiously avoiding any eye-contact or engagement.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Beginners' Yiddish is not like this at all.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>The first difference is that there is nowhere to lurk. The class consist of 7 students and teacher. We are all visible all the time. </span>It is disconcerting to see oneself on screen, peering confusedly into the ether, as if I have developed an alter ego. The alter ego hasn't a clue what is going on. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The other students are way ahead of me, some having done previous courses. If you have ever read 'The Education of Hyman Kaplan' by Leo Rosten, I am Mrs Moskovitch. I need a pre-Beginners' Yiddish course.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But this is lesson one, so it is too early to give up, even though I am reminded of all the differentiated worksheets I used to produce as a teacher for what were euphemistically referred to as the 'learning challenged', which is now me. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I have learned two phrases, however: <i>min nomen ist Carol (</i>my name is Carol) and <i>i</i><i>ch hob zer leeb ketzen</i>, (I really like cats). On this basis, the cat thinks I have made a promising start.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-76046405774635082262023-01-31T00:39:00.006-08:002023-01-31T00:42:39.960-08:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe : 'My Yiddish Notebook'<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGfF1JP5uxD-YLKr_x1WCTemBZUxnhEZNZpgg5NKyCIN2vELKMn5AN20nzQT0sszPmnx_rMOihyt9ZmSTaqFJSsBdqlysNv1bG2-bdOPdtzFt9sfiiysPFdUWoZun-4wa-MiTTlaUJZKF498z0FPXf2I8V2Lr_OR4HGvKTJBAPrxECGkaxQrfPbxYIQ/s400/yiddishe327324026_734038624922241_2895684654234257281_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGfF1JP5uxD-YLKr_x1WCTemBZUxnhEZNZpgg5NKyCIN2vELKMn5AN20nzQT0sszPmnx_rMOihyt9ZmSTaqFJSsBdqlysNv1bG2-bdOPdtzFt9sfiiysPFdUWoZun-4wa-MiTTlaUJZKF498z0FPXf2I8V2Lr_OR4HGvKTJBAPrxECGkaxQrfPbxYIQ/s320/yiddishe327324026_734038624922241_2895684654234257281_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Before embarking upon any new enterprise, it is always good to do some pre-prep. This is especially true when one is about to begin learning a new language. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus, while waiting for my Yiddish classes (Absolute Beginners) to start, I have decided to prepare myself for the challenges ahead by plunging straight in and acquiring some stationery. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Yiddish is a polyglot language. Much of it derives from Hebrew and Aramaic, but there are also borrowings from German, French and Italian. Having established itself in Europe with the migration of Jews in the 10th century, the language did a bit more borrowing from various Slavic and Romance languages.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">However, the Holocaust, when 6 million Jews were wiped out, almost marked the 'death' of Yiddish, as nearly all the main speakers were killed. To make matters worse, after World War Two, Yiddish as a spoken language by was banned by Stalin. So it looked for a while as though Yiddish would morph into another dead language.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But it lives.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What I particularly like about Yiddish is that it is the language of the home, spoken, taught and passed down by women. It exists in the female space. Hebrew is the language of the Torah, the Talmud, the Cheder ~ traditionally male spaces. Yiddish belongs to us women, to the kitchen, the table, the family gathered to eat and share.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">With that it mind, I have chosen a notebook that contains all the colours of the rainbow, as Yiddish contains all the linguistic borrowings. And two pink pens. Because.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As for the title of this piece? There is a lovely Yiddish word ~ <i>Schmaltz</i>. It means (amongst other things) something very sentimental. When I was growing up, my parents possessed a scratchy 78rpm record of Sophie Tucker singing <i>My Yiddishe Momme</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you copy the link you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=triCX77tl8s</span></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-3419700024864196862023-01-23T06:06:00.003-08:002023-01-25T05:23:43.311-08:00The Adventures of L-Plate Bubbe: IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE BEGINNING<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1_JGrkEZm9m5tAclzFlZHsxZiCygkf2HY4mpHG1JU_JTQmF4svHLKKZ-3sS1TlDKJHpsc6mXCJlO8aaZ1x3gDhUxqCbwQx_p0Qerhezru9qJVEZaoZhrsHCM8grUvXoZl-4IrJ6TCEfO_LjIWufy5ywYEhkHa39LpbHCWyUdlEVAWCbp3JC1ribB-A/s350/JEWISHbe19fced5fdff7034090b8d614c01d8e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1_JGrkEZm9m5tAclzFlZHsxZiCygkf2HY4mpHG1JU_JTQmF4svHLKKZ-3sS1TlDKJHpsc6mXCJlO8aaZ1x3gDhUxqCbwQx_p0Qerhezru9qJVEZaoZhrsHCM8grUvXoZl-4IrJ6TCEfO_LjIWufy5ywYEhkHa39LpbHCWyUdlEVAWCbp3JC1ribB-A/s320/JEWISHbe19fced5fdff7034090b8d614c01d8e.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">There are many reasons why one <i>might </i>decide to learn a new language in old age. The major one seems to be the incentive to stave off dementia. Struggling to master basic tenses and phrases in supposed to sharpen the synapses and keep the mind agile for longer. Ditto doing a daily Sudoku.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Neither of these is why, at the age of 72, I have decided to learn Yiddish. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Why are you doing this?" <i>You Must Be Mad </i>(now relocated to New York) asked, when I informed her this weekend, via Facetime, of my decision. "You should learn something useful."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I pointed out that I am reasonably fluent in French, can speak German as long as I don't think about it too hard and thanks to <i>L-Plate Grandad's</i> Italian classes, I have a smattering of Italian...though I have not mastered the pluperfect tense (neither has he).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My decision to learn Yiddish is visceral: it's the language of my tribe; it's part of my Jewish identity, which is being threatened, mocked, abused and belittled and generally ignored. Yiddish was the lingua franca of European Jewry, a way that all those in the camps could confer. My mother spoke it. My grandparents who died at Auschwitz spoke it. Now, I want to speak it too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And there is another reason, less noble. Yiddish has probably the BEST insults and original curses of any language on earth. I mean, SERIOUSLY the best. English invective is like watered down milk in comparison. So when I tell some corrupt MP: "May you live to build yourself a house from your kidney stones" I want to be able to say it in Yiddish. Because it sounds so much better.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So I have signed up to an online language class in Basic Yiddish. It might take a while to build up to the cursing, but one has to begin somewhere. I start in 2 weeks. There will be updates. Watch this space.</span></p><p><br /></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-28837247910706938192022-03-29T04:13:00.002-07:002022-03-29T04:13:44.148-07:00VICTORIAN POVERTY: Coming to your neighbourhood soon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoYldnb28ai-spSD8uLT0Ki_zrk7zidT2nSAMpY0za-_XRqkC6N1bOvSScvZSuX4XFnu9GcKsh3bcyGS8iCohZWto6CCmGkrnYPYrB9jgIQ6B5jjeJdOjmd7IMGk5AdFHUDxiWcurHSg7DBicqCMC4wZf-9MrTTbnYoHKlxEd-vZCwVqijoAnm_MJZw/s687/sunak277303220_461368942405113_2151544601435631359_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="687" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoYldnb28ai-spSD8uLT0Ki_zrk7zidT2nSAMpY0za-_XRqkC6N1bOvSScvZSuX4XFnu9GcKsh3bcyGS8iCohZWto6CCmGkrnYPYrB9jgIQ6B5jjeJdOjmd7IMGk5AdFHUDxiWcurHSg7DBicqCMC4wZf-9MrTTbnYoHKlxEd-vZCwVqijoAnm_MJZw/s320/sunak277303220_461368942405113_2151544601435631359_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"I was one day dealing with a case in which a poor woman was in great distress of mind because she had got some washing to do and had not the money to obtain the necessary materials wherewith to accomplish the work.</span><p></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><span> </span>"I shall lose eighteenpence if I can't get it done," she said, with tears in her eyes, "and perhaps lose other work too, for people who have washing to give out won't study you if you have to disappoint them."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"You don't look fit to stand at the wash-tub," I said, noting her weak and hunger-worn appearance.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"I could manage that all right," she exclaimed eagerly. "By working late I could get it done and take it home to-night, and then I could get something to eat out of the pay for it. As to eating, though," she added, " I am thinking more of the children than of myself. It is not often that we are so hard put to it, but this morning they had to go to school without breakfast, poor little things They knew it was my misfortune and not my fault that I had nothing for them to eat, and they tried to be brave and not to cry, but you could see their poor little lips quivering."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><span> </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><span> </span>I had every reason to believe that the woman was telling a literal and painful truth. Her husband was sober, and steady, and until a year previously had been a strong and capable labourer, able to command tolerably constant employment. But one day when engaged upon some heavy work he had, in labourers phrase, "overlifted" himself. From that time he had been, "off and on," an out-patient of various hospitals, and was practically an invalid.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><span> </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"You had better get something to eat before starting your work," I said, in reference to her last remarks. "Here are two tickets, each for a shilling's worth of goods; they will enable von to get a little food, as well as the washing materials you require."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />"Oh, thank you," she exclaimed, her face flushing with pleasure; "won't the little ones be delighted when they come home and find I have got a dinner for them?" - The Pinch of Poverty, by The Riverside Visitor</span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div></div>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-1768848881533144582022-03-26T05:01:00.005-07:002022-03-26T05:01:58.850-07:00The iPhone has landed!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHo_hcnAjLz5QUvgD6f3YiPAUUxOdv3EZ8APxpR2IcyjbDsmzJo86BNtqDzGFyE4weQBQTJpVcUkJxy01YPUqRmESyqNuTjZkKDOG5U_OVSeEt6pwc6N06IWHi2K-1GGfMXd2EnlMWIZTdoKIQZe_laWiVgBYmAMRcsOZHlZwzdqWgfyidKd9D2ElKkQ/s385/Phone-stress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHo_hcnAjLz5QUvgD6f3YiPAUUxOdv3EZ8APxpR2IcyjbDsmzJo86BNtqDzGFyE4weQBQTJpVcUkJxy01YPUqRmESyqNuTjZkKDOG5U_OVSeEt6pwc6N06IWHi2K-1GGfMXd2EnlMWIZTdoKIQZe_laWiVgBYmAMRcsOZHlZwzdqWgfyidKd9D2ElKkQ/s320/Phone-stress.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><p style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">As some of you know (see previous blog if you don't) I have recently parted company with a certain media platform, represented by a small winged blue avian. Now, I am NOT the sort of individual to reacts well to be chucked off stuff (also see previous blog), so having tried various return pathways, and being told '*itter says no', it was decided (note the distancing phrase) to buy an iPhone.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It seemed a good idea when suggested. I could join the 99.9% of the population. No more lurking about in the Doro cave. Bright new horizons of communication, bathed in the sunshine of up-to-dateness beckoned. I was seduced. My only stipulation was that the new phone had to be RED.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And it arrived. And it was red. And so the nightmare began. Going from the dumbPhone to this phone was like landing on a new planet without a Lonely Planet travel guide. In the past few days I have reached levels of incompetence so low you couldn't limbo under them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1. I thought ALL these devices were called iPhones. Yup. Only was abused of this when I met a friend for coffee and was told that her phone was a Samsung.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">2. You know that thing where the optician says: 'So, what's the lowest line you can read on the screen?' and your brain goes: 'What line?' That. They don't make these devices for the myopic, do they?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">3. It doesn't like my cold finger (if you wish to sing 'Cold Finger' at this point, please don't). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">4. Autocorrect. The typist's worst enema. I bought a lovely jumper for Small in the sale, took a picture and sent it to You Must Be Mad in New York. The jumper was by Boden. NOT BIDEN - OK???</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">5. I have lost 25.8k lovely followers by being chucked off *witter. Given my lack of competence, I will probably never get them all back.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But. Rome wasn't burned in a day. And in 3 weeks, Little G (and Small) are coming to the UK for a visit, so I shall pick her brain, because even an 8 year old has to be more savvy than I am right now. Meanwhile it's a case of onward through the fog. Or 'frog' as autocorreect would probably say.</span></p><p><br /></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-25059794287100757502022-03-18T05:44:00.002-07:002022-03-19T09:13:23.963-07:00Places I've Been Banned From ~ An Odyssey<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpUIKWsiM0oi79FBOzZ4guf8qu8zhx9mZiCHc8v_6kcdvwEulkO3N6zES5ZXevaIz-ECE0faT3qcHgeaHmhvAzcBiyfqC_LB5_g6CAuXAl2gtPXL3O_wu5QtF936mj7lhSs42iThuHPNHppCeCnziA_j4hoVH3a3D1UbWO5HxD4rkCmxRIlW19S2MMg/s2016/ME66325032_10157560838997578_8637790689570062336_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="980" data-original-width="2016" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpUIKWsiM0oi79FBOzZ4guf8qu8zhx9mZiCHc8v_6kcdvwEulkO3N6zES5ZXevaIz-ECE0faT3qcHgeaHmhvAzcBiyfqC_LB5_g6CAuXAl2gtPXL3O_wu5QtF936mj7lhSs42iThuHPNHppCeCnziA_j4hoVH3a3D1UbWO5HxD4rkCmxRIlW19S2MMg/s320/ME66325032_10157560838997578_8637790689570062336_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As the dust slowly settles on my Twitter ban, I am thinking about all the places I am or was not persona grata over the past 71 years. There are quite few. I am shocked.</span></p><p><span style="color: #04ff00; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #04ff00; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">1.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">The American Embassy 1966 : I only found out about this in retrospect. It came about as a result of an anti-Vietnam War demo a few of us organised on Welwyn Garden City Campus (that hotbed of revolution and radicalism). We were all banned for 10 years from entering the US. <i>'Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland'</i> (Paul Simon.)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">2. </span>O Level Geography Class : Quote from Miss Walker: "I'm not having you in my class, you're disruptive." I have NO IDEA what she meant, other than I did get sent out of her class a couple of times, and used to hang from the window frame above the door, wiggling my fingers. She clearly didn't appreciate this impromptu gesture. But this is why, dear reader, I am unable to read a map without turning it round the way I am going, and I lose my car in multi-story carparks. All attributable to Miss Walker.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">3. </span>My family: It's what happens to Jews who 'marry out', especially if they didn't get on with their parents to begin with. This momentous event happened when I was 26. Apparently a rabbi was brought in, at the instigation of my Orthodox brother, and prayers were said over the dead. As in me. Their loss ~ my 'ex-parents' never got to meet my wonderful daughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffa400;">4. </span>Bits of the Parliamentary Estate: Post Brexit, the Met Police don't like us standing too close to the House of Commons etc<span style="color: #2b00fe;">. </span>Or<span style="color: #2b00fe;"> </span>shouting. Whilst not technically a 'ban', I have been told off for chalking on the pavement outside the Cabinet Office too.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX4PG5ijFrSdMDDNu5dgeWKmQJ_yo7NR2UjWkeYVB4Z7SjvfUkx87fURYWZqAs4-vrE9Pz5SFTVjZ-grBy4Dft3CmbWPDaa_OFo2n6Wob8_qykmJd7fACNmi7F1qc39ncjNv51valtNvFQVyJwQnO4IvlXKpQRZjCetdyTlsEcBkNXFpXunt8fijl6Q/s320/BREXITAAAABimage2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX4PG5ijFrSdMDDNu5dgeWKmQJ_yo7NR2UjWkeYVB4Z7SjvfUkx87fURYWZqAs4-vrE9Pz5SFTVjZ-grBy4Dft3CmbWPDaa_OFo2n6Wob8_qykmJd7fACNmi7F1qc39ncjNv51valtNvFQVyJwQnO4IvlXKpQRZjCetdyTlsEcBkNXFpXunt8fijl6Q/s1600/BREXITAAAABimage2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000;">5. </span>Harpenden Parents' Network Facebook Page: for daring to criticise posts by my Tory MP. Many of these 'local' pages are run by party loyalists, I gather. Luckily, St Albans still hosts me, so when we had a flood recently, I was able to access help.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">6. </span>Twitter: the latest ban. For being rude and hateful to a certain Home Sekertry. Come and say Hi to me on my new Instagram </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">https://www.instagram.com/caroljhedges/ (or should that be Instagran?). I may be working my way back to Twitter, as I miss people, but it will be in another guise ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: times; font-size: large;">7. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The UK: Not happened yet ~ but if the<i> Nationality and Borders Bill</i> passes into law with Clause 9 re-inserted, the aforementioned Home Sekertry can take my citizenship away, without telling me or giving me the right of appeal. This is because 1: My parents came here as Jewish refugees, and like Windrush people, were naturalised, so not 'properly' British. 2. As a Jew, I could claim citizenship in Israel.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So there you are. Or in my case, there I'm not. It's pretty disgraceful and I am prepared to bet you can't equal it. Not that you'd want to, would you?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-31064708155477002402022-03-12T05:05:00.000-08:002022-03-12T05:05:34.774-08:00<p> </p><h1 class="title" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 44px; line-height: 50px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase;">BEING A GRANDMOTHER IS THE BEST JOB IN THE WORLD</h1><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5R57qzTie03hON96qh-XTcr1_3vUgoqr0hG5ujmHzFxCOph30ymiEIYRDb63OFTWZqKIdeyKJikEArvKTU8nvJYaQqybE4xvcboHGJ5PEv6usS4qzKQKyJnu_W96HYnrGmnv4QafdG6fPZer6rZux_V_-r6ptzy30hWjLE_zfaewLd4-v73WNoLEV3Q=s960" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5R57qzTie03hON96qh-XTcr1_3vUgoqr0hG5ujmHzFxCOph30ymiEIYRDb63OFTWZqKIdeyKJikEArvKTU8nvJYaQqybE4xvcboHGJ5PEv6usS4qzKQKyJnu_W96HYnrGmnv4QafdG6fPZer6rZux_V_-r6ptzy30hWjLE_zfaewLd4-v73WNoLEV3Q=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="tiny-details" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 2px; line-height: 12px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase;"><br /></div><div class="details-content-wrap" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div id="fb-root" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">I clearly remember the day the job started. It was summer. Bright sunshine pouring through the open window of my daughter’s London flat. We were visiting for Sunday lunch and making small talk with her lovely husband while she put the finishing touches to the meal.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Then my daughter walked in from the kitchen, carrying a dish of lasagne. She put it down on the table. She stood up and cleared her throat. ‘We have some news for you,’ she said and paused. ‘We’re expecting a baby.’</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">And for a second, the world stopped turning.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">And then it started turning again.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">But it was a new world.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">I was the last of my group of friends to become a grandma. I’d congratulated, celebrated, commiserated. I’d cooed over other people’s baby pictures; peered into prams; helped them choose tiny clothes to give as presents; listened to their tales; nodded, smiled, and all the time, a small inner voice was just crying out: <em style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">‘When will it be my turn?”</em></p><h1 id="h-the-job-begins" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 32px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">The Job Begins</h1><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Ever since she turned one, I have looked after my gorgeous granddaughter two days a week from 7am to 7pm while my daughter returned to work. Currently my daughter is back home on maternity leave, having just given birth to my grandson. So now I mind ‘Little G’ for one day only.</p><hr class="wp-block-separator" style="border-bottom: 2px solid; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: none; border-top: none; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin: 0px auto 40px; opacity: 0.4; padding: 0px; width: 100px;" /><p class="has-text-align-center" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Looking back over the past fourteen months, I have to say I never worked so hard, loved so hard, or laughed so hard in my life. I have never felt so exhilarated or so exhausted at the same time.</strong></p><hr class="wp-block-separator" style="border-bottom: 2px solid; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: none; border-top: none; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin: 0px auto 40px; opacity: 0.4; padding: 0px; width: 100px;" /><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">In the spirit of sisterhood, I offer the following thoughts for those who travel with me through this wonderful experience, or are about to start out on it.</p><h1 id="h-9-things-i-love-about-being-a-grandma" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 32px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">9 Things I Love About Being a Grandma</h1><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#1: The overwhelming joy you feel when you first see your new-born grandchild.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#2: Realising that even after all those years you CAN still change a nappy and give a bottle.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#3: Sharing delight in a small stone, a bumble bee, a flower blooming in a crack in the pavement, a yellow school bus, an orange.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#4: Reaching into your bag for your mobile phone and finding:</p><ul style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">Crumbs</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">A half-eaten packet of raisins</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">A green bottle top</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">A post it note with something you can’t read but it says Important at the top</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">An empty snail shell</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">A packet of crayons with one missing</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">A feather</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 40px; position: relative;">Two toy cars</li></ul><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#5: Lying awake in the small hours just smiling and smiling over the memory of some funny thing that happened during the day. <a data-lasso-id="21455" href="http://carolhedges.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/the-adventures-of-l-plate-gran-buggy.html" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #b93b8f; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">I started a blog</a> to remember my special times with Little G. You forget so fast.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#6: Watching them enjoy eating the food you prepared for them.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#7: Singing the same song over and over because ‘again’ means ‘again’.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#8: Recalling that smile of triumph when they finally reach the top of the climbing frame all on their own for the first time.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">#9: And best of all, two chubby little arms round your neck and a little voice whispering: ‘I love you, Grandma.’</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 38px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">So, are you a seasoned grandma or new one? Maybe you’ve just learned that you are about to become one for the first time? Please share your delights and joys of being a grandma in the comments below.</strong></p></div>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-60805539649692799392021-07-08T02:04:00.001-07:002021-07-08T09:09:09.751-07:00THREE reasons to self-publish books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2nbC4Cf9sCum-Cykjl7DkMBjsvsRrEsUVlA8vFgSeUO-5RXw9bWv25OTErwJnX-cdfGCiQ4ZER-7uM_z3BrGvxGl9ifoRl9DFdaFkwHhPcBp-GfHrwyK9o2eSitDPi5fs4TYIP0NYPC_/s1250/Desire+%2526+Deceit+SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2nbC4Cf9sCum-Cykjl7DkMBjsvsRrEsUVlA8vFgSeUO-5RXw9bWv25OTErwJnX-cdfGCiQ4ZER-7uM_z3BrGvxGl9ifoRl9DFdaFkwHhPcBp-GfHrwyK9o2eSitDPi5fs4TYIP0NYPC_/s320/Desire+%2526+Deceit+SMALL.jpg" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
With imminent publication of the Ninth Victorian Detectives novel,<i> Deceit & Desire, </i>I have now moved into the entirely self-published category. And I been asked once again by several people why I decided not to stay with a commercial publisher.<br />
<br />
Here are my reasons:<br /><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><b>1. Control</b></span>: As a self-published author, I have a lot of autonomy. I can do whatever I like, publicity-wise, and if you follow me on Twitter (@carolJhedges) you will know that I do. I had very little autonomy with Usborne and OUP and I gather that some big publishing houses like to keep a close eye on their writers so they don't run amok on social media, which could rebound back on them. Also I gather that many houses prefer writers to promote other writers on their list (possibly why I rarely get promoted by Choc Lit writers, lovely though they are).<br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><b>2. Choice:</b></span> I chose the wonderful Gina Dickerson ( <a class="ProfileHeaderCard-screennameLink u-linkComplex js-nav" href="https://twitter.com/GinaDWriter" style="background: rgb(230, 236, 240); color: #657786; font-family: "segoe ui", arial, sans-serif; font-weight: 700; outline: 0px;"><span class="username u-dir" dir="ltr" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;">@<span class="u-linkComplex-target" style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration-line: underline;">GinaDWriter</span></span> </a>) of RoseWolf Design to come up with my new covers. They are certainly quirky and different ... just like the stories .. and, dare I say it, like the author of the stories herself! When I was mainstream published, I had to accept whatever their in-house cover people produced whether I bought into the concept or not.<br />
<br />
Also, I can choose and change the key words that help readers locate my books, and I can fiddle around with Amazon's book categories, if I want to. As I am an inveterate fiddler, I do.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b>3. Cash</b>:</span> As a commercially published writer of adult fiction I was getting 40% of all ebook sales, far less on printed books. As a published children's writer that dropped to 12% of all book sales. And my then agent creamed off 10% on top of that. As <i><b>Little G Books</b></i> (my publishing imprint), I can command 70% of ebook sales. The difference in my monthly income figures has been remarkable.<br />
<br />
Ok, I know it is all too easy nowadays to write a book, cobble together a cover and upload the finished product to Amazon. Advances in technology have opened up enormous opportunities for self-publishing that were never there when I started writing books, and that is a good thing.<br />
<br />
I also acknowledge that inevitably, there is a lot of dross out there and it lets the side down. Poorly written and produced books with typos, badly designed covers, sold at rock bottom prices or given away for free, which is not the way I want to go.<br />
<br />
However, despite the many <i>''Hey, I produced a book for virtually nothing''</i> blogs, the writers of the best self-published books have usually used beta readers, then paid out for professional editing, proofreading and cover designing. It is hard work at every stage, and having done it nine times now, I can attest to the pain.<br />
<br />
But in a world where celebs are sneaking all the good publishing deals, and agents are less and less able to place books, if you can get an agent in the first place, I still think that going solo, if you can, is the best and most lucrative way of presenting your work to the reading public. And there is HUGE satisfaction from holding a book in your hand, or seeing it in a shop, and knowing that you produced yourself.<br />
<br /><br /></span>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-36299197698459465132021-02-14T01:48:00.002-08:002021-02-14T03:12:58.981-08:00A Letter from a Curious Citizen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOTS0rLqR2W_4I6UaG8HwgT155PkjACy0bqEHou4JuSFN8NT8nSeXKRzOFxH0q3gzK2x_2bzEZSREGXrw5wOODciCvQzDkSWXsUtnhVitfd7hDCYusMC2YucT_YVRqzHd_WSz6_9vm9DW/s640/BREXITAIMG_1795+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOTS0rLqR2W_4I6UaG8HwgT155PkjACy0bqEHou4JuSFN8NT8nSeXKRzOFxH0q3gzK2x_2bzEZSREGXrw5wOODciCvQzDkSWXsUtnhVitfd7hDCYusMC2YucT_YVRqzHd_WSz6_9vm9DW/s320/BREXITAIMG_1795+%25281%2529.JPG" /></a></div><p><br /></p> <span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Dear Ms Patel</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I know you are very busy at the moment processing thousands of applications from Hong Kong people with British National (Overseas) status plus their extended families, who have been given permission from you to settle in the UK. And then there are all the failed asylum seekers to be deported. I do appreciate that you have a lot on your desk. However, I wonder whether you can help me. You see, I remember what you promised when you were part of Vote Leave. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">You said: <i>" There will be no change for EU citizens already lawfully res<br />ident in the UK. These EU citizens will automatically be granted indefinite leave to remain in the UK and will be treated no less favourable than they are at present. (June 1st 2016 /Vote Leave)</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Now, your government's position seems to have changed. EU citizens are told to apply for pre-settled status, or for settled status. This is a complicated procedure, involving a lot of past records, documents, photocopies and certificates about employment, NHS, tax, and all sorts of things that some, particularly the very old, or the disabled or those who came here to live because they had that thing called Freedom of Movement (remember it?) just don't have. Your department says applicants must register on an Android device or an iPhone. Again, some people do not have these either. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">You have certainly managed to deviate a long way from your original pledge, haven't you, Ms Patel?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Setting all this aside (as you seem to have done with our human rights and your promises), I find myself in a bit of a dilemma. You see, I am a dual national ~ I was born here, of Jewish German parents who arrived in the 1940s as refugees. As I lost family members in the Holocaust, I have applied for, and recently been granted, 'restored' German citizenship. So now I am a citizen of here, and a citizen of there simultaneously. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">But you say that any EU citizen without pre- or settled status post 30th June 2021 may be removed from the UK. So here is my problem, Ms Patel: 50% of me (the German bit) does not currently have pre- or settled status, and will certainly not have it by the required date. I would therefore be grateful if you could inform me, as soon as possible, which part of me will be deported, so that I can make the necessary preparations and warn my family.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Yours sincerely</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Carol Hedges (British/German dual national)</span></p><p><br /></p>Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-11182733355862528292020-02-29T05:05:00.000-08:002020-02-29T05:05:29.660-08:00You Don't Have To Be Jewish ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hello. My name is Carol and I'm a hypochondriac. I am also Jewish. You don't have to be Jewish to be a hypochondriac, but if you want to do it properly, being Jewish gives you a definite edge.<br />
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No, I don't know why. Maybe it's thousands of years of knowing we are the Chosen People while being constantly told to go and be chosen somewhere else. Listen, what do I know? Am I an analyst?<br />
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I do know that I spend a lot of time on the internet googling symptoms that I might have. And I mean <i>A Lot</i> of time. As a result, I have narrowly escaped a whole raft of illnesses, including some that are apparently only present in cattle.<br />
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Being a Jewish hypochondriac means that I always make sure I add '<i>and cancer</i>' just before I click the search button. Because that is the constant fear, lurking within the true devotee to self-suffering.<br />
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Obviously, having actually had cancer twice, I have an edge on other Jewish hypochondriacs, and on you as well. But I don't want to brag, here. Let's just say, I am more Chosen in my self-imposed neuroses than the rest.<br />
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Which brings us to the IBS. I have just started a hashtag #JewswithIBS, because we ALL seem to have it. Mine, since the Brexit result, the election result and a couple of family things, got so bad that I finally referred myself to the doctor. There's only so long one can go without a proper meal.<br />
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Long story short: every test, every scan, every X~ray came back 'negative'. No cancer. Anywhere. So I was sent on my way with several prescriptions for tablets that might 'help'.<br />
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But. You know those 'Read all of this leaflet carefully' instructions you get inside boxes of medication. Well, I always do. Thoroughly. Because it's always interesting to get a list of ready-made symptoms to worry about. First perusal knocked out Medication 1 that advised not to take it if you had no appetite and were losing weight.<br />
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This left Medication 2, which I started taking regularly, checking the warning list of adverse reaction carefully. And guess what ~ within a week, I was 'developing' symptoms: tingly fingers, dizziness, nausea, and a presumed difficulty operating heavy machinery.<br />
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So now I have to google every single symptom separately, in case any of them are related to the incipient cancer that the tests didn't find, but might be lurking somewhere for all I know.<br />
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As for the current Coronavirus scare ~ it's coming up fast on the outside rail. I shall be getting round to worrying about it, once I am able to operate heavy machinery again.<br />
Sufficient unto the day is the hypochondria thereof.<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-2763452918431939102020-02-06T05:08:00.000-08:002020-02-06T05:08:06.636-08:00Rejoicing or 'Remoaning': How's your Brexit journey?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
So how is it for you? Are you basking in those sunny uplands yet? Enjoying the gold dust of the Golden Age? Celebrating your newfound status as OfBoris?<br />
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Me neither.<br />
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As many of you know, three years ago, as a direct result of the Referendum outcome, I applied for, and got, restored German citizenship, as my Jewish parents were forced to flee their birth country and my grandparents Alma and Rafaele were rounded up and sent to Auschwitz. You can read about it <a href="https://carolhedges.blogspot.com/2016/07/a-journey-to-myself-almost-there.html">here</a>.<br />
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What I did not realise at the time, was that the after-effects of the Holocaust were felt not only by those who survived the camps, or escaped from Nazi Europe, but can be tracked, by some process I do not comprehend, in those born later.<br />
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In combat terms, it is like having PTSD. Another description could be 'survivor guilt'. For Jews like me, born to parents who got out of the utter hell that was Nazi Germany, it manifests as a constant reminder that however safe we feel, there lurks in the shadows of our past, a time when a whole nation lost its reason, when millions of people who had done nothing more than not be 'them', were denied basic human rights and dignity, rounded up, starved, worked to death, experimented on, or shoveled into huge ovens and gassed.<br />
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And we were told, over and over, by concerned parents and relatives that the time could easily come again, if the right circumstances and the wrong leaders align.<br />
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Listen, I grew up on stories of the gradual indifference of neighbours, the relentless seeping into public consciousness, via a carefully controlled media, that certain races and religions were responsible for all society's problems, and needed to be expunged from the face of the earth. I lived with it. I still do.<br />
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But back to you. How's your journey? Did you just shrug when the media was full of photos and video clips of Union Jack-waving white guys setting fire to EU flags and singing Rule Britannia? Were you concerned when certain journalists were banned from government briefings? Does it worry you that attacks on EU citizens (and Jews) have now become so frequent, they almost don't register as shocking any more?<br />
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You should be worried.<br />
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We, who carry the horrors of the past in our DNA, are lighting our candles and stepping out into the encroaching darkness, and as we hold them up in front of us, we can clearly see shapes and contours that are both alien and strange, and yet chillingly familiar at the same time.<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-53808816510377139542020-01-22T02:48:00.001-08:002020-01-22T10:27:59.935-08:00The Joy of Buses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have written several pieces about the Joy of Buses. Basically, since getting my Freedom Pass, and selling the 2CV, I have taken to using local buses whenever I can because, apart from being ecologically better for the planet than other forms of transport, they are a source of great fun and adventure.<br />
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And there is so much fun to be had.<br />
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For instance, we regulars really enjoy it when we get a brand new driver who doesn't know the route too well. We all have a tacit agreement not to say anything when they go down the wrong road, because we like to see where we will end up. OK, it is a bit irresponsible, and yeah, we are sorry afterwards. Just not very sorry.<br />
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The other main source of amusement comes from the invisible bus stops. These are places where the bus has to stop, but for some reason, there is no actual bus stop to indicate it. There is a bus stop on the opposite side of the road, which has a timetable for '<i>the bus stop opposite</i>', which gives the invisible stop viability, but there is no physical bus stop. We don't know why, but there are several on the main route into town.<br />
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The following true, if surrealistic, story took place last week, and to understand it, you have to factor in some roadworks, which meant that one of the regular bus stops was closed and moved 20 yards down the road to a 'temporary stop', chained to a lamp post so that the locals couldn't walk off with it, place it outside their houses and then complain to the bus company that the buses weren't stopping there. I am pretty sure this isn't why the temporary stops are chained to lamp posts, but it's what I'd do, given half a chance if they weren't.<br />
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I was on the bus with regular passenger and friend Rita. We rang the bell to get off, but the driver completely ignored us and kept going. Cue loud shouting from the back of the bus. Eventually the driver stopped. We made our way up the bus to his cab and pointed out that we'd rung the bell.<br />
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Driver (new one): I didn't stop the bus because there's no bus stop.<br />
Me: There is a bus stop, it's just that it isn't an actual stop.<br />
Rita: Look, there's a bus stop over the road, so there's a stop over here. That's how it works.<br />
Driver: But there isn't a stop over the road.<br />
Rita: It's only because it's been moved temporarily coz of the road works.<br />
Me: And the stop on this side, that isn't an actual bus stop, hasn't been moved.<br />
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At which point the driver rolled his eyes, gave up, opened the doors and we got out. We decided to chalk it up as a point to us, because it was and WE are the bus queens!<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-38357327732714944542019-12-23T10:03:00.004-08:002020-12-04T08:21:40.421-08:00Last Christmas I Gave you My Heart (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In answer to your unasked question: Little G's Nativity Play went down a storm. No baby was dropped. Small waved copiously and Grandma was so glowing with pride, you could have run the lights off her.<br />
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And so to Christmas. Excitement is building in You Must Be Mad's house. The tree is up. Small has not, so far, removed any of the decorations, as he did last year when he took a great fancy to a small felt dinosaur, which kept getting rescued, returned, and re-stolen.<br />
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This year, we are hosting the family, and I have decided to go for ecologically sound decorations of a 'growing in the garden' variety, so there is trailing ivy up the stairs, and holly, bay and rosemary festooning the dresser and pictures.<br />
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Christmas lunch will be a feast. Due to Small's veg phobia, diplomatic negotiations will take place beforehand over the number of peas deemed acceptable. L-Plate Granddad will set light to the Christmas Pudding, despite Health & Safety warnings, and everybody will don paper hats and tell cracker jokes that Small won't get.<br />
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However. There is a spectre at the feast. Next year, Little G & Small will be moving with You Must Be Mad, to New York to live. Six years of sharing our lives and having adventures together is going to come to an end. And under the jollity and rejoicing, the greenery, the presents, the food and fun, there will be two very broken adult hearts at the table.<br />
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But the show must go on. And it will. Because it has to.<br />
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Happy Christmas, everyone ....<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-63103001026503909652019-12-03T10:32:00.000-08:002019-12-05T00:13:44.055-08:00Christmas Capers (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It has been some time since I wrote about Little G and Small. Much has happened since then. For Little G and Small, growing up has happened. Small is 3 and fighting a rear-guard action against all attempts to make him eat vegetables. Little G is 5 and at her local primary school.<br />
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Reception whizzed by in a flash for Little G, and now here she is in Year 1 ~ or 'Key Stage 1' as it is called. She reads exceptionally well, but thanks to the *wonderful* National Curriculum, has no literary appreciation of what she is reading. '<i>What did you like about that story</i>?' I ask after we've shared a wonderful Michael Morpurgo book about a robin. Pause. '<i>I saw some digraphs and trigraphs</i>,' she says.<br />
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I will be undermining the curriculum at every stage, believe me! But that is for later on. Right now, Christmas approaches and it is time to prepare for the school Nativity Play. Last year, Little G was one of 30 innkeepers, with the rest of Reception. They wore an assortment of tunics, the ubiquitous striped tea towel head-dress and sang a jolly song about there being '<i>No room' at the inn, bad luck</i>!'<br />
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This Christmas however, Little G has been selected to be Mary and we are all at peak pride. In the week, her costume arrived from school: a long pale blue dress with sparkly bits, a head-dress and a cape. If you discard the head-dress and cape, the costume can double hat as Elsa's costume from <i>Frozen</i>.<br />
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The ensemble was also accompanied by a Baby Jesus doll. Little G has practised holding it in such a way as not to worry any new mums in the audience. When she isn't practising, Small, who has taken rather a shine to the doll, likes to shove it down his jumper and pretend to give birth to it. That's how we roll.<br />
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We have tickets for the first performance. So next Tuesday, L-Plate Granddad and I will take our place in the school hall with other parents, grandparents and family members to watch Little G's second Nativity Play. And it will be funny and brilliant and heart-stoppingly wonderful, all at the same time. Because it always is.<br />
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Nativity 2 ~ believe your journey.<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-13758946323269148352019-11-03T04:34:00.000-08:002019-11-03T04:34:48.826-08:0010 Top Tips for Writers!<div>
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<span style="color: red;">1.</span> If possible, write on something that is NOT connected to the internet. That way you aren't tempted to check Facebook/Twitter every 5 minutes. Or less.</div>
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<span style="color: orange;">2.</span> If you are writing on an internet-free laptop, make sure it isn't in the same room as the internet connected one (see 1).</div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">3</span>. If you can't accomplish 1 and 2 for physical/financial reasons, try to allocate yourself specific times of the day to Tweet/update your Facebook. <span style="color: red;">Do not</span> weaken.</div>
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<span style="color: lime;">4</span>. Unless specific, dickering about on Google is not 'research'.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;">5</span>. Checking your Amazon rating and sales figures every two days is liable to lead to suicidal feelings. Ditto reading posts from other writers who do this.</div>
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<span style="color: purple;">6</span>. Ditto reading the 'I wrote a whole novel today - go me!' claims on social media</div>
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<span style="color: magenta;">7.</span> There is no such thing as 'Writer's Block', it is just a posh excuse for not writing.</div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;">8</span>. The only way to write a book is to write a book.</div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">9.</span> If you are not constantly awash with doubt/fear/insecurity/self-loathing/envy/anxiety/panic, you probably aren't a writer.<br />
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<span style="color: #660000;">10.</span> Follow your dreams by all means. But make sure you have a day job.<br />
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Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-11061811360666984372019-07-31T07:46:00.000-07:002019-07-31T07:46:49.242-07:00The Brexit Endgame: 3 Useful Tips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48yRXKRwR_NFUmnycv8qW-YiNHJc1-3mofA1zBHGSvH2M_0ZtsRhA99rtRSacqCr9rzHoK4DRJvObOT9dD23mpUZvSU77sCrIQKy5NivNc6PhTAkK3hPhIwckx3bdmCUzDT9vdjSxy7Ik/s1600/BREXITAAASSS66103131_1309990745844630_9105592226733359104_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48yRXKRwR_NFUmnycv8qW-YiNHJc1-3mofA1zBHGSvH2M_0ZtsRhA99rtRSacqCr9rzHoK4DRJvObOT9dD23mpUZvSU77sCrIQKy5NivNc6PhTAkK3hPhIwckx3bdmCUzDT9vdjSxy7Ik/s400/BREXITAAASSS66103131_1309990745844630_9105592226733359104_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
As the frenetic pace of 'Leaving the EU' increases on all sides, it behoves us all to take a step back and consider how we can best use our time and precious resources to maximum effect.<br />
<br />
Little profit comes from shouting the odds and arguing on Twitter or Facebook ~ other than stressing ourselves out and becoming discouraged. There are other things we should and could be doing at this stage. Here are a few things I am doing. Feel free to add your own ideas in the comments section.<br />
<br />
1.<b><u style="color: red;"> LOBBY a Democratic US Congress person. </u> Link: </b><br />
<a href="https://www.democrats.senate.gov/about-senate-dems/our-caucus?fbclid=IwAR2XTPeMSAAqV90ncJMacefY3p3QEb0oMa5CIqtXtTqG72MA_VmmESUo94w">https://www.democrats.senate.gov/about-senate-dems/our-caucus?fbclid=IwAR2XTPeMSAAqV90ncJMacefY3p3QEb0oMa5CIqtXtTqG72MA_VmmESUo94w</a><br />
<br />
Boris Johnson is desperate to sign a trade deal with the US, regardless of the threat to our food, NHS, environment. Speaker Nancy Pelosi (@SpeakerPelosi) has clearly and categorically stated that Congress will pass NO DEAL if the Good Friday Agreement is put in jeopardy. There is a huge Irish lobby in Washington. So tweet a Senator.. ESPECIALLY if you have Irish blood in your veins!<br />
<br />
2. <span style="color: magenta; font-weight: bold; text-decoration-line: underline;">Contact one of the 'REMAIN' MPs </span><b> Link:</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #007542; font-family: "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">www.parliament.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #007542; font-family: "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">uk</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #007542; font-family: "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">/get-involved/</span><span id="yui_3_10_0_1_1564582775678_310" style="background-color: white; color: #007542; font-family: "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">contact-your-mp</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #007542; font-family: "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Dominic Grieve, Phillip Lee, Anna Soubry, David Gauke, Rory Stewart ...I'm sure you have your own favourites list. Encourage them to speak out and vote against the Rightwing Extremists currently in Cabinet. Thank them for being 'tall poppies'. If you have a personal story of how a 'no deal Brexit' will affect you/your family, share it.<br />
<br />
Bear in mind these MPs are being targetted daily and in very unpleasant ways by the ultra Brexiteers. It is good to remind them that we support them. While you are about it, make sure your own MP is aware of your views.<br />
<br />
3. <span style="color: blue;"><b><u>Write to your local paper/national paper </u></b></span><br />
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<br />
This is an effective way of reaching a different audience. It costs nothing, and ALL MPs always check their local paper to see what is being written about them. National papers usually have letter sections, and many invite comments 'below the line' of articles. Register, log in and add your comments. I regularly post comments as 'Sagababe' in the Guardian.<br />
<br />
I assume you are already a member of your local <i>Town/City/County 4 Europe</i> group, always appear in public badged and armed with a roll of stickers and that you have pro EU posters in your front window. Excellent. Then, apart from continuous prayers to the deity of your choice, you are doing a great job!<br />
<br />
<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-573299821174156642019-07-27T03:09:00.000-07:002019-07-27T03:09:39.782-07:00Can You Make A Million Pounds From Your Writing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBaPbiHHEzg1NnhBT4Jacd3uFPKOgmStHjkXYAwmA8oPLDRPDemvvCxfwMCNoF-Hd-5kgGjGUQkQbmvFUKvF1-O27nXkYOyIPE7NMRbisclcualhwu3A9Mpiup6LcouemBDcp3g10SZTJ/s1600/writersmissionststement10460397_639964326117845_2421042754390827908_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="507" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBaPbiHHEzg1NnhBT4Jacd3uFPKOgmStHjkXYAwmA8oPLDRPDemvvCxfwMCNoF-Hd-5kgGjGUQkQbmvFUKvF1-O27nXkYOyIPE7NMRbisclcualhwu3A9Mpiup6LcouemBDcp3g10SZTJ/s400/writersmissionststement10460397_639964326117845_2421042754390827908_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, I thought that would get your attention.<br />
<br />
Over the past few weeks I have seen several requests on social media forums from new writers or self-published ones asking if anybody knows a good agent, or can advise on submitting to top mainstream publishers.<br />
<br />
I have blogged before about my experience of literary agents. Basically, they are there to make money for the agency, not you. They will take 10 -15% of your earnings, and unless you have an exceptionally good one (I am told they exist), they may well not bother to submit your stuff if it is not taken quickly. Small agents are in competition with the large established ones in a field that is decreasing all the time as publishers shave their margins and take fewer risks to stay in business.<br />
<br />
Agents are certainly useful for sorting out publishing contracts and making sure your rights are protected: pre-agenting, I had a very bad contract from OUP (yes!) which my former agent was disgusted at. BUT the Society of Authors - well worth joining, can do that. Few publishers nowadays make you sign rip-off contracts - we are all too well lawyered for that to happen.<br />
<br />
So, let's move on to the mainstream publishing trade. Forget all those '<i>X signed a 3 book contract and has been offered eight squillion in advances and a film contract with a top Hollywood director!!!' </i><br />
I now see these in the same category as those 'teaser' rates offered by big banks.<br />
<br />
The sad truth is that 0.00000006% of writers submitting to 'one of the Big 5' will be taken.<br />
These lucky souls are probably:<br />
<br />
1. Very young, very attractive and with a very heart-tugging backstory (see JK Rowling)<br />
<br />
2. Have an MA in Creative Writing from a university where one of the publisher's top writers tutors.<br />
<br />
3. Is a friend, girl/boyfriend, employee of a publisher or is in the media business already.<br />
<br />
4. Is a celeb.<br />
<br />
5. Has just happened to write something that the publisher feels they can put out to compete with a rival's book that is just taking off.<br />
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<br /></div>
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6. Has been 'discovered' in one of those 'competitions' where the lure of publication is offered to unpublished writers. This is a useful way of getting round paying agency fees or having the hassle of dealing with them.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then there is the vexed question of Royalties. This is the money you get as a % of each book sold via bookshops or other platforms. If you are a new author, you start at the bottom.</div>
<br />
<u>The Royalty rates offered by most standard (UK) publishers are</u>:<br />
<br />
10% on the first 5000 copies<br />
12.5% on the next 5000 copies<br />
15% over 10,000 copies<br />
<br />
Yep. You are shocked. I checked my Usborne contract the other week and sure enough, 10% is the amount offered. Bear in mind that my then agent took 10% of that, which left me with 8% ... about 60p on every £6.99 book sold.<br />
<br />
So why bother?<br />
<br />
I return to my title. <i>IF</i> your only reason for writing is to make money, then go find a job in your local supermarket. Or do the National Lottery. Or find yourself a rich partner. If, however, writing comes in the same category as oxygen for you, then keep at it. Enjoy what you write, marvel at your luck in having such a wonderful gift. Start a blog. Enjoy chatting and sharing with other writers on social media. Self-publish. But do not hope or expect to make a fortune from it.<br />
<br />
Of course, I don't expect you to listen to a word of this, because YOU have written the one book in the history of the publishing universe that defies all of the above. Good luck, fellow scribe. You may or may not believe me, but you <i>are</i> going to need it!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-27108654972596228892019-07-26T09:10:00.000-07:002019-07-26T09:10:45.568-07:00Letter to My New Granddaughter (Reblogged)Dear Avalyn Grace<br />
<br />
They tell you so many things about being a grandma. They say: ''it's brilliant because you can enjoy them and you get to sleep at nights.'' They say: ''You get to give them back at the end of the day.'' They say, ''you have all the fun and none of the responsibility.'' It is now a week since you were born, my little granddaughter. Your name, Avalyn comes from the Hebrew for Eve, the giver of life. It is a reminder of your Jewish inheritance through the female side of your family. Grace means 'the free and unmerited favour of God', a reminder of your Christian heritage through your father's side of the family.<br />
<br />
You did not have an easy birth - it took three days for you to come into the world, small, perfect and bright eyed, as you were when I held you in the hospital that day after you were born. Such tiny fingers and feet, each crease a miniature of what it will become.<br />
<br />
What they did not say, could not say, was how as I held you, I felt such a strong overwhelming love for you, my little one<br />
<br />
It was like a great golden wave, sweeping in, changing everything. I did not know that such a small person could generate such big love! Now you are back home in your parents' tiny flat in London. You have your cot, with its whale mobile, and its white muslin curtains. Your clothes, so small and colourful, are folded away in the drawer, waiting for you to wear them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My beautiful granddaughter Avalyn<br />
<br />
You know nothing of all this. All you know is your mother's voice, her scent, the touch of her hands holding your tiny body, the milk that sustains you. Already you are becoming a little person with your own funny quirks. You like staring at the headboard. You turn your head when your father comes into the room.You continue to have hiccups, as you did while you were in the womb.<br />
<br />
Little one, the world that you have come into and will live in is a long way from where you are right now<br />
<br />
It is a world that is not always kind, is not always caring. So as you grow up, I want you to know that wherever you go, there is someone who will always be there. Loving you, supporting you, and caring for you.<br />
<br />
Someone who will always make time for you, to listen and understand. Someone who is on your side, cheering you on, encouraging you as you fight the battles that inevitably lie ahead, sharing your successes and comforting you when you feel sad.<br />
<br />
I promise I will always try to fill your days with laughter and blessings and good things<br />
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I look at you, and I see so much potential. Who knows what path you will choose? Your life is waiting to be unrolled, like a beautiful tapestry. Right now, we only see the first tentative stitches, the pattern is not yet visible to our eyes. I am so glad you have come into the world and into our lives and I welcome you with open arms and a joyful, rejoicing heart.<br />
<br />
Your GrandmaCarol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-32399495824741513192019-05-31T06:21:00.000-07:002019-07-06T04:39:32.228-07:00How to Make Your Brexit Party MEP Work: A Beginner's Guide<div class="_1dwg _1w_m _q7o" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 12px 12px 0px;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkVmaWdQIeEohPdouuChQ073yxh4ok9mJptUPRaRBaC6ImmViXoVOhbLEsIftO90MGxZ9g5qyuv71N95n0eopN9Dx77km8mEWibf0xy9VxcKjFNkQo5CU-U_fS6PaYsIwzQTG_F_H6tww/s1600/BREXITEU13439201_627494927410375_1065686437610365366_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="959" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkVmaWdQIeEohPdouuChQ073yxh4ok9mJptUPRaRBaC6ImmViXoVOhbLEsIftO90MGxZ9g5qyuv71N95n0eopN9Dx77km8mEWibf0xy9VxcKjFNkQo5CU-U_fS6PaYsIwzQTG_F_H6tww/s320/BREXITEU13439201_627494927410375_1065686437610365366_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"The European Parliament</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> is the only directly-elected body of the </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">European Union</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">. The 751 Members of the </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">European Parliament</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> are there to represent you, the citizen. They are elected once every five years by voters right across the 28 Member States of the </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">European Union</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> on behalf of its 500 million citizens."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of us have the blighted misfortune to be saddled with a</span><i style="font-family: inherit;"> Brexit Party</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> MEP . I propose that time might be usefully spent pestering them to stand up for our interests, so that they quickly come to wish they never to have been born into this world.</span></div>
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Are you with me?</div>
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Let's go!</div>
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(This is what democracy is. We require our representatives to stand up for our interests not act against them. We require diligent attendance and serious engagement with the issues. Let's hold these people to these standards and give them <b>hell</b> when they fall short.)</div>
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<span style="color: red;"><b>"The Code of Conduct ... sets out as its guiding principles that Members shall act solely in the public interest and conduct their work with disinterest, integrity, openness, diligence, honesty, accountability and respect for the European Parliament's reputation."</b></span></div>
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>Links</u></b><br />
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<b>About | MEPs | European Parliament</b><br />
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<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.europarl.europa.eu%2Fmeps%2Fen%2Fabout%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR0Z5TouBtQCV3lCiV9vAscRU0i_7Mc8OH54BjjAQ5AcHJECE350DFn2RV4&h=AT2_sPsuI1a9Z4tF38bbaC13nJM7S7Th9fx5pPGYW4tgXGEvDD_RuX-SML5NK9lPV986KukFzwwPAaSXaVLAGFBDB-zK5uFVqYKH8MHyApMqE238ykHIs-gi1p8MjgytSi5ikK3Sap3EwyS-cOuKlIg_ABwlAGyfUMk" href="http://www.europarl.europa.eu/meps/en/about?fbclid=IwAR0Z5TouBtQCV3lCiV9vAscRU0i_7Mc8OH54BjjAQ5AcHJECE350DFn2RV4" original_target="http://www.europarl.europa.eu/meps/en/about?fbclid=iwar0z5toubtqcv3lciv9vascru0i_7mc8oh54bjjaq5achjece350dfn2rv4" rel="noopener nofollow" saprocessedanchor="true" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">http://www.europarl.europa.eu/meps/en/about</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>This also looks like a useful resource:</b></span></div>
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<b><u>Contact your MEPs</u></b><br />
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<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mysociety.org%2Fwehelpyou%2Fcontact-your-meps%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1CkLbEaT3JJTkCO0gmUcvC1b1MwyOOJ3Ozp3Sc3D1tpfyWqascciIVZVc&h=AT0lJZtPrORTtQHWb6hP50JbU3_k9Nokb7mUjmQS9LDu4vsfvOucKlYn59Ro62QEbHpZ-hjW4RpS4MuRSXEREjaASVxmeABEyuPo0Zafip8u_gQHkt-lfYW9u6CoJT1lJSMt0dn2Jh30jz7q8lWe1NOveXB1b_xlcRs" href="https://www.mysociety.org/wehelpyou/contact-your-meps/?fbclid=IwAR1CkLbEaT3JJTkCO0gmUcvC1b1MwyOOJ3Ozp3Sc3D1tpfyWqascciIVZVc" original_target="https://www.mysociety.org/wehelpyou/contact-your-meps/?fbclid=iwar1cklbeat3jjtkco0gmucvc1b1mwyooj3ozp3sc3d1tpfywqascciivzvc" rel="noopener nofollow" saprocessedanchor="true" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">https://www.mysociety.org/wehelpyou/contact-your-meps/</a></div>
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<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Feuroparl.europa.eu%2Funitedkingdom%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR3dLsOwOrrZl2lndAm97fSXL0HZJ7w89M0O-IKQCCZ0oE7OvzXWHrtQI4s&h=AT08m6f3aAv3ZFG_3Y4WX_d77pd4kMG7SkkL5UyVdkD3DPIzaKK-PD_ONmHeFjVfDBS7sKPKp3ZJLDPaQndoprmQam_GtiwY59RiS45eb1xy1-xKwrl63w469ojgsyLxAcSaLFvUxGpcIMn2NSzclboKXvl3OLDTdkM" original_target="http://europarl.europa.eu/unitedkingdom/?fbclid=iwar3dlsoworrzl2lndam97fsxl0hzj7w89m0o-ikqccz0oe7ovzxwhrtqi4s" rel="noopener nofollow" saprocessedanchor="true" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">europarl.europa.eu/unitedkingdom/</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">…</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;"><u><br /></u></b></div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><u>First email</u></b></div>
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I'm NOT going to suggest a pro forma. <i>Any</i> correspondence that looks suspiciously copied will be deleted unread. So ....</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;">1. Find a topic that you feel strongly about, in relation to the EU: climate change, pesticides,scientific research, EU citizens' rights, Freedom of Movement, Erasmus, Euratom, food standards etc etc your choice.</span><br />
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2. Your email begins: Dear Mr/Mrs Fred Smith .... then introduce yourself as his/her constituent. Remind them they are there to represent your interests and ensure the success of the UK's future within the European Union.</div>
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3. Now you can express your concerns, your worries, and what actions or initiatives you want them to set in motion on your behalf. BE POLITE & PROFESSIONAL.</div>
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4. To ensure your email is considered, you MUST put your full name, address, post code after you sign the email to show that you ARE an actual constituent. (Don't worry, Data protection rules mean it cannot be shared with any outside group.)</div>
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5. I suggest as well as cc yourself, you also cc. any other Bxp MEPs in the group.</div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The primary aim is to get them to behave like responsible representatives, but the secondary aim is to ensure they are sanctioned when they do not. So it will be important to log your correspondence and then make a formal complaint to the EU when it goes unanswered.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I'd give it 2 weeks after your initial email ~ then a follow-up to request an acknowledgement. 2 weeks ~ then a follow-up to say you still haven't received an acknowledgement. 2 weeks~ then a repeat of your first email. 2 weeks ~ then a request for an acknowledgement of the 2nd email. 2 more weeks ~ then you can complain .</b></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Use this link to write to the EU and ask what you can do to hold your MEPs to account:</u></b></div>
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<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Feuropa.eu%2Feuropean-union%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR30RVcc1sTJmdolzJJ2Tsit_mKvd0q91abEnRbOMD8p6xWekc5fexMgY5I&h=AT3GXaZ0oz5d_4lsBUk-rxEnKcMd9187yLRwyK-WT2Ty_v02MD5yyXOnsivV6U8pIRk-3DpVXCbanAyorvEkfdr350YfVVcrgNYRurzsy7tf6NJ1H7jrHgL1tnwfiKTPsIW11WUhVOjokWrQTZx-mVfO7tVcPOSdL-A" original_target="http://europa.eu/european-union?fbclid=iwar30rvcc1stjmdolzjj2tsit_mkvd0q91abenrbomd8p6xwekc5fexmgy5i" rel="noopener nofollow" saprocessedanchor="true" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">europa.eu/european-union</a>…</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-family: "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.27px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><u>Remember to check votewatch Europe to keep tabs on how they vote:</u></b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-family: "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 27px; letter-spacing: 0.27px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span><a class="twitter-timeline-link" data-expanded-url="https://www.votewatch.eu/en/term8-european-parliament-latest-votes.html" dir="ltr" href="https://t.co/mVM59SXWQd" rel="nofollow noopener" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #b40b44; font-family: "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 27px; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-decoration-line: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank" title="https://www.votewatch.eu/en/term8-european-parliament-latest-votes.html"><span class="invisible" style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;">https://www.</span><span class="js-display-url">votewatch.eu/en/term8-europ</span><span class="invisible" style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;">ean-parliament-latest-votes.html</span><span class="tco-ellipsis"><span class="invisible" style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;"> </span>…</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-family: "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 27px; letter-spacing: 0.27px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;">If they vote in a way that you think is wrong:</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-family: "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 27px; letter-spacing: 0.27px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
"I have reason to believe that the following MEPs in my area (names) are acting against my country's interests and those of the EU. What can I do to hold them to account?"</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br />
Don't forget that we also want to be sending a message to the European Union that we take participation in EU democracy very seriously. So the really important part of this process is to lodge a formal complaint if you are not satisfied with your MEP.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Please note that one aim of this is to get the European Union to apply more stringent controls so that MEPs elected with the sole purpose of undermining the institution have a much harder time doing so. These deplorables have had it much too easy for much too long.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Let's not forget that thugs like these subverted the rules in order to steal our democracy from us. Let's now rigorously use the rules to win it back.</div>
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And if nothing else it will make us feel better because we are doing something, rather than having to constantly endure things being done to us that we never voted for (no-one voted for!) and which the majority does not want.</div>
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Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681775564258628407.post-56851521756099018382019-02-10T05:11:00.000-08:002019-02-10T05:11:09.910-08:00Transports of Delight: Why I love buses..<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxWhc-7rZqJESGCzMcjSMKec8ne887TeEUsIfKxhm6TEpw_oMuwonjJTI31DPC2ZRAwuX3E0c3teVRFxY5mTfvVZLypKPvA9IKbyQ88lgRNbX-YejCpuwfmNVibJRb3K7zdGzyOprx3js/s1600/BUS4490198_09152956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxWhc-7rZqJESGCzMcjSMKec8ne887TeEUsIfKxhm6TEpw_oMuwonjJTI31DPC2ZRAwuX3E0c3teVRFxY5mTfvVZLypKPvA9IKbyQ88lgRNbX-YejCpuwfmNVibJRb3K7zdGzyOprx3js/s400/BUS4490198_09152956.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Before I reached 60, I never used buses. They were expensive, unreliable and took far too long to get where they were going, or so I thought. I have subsequently discovered how mistaken I was. Now that I am a member of the Bus Pass Crew, I know better. Apart from the occasions when they decide not to show up, there is very little about using the local buses that I don't like.<br />
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Interestingly, it was the presence of a local bus route, with named local stops, that was one of the things the Inspector on our Town Green Public Inquiry asked me about, when the obnoxious council barrister was trying to prove that where I live is not a proper ''neighbourhood''. He would only have to stand in the queue waiting for the 657 (it used to be the 625; we don't know why they changed it) or the 366 from Luton to see that we are a community.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dhPMFcqz3-j-9qw0Z7mUn89fL2B0p8BUBakZZtW68GbzLxkqActJk_LsGGBc_jXrmT_Yfp3v9ZTdC1B1qVrHCDEvW4vkv_D_PyAcBg3dc8Kv-AEUPTD4iltEkSTgIXLxqjCPe9HeSQ1p/s1600/BUS1Centrebus+158+P158MLE+r366+081207+Matt+Robinson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="1000" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dhPMFcqz3-j-9qw0Z7mUn89fL2B0p8BUBakZZtW68GbzLxkqActJk_LsGGBc_jXrmT_Yfp3v9ZTdC1B1qVrHCDEvW4vkv_D_PyAcBg3dc8Kv-AEUPTD4iltEkSTgIXLxqjCPe9HeSQ1p/s200/BUS1Centrebus+158+P158MLE+r366+081207+Matt+Robinson.jpg" width="200" /></a>I have got on the first morning bus into town, looked around, and realised that I know everybody on board. And there are some great conversations to be had. Here, using the bus has a set routine. You board and greet the driver. You scan your pass. You greet any passengers that make eye contact as you find your seat. You move to the back of the bus automatically if a mum and buggy get on. You vacate the 'elderly' seats without being asked. When you leave the bus, you thank the driver. If a stranger boards who is unsure of where they are going, you all pile in with your helpful ten pence worth.<br />
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Mind you, I live in a relatively small town. I also use the buses in London, and the contrast is unbelievable. London buses are so unfriendly.The first time I got on a London bus, I tried to scan my pass on the Oyster card machine, causing it to go into conniptions. I got glared at by the driver. I tried to leave the bus by the front, not the centre doors. I got glared at by the driver. I said thank you as I alighted. I got glared at by the driver.<br />
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Here, because it's usually the same set of drivers, they get to know who we are and where we catch the bus. I have known certain nice drivers to stop at non-designated stops to let elderly people off with heavy bags of shopping, and one morning, when I was walking up to the local school in the rain to invigilate, the bus drew alongside, slowed, and the driver gave me a 'do you want to get on' look. That's how we roll where I live.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcE8jvIF7lWZVHQRPMOw7vvEk2HW5oamoXmNnQu1dVQpiWszBznVuuOfaqieM9I8fvXVlLw9m6ft4DRN5RejBd71PLfgEhyz8_V7PVUG12X1V-doUbnKWdt6EmFDEjnsy97AuE3It2uH6f/s1600/BUS3uno119c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="659" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcE8jvIF7lWZVHQRPMOw7vvEk2HW5oamoXmNnQu1dVQpiWszBznVuuOfaqieM9I8fvXVlLw9m6ft4DRN5RejBd71PLfgEhyz8_V7PVUG12X1V-doUbnKWdt6EmFDEjnsy97AuE3It2uH6f/s200/BUS3uno119c.jpg" width="200" /></a>The other thing about buses is that occasionally, something happens that just fills you with delight and reminds you that the world is so much nicer than it appears on the surface. Like the time I was travelling back from Welwyn Garden City and the bus stopped to let a little playgroup board. The kids were wide-eyed, noisy and fizzing with excitement at catching a bus. The leaders settled them into the front seats (hastily vacated) as best they could, but it was a bit like trying to organise a panic. As the driver pulled away from the kerb, one of the leaders gamely squatted down in the gangway, and very discreetly and slightly anxiously began to sing <i>''Wheels on the bus''</i>, in an attempt to calm things down.<br />
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And then, something happened. First, the people in the nearest seats started to join in. Then those sitting behind them joined in, followed rapidly by those further back, so that by the time the bus crested the hill outside the town, everybody on board (except for two college students at the rear of the bus who were desperately trying to pretend they weren't there) was singing along to ''Wheels on the bus'' and doing the hand gestures, to the rapturous joy of the little playgroup, who clearly thought this was what happened on every journey.<br />
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That's why I like buses.<br />
<br />Carol Hedgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10359578624109905400noreply@blogger.com7