From time to time, a story pops up about how a childcare centre or kindergarten has taken it upon itself to assess the contents of a child’s lunchbox and found it lacking. A note, commonly pre-printed and often featuring frowny faces, animated fruits and/or other helpful illustrations, is sent home with the child advising that an item or items in the lunchbox is ‘unhealthy’ in some way and that in future a ‘healthier’ option should be chosen. Outrage ensues.
I seldom lend my voice to the chorus, but not because I don’t have an opinion on the subject. In fact, I feel quite strongly about it, although not necessarily for the same reasons that others do. The usual arguments cluster around (a) parental rights; (b) nanny state interference with those rights; and (c) what constitutes ‘healthy’. You may also find discussion of fat-shaming, socio-economic privilege, judgmental attitudes, power-tripping teachers and hyper-competitive parents, depending on the forum. At some point, inevitably, ‘political correctness run mad’ will make an appearance.
My take? Lunchbox monitoring is an exercise of limited utility, because it can only ever be part of a bigger picture which the carer or teacher does not see. Lunchboxes are only part of a whole day’s food, and that day’s food is part of a wider week’s food. Add in variables such as developmental stages, behavioural management strategies, family customs and gatherings, parental working hours and out-of-school activities, and the picture is much more complex than a carer or teacher can hope, or be expected, to be fully across. Continue reading →
I would have been eight or nine when I saw Star Wars at the cinema. It was the last movie my family ever attended together. After that, it was kid or kids with mum or dad, but never all of us, ever again.
We kids were excited. We argued about what the promos meant. We were suitably alarmed by the dark helmeted, deep-voiced scary guy, who we thought was the titular ‘Star Wars’. No, it didn’t make sense, but we were kids in single digits. In the 70s. We’d only just got colour television and we weren’t even allowed to watch Star Trek because it was too grown up.
Needless to say, we loved Star Wars. We clamoured to see it again, we got Star Wars action figures for Christmas (well, everyone else did; no Leia, so I missed out) and we role played it endlessly with various groups of friends. We used yellow Mattel race tracks for light sabers, leaping on couches, racing up stairs and jumping out from around corners. We did a lot of shouting. Continue reading →
So, something just happened to me that I’ve only ever read about: IRL.
In Real Life. Sometimes referred to as meatspace.
I’d only been blogging for about 10 minutes, and suddenly I had a case of IRL. Nothing horrible, just utterly time-consuming. And inconvenient. I had finally sorted out a publishing schedule – sort of – and had 4 posts all but finished, when bam: IRL. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t carve out the time needed to take those posts from all-but-finished to completely finished.
I blog for me. I don’t need a schedule; I don’t need exposure; I just like to write. And as I get older, and my memory less reliable, it’s a way of keeping track of what has taken my fancy and how my thinking has developed (or not). So it shouldn’t be an issue that I can’t get near a blog post for a month. It’s just something I do for fun, in my downtime, in the spaces of my real life.
Except that’s not quite how I feel about it. IRL has been a nuisance, interposing itself between me and my writing. Time and time again, I’ve tried to snatch a moment to post, only to have that moment evaporate. I’ve snapped at my IRL family and colleagues; I’ve postponed sleep; I’ve sighed heavily at having to perform all those tasks necessary to the continuance of real life.
So, what have I been doing? Working two jobs, check. Cleaning up after a minor disaster on the homefront, check. Supporting a friend through a family crisis, check. Holidaying, check.
I started my adventures in make-up with a large face brush, a blush brush, an eyeshadow brush and whatever applicators came with the few products I owned.
I thought I was doing pretty well.
I was quickly disabused of this notion by Google and YouTube. If you want to apply make-up artfully, they said, then you need the right brushes. The better the brush, they said, the better the result. And the key to a natural look is really, really good brushes and a hell of a lot of blending. They said.
Bearing in mind that my first visit to Mecca Maxima for a consultation on a ‘simple’ day look entailed the use of 11 different brushes and scared me silly, I approached this advice with some caution. Continue reading →
I’m going to be completely upfront here: I have no clear idea what ‘clean eating’ means. I think that’s at least partly because it means different things to different people. But mostly, I think it’s because, objectively, it doesn’t actually mean anything at all. Continue reading →
My first trip to Paris was brief; I only had enough time for one gallery. (One! in Paris!) I’ve loved Impressionism since I was a child, so I chose the Musee d’Orsay.
I was not actually a huge fan of Renoir before this visit, although I understood his contribution to the Impressionist movement and had been taught to appreciate his handling of light and his rich colour palette. I quickly discovered reproductions do not do him (or anyone, really) justice. I still find much of his work is not to my taste, but this portrait is an exception: luminous, sensual and timeless.
Omo, a Masai giraffe, was first spotted last year in Tarangire National Park, Tanzania. Although white, she isn’t an albino; she has leucism, a genetic condition which leads to a lack of pigmentation in her skin. Her eyes, unlike an albino’s, are dark, and she does have some normal colouring, especially in her mane, tail and lower legs. Continue reading →