* An edited version of this posting (Yes, I've blogged about it before &; I'll continue to do so) was published in today's Independent.
Yesterday, a JP Morgan employee died after falling from the roof of the European headquarters in Canary Wharf. On Sunday, a former senior executive at Deutsche Bank was found dead in his home after an apparent suicide.
Last week, a communications director at Swiss Re died. The cause of death has not been made public. In August, a 21-year-old Bank of America intern died after reportedly working consecutive all-nighters at the bank's London office.
In the same month, the finance chief at Zurich Insurance Group committed suicide and it was reported that he left a note blaming the company's chairman for creating an unbearable work environment. It’s time we started joining up the dots. The City’s culture is killing people.
On a couple of occasions, whilst advising some of the UK’s largest organisations on ethics, I came across coded data I wasn’t supposed to see. There were secret budgets ring fenced for law suits in relation to discrimination (mostly sex and race). In amongst stats breaking down staff attrition along gender lines, I once came across a column marked “deaths”. In one of the organisations there were 6 in the past 12 months (globally). All of whom were men.
I was told the information was “classified” but gleaned that it related to deaths suspected to be work related. In one global behemoth I was told that an executive had committed suicide while on assignment overseas. Apparently he got extremely stressed before making presentations. Rather than ease up, his manager forced him to “man up”. Unable to cope with the stress, away from his family, the night before a presentation he threw himself off the balcony of his hotel room.
Elsewhere, I was told that an executive who worked notoriously long hours dropped dead of a heart attack. He was in his 30’s. The corporation’s response? Invest in a gym for employees to “de-stress in”. It was spun, by HR mind, as a fitness issue, completely unrelated to his being pushed by his employer to breaking point. It’s not HRs’ job to look after people, it’s their job to optimise their productivity. In my experience though, people are far more productive when they’re alive.
It was bonus week at JP Morgan last week. Men earn approximately £150,000 more than women on bonuses alone. Given most decisions about who should stay at home to take care of the kids, is finance driven, it’s hardly surprising it ends up being predominately women.
The career penalties for women relating to the gender pay gap are well documented, though little is spoken about the burden this puts on men. As primary bread winner, there is increasing pressure to work ever longer hours in order to garner favour with the boss. HR departments like to hold up stats to show it’s only women who avail of flexible working polices. Men, they say, love the cut and thrust of long hours. Really?
When I carried out research on the long hours culture, I asked men with small children (mostly in their 30’s) why they didn’t request flexible working arrangements to spend more time with their children. They all concurred that it would be career limiting. One said he took a promotion to compensate for the loss of his [more qualified yet less paid] wife’s income. He was promised his travel would only increase by 10%. It increased by 70%. He was struggling to cope with the stress and actively looking for a job elsewhere.
It’s detrimental to society and the economy to reduce fatherhood to a walk on part, whilst at the same time driving women out of the workforce when they become mothers. Families need fathers as well as mothers and UK plc needs women as well as men at the helm. After all, they’ve got plenty of practice cleaning up after other peoples’ mess.
Organisations are structured around the indoctrination of its workforce. The more malleable the better. Conscience and values to be left at the door. The Milgram (electric shock) experiment highlighted the power of blind obedience, which saw 80% of participants continue to administer the maximum shocks despite the screams of pain from those they believed to be genuine recipients. It’s in this context that decent people can be persuaded to make unethical decisions. Like sanctioning polices that discriminate against some employees, whilst working those who aren’t driven elsewhere, or off sick, to despair and sometimes death.
Despite working the longest hours in Europe, the UK has the lowest productivity rate. Not surprising, as all the studies show that, most people are not motivated by greed but by quality of life. Most people would rather sacrifice some pay than time with their family and friends. Most people think their wellbeing is too high a price for work. Most people, that is, except the testosterone charged dinosaurs that dominate the City and whose recklessness and depravity is unravelling the fabric of our society.
Thursday 30 January 2014
Friday 24 January 2014
There's Nothing Liberal or Democratic about a Party That Demeans Women
There’s nothing liberal or democratic about the Liberal Democrat party. A more representative name would be “The old Boys’ party”. Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily differentiate them from Labour or Tory. That moniker would be true for all of them.
By claiming democratic superiority, the Lib Dems should at least show willing when it comes to being a party representative of the people, 50% of whom are women. The branding machine, no doubt a testosterone charged power house, has missed the fact that there’s a stark disconnect between what the Lib Dems claim to be & what they are.
I knew Nick Clegg was struggling to connect with women when he plucked a woman, who makes porn films, from obscurity & put her forward as a parliamentary candidate in 2010. Despite Anna Arrowsmith having no political experience, Clegg obviously thought having a porn baroness in the party would be “liberal” & “edgy” & after all, she’s a “feminist”. At the time I wrote, “If Arrowsmith is successful (she wasn’t) jobs for porn “stars” & lap dancers will be advertised in your local job centre (oops they are already). Failure of girls to apply would result in benefits being removed. If she’s a feminist, I’m Jeremy Clarkson”.
The sex industry is dominated by men who profit from the degradation of women and young girls. They’re called pimps. The fact that Arrowsmith seemed to uphold the stereotypes assigned to a marginalised group in the interests of getting ahead in a dominant group, didn’t bode well. If she was a fundamentalist feminist banging on about mad extremist stuff like equal pay or the sexual stereotyping of young girls, she wouldn’t stand a chance in the so called Lib Dems.
Clegg’s confusion between the prostitution of women and feminism has contributed to a culture where women are more likely to be seen as sex objects as opposed to political players. Lord Rennard’s indignance at being suspended for refusing to apologise over sexual harassment claims indicates the extent to which sexism is endemic in the Lib Dem culture. This week another disgraced Lib Dem MP, Mike Hancock, was suspended from the party for alleged sexual misconduct against a female constituent with known mental health problems. In both cases Clegg has been criticised for being slow to act & ineffectual.
The lack of women MP’s in the party, a mere 12% (7 MPs), none of whom hold cabinet positions, is another damning indictment. Clegg’s failure to give some of his greatest female talent, such as Sarah Teather, key roles, will be his undoing. Instead, the hapless Danny Alexander, the right wing, disgraced, banker (David Laws) and the lacklustre, career (as opposed to conviction) politician, Simon Hughes take up seats at the Lib Dem top table.
The fact that one of the most principled and respected talent in the party, Sarah Teather, is stepping down at the next election, because of Clegg’s stance on immigration & welfare, is further evidence that the party has lost it’s way. Those within the party with moral compasses, it seems, are ditched in favour of self serving sycophants. Some say women need to toughen up & play the game. I disagree. As Alison Pearson said in The Telegraph this week, “It’s the game, not women, that needs to change”.
By claiming democratic superiority, the Lib Dems should at least show willing when it comes to being a party representative of the people, 50% of whom are women. The branding machine, no doubt a testosterone charged power house, has missed the fact that there’s a stark disconnect between what the Lib Dems claim to be & what they are.
I knew Nick Clegg was struggling to connect with women when he plucked a woman, who makes porn films, from obscurity & put her forward as a parliamentary candidate in 2010. Despite Anna Arrowsmith having no political experience, Clegg obviously thought having a porn baroness in the party would be “liberal” & “edgy” & after all, she’s a “feminist”. At the time I wrote, “If Arrowsmith is successful (she wasn’t) jobs for porn “stars” & lap dancers will be advertised in your local job centre (oops they are already). Failure of girls to apply would result in benefits being removed. If she’s a feminist, I’m Jeremy Clarkson”.
The sex industry is dominated by men who profit from the degradation of women and young girls. They’re called pimps. The fact that Arrowsmith seemed to uphold the stereotypes assigned to a marginalised group in the interests of getting ahead in a dominant group, didn’t bode well. If she was a fundamentalist feminist banging on about mad extremist stuff like equal pay or the sexual stereotyping of young girls, she wouldn’t stand a chance in the so called Lib Dems.
Clegg’s confusion between the prostitution of women and feminism has contributed to a culture where women are more likely to be seen as sex objects as opposed to political players. Lord Rennard’s indignance at being suspended for refusing to apologise over sexual harassment claims indicates the extent to which sexism is endemic in the Lib Dem culture. This week another disgraced Lib Dem MP, Mike Hancock, was suspended from the party for alleged sexual misconduct against a female constituent with known mental health problems. In both cases Clegg has been criticised for being slow to act & ineffectual.
The lack of women MP’s in the party, a mere 12% (7 MPs), none of whom hold cabinet positions, is another damning indictment. Clegg’s failure to give some of his greatest female talent, such as Sarah Teather, key roles, will be his undoing. Instead, the hapless Danny Alexander, the right wing, disgraced, banker (David Laws) and the lacklustre, career (as opposed to conviction) politician, Simon Hughes take up seats at the Lib Dem top table.
The fact that one of the most principled and respected talent in the party, Sarah Teather, is stepping down at the next election, because of Clegg’s stance on immigration & welfare, is further evidence that the party has lost it’s way. Those within the party with moral compasses, it seems, are ditched in favour of self serving sycophants. Some say women need to toughen up & play the game. I disagree. As Alison Pearson said in The Telegraph this week, “It’s the game, not women, that needs to change”.
Sunday 19 January 2014
South Sudan Must Not Deflect from the Invisible Genocide in Darfur
* The below was published in today's Independent on Sunday under a different title.
Remember Darfur? It’s a country the size of France in the Western region of Sudan. In the last decade an estimated 500,000 civilians have been slaughtered with some 4 million forced into refugee camps.
Despite Sudan’s President, Al Bashir, being indicted by The Hague for crimes against humanity, the UN continues to treat this despot with deference. Despite their strategy of appeasement being proven to prolong the agony of Darfuri and Southerners alike, there has been no change in tack at UN HQ.
Those of us who have been involved in Sudan for a number of years will know that the ongoing violence in the South (it never stopped, the media just got bored) is the legacy of the botched Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) in 2005. After 20 years and an estimated 2 million killed, President Bashir was forced to concede the South’s right to self rule. The cost of so called peace in the South though, was silence on the oil rich region of Darfur.
This theory was confirmed by an Amnesty International representative. When I asked why Darfur seemed to be absent from their agenda, I was told that the UN had issued warnings to NGOs to be silent on Darfur. Why? So as not to upset Bashir, therein risking the derailment of the CPA. To which I replied, “How can a human rights organisation agree to turn a blind eye to genocide in one part of the country in order to secure a band aid peace agreement in another”? I never did get a reply.
The strategy was fundamentally, and fatally, flawed from the start. History tells us that you don’t do deals with despots. The cessation of the genocidal campaign in Darfur should have been one of the conditions of the CPA.
The truth is that the CPA was ill conceived and bereft of detail (in terms of land ownership involving coveted oil, infrastructure and constitution). Alas, as everyone (except UN diplomats) knows, the devil is in the detail and the devil has been reeking havoc in the region ever since.
Last month Aicha Elbasri, a former spokesperson for the UN/African Union Mission in Darfur (UNAMID) told the Dutch Newspaper Trouw of her dismay at the “lies” UNAMID tells about itself. She expressed frustration at the UN Secretary General, Ban Ki-Moon’s, willingness to perpetuate what she described as an inherent misrepresentation of the reality on the ground.
According to the renowned US academic Eric Reeves, who has spent 14 years as a Sudan researcher and analyst and has testified before congress, from the beginning of 2011 to May 2012, there were 100 eye witness accounts of aerial attacks on civilians in Darfur. Ban Ki-Moon’s UNAMID report documented 2. Despite rape and sexual violence against girls and women being systematically used as a weapon of war in Darfur, the epidemic is air brushed out of Ban Ki-moon’s report. Car jacking and kidnapping is diligently recorded but rape, known to be a sensitive issue with Bashir, is shamefully ignored.
In 2005 I attended a cross party International Development Committee hearing on Darfur. Listening to Dr Kapila, a previous UN Humanitarian Co-ordinator in the region, give evidence, I was moved to tears.
Despite his position of power, Dr Kapila’s absolute impotence resonated with me when he said, To me, the greatest regret to my dying day will be that we failed in Darfur. He told the committee that UN member states, including Britain, had exerted pressure on him to downplay the severity of the Darfur crisis, which he believed (since proven) amounted to genocide. When he refused to be silent, he was forced out of his job.
In order to understand the current crisis in the South, we must consider Sudan as a whole, as opposed to isolated regions and “complex ethnic tensions”. The elephant in the room, that the UN (which some Sudanese officials believe to be controlled by the US) refuses to address, is President Bashir. President Obama’s political sensitivity at being seen as anti- Muslim in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan, takes precedence, it seems, over any moral obligation to the black African victims of genocide.
Before Salva Kiir took over as (democratically elected) President of South Sudan almost 3 years ago, the country had been pulverised by 2 decades of war. It bore the scars, physical and psychological, of its brutal battles. The task ahead of Kiir was mammoth and in order to succeed he needed as much support from the International Community as possible. Since secession Kiir has been plagued by attacks from his neighbouring tyrant, Bashir. None of which have been condemned by the UN.
My contacts on the ground, one of whom was involved in all the previous peace talks in Darfur are certain that Bashir is one of the architects behind rebel leader (previously Kiir’s Vice President) Machar's attempted coup. Yet another bid to destabilise the South whilst publicly claiming to support Kiir.
Having briefed David Cameron’s office ahead of a visit to Darfur in 2006, he returned protesting, This is ethnic cleansing and we cannot remain silent in the face of this horror.
Yet, with the reins of power firmly in his grip, Cameron’s righteous words evaporated into the ether, obliterating any vestiges of hope that sustained the souls of the persecuted. Not only had they been abandoned by those who promised to protect them, their cowardice has fuelled the genocidal campaign.
While the media, rightly documents the spiralling events in South Sudan, the world’s eyes are diverted, yet again from the very same, and worse, suffering, in Darfur.
Remember Darfur? It’s a country the size of France in the Western region of Sudan. In the last decade an estimated 500,000 civilians have been slaughtered with some 4 million forced into refugee camps.
Despite Sudan’s President, Al Bashir, being indicted by The Hague for crimes against humanity, the UN continues to treat this despot with deference. Despite their strategy of appeasement being proven to prolong the agony of Darfuri and Southerners alike, there has been no change in tack at UN HQ.
Those of us who have been involved in Sudan for a number of years will know that the ongoing violence in the South (it never stopped, the media just got bored) is the legacy of the botched Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) in 2005. After 20 years and an estimated 2 million killed, President Bashir was forced to concede the South’s right to self rule. The cost of so called peace in the South though, was silence on the oil rich region of Darfur.
This theory was confirmed by an Amnesty International representative. When I asked why Darfur seemed to be absent from their agenda, I was told that the UN had issued warnings to NGOs to be silent on Darfur. Why? So as not to upset Bashir, therein risking the derailment of the CPA. To which I replied, “How can a human rights organisation agree to turn a blind eye to genocide in one part of the country in order to secure a band aid peace agreement in another”? I never did get a reply.
The strategy was fundamentally, and fatally, flawed from the start. History tells us that you don’t do deals with despots. The cessation of the genocidal campaign in Darfur should have been one of the conditions of the CPA.
The truth is that the CPA was ill conceived and bereft of detail (in terms of land ownership involving coveted oil, infrastructure and constitution). Alas, as everyone (except UN diplomats) knows, the devil is in the detail and the devil has been reeking havoc in the region ever since.
Last month Aicha Elbasri, a former spokesperson for the UN/African Union Mission in Darfur (UNAMID) told the Dutch Newspaper Trouw of her dismay at the “lies” UNAMID tells about itself. She expressed frustration at the UN Secretary General, Ban Ki-Moon’s, willingness to perpetuate what she described as an inherent misrepresentation of the reality on the ground.
According to the renowned US academic Eric Reeves, who has spent 14 years as a Sudan researcher and analyst and has testified before congress, from the beginning of 2011 to May 2012, there were 100 eye witness accounts of aerial attacks on civilians in Darfur. Ban Ki-Moon’s UNAMID report documented 2. Despite rape and sexual violence against girls and women being systematically used as a weapon of war in Darfur, the epidemic is air brushed out of Ban Ki-moon’s report. Car jacking and kidnapping is diligently recorded but rape, known to be a sensitive issue with Bashir, is shamefully ignored.
In 2005 I attended a cross party International Development Committee hearing on Darfur. Listening to Dr Kapila, a previous UN Humanitarian Co-ordinator in the region, give evidence, I was moved to tears.
Despite his position of power, Dr Kapila’s absolute impotence resonated with me when he said, To me, the greatest regret to my dying day will be that we failed in Darfur. He told the committee that UN member states, including Britain, had exerted pressure on him to downplay the severity of the Darfur crisis, which he believed (since proven) amounted to genocide. When he refused to be silent, he was forced out of his job.
In order to understand the current crisis in the South, we must consider Sudan as a whole, as opposed to isolated regions and “complex ethnic tensions”. The elephant in the room, that the UN (which some Sudanese officials believe to be controlled by the US) refuses to address, is President Bashir. President Obama’s political sensitivity at being seen as anti- Muslim in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan, takes precedence, it seems, over any moral obligation to the black African victims of genocide.
Before Salva Kiir took over as (democratically elected) President of South Sudan almost 3 years ago, the country had been pulverised by 2 decades of war. It bore the scars, physical and psychological, of its brutal battles. The task ahead of Kiir was mammoth and in order to succeed he needed as much support from the International Community as possible. Since secession Kiir has been plagued by attacks from his neighbouring tyrant, Bashir. None of which have been condemned by the UN.
My contacts on the ground, one of whom was involved in all the previous peace talks in Darfur are certain that Bashir is one of the architects behind rebel leader (previously Kiir’s Vice President) Machar's attempted coup. Yet another bid to destabilise the South whilst publicly claiming to support Kiir.
Having briefed David Cameron’s office ahead of a visit to Darfur in 2006, he returned protesting, This is ethnic cleansing and we cannot remain silent in the face of this horror.
Yet, with the reins of power firmly in his grip, Cameron’s righteous words evaporated into the ether, obliterating any vestiges of hope that sustained the souls of the persecuted. Not only had they been abandoned by those who promised to protect them, their cowardice has fuelled the genocidal campaign.
While the media, rightly documents the spiralling events in South Sudan, the world’s eyes are diverted, yet again from the very same, and worse, suffering, in Darfur.
Friday 10 January 2014
The Day Jesus Came into my Life: Part 2
* Scroll down to see Part 1 first (otherwise this will make no sense..)
In a trance like state I took a seat as near to the elderly gentleman as I could. “You can’t just get on a bus without paying” shouted the cantankerous bus driver. “Im sorry”, I said. “I don’t know where I’m going”. I looked at the kind man who said “you’re getting off at the next stop”. Having paid, I sat down in silence adjacent to my good Smaratin & after a few moments said, “You do know where I’m going”? He nodded sagely. “You know it’s an hour & a half round trip for you”? He nodded again before phoning his wife & asking her to take the car out of the garage. He proffered no explanation. It’s as if she was expecting me too.
We took the short walk from the bus stop to Mike’s house where I briefly met his wife. I started to explain my predicament & how Mike had saved the day but she just smiled serenely as though she was in on the whole thing. Once in the car & on our way, after thanking Mike for the umpteenth time, I said, “I know this may sound odd, but it feels like you & your wife were somehow expecting me? To which he replied, with a mischievous grin & a twinkle in his eye, “We were!”.
Mike explained that he & his wife, who are devout Christians, prayed over breakfast that morning & asked God/Jesus to send someone into their lives to help today. He said when I got on the bus in need of help, he knew it was me. Even I, a non Christian, was struck by the serendipitous sequence of events that led to our chance encounter. Mike wasn’t having any of it. It was meant to be. I agreed but whereas Mike believed it was the work of god, I believe it was fate. A spiritual, as opposed to religious, destiny. I promised I would at least think about the significance of this & I certainly have. Although Mike will no doubt be disappointed that I didn’t convert to Christianity, I was touched by his humanity & unconditional kindness.
Mike was a retired police officer from London. He became a Christian during the war and has remained devoted ever since. He & his wife have always reserved a bed in their home, “the lord’s bed”, for anyone who might need it. He told me tales of working the beat in Brixton, years ago, & coming across young girls abandoned at train stations & of others who took a wrong turn in life & ended up sleeping rough. With 2 small daughters of his own, Mike, wherever possible, would offer these young women some food & a bed in his family home until social services could either contact their family or find a more long term solution.
I asked if Mike ever worried for the safety of his children, taking random strangers into their house. He admitted that his job served as a useful deterrent, “Who’s going to rob a copper”?
“Weren’t you concerned about allegations, I mean, being accused of…”, I was struggling with this one. “Was it allowed, back then, for police officers to offer stranded girls beds for the night”? It wasn’t, & still isn’t allowed, but he risked his job for the well being of others “in the lord’s name”.
I’m glad it’s not allowed. I’ve worked in child protection so I know how easily less scrupulous colleagues could abuse their position of power to exploit vulnerable young girls and boys. At the same time I’m glad that people like Mike exist. People who are prepared to risk their jobs, reputations & their lives for the wellbeing of others.
Mike, for me, is the personification of Jesus. He lives & breathes his faith & I admire & respect that, as I would any individual who has a moral compass, irrespective of religion, even though it’s pointing in the opposite direction to mine. The problem is, I know lots of Christians who aren’t like Mike. People who go to church yet concomitantly worship at the alter of hate, avarice & prejudice. If more so called Christians did embody their faith, in the way that Mike & his wife do, I might be tempted. In reality, he’s one in a million & I had the privilege of meeting him.
He has made me take stock of my life & how much (or little) time I make for others. Yes, I’ve always got a smile for strangers, will help the person struggling with their pram up the steps & I volunteer some time to human rights campaigns, but there’s lots more I can, & should, do. There are things I’ve started to do since meeting Mike which, I hope, would make him feel that his time, energy & kindness wasn’t wasted on me. Under the radar things that are between me & the individuals concerned. Giving the time of day, to complete strangers, for the sake of it, is the most precious gift you can give. Mike, reminded me of that.
Contributing to food banks, if possible, helps but there are lots of things we can do that cost nothing. A kind word & a helping hand can go a long way in a world where we’ve become increasingly hardened & indifferent to the plight of others.
As for the stand off with my 6 year old (outside the food bank on Christmas Eve), I persuaded him to part with the coveted toy. When I say “persuaded”, I bribed him with sausage & chips in the local pub. What? I never claimed to be a perfect parent.
Wednesday 8 January 2014
The Day Jesus Came into my Life: Part 1
Having a stand off with my 6 year old, outside the local food bank, wasn’t quite how I envisaged Christmas Eve. It had been brewing since before we left the house. He was having second thoughts about donating some of his toys, which were thrown in (by me) to make the box of food we had prepared look more joyous.
When I say “donated”, it was more a case of arm wrestling said child to the ground & when that failed (he eats his greens), good old fashioned emotional blackmail. “Think of all those children whose parents can’t afford to buy them toys this Christmas. Don’t you want them to have a soft toy to cuddle when they lie hungry & cold, as a direct result of savage government cuts, in bed? And, you’ve never even played with this one (holding up exhibit A)”. He thinks for a moment & replies, “Yes, I want them to have toys to cuddle but not mine & by the way I did play with that toy once when I was 5 & by the way, you said Santa brings presents to ALL children so it doesn’t matter if their parents can’t afford to buy them any does it?”. He’ll either grow up to be a prosecution lawyer or a serial killer.
In child development terms, he’s still at the id stage (world revolves around them) so guilt trips are futile. Realising this, I invoked straight forward blackmail (“Santa will be soooo disappointed with you if you don’t give those toys that you don’t play with anyway to less fortunate children”) to induce him into parting with the disputed toy & others, as well as a brand new designer outfit, bought by his guardian (& my, so called, best friend) on the basis that, “she only buys you boutique outfits to wind me up (she has never forgiven me for producing my library card when I was 5 & telling her it was “a licence to kill”).
It was a chance encounter with a complete stranger, days earlier that touched me so profoundly that I felt I had to raise my game this Christmas.
Being a one car family in a rural area where public transport is practically non existent, can be tricky. Having finished a hospital appointment early, I had a 3 hour wait for the next (& last) bus to take me the 45 minute journey home. Despite the torrential rain, I got to the bus stop 30 minutes early, just in case. When the bus arrived, on time, it sped right past leaving me standing there with my arm out & mouth open. Realising that was the last bus, I chased after it, waving my arms like a maniac, hoping I’d catch it up at the traffic lights. I didn’t. I arrived sodden & forlorn at the next bus stop & without thinking hailed the next bus down, even though I knew it wouldn’t get me home.
I jumped on &, still panting, blurted out that I’d just missed my last bus & asked the driver if this bus was by any chance taking the same route, at least part of the way, so that we could catch it up & I’d be able to get home in time to put the crib up for my little boy like I promised.
The crib was made by my father (complete with original straw on the roof) for us when we were children. It’s the only thing I wanted when he died, at Christmas time, a couple of years ago. It was our first Christmas to have the crib & I wanted to mark the occasion by passing on stories about my childhood Christmases, which centred around this crib, and my much adored father & son’s grandfather. I realised later just how emotional I felt about the prospects of missing this event & disappointing my son.
I don’t actually remember saying “help” but apparently it featured somewhere in my opening monologue to the captive, if reluctant, audience of passengers on the number 1 something, the destination of which I never did discover. Mike (as I came to know him), who was sitting behind the grumpy bus driver, for whom empathy did not feature in his job description (who can blame him, he probably gets paid sod all, works longer than his required hours for no extra pay & if he complains gets threatened with redundancy. Either that or he’s a gob shite) assured me later that the word “help” was uttered by me & that was his call to action (more on this in part 2). “Get on the bus”, he said, at once calmly and authoritatively, “I’ll get you home”. I looked at the stranger’s serene, knowing, advanced in years face, which indicated no compulsion to qualify his statement, & I complied. I had no idea who he was or where I was going but I somehow knew, he would get me home safely.
Log in on Friday for Part 2, where you can find out more about Mike, my encounter with Jesus & how the stand off with my 6 year old outside the food bank ended. It’s not that I’m gratuitously building an air of suspense to this story, I’ve just run out of time. Hasta Friday.
When I say “donated”, it was more a case of arm wrestling said child to the ground & when that failed (he eats his greens), good old fashioned emotional blackmail. “Think of all those children whose parents can’t afford to buy them toys this Christmas. Don’t you want them to have a soft toy to cuddle when they lie hungry & cold, as a direct result of savage government cuts, in bed? And, you’ve never even played with this one (holding up exhibit A)”. He thinks for a moment & replies, “Yes, I want them to have toys to cuddle but not mine & by the way I did play with that toy once when I was 5 & by the way, you said Santa brings presents to ALL children so it doesn’t matter if their parents can’t afford to buy them any does it?”. He’ll either grow up to be a prosecution lawyer or a serial killer.
In child development terms, he’s still at the id stage (world revolves around them) so guilt trips are futile. Realising this, I invoked straight forward blackmail (“Santa will be soooo disappointed with you if you don’t give those toys that you don’t play with anyway to less fortunate children”) to induce him into parting with the disputed toy & others, as well as a brand new designer outfit, bought by his guardian (& my, so called, best friend) on the basis that, “she only buys you boutique outfits to wind me up (she has never forgiven me for producing my library card when I was 5 & telling her it was “a licence to kill”).
It was a chance encounter with a complete stranger, days earlier that touched me so profoundly that I felt I had to raise my game this Christmas.
Being a one car family in a rural area where public transport is practically non existent, can be tricky. Having finished a hospital appointment early, I had a 3 hour wait for the next (& last) bus to take me the 45 minute journey home. Despite the torrential rain, I got to the bus stop 30 minutes early, just in case. When the bus arrived, on time, it sped right past leaving me standing there with my arm out & mouth open. Realising that was the last bus, I chased after it, waving my arms like a maniac, hoping I’d catch it up at the traffic lights. I didn’t. I arrived sodden & forlorn at the next bus stop & without thinking hailed the next bus down, even though I knew it wouldn’t get me home.
I jumped on &, still panting, blurted out that I’d just missed my last bus & asked the driver if this bus was by any chance taking the same route, at least part of the way, so that we could catch it up & I’d be able to get home in time to put the crib up for my little boy like I promised.
The crib was made by my father (complete with original straw on the roof) for us when we were children. It’s the only thing I wanted when he died, at Christmas time, a couple of years ago. It was our first Christmas to have the crib & I wanted to mark the occasion by passing on stories about my childhood Christmases, which centred around this crib, and my much adored father & son’s grandfather. I realised later just how emotional I felt about the prospects of missing this event & disappointing my son.
I don’t actually remember saying “help” but apparently it featured somewhere in my opening monologue to the captive, if reluctant, audience of passengers on the number 1 something, the destination of which I never did discover. Mike (as I came to know him), who was sitting behind the grumpy bus driver, for whom empathy did not feature in his job description (who can blame him, he probably gets paid sod all, works longer than his required hours for no extra pay & if he complains gets threatened with redundancy. Either that or he’s a gob shite) assured me later that the word “help” was uttered by me & that was his call to action (more on this in part 2). “Get on the bus”, he said, at once calmly and authoritatively, “I’ll get you home”. I looked at the stranger’s serene, knowing, advanced in years face, which indicated no compulsion to qualify his statement, & I complied. I had no idea who he was or where I was going but I somehow knew, he would get me home safely.
Log in on Friday for Part 2, where you can find out more about Mike, my encounter with Jesus & how the stand off with my 6 year old outside the food bank ended. It’s not that I’m gratuitously building an air of suspense to this story, I’ve just run out of time. Hasta Friday.
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