I'm a feminist because…my boy deserves a Mum who has self-respect

You may have seen an item on the news yesterday about Malala Day. Or you might have heard or seen the address given by Malala Yousafzai to the United Nations. In case you haven't heard of her Malala is a young Pakistani woman who was shot in the head by the Taliban. These grown men targeted a child for trying to get an education and for challenging the assertion that women and girls should not be treated equally in Pakistani society. Yesterday Malala addressed a worldwide audience to denounce the Taliban as fearful of her and of women in general.

It's also possible you have been aware of recent sermons given in some mosques to encourage more positive attitudes towards women. This was partly in response to the press coverage of the arrests of a group of asian men who undertook a campaign of child abuse and sexual assaults on young women. As  others have pointed out preaching that women should not be treated this way will not undo generations of  belief that women are not equal to men. It will not convince those who hold these views to change them. It does, however, give the impression that some imams are taking it seriously and that they believe they hold influence in a community where there are pockets of insanity.

What it has made me more aware of is that I am thoroughly sick and tired of misogyny being part of every day life. Of the casual sexism that we put up with and dismiss as part of the cultural norm. It can't be only me who is mightily fed up of men who are a bit too macho or trying to hard to impress other 'blokey blokes.' I realised years ago that having to subjugate myself in order to make men look better was not something I was happy to do. I was not willing to accept that it's only men who can hold an audience in the pub with funny stories. I dated a man whose friends would all fall about at their mate Martin's jokes and when I responded to yet another sexist anecdote dryly with, "have you ever wondered why you're single Martin ?" they all gave my boyfriend a look that suggested he keep his woman in line in future.

The issue isn't just my low tolerance for macho tomfoolery, but how some women are complicit in this celebration of how much better men are at being funny or clever. I always wondered why I wasn't amused by the 'funniest guy in the office.' One evening out with my impro friends we were joined by an aspiring stand up comedian who was 'on' from the minute he arrived at the table. The lads in our group hero worshipped him and one of the women was obsessed with him so they all laughed at his every word. I was underwhelmed by him and his acolytes and thought I probably just didn't get the joke.

Don't get me wrong, I love to flirt and be feminine. I can be coy and playful and laugh at a man's jokes even when they're not that funny. What I don't do is find it amusing when a man puts women down in order to get the laugh. When a man humiliates his girlfriend or wife in front of people to amuse and elevate his own status. You see this is the subtle manifestation of what the Taliban represent and the cultural attitude that women are 'less than' men. If I laugh when a man puts his wife down or join in when he tells me his girlfriend is a bit dumb I'm complicit in building his belief that it's ok to say it.

Which brings me back to Malala and her amazing courage in facing down the Taliban. It isn't ok that women and girls are beaten, raped, killed and lied about in order to further this idea that they're inferior to men. I am proud that an asian woman has become a symbol of courage and bravery and I hope that she does get nominated for and eventually wins the Nobel Peace Prize.

If Malala's experience teaches us anything it should be to show why being a feminist is about more than arguing amongst ourselves as women. Instead we should be getting on with the business of lifting each other up. Malala was almost killed for challenging a patriarchial society. Her feminism was born of adversity. We don't have to do anything nearly so life threatening.

Bottom line: It's not shameful to be feminist. Women and girls should not feel embarrassed or wrong for wanting to claim the title as their own. My challenge is to ensure my boy grows up with feminist values and respect for women too.

Rebel rebel

Last night me and Hubbie went to a work in progress gig by Mark Thomas called "100 minor acts of dissent." The last time we saw him was at the Tricycle Theatre in North London here he was launching his manifesto shows. There was a very serious policy in terms of holding the Mayor of London to account for failing in his promise to fund rape crisis centres in the city, but the one I recall most was the one to standardise the colours of crisp packets so that Walkers can't just randomly decide that salt and vinegar is green when - as everyone knows - it's blue. The politicians present were all in favour of this.

Over the years I've been influenced by Mark Thomas's work as I've boycotted products from certain companies and taken a stance on issues he has highlighted. In terms of ideas I like his approach that asks the audience to participate and get involved. Now, I'm not about to walk the barrier that separates Israel and Palestine, but I am very much on board with his new project.

The idea is that we do small things to show we're not in support of how things are. So when bankers or tax avoiders say they're going to leave the country if they're called to account we offer to drive them to the airport. You can go online and sign up to be a designated driver - seeing as we live only half an hour from Gatwick airport I feel it would be remiss of me not to sign up to do this.

One of my favourite ideas is to sticker bomb books in the big bookshops using these specially printed stickers (made to look like the originals). The idea is to do it surreptitiously and to take a photo that is shared to show it's been done.

Another idea I loved was to heckle books by including little pieces of paper that spoil the ending for you in books that aren't worth the effort of reading. I won't tell you too much as he tells it so much better in the show.

In the past Thomas has confronted Nestle and Coca Cola for their less than ethical stance on working practices. Now he's gone a step further and taking a policy from the manifesto shows has produced the opposite of the fairtrade logo in the form of the 'bastard trade' logo for firms that are the antithesis of fairness. The idea is you pop these stickers on items and take a pic to add to the others that will form this year long project. Of course it's not all stickers and petty vandalism. It's also about being part of a protest movement, but one that middle-aged people can feel good about.

I managed to interview Mark for my radio show and was delighted to be able to follow up on some of the things he talked about - from taking his teenage son to watch the Fall to regularly being mistaken for Mark Steel (who I'll be interviewing early next week).

The main purpose of this post though is to reiterate the message that a lot of small actions can have a big effect. It won't necessarily change the world, but it might just reawaken the rebellious teenage spirit that you thought was long lost with that pair of Dr Martens that are gathering dust because you can't wear them to an office job and be taken seriously.

I'm also a sucker for small badges with slogans on them - what can I tell you ?

To find out more about this go to: http://www.markthomasinfo.co.uk/

I never drank the milk anyway, but that's not the point.

A couple of things discombobulated me today. Firstly it appears that the misguided clothing style from my teens has been appropriated into a 'revival' so I saw almost my entire wardrobe from when I was 18 in the shops this afternoon. It was disturbing to say the least seeing bold prints, bad trousers and (heaven forfend) bodies on sale again. As a wise woman once said, "if you're old enough to remember it from the first time it was in fashion you're far too old to wear it this time."

Secondly I was just about to go on air this afternoon and present my radio show, which today I'd subtitled "Spring Fling' in homage to a ball that they used to hold at my university. [For younger readers a ball was what you now call a prom] As I waited for my fellow presenter to wrap up her show I looked at twitter and saw this:

So my plans for a cheery and light hearted show with some fun tunes was suddenly threatened as I saw the steady stream of vitriolic and abusive messages with links to anti-Thatcher songs on social media. It was tempting to go with a show about the news, but it would also be out of step with my usual style so instead I just didn't mention it on air at all.

Instead I played music from my years at Uni as that era was fresh in my mind and they just happened to be songs that typify the Thatcher years as PM. In fact she once visited the campus as the University of Warwick was her favourite example of enterprise in further education. She arrived in a helicopter and a student - who is now communications manager for a local authority in East London that rhymes with Hower Tamlets - threw eggs at her. He wasn't doing a degree in PE so of course he missed. 

In the interests of full disclosure I hated Thatcher with a passion. So much so that I was actually angry at Meryl Streep for portraying her sympathetically in The Iron Lady. In my dating days I went out with a man who had her photograph in his upstairs bathroom and I was so horrified that he would do that (even for a joke) that in my head I already knew it was over. 

I grew up in a house where if she was on the TV my Dad would swear and change the channel. It was ingrained in us as children to hate her and to this day the sound of her voice makes me shudder. In my youth it was all the rage to call her a milk snatcher and Spitting Image portrayed her as an increasingly masculine character over the years ending with her smoking stogies and wearing a pinstripe suit. 

Now considering that on twitter I mostly follow people who hold similar views to me it's unlikely that I'd have seen any heart felt tributes to her, but I do have friends whose politics are very different from mine. It makes certain conversations difficult, but I have always been honest about how I feel about Thatch and the myth that she was a powerful force for women and feminism. 

I'm not celebrating or finding joy in her death. Not because of any mawkish sentimentality about her being an old woman you understand. She died peacefully in old age, in the comfort of the Ritz hotel and not in poverty or disablement. How very similar to her good friend Pinochet. 

So today while others are going apoplectic with rage at her past deeds and others are calling for a rational and measured response to her being accorded a ceremonial (not State) funeral I am celebrating something different. 

On Friday I went to a job interview after being a stay at home parent for most of my son's life so far. I wasn't sure if my suit would fit (it did) or if I would know what to say (I did) or if they would even offer it to me (they did). Now the hard part. I've asked them to consider part time hours so that I can still care for my son a few days a week. The salary does not cover full time childcare and I'm sure they could use the cost saving of part time hours as they are a charity. I find out their decision tomorrow, but if they don't go for my suggestion it's nice to know I can still get a job in these austere times.

So today is not about her, it's all about me.

Just the way it should be :o)  

A blog post of two halves - just like an Easter egg :o)

At the start of this week I went along to a peaceful protest outside parliament to support independent midwives in their campaign to continue working in the UK. Their work is under threat due to the requirement that they have indemnity insurance in order to practise which comes into effect in October. As most independent midwives are self employed and there is currently no insurance product suitable for them this would mean they could no longer offer their services to expectant mothers. I stood in the cold on Monday morning with these wonderful women because it was my good fortune to have the personal care of independent midwives and I feel I've been spoiled.

I did attend a few NHS appointments so I can make some comparison. To be able to see the same midwife every time and to have the continuity of care made all the difference to me, especially when things did not go to plan with the birth - do they ever ? I interviewed Kay Hardie on my radio show about this campaign so you can hear her talk passionately about why it is important to allow midwives to offer women the choice of how and where they give birth. The reason we are doing this now is to find a solution rather than wake up in October and mourn the loss. It would be so tragic if the only recognition independent midwives were to get was because they were no longer there.

I'm testing this theory that you only notice it when it's gone with my boys. I've decided to take the day off. I'm not going anywhere or doing anything special, but from this evening until Tuesday morning (when Hubbie goes back to work) I'm also not doing anything for Hubbie or son. The result of this could be that they have chocolate eggs and weetabix for breakfast and go to football tomorrow in their pyjamas, but if so that's in Hubbie's hands. To be honest, that might be their preference anyway.

My plan is to:

• get up early and practise yoga before they wake up
• eat whatever I want for breakfast, rather than my son's partially eaten toast, his leftover fruit pancake or a spotty banana while rushing out of the door
• clean the house while listening to Radio 4 
• eat my lunch at lunchtime and not 4 o'clock as usual
• settle on the sofa to watch a movie with a big cup of tea by my side

They should be at football so it's just me and the cat having some bank holiday fun together. Yes cleaning the house (mine, no one else's) is my idea of a good time - don't judge :o)

At the end of this little experiment one of two things will have happened:

1. The world will come crashing to a halt and kingdoms will crumble (ok the pyjamas and breakfast thing is more likely)
or
2. Hubbie will manage to parent perfectly well without my interference

I suspect it'll be the latter, but either way I get a day off so I win :o)

Google Royal Mail and Daily Mail and you'll find my sister !!

WARNING: There is strong and potentially offensive language used in this post. 

In the latest episode of Call the midwife they tackled the thorny issue of racism against a pregnant new immigrant who another mum-to-be referred to as the 'coloured' woman. Of course by the end of the episode they were the best of friends and all was well as it is in these heartwarming Sunday evening dramas. That was set in the fifties in the East End of London so you'd be forgiven for thinking those kind of casual shocking attitudes don't still exist.

Unless you are in my family that is. In which case it's not that unusual or indeed uncommon to face some kind of ridiculous comment or treatment from a muttering under the breath to a full blown insult to my face - from a lad who I swear looked Korean - when I was on a bus.

Recent events surpass any of this though. You may have seen a story about an asian woman whose post was intercepted and a racist comment was written on the letter and resealed and delivered to her. Well that woman is my sister and this is what was scrawled onto her letter - without the pixelation over the 'offensive words.' Underneath the article are a lot of comments ranging from those correcting the inaccuracy of the use of the word 'Paki' and some suggesting that this culprit isn't that well-educated.

Let me say first up that I am tired of this now. The reason I didn't blank out the offensive words is because if we have to put up with this you can put up with seeing it too. They are words on a page. They are hurtful words, yes. They are inaccurate, yes. However, that is missing the point - it's not the inaccurate geography or poor grammar is the most hurtful thing. Oh the irony that it's the Daily Mail who ran this story when that is the very paper that encourages this 'send 'em all back' attitude, but shows moral outrage when someone responds to this incitement by doing something hideous.

When someone shouts out 'paki' in the street I'm not considering if I should respond with "well actually my parents were born in pre-partition India, but I was born in Perivale." The sick and knotted feeling in my gut is not just about the wrongness of what they have done, it's about the shame, the humiliation, the unfairness. It is also about the fear that they might not stop at words.

Dismissing racists as 'thick' or 'un-educated' is to underestimate their ability to use this to their advantage. Of course they'd be better educated if they had a chance. If there weren't so many foreigners they could have lived in a nicer council house or gone to a better school or had a better job. If all those immigrants didn't come over and take all the jobs and qualifications that is.

How long do you have to be a resident before it's no longer appropriate to tell you to 'go home' ? I was born in England - Perivale maternity unit since you ask - so does that make my home the Hoover building ? It is no longer the case that indians are 'coming over' in droves so where exactly are they thinking we should 'go back' to ?

It is so disappointing when people post facebook statuses that contain racism. In the last few days I've read a 'genuine' letter to the passport office that becomes increasingly ranty then ends with 'my doctor is a bleeding pakistani' - ok yes that's hilarious. He or she probably isn't, the were probably born and trained in England, but the joke isn't funny if it's not a bit racist is it ? Or the posts that go on about how the island is full already and there's no more room. The story of a white person who can't get cancer treatment because of all the foreigners who keep coming here and using the NHS. It goes on and on.

When I say I'm tired I mean I'm tired of arguing, explaining and making the point. It is tiresome and boring:

• I don't know why a man spat in my face through the car window while I was having a driving lesson - I don't want to know. 
• I don't know why Samantha Peacock came into school one day and said, "my mum says tell me when your dad's head gets better." (He is a turban-wearing Sikh). 
• I don't know why my father-in-law thought making a joke about Enoch Powell being right was funny, it isn't. 
• I don't know why a man I dated for a while thought it was perfectly ok to use the term 'coloured' to describe the drummer in a band - this was in 2004, not 1954 !!  

I don't ever want anyone to hurt the ones I love for any reason. I don't ever want to have to explain to my son why someone might use the word 'paki.' How it's not the word that hurts, it's the intention.

For now all I can say is: I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. 

Let me tell you about the birds & the birds and the bees & the bees.

To my beloved son,

As I type there is an urgent debate taking place on Twitter, in the Houses of Parliament and on news channels about the free vote taking place on marriage between gay couples. The most interesting part of this for me is how we retread the same old arguments for years and years. In my youth the debate was about 'promoting' homosexuality in schools - in other words acknowledging that some relationships exist outside of the man and woman scenario that was considered the norm. Of course you know that there is no such thing as 'the norm,' there is just who we are and how we live.

I heard a discussion on the radio this morning where a woman claimed that it was 'God's law' that marriage is only between a man and a woman. Now let's be clear where I stand on this issue. Anyone who wants to be married and who is free to in law should be able to. If they want to do this in a religious ceremony that is up to them and if they want to do this in a legal, but not religious way that is fine too. That means: a man and a woman who want to be married, a man and a man who want to be married or a woman and a woman who want to be married.

Can you believe there was a time when me and your Dad being married would have caused a similar hoo-ha because we have different coloured skin ? I know, I know, it's ridiculous the things that people think are any of their business.


You are nearly two and a half now and you have no preconceived ideas about the people in your life. I just have a few things that I need you to know and remember as you grow into the amazing man I know you'll be:

• Treating someone differently because of who they fancy is stupid, plain and simple. 

• I bitch-slapped a grown man (ok he was a young man, but he was in the army at the time) for repeatedly using the word gay in a pejorative way -  I will not hesitate to do it again.

• Whoever you fancy / adore / love we will always love you - there is no question. 

• If you want to marry or not marry the person you love you deserve the choice either way. 

Most important of all, to meet someone you love enough to want to marry them is a special gift - not everyone is that lucky.

If anyone tries to stop you from being with the person you love come and get me - I'm nowhere near out of slaps yet.

All my love always,

Mummy

There is a light that never goes out

Weekends are always packed in our family with my zumba class, the boys going to rhymetime and football and all of us going swimming. Fitting in anything extra requires logistics that would make the MOD proud. We did, however, manage to find a space in the schedule to attend an open day for a school this weekend. My boy loved everything about it and yelled like a banshee when we moved him from one fun filled room to another as he realised that all of it was geared toward keeping him occupied.

A bit of tutoring with Daddy

As neither Hubbie nor I went to an independent school it was a whole new experience and refreshing to meet teachers who can spell, use grammar and don't dress like I did in my second year at university. I'm not sure why we received a free teddy bear and a big helium filled balloon to take away with us, but I think that is designed to distract from the sting of the fees they charge. I did find myself picturing my son in a school with small class sizes, a swimming pool onsite and an interactive whiteboard in every classroom - including the nursery ones. 

Of course the point of an open day is to show the school in the best possible light and to sell it to potential parents. The main concern I have is whether considering a fee paying school for our son is a sign that we have entirely lost touch with our idealistic notions and rewritten our own history. From being an activist about everything at university to waking up one day middle aged is a salutary lesson.

However, I do console myself that at least I recognise that I'm not a fearless upstart any more. Imagine living with the massive denial that the former frontman of the Smiths labours under. Morrissey has never been a bundle of laughs. Witness the cheerless titles the Queen is Dead, Girlfriend in a Coma and Meat is Murder, as opposed to Vicar in a Tutu and Shoplifters of the World Unite which I thought demonstrated how the Smiths were funny and their lyrics amusing, but now I'm not so sure.

Hand on glove and plant in back pocket

There was a time when Morrissey was the angry young man and poster child for sullen and disaffected youth with his precocious commentary on modern life and all it's failings. Now he's an older man he still deigns to make controversial pronouncements from his cosy ex-pat life in LA where he thinks his teenage rants are still relevant.

Out of loyalty we still listen to his rants, but he's less a national treasure and more a Victor Meldrew figure with a cooler following (my father-in-law thinks One Foot in the Grave is hilarious, but he has no idea who the Smiths were). People of my generation still think Mozzer is like a cool uncle who used to take us to festivals and is now vaguely embarrassing, but we're still loyal to him out of respect for what he once was to us. Anti-establishment and so very clever.

I'm not saying I'm going to get rid of my weird and wonderful music, or give my tour t shirts to charity as a sign that I've grown up. After all I've still got my original Doc Marten boots to show my son when he thinks he's the first teenager to be rebellious and/or misunderstood. 

What I am saying is that when it's his turn he's going to have to go some to find a style of music and a political viewpoint that we find completely disagreeable. If he wanders into the house with a long floppy fringe and a canvas bag with Nine inch Nails written on it in felt tip I will smile knowingly to myself - I just won't let on to him. 

Things I used to think I knew that I now know are wrong

Me and Hubbie are big fans of pub quizzes. In the days before we were Mummy and Daddy we used to be quiz regulars and even had specialist areas of knowledge. Hubbie is the oracle on politics and sport, our friend Adrian is the go to guy for history and geography and I pick up the slack with some trivia and popular culture including movies. On the rare occasions that he is in the UK my friend Tim would wipe the floor with the resident quiz champs as he pretty much knows everything.

It's a wise person, however, who knows their limitations and in our early days of courting me and Hubbie almost fell out over the correct answer to a question about Blur and months (if not years) later a similar kerfuffle over Whitney Houston. What it made me realise is that while Hubbie is super clever he  is not the one to answer questions about popular music. Equally, I am incapable of proffering any answers about sport, reality tv or soaps.

It's good to know what you don't know.Or to be more precise finding out when you think you know something that you don't really. For example:

- When I was nine my sister was born and we went to meet her at the maternity hospital where she was sleeping in the cot next to my Mum's bed. I asked when she'd open her eyes - mistaking a human baby for a puppy or a kitten - and was told that when she was awake she'd open her eyes. My parents still think this is funny.

- I grew up in London so when we went to visit my uncle and aunt 'up north' they took us all out to Blackpool to see the illuminations. I thought they were nice, but nothing special. It was years later that I found out that the world famous 'Northern Lights' are not found along the promenade above the donkeys, but in the sky and are called Aurora Borealis.

- The in-laws have been on the QE2 and are partial to holidaying on cruise ships. It was after we'd been related for a few years that I admitted my childhood belief that the swimming pool on a cruise ship was merely a hole cut into the bottom of the boat. My concern was that if you dived too deep you could end up in the ocean and get left behind by the ship. It made more sense to me to use the water that was all around than to pump water into the ship to use for the purposes of swimming. I still think they're missing a planet friendly trick here if I'm honest.

The original Neo 

Being young kind of allows for misunderstanding which is why I think my son calling all cats (and some other animals that look nothing like cats) Neo is very cute. Our cat is called Neo so it made sense to him that rather than being his name that is what he is. He has recently started to say 'cat' so clearly he's picked up on this and is far smarter than his mother was.

Being a grown up hasn't stopped me from thinking things that turn out to be wrong though. Until quite recently I had believed I didn't really know anyone in Croydon. I even spent yesterday feeling sorry for myself as Hubbie was at work and the boy was at nursery and rather than enjoy a bit of quiet time I did some chores and missed them both terribly.

Then today I took the boy to the park on the tram and then to the shops and we were stopped by three people we know from three different activities. It took me a while to work out that I knew one of them from a playgroup that we go to, but I think I covered pretty well.

I guess my point is - it's ok to get things wrong sometimes.

We could be heroes… just for one day.

In a previous blog post I mentioned that I was disappointed to not have the chance to go to more events at the Olympics having been to just the beach volleyball and given my tickets away for the hockey. It was purely because Hubbie said I'd love the Olympic Park and it would be worth going to see it. So imagine my joy when he told me he had tickets for us to go to the Paralympics.

A friend of mine was at the Olympic Stadium last night as Jessica, then Greg, then Mo won gold medals and caused uproar all over the country as households watching on TV shouted, leapt up and down and felt patriotic all at once. I can well believe that it was an electric atmosphere and that there will be nothing like it again.

However, I'm not being bitter when I say that I'd rather watch the athletics at the Paralympics - I genuinely would prefer it. Of course it is a stunning achievement to make it to the Olympics and then to break records and win a gold medal all at once. It's also very gratifying to see that Team GB is represented by so many different people from backgrounds that are not traditionally 'British.' All the more enjoyable as only yesterday morning the BNP leafleted our house and I'd love to ask them how they feel about Britain being represented by people they would have 'sent back' or as the Daily Mail would have it 'plastic Brits'.

I'd prefer to watch the paralympics because there is an element of the athletes being superheroes. I don't mean this in a condescending way. After all the possibility of disabled athletes competing alongside their non-disabled peers is closer now thanks to Oscar Pistorius or the 'bladerunner' who will be the first person to compete in both the Olympics and the Paralympics. Equally South Korea's Im Dong-hyun who is completely blind competed in the archery at the Olympics.

This inclusion has to be a good thing for all involved in sport as it opens up the world of competition to anyone willing to put their effort into training for a world class event. What distinguishes a disabled athlete from the rest of us is the same as what distinguishes any athlete from the rest of us. It's not their disability it's their ability to train, commit and work hard enough to be better than the rest of us at something.

What I do hope in taking my son to the Paralympics is that he understands that disability is just another facet of life. That he will grow up to know that someone who is different in one way can still do amazing things and achieve great awards. I also want him to not feel embarrassed about disability in the way that so many people still are. Once I asked a colleague if he had been injured skiing as I hadn't noticed he walked with a stick before. He told me he had polio as a child, no big deal and we moved on. Another colleague was embarrassed on my behalf, which I just don't understand. Why is it not ok to ask a disabled person a question ? Surely better to ask and know the answer unless the person being asked is not ok about it.

A paralympian is as exceptional compared with any disabled person as Jessica Ennis is compared with me. Of course the latter is an unfair comparison as even if she weren't a lot younger and fitter than me Jessica still has the ability to be good at more than one sport while I struggle to just learn the rules.

So from a total sport-phobic I'm now an (albeit temporary) fanatic. It won't last so rest assured that I'll be back to talking about cakes and chocolate again before too long.

With a big sigh and a heavy heart… a serious blog

I've lived for 42 years and in that time I've been made to realise that there are a lot of things about me that other people don't like. Some of them I can do something about - like talking too much, or having the wrong accent, or making a face that looks a bit too smug, or correcting poor spelling unasked. There are some things I can't do anything about, like the colour of my skin.

It amazes me that there are still people who think it's perfectly ok to make offensive remarks about race and treat it as normal or justifiable to do so. It upsets me, because my parents faced so much racism for so many years that I'm sure their only hope when it happened to them was that their children would be spared the indignity of the same.

My husband hadn't come across racism in his own life so when he married into an asian family it suddenly became a personal insult for someone to make derogatory remarks about asians as they were talking about his wife, or his mother-in-law or now his son. Imagine how much worse that is when it's a member of your own family making the remarks ?

When I was at university I shared a house with friends and we lived in an area on the outskirts of Coventry. On one occasion when I was walking home with one of my housemates and the local kids shouted out racist comments to me I ignored them and she went ballistic. It's not that I wasn't bothered. As I explained to her there is little point in telling them what they're saying is wrong when it's what they hear their parents say.

In the same vein I met up with a friend I used to go to school with when I was 8 just before she emigrated to Australia and we reminisced about some of our classmates. I have few fond memories of my school in Greenwich in the '70s when the National Front were still marching in the streets and me and my brother were the only asian children in the school until the Patels sent their daughters to the school.

My friendship with Nichola was one of the only things I recall with happiness. I was in a classroom where the teacher sat me with the only black child in the class - a strange form of selection as the other tables were based on academic ability not skin colour. One of my classmates gleefully shared that her mother had asked me to let her know when my Dad's head was better - as a Sikh he wears a turban.

Nic remarked that one of our classmates used to sing racist songs which I have no memory of at all. Maybe I've blanked it out like so much else that I don't want to recall. The interesting thing is that this lad had a promising career as a footballer, but his father was unwelcome at the Arsenal training ground due to his unreconstructed comments about people of other races. So that apple didn't fall too far from the tree then.

This has come up now because I read a comment on Facebook tonight that stunned me so much that initially I called it out for the racism is blatantly was. Then I decided that was probably too strong and decided to just say that it was offensive and inflammatory. When something like this happens I have to maintain my dignity and my ability to walk away.

I wish that I could believe I will never have to explain to my son what racism is.
I pray that in his life he doesn't hear the insults or the ignorance that make me so sad.
I hope that he is a kind and loving person regardless of what others say and do.

That's not too much to ask is it ?

Day two in the house and Neo hasn't left the sofa...

Ignoring a royal jubilee is easier than you'd think. I mean the swimming pool was practically deserted this morning which meant I had a lane all to myself and my son really enjoyed paddling around without lots of other children in the pool.

Now I'm no republican (I have an ironic royal wedding thimble and somewhere in my Mum's house we have a Charles and Diana mug), but I'm so not interested in bunting and union jack cupcakes it's just not funny.I do recall the silver jubilee in 1977 when I had a day off school and stood on the pavement outside my parents' shop as the Queen's car drove past and I was convinced she waved at me.

My parents knew a lovely Sri Lankan family who were staunch royalists and the pictures of royalty in their home were only outnumbered by photos of the Pope. This was all pre-Diana so there was a general sense of respect and deference to the royals rather than the fakery that 'they're just like us' that we are cajoled into now. I mean if Kate can wear the same dress as Tulisa (albeit Alexander McQueen) what more proof do we need that they're just normal people ?

I've been far more excited about the Apprentice finale tonight than the flotilla on the Thames. From the snippet of news that I just watched it looked pretty pointless, but my Mum enjoyed watching it and was very excited when she spotted a Sikh standing next to Her Madge. As a longstanding civil servant my Mum was invited to the Queen's garden party a few years ago and she was so proud and delighted. My Dad went with her and apparently mistook the Duke of Edinburgh for a shambling drunk as he ambled past (well you can see why he might can't you ?).

Their generation of immigrants from Commonwealth countries have an admiration of the royal family that seems to have ebbed away in subsequent generations. The tea towel count in homes of parents of friends who come from the Caribbean has always struck me as unnecessarily high. It's when they're framed that I think it's gone too far.

As I say I'm not committed enough to be an actual republican. My friend Nic abhors the royal family, but I treat them like I do the people who bullied me at school - I just ignore them. Of course if I use a stamp or money I come into contact with HRH, but otherwise she doesn't really impact on my life much.

It's nice having Hubbie home for 4 days though, so for that thanks HRH :o)

Garbage Panda Rocks !!

As I type Hubbie is in the kitchen listening to the radio which usually veers only a few steps from Radio 4 to BBC London. It is currently on a station called Garbage Panda which has to be the best name for a music station - or indeed anything - that I have heard in a long time. My attention was drawn by the music being played which really caught my ear and apparently it's remit is rockabilly and an assortment of other sounds.

They're not the usual tunes we play at home (with Hubbie being a Fall fan and my adoration of Prince we don't often play music together anyway), but music is an enormous part of our lives. Hubbie plays guitar and I've been known to dabble in drums, saxaphone and tenor recorder over the years. We've been singing to our son since before he was born so he enjoys music - most little ones do as far as I can tell - and he does love to bop around.

Music is so intrinsic to my life that I cannot imagine anyone not being interested in it or having a passion for certain songs or tunes. I met a man once who told me he really wasn't into music and I was floored. I had assumed (wrongly) that being from Ireland he'd have grown up surrounded by music and therefore would love it, but no he had no favourite music or interest in it at all.

My parents playing Indian music and my Mum singing when she thought no one was listening still form the most potent of my childhood memories. There are songs from films that are evocative of a particular time and place and the haunting soundtrack of Pakeeza makes me shudder as I recall my Dad telling me the beautiful lead actress died during the filming so a lot of the shots are of her body double.

When I hear the Wannadies You and Me Song I think of my wedding day and our first dance. It wasn't a great choice to dance to wearing a sari, but still it made us happy and no one was really paying any attention to us mucking around up on the makeshift stage anyway.

The opening bars of the Smiths How Soon is Now remind me of Digbeth Institute in Birmingham. Ok, bear with me on this. When I was at uni me and Neil went to see Jesus Jones and they were supported by Soho - twins whose only hit song (Hippychick) began with those very opening bars. They sort of disappeared pretty soon after that (as did Jesus Jones to be honest).

It's also where we saw Killing Joke - possibly my favourite band of all time. Their song Love Like Blood actually makes me tingle when I hear it. It's a powerful and resounding anthem from a highly political band. I was so pleased to get a ticket to see them a few years ago so when the gig was rescheduled for two weeks after my son was born I was gutted to miss seeing them again.

I could go on about politics and music (not in a Red Wedge sense you understand) but I will just mention the La's There She Goes which was played in the Student Union at my Uni the day Margaret Thatcher resigned. Even now I associate that song with a happy, happy day and the sense of humour of whoever the DJ was that night.

So as you can see music is not only the food of love, it's the food of life. Sometimes a bit rich and overwhelming, sometimes basic and just enough. Always emotive and always essential.

I want world peace (and a flatter stomach please)

Last week I had a rare night out with some yummy mummies from a baby group I've taken my boy to for over a year. They really are yummy being slimmer, younger and considerably better looking than me (even the ones who are pregnant again - how demoralising is that ?) so I sat at the dumpy, middle-aged & unattractive section of the table that I had designated for myself. Envy is an ugly thing so I figured the noise of the restaurant and my distance from the others would disguise the gnashing of my teeth. I distracted myself from their loveliness by noshing my pasta and debating whether it would be a bad idea to order tiramisu. For the record, it is never a bad idea to order tiramisu unless you care about getting into slim fit jeans.

Then today a pal of mine has tweeted a link to an article about Aishwarya Rai and her post baby weight gain and the consternation it has caused the Indian media. For those unfamiliar with the phenomenon of Ash she is an ex-Miss World, Bollywood and Hollywood actress and married into the most famous acting family in India (her father in law was voted most popular movie actor in a BBC poll some years ago much to the shock of Westerners who had never heard of Amitabh Bachan). In November last year Aishwarya gave birth to a daughter and since then there has been fevered comment on her weight gain and apparent disinterest in losing it. According to the magazines and bitchy blogs in India it is her duty as a star to set a good example of a slim body and to "do a Posh." Of course we're all familiar with the slim body that slebs parade at six weeks post-partum and even I joked with the Obstetrician who performed my emergency Cesarean that I'd like a "Posh tuck." They must hear that joke at least ten times a day - poor loves smile weakly and just say "not on the NHS dearie."

My body loathing is legendary and a few years ago I finally slimmed down to a size ten and wore all the clothes I had thought I'd never get into. Then I fell pregnant and was overwhelmed with the love I felt for my swelling body when I was pregnant. I was so convinced that I'd be able to get back into the small sizes that the positivity gave way almost immediately that my son was born to a sense of failure that I wasn't as slim as every other new mother I met. There was even a woman a few beds away from me who didn't even look like she'd actually given birth despite the evidence to the contrary snoring softly in the cot next to her. My point is that we put ourselves under enough pressure to lose weight without other people reminding us that we're not as slim and our cheekbones aren't as defined as they once were.

I spent all afternoon sorting out my wardrobes and deciding not to dress like a frumpy Mummy any more. The saying goes that you should dress for the job you want. I can't see myself dressing in a bikini, but it's the only time in my life that I can even approximate looking like a Miss World. Take a look at the post baby Aishwarya and see if you think I have any hope at all…

And now for something a bit serious

There were two news stories that I took particular interest in this week and I wanted to share some thoughts on them.

The first was a news item about the arrest of nine men from Rochdale and Oldham who had been involved in systematic grooming and sexual abuse of young girls. Comment and opinion has come from quarters as diverse as the BNP and the chair of the Equality and Human Rights Commission. Interestingly enough they seem to be saying about the same thing - that race is a factor as 8 of the men are Pakistani and one is from Afganistan. The assertion has been that they targeted white girls due to cultural attitudes towards sexuality. This completely ignores the fact that abuse is abuse regardless of the ethnicity of the victim or perpetrator. It also turns a blind eye to the abuse that takes place within the Asian community (which is the catch-all term being used to describe these men) and goes unspoken about. Additionally there is the practice of underage marriage which pretty much sanctions child abuse and is more common than we are led to believe. To make this about race is unnecessary as it takes away from the reality that these are horrific and cruel acts committed by nasty people. In communities where it is the custom to call all adults uncle and aunty and to show respect to them a child can be placed in a vulnerable situation and not feel able to report it to anyone. Targeting complete strangers and luring them into a dangerous situation is downright criminal and thankfully these men have been caught and charged. Don't even get me started on how unhelpful Trevor Phillips' comments are - just read them and decide for yourself: http: BBC News website

The other news item playing out towards the end of this week was the cover of Time magazine to illustrate an article about attachment parenting. In case you haven't seen it this is the photo:

The various debates on radio and online have included spokespeople from Mumsnet and other parenting organisations. All of them commenting on the pose of the photograph and not the article itself. What was a piece about attachment parenting has become outrage at a woman defiantly appearing to breastfeed a child who can stand and look at the camera. Not for them the traditional babe in arms pose we are used to seeing (or not as the case may be). The various threads of discussion I've followed have been about whether or not prolonged breastfeeding is about the child or the mother. I breastfed my son and wanted to do so for as long as it suited him. Eventually at 14 months I had to concede that he wasn't really feeding any more and it was about me wanting to hold him close and keep the bond we had developed. When he was first born and we were in hospital for a few days I fed him for hours at a time and holding him close was just the most wonderful sensation. Being able to let go of that closeness is difficult, but I have noticed that as he grows he chooses how to be close to me and this autonomy and independence is important. It has always been important that my son feels close to both me and Hubbie and they also have a very affectionate relationship. Being able to breastfeed is a wonderful way to build a bond with your child and one I'd recommend to anyone. However, it isn't always possible for a mother to breastfeed and it isn't an option for the father so attachment comes in many other forms. The magic 2 year goal for breastfeeding is taken from the World Health Organisation guidance to women in the whole world. It is the safest, most hygienic and cheapest option for mothers of babies born in countries where water is not clean or accessible and where healthcare is not freely available. However, in a culture where we have the choice it is the tyranny of the 'Mummy mafia' that makes breastfeeding for years the gold standard of caring. If I sought validation from the Supermums I'd have serious concerns about my own sanity.

Next time: back to usual light-hearted self deprecating schtick I promise :o)

Politics Schmolitics

Years ago I took part in a mock election at school. It wasn't really a choice as only three of us had any interest in politics and as they both took Labour and Conservative I was left (reluctantly) to stand as a liberal. I read the manifesto and gave it my best shot, but pretty much could see through the nonsense back then. I also knew from day one that Labour would get all the votes in a safe labour seat as the school was. It was interesting to do, but didn't inspire me to go into politics. It is depressing to become disillusioned at the age of 16 by the futility of my attempt to persuade people to vote for me when I knew they would all vote the same way as their parents.

I avoided going into student politics at University mostly as those who did take part were insufferable "hacks" and I couldn't see myself associating with them. Instead, I did a bit of radio, a bit of journalism, a bit of charity, a bit of film and not a lot of anything really. When I came back to London friends suggested that I should try stand up - do a few impersonations and make people laugh and they flatter you that you have a talent ! My fledgling attempts, however, suffered from my lack of confidence and lack of material as I wasn't able to translate my political thoughts into funny jokes.

In recent years I've been repeatedly asked why I don't go into politics. Even Hubbie has encouraged me to and while it does appeal I have a few (probably very stupid) reasons why I haven't:

Firstly, is the fear of falling out with people. While I like a healthy discussion and a robust exchange of views my problem is when I disagree with someone I like. It makes me feel bad and if I felt like that every time I had to make an unpopular decision what kind of politician would I be ? Oh yes I'd be a liberal in the coalition goverment (probably).

Secondly, I have a pathological fear of being judged and portrayed negatively by the media. When David Blunkett was keen to introduce ID cards as Home Secretary I recall hearing an interview with someone who said, "for a blind man he's keen to see everything" and I was appalled. Now, I'm no apologist for Blunkett or his policies, but when did it become ok to mock a man for his disability ?Surely that is too low a blow even for the most hideous of the media commentators. Of course we now know that this is the same media that would hack the phone of a murdered girl, so they are hardly in the business of being fair or playing nice.

Thirdly, I actually want to make a difference and help people and from what I can see that is the last thing that happens when you become a politician. In between compromise and towing the party line where is there room to actually get someone help for their aged parents or to stop a children's playground from being closed ? Every now and then an MP is able to get a result for a constituent and it makes a massive difference to that person's life. That's the stuff I want to do.

What I don't want is to get wheeled out on Question Time every few weeks to show how diverse my party is (yes Warsi we are bored of seeing and hearing you, please switch the lights off when you leave). Or to be pushed through the ranks quickly and always wonder if it was because of my gender or race rather than my ability.

Instead I think I'll just try to do my best without the need for a rosette. Although, I did always like the idea of being in the 'standing at the back looking stupid party.'

All creatures great and small

At the weekend two horses died as a result of taking part in the Grand National - a race generally seen as very hard on both riders and horses. Once again people have raised issues of safety and animal welfare in a sport where horses have a 'shelf life' just as the dogs in greyhound racing do. For me this raises the ugly question of whether we have the right as humans to use animals for our entertainment.

Of course as someone who shares their house with a cat we have plenty of entertainment of the feline kind. Only yesterday Hubbie was looking out of the kitchen window and said "who is that at the end of the garden ?" He meant the tabby cat who is a newcomer to our garden, but I thought he meant the fox that was tiptoeing his way towards the cat. We scrambled to get outdoor shoes on to chase off the fox and I quipped that if I had a red coat and a horse we wouldn't have this problem. In the early days of our courtship me and Hubbie took part in a debate about fox hunting where we took opposite points of view. It's not the first time I've had that discussion and I still cannot fathom how anyone can see fox hunting as a fun day out rather than a brutal 'sport.' I don't see the appeal of chasing a fox using a pack of dogs and surely being drunk in charge of a horse is just irresponsible ?

I have the same problem with zoos, so not taking my son to see the animals is something I will have to explain to him when he is older. In the same way I'm sure he will want to know why Mummy doesn't eat meat. I stopped eating meat in my teens mostly as I read an interview with Madonna where she said that vegetarians are thinner and paler (yes at the age of 13 I cared what she said !) but also as I was horrified by how animals were kept and cared for in order to be eaten. Battery farming especially made me very distressed so seeing the free range hens that live a few doors away makes my heart sing every morning.

About 15 years later I went through an experimental phase with meat. I had been struggling with IBS for a few years and took advice to get some tests to see if it was the food I was eating. The testing was pretty dubious and I was told I was 'intolerant' to wheat, caffeine, peppers, onions, cabbage, red wine, etc. The usual rubbish that you get when you go for a non medical or 'natural' explanation is to cut out wheat, dairy and sugar, ie. all the nice foods. As a veggie I pretty much lived on pasta and potatoes so to be told that my staple foods were off the menu came as something of a shock and left me with few options (or so I thought). I started to eat some chicken then slowly reintroduced other foods that I hadn't eaten for over a decade. To be honest I found meat really uninteresting and dull. It didn't inspire creativity and frankly I'd have preferred to just be able to eat toast. A few years ago I decided again that I prefer not to eat meat and as it is so much more normal now than it was when I first became veggie and the choices are better.

I still vacillate on the decision about whether or not to eat fish and it is one that vexes me as I am always  on the brink of giving it up. I do really enjoy fish though and despite my high minded ideals there has to be space for enjoyment in life doesn't there ?  Speaking of which I did try being a vegan at university (didn't we all ?) and was exhausted, spotty and pale as well as very hungry all the time. I mean who can live without a piece of cake and a cup of tea (no soy or rice milk just doesn't cut it I'm afraid). I admire those who can eat well on a limited diet, but frankly my body was built on chocolate, chips and cheese. Oh, and the occasional piece of buttery toast.

Never, never, never… Oh well ok, as it's you

John Cusack often tells his Twitter followers that if poor grammar and spelling bothers them they should unfollow him as the content is more important than how it's delivered (my words not his). It's not a philosophy I adhere to usually, but I make an exception for him as I think his tweets have the capacity to entertain and inform, but to be honest I break my own zero tolerance rule because I like him. It's the same rule that applies to the films he has been in - yes even Hot Tub Time Machine which when I saw an online trailer for I genuinely thought was an online spoof as it looked so bad. I can't say the same for Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil which despite being directed by Clint Eastwood and starring JC (a dream combination in my book) didn't hold my attention and bored me to actual sleep. Otherwise I heart John for wearing a Clash t-shirt in any movie where he has wardrobe approval as it shows he has great taste in listening to English bands - if he wore a Smiths t-shirt I might properly explode.

The same exception applies to my friend Jan who sends me text messages in teenage text speak which grates on me if done by anyone other than her. I suspect it's because I find it endearing that someone who has a senior citizen's bus pass writes "gr8 to c u on Sat, thx 4 cream t." I mean come on that's far too cute to be annoyed about.

On a different tack my husband follows any and all sports (except Rugby, but in extremis he has been known to watch that too) despite the fact that years ago I swore blind that I would never marry a man who was obsessed with sport. Clearly he won me over with his witty repartee, his massive intellect and that meal he makes with prawns and pineapple. Actually I refer you to the previous blog post that lists the lovely things he does which make me heart Hubbie (yes, yes I know I hate when people do that too, I promise not to do it any more). 

An area in which we are perfectly matched is our shared interest in politics which is why my friendship with my closest friend is the most puzzling example of my exception to the rule theory. Our politics are polar opposites, yet we get along and don't actually argue. We disagree, but often find common ground that is not party political. In fact it's thanks to SJ that I shadowed a Green London Assembly member (the lovely Jenny Jones) when I took part in a programme to encourage BME women to become involved in politics. I discussed the scheme with SJ and told her I wasn't sure which party to ask to be matched with and she said that she considered me to be most closely aligned with the Greens. She showed great insight that revealed in all the years we've known each other she has identified something that I haven't acknowledged myself. Now that's a good friend ! 

The most recent revelation has been just today. I have for years been very sniffy about people who home school their kids - and as a yoga teacher and part-time Yummy Mummy I know a few - as I've always seen it as self-indulgent and hippie to take Jacinta out of school because she's far too bright for the rubbish teachers at her school to cope with. This opinion has altered since I've realised that if my son was only offered a place at a very poor school I'd have to seriously consider home schooling him as I daren't risk some yobbish Croydon yoofs hurting a hair on my darling boy's head. Today, however, I found out that my NCT teacher Wendy is taking her daughter out of a local school to home school her. I can't blame her, from what she's told me it's the best decision to improve her daughter's chances of actually getting an education. My own fear has always been that even though I'm a qualified teacher I'd struggle to do a good enough job teaching my own child(ren) the curriculum and I'd feel guilty for letting them down.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have a strict zero tolerance policy on most things with the following exceptions:

1. Poor spelling and grammar - unless you're John Cusack (or Alex O'Loughlin if he's on twitter)

2. Text speak - unless you're old enough to know better and do it to be cool

3. Sports obsessives - unless I married you in which case you put up with far more than I do (and bless you for that)

4. Tories - unless you're SJ, that is the only exception

5. Home Schooling - unless you're a normal person in every other way like my friends Wend and Siobhan. If you're a homeopathic, 'spiritual,' yurt dweller just move along now and we'll say no more about it.

Thanks for listening :o) 

Clooney in cuffs causes chaos

This afternoon the news wires almost melted at the overexcited news that George Clooney had been arrested during a protest. Even Krishnan Gurumurthy - an otherwise respectable news journo type - delivered a breathy promo for Channel 4 news exclaiming that we should all contain our excitement at Clooney in handcuffs. This evening he's been released having posted bail of around £63 ($100) and has notched up a few more cool points which he kind of lost having appeared in the Kony video without his knowledge. 

At the same time the director of the Kony film (Jason Russell) has allegedly been arrested for public disorder of the drunken and masturbatory kind. Not really what we expect of an evangelical Christian and father of two young children who likes to make manipulative videos with dubious factual content. We completely expect Clooney to get arrested at a protest, just like we expect Sean Penn to offer an opinion on international politics without irony or reference to the country he calls home. Just like we expect Angelina Jolie to pitch up after a humanitarian crisis with her shopping list of criteria for the next addition to the Jolie-Pitt brood. 

I'm not cynical about movie stars getting involved in politics, but I am disinterested in them wandering in to foreign countries to research a supposed answer and reporting back to the rest of us. It's not as if America doesn't have poverty, natural disasters or racially motivated conflicts. It just isn't quite as easy to fix if it's on home turf. 

A dual approach has to be the way to go as far as I'm concerned. Get involved locally and take an interest internationally and at least you've got your bases covered. If you are very concerned about the poor children in Africa, but are sniffy about someone who sleeps in a doorway and begs for some change from you I'd say you've got a perspective issue to deal with. 

Fame does add kudos to a good cause though and if you don't have a celebrity endorsement you can kiss farewell to any donations until you get a minor soap actress or reality star to tell Hello magazine how great you are. I only mention this as I've gone back into fundraising and it is terrifying and lonely all at once. 

I have an office all by myself, a cause I've never fundraised for before and I work in a school which I pretty much swore I'd never do again once I completed my teaching degree. Add to this the fact that I miss being with my son and I have to admit it's not looking like a triumphant return to work for me. More like an elaborate attempt to get out of running around after the toddler from the Weetabix commercial every day.

Well at least it's the weekend tomorrow and I have a long yoga class on Saturday afternoon and hopefully a lovely relaxing Mothering Sunday. In the meantime I can consider my days of actually doing something worthwhile and ponder whether I would have gotten arrested for any of the causes I worked for. If there was a chance of being cuffed to Gorgeous George… probably. Otherwise… probably not. 

Suffer the little children

I'm not the most prolific tweeter, but I do look in on it regularly and sometimes I even open links. Yesterday I saw a few people had tweeted a link to a movie called Kony2012 and decided to watch it. It's been retweeted by many celebrities advocating that we should support the apparent campaign to make Kony a household name in order to …

well I'm not sure what happens exactly when we put up posters about a known murderer and a man who recruits child soldiers to kill people and to protect him.

The movie has been produced on behalf of an organisation called Invisible Children which appears to advocate military intervention to assist the capture of this man, but I am not clear what they then do to assist the children who he has used as soldiers.

If you've been sent the Kony 2012 film and asked to pass it on - have a think about this:

1. Do you really support sending in armies to deal with vulnerable children who are being drugged and abused into being soldiers in order to capture their leader ?

2. Is making a 30 minute movie to post on the internet the best use of resources to help vulnerable children ?

3. If it's as easy as making Kony a household name why didn't that work for Pinochet or Gadaffi, or Saddam or Mugabe ?

4. If the movie is really about child soldiers why do we see so much of the filmmaker's blonde son and so little of Jacob who is supposed to be inspiration for it ?

If you really want to help children I can name a few really honest to goodness charities that have proven to save the lives of children all over the world.

I've worked in Sierra Leone with children who have been child soldiers and seen the horrific machete wounds inflicted on one young man who survived seeing his own parents brutally murdered by child soldiers. In refugee camps I met children who had been soldiers and their first words were confessional in telling me what they had done. I cannot see how making this man famous does anything to help the children whose lives have been ruined or what the point of wearing a red wristband is.

If the filmmaker wanted to get his and his son's face on a youtube clip that went viral then well done mate you've done that. Jacob, the young Ugandan who appears a few times in the very slick movie, is the one with a story worth telling and yet we hear very little about him or what this movie will do to help young Ugandans like him.

I've worked for a few NGOs (non Government Organisations) in my time working with children whose lives have been devastated by war and conflict. At no point have I worked for any charity that advocated sending in military intervention to help children. I was livid when Bob Geldof claimed that in order to do good sometimes you have to work with bad people (to paraphrase his justification for some of the Band Aid funds going to corrupt regimes). It is possible to work with people who are altruistic - yes even in Africa before you ask. I know - I've met them.

Watch the movie - make up your own mind, but I do ask that you also read these please:

http://justiceinconflict.org/2012/03/07/taking-kony-2012-down-a-notch/

http://visiblechildren.tumblr.com/post/18890947431/we-got-trouble

Handle with care

Councils refer record number of 

children into care

The number of children referred into care in England has hit a record high.

Continue reading the main story

Last month, local authorities made 903 court applications to take children into care - the highest since courts service Cafcass was set up in 2001.

Numbers have been rising since late 2008 and the infamous Baby P case involving the death of a toddler while on the at-risk register in London.

Cafcass boss Anthony Douglas said: "All agencies need to factor in these much larger increases into their planning."

This story is taken from the BBC News website today and refers to a story that I actually predicted about two years ago. If you have known me for a while you are probably worn out from listening to me mithering on about how the care system is flawed and children are the last consideration in the entire process. For those who are late to the party I'll give you a brief catch up.

When Hubbie and I discussed our family plans we agreed that we would like to have a family that included adopted children. Our attempts to have a baby stalled so we decided to take the adoption route sooner than we'd expected. I had fond recollections of the work of Dr Barnardo being a good thing for poor children so we went to them for our assessment having been told by local authorities that they wouldn't have suitable children for us. Croydon even invited us with about ten other couples to an information morning where eventually they told us that if we lived in the borough we wouldn't be considered suitable. Having written to us all at our Croydon home addresses you'd think they could have saved themselves the biscuits and tea wouldn't you ? 

We underwent the long process of being assessed as suitable adopters including long personal interviews and producing family trees and analysing the effects of our own childhoods on our expectations of parenting. Eventually we were approved by a panel of 13 strangers as suitable and we thought it was going to be a simple case of being matched with children who would be our family. Instead we looked at the profiles of children who were waiting to be adopted and made enquiries whenever we saw any that were asian and white (as we'd been advised to). Also, we were invited to show interest in children who were suggested to us including a family of three siblings, 4 children of a family of 8 and a range of other children from all over the country. 

Our profile had a lovely photo of us and made the case for us to be considered by the local authorities with children in their care. Months passed and we were turned down for a range of reasons including: my faith, Hubbie's lack of faith, my not being the correct faith, we have a cat, etc. and in some cases we weren't even given a reason. 


After a year of looking at the same few asian/white children and being turned down for all of them we were invited to take part in a course which would help us to understand the process and make sense of the long wait. It was run by a man called Ivan who began by saying that if we were willing to wait in a matter of months the care system would be overwhelmed with children being taken from families as a knee-jerk response to the Baby P case (knee-jerk being my words not his). At the time it seemed so obvious and so stupid that I didn't want to believe it could be true. I already knew that social workers were running scared of making a bad decision so they weren't making any decisions and were leaving children in temporary family arrangements for longer and longer.


Our own experience of trying to adopt children was really disheartening. When friends went through the same assessment process and actually managed to successfully adopt their wonderful son it was such a breath of fresh air to see that it can work. 


I have only praise for a Government trying to improve the lives of cared for children as they truly are the forgotten ones in all this. While there is so much rhetoric about doing the best for looked after children they are left in wrecked families while social services give repeated chances to parents who cannot cope or have an over inflated sense of their own competence. Sadly so many children in care keep hoping to return to their own family, however broken it might have been, just so long as they have some permanence and stability in their lives and a bedroom of their own. 


Ultimately children want to be safe and happy. This can be in a family with two parents, one parent, people of the same sex, people of different races or religions, with or without pets, a house with or without a garden and many other features. 


Until all the agencies concerned understand that children are the most important consideration we will keep seeing disappointing headlines. While we're distracted by discussions about middle class white families being denied the opportunity to adopt black children the record numbers being taken into care wait and wait. The one thing missing in all this is the voice of the children themselves. 

How about this radical idea - why not listen to the children ?