Obligatory post by new blogger

These are the stunningly obvious things I have learned since starting this pissing into the proverbial wind:

1. Writing a simple blog post isn't simple and can't usually be done in a day. If you give a shit about your writing you can't get away with just spewing words onto a page and hoping it will be good. Apparently you have to work at it and refine your craft until you can actually piece together palatable sentences. It's almost like writing isn't an inmate skill but something that you actually have to do in order to learn. If only I'd had multiple people telling me that for the last 20 years... actually I did. Maybe I'm finally ready to listen...

2. Ideas are weird - the ones in your head that seem really juicy often dry up rapidly when pinioned to the page but the little thoughts that blip and bubble can often explode into something much bigger. I have been writing a post about cartoons for 2 weeks and it's nowhere near finished, in fact it won't be for ages but I think it might be good when it gets there. 

3. It's ok to cheat a little bit.  This is my blog.  I am allowed to dredge up work I have done before and use that to fill a post if I want.  It is not ok to use someone else's work to do this.

4. I have really wanted to follow the format of articles in my favourite magazines... I have written endless pieces on my favourite films (none worthy of publishing) in the style of Standard Issue's Rated or Dated only to find someone else has done it first.  The Philadelphia Story is my favourite film dammit; how dare Hannah Dunleavy write a charming and witty piece on it without asking my permission. 

5. Creating a website is simultaneously much harder and much easier than I thought it would be. It's certainly much simpler than it was in the nineties when I did a computer science module at university. Back then I had enough time to make and drink a terrible cup of coffee whilst the computer logged on and to be honest I basically got my computer scientist mates to do my homework for me. Now it is simple enough to do it myself (thank you squarespace) I'm finding it difficult to balance the amount of time I spend on the design versus the content.  Obviously I came here to write so that should be my focus, but the look of the website conveys information about the content so it can't be left uncurated. Luckily there is time to tinker whilst writing, which is nice.

6. I still really miss wine in the evenings

7. I do not have any willpower in the week running up to Christmas.

8. I am allowed to fail and start again. 

Tell me a story

I wrote this about 3 years ago for a children's book blog.  It brings back lots of happy memories of story-telling with my son.  My daughter never let me make up stories for her, until about 2 months ago when she finally relented. Even now she has a very definite idea of who the characters will be and what will happen - I'm basically her editor. The characters are usually animals and there will be no moral, thank you very much. For her it's all about action, for her older brother it was all about rules for life, which is why I think this post was so important to me at the time...

Almost every night my husband or I make up a bedtime story for my son; we have been doing this for over two years. I am ashamed to say that it was only about 10 months ago (shortly before the birth of our daughter) that I realised that every single character in these stories was male. Not one female sidekick or even a mother figure featured at all. I am a feminist and I understand that providing a range of role models to our children, so they can see men and women leading varied lives of value will help them to understand the world they live in and allow them to consider a broader range of options about what they can do and who they can be.  I would like to blame sleep deprivation for this lack of care when I was creating stories but I think there's more to it than that; it's just so easy to be complacent, to copy the models that already exist.  All I can do at this point aim to think harder from now on.  

Since then I've increased the bedtime story character list and we now have a girl elephant, a magic crab called Shelly, giraffe twins with a single mother and a princess who rescues a dragon. I have also made my son the hero of the a number of fairy tales, but with a few twists.  In my version of Sleeping Beauty, G and the princess become best friends & have a party. Later he attends her wedding to someone else. In my stories, princesses are not prizes. G also takes on other roles than rescuer - he helpsGoldilocks apologise to the 3 bears for her appalling behaviour, taking the role of  advocate (which is usually given to female characters, I've noted).  I may have pushed the diversity boat out a bit far but my son still seems to enjoy the stories just as much as when they followed more traditional lines.

It's such an simple thing to miss, to not notice that you're doing it; it is so easy to erase a gender. I googled reading lists for boys and found this this and this. Not one female protagonist in any of them. I find it worrying that my son is not expected to find girls' experiences worth reading about, that boys are only meant to like boys.  Surely stories are the places to experiment with something different from the status quo, a place to experience fresh and interesting perspectives

I should note that a lot of reading lists are identified for 'kids' rather than by gender but the bias is still towards male protagonists even in these lists.  Apparently we would all rather read about boys than girls.  

I have made a commitment now that my son and daughter will be accessing stories either that contain varied representations of both genders. At some point i am going to have to accept that they will choose what to read independently and their choices will become more skewed by their peers  and the need to conform and this will make them adhere more closely to gender stereotypes but until them I can offer them a varied palate of bravery and brilliance by both genders.  

So with all that in mind here's a list of books for all children, curated by my kids' preferences*. 

Pre-school

Julia Donaldson is the ruler of pre-school literature; her ability to create beautiful rhymes with a genuinely humanist sentiment and moments of pure pathos (I'm looking at you, Whale lying beached on the bay) are stunning.  She is so ubiquitous it's easy to forget how exceptional she is. I am so grateful to be reading her books as they are still being produced.  The highest praise I can give her is that I can happily read one of her books over ten times in one day without a single exasperated sigh or muffled sob. 

Gruffalo's child - Julia Donaldson

Snail & the Whale - Julia Donaldson

Honda's Surprise - Eileen Browne

Lost and Found - Oliver Jeffers

Where the Wild Things Are - Maurice Sendak

In the Night Kichen - Maurice Sendak

Princess Smartypants - Babbette Cole

 Hugless Douglas - David Melling

4-7

Of course Roald Dahl deserves a special mention for creating boys, girls, men and women who are just brilliant to read, whether they're revolting like the Twits or fantastic like Matilda.

Revolting Rhymes - Roald Dahl (This is the best Red Riding Hood ever)

The Magic Faraway Tree - Enid Blyton

Clever Polly & the Stupid Wolf - Catherine Storr

Danger is Everywhere - David O'Doherty

Harry's Mad - Dick King Smith

Pippi Longstocking - Astrid Lindgren

*For all your book buying needs I recommend www.biggreenbookshop.com - they offer home delivery, can usually get a book ordered within 24 hours and are the loveliest bookshop in North London. 

Long Pig

Recently I watched an open mic act do about 2 minutes of material on Peppa Pig.He is a student and I am a mother of small humans. Clearly children's tv is our common ground so I was all ready to cheer him on, until he made an egregious error. He did approximately 90 seconds of material on watching Peppa eat a bacon sandwich. In that 90 seconds he lost me and every other parent in the room. The reason his lazy Peppa Pig material played so badly was because the people who make that show have worked very hard to ensure that there is a consistent internal logic to the show, which is something those of us who are forced watch it multiple times every day really appreciate. So the first lesson I learnt is don't make mistakes in your material; your error may be so glaringly obvious to some people that you lose the respect of half your audience*. I know sod all about dogs but you can be damn sure I will fact-check any material pertaining to them with my friend the vet. The second lesson is, to paraphrase Piny Senior, there is no stand up comedy so bad that you cannot learn something from it. Or indeed generate your own material...

Within the world of Peppa Pig there is a clear hierarchy of animals - mammals are the highest functioning obviously - though this lovely post does have some justified comments on some of the inconsistencies that this brings up, for example, why Santa and the Queen are the only humans in this world. Generally speaking, however, the hierarchy is as follows - mammals are sentient; birds, reptiles and fish are not. Goldie the Goldfish and Polly the Parrot do seem to have some sort of higher level of cognition, but I know people who treat their dogs as sentient and will still quite happily gnaw on the bones of other animals, so I'm happy put this down to normal cognitive dissonance.

To maintain this hierarchy only vegetarian food is shown being eaten; mainly plain spaghetti, cereal, lots of fruit and vegetables and endless stacks of pancakes. I acknowledge that there is a certain tension between the foxes and the rabbits and Daddy Pig does have to warn Mr Wolf off eating his first born in one episode - I also believe that there is no lion family in Peppa Pig because they are serving life sentences for devouring Monsieur Gazelle in a blood frenzy - but there are no mealtime or snack foods that seem to directly trouble this internal logic.

In terms of the animals' diets, fish are fine to eat but red meat is not - fish are part of the lower order of creatures who can be kept as pets and eating from them isn't inconsistent with the hierarchy... but there is one food that really, really doesn't fit. There are a lot of pancakes eaten in Peppa Pig, cereal for every breakfast and also some cheese and yogurt on occasion, so my question is - where do they get the milk? Mr Bull is one of the only childless animals in town - is that because Mrs Cow refused to have kids knowing it would mean all the neighbours popping round, shaking a jug, looking for a bit of the white stuff as soon as she started lactating? This is the dark heart of Peppa Pig, this is their soylent green. Somewhere, probably just behind Potato Land, there is a vast shed of sentient cows being milked against their will.

Is this the legacy of Peppa Pig, a hidden feminist agenda? Is the whole programme is a complex metaphor, deconstructing the dehumanisation of women, their role as a commodity within their society and their silencing and erasure from the annals of recorded history? Who will speak for our silenced bovine comrades? Come Mummy Pig, come Miss Rabbit, come Mummy Dog, mount your fire engine and ride it to free your enslaved sisters.

*I am massively grateful to all the people who have contributed to the Peppa Pig wiki so i could ensure that this post is accurate. Ain't the internet grand.

Update

Last night I gigged - Comedy at the Crown in St Albans. It's such a lovely night; I have big love for Phil Hawksworth and Lee Wilson who run it, and for my mate Jenny Laville who rocked it... and I've just discovered her name autocorrects to Saville, which is unfortunate. I think I'm going to have to keep an eye on that as I'm definitely going to be blogging about how I knew her at the start of her career when she's famously accomplishing great things in the future. 

Tonight I have been running errands so this is just a quick one.  Still not drinking wine though. Winning.

Bun fight

I remember the first time I saw a man bun.  I was in Watford when it walked past, attached to some young hipster.  It was all I could do not to dive into Clas Ohlson, pick up a pair of remarkably cheap and surprisingly good quality scissors* and lop the offending item straight off.  I was genuinely surprised at how angry it made me.  To be fair, it was a hot hot day and my oh so sensible mum bob was clinging to my neck and I felt flushed and frumpy.  (These days my summer wardrobe is just a set of compromises, so I can select the items of clothing that will cover the parts I’m most ashamed of on that particular day without passing out from heat exhaustion.) So my rage at this poor innocent hipster was partially eye-rolling superiority at the sheep-like nature of a man selecting such a hairstyle and partially jealousy that someone has the time and inclination to find a style tribe and adhere to its mores. 

But my irritation has niggled at me - clearly - this happened about 5 months ago. What precisely is it about this hairstyle that irritates me?  Is it that it so clearly signals ‘hipster’? I’m not sure why I’d have problem with that, if I were 10 years younger I’d definitely be one; I like discovering new music, I enjoy home made and hand crafted things and I like to be creative.  Also, I don’t roll my eyes at hipster girls in their Rosie the Riveter headscarves, or with a forties style wave, which is considerably more effortful than a bun, so clearly it’s not the essential hipsteriness of it that’s getting to me. 

Maybe it’s because it’s a man choosing this hairstyle, a man openly committing to a trend? I am concerned that this is the case, that I am simply being lazily sexist; that my concept of masculinity doesn’t allow for an interest in coiffure.  I don’t mind men having long hair, but apparently I think it’s only acceptable within certain parameters; wafting gently over an acoustic guitar, lazily tied back in a low slung ponytail atop a bicycle, bouncing wildly up and down at a concert.

Honestly, if the situation was reversed, if there was widespread media vilification of a woman’s hairstyle, I would definitely ignore that.  Actually, I wouldn't ignore it, I would be more likely to choose that style and more likely to smile at those wearing it. I deeply dislike the shaming of women based on their appearance so it makes little sense that I am willing to despise a stranger based on his.

The more I have thought about this, and I have thought about it quite a bit over the last 5 months, the more I realise that he was right and I was wrong.  It was a hot hot day - so hot my mum bob was pissing me off - so if you have long hair a bun is quite frankly the most sensible way to wear it.  That poor hipster had probably spent his morning slaving over a hot Gaggia, crafting endless examples of latte art. He’d have probably passed out if it wasn’t for that bun. He has chosen a tribe that he should be proud of, one concerned with craft and practical skills - these signifiers aren't trends for trend's sake but functional and utilitarian.

So now I celebrate the man bun and I salute those who wear it.  We should all like what we like, wear what we want and let others do the same. 

* I am not paid to endorse Clas Ohlson, I just really like them. Apart from their battery powered LEDs, those are terrible.

Bloody typical

So here I am, all fired up and ready to go, setting up a website, getting things just how I want them, ready to take my first spin in the blogosphere, when up out of nowhere comes the mother of all colds and it takes me down like a lioness with a baby gazelle. I haven't drunk wine this week because, at this point, the energy it takes to drink water seems to be dehydrating me. Therefore I haven't been blogging.  Stalled before I've even begun.

I'm beginning to crawl out from under the the fug of eucalyptus and that horrible snotty sweaty smell I'm currently exuding but this post is definitely not what I was planning. I had grand visions of fixing the current state of stand up comedy with a wry and witty worm's-eye view post, or saving Britain from itself with a heartfelt rant on the destruction of our NHS; instead you have me whinging about having a cold and using torturous metaphors that I'm too addle-pated to remedy. Ho-hum. Onwards and upwards i suppose.