Love

It's a silly day, this day, isn't it? But I just want to show you than sometimes it can prompt people to do lovely things. Here's my daughter helping make a Valentine's day photo for her Mum.

Better than a box of chocs and a naff card any day.

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Class Dismisssed

Tomorrow I return to lecturing television production at college. Only on a part time basis, and still keeping on all the other work I do. Gosh, now that it's down in black in white I wonder what the blazes I am doing. All this work AND the resignation of my trusty cleaner could mean a Toxic Hazard sign appears on my front door before the month is out. No matter, I need to do it. I miss them pesky kids. I've missed college ever since I left over two years ago, it was part of my identity.

Bizarrely with a two year hiatus from something that became second nature to me, I am actually quite nervous. Working with students means anything can happen. I cast my mind over incidents that happened over the years the last time around. The male student that couldn't handle doing a role play situation and pushed me over to get out of the room when one of his friends sniggered when he got tongue tied, or the time another girl student slapped a chap's face in the studio gallery when he told her what to do. As the years go on you become able to handle almost anything, and compared to schools you don't really have much in the way of discipline issues on the whole.

However you are never immune from making an absolute tit of yourself in front of a class.

About a few months into my time there as a full time Media Studies lecturer the Twin Towers were attacked. Of course as media students after a period of few weeks we looked at the news coverage and one afternoon we were discussing the common pattern that the television news coverage was taking in terms of the type of footage and media used.

"Right, you are compiling a television news report based on the newspaper article you have in front of you." I said. "What material do you need to take into the edit suite with you?"

Some-one shouts out "Towers and the planes going in"

"Yup, the actual attack. What else?"

"Photo of Osama Bin Laden"

"Yes, and who else"

"The bombers- those mugshots..." someone shouts.

"And the dodgy video that Bin Laden released" another person ventures.

I'm frantically writing all this up on a board as they shout it out. "Yes, that's all going in. What about the political angle. What are you going to show there?"

"George W Bush."

"Yes," I say turning to write the name 'Bush' up on the whiteboard. "You'll show them a bit of Bush."

One second... two seconds..three. I sigh and turn around to face them. The entire studentage is falling about laughing.

Class dismissed.



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Matron of Horror

44 year old Liz sets the tone for this post

I tell you starting your forties is a freaky experience. One recurring leitmotif that rears its head every so often like that beast in the trash compactor onboard the Death Star in Star Wars every so often is this: that I should have sorted myself out by now.

I have compiled a list of things that if you asked anyone they would say someone who is forty should have sorted out by now:

• Forty year olds should have an established career
• Forty year olds should have a pension instead of a Direct Debit instruction for the National Lottery
• Forty year olds should be able to phone a tax office without physically shaking
• Forty year olds should be able to talk to other forty year olds in suits without feeling like a wee girl
• Forty year olds should have had the braces removed from their teeth by now
  
• Forty year olds should not be contemplating actually wearing the sequined shorts given to them by their sister (who also bought herself a pair)
• Forty year olds should not be anyone’s bridesmaid
• Forty year olds should not be urging their forty-two year old friend to wear the sequined shorts she bought online
  
• Forty year olds should know how to programme the central heating
• Forty year olds should be able to have a disagreement with a client on the phone without giving the phone the Vs after the receiver has been put down.
• Forty one year olds should stop still saying that they are forty when they are not.

I am failing on all those fronts. This year I am to be a shivering, brace wearing, pensionless, career-wanting, possibly sequined short wearing(at least at one point on the Henny) bridesmaid to my friend, Sezza, the Demon Bride of Peterculter. Along with my similarly misguided (but, crucially, five years younger sister), Misssy A. My mother keeps on insisting that we’re Matrons of Honour, but really, where’s the honour in that?

Elderly bridesmaiding aside, the pension thing is the most confusing. Meeester keeps on saying things like “I’ve looked at my pension and we can’t afford to be alive past sixty. Let’s do a Sid and Nancy...which one do you want to be?” Or “I’ve booked us a consultation with that Dr Kevorkian for our Golden Wedding Anniversary. Put it in the diary and book the flight to Switzerland whilst our credit cards might still be authorised....” , or, chillingly,“It appears I’m worth more to you dead...”.

I look at my own pension portfolio through semi-closed fingers. It’s full of lots of little frozen company pensions from jobs I spent five or six years in each paying out about a fiver on maturity. It felt like I paid a lot in at the time but the cash appears to have gone through some kind of evaporation vortex. I’m totally buggered.

Still, it's not all doom and gloom. I remind myself that I’ll probably just be like my late gran, and her expensive cigarette habit aside, I should be able to live cheaply by never buying myself any new clothes given that “It’ll be a waste, because I’ll be dead soon.” Not even sequined shorts reduced from £25 to £5 that my elderly sister who I share a room with in the home has also bought herself.

And as for being one of those old ladies who can’t afford to put the heating on because they are too poor to pay their bills, I’ve got no worries. Because I still won’t be able to programme the bloody central heating anyway.

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By the way......See a response to this post from Canada's best blogger, the Ex-Urban Pedestrian here.

Scotblog Awards Results

The huge and copious Scottish Roundup blog awards are up. The Misssives came third in their category of Best Personal Blog and I’m delighted despite noting the lack of cash prize (only kidding...)

Apparently over 1,500 votes were cast which is pretty great. There are loads of blogs I had previously never heard of and I suggest if you’re thinking that your blog reading list is a little tired that you get over there and check out some of the winners/runners up. I’m certainly going to, (even just to leave rude messages on the two blogs that beat me into third place).

The categories were wide- there are photography blogs, hyper local blogs, technology blogs, art blogs, newcomers' blogs- the lot. And if you’re a Scottish blogger who wasn’t nominated this year, then maybe get in about and start commenting on the Scottish Roundup-or start nominating your own posts for inclusion every week on the forum and you’ll start to get noticed. Duncan Stephen (the blogger, Dr Vee) runs the site with a few regular volunteers and has done a huge amount to give a platform to Scottish bloggers. He’s always looking for new blogs to highlight.

And remember chums, let’s not let 140 character quips kill blogging. Paragraphs rule!

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