1) I saw A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Bolton Octagon. Not the best version I have seen, but the first professional play I have seen with disabled actors honestly integrated into the cast, putting their abilities and disabilities up front for all to see. Actually they were not disabled; they were just actors.
2) Paul and I went for a walk on a canal tow-path in Burnley. We saw a sunk narrow boat. It had only recently gone down. Maybe the ice got it? There were a pair of flip-flops on the roof, as if someone had left them out before going to bed. There was a mat hanging to dry on the tiller-arm.
3) Driving home from the canal, we drove through some of the back-streets of Burnley. Rows of terraced houses, largely occupied by Asian families - maybe from Pakistan or Bangladesh. As we looked down one street we could see black smoke pouring out of a front door. Paul slammed the brakes on. I ran up the street. Someone was just phoning the fire-brigade on his mobile. I ran to hammer on the doors of the houses on either side of the one on fire. No-one came out. But other neighbours started to come out, and some moved their cars. Two fire-engines turned up within 5 minutes. The smoke had changed from black to white, and was now billowing out of the door and the two front windows. Some of the windows popped out with the heat and flames, and we could hear explosions inside. As far as we now no-one was in the house.
Paul and I left as they were getting the water hoses laid out. There were crowds of people, Asian and white, concerned and rousing people from the other houses on the street.
I've never seen a house on fire, except on TV. The houses are crammed so close together, they face each other with only a few yards between. The whole community is so vulnerable to a fire in one house. I used to live in a house like that, as a child, and I loved being so close to everyone.
Monday 15 February 2010
The truth, and my teenage diaries
I have had two conversations this weekend, about me altering things in my teenage diaries before I publish them here. As someone who has taken a social constructionist perspective in research, I understand that there is the truth, then there is the truth..... This ties in with a lecture I delivered recently on our on-line Masters programme.
When I wrote my secret 5 year diary in the 1970s I was giving a representation of my own version of events - what I would have said was the truth. This was clearly impacted on by some conscious distortion, but also by my need to create a certain personal identity narrative. What I wrote was also influenced by my age, the era and my hormones, as well as my personality. I was of my class, my gender and the '70s. So the socio-political influences, as well as the personal, helped construct the account I gave of myself.
Now here I am 40 years later, re-presenting my teenage representation of myself. The current socio-political climate, my development in terms of gender, class, education etc all have an impact on how I construe what I said then, and how I choose to transform it in the telling here and now (are you keeping up?)
If I choose not to report my grumpy jealous feelings, who am I protecting? If I leave in my comments about the Common Market, but not about my relationships, then I am clearly constructing an image, consciously, to some extent.
I am drivelling on in this vain because my sister said that I shouldn't attempt to make my 1970 diary entries politically correct to 2010 standards. (In my February(II) 1970 entry, I have said that Norma's friend Canchan was an Indian, when in fact, in my diary I called her coloured. This now makes me cringe, but, actually, at the time, I was being politically correct, although pc, as a term, wasn't in use then. In fact, Canchan was a Ugandan Asian, a refugee from Idi Amin's rule.
Another really interesting problem I had in transcribing, was that I put that my mum's birthday slippers cost 9sh 11d. In fact, in my real diary, I had put 9/11. This has such a different meaning nowadays that I chose not to use it.
My running friends say that I should leave all my jealousies and paranoias in my accounts, because these are fairly typical of the insecurities of all 13 year old girls. Not totally convinced about this. It could end up with my current relationships with old friends suffering! The truth may continue not to be fully out....
The overall outcome of this is that I have decided that, where appropriate, I will have to put a little commentary on diary sections. A bit like film directors do on DVDs.
When I wrote my secret 5 year diary in the 1970s I was giving a representation of my own version of events - what I would have said was the truth. This was clearly impacted on by some conscious distortion, but also by my need to create a certain personal identity narrative. What I wrote was also influenced by my age, the era and my hormones, as well as my personality. I was of my class, my gender and the '70s. So the socio-political influences, as well as the personal, helped construct the account I gave of myself.
Now here I am 40 years later, re-presenting my teenage representation of myself. The current socio-political climate, my development in terms of gender, class, education etc all have an impact on how I construe what I said then, and how I choose to transform it in the telling here and now (are you keeping up?)
If I choose not to report my grumpy jealous feelings, who am I protecting? If I leave in my comments about the Common Market, but not about my relationships, then I am clearly constructing an image, consciously, to some extent.
I am drivelling on in this vain because my sister said that I shouldn't attempt to make my 1970 diary entries politically correct to 2010 standards. (In my February(II) 1970 entry, I have said that Norma's friend Canchan was an Indian, when in fact, in my diary I called her coloured. This now makes me cringe, but, actually, at the time, I was being politically correct, although pc, as a term, wasn't in use then. In fact, Canchan was a Ugandan Asian, a refugee from Idi Amin's rule.
Another really interesting problem I had in transcribing, was that I put that my mum's birthday slippers cost 9sh 11d. In fact, in my real diary, I had put 9/11. This has such a different meaning nowadays that I chose not to use it.
My running friends say that I should leave all my jealousies and paranoias in my accounts, because these are fairly typical of the insecurities of all 13 year old girls. Not totally convinced about this. It could end up with my current relationships with old friends suffering! The truth may continue not to be fully out....
The overall outcome of this is that I have decided that, where appropriate, I will have to put a little commentary on diary sections. A bit like film directors do on DVDs.
Saturday 13 February 2010
My Diaries
publishing my diaries from when I was in my teens is a weird thing to do! And - it presents me with various dilemmas. I have decided to use initials for most of my friends. I have also decided not to put in all the negative moany things I wrote. So, in fact, I am editting my image, trying to give the impression of someone more cheerful and pleasant than I actually was. I'll apologise for that here. If I published it verbatim I would have some psychotherapist hunting me down to give me therapy (or I would lose all my fb friends, who would see me for the adult-with-miserable-child-inside that I am.
I have also decided that I can manage to publish 2 years at once, so this year I'm tackling 1970 and 1971. There are gaps in 1971, when clearly, the misery of life prevented me from writing. In 1971 I was 14, so maybe I can be forgiven my moodiness.
I have also decided that I can manage to publish 2 years at once, so this year I'm tackling 1970 and 1971. There are gaps in 1971, when clearly, the misery of life prevented me from writing. In 1971 I was 14, so maybe I can be forgiven my moodiness.
To move or not to move - update.
So what about the house buying? Well - PWR and I made an offer for the nice house, but the vendors laughed in the face of our cheek! It was a sign of our ambivalence that we felt okay about having the offer rejected. Isn't buying a house a big thing to do? How can one possibly make such a big decision based on just one or two visits?
The sensible way to know whether a house is right for you would be to borrow it for a week, move in with essentials (like a holday home), then try it out for size and suitablity. Then in the week, you could go round and chat to the neighbours, see how the sun falls on the house through the day, assess traffic noises at all hours, see how drafty it is, and experience the journey to work. But as PWR keeps telling me, there is no such thing as a perfect house.
How do people make these big decisions? P and I wake up each morning and say - well - are you running hot or cold on the house today? And we both go up and down.
Do we need a bigger house? I think so. But, with a small house, we are freer. We could, if we wished, have a house and a narrow boat of our own. Or a house and a more reliable camper-van. But with a bigger house I could have more that 2 people round for a meal, and I could hang more pictures. Oh well, we'll see.
The sensible way to know whether a house is right for you would be to borrow it for a week, move in with essentials (like a holday home), then try it out for size and suitablity. Then in the week, you could go round and chat to the neighbours, see how the sun falls on the house through the day, assess traffic noises at all hours, see how drafty it is, and experience the journey to work. But as PWR keeps telling me, there is no such thing as a perfect house.
How do people make these big decisions? P and I wake up each morning and say - well - are you running hot or cold on the house today? And we both go up and down.
Do we need a bigger house? I think so. But, with a small house, we are freer. We could, if we wished, have a house and a narrow boat of our own. Or a house and a more reliable camper-van. But with a bigger house I could have more that 2 people round for a meal, and I could hang more pictures. Oh well, we'll see.
My diary 1971 February
Feb 9 - 15
On Feb 15 Britain will change their money system to decimals. Very complicated and difficult. The old money system goes like this - one pound is split up into 20 shillings. 1 shilling is split up into 12 pennies - thus 240 pennies in a pound. Awkward number, yes? Agreed? Right. The new system goes like this. One pound is split into 100 pence. A pence can be split in half. As simple as that. So 1 pound = a pound. 10 shillings = 50p. 5 shillings = 25p. 2/6 = 12and a half p. 1 shilling = 5p. 2 shillings = 10p. D-Day is Feb 15th. Big step for Britain towards Common Market.
On Feb 15 Britain will change their money system to decimals. Very complicated and difficult. The old money system goes like this - one pound is split up into 20 shillings. 1 shilling is split up into 12 pennies - thus 240 pennies in a pound. Awkward number, yes? Agreed? Right. The new system goes like this. One pound is split into 100 pence. A pence can be split in half. As simple as that. So 1 pound = a pound. 10 shillings = 50p. 5 shillings = 25p. 2/6 = 12and a half p. 1 shilling = 5p. 2 shillings = 10p. D-Day is Feb 15th. Big step for Britain towards Common Market.
My diary 1970 February (ii)
Feb 13 Fri
Got up dead late. Had full up day. Went up town. Bought cushions, bra, presents for S and KJ. Dad bought electric blanket. Bit of anger from me.
Feb 14 Sat
Valentine's Day! Norma's David came round. I went to K's party. Quite good. Missed J and S. Heard gorgeous record called 'I was born under a wandrin' star' by Lee Marvin.
Feb 15 Sun
Went to S's party. Quite good. Some great records. Did my Russian Spy act.
Feb 16 Mon
Shirley came. Went to visit our old School, Richmond Street. Only Mr Bradley, Mr and Mrs Harrison and Mrs Tuft left. I like Mr Bradley best. He helps you to talk to him.
Feb 19 Thur
Miss Hatch made lower four E's dreary play a bit more lively. Spent dinner alone.
Feb 20 Fri
Someone spreading rumours about nurse coming for TB jabs. UGH. Terrified.
Feb 21 Sat
Great day. Had bath. Felt in making mood. Made some dye, painted a litter bin for me, made shortbread. Cathy came. Watched 'Wicked Women'
Feb 22 Sun
Becky came visiting. Kept being cruel to Lady. On purpose. Sitting on her. Pulling her. UGH.
Feb 26 Thur
An awful day. J went off with S all day. I was jealous. Still haven't got mum's present.
Feb 27 Fri
Felt guilty 'cos everyone got mum a present 'cept me. Went after school though and got her a pair of slippers. 9sh 11d. Made up with S thank goodness.
Feb 28 Sat
Went with mum and dad and Auntie May to pub called Black Lad for tea. Fantastic. All 'Olde Worlde'. Toby jugs, swords, horse-brasses etc. Met Norma's Indian friend Canchan. Quite nice. Shy
Got up dead late. Had full up day. Went up town. Bought cushions, bra, presents for S and KJ. Dad bought electric blanket. Bit of anger from me.
Feb 14 Sat
Valentine's Day! Norma's David came round. I went to K's party. Quite good. Missed J and S. Heard gorgeous record called 'I was born under a wandrin' star' by Lee Marvin.
Feb 15 Sun
Went to S's party. Quite good. Some great records. Did my Russian Spy act.
Feb 16 Mon
Shirley came. Went to visit our old School, Richmond Street. Only Mr Bradley, Mr and Mrs Harrison and Mrs Tuft left. I like Mr Bradley best. He helps you to talk to him.
Feb 19 Thur
Miss Hatch made lower four E's dreary play a bit more lively. Spent dinner alone.
Feb 20 Fri
Someone spreading rumours about nurse coming for TB jabs. UGH. Terrified.
Feb 21 Sat
Great day. Had bath. Felt in making mood. Made some dye, painted a litter bin for me, made shortbread. Cathy came. Watched 'Wicked Women'
Feb 22 Sun
Becky came visiting. Kept being cruel to Lady. On purpose. Sitting on her. Pulling her. UGH.
Feb 26 Thur
An awful day. J went off with S all day. I was jealous. Still haven't got mum's present.
Feb 27 Fri
Felt guilty 'cos everyone got mum a present 'cept me. Went after school though and got her a pair of slippers. 9sh 11d. Made up with S thank goodness.
Feb 28 Sat
Went with mum and dad and Auntie May to pub called Black Lad for tea. Fantastic. All 'Olde Worlde'. Toby jugs, swords, horse-brasses etc. Met Norma's Indian friend Canchan. Quite nice. Shy
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