Furry Friends

At the starting line the excitement was palpable, the air filled with riotous barking, yelps and howls. We were about to begin our "Wag and Walk" event, when the local community get together with their canine friends and everyone goes for a 3 km walk around the suburb and up and down the volcanoes. My two lovely little Bichon Frise girls, Bella and Millie, with their bright merry and inquisitive nature and white curly coats, were straining at the leash.

It was a bit like a scene from the book "Hairy Mclary from Donaldson Dairy" - there was Hercules Morse as big as a horse, Muffin McClay like a bundle of hay … Some tiny dogs looked no bigger than a rat on a leash, some hurly burly ones had the most incredible wrinkles and creases, and some were even dressed up with bows and jackets. One little girl doggie was dressed in a little pink tutu with black lacy leggings. The outfit had come from Japan! It must have been in the running for the prize for the best dressed dog. All doggies were very good natured and everyone commented on how well behaved they were. And the humans were pretty good natured and well behaved too.

But a day later we found Millie limping and whining when we touched her paw. Off we went to the vet who had to sedate poor Millie in order to clean and bandage her paw as she was howling so much - she is quite the Drama Queen. The vet said she must have stood on something on the walk which had infected her paw. A couple of hundred dollars later we took her home with strict instructions on nursing care, having to bathe Millie's foot twice a day, apply special ointment and rebandage with a little sock. All those odd kids socks finally came into use. Poor Millie was so distressed, her little body shaking with the ordeal, looking up at us with big brown mournful eyes. There can be no doubt that animals feel pain if not more than humans do.

So Millie had to miss the next doggie event when my gospel choir sang at a Francis of Assisi (the patron saint of animals) church service, a special ceremony for the blessing of animals. The whole church was packed with animals - dogs, cats, rabbits, budgies and cockatiels in cages, and the air was filled with a cacophony of howling, mewing, barking and tweeting. In between the humans sitting in the pews were big hairy dogs, some little old ladies holding their lap poodles with pretty bows in their hair and a couple of big dogs having a bit of a rough and tumble in the front. It was a most surreal moment when sitting up in the front pew overlooking the church I could see Bella, her tail wagging enthusiastically with a big smile on her face. The choir raised our voices to the heavens but were pretty much drowned out by the howls and barking.

"This is like something out of the Vicar of Dimbleby" said the Minister with an American Baltimore drawl, to which his congregation barked and mewed enthusiastically. "If only we could be more like our furry friends, always happy, always caring, not in need of a fix of coffee in the morning to wake ourselves up, or alcohol to make ourselves happy". (Later my hubby thought that that was a lot of dogswollop!)

The Minister reminded the congregation that we are all God's creatures and of the scriptures of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, to protect and enjoy nature. Legend has it that St Francis, on his deathbed thanked his donkey for carrying and helping him throughout his life, and his donkey wept.

A spokesperson from the RSPCA then spoke about the cruelty to animals today especially with the way we treat animals for mass food production. We have lost any sense that animals, like humans are sentient beings who feel pain as strongly as we do.

Later a haphazard queue formed as the Minister blessed the dogs, cats, budgies, rabbits and even a goat. Bella got a pat on the head and the sign of the crucifixion, but somehow I think she might have felt more blessed if she had been given a big juicy bone. It certainly would have put a big smile on her face.

Teenage Nightmare

The call came late Saturday night when I was in bed asleep. It was 1.15am to be exact. "This is the Takapuna Police", he said. I knew my teenage daughter had gone to town clubbing. My heart jumped. It’s the call every mother of a teenager dreads.

to be followed later ...

Crazy World

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Although I live in a very neat and orderly suburb with regularly mowed lawns, trimmed hedges and pleasant neighbours there are a couple of quite crazy people about. For the most part they are quite harmless, busy getting on with their lives with a sense of ardent purpose which keeps them busy and for the most part out of trouble. In a way just like non-strange people, (if there is such a thing). Maybe its just a matter of opinion as to what constitutes "a sense of purpose". But in a strange kind of way it makes life quite interesting.

Take for example a chap we call "the sack man". I've often spotted him walking determinedly up and down the main streets and sometimes as far away as the next suburbs. He's always carrying a couple of sacks, at least three bulging big plastic sacks filled with what looks like newspaper. He himself is dressed in brown ragged cloth looking not dissimilar to Robinson Crusoe's Man Friday complete with long matted hair and beard and leather sandals and skin burnt a deep brown.

He walks hunched over with his sacks on his back as if he's labouring under the load but he keeps going with seemingly determined purpose. I often wonder where he is going to, if there might be something in those sacks that needs to be delivered or if he sets off in the morning from where ever he lives and just keeps on walking and walking. I know that he can read because one day as he walked past me he stopped, put down his load, pointed to a car and said loudly "autosecurity!" which was written on the side of a security van. Perhaps he thought they were coming to take him away. Then he picked up his sacks, put them over his back and went off on his merry way.

Then there's another chap we call "muttering Jim" who is often spotted walking with a determined swagger up and down the local streets and often far away in the next couple of suburbs. I've also spotted him early in the morning so I know he's not one for a lie-in. He appears reasonably well dressed, clean shaven and sports good walking shoes.

He seems to spend every day walking for miles, and, no matter what the weather, never has an umbrella. Sometimes I see him in the local library with a takeaway coffee but never reading a book, just swaggering about muttering to himself. Then he is off again on his mission to walk the suburbs. Sometimes I'll be miles away driving along and then I'll see him swaggering along muttering to himself and I'll wonder where is he going. I suppose all that walking is good exercise, keeps him fit, and is a useful/harmless way to spend your day even if it ends up wearing out his shoes!

Then there's one crazy lady, I'll call her Mavis, who is on a mission to protest against the local council. She has a trespass order against her not to come near the council building but this does little to prevent her protests. She stands at a discreet distance with a big placard hanging over her neck saying things like "the Mayor is Bin Laden" and "Politicians are pollution and corrupt the world".

Then she often rants at passersby that Bin Laden is in the building and tells them to go and get him. Lately she's also had a trespass order preventing her from going into the local shopping mall because she got arrested for spitting at the mayor who was attending some function there.

All this craziness seems to have become quite contagious. Even the local news has become quite mad. Our very own local mayor got stalked the other night after leaving a restaurant and was caught peeing under a lemon tree. It made headline news the next day and by lunch time there was a man outside the council building holding up a banner proclaiming "Pee Protest" and urging passers-by to sign his petition.

To great effect he turned sideways squirting a water bottle from hip length to make it look like he was having a pee. It was an even more surreal moment when behind him, there was Mavis, busy watering the flowers! I would have thought it a late April fool joke had I not seen it on the evening TV national news. Well if its made it to the national TV news then it must be true! Which just goes to show that truth is often stranger than fiction.

Welcome to my world ..:-)

Rugby

Despite having lived in South Africa, United Kingdom and now New Zealand, 3 rugby crazy nations, I had never been to a live rugby match in my life. You could say I am a live rugby match virgin. That is if you don't count the live rugby match my young nephew played in one very wet Saturday morning. After traipsing across muddy wet fields in the rain we came across the poor boy sitting on the sides of the pitch as a reserve and the team didn't give him a chance to have a go on the field. So the game was a rather dispiriting, wet and desultory affair.

Perhaps its because I've been living under a stone all these years and have never been compelled to go to a rugby game. But lately I've got thinking that as I'm living in a rugby crazy nation (where you can't go anywhere without some gigantic annoying screen screaming a rugby game at you), I might as well get to know something about this national obsession and get to know the natives.
So when I heard that there was going to be a game at a nearby stadium with our local team and the national Japanese team it seemed like a good idea to go. Poppy my little daughter was surprisingly keen and, even though it was a cold wintry night, urged us on to go. Venturing out to an open stadium was not, to me, as enticing as curling up on the sofa by the fire, but, as my hubby pointed out, with the World Cup's coming, we've got to make an effort to know more about rugby.

As in "when in Rome do as the Romans do".

So, off we drove to the stadium which is all flash-new and in a nearby suburb. These massive stadium lights literally lit up everything like daytime which is quite impressive. It was surprisingly easy to find a car park and even easier to get tickets and find seats in a throng of excited supporters. The atmosphere was quite electric and everyone was waving about these little flags, one for the local team North Harbour and one for the Japanese team. Poppy was very excited to have a flag to wave.


In our neck of the woods all sporting teams are called North Harbour, from rugby, to swimming, even my son's gymnastic team. And they all wear the same branded colours of maroon, black and white. So if you're at any sport event, just shout for "North Harbour" and you can't go wrong. Whilst the atmosphere was building up we got ourselves a cold beer and hot chips. The combination of this on a cold night in anticipation of a game was surprisingly most satisfying.

It started off with everyone standing up to sing the National Anthem. Poppy knew all the words, I was most impressed. Then a beautiful Japanese lady sang the Japanese National Anthem. And the game began. "Go North Harbour!" we shouted even tho' my flag was a Japanese one. The Japanese team were quite small in comparison to the Kiwi blokes, except one chap. "Isn't that Jonah Lomu?" I said, perhaps a bit too loud as I got a stern look from an onlooker. He seemed as awesome in the field.

At half time North Harbour were well on their way to winning. Whilst everyone was getting more chips and beer the Auckland Cultural Society came out with huge Japanese Drums known as Taiko which was performed with an ensemble of martial artists.

Taiko ensembles are groups that are nearly completely drum instruments, with a couple of exceptions. Each of the drums plays a very specific role to the overall aspect of the ensemble. Of the many different styles and shapes of Taiko drums, the most common drum found in an ensemble would likely be the nagado-daiko. It was interesting to later find out that in feudal Japan, Taiko were often used to motivate troops, to help set a marching pace, and to call out orders or announcements. Approaching or entering a battle, the taiko yaku (drummer) was responsible for setting the marching pace.

However this motivation did nothing to spur the Japanese team on to victory. In fact the second half saw the North Harbour team winning decisively. I still don't understand the rules such as when its off-side, but I have to agree, its good entertainment for a night out. No wonder it’s a hit with the masses. Rugby World Cup here I come!

Sunday Roasts

There's nothing quite like a Sunday roast, a feast at the end of the week with roast vegetables and Yorkshire puddings, usually followed with a pudding and a couple of glasses of wine. Its particularly nice on wintry Sunday afternoons with the fire going and as it gets dark outside the warmth of the hearth glows, the house is filled with the wonderful aromas of the roast sizzling away in the oven.

I'm not sure when it became an institution in our household but it has now achieved iconic status. Perhaps it started a long time ago when I was a kid growing up in Africa and on Sunday we went to Church in the morning and had Sunday roast in the afternoon, even in oppressive heat when its so hot you can barely move.

And so it followed that when my children were small I did the same thing. I would take them to Church in the morning followed by a Sunday roast in the afternoon. Well I tried to take them to Church, but as the years went by it got harder to take them so I suppose I just gave up. Now of course, my youngest child who is just seven has never really been to church and loves to go when given the chance. But Sundays have always held one common theme and that is when the family gets together and sits around the table and enjoys a lovely roast with all the trimmings.

What I like about it is that it is one day of the week when everyone gets together and sits around a table set with a table cloth, china, cutlery and glasses and partakes in what is often a feast. Usually during the week everyone is coming and going at different times and no one has the time to sit down together for a meal. Often my kids eat 'on the go' standing up, before flying out the house.

So how to prepare the ideal roast. First of all you have to go to the butcher and find a nice big piece of meat. Personally I like lamb, but you can have a piece of bolar beef or belly of pork or a couple of chickens. I say a couple because now that I have teenage children, especially a teenage son one chicken for all of us is no longer enough. In the old days what was nice about a Sunday roast was the left overs for the next day, there would be enough meat for sandwiches and for dinner on Monday. But now there is hardly anything left over at all, perhaps just one potato and a couple of carrots.

While the roast is busy sizzling away in the oven I usually start on the pudding. When the children were small I used to often make a bread and butter pudding which was a useful way of using up all the stale bread left overs. But they seem to have outgrown that now and generally prefer a bought pudding, although I usually make an apple crumble which always goes down a treat and its so easy to make too. This usually goes with a bit of vanilla ice-cream or even fresh cream. Once the apple crumble is in the oven I start with steaming a few vegetables. I have also by now popped a few roasted vegetables in the oven with the roast, such as potatoes, pumpkin, onions and sometimes towards the end big flat mushrooms.

At this point I have usually poured myself a glass or two of wine and have started to do a bit of quality control on the sizzling roast which has browned nicely on the outside by now so I cut off a little slice making sure everything is going according to plan. The smells are now wafting through the house so that brings my teenage son into the kitchen wanting to do some quality control as well and asking with a pained expression when dinner is going to be ready. I try to fob him off at this point by getting him and the little daughter to set the table as once the table is set with a table cloth, cutlery, glasses and even sometimes a few candle then dinner is usually tantalisingly close. Around this time the elder daughter comes home, usually from a weekend of being out with her mates, but on Sunday by late afternoon she's like a homing pigeon and arrives impeccably on time for dinner.

My husband knows that I usually take ownership of the Sunday roast dinner and does not interfere. However, there are some things that I am not good at. Making the gravy is one of them. Somehow when I make it, it always comes out a bit lumpy, I've have never quite got the hang of making a roux. So when its gravy time I generally abdicate from the kitchen leaving him to it and remind him to use the water from the steamed vegetables. This is a bit of an in-house joke as I've been "reminding" him for about 20 years. The other thing my hubby always does is carve the meat, a bit of a man's job, whilst I pop a few Yorkshire puds into the oven.

Once everything is served on the table one of the hardest things for the kids to do is to wait for me to sit down before starting which is something my hubby has always insisted they do. Its taken years of training and still its often quite difficult to control them. Nowadays we also have to hold my son back so that he doesn't eat all the meat in one go. But mostly what is the nicest thing about the Sunday meal is that once everyone is sitting around the table and chatting we all get to know each other again. We find out what my daughter has been studying at school and how many balls she is going to go to this year. I discovered just how much my son doesn't believe in God and sees no point in religion. And often we have many interesting philosophical debates about God, our existence and the meaning of life.

A couple of years ago there was a campaign to Keep Sundays Special. I think it is one special day of the week because that is the day when we have our Sunday roast.

What do I DO

What Do I DO




What do

I do when my mind is on fire

My emotions are like a tornado

But I still feel as flat as a blank piece of paper



Its like



I still havn’t got “it”

I’m still not connected

I haven’t realised meaning

Or perhaps

It means I will never know?



You see



Not know is a strong force

Not now is stronger but

Cruelty is stronger than kindness

Strength is keeping me down



And another thing ..



There is a Queen ruling my mind

Housing my body

Who has never sought my permission



From Me



No licence

No positive mission

No role in my soul



But is high emotional maintenance



I am a high and low emotional junkie

I buy into that



Ebbs and flows

Like life itself

My source of life in motion

An estuary that

Feeds an ocean

Fauna and Flora

Fauna and Flora




I realised the perils of suburban wild life in the heat of summer the other day when my nearest and dearest (Phil) made me a home cooked breakfast of eggs and bacon and baked beans. I came downstairs a few minutes later, popped it into the microwave for 30 sec and then sat down at the breakfast bar. Then, with knife and fork poised, there on the glistening yellow yoke and wriggling about was a very much alive maggot! I could not believe my eyes and let out a yelp. Well, actually I screamed like a banshee (which woke up my teenage daughter who doesn't usually rise until midday on the weekend) and dragged Phil out of the shower to come and see the offending vermin. The maggot had by now made its way over to the baked beans and was wriggling away in the sauce. It must have come from the baked beans said Phil and went into the bin to inspect the can. On opening the bin a huge swarm of ants piled out (but more on that later).



But the maggot couldn't have come from the tin can of beans there must have been another source. I began to eye my 15 year old son who was finding this all rather amusing and asked very po-faced whether he had by any chance put the maggot on the egg as a practical joke. It was almost April Fool's Day after all. But his denial was very convincing. It had to have dropped from somewhere, but where, perhaps the ceiling but that seemed impossible.



So now in total horror I was on a complete mission to ransack and disinfect the whole kitchen. I started with the pantry cupboard, from the top. I had noticed a couple of moths in there. Everything got taken out and the whole cupboard disinfected. I went through everything with a ruthless zeal. And then I found the gruesome evidence of moths laying their eggs and tiny hatched maggots in everything. They had gotten into the rice, the pasta, the herbs and even the English Mustard! Unbelievably they had managed to get into sealed packets, those tiny maggots have incredibly strong teeth. Yet amazingly enough there was no sign of entry. Just on opening a perfectly sealed packet I would find signs of a chrysalis and a strange thread-like texture on the food, a sure sign of break-in and entry. By the time I came round to cooking rice I was just about inspecting each grain of rice with a microscope. My whole sense of judgement became clouded by the possible look of a maggot. Even rice when it was cooking began to take on the look of boiling maggots. I was becoming obsessed with anything that could look like a maggot. In fact it was going to be difficult to ever eat rice again!



After I had purged the whole pantry cupboard, I was still obsessed that there might be a stray moth lurking there. I would open the door suddenly, to catch an offending moth in mid flight. When I saw one (or two my heart sank and I knew the true meaning of depression). I did catch a few, which was bad news, one moth can lay hundreds of eggs.



So everything came out again and the whole cupboard disinfected especially in the tiniest crooks and crannies. I was even more ruthless about throwing out anything that wasn't sealed so the pantry was beginning to look rather bare. The only things that really remained were things that had sugar in them. I've discovered moths and maggots don't really go for sugar, perhaps that's why sugar is considered a good preservative.



After a couple of days all was beginning to look quiet on the pantry front. But we still had a major problem with ants overflowing from the bin. On the advice from a man in a shop we laid a trap of a sickly green liquid which the ants like and take a little back with them to their colony. And then the whole colonies dies!!



But then one little soldier ant must have been out on reconnaissance and reported back to the whole army about the nice stash of glace cherries on the top of the pantry cupboard. For on opening the pantry door the next day I came upon a swarming mass of ants feasting on the cherries. We followed the trail of ants all the way down, through the tiniest of cracks in the cupboard, down to the floor, over and around the breakfast bar down into a little crack in the floor. Feeling utterly ruthless we set up a trap with the sickly green liquid in the pantry and let them tuck in. It was, admittedly, a little difficult to sit back and watch this happen, but I have to say ants are just marginally better than maggots and moths to have in your pantry cupboard, so I was able to cope. Slowly after a couple of days piles of carcasses began to form and the tailback to the nest disappeared. And the whole pantry got cleared out and disinfected yet again!



Finally we congratulated ourselves on getting rid of the deluge of pests. I was quite relieved that the weather was getting a bit cooler. Warmer weather sure hatches life. It makes you wonder what might happen with global warming. Animals and insects will proliferate and may take over the world. The cooler weather of Winter never seemed so appealing!



But the next day the cats brought in a mouse and it escaped under the sofa ….

F-Bomb

F-BOMB



International Women's Day (IWD) on 8th March reminded me of the days back in the 80s when, as an ardent feminist, us sistas used to send each other solidarity post cards with captions such as "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle". I wonder if women still do that sort of thing. I suppose not. It seems that IWD barely gets a mention at all anymore. It used to be one of the highlight conscious-raising days of the year when us sisters gathered for deep and meaningful discussion on sexual and gender politics (often over a lentil stew, beansprout salad and red wine.). Hairy legs and armpits were trendy, heaven forbid wearing lipstick, and a Brazilian was someone who lived in South America! Some of us went everywhere barefoot and rode a bicycle and, of course, most of us were vegetarian. But then feminism seems to have changed somewhat over the years.

The other day I asked my 17 year old daughter and her friend what they know about feminism. "Is that when those crazy ladies chained themselves to the fence to get the vote?" I explained that there have been waves of feminism. The suffragette stage in the early 20th century was the first wave, my active feminist days in the 80s were part of the second wave and now, apparently, we're in the third wave of feminism, or Lipstick Feminism. "Is that like a Tsunami then!" was the reply! A feminist tsunami - now there's a thought.

But on probing deeper, I found very little nurturing instincts with either of them. The thought of having babies horrified them, they don't want them, they want careers and babies will get in the way.…. But most of all they want to earn lots of money and have fun!

Second wave feminism empowered many women but it also generated a backlash stimulating negative stereotypes of what it means to be a feminist. Lipstick feminist find it sexually empowering to wear make up, dress up and hold feminist values. Women argue that by taking control of their sexuality from wearing short skirts to pole dancing they are empowering themselves and women in general. So now its OK for women to call each other "bitch" because they've taken control of the word. It seems anything goes as long you find it empowering (so if having a facelift and tummytuck empowers you then that's ok … hmmm? Perhaps if it can be pain free too?)

When I said to my daughter that now we're in the Lipstick Feminism wave she seemed reasonably happy to be part of that wave. But then she's got more attitude than her petite blond bombshell can handle and I'd say she's more part of the Grrrlll Power movement. All that attitude will, I'm sure, stand her in good stead. For her its automatic that she will go to university and do a science degree, whereas in my generation if it was a career especially anything to do with science you could become a nurse. And then that career would be put on hold while you raise your family. Little does she know that her sense of entitlement now is because of all the hard won struggles of the previous generations?

I have to say that I have always been true to my feminist ideals, have never been dependant on a man and have always worked through raising my three children. But everything seemed a struggle, from going to university, to climbing the rungs of a career and constantly hitting that glass ceiling. Many women have felt conned by feminism (perhaps in the second wave) when they believed they could have it all - the career, the children, the relationship, the power! When I found myself still hanging up the laundry at midnight after a long hard day's work and sleepless nights you don't feel like a superwoman, just super exhausted! Yet I would not want it any other way and have been glad to have grown up in a generation where women have informed choices and opportunities.

Since its birth Women's Day has grown to become a global day of recognition and celebration across developed and developing nations. There is now a significant change and attitudinal shift in women and society's thoughts about women's equality and emancipation. Younger generations may feel that all the battles have been won but unfortunately women are still not paid equally and globally education, health and violence against them is worse than that of men. Women are still largely absent from key decision-making positions in business and politics.

Still 1.3 billion people live in absolute poverty and majority are women, women work two thirds of the worlds working hours but earn only one tenth of the world's income and nearly a billion people in the world are illiterate, two thirds of them women. A women still dies every minute as a result of problems in pregnancy and childbirth and the vast majority are preventable. One in three women worldwide is beaten, coerced into sex and it is estimated that 100 million females are missing from the planet as a result of sex-selective abortion, discriminatory nutrition and routine violence against women, a 'gendercide" that far exceeds the genocides of the 20th century. Violence against women and the violation of women's rights are global problems.

But girls these days are outstripping boy's performance at school and (in the UK) there's been a five-fold increase in the number of women who earn more than their partners over the last generation. And the numbers of women in charge of the purse strings is likely to rise as a result of the recession which sees a greater proportion of men losing their jobs and women able to multitask with several part time jobs. Ironically for many its not a matter of choice but necessity and not necessarily empowering, just often very frustrating and exhausting as bills need to be paid. The rise of so-called breadwinning wives has led to a number of support groups for men. Men call each other "Brother" and "Bro" these days, a bit like us Sisters back in the second wave. Perhaps these support groups will grow into conscious-raising groups calling for a World Men's Day (WMD). But lets hope that this doesn't become confused with Weapons of Mass Destruction something very easily done.

Sexy lies

Sexy lies


If I was a British taxpayer I would be annoyed at the use of good public money spent on the Chilcot Inquiry into the Iraq War. Six years after the invasion into Iraq there have been three inquiries. We know that yet another inquiry is not going to change anything. The damage has been done. We know that the truth about the threat of Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD's) was exaggerated. The inquiry will be at best a gentle prodding and at worst an admonishing for sexing up "that dossier".

It has been a disastrous war. No WMD's were discovered after the war despite Tony Blair telling Parliament there was "no doubt" they were in Iraq somewhere. Over a million Iraqi people have been killed with five million refugees, of which the US have taken a handful (69 people granted refugee status in the US by 2007). At least 2,000 Iraqi doctors have been killed and 250 kidnapped. At least 179 British soldiers have been killed and many hundreds more injured. The war has cost the British public some $8.4 billion, in excess of $1 billion a year. Think how well this money could have served the failing NHS. Instead, it has served to increase the Jihad against the West and brought Islamic terrorism to Mainland Britain.

This is what is so annoying. I and many others were vehemently against the War and argued vociferously against the misguided need to invade Iraq as some kind of solution to the War on Terror. Saddam Hussein was a tyrant. But there are many tyrants in the world that the West doesn't unilaterally invade. Iraq had nothing to do with the 9/11 terrorist attack on New York. It was obviously a knee jerk reaction with the added bonus of freeing up the oil supplies in one of the largest oil supplying countries in the world.

When US forces were mobilising around the borders of Iraq and the drum roll beat grew louder and louder I and many others had heated discussions and arguments with friends and family alike in opposition to military action against Iraq. It was obvious to me and thousands of others (you did not need to be a rocket scientist or a UN arms inspector) to know that the invasion into Iraq was not going to solve the war on terror. In fact we knew it would worsen it.

Round the Cabinet table were doubters like International Development Secretary Clare Short insisting Mr Blair should "not divert from the UN route" and must resist joining any unilateral military action by the US. Robin Cook, Leader of the House of Commons and a leading cabinet sceptic, resigned in protest saying "In principle I believe it is wrong to embark on military action without broad international support. In practice I believe it is against Britain's interest to create a precedent for unilateral military action". Gordon Brown held on to a very long silence. Amongst church leaders, Dr Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury was early to voice his deep doubts as to the wisdom of military action. Cardinal Cormac Murphy O'Connor, leader of the Catholic church in England and Wales made clear his disquiet over going to war with Saddam as have Church of England Bishops, the Pope and other religious leaders.

It was why hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets of London to voice their opposition to military action against Iraq. In February 2003 there was the UK's biggest ever demonstration with at least 750,000 people taking part although organisers put the figure close to 2 million. There were also anti-war gatherings in Glasgow and Belfast with hundreds of rallies and marches in up to 60 countries. This all came as Tony Blair gave warnings of "bloody consequences" if Iraq was not confronted. He did not "seek unpopularity as a badge of honour" he said, but "sometimes it is the price of leadership and the cost of conviction". To which the crowd responded sounding horns and banging drums waving slogans "No War on Iraq" and "Make Tea, Not War". From Stop the War Coalition, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, the Muslim Association they all converged to the rally in protest.

Some of the comments of ordinary people held up banners reading "Bush and Blair, A Good Christian will never Kill". Other high profile supporters were writer Tariq Ali, ex-minister Mo Mowlam, Ken Livingstone, Vanessa Redgrave, Bianca Jagger and MP Tony Benn. Harold Pinter made a rare public speech saying America was "a country run by a bunch of criminal lunatics with Tony Blair as a hired Christian thug!"

I can understand embellishing the truth on occasion. We all do this from time to time: to make a story more interesting, to engage with your audience, to sell a product.
But when you are the leaders of a democratic and free country such as Great Britain the need to embellish a story about weapons of mass destruction in order to gather support for a parliamentary vote to take a whole country to war is just plain irresponsible. Every word has the power of a bullet. Not only were events engineered to take a whole country to war in a gung-ho guns a-blazing way but there was no deep analysis about the complexity of that country nor a realistic exit strategy. That is just foolhardy. Hence the mess we are in today. Winning a war is not only about invading it, its about winning hearts and minds, neither of which have been won in Iraq nor the UK. But its particularly won the hatred of the hearts and minds in the Islamic world.

The day suicide bombers came to mainland UK was a very dark day. The gloss of living in London was forever changed. I was never able to travel on the underground in the same sort of way, often with complete fear and trepidation. To be blown to pieces in the depths of a dark tunnel (or worse to lie maimed in darkness with rats running over you) was too horrendous to contemplate. Even travelling on the bus sitting next to someone with a holdall and headphones became unsettling. Its just too easy. How can you argue against a suicide bomber who carry out these horrific acts with the promise of martyrdom, glory and 70 virgins in the afterlife - perhaps the biggest sexed up lie of all time.

Tipping the Scales

Tipping the Scales

The first topic of my blog came to me as we approached the new year when my nearest and dearest (Phil) gave me a set of scales for my Christmas present which I assumed was a bit of a hint that I needed to shed a few kilos. My Rubenesque-like figure was becoming a bit, well, too Rubenesque what with all the festive season bingeing. However, on trying out the scales - the electronic kind which are brutally honest and you just can't believe that can be right kind - I began to notice that my nearest and dearest was taking more than an active interest in them and I should have then realised that the scales were perhaps more for him that they were for me!

So fresh back from our delightful little holiday where we enjoyed many indulgent BBQ's and chilled Pinot Gris on a sun drenched deck, I announced that I was going to go on a fasting diet which involved sipping a detox drink for five to seven days or even 10 days if you could cope with it, no tea or coffee or alcohol. The blurb claimed that I could lose 3-6 kg over this time. Now despite doing boot camp training up and down the beach for several weeks before the Christmas break and through sheer hard work and total exhaustion and a very restrictive diet I had only managed to lose about 2 kg which over Christmas had gone straight back on again. Phil had also been following the diet with me - high protein and low carbs - and doing lots of swimming and so was in reasonable shape but was becoming increasingly obsessive about his stomach. (Middle aged men do tend to become a tad obsessed about their middle aged spread). He would squeeze a moderate little roll of fat around the stomach and say emphatically that this is what had to come off. Despite me telling him that he is in pretty good shape he wanted to know all about my diet so that he could do it too and shed a few kilos. At this point we were both around the same weight but I was feeling increasingly large and becoming slightly concerned that I was at risk of becoming bigger than him. (What is it about women that if they can help it they find it disconcerting to be larger than their man!)

Now when Phil said he would do the fasting diet with me I was a bit sceptical as he's never been a day without coffee or a beer let alone food. It was going to be hard enough for me as I have very rarely gone without a cup of tea or two every morning. All very well, I thought, good to have the encouragement. Besides, I have told Phil time and time again that he's looking very good especially for a man approaching 50. You have the body of a 20 year old, I've told him to which he purred with delight. It was the tiny little roll of fat on his middle that he would pull up and down and say this is what he has to get rid of. But, I said, what about doing a few sit-ups and perhaps its just a bit of sagging skin …. Well that comment went down like a dead weight!

Now fasting occurs across many cultures and is an integral part of many of the major religions including Islam, Judaism and Christianity. There is a belief that fasting can do wonders for the human body apart from shedding a few kilos. When food is no longer entering the body, the body turns to fat reserves for energy. Human fat is valued at 3,500 calories per pound, a number that would lead one to believe that surviving on one pound of fat every day would provide a body with enough energy to function normally. Another benefit of fasting is the healing process that begins in the body. Energy is diverted away from the digestive system due to its lack of use and towards the immune system. There is often a reduction in body temperature but often a feeling of rejuvenation and extended life expectancy. Apparently there is an anti-aging hormone released more frequently and produced more efficiently. (I like the sound of that, bring it on!) A study was performed on earthworms that demonstrated the extension of life due to fasting. One worm was isolated and put on a cycle of fasting and feeding. The isolated worm outlasted its relatives by 19 generations while still maintaining its youthful traits. The worm was able to survive on its own tissue for months. Once the size of the worm began to decrease, the scientists would resume feeding it at which point it showed great vigour and energy. The life-span extension of these worms was the equivalent of keeping a person alive for 600 to 700 years. (Not that I wish to be compared to an isolated worm or live 6-700 years).

So into day one and then day two of our fast, starting off with vigorous dry skin brushing before a morning shower to get the circulation going and then just sipping our detox drinks for the rest of the day. Nowadays in our instant fast food world where we have instant gratification for everything it began to be quite an interesting lesson of self control and discipline not to put some food in your mouth. And it sure took a lot of self control. In fact it was damn hard! Mahatma Gandi was an ardent advocate of fasting as a way to change character and to find joy in the present replacing the relentless compulsion to get and to have. For Gandhi "hurry and overwork are always sins". Even the Zulus have a saying "The continually stuffed body cannot see secret things". Have we perhaps lost ourselves in a maze of desire destined to bring us only ignorance and misery. I was about to find out if I could build a road to higher levels of consciousness that rip away the blinding shrouds of ignorance.

By the second day I already began to feel lighter and the scales began to go into reverse mode. It was so exciting! Phil - who could not believe that he had gone through two days without eating or having a beer - was not feeling too good, aching bones all a bit like flu. But on waking in the morning, the first thing he did was bounce out of bed and jump on the scales and then come beaming into the bedroom with the latest lost kg news. The weight was just falling off him - well it does on a man doesn't it - and he was now officially smaller than me! Grrr!

And now the kids started to take bets on who would be the first to break the fast as Phil announced that this is good and he could go the whole 10 days on this diet. (mmm …. Interesting where the word breakfast comes from). We're not competing I retorted. In the beginning when the diet was my idea I was going to do it for 5 - 7 days. What is it about male machismo that they have to turn everything into a competition? What is this, a race for the perfect BMI? And he was drinking all my detox mixture so now it had run out and I had to go to the other side of town to buy another pack. (Suppliers had run out as everyone is dieting at this time of year.)

On day three and four the diet was taking its toll on our mind and bodies in slightly different ways. Perhaps its a sign of a good marriage when you find it quite fascinating to discuss each other's intimate and varying bodily functions. Its certainly very bonding. Phil was becoming increasingly vain and admiring himself in the mirror especially his now very slim stomach. I was wondering how much smaller he wanted to get. You don't want to go getting too small now do you? I asked cautiously. And then, because I was getting rather tired of a persistent dull headache, how much longer do you want to go on this for? But Phil squeezed his midriff saying "Its this blub I want to get rid of, I think we should go the full 10 days". Aaargh!

One of the most fascinating things about doing this type of fast is how much more time you have on your hands when its not spent cooking and eating. I am so used to spending my time in the evenings, cooking and eating and chilling out with a glass or two of wine and I suppose becoming a bit of a couch potato. Without any of this activity (apart from cooking quick kids meals) there was so much more time available. I found myself needing to be busy with my hands, picking things up and tidying things around the house, sorting out my cupboards, doing some gardening and playing my ukulele. One night I even gave myself a manicure and pedicure, something I would only have done on a very lazy Saturday. I watched several videos and didn't fall asleep on the couch. Often, come midnight I was still wide awake reading my book in bed. In fact, we both were, engrossed in our books and sipping Senna leaf tea, the companionable silence being broken by the sounds of rumbling gurgling stomachs. There is something faintly comical about resting your ear on your nearest and dearest's stomach listening to the deep groans and growls of the bowels, although I can't say its erotic. My heart, often prone to neurotic palpitations, was quiet and calm and in a happy contented space, as I, often with reflective contemplative thoughts, slipped into a deep restorative sleep.

As each day passed, we both became increasingly self absorbed and obsessed with our bodily functions and changing body shape. I too was obsessively weighing myself and finding the scales dropping every day was immensely satisfying. In fact it was thrilling! By the fifth day I did begin to long for the sensation of some food in my mouth so I had a grapefruit. It felt quite radical. The taste was sensational. I savoured every little segment of flesh with a veneration I've never had before. It is said that there is nothing routine about eating after a fast. Each meal is a celebration as fasting heightens your awareness as well as an appreciation for food and we learn to eat with reverence.

Our fast eased off after a week and we were both lighter and more invigorated than ever before. I lost about 3-4kg and Phil 6kg (weight does drop off a man so much more easily - its not fair!) Our food bill certainly came down and our usually overflowing recycling bin was empty. It certainly made us aware of how much we usually consume. Its been a great way to start the year, to have the opportunity to pause, reflect and decide how to conduct our lives in a new more positive direction. That and the fact that my thighs don't chafe (as much) when I walk anymore!

The Hauraki Corner

Happy New Year to Twenty Ten and welcome to my first blog. It is my new year's resolution to this year start up a blog writing about views and musings of all sorts and get my creative writing juices going. I can't say just yet what I will write about but I aim to put at least one piece of writing per month on my blog. It will of course be great to have comments and views from any of you folks out there in cyberspace who might read it.


rosie