Rural Idyll

Can you hear the birds chirping from there? I look out of my window onto a scene of tranquillity reminiscent of any Wordsworth poem - a field full of sheep, fruit trees bending under their load, half a dozen chickens scratching the dirt aimlessly, the sound of a brook bubbling. Perfick.

That is until my mother (who has notoriously unreliable ankles) falls down a step outside the local post office and breaks her ankle. Two old ducks stop to ask if they can assist, one with a neck brace (!!), and after a fragmented conversation about weak ankles, how we're not as strong as we used to be, and expressions of envy at the jeune fille (moi) who has all this in front of her, I manage to bundle my mother into the car for the return trip home.

After a couple of hours 'resting', my mother decides that maybe she has done something dodgy to said ankle and maybe a hospital visit would be a good idea after all (do you think?). Therein insues a flurry of telephone conversations to see whether the car is insured for me (the only able bodied adult in the house), but sadly it is not, so we await a taxi. No sooner have ma mere et pere departed for the hospital than a monster storm comes through and blows the electrics.

So I'm standing in a dark, 17thc farmhouse, with no food, no light and no idea where the fusebox is. Luckily the phone still works so I call my ma but of course the mobile is switched off (only for emergencies you understand!). I then wander around the house looking in all the usual places (under stairs etc) for the fusebox but to no avail. My knight in white shining armour (DY) calls by chance on his way out of SL and suggests outside, or one of the outhouses. I brave the rain and squally winds to check the garage, studio and cellar (very creepy) but still can't find it. By now I have stumbled on 2 candles and some matches so am feeling very relieved as have light - am amazed at what a difference that makes to my disposition.

After a cheese sandwich I ring my brother in Germany to ask him if he knows where the fusebox is and he doesn't but his angelic wife does - praise be! Apparently they were staying and one night awoke to the site of my father creeping through their bedroom in his nightgown - the fusebox is in a cupboard in their (and now my) bedroom. Relief, lights on.

At 10.30 my parents return, broken ankle in plaster, impressed with the French medical system, weary and grumpy, but all in one piece. After assisting my mother up the precipitous stairs to her bedroom (don't ask - they love the house), we all settle for the night.

So now we settle into a slight change of routine - I'm driver, cleaner, cook all rolled into one and after 3 days the parental stomach for vegetarian food is obviously waning! One thing it has done is highlighted the difficulties of living in the remote countryside if all your eggs are in one basket i.e. only one person is mobile. Anyway, another day, another conversation. I need to run and prepare lunch .......

You know it's hot in London when ....

you're cleaning your teeth in the bathroom and you can hear snoring. Upon investigation, the cat (one of three that you're minding) is fast asleep in the shower ........ the coolest place in the house.

Safe Travels

Sending 'safety first' wishes to thee oh husband of mine who is heading off on a surfing trip to the East of SL for a few days before winging his way back to cafe lattes in sunny Sydney.#

Currently classified by the UN as 'phase 3'(this means hot, but we're not ready to evacuate yet), the area DY is travelling to is 'ok'. This is of course a qualified ok, which means it's ok as long as you don't a) stand on a land mine, b) happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, c) have a 'misunderstanding' with a man with a gun or d) meet an elephant after dark.

Given that all of the above are distinct possibilities and that DY is no longer travelling under UN protection with all that that entails (and there are some advantages to not being in a HUGE UN marked vehicle aka target), I must confess to being slightly anxious. However I know that DY's desire to surf another day will prevail, and barring mishaps I won't be receiving any emergency calls.

Have a safe trip DY and give my love to Mark and Tina on your way through Singapore, and give the dogs a hug from me.
xx

Razor Sharp

Now I've been commenting ad nauseum (and some may say nauseatingly) about London, but so far I don't think I've bored you about the course content, nor my lecturers.

I would firstly like to acknowledge that I am a dunce and that my approach to Human Rights has been so far directed by a common-sense approach of fairness as opposed to of intellectual rigour or academic discipline. So as a non-expert, I would like to introduce an expert, my prof., an Irish man with the fabulous name of Conor Gearty (the only thing that could make it sound more Irish is if there was an O' in front of the Gearty), a brain the size of football, a wicked(and often puerile) sense of humour and a twinkle in his eye.

Now Conor and I have got off to a good start in that he had my measure (i.e. a human rights flake!) within oh, about 20 seconds and since then he has been like a hound that smells blood. On curly questions such as, "What position would you hold as a human rights practitioner on abortion?" he likes to throw the ball to me and then after I stutter and stammer and falter and describe my personal opinion (note not the Human Rights opinion i.e. unsubstantiated by law) say something like, "Congratulations, you fell at the first hurdle" with a huge grin on his face, before instantly turning his attention elsewhere.

Aside from feeling about 2 years old and 5" tall I am not unused to this approach having studied in the UK previously (though some of my other classmates, namely the Americans, can be found positioning their chairs behind pillars in order not to attract his attention), and so do not take it personally (well ok, I did take it a bit personally for the first few days, but now that I've acknowledged my dunce-hood I don't!). But I am finding that it is stretching a lot of my pre-conceptions, opinions, perceptions and beliefs for which I am eternally grateful. And it is re-inforcing for me how truly splendid it is to study under a razor sharp wit and leader in their field. And it reinforces for me one of the things I miss about the UK, that in certain circles (admittedly not at your local pub), it is ok to debate contentious issues and it's ok to be a little bit exposed for who you are.

If any of you would like to check out this intellectual powerhouse, try http://www.matrixlaw.co.uk/WhoWeAre_Members_ConorGearty.aspx

and save up your pennies and do an LSE summer school. It's been truly stimulating.

Black snot ...

It may be gross but I got your attention, didn't I?

ANOTHER thing that is a constant with London is black stuff up your nose. Why is that? I cannot remember any other city in the world (3rd or otherwise) where everytime you blow your nose, the resulting effluent is reminiscent of a swamp creature.

Are the smog levels in London really worse than Sydney/ Paris/ Berlin/ Singapore/ Hong Kong/ Colombo? If not, what is that gunk? Where's Dunc - he's good at those sort of 'technical' questions.

Any answers global travellers?

Makin' Headlines

There are some things about London that you never forget - like the guys selling fruit on the street corners, drawing you in with their inimitable sense of pantomime and language that I would liken to a parrot on speed. "Hello darlin' (everyone's a darling), how are you 2day? - like a lovely bit of fruit - you look like you like a lovely bit of fruit you're so skinny, there's nothing to you, here try this, no, no, it's on the house, we need to feed you up 'cor blimey look at you - here get some of these into you, cherries, only £1 a punnet - only 1 punnet? darlin' that's daylight robbery that is, c'mon take another, what about these peaches, oh my mother god rest her soul used to love peaches and these would make her turn in her grave they're so good. what that's it? well come again, 2morrow, you promise, when will i see you again (laughs at own joke), when will i see you again" ............................ all delivered at breakneck speed without drawing breath and leaving both parties buoyed by their encounter.

Another fabulous London association for me, (though strictly speaking it is a UK phenomena), is the headlines in the newspapers. They are inimitable. And I don't mean the gutter press, which of course are a league unto themselves. Today I picked up London Metro, a freesheet which is distributed through the train/ tube stations. It's exactly what you'd expect - light on news, heavy on "topical information" like the weather, which celebrites are doing what to whom, the usual. But even in such a drab news-sheet there's room for amusement. My favourite for today, is an article in the Science section, "Your weekly guide to the world of science and discovery"(!), about the carbon cycle and salps (which remove carbon), boldly titled - Saving the planet ... a poo at a time. This has truly made my day!!!!

New Kid on the Block

Well I'm back to school, and the sensation doesn't change, you just get a bit more used to it! First day at LSE yesterday to start my Summer School in International Human Rights Law, which opened with a morning introductory session, followed by a class at 11am and a 3 hour group class at 2pm. So contact hours, 4 a day, plus a daily reading load of about the equivalent to what a normal person would read in a week, and we're off!

I didn't know whether to be pleased by the intellectual rigour of the process when told that this was equivalent to a degree course, or terrified at the prospect of producing an essay and writing an exam and completing the above contact hours and reading all in 3 weeks! I mean c'mon, don't they know this is my longest time in London in 10 years - I've got people to catch up with, things to do, parties to go to. But it's all going to have to play 2nd fiddle to the study - that tends to happen when you're paying for it yourself.

Another surprise for me has been my colleagues on the course, whom bar myself and two others are still studying their first degrees. When I asked why they were taking the course in their summer break, the overwhelming response was: "It will look good on my CV". Interesting that in this day and age students take the Human Rights discipline to improve their career prospects. I think there's a dissertation in the making on that there topic Jim-Bob.

Ode to Functionality

I know I've already been waxing lyrical about the joys of Singapore (particularly after a stint in the third world), but you're going to have to listen-up again.

So left SL at 08.30am last Friday, only 90mins late and a little surprised as I'd just found out that the flight to Singapore was going via Kuala Lumpur. Fairly uneventful flight, and arrived in Singapore at 15.30.

Because the plane was virtually empty, managed to get off, send an email to Dunc at the free internet terminal, walk through customs, collect my luggage, push my trolley up to the next level, check in with Qantas for the on-flight AND get back to meet my friend Katherine, as arranged all within 20 minutes! Yes, 20 minutes. I'm still in shock at how smoothly things can go in a country where functionality is a national virtue. (The only other time I've experienced this level of organizational prowess was many moons ago flying to Switzerland to catch a succession of interlinking trains and cable cars to the ski resort of Murren - the plane was late, but yup, you guessed it, in true Swiss style, all the connections waited ......)

tomorrow, New Kid on the Block