Acts of kindness

Stop, look, listen, speak – say hello!

I have a daughter. I’ve named her Buttercup. She’s a scoby – a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast. A gift. 

Growing up I was nurtured on the wise words of Mr and Mrs S who emphasised the importance of giving without expectations. Mrs S says acts of kindness are repaid at the moment you least expect.

Karma and pay it forward.

Most days I pass by a Big Issue vendor at Seven Sisters. Sometimes I say hello, but more often than not I don’t notice him. The other day I heard his mantra: “Good morning, Madam! Good morning, Sir! Good Morning, Miss!” 

At the bus stop, I realised I was one of many people who’d ignored him.

I went back to where he was standing and gave him £10 by way of an apology. He’s Romanian and not from Afghanistan as I’d imagined. His beautiful green eyes twinkled, his mouth broadened into a smile and he bowed with gratitude.

A few days later as I walked to the bus stop I heard someone call out to me. There was Mr Big Issue offering a hug.

The week ended with my little culture, or scoby, Buttercup. I must treat her well.

Hands of gratitude and a very smiley face!

Hateration

Think nice thoughts, say nice things.

June pinged me a WhatsApp asking for the next blog. Embarrassed face. At the same time, an Oprah Winfrey interview with Gabrielle Union and Dwayne Wade popped up on my YouTube listing.

Serendipity rides again. Hello, hateration, I’ve been writing about you!

First used by Mary J Blige, it means intense hatred, negative emotion and energy directed towards others or towards yourself.

Why is everyone so quick to be hateful?

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.

I’ll let you into a little secret – it’s so much easier to be nice to everyone.  Do you remember the guy who verbally abused a man on a busy train – on his way to an interview – only to find his fellow passenger was head of recruitment? Karma!

There’s been so much meanness recently. I switched off the radio the other day because they were laughing at Matt or Luke (or both) Goss. I was never a Brosette, but so what if one of them is a bit quirky, are they harming anyone?

Save your energy, bite your tongue and think nice things.

Om shanti.

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It’s not you, it’s them!

Trikonasana: Triangle pose, like friendship, uses strength, balance and flexibility.

A woman stopped talking to my friend. Actually, she outright blanked her. I shrugged my shoulders and said that woman had done the same to me. The other day that same woman hugged my friend and said hello to us both as if we were all the very best of friends. There’s nowt so queer as folk.

There are people who dislike you – not because you are a horrible person because I know you are lovely! Here’s what I learned about their behaviour:

1. Sometimes you exhibit values and beliefs that they don’t rate as highly as you do. For example you are probably very kind and they resent  kindness.  Or you are friendly and they find it difficult to make friends.
2. There’s something going on in their life that is causing them great pain or anger. That pain doesn’t manifest itself in a frown or tears but in their behaviour towards you: harsh words, meanness, attempts to undermine you.
3. They are not your friend, let them go.
   • They have an idealised view of your life which is making them jealous. They don’t know about your pain or struggles because you choose not to make them define you.
   • Friendships are a microcosm of life: they’re born, they’re nurtured, they grow, and eventually they die. Some are short-lived others are lifelong.
4. If it doesn’t serve you let it go. Don’t let it eat you up and use your energy for good. You can be there for them but you have to walk away when that friend in need becomes an energy vampire.

BTW: I have inhaled Red Table Talk.

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Thank you. I have donated £150 to Unicef’s Yemen appeal plus £37.50 Gift Aid.

If you donate online the money goes to a general fund so I called Jane at Unicef and specified the Yemen fund – over the phone! Old school.

Christmas post

Sally’s card

Noah’s card at his house.

London and Essex got the the speediest deliveries with cards arriving in less than 24 hours.  Then followed Cirencester and Derby. And then Belfast with lovely messages from Jilly and Myrtle.

A message from Allison in Birmingham: Send me the link and I’ll donate £5 to the charity you’re supporting too!

This has been an interesting experiment in seeing how our postal service works.

It’s an experiment in much more, though. Dr Doctor, yes she’s a double doctor, said people don’t read the backs of their cards. Is that true?

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The Lyndometer stands at £70

After an extra print-run, the total should be closer to £200.

 

Christmas giving

Getting creative with charitable giving

Rory, Reggie and Noah’s card have arrived – less than 24 hours after I posted them. Well done, Royal Mail. That’s £15 on the lyndometer.

I told the boys that I hoped little Rorys, Reggies and Noahs and their families and friends, in Yemen,  would benefit from my donation. Girls are included, obs!

It’s a limited edition print run of around 30 cards. I’m donating £5 for everyone who acknowledges receipt of my handmade Christmas greetings.

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The lyndometer target: £150.

Self-promotion: how to pat yourself on the back furiously

If I don’t do it no-one else will. The university PR system is at odd with my breaking news bones.

I’ve been on a virtual world tour via  Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook, WhatsApp, work email, phone call to Mrs S, face-to-face conversations! –  promoting the excellence of the Multimedia Journalism students and my colleagues at Bournemouth.

First the MAMMJs* swept up at the BJTC Awards. Then days later, the BAMMJs** dominated the multimedia category at the NCTJ Awards.

Congratulations came from far and wide including Santander, Tallinn and Granada, Nicaragua.

Hetty Daffodil always asks: Lynda, do you know everyone? I can’t help myself. Little Miss Chatterbox.

As I sat down on the tram to Manchester Piccadilly a woman turned to me and said: “You’re great. I was watching you at the Awards tonight.  Your students are really lucky to have you.” 

My dear BBC Manchester friend of many years said: Loved seeing you. As ever your joy and energy are infectious.

And then this from a BAMMJ graduate: Thanks for all your help throughout my time at university, I couldn’t have achieved it without your support.

Enough of patting myself on the back furiously. Where is the story about this week’s success in the university PR machine?

It won’t make the newsletter for Monday. Don’t ask. No problem. Digital Sirens sounding. A breaking news baby is born and the stories are on The Breaker.   Good work, Emily!

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BAMMJ** (BA in Multimedia Journalism) and MAMMJ* (MA in Multimedia Journalism) students must go the extra mile to shine. 8 weeks into the MA Emily Brewster is making a good start:

MA Success: http://www.thebreaker.co.uk/news/national/2018/11/28/bournemouth-journalism-students-triumph-at-top-industry-awards/

BA success: http://www.thebreaker.co.uk/news/national/2018/11/30/second-award-winning-night-for-bournemouth-journalism-students/

 

Chicasso goes digital

Chicasso goes digital: a work in progress*

I took Mrs S to the bingo. The woman at the counter said something which included the word tablet and pointed to a table full of gadgets. Alarm bells!

Mrs S struck a pose worthy of a Run DMC dance-off – arms folded, lips pursed – and refused to touch anything that didn’t resemble paper.

We had bingo dabbers! We had hunted high and low to find those special pens and Mrs S was going nowhere without dabbing something – or someone. Had the teller not backed down she may have been bingo’d.

Fortunately, dozens of proper bingo cards were found.

Mrs S worked her coloured pens like fury. I went digital and dabbled with autoplay. Neither of us won a bean.

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*I’ve ventured into the world of digital doodling. No fancy app as yet, just Notes.

 

Dear Teacher …

This is what I think!

I see a pattern: students from certain backgrounds arrive at university, they feel overwhelmed, they panic and leave. They’re not stupid but the wall of  big words  of the Ivory Tower is too high for them to scale.

I think they might need support with the transition so I’ve started mentoring at a local sixth form college. My mission: pre-university preparation.  Some of them are studying BTECs. These are not A levels and they are not recognised as a university qualification by institutions such as Oxbridge.

We all learn differently and  at different rates. Different strokes for different folk. Sadly, Oxbridge snobbery means they are often told that they are not good enough, not capable and don’t stand a chance. Sound familiar? The Mrs Taylors of this world are still lurking.

I’m teaching my red-rag-to-a-bull strategy to  a wonderful BTEC healthcare student. In her last school,  she was told her work was rubbish. Even in the sixth form they’ve been told there’s little chance of them getting to unversity to study midwifery. I said: What you’re going to do is show them – with success! She’s a dream student and will make a fantastic midwife – if she’s given the chance. She’s been working on her personal statement. I asked her lots of questions she gave really enthusiastic answers and I said: Excellent! Write it down! I’d sign her up right now but she doesn’t want to be a journalist. Shoot! 

Dear teacher,

Please manage students’ expectations but please don’t crush their self-esteem. Inside is a real gem yearning to shine.

Your faithfully,

BlackademicUK

In loving memory: Dr Jane Everett

Channelling my inner Dr Jane Everett

I once ate a tuna sandwich. Mrs S (my mum) shot me an I-told-you-so look. (She has MSS aka Mothers’ Sixth Sense).  The next day I looked like I’d been caught in a bout between Spinks and Tyson. The doctor said I had a touch of dry skin! Hmmmmm. Said doctor regularly tut-tutted and he would always be writing me a prescription as I entered his consulting room. Often, I’d be there to get a signature for a passport, school or college documents. On this occasion he prescribed dry skin cream.

I lied. I ate another tuna sandwich. Mrs S’s shot me a have-you-not-learned-yet look. I woke looking like I’d been caught between Holmes, Haggler, Spinks, and Tyson. This time I went to the University doctor: she listened and asked me to go through what I’d eaten:  you’re allergic to tinned tuna.

Then there was the time I went to a party and suddenly couldn’t breathe. I had to be carried into a taxi. Embarrassing. I went to see that same lovely woman: Dr Jane Everett. Again, she listened and asked me to go through where I’d been and what had been in the room. You’re allergic to cats. 

While most doctors are lovely, no-one ever matched up to Jane. My heart sank when she retired – even though technically I was no longer a university student and not her patient. I bought her a bunch of flowers. That Christmas she sent me a card. For the next 31 years we corresponded. Last year I put her card to one side to write to her. I never did. On 1st November I thought: I must send Jane a card so that she knows I’m still here. 

Dr Jane Everett died on 3rd November.

If medics today can channel an ounce of the patience and compassion of Jane, the NHS is in safe hands. In July I let the twittersphere know that she was my NHS hero.

Thank you, Jane. I can’t begin to tell you just how wonderful you were.

 

Graduation

BlackademicUK, PG Cert, FHEA graduates at Bournemouth University

You can’t be what you can’t see.

It’s not about the money, the grades the titles or the gongs. Though, I must point out that it’s graduation week in Bournemouth and I was honoured with distinction. I say that because Mrs Taylor and many others said I wasn’t capable. Another said I didn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance. This is what I’ve done with my lack of ability and my cats in hell.

In all honesty, it’s about being visible and saying to others yes you can. That’s my modus operandi.

On my flight to Belfast at the weekend was a young black flight attendant.  He could have been one of my students. In my feedback to British Airways I told them what a wonderful role model he was. I felt a real sense of pride for him.

Edwina Dunn, who received an honourary doctorate at my ceremony, is truly inspirational with a great sense of belief in others. I shall channel my inner Edwina Dunn: If you believe you can, make it happen! 

 

Safe spaces

Lynda's Inferno

I used to have a desk in the university staff room at work. During Lockdown someone helped themselves to my two china mugs. People insisted they must be somewhere and that I’d find them. I never did.

At the end of last academic year we were asked to clear our desks for renovations to make the office bigger. To accommodate new staff. When we returned there were no personal desks. We hot-desk.

In the yoga studio I used to practice in a different spot every day and then I realised that I didn’t have to …and neither did anyone else.

A safe space is a place where I can go. I can be. I can belong. My space.

I even have a place in the yoga studio changing room. My spot.

Hiding in plain sight. Surviving in spaces where I don’t belong. Spaces where I am not welcome. School as…

View original post 47 more words

Commando Lynda’s Lockdown Army!

“It’s not Pilates, it’s Commando Pilates!”

That was Flo,  week one. Now she wouldn’t bat her eyelids at the thought of a double – a class in the morning and then one in the evening.

I rest my case.

A clever friend, Vivienne, suggested I taught online. This was Before Lockdown (BL) – long before that Joe bloke that everyone talks about *multiple eye rolls*.

Once upon a time, three months ago, three women took a break from their wfh* to do some exercises with YouTube. Hetty Daffodil who’d taken my second ever Inferno Hot Pilates (IHP) class messaged to ask if I’d take them through an IHP session.

And so, Lynda’s Commandos were formed.

12 weeks and 108 classes later, three has become 20-something working their bodies from top to toe, toning, building, shaping and waking up their lazy glutes.

My spiel is now their mantra and they quote it back at me:

“I’m giving it my 100 per cent very best, Lynda!”

or

“Glutes squeezed, pelvic floor up and in and pull that belly in nice and tight!”

This message made me laugh out loud – but burst with pride, too.

We will clap for you at 7.30 on Thurs #clapforcommandoLynda

I’m doing my bit and loving it and so are Lynda’s Lockdown Army.

“Lynda, I just want to say thank you. I have ordered some new exercise clothes – one size smaller”

I work in Higher Education where students and parents haven’t always been so positive. So it’s great to get these wonderful messages.

“You are inspiring… haven’t done that sort of exercise in many years… you have made it possible.”

I heard a parent on the radio complaining about the fact their child wasn’t getting structured online classes. I do despair because I know that I am working hard and I have sacrificed my doctoral studies and my leave. Imagine how hard our schoolteachers are working! Never mind the haters, I’ll share some of my Inferno testimonials.

“I just want to say an enormous thank you for the classes. I love them and I love the way you lead them. You’re so motivating and positive … they [the classes] have made SUCH a difference during lockdown life. Not sure where I would be without them.”

Shucks!

“I have been wanting to tell you Lynda how grateful I am that I can join your class … it keeps me from going insane, really!”

So they come to a class, love it and then they message and say: “Can I invite my friend, my mum, my dad … someone?” And the friend, the mum, the dad … that someone says:

“Just wanted to say thank you for all you have done for us:) It means a lot for me and it has helped me getting through these weird times.”

And Kingsley the postman knocks on the door – yes I know his name, now! That’s how many bunches of flowers and gifts of gratitude have arrived!

“I’ve done a couple of hit classes before – too fast and I felt rushed and I couldn’t keep up. Yours was perfect. Really, really enjoyed it!

And the other gifts of thanks: the seeds that are now courgettes, broccoli, savoy cabbage and carrots plants… and possibly peas and there’s a pumpkin, too. Everything gratefully received and cared for. I try to motivate them, too… and they thrive and grow.

“A huge THANK YOU to you, Lynda, for making a difference in the lives of my loved ones.”

Who’d have thought you could possibly have to form an orderly queue of your number one fans? They have to take it in turns to be first!

Fabulous session this morning!

and

Much love! You are excelling yourself as a pilates instructor 💞

But I say to my Commandos: thank you for taking that first step – the hardest step which is coming to class.

Thank you for sharing your dedication and determination and for building your physical and mental strength each day.

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*wfh working from home – now everybody knows what it is, right?

The Elephant in the Classroom

The elephant in the classroom – the first iteration of the logo (now cast aside!)

I’ve won funding for a project to work with second year undergraduate students at the University of the Arts, London (UAL).

The Elephant in the Classroom is a collaboration of undergraduates based at London College of Communication (LCC) who will tell it like it is in six 30-minute podcasts. The academic subtitle is ‘disrupting the narrative of life as a student in the 21st Century’.

It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years and opportunity knocked at UAL within weeks of my arrival.

If you believe that people can be their very best self, then they can and they will.

Right now 25 students across disciplines at LCC are busy discussing issues that are dear to them.

But it’s not just any podcast series – I’m pushing them to harness the creativity of our institution so that it’s not what I call a ‘hi-hi-hey-hey-chitty-chatty’ podcast but something that takes them out of their comfort zone (and mine!), doesn’t just nip at the heels of the 850,000 podcasts out there but competes and challenges what storytelling is.

So far the graphic designers are working on a logo, the live events team is planning the launch night for September 2020, our social media team is on promotion overdrive and the storytellers are sketching out their 30 minutes of airtime.

It doesn’t stop there, either: we’ll be commissioning actors, scriptwriters, poets, short-story writers, illustrators and musicians to make this project as creative and as inclusive as possible. As the students say … watch this space.

Join the conversation – follow, like, share, tweet, retweet, repost:

Twitter: @TheElephantInT9

Instagram: @the_elephant_in_the_classroom

The helicopter, the fox and the running yogini

Followed by the helicopter for about 15 minutes

What a week!

Pochettino sacked. Mourinho appointed and a running yogini was tracked by a police helicopter.

Well, the last point is probably a slight exaggeration but there was a helicopter overhead while I did my 15 minutes of sprint intervals.

Police raids in Edmonton, apparently … not Tottenham but some might allege it’s Tottenham Borders.

13 weeks,  running up to 40 minutes non-stop,  week 2 of Bridge to 10k complete.

Boom. 💥

 

Bridge to 10k

Saturday morning running.

There is life after Couch to 5k.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been tripping over my feet trying to run at different speeds to consolidate.

I’ve been from stepping stones to speed to stamina on the C25k+ podcast.

Now, I’m moving up to 10k running.

Bridge to 10k is an 8-week programme that includes three runs a week – two short and one long run done in any order.

I ran for 35 minutes today and next week the target is 40 minutes non-stop.

12 weeks ago I feared running for even 60 seconds.

If I can do it, anyone can.

This girl can.

The speedster

 

I’m post-Stepping Stones. In fact,  I’ve moved on to speed – not the drug, mind you.

Who’d have thought trying to run at 150 steps a minute could be soooooo difficult.

Have you ever tried to run in slow motion?

Laura says I must pick up my legs in a cycling motion. However, the only way I could achieve that and run so slowly would be to pop to the moon where the gravity is different.

… or I could get my legs stretched – short legs make for speedier steps.

This morning, I misjudged my route and found myself far, far away from home when the workout had finished.

Then, the next podcast, a repeat of Laura but without the intro kicked in. Transpires my walking speed is faster than the recommended running speed.

Whoooooooosh!

Couch to 5K GRADUATE!

56 days, 27 sessions 13.5+ hours: C25k Graduate

58 days ago I discovered NHS Choices Couch to 5k.

57 days I planned to start on a date in the near future: mañana.

But someone said: “Why don’t you start now?”

56 days later I am a running yogini and a graduate of the NHS programme which has been around since 2012.

I was late to this party but as they say: better late than never.

There’s still time for me to be discovered as an Olympic athlete.

A French farce

Week 8, run 3 has flown by

I don’t really know what a French farce is but I’m pretty sure that’s what happened this morning.

I set the alarm for 5am but couldn’t drag myself out of bed until 5.15am.  It then took 10 minutes to get out of the house.

I didn’t seem able to get dressed and especially not able to put my reflective armbands on.

I was hoping to run with Michael Johnson and Laura this morning but Michael refused to join me as my second coach.

I tripped over my shoelace at the start of my run which would have been fine but for the fact the laces were tied up and not dangling the ground.

The late start to my day meant I arrived at yoga 20 minutes late. People were flagging but I sailed through.

I was grateful to get to class and lucky to have more energy than the rest of the yogis.

Week 8 of Couch to 5k is complete. I am three runs away from G-Day (graduation) aka C25KGD. Boom!

🎵 I can walk 10,000 steps… 🎵

Couch to 5k, home stretch

I’ve been trying to do 10,000 steps a day since the end of August. I think that because I use public transport – and the bus stop is only 200 steps away – it’s really hard.

However, now I’ve started Couch to 5k I can sometimes get most of my steps done first thing. The other day I hit 10,000 by 830am.

When I lived in Nicaragua, it was usual to walk everywhere in temperatures of 30 degrees and humidity of at least 40 to 50%.

I must have been doing a minimum of 20,000 steps every day. There was no need for hot yoga or Inferno Pilates, that’s for sure.

When I came back to the UK, my smallest clothes were way too big. Now, my trousers and skirts wouldn’t pass over my knees.

I waved goodbye to those same clothes this summer when I took them to the Sense charity shop in Tottenham.

They have lovely staff who send me updates of how much money they make from my donations. Their gratitude is humbling.

I’m now wearing snug-fitting-once-oversized attire and my belt which is older than my students – and some of my friends, and needed extra holes way back when – is now nearing the final hole at the other end. Eek.

I’ve scoured testimonials about walking and C25k and I can honestly say I haven’t lost a peep nor has my shape changed. Multiple eye rolls!

I suspect the company on Insta which wants me to buy its gear and plug it (!!) will stop messaging me when they see this. Teeheehee!

Inspired by Eliud Kipchoge

Michael Johnson and me – C25K Week 7, run 2

I’ve taken up running with THE Michael Johnson!

No, my declines and inclines are not as steep as the ones that Chicasso is facing!

I’ve notched up another 25 minutes and I am officially a runner.

This morning I went out with THE Michael Johnson … and Laura. Not literally!

It was me, the podcast (Laura and the set playlist) and THE Michael Johnson on the App.

True to form Michael, the sprinter, was slightly ahead of Laura during the coaching  – well, he is a sprinting legend.

A good session was had by all – in fact, three was not a crowd.

I went back to my old route – after an incident with an r-a-t the other morning. I’d rather run around in circles than have rodent cross my path. Eek.

The running yoginis

The running yogini

That’s me: I’m a running yogini.

I am no longer an armchair athlete.

Having said that… I did compete in the Women’s 200m World Championships final from my chair in the university library the other night!

Week 6 of the Couch to 5k programme is complete.

I have gone from nought to 25 minutes of jogging in 40 days.

Word has it that said me of my fellow yoginis are planning a 5k in November.

I am officially in training.

Couch to 5k: Week 4 done!

Chicasso goes running and catches up with the early morning crew

Week 4 is now complete.

I’ve been running in 3 and 5-minute bursts but next week – week 5 ends with a 20-minute run.

I say running, but my light jog is very light. I read posts about being out of breath or stitch- I’m not there yet.

I ‘light jog’ with Laura.

Not literally, Laura is the voice of the NHS Choices app and has long since done C25K.

You can be flash and download an alternative coach and I also have the 200m and 400m Olympian Michael Johnson on my phone. However, that would involve me combining Michael – first-name-terms, of course – with my own playlist.

Running is no longer just running.

Twilight running

Chicasso goes twilight running

I’m on week 4 of C25k , my runs are earlier and I’m negotiating the dark.

I was shouted at by a narky man on an electric scooter. It wasn’t even 6 am and I was running on a public footpath!

But never mind him, this running malarky requires kit.

So a bit like SAS aka my Scoby Adoption Services (updates to be resumed soon) I’ve invested in one or two items: 4 x fluorescent arm bands, 1 x long-sleeved running top, 2 x short-sleeved sports vests, 1 x waterproof running jacket.

I’ve joined a massive online community of C25k-ers at different stages from Day 1 newby to 5k graduate and I love reading the updates and offering support.

Rain is due so I’ll be looking to them for advice on wet-weather running. I didn’t like it at school so there’s a C25k hurdle-a-coming.

Couch to 5k week 3

Early morning regulars on my couch to 5k

Week 3 of C25k is complete and I have run for a total of 36 minutes over the last 7 days.

Laura, the coach on the app, is great and I’m sticking religiously to the rules and only running on alternate days.

I say running because it’s mainly walking at the moment.

In the meantime, I making note of the early-morning regulars.

On Friday, I saw a pair of pigeons who were ambling side-by-side, in the park, without a care in the world.  I saw them again this morning …in the same spot!

 

Unlocking my inner Team GB-er

Couch to 5k week 3: still patting self on back furiously

I don’t run often, generally for the bus, and with great difficulty.

Nevertheless, I’ve often fantasised about being one of those people who takes up running and is so good that they get called up to represent Team GB.

I remember my pre-C25K runs very well:

Me and my scally friends got caught scrumping – the orchard-owner flew out of his house in a rage, I sprinted non-stop half a mile all the way home – not wanting to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck – leaving my friends for dust. If only I could have channelled that speed into the school sports day 800m.

1 x 800m: I came last due to adopting a sprint strategy and running out of steam.

1 x 1500m: I got my strategy wrong again and realised I had enough in the tank for a sprint finish.

1983 x 1 mile: the run home from a youth club to see the midnight premier of Thriller on Channel Four.

1984 x 30 minutes around the block (big block) with white McEnroe-style wrist/sweatbands and a headband over a wet-look. I didn’t break a sweat.

1985 Run the a World: probably the first Sport Relief. I had twisted my ankle but gave it my best shot.

1994 x 30 mins after almost joining a Carlisle athletics club. I got a chest infection and never did any more Cumbrian running. Two years later Couch to 5K was “invented”.

2019 C25K is a big deal but, this girl can.

Couch to 5k week two

Week 2, day 1

I can’t believe I’m on week two.

I’ve been poring over the C25K feedback and there are some inspirational stories.

I am 23 years behind the concept and 7 years behind the NHS app.

But, “you’re never too old, never too bad, […it’s] never too late and [you’re] never too sick to start [again] from the scratch.” (Bikram Choudhury)

From couch to 5k?

From couch to 5k – fingers crossed

Praying hands.

Buttercup’s sister has arrived and she’s in good spirits. Very good spirits aka fermented tea – teehee but she’s still without a name. 

In the meantime, I’ve stumbled across Couch to 5k.

One run down and I’m already looking at running shoes and 5k races. 

 

 

 

Buttercup and me

 

Scoby Doby doooooo? Scoby Doby zooooooo!

🎵 Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn 🎵

We are two.

Buttercup is a mother and Scoby parenthood is nerve-racking business.

Her baby formed after her first fermentation. But for seven days it was just the two of us.

First, I put her in the fridge but that makes her dormant.

Then I worried she might suffocate with a screw-top lid on her glass jar.

After consulting the internet I realised I was ill-equipped and made a few purchases:

• a new kettle that also work as a water filter because chlorine might/will harm Buttercup;
• extra water filters just because;
• muslin (because I can’t find my previous half-metre purchase from John Lewis’ habberdashery. The good news is it allowed me to celebrate the survival of the Neverknowingly craft space, however, I could have used a tea towel – doh!
• glass jars because they were on sale and then two gallon-sized jars;
• 500ml flip-top glass bottles Angelica on YouTube says they trap the carbonation, best;
• thermometers – I bought two, returned one then bought a digital one online;
• stick-on temperature strips then discovered that the gallon jars came with free stick-on thermometers;
• sugar – even the wrong type of sugar might upset Buttercup – according to Angelica,  Daddykirbs and the rest of the KC* Crew.

News just in, Buttercup’s sister – who lives in Islington – is moving in within the next few days.

And, Fran is looking for somewhere to store Buttercup’s other sisters.

A scoby crèche, or hotel,  is born.

🎵 Scoby, doby doooo, scoby doby zooooo! 🎵

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*Kombucha Community

Identity

I got an email from one of the admin team at work today addressing Linda. I got two waps yesterday referring to the same woman.  At least, I think it was the same woman. She’s really popular, whoever she is.

It ties in nicely with my research on identity: who am I? This topic also came up on BBC 5Live this week where they’ve been discussing code switching which is essentially what most people (generally outsiders, off-comers, you-don’t-be-from-these-ere-part-ers) do on a day-to-day basis – modify their language and behaviour according to who they are with or what they are doing. Everyone has a telephone voice, don’t they?

When I go home to the East Midlands my school friends call me posh. When I hang out with my friends in London they’re surprised to discover that I’m not from oop north. 

In my place of work I rarely understand what anyone is talking about – something I share in common with my students. Our game face radiates comprehension while the reality is utter bemusement. Nevertheless, we’re still trying to breakdown the walls of the Ivory Tower – that exclusive club of acronyms and unpronounceable words.

Back to the name thing, Robert Holden challenges his reader to describe themselves without using their name or occupation. I’ve been pondering this for three years, now I can dedicate a whole thesis to it.

Inspired

Creativity makes the everyday experience extraordinary

To inspire has to be the aim for everyone, doesn’t it? Well, I’ve been inspired!

Over the last few days I’ve come across creative media that I can only describe as pure genius. In fact I’ve been saying it so often I need a better expression to describe the two examples I’ve been raving on about.

Getting Malorie Blackman to write last weekend’s episode of Doctor Who was a masterstroke. I’ve been messaging people, dropping it into conversations – whether relevant or not – and I actually had to stop tweeting Malorie in case I got blocked. I’ve even gone so far as to suggest she is made a Dame. I mentioned the episode so much in my WAPs* that I’m waiting to see the “XYZ left” notifications flooding in. No spoilers, but one online magazine said it was ‘uncomfortable viewing’. Who for?

The other piece was a Channel Four film by Symeon Brown. When Drill meets MPs’ language. A simple exercise of setting the very worst examples of the language and comments of our elected MPs to Drill Music. It’s a must-watch. Overall, the reviews have been good but the predictable criticism comes from the predictable press. No publicity here, you can find it for yourself. Doesn’t matter what you search for that newspaper has a habit of popping up in the results.

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*WAGs remember the other day when I was talking about WhatsApp groups? 

Big words

The doctorate has barely started and big words are coming at me left, right and centre.

I had to reach for the dictionary to decipher the title of my first two pieces of reading. Now, I’m thumbing through a whole book, written in plain English, to give me some context before I investigate the next topic – habitus!

However, Dr Lynda (a-long-long-long-way-off-but-must-remain-positive as I click the crossed fingers emoji and tap wood with such enthusiasm I could be mistaken for a post-postmodern¹ drummer) is collecting more manageable vocabulary.

This week it’s all about gamification and vertical. I can hear a thunder of collective eye rolls  for being so late to the party. Transpires the mobile is in cahoots with the wireless. In years to come, the iGen and Alpha Gen will be delving into archives for bygone tech like later-born Y-Gens (millennials) looking for cassettes².

Perhaps, some new words for me to wag³ about.

@BlackademicUK

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¹ While I jest, there is a heated debate about postmodernism, what come after or whether, in fact, it is still alive and kicking.

²cassette:  /kəˈsɛt/ noun. A unit (initially metal but later plastic) containing a length of audio tape, videotape, film, etc. wound on a pair of spools, for insertion into a recorder, playback device, or other machine.

³WAG: /wag/ 1. noun, abbreviation.  WhatApp Group. 2. verb. To chat and/or share information in a wag.

BlackademicUK

Since my last update I have begun a Doctorate of Education Creative and Media. I think that’s what Sir Lenny Henry achieved a few months ago. I’m immensely proud of him as I remember bumping into him when we were both studying an OU creative writing course about 10 years ago. Look how far he’s come! I firmly believe he’s earned every letter and title that appears both before and after his name.

I’m two days into my journey. I’m not even sure whether I can do it. However, I’m looking around for ‘people like me’ who can convince me that I CAN do it.

The picture above is a sketch of just three of the books I’m currently reading.

I’ve created a twitter handle @BlackademicUK to start my conversation. I’m not sure what my conversation will be but I’m assured that when I finish I’ll be an expert.

Wakanda forever!

 

This is a cheat! I’ve redrawn a sketch from March last year with a Black Panther-inspired outfit. Wakanda forever!

 

Triggering Article 50!

Triggering Article 50: Anything Theresa can do I can do better

The postman has just arrived. I stood at the door and grabbed the items as he pushed them through the letterbox.

Mrs S called. I was going to ask her what she was doing on this day in May 1967 but last year she said I don’t know! Proof if ever there was that no matter how momentous the occasion, details may slip with time.

I’m now on, or in, the formal process by which I firmly wave goodbye to the roaring 40s.

 

 

Savasana

And, relax…zzzzzzzz

Apparently, there’s no such thing as perfection in yoga. It’s a practice, they say.

Savasana is said to be the hardest posture to achieve because we, in the West, find it hard to relax.

Hmmm… I wonder if falling asleep and snoring loudly comes within the remit of yoga meditation? 

We are not afraid!

Don’t mess with the best

On Tuesday, the guard on my train was assaulted. I believe his name is Islam and he’s relatively new to the job. It saddened me that he could find himself needing hospital attention when all he was doing was his job. I spent the morning thinking about how his day had started and what an awful turn it had taken. He didn’t deserve it. I told the train company that I wished him well and a speedy return to work. I’d hate for him to be deterred from doing his job, I wrote. 

Yesterday, at least four people were killed. Murdered in an act of terrorism – one in the line of duty.  Each woke that morning to enjoy a new day unaware of that twist of fate to come. There have been so many great words and memories shared about them. Wonderful stories. Amazing people.

Don’t you just love the London spirit:

• the extremists: extremely kind, extremely compassionate, extremely tolerant;
• the stiff-upper-lippers: let’s have a brew, keep calm and carry on;
• the defiant: we are not afraid!

Multicultural London and multicultural Londoners at their very best. What’s not to heart?

Smile!

Smile and the world smiles with you…

There used to be a tradition of using postcards for advertising in pubs and bars. I found the following on a postcard many years ago. I’m not sure what it was advertising, though:

Say Cheese!

Smile really big, as if you were really, really happy.

Keep smiling for a while before you go on reading.

That’s it, relax.

Smile again, just as big. And, keep smiling, just as before … and relax.

Smile again, and keep smiling … that’s it, relax

According to scientists your smile exercise has just started a chemical reaction in your body!

At this very moment your body is sending out real smile impulses inside of you…

Soon you’ll feel happy for real!

Well done, Jess!

This little Chicasso went on a bicycle ride

It was only yesterday it dawned on my just how brave the former GB cyclist Jess Varnish has been.  She stood up to bullying and sexism.

Anyone who’s ever tried will know how hard it is to take a formal case against bullies. Witnesses develop a touch of the Arsene Wengers: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

We may never see Jess on the professional cycling circuit. Maybe that’s her price for a greater good.

She should be proud because she’s made a real difference. We revelled in the GB medal tally of London 2012 and Rio 2016. Now we’re questioning the win at all costs is the ethos?

Hope and scope

Have Chicasso will doodle

Hope and scope! Another sports-related express. I heard this expression the other day and I thought: I’ll have that!

Why say optimism when you can rhyme with hope and scope?

Any excuse to doodle.

I used doodling in Nicaragua to teach children to read and write. It  was a really creative way of engaging them. Initially, they giggled at my attempts but then they tried and realised they were no better than me. We were all in it together. I learned and they learned.

Where there’s hope there’s scope.

 

Choose your battles

 

International Women’s Day: Warrior pose

Sports people produce little gems of mantras. Choose your battles, said the Chelsea manager Antonio Conte to the England rugby coach Eddie Jones.

Wise words.

One Thursday, I found my yoga teacher in the changing room in a glow. It wasn’t a yoga glow. She gushed so much about a book she was reading that I bought it the next day.

I’ve since recommended it to many people. In fact, I was out with a friend some weeks later and she said  I’ve got this book … I finished her sentence: The Four-hour Work Week! 

Serendipity.

In essence, one of Tim Ferris’ arguments is: choose your battles. We can’t do everything.  Too much choice can be stressful. Lack of choice has been attributed to the success of supermarkets such as Aldi and Lidl. Children like to know were the boundaries are – they may push them but, in general, they like limits. Less is more.

Antonio and Tim are on to something.

 

Banana bread

Catchphrase? Banana bread!

I can’t for the life of me remember where I wrote my banana bread recipe. I thought it was in my blog Recipes for Aimee. It’s not there. It’s here now. I promised Reya from yoga that I’d sent it to her.

 

Ingredients:

10 oz of plain flour

1 teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda

1/2 teaspoon of salt

4oz of softened butter

8oz of caster sugar

4 ripe mashed bananas

1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

3 fl oz of milk

1.5 teaspoons of lemon juice

2 beaten eggs

What to do:

1. Preheat the oven at 180° about 170° -175° fan assisted

2. Grease and line a loaf tin

3. Sour the milk by adding the lemon juice and put to one side.

4. Sieve the flour, baking soda and salt and put to one side.

5. Cream together the softened butter and sugar together. (I cheat, I melt the butter in a microwave and then mix it together!)

6. Add the bananas, eggs, vanilla extract and soured milk to the butter and sugar mixture.

7. Mix well.

8. Fold in the flour.

9. Pour mixture into the baking tin.

10. Bake in the oven for around an hour. Check on it after about 50-55 minutes (depending on the ferocity of your oven)

11. Turn out onto a baking tray and leave to cool.

Here’s one I made earlier!

 

Sliding doors

There but for the grace of…

I love films like Sliding Doors. They pose that question: what if you took a different route or made a different decision on a particular day?

Alexander (I mentioned him in one of my posts a few weeks ago), caught his train with about one second to spare. Ten minutes later he was dead – one of seven victims in the Potters Bar Train crash.

There was a woman on the radio a few weeks ago who said she hadn’t eaten for several days because she had to choose between heating and eating. Her depression had made it hard for her to find work.

On another occasion, a teacher called the radio station when they were talking about food banks. His wife was a nurse. They fell on hard times when his wife became ill during her pregnancy and, at the same time, he had a mental breakdown. They had to go to the food bank.

One food bank founder said: most people are only one pay slip away from a crisis. I often wonder what the stories of the beggars outside the tube stations are.

The world in my heart

🎵🎶I got the whole world in my heart..🎶🎵

My heart is is like a Tardis and it’s full to bursting. I’ve reserved a little spot for so many people it’s a universe of its own.

Recently I’ve welcomed in a few friends who need a little TLC. Some of them are reluctantly sheltering under an umbrella named the United Nations of Cancer. Bowel, breast, ovarian, stomach, lesions on the brain, lesions on the liver…

I haven’t called. I’ve sent texts. I have no idea how to formulate any words that could make it better. I once saw a get-well-soon card that said I wish I could hug you so tight that all the broken pieces would fit back together. I sent texts along those lines.

Question: When there are no words what is left?

Answer: There’s a place in my heart where love, warm wishes and positive thoughts swish around.

 

Beggars belief!

Beggars belief!

Outside Seven Sisters the other day I was approached by a dishevelled man. He had one tooth and he wasn’t that old.  Can you buy me a coffee? He asked. I shook my head and moved away. I watched as he went from person to person outside the tube station. Each one had the same reaction. I felt really bad so I went up to him and beckoned him to follow me to the coffee shop which was steps away.

Actually, I don’t want coffee, can I have tea. Actually, tea in Costa costs about £2.00. I can get an all-day breakfast for £3.99 up there. He beckoned towards West Green Road.

As I started to walk with him towards West Green Road he said: that place is closed but there’s another place further up the road. My patience started to wear thin when he said the other place was 10 minutes up the road. I’d already missed one bus and my murder mystery head took over. People have vanished in more innocuous circumstances. You can have a drink from Costa and that’s it, I said. Can’t you go 10 minutes up the road? I told him I was not going anywhere and he could have a drink in Costa or nothing at all.

I walked away.

As I got on my bus I noticed he was asking everyone around the bus stop for a cup of tea or coffee.

World book day

Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

A book memory: I am seven years old and I go to the post office with my dad – Daddy. I’m allowed to choose a book but there’s so much choice I just don’t know which one to have. I eventually pick The Three Little Pigs. I’m so excited I read the book on our way home. By the time I get to the front door, I’ve finished and know the fate of the characters.

Fast forward a couple of decades: I’m baby sitting my nephew who’s about three years old. I appease him with my rendition of the Three Little Pigs. I take the role of the Big Bad Wolf to the nth degree: actions, voice and all.  Each time I read the book my actions get more elaborate.

Some time later, I call my sister for a chat. My nephew’s dad answers the phone: Lynda, please don’t read that book again. We’ve had to read it again and again and again – just like Aunty Lynda does – with the actions and voices!

Fast forward a few more decades: I remind my nephew, the actor, of this incident. He has no memory.

No matter, I’ve already visualised myself pushing past him to tell this story before he has chance to collect his Oscar.

 

A new flock

Chicasso tends to a news flock a budding journalists

I have a new flock of journalism students. Young undergraduates who are  almost young enough to be described as millennials!

They’re very impressive and diligent. They’ve also been hitting their deadlines.

Let’s hope they do get the Kevins. Remember the character in the Harry Enfield’s show?

Firefighting

Chicasso attempts to cool down her fire engine

A slight hiatus  in posts.

I’ve been in Manchester and Madrid.

I’ve also been caught up in more train delays that you can shake a stick at. In fact, this week the South West Trains announcer blamed one of our delay on a Southern Railways train!

Playing catchup is like firefighting. Let’s hope normal service resumes soon.

Stand by … and action …

Sally the filmmaker in action

Today is my very dear friend Sally’s birthday.

Branching out into Chicassos of other people is proving very difficult.

I’m sure it was the same for Leonardo and Pablo.

Happy Birthday, Sally W!

 

 

 

Never too old, too sick or too late

Year of the Rooster: you’re never too old or to sick to try

It’s the year of the Rooster last celebrated in 1957. In that year Harold MacMillan told the nation you’ve never had it so good. Here’s hoping this year can be a good one too.

It’s certainly a good year for the so-called vintage tennis set. Venus and Serena Williams made the final of the Australian Open – older women. And Venus has a debilitating autoimmune condition. Let’s hear it for the girls! I love them both. They’re great inspirations.

Then there are the boys: Roger Federer and Raffa Nadal both are back from injury for the Melbourne Open finals.

Don’t write yourself off just because convention says you’re too old or too sick.

You’re never too old, never too bad, never too late and never too sick to start again from scratch, once again.  Bikram Choudhury/Vishnu Ghosh

Taking the Mourinho

 

Can you see the baton?

José Mourinho has made me roar with laughter. Manchester United lost their match against Hull, however, he says they didn’t lose. It wasn’t a goal! He insists.

We could all take that approach and I suggest Usain Bolt follows José’s lead. After all, when is a win not a win?

Back in 1988 I got up at the crack of dawn to watch Ben Johnson – the Canadian – in the final of the men’s 100m. I overslept by 10 seconds and actually watched the replay – all 9.79 seconds. By the time I got to work  ( I overslept again!) I heard the news that the record no longer stood because Ben Johnson – now Jamaican – had taken banned steroids. (The case of his change in nationality  a story in itself). However, I took the Mourinho:   he did run the race and he did win the race.

Taking the Mourinho is the way forward.  Darren Campbell the British athlete was asked to hand back his relay medal because Dwain Chambers’ failed drugs test. He refused saying: If you want it back you can come and get it! So far no one has shown up to collect them.

There you go, Usain, take the Mourinho. Meanwhile, let’s hope Nester Carter’s case goes the same way as Asafa Powell’s.