Archive for October 22nd, 2007

“Say No to Crazy Paving”

My husband has been making noises that he would like to dig up our lovely green front lawn and replace it with concrete slabs of greyness for reasons pertaining to low-maintenance and other such-like ridiculous nonsenses. 

He hasn’t outrightly said anything.  He’s just testing the water (as if he didn’t know that this particular water on this particular issue would be at sub-zero temperatures).  Anyway, thus far I have remained silent but trust me, I have the protest camp all planned out – from the banners and fliers to the survival supplies such as food and camping gear.  And so, at the first sign of spades and cement, I will be pitched up, camped out and totally unbudged on my front lawn until the silly notion has been fully removed from his head by any means necessary.  And I certainly haven’t ruled out a lobotomy. 

Seriously though, why is it so popular to concrete over our green lawns when we so urgently need carbon sinks?  Why would we want to replace our natural gardens with wooden decking . . . or build over our lush shrubbery and foliage with those must-have conservatories?  Is it  not enough that we have already destroyed much of the wider greenery around us?  The little eco-systems that live in the earth of our gardens can not thrive under the concrete and the gravel.  Our gardens are abundant with mini-wildlife species that work so hard with mother nature to maintain the cycle of life that we all depend on. 

Why would we want to destroy all that?


Things to Do Before I Die . . .

As you may know, our staff room doubles up as an offloading chamber.  An outlet to vent feelings and thoughts that we’d never talk about or say outside those walls.  In this room there are no conversational boundaries and the walls know all our inner secrets and desires.   So de-sensitised are those four walls that they no longer blush at our descriptive and often explicit language.

Anyway, today we were talking about stuff we’d like to do or see before we die.  The predictable stuff was mentioned – the swimming with dolphins, the trek to Antarctica, the skydive, the trip to the moon, making love on a beach in Tahiti (or in my case a meadow full of daisies) and so on.  But there’s one thing on my unwritten list that I’d totally forgotten about until I saw someone doing it on Saturday night at a dance show I went to see.

It’s nothing mind-blowing.  Nothing that would change the world.  In what I suppose is an extention of my dreams to be a dancer, I’ve always wanted to perform the Can Can – with a full chorus-line and in full frilly gear.  I just love the exhilaration, the passion, the blatant in-yer-face rudeness about this dance and many moons ago I almost got the chance. 

When I was about twelve, my school held a talent contest and me and my friend, being the only two girls in our form who could do the splits, decided to enter the contest as a kind of Follies Berges duet. 

We practised for weeks and weeks in our break times and we got it perfect.  My mum even made us some large-frilled layered petticoats.  We had the stockings, the feathers, the lot.  We were great.  But a couple of days before the show, all the kids who were taking part had to perform a demo of their act in front of the staff.  And has it happened, the prissy teachers wouldn’t allow us to do our Can Can on account of us having to show our Knickerbocker thingies to the world, that is unless we toned it down. 

But how on earth can you ‘tone down’ the Can Can?  It is what it is.  Anyway, we were just kids.  It was innocent fun.  We didn’t see anything remotely provocative about it.  We just saw it as one huge laugh and a chance to show off the fact that we could do the splits and mega-high flying cartwheels.

Thwarted in our prime we were.

But in all honesty (and I never told my friend this), I was secretly relieved that they threw us out of the competition because I was terrified.  I loved the dancing, the practise, the rehearsals etc. but I was a blubbering wreck about the thought of doing it on stage in front of all my school friends.  Yes, there was a high likelihood that I would have chickened out at the eleventh hour.

I think I could do it now though.  Does Jim still fix things for people?  Or should I wait for the next Britain’s Got Talent?