Happy New Year

Can anyone believe it yet?  2012 is about to begin.  It seems like only yesterday that we were looking forward to a new Millennium…and now here we all are 12 years down the road.

I used to get worked up for New Year, the dawn of a new year, the nostalgia of the outgoing year with the promise of the new…I wonder is it a sign of fatigue, ennui or just plain old age (even when I’m not old) to find it all a bit ‘ho-hum’ now.

There are of course many types of New Year parties

Fancy Dress                          oh dear God no!!!

Karaoke                                 ditto

Party Games                         only if I absolutely must

Dinner with friends               great

Cocktail Party                       yes, ok, but do I have to wear a dress?

Do nothing                            a definite option to consider

Romance a deux                   the one and only

And this year the prize goes to…dinner with friends.  Best of all, it’s at their place, so we don’t have to do any preparations, cooking or cleaning up.  We just grab the champagne and make our way round at the appointed time.  Given the craziness of Christmas, the more relaxed New Year’s Eve is a godsend and much to be appreciated.

Any pitfalls?  Well, our friends love party games (see above) and while I’m fine with charades…I abhor cards, dice and all things involving counting.  So, I’m hoping for champagne, dinner, chatting and putting the world to right.  I’m definitely wanting to relax in good company and let the worries of the world and the exhaustion of Christmas fade gently into the past.

So, we’ll get dressed up, chill the champagne and wend our way.

And what about New Year Resolutions?  Well, really…what about them!!  Over the years we’ve all made them, we all break them, truth to tell we’re lucky if they last through January.

So…for 2012

More exercise                          oh dear God no (yes, I’ll try…)

Less meat                                ditto (sigh)

More vegetables                     only if I absolutely must

Chocolate                                great

Join a choir                              yes, ok, but do I have to wear a dress?

No resolutions at all                 a definite option to consider

More romance a deux             the one and only

Have we noticed a trend here??

Happy new year.

Christmas Day

Weeks in the planning, organised chaos in the kitchen for days, mad panic of last minute items to buy.  Pure panic when the essential ingredient is missing on Christmas Eve.  But finally it’s here.  Christmas Day…lunch is never just lunch, and this year we opted for a 4pm start.  A timetable in place to ensure it all is ready at the right time…we’re following it to the letter.  Ready?  Places everyone…and action!!

Everyone is here, settled in chairs, glass in hand.  Best outfits, sparkly jewellery – we all made an effort to look our best.  Presents are pulled out from under the tree, wrapping paper and empty boxes litter the floor.

The dog is under the table hiding from the rustling paper and the air of heightened excitement – the cat is upstairs hiding from the dog.

The champagne is keeping us warm, the candles are flickering around the room, the air of expectancy and camaraderie makes everyone feel loved, happy – and the missing members of the family make us all the more nostalgic, and the time together more poignant.

The aromas wafting in from the kitchen have us all dribbling and constantly hungry.  There is always a wonderful expectation to Christmas lunch.  No matter how many sweets, chocolates or mince pies doing the rounds, the stuffing, turkey, roast potatoes, gravy and myriad of seasonal extras draw you in – and suck you down into a world of calories and over-indulgence.

Piled high, it looks wonderful.  It looks too much, but we’ll finish it.  Fit to burst and no one has even thought about the plum pudding that’s been steaming in the saucepan for the last few hours.

Dim the lights, pour the brandy over the plum pudding, light the alcohol and the blue flame bounces around the dessert.  Bowls, brandy butter, cream, just in case you have a tiny space left for food…we’re about to go into major overload.

We all fall into our seats, party hats awry, buttons popping and now all we want to do is snooze.  The atmosphere is so relaxed.  At this stage in the proceedings, we just need all our blood vessels working overtime on digestion.  There’s no room for intelligence, IQ or even…staying awake.

What’s everyone want for supper….and the communal groan is as expected.  Somehow we do manage some mince pies and fudge as we wallow in the romance and nostalgia of Downton Abbey…will they or won’t they, it’s been all part of the build up for weeks.

Families, Presents and Over-eating – it simply must be Christmas.  We made it, we survived it, and the presents were really wonderful.  But the best present, is simply having everyone around the table, smiling, happy and together!!

But my Dad always said, ‘Thanks be to God, Jesus Christ did not have brothers and sisters’… Indeed.

Fur – No Excuses

My grandmother owned a fox fur collar and in my very young years I enjoyed playing with it.  The beautiful sleek fur, the tiny face, the long tail…for a five year old it was simply beautiful, forbidden, fun to touch and nice to talk to.

In the 1980’s and 90’s, real fur caused an outrage.  Protesters threw red paint at fashion shows for fur retailers.  Models took their lives in their hands as they teetered down the catwalk in high heels and fur coats – and very little else.  The photos might look good but the stress was palpable.

And now, the fury has died down, sales of real fur are on the rise.  Few people know about this outside of the industry, and there is neither a drop of red paint nor any word of censure in the press.

Fur…real fur!!  Now, think about this, some innocent animal is raised in captivity, usually in appalling conditions for a set period of time and then slaughtered so that someone can show off a coat, prove they have style or wander around London, Paris or New York feeling that they’ve “made it” financially…

If you want to wear fur, you should be forced to kill the animal yourself.  Look into their eyes, and mentally tell them why they must give their lives for your wardrobe.

It’s an obscene concept.

Of course fashion has various sweat shops with young children being treated badly, long hours, non existent wage control and safety…this is something that we all should be more aware of and do something about…boycott the lot of them.  But somehow to kill an animal, not for food, not for the furtherance of the human race in some positve and vital way, but just to show off the result…this says something fundamental about us all.

No other species kills another for the fun of it, for the sport or fashion of it.  No matter how cruel the animal kingdom can be, and it can definitely be cruel, they kill each other for food, in self defence, to protect their young or to survive.  Necessary, understandable and somehow ethical.

Only we kill wilfully, smilingly, smugly and thoughtlessly.  And that makes us…I’m at a loss because I fear the answer is shaming, unethical and contemptible.

Fur…it’s an emotive subject, for me and the animal who’s staring into the barrel of a gun or wondering what that shiny knife you’re holding is planning to do.

How an individual treats children and animals tells you absolutely everything you need to know about them.  No excuses.

French Folly

I love Paris in the Springtime, I love Paris in the Fall…(thank you Ella Fitzgerald), so the four of us headed off as a surprise for a friend’s 60^th birthday. Our part of the surprise weekend was treating the two of them to brunch at the Hotel de Crillon. A 5 star oasis in central Paris – allegedly the best hotel in Paris, (and arguably the world).

So we all dressed up, make up on, great excitement. The doorman all but bowed us into the hotel, marble floors, crystal chandeliers, oh yes we’d love to make our way into the dining room.

The room was sumptuous, mirrors, gilt, silver tableware. The food so beautifully presented, mouth watering delights in abundance to tempt us. But first, some champagne…of course, thank you. Sipping and smiling, this is the way to spend a Sunday afternoon. The hours to come stretched out ahead of us in what can only be described as a feast for the senses.

Waitresses, casually bilingual, excellently attentive, as delight after delight is brought to the table, the chef’s amuse bouche, some wine perhaps, let’s try the smoked salmon, the three different types of ham, the two different types of salads, the various types of breads, croissants and cheese, perhaps some foie gras…and finally the patisseries. The whole thing was just heavenly, faultless French delights. If one could choose how to spend an afternoon with friends this would indeed be it.

As a couple, this was our second visit, a few years ago three of us had sampled this delight and thought, let’s share it with other friends. Wonderful, lots of planning, e-mails in French to make reservations, the worry of bad grammar as we press the send button. But we understood the response, we were ready. Confirmation received, credit card details provided, the previous brunch had cost about Euro 60 each, so we guessed this would be a non standard gift for our friend’s 60^th birthday. These events tend to be received as gifts, one rarely treats oneself. We were buzzing with the excitement of sharing the experience.

More wine ladies? Well, perhaps not, we’ve already had champagne and wine and it’s not yet 3pm…any more and I’ll probably start singing. The waitresses have worked out that the four ladies in the corner (us) are good for a laugh and one or two join us. It’s all very light-hearted and amusing. The birthday couple are enjoying the attention.

Time to move on, the room is emptying slowly. We as the hosts had guessed at Euros 70 per head, total estimate being Euros 300. So, are we all done girls? No more patisseries, no more coffee, some herbal tea…great 4 herbal teas and “l’addition s’il vous plait” – the bill arrived…it’s 60% higher than your highest estimate it’s – whisper it – Euros 475…!!!

With the guests directly opposite, no matter what the total was, it was imperative they not realise what was going on, so while the air rushes from your lungs, the room fades into the background and your head grapples with the maths, your mind is going WHAT, HOW MUCH, XXXX, XXXX, XXXX, but you hear yourself calmly saying “Merci” as you hand over your credit card.

The gift, planned, executed and intended to be a symbol of how important the friendship was, fell immediately into the category of expensive but enjoyable French folly.

NHS vs Private Hospitals

No one would deny that the NHS is a wonderful concept, few would argue with the fact that the majority of nurses and doctors do wonderful, selfless, inspiring work.  But equally there are the all too often exceptions to the rule that worry the families and cast fear into the hearts of the patients.

But what happens when due to budgetry requirements and lack of hospital beds, the particular operation is passed on to a private hospital – where one assumes better care – but the care on offer fails at a minimum level and leads to farcical exchanges…

Patient – Excuse me nurse, my knee is still bleeding profusely after my operation four days ago, I’m unable to eat and drink without being nauseous and as a result I haven’t eaten in over five days, and my pain medication doesn’t work…as I’m 85 years old, do you think I should be concerned or worried?

Nurse – There, there, I’m sure it’s fine, someone will be in to help later.

P – But I’m bleeding, the bandage is beginning to seep blood onto the sheets…

N – Yes, but that can happen after an operation,

P – And I’m unable to keep anything down, and haven’t eaten in 5 days,

N – Don’t worry, I’ve asked that they offer you a ginger biscuit with your cup of tea later this afternoon.

P – My family have had to go to the supermarket to buy me food, because even if I could eat, the food here is totally inedible.

N – Well, it’s nice that you now have things to tempt your appetite.

If it wasn’t so serious, the conversation above – which actually happened, albeit not in one sitting – would be worthy of Laurel and Hardy.  The level of attention to the care of an old lady was dismal.  The private hospital saw their responsibility as carrying out the operation, and sending her home.  So stop the bleeding and ship her out.  Literally.  She’s little more than a parcel to be moved on.  The operation is finished, so tick the box for a success…update the doctor’s records to show how wonderful he is and next patient please!!

The rest of the fall out from the operation is under the heading of being ‘off colour’, and seemingly not related to the original operation.  Not their responsibility, the nausea and lack of sleep is simply an old lady with old age problems, not linked back to the operation of a week ago.

If I can see the link, does that make me Einstein or does it make them stupid beyond belief for not seeing it?  I am tending towards the latter at the moment.

The jargon and feel good “speak” is of course designed to lift morale, keep patients feeling positive in order to aid recovery, but there’s a difference between buoyant upbeat optimism and sheer air head lunacy…

And then, just when one despairs and feels that the whole process is severely lacking any care for the elderly, the old lady’s husband is walking their dog, bumps into a NHS doctor from the local surgery who gives immediate advice on food to aid recovery, and within the hour drops some food from her own personal freezer into the old lady’s hands – literally.  Personal service way above and beyond the call of duty.

Comparing private and NHS in this instance, excuse me, but could the private hospital’s attitude step into my office, I think you need some training around basic humanity.

Dublin’s Brooks Hotel

The Brooks Hotel in Dublin – Great, but not fantastic, sadly it’s slipped a bit!

This was our third visit, albeit that we hadn’t been for a few years.  3 nights to relax, do some shopping and just please ourselves.  The Brooks Hotel was our hotel of choice, always has been when in Dublin.  It has lots to recommend it, not least that it’s a 4 star hotel with a really great central location.  Quiet, near but not on main streets, but a short walk to great shopping, serious history and huge varieties of restaurants.

The executive room was comfortable, with a great bed, choice of pillows, tea and coffee making facilities and heating and air-conditioning that was efficient and quiet…it didn’t rattle noisily through the night.  The bathroom was very clean, a good size with a separate shower.  Nice Pecksniff’s products, lots of mirrors, great lighting for make up and hair.  So far so good.

The restaurant we only used for breakfast, where the food was fresh, varied and plentiful, the service was sometimes painfully slow, but staff were helpful.  The Jasmine Bar, with friendly and efficient staff, was wonderful for afternoon teas, long chats with friends and so relaxing you were tempted not to leave the building at all. There is a small but functional gym, and also a really quiet and relaxing resident’s lounge.

Any issues?  Well, yes. The hairdryer was weak and not really good enough, 4 star should provide better.  There was no safe in room 411 and so that was a problem.  The Wi-Fi in the room was temperamental at best and at one point I held my iPad above my head inside the room’s main door in order to get a signal.  The computer in the residents lounge was irritatingly slow to respond, if indeed it chose to respond at all.

The irritations were just that.  Irritating.  These shouldn’t happen in a 4 star hotel.  The good things probably balance out the bad, enough to make the overall impression positive.  We would go again, and would stay there from choice.  But if it was my hotel, and my name on the door…I’d be looking into the ways to make it 4+ and not only just reaching a 4.

But truth to tell, we will return…

Juno – Worth A Watch

Juno (2007)

A slightly strange, eccentric little film which deals with teen pregnancy and the recognition of love and commitment.

The central character, Juno or Juno-Bug as she is affectionately known by her family, is extraordinarily mature for a sixteen year old.  On discovering that she is pregnant after a sexual adventure with a classmate, she makes the decision to have the baby, but to have it adopted by a family of her choice.

The process of choosing the family and the way this unfolds is moving, but somewhat confusing for Juno as she learns to understand relationships and their boundaries.

Juno is sensitively and well acted and narrated by Ellen Page.  Juno’s parents (Allison Janney and J.K. Simmons) are both superb.  They serve as an example of a solid relationship with which Juno can identify and which assists her in making her own choices.

Allison Janney is both sharp and humorous and J.K. SImmons portrays a gentle and straightforward no-nonsense father.

Worth a watch!

Horse Whispering – Part II

And so it began…

There were three horses, and we were introduced to, and worked with, each of them in turn.  Fiona (a Martha Beck coach) didn’t give us any information to help us, we met the horses as individuals, with their own personalities, issues and baggage unknown – just as we meet people in our daily life.

So, first horse, young, if a human I’d assume early 20’s.  Open, inquisitive, friendly with no apparent fear or concerns around humans.  Relaxed, alert, aware of what was going on around him but happy to just see us.  He reacted well, trotted around quite happily and generally was a wonderful introduction to horses.

The next horse, female, older, very relaxed in her own skin.  Not a leader, but you had to earn her respect to have her follow your lead.  This horse wasn’t about to move or trot for any stranger.  She wasn’t aggressive, just uninterested.  It was our reaction to this that interested Fiona.  Does the horse make you feel angry, frustrated, do you want to slap the horse or are you ready to shout at it.  It seems that this horse is ideal material to drive self important CEOs and big shot lawyers into a frenzy of fury.  It’s a good way to get to the heart of the individual.  Some CEOs have stormed at the horses, some quietly come back to Fiona having learned more about their leadership skills in that one session than their years at the top.

I was made keenly aware of my failings by this horse, but it was impossible to look anywhere for blame but inside myself.  It was, and has continued to be, an interesting lesson learned.

The third and last horse was a huge male – feisty and skittish.  I was nervous, he was nervous, he was liable to run off at a moments notice.  Fiona took pity on us, and explained.  This horse was a champion in any ring, give him a focus, a task and a reason to concentrate and he performed.  Nothing could beat him.  She’d been offered big money for him.  But outside the ring, this horse was afraid of his own shadow.  Constantly looking around nervously, assuming there were things to be afraid of, looking for things to worry about.  This trait, albeit inherited and therefore genetic, made the horse almost constantly miserable.  He lived the fear continuously inside his own head.  Everything around him that particular day was peaceful, non-threatening, but still he was afraid.  On closer inspection, one realised that instead of being nervous of him, it was more important to understand that his size wasn’t a concern, he wanted and needed gentle but firm guidance.  Then, he could relax.

As an exercise in understanding oneself, the few hours with Fiona and her horses were invaluable.  The truths and clarity that were palpable about the horses made the day come alive in a way that is very difficult to describe.  But I find myself remembering how it felt to be so close to the animals.  It was also a lesson in focus.  Once in the enclosure, no distractions, no small talk, no concerns outside of the horse and how you related to it.  100% you and the animal was the only way to achieve any result.  Better focus than many of us manage on the daily grind in work and our personal lives.

A truly memorable and worthwhile time.  A gift that I relive regularly.