rites of passage

I had an amazing time in London. The launch of these community service agreements was uber posh with MPs and lead government ministers, big wigs, rich bods etc. it was in the Zurich Municipal HQ in Park Street – tall ceilings, chandeliers, paintings, yum yum canapés that I just stuffed on and freebie booze – then taxis across London to this leaving do ( I forget how architecturally beautiful London is), more excellent food and booze. I got the train home squiffy and by the time I got in to bed felt quite sick. The next day was equally fine. It’s good for me to raise my head up from the grindstone occasionally and get a view of how others live.

I also trogged along to the VSO meeting which was pretty bland stuff. They didn’t like my question about south sensitivity to north ‘benign paternalism’ – I didn’t use those words but it was an issue raised with me by a previous volunteer. We’ll see if they send me the packs and if/where I can go with it.

I am now officially a Catholic godmother of a half Muslim child. What a palava! Tracey spends an absolute fortune on these rites of passage events – £100 each on baby dresses etc. I don’t particularly enjoy these things, but I did my bit ferrying around and smiling for photos. Muslim dad was not there obviously, but brother with alcohol problem living in a hostel in Covent Garden was. I think I’ve told you Tracey had an incredibly difficult and painful childhood in various foster homes and children’s homes and her mother and sister both died on the street. She came to live with us when she first had Daisy about 16 years ago and has been an honorary family member ever since – sparky and mouthy as she can be – I feel really cared for by her. She got drunk at my 40th and insisted on giving this very emotional speech about what a lovely person I was – and then was sick!

A* and J1 have both had rites of passage events of their own this week. A* wrote me this really amusing email about a lesbian approach by the girl from Hong Kong on her corridor which has totally freaked her out and J1 went on a 48 hour binge in Frankfurt. What made me laugh was they looked up on the internet and were told Frankfurt was ‘smart’, so without parental advice, they all went in their school suits. Consequently everywhere they went they were stared at. They got an amazingly cheap flight, but didn’t calculate how far from the city the airport was and that cost them one third of their drinking budget. They couldn’t find friendly pubs, cheap food (they ate 2x in Mcdonalds) and couldn’t wait to come home. The way J1 told me made me laugh so much, but at least it was an experience not to be repeated, but safely learnt!

I had a long, long conversation with Jenny last night. Jenny is the one who has been dumped by her husband Dave – one of FH’s friends. Anyway, she puts me to shame. Two months into it and she has got a new deputy head post, is planning on moving house and has the most amusing take on what she describes as his ‘emotional autism’. There seems to be none of the paralysis of grief I felt for months and a far more pragmatic view on the advantages of being without him. It really is extraordinary how different people cope. I remember my hairdresser saying that the ones he thought would cope go to pieces and others just pick themselves up virtually immediately. I never realised how funny she was as she was really FH’s friend and I didn’t know her that well. It’s nice to be part of her communication loop suddenly.

I don’t have a particularly busy week this week – thank goodness, so I can catch up on my ironing, get the horse shod and sort out the car insurances. Do you have any rooms/lets spare in Bournemouth for students?