A Baby Shower

I have a grandchild (my first) growing ever bigger inside their mother. This is extremely exciting. I shall be called Granny Anne, and I am so looking forward to meeting them. As the prospective parents were visiting, I offered to host a baby shower. Such fun!

Several friends (and my hairdresser) gave me tips about what to do. Baby showers were not really a thing when I had my babies, so I was a little unsure of expectations. I learnt there should be cake, and games, and hopefully people would brings gifts. It’s a fun way to involve other people in the prospective birth, and to celebrate together (before the reality of sleepless nights and dirty nappies dominate). As the party was after our trip to NY, I also visited shops there, searching for baby tat (although they only had balloons and napkins). I baked lots of cake. I found all sorts of wonderful useless things online, and merrily made little chocolate shapes in baby themes, and gingerbread biscuits with cutters shaped like rattles, bibs, bottles and baby vests. (I tell you this, as the resultant biscuits looked decidedly dodgier shapes!)

The afternoon was fun. I am always worried when hosting a party, in case nobody wants to come, but people came and seemed to enjoy themselves. We scattered baby balloons in the hallway. I made a ‘nappy cake’ (which is nappies rolled up and tied with ribbons so they look like a tiered cake, and you hide little gifts inside). I found instructions online, and was pleased with the result (you never know with these things). I wanted some silk flowers to decorate it, ordered some from John Lewis, and was rather worried when huge boxes arrived. (Note to self: check dimensions before buying online.) I bought some terry nappies, because they made useful cloths for my own sicky babies, and one game was to practise folding one and putting it on a toy ape. We also listed all the things people say during labour, deleted the inappropriate ones, then listed the first letters to see if people could guess. (IAB: ‘It’s a boy!’ IANDTA: ‘I am never doing this again!’ ITN: ‘Is this normal?’) We also had some baby trivia (Day most babies are born: Wednesday. Bone babies don’t have: kneecap.)

I set the table with cloths, cups and saucers, plates of cakes, baby confetti, napkins. It looked pretty. Then we sat and watched the gifts being opened, which is always fun. People were very generous, and there were baby books, toys, and the cutest socks, lots of nappies, various outfits—everything that will make it easier for the parents to be ready for when the baby arrives.

I am so looking forward to the baby. It’s interesting how one baby affects everything—we (the older generation) all shuffle back a step, the parents’ siblings become the aunts and uncles, their grandparents become great grandparents. I know they are just labels, but they also represent roles, and family position, and they seem surprisingly significant. As the wider world seems to be on a mission to self-destruct, it is lovely to have something positive to focus on. A little optimism is good for us all.

I hope you have something to look forward to this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

NYC 2026

Posted by anneethompson

Monday 14th September

We went to the gym early, then walked to The Flame diner for breakfast. No rain today. But there seemed to be more crazy people on the streets—not sure I would feel safe walking alone. Husband told me his work schedule for the next two days. Felt stressed. Although it will be good to have a couple of days to study, it will be lonely, and we will be on different time zones most of the time (actually, Husband will be on two time zones, because he has early UK meetings online and late US meetings in person). I will switch my clock back to UK time, and plan to get up at 2am I think.

We walked down the island. The first part is busy, needed to watch where we were walking, avoiding people, waiting for traffic, not much space for looking around. We dipped into Grand Central Station, just because we haven’t been inside since we lived here nearly 30 years ago, mingled with the commuters, saw the central clock, the shiny floor, the staircase from a Mafia shootout in The Untouchables. There is something exciting, busy, intense about the city. I was also very aware that NYC has very few public washrooms, so I was keen to arrive in a quieter part, where there would be nice cafes and facilities. We passed some parks, but I don’t find these to be pleasant, they tend to be grubby squares with litter and homeless people—not somewhere that’s nice to sit.

Gradually the mood of the city changes as you walk further south. There are fewer people, more homes and fewer shops (not as many flashing signs). The buildings are mostly red brick, less high. It feels quieter, cleaner, less stressful. Our walking slowed too, we stopped rushing, looked at the streets we were passing. As we arrived on the edge of Little Italy we looked for somewhere to stop. Went into a cafe, Bakery in Lafayette and ordered coffee and pastries. It was clean and comfortable and cool. Little Italy was busy with workmen preparing for a festival, lots of temporary structures being assembled. We avoided planks of wood and reversing trucks and made it unscathed into China Town. Saw the red Chinese lanterns hanging across the street, the photographs of bright food on the menus, the shops full of lucky waving cats and oriental tat. I was tired now, it felt like we had been walking for a long time. We ordered an Uber and went back to the hotel.

My next two days were more lonely. Husband was working on both time zones—so waking early for 5am meetings online with UK boards, then attending meetings and dinners in person with US boards. I tried to work, and went for walks round the city on my own, but it’s less fun without company, and I worried about walking in front of traffic and getting lost. I ate a lot of rubbish and felt lonely—the whole city seemed to be full of couples and people rushing to important meetings and I was detached, wandering on my own, not quite daring to sit in a cafe or pause in a park. Probably being tired didn’t help. Flew home overnight on Wednesday. Fun few days.

Thanks for reading. Take care.
Love, Anne

PS. Completely unconnected, but do you know what the two-hands emoji means? Some people use it to mean ‘praying’ but saw on Insta that it means ‘high five’. Or ‘thanks.’ Seems to mean different things to different people. An online search was no help at all! What do you use it for?

Exposed in New York City

Posted by anneethompson

We arrived at The Knickerbocker Hotel, New York. Husband is working here next week, and I have tagged along for a weekend of tourism, and then I will study in the hotel room while he goes off to his client. Today has been very long—I woke at 5am, and it’s now midnight, bright and sunny in NYC. I am tired and feeling old. I remember the days when I could fly out to meet him when he was working here, and we’d go out for steak and red wine, and wander through the city before going to sleep. Now I can barely manage to order a room service pizza. It’s still a fun place to visit though.

The hotel is modern, and minimalist. There are very few drawers, or coat hangers, or walls, The wall bit is inconvenient. There is a sliding glass wall to close off the bathroom area, with glass-walled cubicles for the shower and toilet. Not much in the way of privacy. We arrived and ordered room service, which they said would take 25 minutes to arrive. That was plenty of time for a quick shower (always feel yukky after a flight). I quickly stripped off, leaving clothes strewn around the room because I was trying to be quick, and went behind the flimsy glass wall into the glass-sided shower cubicle. It was a good shower, lovely hot water, one of those soap dispensers on the wall (which I don’t especially like but it smelt nice so I used it) but nowhere to put your own shampoo because ‘minimalist’ means no shelves or soap dish, just a big empty cubicle. I was just shouting about all this to Husband when the doorbell rang. Room service was faster than expected. That’s okay, I thought, Husband will open the door but you can’t see into the bathroom from the doorway, no need to panic, he’ll thank the man, receive the food, shut the door.

But no. Husband opened the door, then stood back while the waiter wheeled a trolley into the room. I watched them (in horror) through the glass sides of the shower cubicle. The waiter (poor man—who wants to see their granny in the shower?) put the trolley in the middle of the room, and left fairly promptly, while I was desperately trying to cover my embarrassment with a towel. There was no hiding—the bathroom area has huge mirrors, brutal in their honesty—on every wall which isn’t glass. Great for beautiful young bodies, rather depressing for older women trying to hide from unsuspecting waiters. It was not a great moment. Need to discuss shower protocol with Husband.

Saturday 12th September

Slept well, woke about 3:30. Our favourite diner (The Flame Diner on 9th and 58th) is open 24 hours, so we walked there. New York is great in the early morning, it’s as light as day with all the huge billboards and screens, like walking through a television salesroom for giants. The air is warm in September, no need for more than a tee shirt (with a cardigan for the air conditioning inside). We entered the diner, slid into a booth, a waiter appeared with menus and glasses of iced water… I love NY.

After breakfast, we wandered up to The Met (The Metropolitan Museum — which in English we would call an art gallery). I have happy memories of here. When we lived in NJ my children were small and I would sometimes take them into the city. Before visiting art galleries, I would always show them pictures of the art first (our local library had some lovely art books) and they would each choose one picture. Then, when we arrived at the gallery, we would find each of the chosen paintings, and because they were so much bigger, and brighter, and because they knew something about it, when the children saw ‘their’ painting they were genuinely interested. Then we would go home (because 3 paintings is enough, when you have young children). I do remember one fun visit when as we climbed the marble staircase, my 4 year-old shouted: ‘Look Mummy! There’s Socrates drinking the hemlock!’ And everyone nearby turned in amazement to see who the child prodigy was! Anyway, that was a long time ago, and this time I was with Husband. Although I think 3 paintings was about his limit too.

We then went for lunch in another diner. I had a BLT, and a slice of New York cheesecake, which is fabulous and not sweet or lemony or rich, and I have only ever found it in New York. (Other places claim to serve it, but it’s never the same.)

Hope you have a good day too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Too Difficult

Posted by anneethompson

Lots of things in life are, frankly, too difficult. As I get older, I seem to encounter more and more things which are too difficult for me. Obviously some things are easier—I don’t need to think about how to drive to the shops, or cook dinner, or give a talk to a group of elderly people. But I think there are more things which I now struggle with—exceptionally long walks, carrying heavy things, training Meg, learning something new. The last one is becoming annoying as I continue my PhD research—but I have a strategy.

I have discovered that when I encounter something which I don’t understand, I don’t let myself worry about it, and I return to it very briefly in the future. If I return to it often enough, eventually I will get there. It’s like learning a difficult language—you do it one word at a time, however long that takes. When training Meg, I make her sit and look at me before I open the door. Sort of nibbling round the edges without worrying about swallowing the whole thing at once. This has been an especially good strategy this week, because I have some new grammar books.

The books were frequently referred to by the other scholars, and some were not available in the online library (plus I do like to hold a physical book) so I took out a mortgage and treated myself. (Grammar books are incredibly expensive if you look at the single price. If you cost them according to how much interest/pleasure they will give over time, you are paying about 10p per hour of absorbed activity over several years—which I think is better value than a Netflix subscription.) I ordered them. They arrived. I began to read the first one—and did not understand what they meant. Not a good start. I mean, I understood (nearly) every word, but not when they were arranged in that order! For example, Chapter Two begins:

“The thematic domain is the lowest one in the minimalist program/distributed morphology hierarchic template.”[1]

However, I am no longer phased by such lack of knowledge. I knew in time it would make sense, I just needed to continue. I read on, letting most words wash over me like a waterfall but understanding the occasional paragraph, learning new things in drips. The main strategy is just to keep on going and not slip into panic. The second book (by Noonan) I read in the middle of the night. It was 2 am, and much too hot to sleep, and the book was on the floor next to the bed (which is the best place to keep books). I began to read. It all made sense. Best of all, many of the things that were explained I recognised as the non-understandable terms used in the first book. Because I had already encountered the concepts (without understanding what they were talking about!) I gobbled up the explanations in this more accessible book. What fun! Now I was ready to tackle the first book again, armed with new knowledge. My memory isn’t great, so I scribbled notes and charts to help me remember the main points.

For me, this is how I learn. My research is currently about looking deeply into biblical texts and trying to decide what the early authors were saying. I’m not doing ‘theology,’ so I’m not drawing conclusions about what is applicable today, or even how it impacts other parts of the Bible. (That will come later.) I am simply looking at the Hebrew, examining how the sentences are structured and exploring possible meanings. It’s fun. But it’s difficult. I shall keep nibbling…

I hope you find a way to cope with the difficult things in your day. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

[1] John A. Cook, The Biblical Hebrew Verb (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2024)

Cluttered desk with paperwork, “COFFEE & CHAOS” mug, and incoming call from Sarah Jenkins

Scam Alert!

Posted by anneethompson

I was working when my mobile rang. There was a pause after I answered, which told me it was probably a scam, but it might have been a business so I continued and said ‘Hello?’ (I never give my name when I answer–there are too many scams and I want them to have minimal information.) The person (a man with an Asian accent) said hello, he was from Amazon Fraud Department, how was my day going? I was half-inclined to put down the phone at that point, I hate chatty sales people when I am trying to work. But there was a chance (albeit a tiny chance) that the call was legit, so I told him (possibly not too politely) that I was working (and hoped he would take the hint). I was also on full-alert in case of a scam–no pin codes to be given, no information about my account, no pressing a number to be transferred elsewhere–I know all these things can be scams.

The call continued, and the next bit is really clever (and easy to be fooled by) so please read carefully. The man said (again) that he was from Amazon Fraud Department, there was a suspected fraud on my account, had I bought an iPhone in the last week? I had not. I was being cautious, and trying not to say too many words, so I just said (slightly rudely) ‘No.’ The man then asked if anyone else had access to my account. I said no, still wondering where this was going. He asked if I would like the transaction to continue, or to cancel it. If someone had hacked my account, I did not want to pay for an iPhone, so I said ‘Cancel.’ I was still trying to use single words, still trying to work out how this could be a scam. The man said that to cancel the order, they needed a cancellation code, which would be sent by Watsapp. Please could I put the phone on speaker mode and check my Watsapp, and read out the number. This sounded very dodgy–it made no sense–why would he need me to give a number he had sent? And why Watsapp? Do Amazon use Watsapp? I said no, he could send the code via email. The line went dead. A scam.

I was now sure it was a scam, but to what end? What could he possibly gain by sending me a code and then asking me to read it out? Could he somehow access my Watsapp account if I used it while he was on the phone? It seemed like a lot of effort just to hack a Watsapp account! I asked the family. (I also checked my Amazon account on a different device–I worried he might somehow be inside my phone and able to monitor which keys I pressed). I also wasn’t sure if my voice had been recorded (some places use voice recognition) although I had said very few words, I doubted that would be a problem.

The family explained the scam. It’s a clever one. To open a new account (online bank, social media, shop, whatever) they now usually ask for 2-step verification. They will email you a code, which you then enter on the screen. The scammer was probably attempting to open a fraudulent account in my name, or at least with my phone number, and although they could complete most of the online form with a false email address, they needed the code that the company would send. Hence the phone call. The ‘cancellation code’ he wanted would not have come from the fraudster, it would have come from whichever company they were trying to access. Therefore, when I read it to him, he would be able to complete the 2-step verification and hey presto, a new account set up in my name of which I would have no knowledge and no access. He could use this to sell dodgy things, or build a false identity, whatever dodgy dealings he wanted. I would never know.

After the event, when I had time to think, I realised that very few companies (including Amazon) have my mobile number, so I should have known from the start it was a scam. But when these calls happen, it’s very hard to think quickly, and we’re never completely sure it’s a scam, so we keep talking, until sometimes it’s too late. I managed to spot this one, but it was clever. Please be careful whenever someone who you don’t know calls–they may not be who they say they are.

I hope you have a good week, and that all your phone calls are welcome ones. Take care, and do share this scam with others so it won’t work on someone else. Thanks for reading.
Love, Anne x

Accident at the Festival

Posted by anneethompson

You may have seen on the news that there was an accident at a Christian Festival over the weekend. There are two responses which really anger me.

In case you missed the reports, every August bank holiday, there is a festival called ‘Big Church Festival.’ It used to be called ‘The Big Church Day Out,’ and we went once—it was great fun, with food trucks and a stage with bands playing, lots of stalls, lots of people. (I don’t especially enjoy most ‘Christian’ music, but there was even an opera singer event, which was marvellous.) Anyway, the festival has grown over the years, had a name change, and now includes camping. Thousands of people attend. This year, a large wooden sign fell (I think due to winds) and hurt several people, killing one man who was a pastor. Very sad.

The two things which anger me are the responses I have seen on social media. One reaction has been humour—jokes made about the fact it happened at a Christian event. This is such bad taste. There are even reactions by people who claim to be christians but want to say the jokes are funny, they can’t resist laughing ‘even though I am a Christian.’ Being a Christian has nothing to do with it—that just means they hold a certain theological belief, it doesn’t make them better than others (even if it should). I suspect their reaction has something to do with wanting to appear relatable, ‘I’m a Christian but I still have a sense of humour’ sort of mentality. I consider them weak and bad mannered. When someone has recently been killed, it’s just plain rude to make jokes, or laugh about it, or show any lack of respect towards those who are mourning.

The other response, also by Christians, is the ‘God has a plan,’ ‘good will come of this,’ misguided nonsense which is also being spouted. It’s like christianity teaches that nothing bad will happen to good people (which is so far off the truth), therefore if something bad does happen, it must be part of God’s plan and some great good will be revealed. Again, this shows huge insensitivity towards those who are mourning (and a complete absence of understanding about what is written in the Bible and what is evidenced in real life). They seem to think they have a genie in their pocket, and if they have prayed the right prayers, and have the right motives, God will do what they want—he will suspend the laws of physics, perform miracles on demand, protect them from all physical consequences. And if God does not protect them—if high winds and a heavy sign are not influenced by a physics-defying miracle, well that must mean God has a better plan—because absolutely every event is part of a secret ‘plan’ therefore we must sing worship songs and celebrate because it’s not bad really after all. Is it? Actually, yes, it is bad. It is sad and horrid and vastly unfair. Bad things happen to good people. (Visit people in countries who are desperately praying that their children won’t die of starvation or disease if you don’t believe me.) Maybe nothing good will come of this tragedy. Maybe a child will grow up without her father, a mother has lost her son, friends have lost someone they love—and they will live with that hurt for the rest of their lives. There won’t be some great ‘good’ which will unfold. Life is just plain rubbish sometimes, and acknowledging that is not lack of faith, it is truthful. Pretending otherwise is misguided and cruel—because then when horrid things happen people either think they must have failed or God must have failed, because they know there is nothing ‘good’ in the disaster.

I am not denying that God is God, nor suggesting that God is absent. I do believe that God is God, I just don’t think he constantly miraculously intervenes to reverse laws of physics (which he set) every time humans pray. That would make humans into gods. Nor do I think God is absent—every horrid event in my life I have found God is there, helping me cope, crying with me, holding me when I am frightened. But when tragedy strikes, that is the time to cry. I think those who mock, or those who see it as an opportunity for christian scalp-hunting through misdirected praise songs have missed the point. If you are unaffected, if you are not crying, now is the time to shut up. Anything else is just rude.

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a great week, but if it’s tough I hope you know it’s okay to admit that it’s rubbish—and I hope you find the help you need.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Meg’s Diary. Not a (German) Shepherding Dog

Posted by anneethompson

1/2/2026

A very bad morning. I was out, Husband took Meg into the garden. There was a duck on the lawn, Meg tore after it, ignoring Husband, caught the duck, killed her. I am so angry with Meg. I have repeatedly tried to teach her not to chase my birds, repeatedly distracted her so she doesn’t bark at them, constantly tried to teach her to be safe around them. But clearly, she is not safe with them.

The ducks are semi-wild (mostly the offspring of wild ducks which I have rescued from crows and raised on the pond, and they have decided to stay because I feed them). In the Spring, the drakes are annoying, so the hens will fly over the fence onto the lawn, away from the drakes. Usually, when they hear us in the garden they fly back, onto the pond. This one obviously wasn’t fast enough.

By the time I got home, there was nothing that could help the duck, who was lying, terrified, under a tree. I gently picked her up, and laid her in a nest of fresh hay, safely enclosed, so she could die in peace. Horribly sad.

I am so angry with Meg. I know that her instinct is to chase (although not to kill—she must have been very rough to have killed it) but she knows that she must not touch my poultry, which is why she was running away from Husband as soon as she had it, why it became a game to her, something to play with. It shows complete lack of obedience, lack of impulse control, lack of empathy (because I am sure that his tone of voice should have warned her that this was not a game, and she should stop).

After I sorted the poor duck, I went into the house. Meg was shut into the utility room. I told her to go into her crate. Something in my voice subdued her. She knows she has been bad. She knows I am angry with her—her tail is down and her ears and back and she is not making a fuss to be free, even though she would not usually be confined to her crate during the daytime. I am so angry and upset I need space from her for a while. After that, I will try to decide what to do. I have no idea whether there is a way to teach her not to touch the birds—it’s not as if I haven’t tried. I need an albatross to come and terrify her, so she never touches birds again. When things like this happen, I just feel defeated, and want to rehome her. I have not felt like that for a very long time now, but today I could send her back to the breeder and replace her with a normal German Shepherd dog. One who listens to me. Like Kia did.

Thursday 12/3/2026

We needed to go to Sheffield (to collect goose eggs to hatch) and I didn’t want her in kennels again so soon, so we took her with us. She was perfect. (Never thought I would write that!) We put her into her crate in the boot, loaded our cases, and set off. After several hours we stopped at services. I walked Meg round the car park, and through the services (because there was no sign saying dogs couldn’t enter) and Meg was great. There was noise, and people, and sliding doors, queues for food, people eating (so food smells) a games area full of flashing lights and loud sounds—Meg walked next to me on the lead, noticing everything but unperturbed by any of it. Marvellous.

When we arrived in Sheffield, we set up her bed in the Airbnb and had a cup of tea. Then we left her, in the strange house, while we went out for dinner. Meg was fine (I checked). She curled up in her bad and slept.

I didn’t attempt to walk her along the streets (she’s always awful) and I decided that being either inside or in the garden for a few hours was no worse than being in kennels. Meg seemed fine. In the house, we could hear the dog next door barking. Meg growled a few times, but mostly ignored it.

The next day, we put her back in the car and drove home. Again, she was perfect. She sat and watched the traffic, or lay down (not sure if she slept) and when we stopped she walked nicely beside me, toileted on grass next to the road, got back into the car without a fuss. I was very pleased with her.

As I said, we were collecting goose eggs. I hope to hatch some. I also hope that while I am raising the goslings, I can involve Meg in a calm way, and that she will realise they are fragile, and that instead of being things to chase they will be things she guards. (Surely, deep inside, there is some shepherding instinct??) This is my hope. We shall see…

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week and all is calm in your world. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Artificial Intelligence

Posted by anneethompson

Have you used AI at all? I am bit of a dinosaur when it comes to technology, and I tend to only learn what I absolutely have to learn, in order to achieve what I want to achieve. (I am waiting for when AI can clean a dirty bathroom and sort the laundry out–that would be an excellent use of resources.) However, I have used the picture-drawing tool on my WordPress site, for my blog, and this has been fun. Mostly though, AI has removed some of my fun. One of the features that WordPress offers is details of various stats–how many people have read my blog, which countries it has been read in, which posts are particularly popular. It was fun, and after publishing a new post I would usually check to see how much traction it gained, always hoping it would be shared on social media so it would spread beyond my faithful email followers. Maybe one day something would ‘go viral’ and a post would become ‘famous,’ read by millions.

However, this changed recently. I noticed my normal stats (in addition to my 500 followers, usually around 30 extra readers each week) had suddenly shot up. I didn’t think this was because I was more popular, I think it’s because my work is being read by bots. I think computers are reading everything on the internet, AI is learning, my blog just happens to be one of the things hundreds of bots are reading. Which is much less satisfying than humans reading my work. I do not think it’s coincidental that most of my ‘readers’ are now in the US, India and China. It feels a little weird to be ‘read’ by a machine. But I guess if they are ‘learning’ then my blogs are as valid as any other voice. Perhaps they will one day even understand my humour.

I am regularly ‘fooled’ by AI in everyday life. Like when I try to complain about something, and am having an online conversation with a ‘person’ who seems to be on a loop–a sure sign that I am talking to a machine. I also believe things that I shouldn’t–like that a restaurant has lots of brilliant reviews, when I know that AI is able to write reviews and post them to any business willing to pay. I understand that even online news articles are sometimes written using AI, which means what we read as ‘fact’ might not be factual at all. It makes for a confusing world, one where we are not sure what to trust. I guess we need to learn new ways of looking at things.

I think it’s more of a problem for older people (like me). I was discussing my fears with one of my sons, saying that when I watch cute cat videos on Instagram, I am sometimes aware that they are fake. Cats would never behave like the ones in the video, it has been created by AI not filmed by a loving owner. My son said this problem was not particularly one for younger people. They have grown up knowing that anything online might be fake, seeing is not believing. He said it is my generation who read something in the news, or see a video, and automatically assume it is true. Because in the olden days, when I was a child, it would have been true. Something in a photo really happened. But not today. Today we need to be wise, we need to not trust the media, not trust what we see. Which seems a shame. But perhaps it has always been like that. Perhaps we gave authority too easily to the church, the school, the BBC. Perhaps even in the olden days we should have paused more often, we should have questioned ‘is this true?’ Perhaps information has always been unreliable, or biased, it’s just that today we are more aware of it. What do you think?

For my readers who are not bots (and who might enjoying sharing the occasional blog with other humans) thanks for reading. Be wise and pause before you trust.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Person wearing an intricate golden crown standing in a dark, old room with vintage decor

A Short Rant

Posted by anneethompson

Feeling Entitled

I love England. I love the countryside, and I love the people—nowhere else seems to have the ironic humour, the lack of fuss, the basic honesty of British people. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.) If you’re standing at a bus stop in the rain, someone will make you laugh. If you drop your purse, probably someone will give it back to you. However, the big fault that I see in my fellow Brits, the one trait that might break us, is a sense of entitlement. (Be warned, there is bit of a rant coming.)

This seems to be a modern thing. When I watch old movies, or series set in the past on telly, the overriding trait seems to be one of duty. ‘What ought I be doing?’ But not now. Now I hear people complaining that their problems are not being solved by the government, by the NHS, by the schools… People seem to think that if they have a problem (don’t we all have a problem of some kind?) then someone else ought to solve it.

If a child has a disorder that makes them not able to learn as easily as other children, then they are entitled to extra help, special treatment, provided by the school. (Who do they think will pay for this? Who will lose out because the staff are giving extra time to their child?) Surely a diagnosis is helpful so they can form strategies to overcome the problem, not to make an excuse, certainly not to off-load the problem to the school. They may need extra help, and they can ask for it, but should they feel entitled to it?

If someone has a health problem, they think the health service should sort it, at whatever expense—irrespective of how much has been budgeted, and therefore which other patients might lose out. And they think that they should be seen locally, with little or no waiting time, by a friendly helpful professional, in a clean environment with comfortable chairs and facilities in case they need them. Oh, and easy parking or transport provided. All for free, of course. And if they find it difficult to walk, they should be able to park their car wherever they find convenient—irrespective of the danger to other drivers or pedestrians. And they should be provided with flat walkways. Because they are entitled.

The one which really annoys me is when things happen globally (not naming any names) and it messes up things like the oil supply. Instead of recognising there is a crisis, thinking about how to get round the problem, people feel entitled to compensation. If the cost of living goes up, the government should ensure no-one loses out. People still expect to be able to buy their coffee (imagine if they had to make it at home!) They still expect to have a holiday (somewhere sunny). They still expect to be able to have a car for every driver in the family, and a computer for everyone in the family, etc, etc. Because they’re entitled to. Aren’t they?

Now, I know that we pay taxes, and these taxes provide education and health services. But it’s not a magic pot. The money is only there if we put it there. And lower taxes are another thing that people think they are entitled to. There is a mentality of ‘let the rich pay.’ I’m not sure who ‘the rich’ are. Do they mean media celebrities who earn millions entertaining online or on the telly? Or perhaps they mean people who have inherited millions from their families (irrespective of what costs they might also have inherited). Or perhaps they mean the people who worked hard at school, and studied after school, and then worked long hours (not spending their evenings at the pub) and therefore earn more than them? Is ‘anyone richer than me’ the people who should pay? Because I am entitled.

This worries me, because it is not sustainable, and it breeds discontent. I think we need a change in thinking. Life is full of problems, and some of them will disadvantage you. But instead of seeing a problem as belonging to other people, of feeling entitled to not solve it ourselves, we need to take some ownership of the difficulty. If we have a problem (health, educational, financial) then it is our problem. We can look for help—and often it is available because we live in a great society—but we are not entitled to it. Sometimes having a problem means we need to change something, we need to forgo something, we need to accept that something will be more difficult for us. A child with a learning disability should be taught strategies to overcome the problem, not expect society to bend to them. A health problem might mean finding new ways to cope. A financial problem might mean living differently.

I’m not saying that our society shouldn’t help—it’s helping that makes us human. It’s the sense of entitlement, the continual moaning, the feeling that every problem (even when it’s our fault for buying something unwisely) should be solved by other people. Let’s take ownership of our problems. Let’s find solutions together, which might involve asking for help but please, can we try to not feel so entitled. At the end of the day, no one owes you anything.

Okay, rant over. Thank you for listening. What is your ‘pet hate’? What worries you in society? Add to the comments below, and perhaps we can create a perfect society!
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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Badly Behaved People and Jersey Zoo

Posted by anneethompson

I have just been out for lunch. My sister Ruth is visiting from Canada, Husband suggested I should break from work and have a pub lunch with them. To be honest, it’s too hot to achieve much decent work (lots of slow blinks as I read scholarly articles) so off we went. We arrived as the pub was opening, and it was initially lovely and peaceful. But then two women entered and chose a table near to where we were sitting. You might think I am going to moan about the volume of their voices, or that one spoke on the phone at the table (most people are incapable of speaking at normal volume on the phone). But no, they started to play music on their phone. Not quietly, full volume music. Not even good music. I realised they were watching a video of a concert. They started to sing along (I nearly choked on my french fries!) Then, to help things no end, Husband also started to sing along! I thought (hoped) this might encourage them to reduce the volume. No such luck. The pub started to play background music of its own, so now we were surrounded by screeching singing on one side, and hits from the 90s on the other. It was not peaceful. I thought about saying something, or taking a photo (people get very huffy if random strangers take their photo) but I did nothing. No point in making an enemy over a bit of loud screeching.

I did however take photos at Jersey zoo. We visited towards the end of our holiday, and it is the best zoo in the world. Lots of animal-friendly cages, not so large you want to die before the end, some spectacularly pretty landscaping. The zoo was originally set up by Gerald Durrell, who looked a little like Russel Crowe of Gladiator fame in later life, but he’s better known for his books–which I read many years ago. It really is a lovely zoo. Somewhat spoiled by people behaving badly.

The badly-behaved people were in the butterfly house. This was an amazing area–you walked through doors and plastic screens and entered a world of huge blue butterflies. (There were other colours, but the blue ones were the best.) There was a window into the hatching area, where recently emerged butterflies were hanging to dry their wings. There were feeding stations of nectar and fruit, and you wandered amongst the plants enjoying the wonder of it all. Except for the people–a family–who were encouraging their children to hold the butterflies. I mean, who does that? Who doesn’t understand the fragility of a butterfly, that children holding them is never going to end well for delicate wings? I was too annoyed to trust myself to say something appropriate, so I left.

Unfortunately for you, I did not inherit my sister’s patience for photography, and she wasn’t with us. Therefore my photos are mostly more like ‘Where’s Wally?’ pictures (other than the ones ‘stolen’ from the walls of the bird house). I will leave you to spend happy hours trying to find the animals in my photos, but really you should go to Jersey, even if just to visit the zoo.

Hope you avoid all badly-behaved people today. Thanks for reading.
Take care,
Love, Anne x