Author: anneethompson

Splash!

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Hello, how was your week? I have just had a lovely morning, so I shall share it with you. It started earlier than expected (I sometimes accept invitations from my husband without checking the fine details first). We were standing on the station at 7am, which was bit of a rush as I had to sort out Goose, and the randy cockerel (who now has to sleep in a prison because he hurts my other birds) and the 7 ducklings (who make a muddy soup of wherever they are living). But after a quick shower, I was in the car at 6:55 as directed, and at the station in time for the train. (Also discovered I cannot use my railcard until 9:30, so more expensive as well as much earlier, than expected.)

As we waited, the power at the station gradually stopped working: first the automatic ticket machine died, then the credit card machine at the hatch, then the information boards. A little weird that it didn’t happen all at once. We decided to opt for the first train—a diesel—in case the electric train also died. So we ended up on a train to London Bridge, when we were heading to Kensington High Street. It all added to the excitement.

After squeezing into over-crowded tube trains (don’t think about the germs) we escaped into fresh air at Kensington. Kensington is very posh—even the tube station has artificial flowers and fake-Italian coffee shops. We turned right, walked past a few posh shops and cafes, then left into the modern forecourt of the Design Museum.

Husband had been invited to a ‘Breakfast and Preview of Splash.’ Splash is the new exhibit (about swimming), and I wasn’t sure how keen Husband was when the invite first arrived, so I told him I thought Pamela Anderson was there because I’d seen her photo online. Though I’m sure that didn’t influence him at all.

We arrived and had our names checked at the door, then were offered coffee (in proper cups and saucers) and pastries. We didn’t know anyone, and it wasn’t a ‘work-do’ so Husband chatted to me (rather than networking) and it was rather nice.

We went to see the Splash exhibit. It was mainly a display showing various styles of swimwear—some of which would be rather draughty! Pamela Anderson obviously decided not to attend in person after all, but her swimwear was there, so I didn’t feel I had been dishonest. (I have similar measurements to Pamela Anderson, just arranged in a different order.)

There was also a display about mermaids, and one stating that very few black people in England can swim, though I don’t know why this would be a thing. (The black people not-swimming, not the mermaids—mermaids are definitely a thing.) I grew up on a council estate, and we all learnt to swim, and beaches in England are free—so it’s not a financial thing. Maybe their parents didn’t think it was important—most black people I know can drive, and learning to drive is much more hassle than learning to swim, so it must be a lower priority. I shall have to ask them.

I do love a pretty hat!
Such great movement in this painting.
Mermaids are definitely a thing.

The exhibit was not extensive, but it was bright and fairly interesting, and made a good excuse to go into London.

Before we came home we went to a cafe for brunch, and that was the best thing of all. We sat at a little wooden table, perched on slightly wobbly chairs, and watched the world go past. Most of the world (in South Kensington High Street) wear expensive shoes, and have manicured hair, and walk with purpose. I wondered who they were, and where they had come from, while sipping coffee and eating a huge almond croissant which fell into crumbs that scattered across my clothes—so I fear I did not look especially manicured myself. But I felt very contented. We talked about nothing, and I tasted Husband’s salmon on avocado toast, and it was all rather lovely, and one of those mornings that remind you of why you got married all those years ago. Sometimes, just being, is rather lovely.

We got home at midday, released mad dog, and started work for the rest of the day. A fun little interlude.

I hope you have something fun this week too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Not a Great Week Here, How About You?

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This too shall pass. . .

Hello and how was your week? Mine was pretty rubbish to be honest, but I survived and by the time you read this (as I write blogs several weeks before I post them) I am sure all will be well again. But this week has been disappointing.

One disappointment is my cockerel, who is super-randy and sees everything else as a competitor to fight. Which means when anyone is in the garden, he starts to dance around them, ready to attack. It also means he attempts to copulate with anything he considers appropriate. He hurt Goose, so I moved him in with the chickens. He is so big and strong, he was damaging their heads (he holds onto the back of their head to keep them still while he ‘covers’ them) and one of my lovely white hens was so badly hurt she died. I now don’t know what to do. He was raised to be company for Goose, and they have been good friends—I love seeing them walking round the garden together, and at night they snuggle in the hay box. But he is currently too dangerous to be free. I have run out of safe places, because I have a mother duck and her ducklings in the spare cage. I am fond of him, so unwilling to eat him or leave him for the fox, but he is a problem.

When I first decided to move him, I shoved him into the duck house, just to keep him safe from the fox and the chickens safe from him. The duck house opens onto the pond. In the morning, I was extremely surprised to find him in the second duck house. This means he must have attempted to escape in the night, and tried to cross the pond—which involves swimming. Chickens cannot swim. He must have had a near-death experience! Silly thing. At least he will have learnt that he can’t swim. (He can fly, but he doesn’t seem to know that yet, and stays inside the fence.) My only solution is to leave him in the pond area during the day (because the ducks can swim away from him) and lock him into the nesting box at night (when the hens are roosting). But moving him is a lot of effort, and it won’t work when I go away, so it’s not a long-term solution.

Another major disappointment was receiving a form from university. It is an assessment form, and has 9 sections, each section is 4,000 words. I did not expect this until next summer, as I am part time, and I have not allowed time to complete it this month. This makes me very stressed. I am hoping it was sent in error, and I need to complete it in 2026, but I haven’t yet heard back from my supervisor. I am trying to be philosophical about this, and I am telling myself that if God wants me to complete the PhD, then as long as I work hard (which I am) all will be fine. But I am still stressed out!

One reason I have so little time is my venesections have started. I have to have a blood test 7 days beforehand (which wastes most of a morning due to delays in waiting rooms). The actual venesections are awful, mainly because they are in the oncology department, and it is very sad being with lots of brave people who are struggling with cancer. The staff are lovely, but the logistics of getting to hospital, and trying to park, and waiting until I can be seen (because health stuff always involves waiting) and then having blood removed for an hour is not my idea of fun. I am tired afterwards—I think mainly due to the stress of it all. And I know I am very fortunate that my condition is treatable, and I am grateful it was discovered in time, but it is still awful.

Not enjoying being a patient.

My last worry is the local election, when the Reform party won in my area. I find this extremely worrying. I am not political, but the only broadcast I have heard by Reform stated that: ‘we have too many immigrants. Most of them are young men. The majority are criminals.’ In my mind, this is hate-speech. This is the sort of rubbish Hitler was spouting in the 1930’s. It ignores the difference between immigrants and asylum-seekers. It ignores the fact that many immigrants are hard-working and our country needs them. It ignores the fact that if people are asking for asylum, and if they genuinely need it, we should be prepared to help them. In my opinion, the ‘criminals’ are the traffickers who bring them on unsafe transport, and the politicians who spread lies and fear. The Reform party have now said they will use their status (and the money that comes with it) to challenge the government so they are side-tracked from governing. This is not what I want my local councillor to do. It saddens me that this is happening. I also feel guilty, because I didn’t make the effort to vote in the local election. We need to start speaking against the mis-information and hate-speech, and we need to be sure to do our duty and vote.

As I said, by the time you read this, I expect my stress levels will have reduced and life will be calm again. Sometimes life is difficult, and we keep going until it’s better again. This too shall pass. Though I have no idea what to do with my randy cockerel.

Thanks for reading, I hope your week is better than mine.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

I will try to focus on the lovely ducklings instead. Their world is full of danger, but they simply get on with living with enthusiasm. They are my happy zone.
****
anneethompson.com
*****

Finding Comfort in Uncertain Times

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Well, isn’t the news depressing at the moment! I find I am drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, with a sort of horrible fascination, wondering which world leader will have done something stupid today. There is a lot going on, and it can feel rather unsettling. However, today I read a few verses that reminded me to keep everything in context, not to get carried away by the stressy-gossipy-conspiracy of the whole thing—especially some of the things being posted on social media.

Now, I am taking these verses (Isaiah 8) completely out of context, and I am applying them in a way that was not at all how the original author expected them to be applied, and I am ignoring all the verses before and after. Usually I would think this was a slightly dodgy way to use Scripture, but I think, if I am only applying it to myself, and not using it to teach/correct other people, then it’s okay. (Sometimes the writers of the New Testament did the same thing.) I think sometimes a few verses might apply directly to the reader (me) and that is how Scripture ‘speaks’ today. So, with the health warning that I am not trying to teach anything from these out-of-context words, which you can apply however you feel is appropriate, this is what I read this morning:

Hoping you find them a comfort.

They are copied from stepbible.com (great if you want to compare translations) the ESV and the JPS TANAKH.

Enjoy your day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
******

Meg’s Diary

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27/1/2025

We went to New York (this is January, before the tariffs), Meg went to kennels. She was happy enough to walk in, and greeted the staff like long-lost relatives, so I don’t feel guilty leaving her there. They take her for a walk each day, and she walks around the woods carrying logs (though she’s on a lead, so no chasing sticks).

However, when we collected her this time, they said she is aggressive towards other dogs, and lurches towards them when walking—though is fine when next to them in the kennel. This is a bit like when we drive—every dog we pass Meg barks at (it doesn’t make for peaceful journeys). I’m not sure what to do about it really, as she is fine when she’s with me in the woods.

Actually, she is brilliant in the woods. I forgot to take the lead yesterday, and I didn’t need it. I held a stick when I opened the boot, and Meg waited next to the car, watching to see where I would direct her. Other dog-owners were returning to the car park, and cars were whizzing along the main road, but Meg ignored them all. We had a lovely walk through the woods, I threw sticks, and called her when she got too far away, and she was completely obedient. We passed several other dogs, crossing paths with them, but whether they barked at her or not, Meg completely ignored them. Great. At the end of the walk I called her to heel, and we returned to the car (still no lead). I opened the boot, told Meg to jump in, and …nothing.

This has become a feature. When we return to the car, whether after a quick trip to the supermarket or a long walk round the woods, Meg refuses to get back into the car. She stands there, and looks at me. In her favour, she does not chase other cars or dogs, she just stands there, quietly waiting for me to take her for a longer walk. And I stand there, quietly waiting for her to jump into the car. Sometimes we stand there for a full 5 minutes, staring at each other, fully understanding what is being expected, refusing to give in. I usually break first, and practically choke her by trying to haul her into the boot. At which point she jumps nimbly in, giving me a withering ‘you have no patience’ look. Which is correct, I do not.

I’m not sure whether this counts as obedient or bad. She knows what I want, and doesn’t run away—but nor does she obey and get into the car. When I’m in a rush, it’s infuriating. I have started keeping dried fish treats in the car, as a bribe. The only change is that my car now stinks for fish, Meg still won’t get in.

Always carries the biggest stick she can find!
These were too big, but she tried.


14/2/2025

Meg has been fun this week. She is now fairly reliable when left alone in a room, and usually settles down near a radiator and snoozes. Only fairly reliable, as she did empty a plant all over the kitchen floor—so I wouldn’t leave her alone for too long, but gradually I am trusting her more.

I still cannot let her interact with my other animals though. I doubt she would hurt them on purpose, but she would definitely chase them, and might bounce them, which would be the equivalent to a truck landing on your head. When I’m sorting out the poultry, Meg rushes around, barking and trying to chase them through the side of the fence, which they find very upsetting. I realise I ought to spend time training her –taking her to the coop several times a day, and training her to sit or fetch her ball, thus teaching her to ignore the birds. But life is too busy, and it’s easier for now to just leave her in the kitchen whenever I need to be with the birds. Not ideal, but it works for now.

My other failure is chasing cars in the lane next to the garden. Whenever a car goes up the farm track, Meg charges at full speed along the fence line, trying to keep up with it. It’s good exercise I suppose, but it’s also reinforcing the drive to chase cars, which I really want to break her of—but I cannot be in the garden with her all the time, and there is no other way to stop her. I am telling myself (fully aware that I am probably lying to myself) that she can chase cars in the garden but can learn not to chase cars in other situations. I think this is untrue, but other solutions seem too difficult at this point. Maybe she will grow out of it.

When I return from my morning run, I usually spend some time training Meg. This is very simple—I lie on the lounge floor (where she is not allowed) doing my exercises, and Meg sits in the doorway. I have a ball, which she is not allowed to touch, and every few minutes I throw it, she retrieves it, I take it from her, put it on the floor and tell her to ‘leave!’ and then we start the whole exercise again. Today, Husband was working in the study, and I wasn’t sure throwing the ball up and down the hall would be quiet enough, so I decided to do my exercises on the landing carpet. Disaster! We went upstairs, Meg sat on the mat next to the radiator (her favourite place) I lay down on the floor and whump! A very happy German Shepherd dog landed on top of me! She was so excited, bouncing on me and licking my face, her tail smashing into anything in range as it swung backwards and forwards like a mad propeller. I couldn’t get her off me for ages, she is so strong, and was so excited that I was joining her on the carpet. I’m not quite sure what game she thought we were playing, but it clearly made her very happy. By the time I managed to stagger to my feet, I decided the wrestling match had been more than enough exercise for one day, so I went for a shower.

One afternoon this week, I was very tired but wanted to listen to an online lecture. So I took my phone to bed, and nestled into the pillows, ready for a sleepy listen. Meg followed me into the bedroom (where she is not allowed, but this happens more often than I like to admit) and lay down on the mat. She must have been tired too, because she started to snore. Then the lecture started, and I turned up the volume on my phone. Meg stopped snoring, and groaned. I ignored her. She groaned again. I ignored her. Then her head appeared alongside mine on the bed, and she stared at me, very pointedly, and groaned again. Clearly she was not appreciating the lecture on apologetics. She had a look in her eye that told me that if the noise didn’t stop, she might jump up onto the bed. Not to be encouraged. I took her downstairs, and listened to the lecture in a different room.

Usually when I work, Meg is very good. She lies on the carpet behind me, snoring and farting, with the occasional groan if I work for too long. It’s good (if smelly) company.

I hope you have some good (not smelly) company this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com
*****

The Sheep’s Poem

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We had such an interesting seminar last week. It was a joint initiative, the biblical studies students (that’s me!) joined with the Islamic studies students, and we had a guest speaker who joined us via the internet from the West Bank in Palestine. That alone made it pretty exciting.

There is a man (Jakub) and he is trying to get translations of the Bible in local Arabic dialects. He isn’t trying to ‘convert’ anyone, there’s no agenda here, he simply reads the passages to local people and asks them to interpret the texts according to their own understanding. How do local people (likely to be Muslim) interpret texts, when they are removed from our Western understanding? What do the texts mean today, to local people?

There is no problem with studying the Bible in the West Bank; this surprised me. I assume there would be a problem with trying to ‘convert’ people, but the book itself is openly sold in shops and it’s not uncommon to see Arabic versions of the Christian Bible in Muslim homes. For his research, Jakub asks people to tell him what the words mean to them, and then he translates them using the most suitable words in the dialect. Language is personal to people, so although in time A.I. will replace translators, it won’t understand the nuances of meaning in the same way as real people, in real time. It’s an interesting project, but I was especially excited by the next bit.

One of the example texts that Jakub has been working with is Psalm 23. You remember it—the one about the Good Shepherd, looking after his sheep? We listened to how a local man, Ahmed, interpreted the words, and I realised that perhaps my understanding of this well-known Psalm has been wrong. Perhaps the words mean something slightly different.

 You should also know that scholars have debated the interpretation of this Psalm for decades, and do not agree (this is pretty normal for scholars—they like to debate, and rarely agree). The Psalm begins with a relaxing pastoral scene, the sheep being led to pastures, with streams of water, and told to rest. Then there is reference to a table—so does the action now move into a house? Then the Psalm describes anointing with oil—so has the subject now changed to a person, maybe a king being anointed? It finishes in ‘the house of the LORD’ which would be the temple, which is where a sheep would be slaughtered as a sacrifice—so what does that mean???

 Ahmed is from a shepherding family in Palestine. He has spent time with his family’s flocks, caring for them in the wilderness. He told us how shepherding traditions are passed down, and have probably changed very little over the centuries. A sheep is still a sheep, they need the same food and water, and the landscape in the Palestinian wilderness is not much different to when the Psalmist cared for flocks and wrote his poem. He described how he understood the Psalm, and it helped me to understand it in a whole new light. Ahmed’s words made me understand the Psalm from the viewpoint of the sheep. Imagine a shepherd, who was also a poet (so a creative sort of chap) and he thinks about God, and he looks at his flock, and he writes a poem with the sheep as the subject—not a metaphor—this is the sheep talking. I will rename this: The Sheep’s Poem.

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not need anything. Ahmed said a shepherd wants to raise healthy sheep, so he will ensure they have everything they need.

He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. God the shepherd takes the sheep to where they will find food, where they can rest safely, he cares about the sheep’s soul—the internal wellbeing of the speaker.

He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. In Muslim thinking, the paths of God have special meaning, it is about living in the way that pleases God. In this Psalm, the sheep is being kept safe so he can please God the shepherd.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and staff—they comfort me. Ahmed described how predators lurk in the valleys of the wilderness, and the sheep get frightened. A frightened sheep becomes erratic, so the shepherd uses his rod and staff to control them, to keep them safe, keep them on the right path.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Ahmed said that sometimes, if he has a ewe about to give birth and he wants to supplement her feed, he would make a little table by setting a plank of wood on logs, and he would put some grain or milk in bowls, and take the ewe there to eat. He also frequently rubbed oil on the heads of his flock, to calm them down, and improve their health. He said a sheep that is regularly anointed with olive oil has a much healthier coat and is less likely to get ill. It is the pinnacle of caring for a sheep.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for the rest of my days. In Islam, an animal is only ever killed as part of a ritual, a sacrifice to God (otherwise it is viewed as murder). Only after this ritual can a sheep be eaten. This sheep, which has been so cared for, is content to know that its purpose is to serve God as a sacrifice, it will go to the temple ready to die—death is not seen as an end, but as a beginning of something new—the sheep will be with God forever.

*

I love when something familiar can be understood in a new way, and it makes perfect sense to me that this Psalm is about a sheep (because we see animals as periphery in the biblical texts, but I don’t think God does). Now, obviously the text wasn’t written for a sheep, even if it’s about a sheep. I’m not pretending sheep can read! But if we read this Psalm, about a sheep, can we not learn something? Does it not show what it means to have absolute trust? To know that our purpose is simply to be what we were designed to be (not what the rest of the flock thinks we should be)? The sheep doesn’t fear the future, or what will happen after it is time to physically die—the main event happens in the LORD’s house. It is never scary going home.

I hope you find this interpretation helpful. May we never stop learning new things in the biblical texts, they are such a helpful guide in life. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

A Sword-Pierced Heart

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I watched my son die today. My beautiful boy, beaten, battered and left to die. And my heart broke.

I held my cloak close and I remembered the weight of him as a babe, like a boulder on my hip, wriggling to be free, to jump and climb and to run.

Those legs will run no more. Those long limbs—I was so proud when they grew. I remember when he grew as tall as me, then taller even than Joseph. I remember watching him, stretched out as he ate, those long limbs seemed to go on forever. “I grew him,” I used to think with pride. But those limbs will not sprawl, relaxed, in my home ever again.

I watched his hands, the hands that used to pat me cheekily on the head when he’d grown tall. Those strong hands which laboured with wood, which helped me carry heavy loads, which lifted young children playfully.

They are no longer strong. I saw them bang nails through the flesh, felt that I heard the sound of bone shattering over the thump of the hammer, heard his ragged breath as they forced the cross upright. And I wondered if I too might die.

But I watched. I am his mother and I would not leave him alone.

When they tried to take me home, when they told me to shield my eyes, avert my gaze, I did not. For he was my son. I would never leave him alone, not at a time of such anguished need. Others watched. Some women were there, terrified and hanging back. Not me, I am his mother. I stood with John, where he could see me. What could they do to me that was worse than this?

Some watched who hated him. They mocked and spat and called abuse. “It can’t hurt him now,” I thought, “let them shout.”

“He trusts in God,” they called, “Let God save him now,” and they laughed, even as he died, they laughed.

Yet even God deserted him by the end and that was hardest to bear. He called out with a loud shout, asking why God had turned from him.
“My God,” he called in anguish, “why have you forsaken me?”

But I was there. I did not leave. I saw them crucify him, naked upon a cross. No mother wants to see her grown son naked, but still I did not look away. I was there at the beginning, I would stay with him until the end.

The soldiers took his clothes, for fabric is costly and even that of a criminal should not go to waste. Most they tore and shared between them, but not his tunic. They cast lots for that, not wanting to spoil something precious. Yet my son was precious and they destroyed him.

It began last night. They woke me from my sleep and warned me there was trouble. He had been arrested, taken from a meal with his friends and questioned by the temple authorities. They feared the invaders, so he was then referred to a court of Godless law, a place that feared no God. They told me that he was scourged, beaten with whips that removed chunks of flesh as they struck. He was mocked and abused, then brought to this place.

I came, stumbling through streets full of people, full of noise and smells and fear and hatred. I came to this place, this Godforsaken hill beyond the city wall and I saw my son, my boy, diminished, shrunken somehow. I saw that what they had told me was true, smelt the repugnant stink of excrement mingle with the metallic stench of blood. I heard the shouts of abuse, the curses of the guards, the screams from the prisoners, the wails from friends. And him, like an oasis of calm amidst the turmoil, suffering but at peace.

And he saw me. Those dark eyes that as a baby had watched me intently when he fed. Those eyes that twinkled merrily when he teased me and became serious when he wanted to explain something important. Those eyes, red rimmed with exhaustion now, turned to me. Even hanging there, with parched mouth and dried lips, he spoke to me. His voice was hoarse, for he had refused the wine they offered, but I heard him well. A mother knows her child’s voice. I stood with John and my son told me that this was to be my son now and he was to care for me as a mother. Even in his torment he cared for me, fulfilled his duty as my son. Still I would not leave.

Then it ended. The sky had turned as black as my world and he drew his last breath. It was finished.
Those who had mocked became silent, some cried, some beat their breasts in despair. The blackness of the sky frightened them and many fled, wondering at what they had done.

I left, I let them lead me away. My soul was broken and my heart beat even though I bid it stop. My boy was gone, my firstborn, special baby, was no more. I carried that knowledge like a rock within me, I would have rather died in his place. How can I live, continue with my life knowing he is gone? There will be no more sunshine or laughter, nothing matters now. The core of me has gone. I cannot even cry.

Afterwards, I could not rest and I heard strange stories. They said the soldiers pierced his side, to check there was no life in him. His blood had separated so they took him down, a solid corpse that had no life.

A man came and took the body, they said they followed and knew where he lay, in a tomb that was guarded. They told me of strange things, of the temple curtain torn in two, of dead men walking and boulders breaking open. I do not know. I only know my boy is gone. That is all that matters.

It should not have been like this. It was so recently that people praised his name, sang and danced before him, treated him like a king. It should not have ended like this.

And yet, I recall a song, it comes persistently to mind, sung often in the synagogue. It speaks of one forsaken by God in his time of need, scorned by many. He belonged to God from before he was born, then suffered at the hands of many. They sung of bones poured out like water, a heart of melted wax, that is how my boy would have felt. They sung of hands and feet pierced like his and enemies gloating over him. They sang of lots being cast for clothing and of God’s ultimate victory. They sung of remembering him for ever, not just now but families of every nation, even those presently unborn. For he has done it.

Is this my son’s song? Were the words written for him? Are these the words he whispered while he died?

He spoke of his death often, he tried to warn me that he would die. But not like this, not before my own time has come. No mother should bury her child, it goes against what is natural and right. Though, he showed no fear, he knew what his end would be. And he told me there was more.

As I turn now to sleep, I wonder at his words. Will he truly return somehow and will I know?

Has he finished what he was sent to do?

*****
anneethompson.com
*****

Visiting The Saatchi Gallery

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We went to the Saatchi Gallery in London, to see their exhibition, Flowers: Flora in Contemporary Art and Culture. It’s there until 5th May, and worth the visit if you have time. My sister was visiting from Canada, and we thought it would be a fun day out, so we caught the train to Victoria and walked to the gallery. As soon as we left the main road the volume of traffic dropped, and we could have been in a country town—birds singing, flowers in window boxes, pretty houses clustered in Mews. I love walking through this part of London, it’s peaceful and beautiful, and full of history. We walked for about 20 minutes, then walked through the archway at the entrance to the gallery gardens and discussed whether we should have prebooked tickets. We hadn’t, and there was a queue for people who had pre-booked, and I wondered whether we would shortly be on our way home! But all was fine. I don’t know if it’s usually busier, but we bought tickets at the entrance and went inside immediately. (The tickets are £18 plus a £2 donation which would be hard to avoid; or £10 if you’re over 65 or a student.)

The gallery is open from 10 til 6 every day, and the nearest underground (in case it’s raining) is Sloane Square.

The flower exhibition is wonderful, and not at all boring (not even for me, who is not actually very keen on paintings of flowers). The first view was Van Gogh’s Irises which is huge, and purple, and full of Spring. It was placed on the wall, behind a sculpture of his Sunflowers. I am interested to know two things: 1. What is the correct way to pronounce his name? (I am English, so say ‘van-goff’ but my Canadian sister says ‘van-go’). Any Dutch readers, do tell which is correct. 2. Is the Saatchi painting the original or a copy? I went in circles online, and couldn’t be sure of the answer. It’s lovely, whether painted by—or inspired by—Van Gogh (/ff/o).

There were sculptures, and fabrics (and a small boy who had worn a flowery jacket and who looked as if he was part of the display—but wasn’t). My favourite was a painting, beautifully realistic but with long straight drips, which dribbled across the canvas and over the mount to the frame. It was bright and beautiful and incredibly clever, and the sort of painting you could stare at for hours.

Another highlight was the Rebecca Louise Law room (which had inspired our visit, as we share uncles even though we are not related). I have seen her work a few times, but this was different as it filled a whole room. It was like a gigantic upside-down tree, made from dried flowers, and we could walk through the upside-down branches, and stare up to the upside-down trunk, and it was clever and calming and brilliant. (It was also full of people taking selfies!) My pictures do not represent it properly, you need to visit if you can.

After enjoying the gallery for longer than expected, we went to a small Italian restaurant and ate lunch in the sunshine. Altogether a pretty perfect day out.

I hope you have a perfect day too. Thank you for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Simple beauty
Forcing my sister to pose!

PS. If you are Dutch, please let me know how to say ‘Van Gogh’ correctly!

Are Trump’s Tariffs Fair?

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In an attempt to not believe what politicians tell me without fact-checking, I tried to unravel the new tariffs from the US. I am taking the view that President Trump is trying to do the best for his country, you can decide for yourself whether you believe this. His rhetoric is that in the distant past things were more fair, since then the US has been plundered, and he now wants to even the score.[1] But is this true? The perception elsewhere is that since this time, the US has become a world power, and this is due in part to free trade.

Free trade (I am reliably informed by the economists in my world) is when countries have trading partners and allow goods and services into and out of their countries with relative ease. Economists seem to agree that free trade is what makes strong economies. With free trade, everyone has an easier life. But, have other countries eroded this (as Pres. Trump states)?

Well, to some extent, from what I can discover, there have been some limits to free trade. Sometimes a country wishes to protect its citizens from something considered unhealthy. (In the UK, only toys that meet a certain standard can be sold for children–so some toys from China are rejected. In the UK, we dislike genetically modified beef, so refuse imports based on that. And so on.) Countries also add their own taxes. (In the UK, we have VAT—a tax that is added to goods before they are sold—which in the US is called ‘sales tax’—but VAT is applied to those good wherever they come from, even if made in the UK. So to list these as a ‘tariff on the US’ would be untrue.) Some countries have made sale agreements: My understanding is that car manufacturing is particularly cosmopolitan, with different components being added in different countries, so a car may pass between Canada and Mexico and the US, getting bits added, until it is finally ready to sell. Each time it has a part fitted in a new country, there has been agreement that no extra tax will be added to the final cost.

Now, despite what Pres. Trump said, the US has actually benefited from the global economy. Evidence for this is found in things like: Any country in the world will accept dollars (we take dollars when we travel to India). The US is seen as powerful, and is included in talks concerning climate or security. Services from the US have prospered; in the UK, Amazon is huge, so is Google, and Apple, and Microsoft, etc. American banks are strong. Across the globe, countries have welcomed companies like McDonald’s. Normal people in the US have benefited from this, it has supported their own economy. Yes, there has been a decline in certain industries—this is true everywhere. In the UK, whole towns were built on coal or steel, and they have needed to diversify, and find new industry, and this has not always been easy or smooth. But the US has sold many services abroad, and overall has grown stronger. Therefore, it seems the world has not ‘raped’ the US, but rather the US has done very nicely out of free trade, thank you very much.

I looked into what tariffs have actually been set, and why. It seems they are based on trade deficit—this is when the country sells less of a product than it buys, it’s a number. (US buys 100 televisions, it sells 40 televisions, therefore the trade deficit is 60.) Pres. Trump took the trade deficit with each country, divided it by the number sold, then divided by 2. (In my example, 60/100 divided by 2) However, he has only looked at the trade deficit of goods (actual stuff) not services (like Amazon, or banks, or IT) so it is rather skewed. And my understanding is that his method is ‘deeply flawed.’[2] Never mind the human cost, because breaking trade agreements does not make you an attractive partner in the future.

My conclusion therefore is that, from the evidence I can find, the new tariffs are not wise. They are not ‘fair’ because they are based on faulty economics, and they will not benefit people living in the US. But they may isolate the US from the rest of the free world.

The advice to the rest of the world appears to be that we should assume the US is ‘going it alone’ and we should make fresh deals with non-US partners. (As I showed yesterday, some supermarket shoppers now avoid goods from the US.) This potential decline seems a shame to me, I like the US, I have no wish to see its economy slump. I think there is a real danger that poverty in the US will increase, which often leads to more crime and unrest. I find this very sad.

I also worry about the impact on less developed nations. The US was generous towards those countries struggling with HIV, it helped to keep peace in the world, it was a good country. I worry that the loss in aid will be devastating for the poorest in our world. Never mind that we will have to pay more for Apple products (and will probably switch to non-US ones)—that is insignificant. What will happen to the poor in our world? Those are who we should be fighting for, and I hope that the people in the US, who are mostly good people (in my experience) will remember they have a privileged place in helping to restore balance in the world.

Thanks for reading. If you have further insight, do add to the comments.
Have a good week, and take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com

[1] Trump ‘glorifies’ the ‘era of the late 19th century’ and hopes to return to this economy. Zanny Minton Beddoes, Economist Online, April 2025. See also point (1) from yesterday’s blog.

[2] Financial Times Online, April 2025.

Being Aware

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I rarely write blogs about political issues, but I find the news very unsettling at the moment. As you know, we studied a little politics in our Ethics class at Spurgeon’s, looking at how fascism grew in the past. It grew quickly, centred around one individual, and I doubt if most people realised what was happening. The parallels with today are alarmingly similar.

This partly came to my attention last week, at a family dinner. As I listened to one family member telling about her experience in Canada, and another family member comparing his news of Mexico, I realised that in the UK we are very complacent. I had no idea that people in these countries (and I’m guessing Greenland) are genuinely worried. They see a threat to their sovereignty. Mexico and Canada are fighting back. But what about those countries with unsettled economies? Who is speaking for the poor?

 I didn’t realise that shops in Mexico and Canada now label the country of origin for their products, people are encouraged to buy local produce and to reject things from the US. Maybe this will help. Do you think we should support them in this? Do we need to buy from the US when there are alternatives? If one man attempts to stamp on the rest of the world, maybe the world should join together in their response. The world today is a global community, and putting your own country first when that means alienating everyone else, is not such a good idea. And what will happen to the poor? Do we just allow them to be sucked down in a whirlpool of powerful economic battles? Who is speaking for the poor?

Shelves in a Canadian Supermarket

One aspect of the news that worries me is the motivation behind what politicians are saying. It used to be that when a politician spoke, you could hear them pandering to popular opinion, they cared about what the voters thought. (This created problems of its own.) But now I hear something else behind the words, now I hear them pandering to an individual—and this has been seen in history. Listen carefully when you hear the news—who do you think the politicians are most aware of when they speak? Who are they trying to impress—and is this healthy? Does this leader show any compassion for the poor of the world?

I leave you with the key points of fascism from Jason Stanley (author of How Fascism Works). As you read the list, which can you apply to the news today?

  1. A Great Mythical Past. A fascist leader will talk about how things used to be better in the past. They ignore all the problems that were actually in the past, and focus on a mythical ideal.
  2. Propaganda. A fascist leader will promote their own message and say that any alternative view is a lie. Hitler and Mussolini both did this, saying that things reported in newspapers were untrue, telling the population that their opponents were liars. The idea of accusing the media of ‘fake news’ goes way back in time.
  3. Anti-Intellectualism. Fascist leaders appeal to people with limited education, the speeches are not necessarily clever (because truth doesn’t matter) and they appeal directly to emotions. They dislike, and try to discredit, academics (because they will offer a counter view, or question the authenticity of the claims being made). Experts are shunned, people are told to ‘think for themselves’ which really means, ‘don’t question what I am telling you and don’t listen to someone who might have studied this issue.’ (I think we should be wary of people who tell us ‘the experts don’t know what they’re talking about.’ In my experience the ‘experts’ usually know more than the rest of us!)
  1. Unreality. This is another interesting one—apparently fascist leaders tend to love conspiracy theories. They always have an enemy who is trying to sabotage them, talk of subterfuge is encouraged, they want people to be paranoid. They also blame past leaders.
  2. Hierarchy. Fascist leaders always have a dominant group of loyal followers, those who are ‘true to the leader.’ Anyone who questions the general message is eyed with suspicion, and removed from the ‘inner group.’ As stated earlier, everything focusses on the leader. [Listen to what they are saying—who are politicians trying to please?]
  3. Victimhood. Fascist groups always state that they are the victims of another group—they have been oppressed, or made poor, or cheated—and this has been caused by a definable ‘other.’ (Hitler blamed the Jews, gay people and Roma, but other groups held to blame over the years include black people, feminists, immigrants.)
  4. Law and Order. Fascists declare that they want a return to law and order, and the group against them are the criminals. The ‘other’ people are the ones to blame for crime, for stealing, for rape, for drugs, for violence. [In the introduction of any emergency measures to combat ‘a risk to security,’ the ‘risk’ should be fact-checked.]
  5. Anti-Decadence. Fascists claim that the moral fibre of society is under threat (blaming the ‘other’ group). Only they, and their followers, have good morals. Anyone not supporting them is described as a bad person.
  6. Work Ethic. Fascists claim that the ‘other’ group are lazy, mere parasites of society. Fascists claim they are hard-working, deserving of better.
  7. Nationalism. Fascists promote great nationalism, and shun other nations. They strive to make their country ‘great again’ and nothing else matters. This gives a great sense of belonging to the followers of fascism. [But in a global community, what are the consequences of this? We need to be shrewd.]

I add to this the current policy of saying what you want to be true, as if presenting it as true makes it true. It does not. It is still a lie, however loudly you say it. We can fact-check statements, and test whether they are really true.

I hear President Trump say that the US has been ‘cheated’ in the past, the new tariffs are to make trade fair for the US. Is this true? We shouldn’t simply accept a statement just because someone says it loudly or repeats it several times. Personally, I know very little about tax and tariffs. I shall do some research and let you know tomorrow what I discover.

Please be wise, wherever you live. Please make good choices. I doubt if anyone in power reads my blog, but we have a voice even if no one listens. Let’s stand for what is right, because ‘those who are noble plan noble things, and by the noble things they shall stand.’ We need to be shrewd. We need to watch out for liars–just because someone says something, it doesn’t make it true.

Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

There is a lot on social media at the moment, mocking the people in power. Maybe this is one way that people are ‘fighting back.’ Maybe things seem less scary if we make them a joke. Certainly it is good to laugh, but let us not forget what is serious.

When someone includes you in a military chat by mistake.

The McDonald Islands have a tariff. There is not a human population there (apparently) but the penguins are confused.

Link to previous post:
 https://anneethompson.com/2022/11/28/what-is-fascism-and-are-you-a-fascist/

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Jamaica Warmth

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Thursday

I was tired, and I twisted my ankle yesterday when getting into the sea, so I walked rather than ran in the exercise room this morning. It’s a very good exercise room—everything works (not always the case!) and there are remote buttons to work the air-con and telly, clean towels, wipes to clean the machines, a water dispenser and rubber mats for stretching afterwards. I think it would be too hot to run outside (plus we would probably be hit by a car on the crazy roads).

After breakfast we went back to the supermarket to buy more water. It was busier today, with security guards at the carpark entrance (free parking for 2 hours, but we needed to get the ticket stamped in the supermarket). We looked at the shops in the small precinct. Lots of bright clothes, a barber shop, two book shops, a shop of spare engine parts. Plus a toy shop—which displayed white babydolls in the window. Why white? Nearly everyone here is black. Makes no sense to me.

After the supermarket we went to look at a ‘craft fair’ opposite. It was full of stalls, all selling the same thing (as far as I could see)—brightly coloured dresses and hats, fridge magnets, beads, knitted goods, carved wooden goods. It reminded me of a similar craft fair we visited in Zambia. All the stall holders encouraged us to look at their goods (even though they were identical to the stall next door) and asked us to name our price. I checked the price of their fridge magnets (in Jamaican dollars). Most were $1,000 (about £5) though some were double and some were half that price. One lady was nice—friendly but not pushy, and her price was $600, plus she had some nice wooden magnets rather than just plastic ones. I bought one, and asked for a photograph. She was called Dianna. You can look for her if you ever visit Ocho Rios—I liked her.

One stall had an open Bible on the table. I asked the man serving what he was reading. He told me it was a Bible, and he had it open to encourage good vibes. I felt like I should say something—to maybe encourage him to read it, or to ask him what he believed—but it felt inappropriate. Not the time for a deep discussion, and I thought it might appear intrusive. (I tend to react against the ‘scalp-hunting’ mentality that typified my teenaged religious experience.)

We drove home without incident. It was a fun little excursion, and I feel more comfortable now. I am used to being the only white person.

Friday

Another lovely day in Jamaica. After running in the gym, we had breakfast next to the sea. I had pancakes. The menu lists the food—so it said banana pancakes with caramalised banana and maple syprup. I have learnt that when I order food here, I need to include the whole description, otherwise half the dish is missing. (So when I ordered grilled fish and veg, I received grilled fish and veg—but not the potatoes or sauce listed in the menu), Today I forgot, and asked for pancakes. Therefore I received plain pancakes. Luckily I relised my error and snaffled a banana from the fruit plate. Nice breakfast.

As we walked back to our room I threw some leftover toast into the sea (I have watched other guests doing this). Lots of striped ffish (I think called Sargeant Major fish) scurried over (can fish scurry? These could!) to eat it. Fun.

We chatted to one of the hotel managers, who spotted that we are new guests (most people have been coming here for years, and the staff also tend to stay, so it has a family atmosphere). The hotel is relatively small (50 rooms) and there is a sense of space and privacy even when (like this week) there are no vacant rooms. It has also hosted a few famous faces (Marilyn Monroe honeymooned here).

We heard there is a deserted beach further along the coast, so drove there. Driving in Jamaica is quite an adventure—massive pot holes to avoid, while someone sits inches from your bumper (sometimes beeping) and drivers whiz towards you on the wrong side of the road. Husband is very calm in these situations, and we arrived without incident (but personally, I would never drive here). We followed Google Maps to Duncan beach, and parked on the verge of an unmade road, near to where some houses are being built. There was a pathway, towards the sea. It looked private, but we went along it anyway. At the end, a man was leaning against a tree, watching us. We asked if we were allowed there—was this the right way to the beach? He smiled, and waved us on, and said yes, we were welcome, have a great day. This typifies my interaction with people here—they have mostly all been friendly, smiley, and helpful.

The beach was narrow, with volcanic rock beneath the surface of the water—the water was turquoise, and warm, and completely clear. We walked along the beach for a while, looking for shells, finding washed-up coconuts, and saweed, and lots and lots of plastic bottles. In the sea, tiny fish darted (these were not the scurrying kind) and crabs scuttled away from us. It was very sunny, so we didn’t stay too long (I have already managed to burn one arm, which was very silly of me). We ate a picnic of digestive biscuits and water before driving back to the hotel.

As we drove, I tried to take photos, to capture a flavour of the place. This part of Jamaica (St, Anns/Ocho Rios) has some luxury resorts, and some fairly basic-looking housing. Everywhere has bright colours. Goats and dogs wander next to the road. There are a few places with heavy industry, linked to the bauxite quarrying. (Bauxite is a metallic mineral, and it’s the only source of extractable aluminium.) Bauxite is a soft red clay, and as we drove near to where it was being loaded onto ships, the road and trees were tinged with the red dust. I worry it might not be too healthy for people living nearby. I didn’t manage to capture photos of the fishing boats bobbing on the sea, or the children playing, or the animals. But you can see how green everywhere is, with lush plants filling almost every space, and trees covered with vines and air-plants.

I have enjoyed Jamaica, even though we have seen very little of it. Maybe next time we will do more touring, and try to see more of the island, but even this short week has given us a flavour of the place (and a warm flavour of rum and smiles). The service here is warm and relaxed, and you have to lean into the pace and forget the English schedules. Jamaica is a place to relax.

I hope you find time to relax too this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

I am going to miss the fruit punch!

anneethompson.com