Gold Stars For Grown Ups

Life gives you little reminders in funny ways.

Today I got one in a queue.


It is a truth universally acknowledged that people in queues do not want to be queuing. In fact I think it's safe to say that anyone who has ever stood in a queue has not been happy about it. This evening I was in my third queue of the day: after the Underground ticket line, the Post Office, I was now standing zombie-like in the supermarket. I only wanted some milk, and the shortest line had three people in it. As anyone would agree, that was THREE PEOPLE TOO MANY.
As I waited, the checkout lady seemed to operate in slow motion and my mind sunk deeper into a pit of impatience. I watched the checkout staff distract one another with conversation. Why did they have to chat? The man in front of me had a little girl and I watched as she played peekaboo with the checkout lady. I smiled, but in my mind I wondered how long this was going to go on for.

And then AT LAST the man took his change and was turning to leave, when the checkout lady asked the girl, "Have you been good?"

The little girl stopped to consider the question.

"Yes! I-I-I....I got a gold star!"

The checkout lady smiled at her. "Did you now?"

"Yes! I got.... three! Three stars."

The queue stared at the checkout lady, waiting, watching.

The father stared as his daughter wondering what to do.
At the same time the little girl stared at the checkout lady, waiting for a response to what she clearly felt were notable achievements.

And so the checkout lady said, "Goodness! Was that today?"

Proudly, the child replied, "Yes...  But also..."  

And she counted out on her little fingers, staring up at the ceiling as she worked it out.
"Monday.... and then... and then... and yesterday..... and...... and..... TODAY."

"Well!" said the checkout lady, ready to wrap this up but not really knowing how.
The father looked nervously at the growing queue.
But everyone was looking at the little girl, who clearly had more to say on the matter.

"Cos.. cos... we get gold stars..." continued the girl, "but you have to be good!"

And so, the conversation reached its conclusion.
The relieved father led his daughter away, and everyone in the queue was smiling, looking a little dazed. Like they'd all experienced a moment of clarity.
The checkout lady gave me an apologetic smile as she scanned my milk.
"Well hey," I said to her, "One should always be proud of one's achievements."
"Oh yes, " she replied, "A gold star is a big deal at that age."

Then she added to herself, "I'm still waiting for mine!"



You know what?
We don't get gold stars anymore; nor do we give them out. That's because we're adults - we don't really need a sticker to acknowledge when we've done well. Or do we?
Unfortunately (being adults) we're all far too coy to shout about our achievements. That's kind of depressing, don't you think? Given we surely achieve a heck of a lot, being grown ups and all? We're so busy worrying, scowling, getting stressed, getting distracted, welling up with impatience in queues... what about the good stuff? What about that great feeling of accomplishment? The fact we are here! Doing what we do! Making life happen! Why do we forget about that?


Next time you do something you're proud of, freakin' well shout about it! TELL someone!
Even if it is the supermarket checkout lady.


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Feel free to give yourself a gold star and shout about something you did that you're proud of in the comments. Anything at all! SHARE IT!
I'll go first.

A Short Scene From The Underground

It's 6.15pm on the London Underground. The Circle Line.
Two young lads are sitting side by side at the end of a Tube carriage, and having a passionate discussion. The lad wearing the beanie is confidently advising his companion on what he knows about the world. His mate listens, clearly fascinated.

I am sitting across from them. Though I am pretending to read, for the journey home, I am their audience.

Beanie: Like, prostitution for instance. It would be so much safer if it was legal. I mean, if somethin' is happening and you can't stop it, isn't it better to make it safer?
Hoodie:  Yeah.
Beanie: I think drugs should be legal too.
Hoodie: Well...
Beanie: Nah, like hear me out man. Think of heroin addicts, yeah? They die because they take bad heroin. If the government gives it to them, then it's safe. If they're gonna do it, then why not control it?
Hoodie: True.
Beanie: I mean, you know weed? Most of that shit is sprayed with glass. Actually sprayed with actual glass. Like, dust. So when you smoke it, that glass goes into your lungs. 
Hoodie: Shit.
Beanie: Yeah. So they should make it safer, and regulate it, yeah? Like, tell people the dangers, and stuff...
Hoodie: Like smoking?
Beanie: Yeah, like how smoking gives you cancer... so tell 'em what's what and they take the risks on themselves. But controlling it will make it safer. That's what they do in Amsterdam, and they doin' alright.
Hoodie: Hey, does your mate still live in Amsterdam?
Beanie: Nah. He lives in Germany now. 
Hoodie: Yeah? What's he doin' there?
Beanie: He just smokes weed and spins decks and shit.
Hoodie: [laughs] Cool.... so does he like living in Germany?
Beanie: Nah, he says he wants to move.
Hoodie: Why, what's wrong with Germany? [incredulous] There's good food in Germany!
Beanie: He wants to live in America. Better money for beats.
Hoodie: [considers something] Y'know ya can't get done for speeding in Germany. There's no, uh, y'know, speed... Um, no like, speed... Y'know. You can drive however fast you want. I'd like to live in Germany.
Beanie: If I could live anywhere it'd be Japan.
Hoodie: Why Japan? Technology and shit?
Beanie: Nah, it's not that, it's like, they have no crime. It's a really safe place.... I mean, except if you're a woman.
Hoodie: [nodding] Yeah.
Beanie: Statistically, Japan has the lowest crime rate in the civilised world.
Hoodie: Yeah, 'course.
Beanie: Also it would be one place where I wouldn't have to learn a language.
Hoodie: You speak Japan? I mean.... like, Japanese?
Beanie: Nah, but you know, 70% of Japan speaks English.
Hoodie: Wow.
Beanie: And they have no dairy products.
Hoodie: Nah?
Beanie: Nah. And you know, like, how Britain is like, one in ten people have cancer? In Japan it's like, one in ten thousand.
Hoodie: Wow, serious? And that's from no milk?
Beanie: Yeah man, I'm telling you. Like, when you take the milk from the breast, that's it, that's all you need. And like, if you really can't live without it, drink soya milk.
Hoodie: Oh. So is that better?
Beanie: Yeah, soya milk has less fat for one thing. It's more natural. 'Cos see, normal milk is from an animal, and soya milk is like, from the seed of a plant. 
Hoodie: Yeah?
Beanie: Yeah, soya has loads of vitamins and nutrients as well. And it has way less fat.
Hoodie: Like how?
Beanie: Like, if this much milk had eleven grams of fat, the same amount of soya would have, like, two.
Hoodie: Wow. Does it taste the same as milk then?
Beanie: Sort of. It's fruitier. Like.... let me describe this. [thinks] Ok, imagine herbal milk.
Hoodie: Uh, yeah. Yeah.
Beanie: It's like that.

7/7: Five Years On

Five years ago today, I was a wide-eyed New Zealander who had been in London for only two months, and was still a stranger to the city. I was living in Cricklewood, London, and had just started temping as a travel consultant in Tower Hill. I didn't know many people, and would regularly email home from the internet cafe across from my flat. I was relishing the strangeness of it all, and it was a wonderfully exciting time.

Then the bombs went off. This is the actual email I sent home that day.


-----Original Message-----
From: Claire Nelson
To: Home
Sent: Thu, Jul 7, 2005 9:41 pm
Subject: A very strange day.

A series of bomb attacks on London's transport network has killed more than 30 people and injured about 700 others. 
 
Thank you for those who have sent me texts and emails - yes I'm safe and well, although it has been the most surreal day. 

This morning I got on the tube as usual, changed at Westminster, and stood packed shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other commuters. I had my headphones on, and thought how ridiculous it is for people to be squashed in like this but that I was somewhat used to it now. Then, just before we were to pull into Tower Hill station, the train suddenly stopped. There was silence.  (Well, I was listening to T-Rex, but only very quietly). The thing is, I started to feel a bit panicky. There was no reason to – this sort of thing happens all the time – but I did, and I felt silly for it. There was no announcement from the driver initially, and it started to get really really hot. Sweat started to trickle down my face. 

I took my headphones off and looked around me. People were all looking very uncomfortable. I held a cold drink in my bag to my forehead and wondered how long I could stand the heat before I went crazy and smashed a window. I decided I would not be the first to wuss out! Then the driver announced that there was a power surge which had caused the signal failure, and we would be up and running again shortly. And we were. 

As we all stumbled out of the station at Tower Hill there was a barrier up stopping people from coming in. It was raining, and outside there was a large crowd looking furious. An old lady pushed past me into the station. “Sorry ma’am, you can’t come into the station,” said a security officer. I thought there must have been a problem with the line. I didn’t think it was anything serious. Why would I?  
 
I got to work late, and was left to man the phones while the others had a meeting. A man called to speak to the boss in our area and when I said he was in a meeting he said “Well let him know there was a bomb at Liverpool St Station.” 
Really? 
Then calls started coming in from colleagues’ family members and friends, checking that they were alive. When the team came back they were all shocked by the news, and suddenly no one could do any work. We managed to get onto the news websites and found out what had gone on.  More bombs had gone off. One of the girls I was working with said she would have been at Liverpool Street except she decided to go swimming this morning, and she was pretty shaken. 
All morning we had more and more updates, and each time it was worse. Suddenly it was luchtime... the morning had gone so quickly... but no one took their breaks. We had even been told at one point not to leave the building, although we knew other places had sent their staff home.

The mobile networks had been shut down so no one could reach anyone else. The rumour behind this was that the bombs had been set off via mobile (as the Madrid bombings had been). I had emailed most of you before I really knew what was happening but once I realised it was serious, I was so relieved to get emails from a lot of you. I thought, “What are you lot doing up so late!” But it made me feel really cared about, so thank you.
 
I left work early, at 4.40pm, and didn’t arrive at my doorstep until 8:15pm. 
That has to be the longest commute of my life! It involved a 2 hour walk from Tower Hill to Euston station – one of the only stations to be open, and from there I could catch a mainline train to Kilburn Park – not quite home, but somewhere in that vicinity. The underground was closed completely, and all inner-city buses were suspended. People were worried about getting home and many were booking hotels or arranging to stay with friends. I couldn’t do either, so decided to leg it.

When I left my office building and came out into the bright sunshine of the street, there were hundreds of people, most of them in suits, walking the streets with maps. Everyone I passed seemed to be talking about finding a way home. A big shaven-headed fellow walking near me looked at me and shook his head.
“Chaos, innit?” he said. 
“Bit like that.” I replied. Then he asked me for directions. I had a lot of people asking me for directions, probably because I was clutching my A-Z rather desperately.

From there, my walk inevitably took me past Aldgate, Liverpool Street and Kings Cross Stations, each of them a target of the bombings. I passed Aldgate first, being close to Tower Hill, and saw it was blocked off in every direction. There was a tent outside the station amongst the ambulances, which must be for taking care of the injured, or perhaps the dead. 

It was hard to work out a route home on my A-Z as so many streets were cordoned off with tape and police officers. People were wandering all over the place, looking bewildered, following other people, but not exactly knowing how to get home. It was like mice in a maze. The roads had mostly been closed off so there were very few vehicles about... just a few taxis and a lot of police cars & ambulances.  I wandered down Bishopsgate, past Liverpool Street. This had been the street I spent my lunch hours wandering along a couple of weeks back when working for the European Bank. If I had still been working there then I would have definitely been at Liverpool Street Station at 8:49am when the first bomb went off in the tunnel there. I can't let go of that reality but I feel a bit sick to think about it. 

All the shops in the area had long been closed, and the windows were dark. People filled the footpaths, wandering in a mass exodus towards the station, which to my surprise had just been reopened. A crowd surged in through the entrance. There was no way in hell I was going back into the underground today – I didn’t even contemplate it. I bought a paper outside the station, which was packed full of dramatic headlines, and carried on.

The weather was off and on all day. It was getting really hot, and I was sweltering. I didn’t really know where I was going, but tried following my map along main roads to keep it easier.  I overheard a man telling someone on his phone that he was heading to Euston station so I followed him for a bit. He was wearing an olive green suit so it was easy to tail him.
 
Passing Kings Cross a little later was unnerving. It is such a large station, and a bit of a landmark, but the streets all around were closed. Even little side streets with small hotels along it were closed. Police stood at each street entrance and were giving people directions for detours. Looking down each street you could see the station looming at the end of it, no sign of damage to the outside, but looking rather dead, as if you could sense the awful scenes inside it. That may sound silly to you but it gave me the shivers.
 
Cherry pickers with camera men on the top stood at the ends of some of the streets, getting close ups of the station. It had started to get cold when I finally reached Euston station.  Total madhouse – again, entrances were cordoned off nearby, camera crews were setting up all over the place, not to film the station but to film other scenes close to it. I didn’t stop to see what they were filming, I just wanted to get home.

*[I later learned I had just walked past the scene of the bus bomb at Tavistock square]

I spoke to a nice ticket man who confirmed that yes, my travelcard would get me on the Silverline to Kilburn Park. But what the nice ticket man didn’t tell me was that Kilburn Park station was not open today. It was weird enough getting on the train after what went on this morning. There was a general sense of unease in the air. Strangers on the train were all talking to each other about conflicting information they’d been given regarding stations and which ones were open. But then we were off, and it wasn’t until I ended up in [?] that I realised this train wasn’t any use to me. I stood on the platform, feeling rather deflated. It started to rain and I was currently carrying the world’s smallest umbrella. I really wanted a cuddle and a cup of tea at that point. Instead, I got directions from a rail representative, and caught a bus back towards home. It took two more buses actually, before I arrived in Cricklewood. 
 
I wanted to crawl into bed and read a book but the sun has come out again and it's still light.  There is a strange energy in the streets, and I can’t stop thinking about today. I keep thinking that I shouldn’t be so dramatic, it’s over, and that’s the end of it, I have lost no one and nothing, and I am grateful for it. 
But then every few minutes the enormity of it all sinks in a little and I feel a bit shaken.  I am sure by tomorrow I will feel normal again. 

I might even go back on the underground in the morning... I really don’t fancy that walk again.
 
Lots of love,
Claire

Free the children

I feel sorry for the children of today. It sometimes seems as if they have so much more than the previous generations, but the sad truth is, they don't have it easier at all. Having cellphones, email and fancy toys might be one thing, but what they are missing out on is the freedom to be children.
I was reminded about this issue today while reading the Sunday Times, where I learned that two children, aged eight and five, cycle to school every day on their own. Because of this, their school is threatening to report their parents to social services.

Social services? You have GOT to be kidding me!

This 1-mile commute to school may have become a source of consternation to the school and other parents, but it has also become a unwitting protest for the few freedoms children are given. Ignorance and intolerance from adults seems to be at an all-time high.

Case in point, a quote from the headmaster of the school:
"If a school feels a child in their care is at risk, they have a legal responsibility to notify the local authority. Is an eight-year old responsible enough to come to school with a five year old and take responsibility when it comes to crossing busy roads? What would happen if the five year-old has a tantrum?"

This is a frustratingly narrow-minded attitude. If a child of eight is not given the opportunity to act responsibly, then they will never learn to be responsible. To mature and develop a child needs the freedom to grow. The same goes for a child of five; and why would a child throw a tantrum while they were cycling? If they did, how is this a threat to themself or their older sibling? Kids are pretty good at dealing with their younger siblings when they need to be. It is a shame that this headmaster undermines the potential of the children in his care.

However, more crucially, this is another example of ways in which families are being damanged by the bureaucracies supposedly set up to protect them. Misguided interpretation of laws can only lead to misguided reactions. The Department for Children, Schools and Families allows schools to play the social services card at the slightest whiff of risk, even if it prevent parents from raising their children the way they feel is best. Why does a headmaster get to decide what is best, over a child's own parents?

After all, we're not talking about child neglect, or child abuse, or lack of parenting altogether. This is about a normal happy family, and the quest for a decent, healthy childhood. It's a bike ride to school, one mile, where they pass by busy roads but cross only where a lollipop lady is on duty. Why social services need to get involved (when there are plenty of children out there who really ARE in danger, and nothing is being done about it - but I digress) is beyond me.

The mother of these two children, Gillian Schonrock, says: 
"The benefits to our children far outweigh the potential risk from 'stranger danger', road traffic accidents and other factors."
Their father adds, "We wanted to recreate the simple freedom of our childhood. We would love it if our kids could just pop around the corner to see their friends, but that's totally out these days. These days children live such regimented lives. They can do nothing unless it's planned."

I completely agree with these parents. And this makes me suspect the headmaster is laying down the law to appease other worried parents, who cannot fathom a child going out in their own. The fear of some is forced to become the concern of all, and this is what drives the greatest threat to us all - 'the Nanny State'.

It's unfair to wrap children up in cotton wool. It offers no benefit to the child - in fact, trying to avoid any possible risks does more harm than good.
Taken from the article again:

Frank Furedi, professor of sociology at Kent University, said he had been contacted by dozens of parents in a similar situation. He believes the state is steadily encroaching and that excessive protection of children harms their development: "The irony is that the measures these parents took actually protect the children by developing resilience and resourcefulness through facing challenging situations."

I cannot imagine the physical, burning need a parent has to protect their child. But going overboard to protect them from one thing (paedophiles, dangerous drivers) can automatically cause new, and less obvious dangers (lack of confidence, distrust in other people, emotional neediness, and inevitable rebelliousness).
I personally think the latter should be more of a concern than perverts and kidnappers. For as long as a child grows up with a fear of danger and a suspicion of others, then they will never truly develop into someone open to relationships and prepared for what life throws at them. And this is damaging.

The key to a child's development is not in trying to keep them away from risks, but through giving them the opportunities to overcome them.

I feel very strongly about this, because I was lucky enough to be given the very freedom the Schonrocks are trying to give their children. And I have never doubted this gave me the strength and the confidence I needed to be who I am now.

My own childhood was full of freedom.... and yes, even some risk-taking. My parents trusted me to be responsible and I did my best to withhold that trust. In fact, my younger brother and I were the same ages as the Schonrock kids when we used to cycle to school by ourselves.
If my parents were worried about this, they did not project those fears onto me. We were educated about stranger danger and road safety, but once equipped with those lessons we were set free to enjoy ourselves. Of course I could have been hit by a car, or followed by a strange man in a mac, but the fact is I wasn't. And if I had been?
Well, what if I had choked on my dinner one night and died?
How far does one go to protect from the "what if"s?

Nobody can deny that the times have changed. Yet I think the only marked difference between a childhood today and a childhood 20 years ago is that parents have become more afraid. They are more suspicious. More likely to take their children under their wings and not let them out to fly. The Schonrocks seem to be in a minority of parents who are not letting their worries overcome their children's need for independence. It's very easy to believe that these days there are more bad people, more violent encounters, more bad drivers. But these things have always been there. What has changed is the level of our mistrust, and the extremity of our precautions.

Perhaps my views stem from living in a different place, rather than a different time.
I grew up in New Zealand, where paranoia was not so abundant. When I was eight years old my biggest fear wasn't drunk drivers or paedophiles. I was more scared of earthquakes, tsunamis (and big spiders). At school we would practice earthquake drills and told time and time again that "The Big One" was years overdue. Our teachers told us to stock up on canned food and bottles of water in case of emergency.
As far as I was aware, ANY MINUTE NOW the entire country could be shaken to its core and everyone's homes destroyed. THIS was my biggest fear, and given that it was out of my control, I learned that I just had to get on with life. Take precautions, but don't stop living. As a child that's an incredibly liberating lesson to learn. If only more adults would realise that too.

You cannot control the things you are afraid of, and letting them prevent you - or your children - from living life is, in fact, the greatest danger of all.

Me, age 8, and my brother, age 6, cycling to school in 1990:

* [original article from the Sunday Times by Kevin Dowling] 

Nothing To Lose

In 2009 I happened upon a documentary about an Englishman who, rather unusually, cycled from Alaska to Argentina on a tandem bicycle. On his own. The really compelling part, however, was that he would pick up strangers along the way to ride in the second seat. For once, I thought, there is an adventure tale that I can feel something for. This was an expedition about people - the physical challenge was secondary to the bonding of strangers and cultures. There was no segregation of possibilities between myself and some hearty sportsman breaking a world record by climbing a mountain barefoot at record speeds. (I haven't really heard of anyone doing this. Although am sure it won't be long.)

I was so taken by this journey that I kept an eye on what this Englishman was going to do next. His name is Dominic Gill, and as it turns out, his next project was going to be even more incredible.

So incredible, in fact, that I wanted more people to know about it. I spoke to Dom Gill and pitched an article to a silly number of publications, but nobody seemed interested. I'm used to pitches and proposals being ignored, but this time it made me feel disappointed and frustrated in equal measure. "Don't ignore this one," I pleaded silently. Yet ignore it they all did.

All I want to do is tell this story, however, so if I have to do so here, on my blog, then so be it.

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THE DOM & ERNIE PROJECT

Ernie Greenwald, a 74-year-old from California, is going to fulfil the dream of a lifetime by cycling across the America he’s never known. It is no easy feat, but in this case it will be a far greater challenge, because Greenwald has lymphocytic leukemia.
Travelling with him is British adventurer and film-maker Dominic Gill, who proposed the idea to Greenwald after a chance meeting in 2006. Despite his condition, or perhaps in spite of, Greenwald accepted. As Gill explains, “Ernie wants to prove as much as possible that life is for the living. It’s almost as if he’s woken from a dream and thought ‘I’ve got nothing to lose’.”

Together Greenwald and Gill will travel coast-to-coast across the USA on a two-seater bicycle, taking in the country that Greenwald has lived in his whole life and never had the chance to explore. They will discover a variety of landscapes and culture, and hope encounter some good old American hospitality along the way.

Gill, 29, previously cycled a tandem bike from Alaska to Argentina for the documentary and book Take a Seat, inviting the people he met along the way to fill the second seat and join him in his adventure. It was on this journey that he met Ernie Greenwald, whose days as a keen cyclist were, it seemed, well and truly behind him, but who overcame his hesitation and took the opportunity to get back in the saddle.

They met while Gill was stopping for refreshments in the quiet concrete city of Lompoc, central California. Local resident Greenwald, a cycling enthusiast, was studying the tandem with some interest.
“He didn’t look like a keen cyclist anymore,” admitted Gill, but he offered Greenwald the opportunity to ride with him the next day. Greenwald’s hesitation was followed by the explanation that he had to stay and take care of his ailing wife. This might have been the end of their encounter, but 20 minutes later Greenwald came back and accepted Gill’s invitation. The next morning Gill and Greenwald cycled the 60-odd miles to Santa Barbara in the sultry Californian heat.

While physically it was tough, Greenwald enjoyed the challenge. It was not until later that Gill learned the sorry truth: that Greenwald’s wife had died six months before, and on top of that he was also suffering from chronic lymphatic leukaemia (CLL). Yet Greenwald relished his time on the tandem. Gill says it was as if Greenwald realised that he “could wallow in self pity or take an opportunity of a lifetime.”

Since this chance meeting, Gill could not forget Greenwald’s story. So he came up with a particularly edifying plan for his next adventure. “I contacted Ernie and asked if he would ride across America, if I facilitated it,” explains Gill. “He said he trusted me, and agreed.” And so the Dom & Ernie project was born.

Gill and Greenwald will set off from Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles, on June 26 2010, cycling through the bottom of Utah, Montana, the Mid-west and across to the Eastern coast where they will finish in New York City. On the way they hope to take in Death Valley, the bright lights of Las Vegas, the wild grandeur of Yellowstone National Park, “windy” Chicago, and North Dakota.

The two will be cycling a Pino Tour bike from Hase - a semi-recumbent tandem. The special features of the bike include the position of the gears and steering rod at the back, rather than at the front, as on a typical tandem. This allows Greenwald to ride in front whilst still being the stoker’s position (which is normally at the back). The Pino Tour also has a freewheel mechanism which allows Greenwald to stop pedalling when he gets tired, and Gill to carry on cycling.

The two cyclists will also be accompanied by Greenwald’s RV, in which he currently lives alone with his two small dogs. As well as the benefit of carrying their gear and supplies, this will make the journey physically and emotionally easier on Greenwald.
“By taking the RV he has his bed, his dogs, nothing changes,” explains Gill. “And anything that gets Ernie across the States on a bicycle is good with me.”

Physically, Greenwald will have to be carefully monitored. Due to the cancer limiting his blood cells he gets very short of breath. He also has an erratic heart so has to take medication and therefore feels the cold.
“Ernie will struggle,” admits Gill. “But I will also struggle. I will be carrying about 70% of Ernie’s weight. However strong Ernie is, his upper ceiling is low.”
Greenwald’s oncologist has agreed to be at the end of a phone if needed, and there will be tests every month for his blood cell count and check his metabolic level.

Gill says the Dom & Ernie project is not a test of Greenwald’s physical endurance, but an opportunity for him to explore his country. “This is not about bravado, it’s about showing people adventure is for everyone. Ernie wants to give as good as anyone else gives.”

The Dom & Ernie project hopes to raise donations for Livestrong & the Lance Armstrong Foundation, which provides support for people suffering from cancer across the globe.

While this challenge is largely about Greenwald fulfilling the dream of a lifetime, Gill also has his own additional motivation for taking the journey.
“I want to change the misconception that the world is out to get you. We’re going to the most fear-filled nation, and I want to prove that if you stick your neck out, you won’t get your head chopped off.”

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SINCE THE ARTICLE....

Of course, this is not the whole story. In late May Ernie's health took a sharp drop and since then he has been in and out of hospital, and has had to undertake a brief course of chemotherapy.

LATEST UPDATE

Just yesterday, Dom made the announcement that Ernie would not be able to make the journey. At least, not the whole journey, and not yet. 

"I have just been to see Ernie in hospital. I have decided that he's not going to make the journey... maybe a portion of it, but not all of it."


I cannot begin to imagine the disappointment Ernie will be facing. One can only hope he will be strong enough to undertake at least part of his goal. However, it seems that now the project is going to become something special for even more people. The journey that Ernie has hoped to undertake to inspire others may become their own journey.

"During a visit to see Ernie in hospital two days ago, he said in no uncertain terms that the show must go on, if not with him, with other willing volunteers."
Dom is now looking for anyone with any ailment or disability which may have prevented them from completing a cycling journey or other physical challenge - or simply anyone who wants a "pick me up" - to take Ernie's place in the stoker's seat for a while. It's Take a Seat part 2, but with a greater goal.

Can you help?

- Do you have a friend with a disability that prevents them from getting outdoors as much as they would like?
- Do they live anywhere approximately on the Dom & Ernie cycling route ?
- Would they be excited about the prospect of a cross-country cycle journey on a tandem?
- Would they be happy to talk to a hand-held camera on the bicycle (held by Dom)?
- Would they be prepared to camp if all equipment was provided by way of a support vehicle (that can also be used to travel in should a problem arise)?

If the answer is yes to all of these, Dom would love to hear from you or them. He says "Being fit and strong is not necessary (I can take up the slack) but being prepared to cycle for 2 to 20 days and being up for the challenge is.The Dom & Ernie team are currently trying to source funding to ensure their riders have return travel to their start point."

"The journey - with an almost confirmed departure date of Wed July 3rd 2010 - has the potential to not only make an incredible story but provide and inspirational example to those that are striving to get out and achieve something in the face of adversity. We are all hoping that Ernie, the inspiration behind the project, will be well enough to undertake a stage of this journey, but for the time being will be relieved as and when he makes a full and speedy recovery. In the meantime, help us find others will to give adventure cycling a try - no previous experience necessary! Can you help us keep this dream alive?"

You can contact Dom Gill via the project's Facebook page, and to learn more about the project, visit www.domandernie.com. Please spread the word, and let's show Ernie, and Dom, and everyone involved, absolute support.

"Only those who will risk going too far can possible find out how far one can go."
~ T.S.Eliot

Jumping in Puddles

VIDEO: Hoppípolla - Sigur Ros



Hoppípolla is Icelandic for "jumping in puddles". Oh how I used to love jumping in puddles! Was there any greater thrill than the moment of impact? Feet hitting water, and seeing it fly with a satisfying SPLAT? The thing is, I still love to do it now, but I never have the appropriate footwear, nor do bystanders accept it any longer if I do. These are excuses though, aren't they? After all, as a child it didn't matter what shoes I had on: getting one's feet wet was a small price to pay for the exhilaration of making that rain water fly! And if bystanders ever were to click their tongues in dismay, it mattered not... their presence went entirely unnoticed.
So what happens to us when we grow up? Why do we stop playing the way we used to? Is it really maturity, or is it just fear? I think we worry about what people will say. We worry about having soggy shoes.


Children of yore, it's time to throw mature caution to the wind, and go back to jumping in puddles. Get your feet wet!

My Life In Tea

This morning a box arrived to my flat. I signed for it, and brought it inside, and only then did I wonder what it was. It was, I soon discovered, a "cheer up!" present from my brother in New Zealand.  There are few gifts more special than one that is given for no other occasion than to make you smile. Which this one was sure to do: my brother had sent me a box of a selection of fine teas.
Those who know me know how much I love my tea. Yet it's more than just a drink; it's something I have grown up with, and wherever I have travelled to, it has been a part of that journey.

Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage.  ~Catherine Douzel

CHILDHOOD TEA
When I was quite young, about eleven, I would work in my father's shop, helping serve customers, unpack stock, (and most of the time make a nuisance of myself) but I also made the obligatory cups of tea. I remember then that my own cup of "builder's tea" would require plenty of milk and a large heaping of sugar.  Often when I had gulped the last of the liquid there would still be a layer of sugar at the bottom of the mug.


As a teen I refined this syrupy recipe into, specifically, a splash of milk and two sugars. Or, "two and a moo," as I liked to say. By the time I reached 20 I had removed the sugar and replaced it with a single, questionable, artificial sweetener. Looking back it was clear I had so much to learn about tea.


ENGLISH  BREAKFAST
Then I moved to England, where tea as I knew it began to change. I still drank it every day, but I moved from "builder's tea" to English Breakfast. I had not yet developed my knowledge of teas beyond this staple, however, and while at one of my many jobs in London a colleague asked me to order some Earl Grey tea for the office. I distinctly recall raising an eyebrow and asking,
"Who on earth likes Earl Grey?"
"I do!" he replied. He was just as shocked that I didn't appreciate the Earl as much as I was shocked that someone would want to drink something that tasted like dishwater.

Something changed. Maybe it was the natural change that came with my slowly becoming Anglicised? Maybe I just developed further my sense of taste? Whatever it was, I soon became an Earl Grey drinker. And with it, I developed a fascination and thirst for the plethora of teas from all parts of the world. Tea became a passion.


BABINGTON'S TEAROOMS

The first time I had Earl Grey with lemon was, strangely, in Rome, at the gloriously decadent Babington's Tearooms. This fantastic place was founded in 1893 by two English women living in Italy, to create a simple sanctuary where homesick Britons could drink their tea and read the papers. Babington's sits at the foot of the Spanish steps, and it was here that I brilliantly decided to make the switch to lemon. This was also around the time that I realised the great flavours to be found in loose leaf tea, rather than in a teabag. It finally and completely opened the door to my truly appreciating good tea.




TÈ DIFETTOSO
Ironically, Italy was also the source of the worst cup of tea I've ever had. On the side of Mt Vesuvius, having zig-zagged around the slow ambling tourists and then being denied any decent trekking routes at the top for lack of a guide, finding a cup of tea felt like a matter of life and death. The refreshments truck on the volcano offered a variety of things, but tea was not one of them. Asking for some tea with milk was met with a strange look, and resulted in a cup of microwaved milk and peach ice tea. Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised - Italians are all about coffee.


TEA IN THE OUTDOORS
Most of the time the best cups of tea have followed some sort of hard phsyical slog or weary day. A particularly memorable cup of tea was had in Scotland, in a wild stretch of moorlands outside of Inverness. Having walked all day, there was some surprise to discover a hand-painted sign on the side of the path, which read, "TEA". 
This sounded great, but from where?
Some ambling off the path lead us to another sign reading "REFRESHMENTS", and behind it a corrugated-iron shed, a large crudely-constructed cage housing barking huskies, and a caravan. I couldn't help but wonder whether we we about to be captured and fed to the dogs - who had gone mental at the sight of us - when a tall, wild-looking bearded man came out to greet us. His name was Rory and he was a crofter, tending to the lands, who had not left the area for his entire life.
"Not at all?" I asked him.
"Why would I?" said Rory, stretching his arms out at the view. "I have all I need!"
He brought us some fantastic tea, (made to perfection by Rory who obviously cared about a good cup) which we sat and drank in his wild, overgrown garden.
"Just kick the chickens out of the way," said Rory.
It was one of the most surprising and inspiring tea stops of my life.

MINT TEA
In Morocco I experienced the renowned mint tea; a heady liquid stuffed with bright green mint leaves and sweetened with cubes of sugar. It was the warmth of it that tuned me into the frequency of Marrakech. I think one of the things that has always drawn me to Morocco is the role of tea within its culture. When you arrive anywhere you must have tea! If you begin a conversation you must have tea! And to accept tea from a stall-holder in the souk was to enter into a haggling game, during which the tea continued to be poured as long as one wished to bargain.


"You want some tea?” Mohammad asked, looking hopeful. This was his chance to really push the sale. We accepted. Now the haggling would begin.

Mohammad left his stall to organise the tea, and came back with tiny stools for us to sit on.  Amusingly, his own stool was between us and the door. The tea tray was placed on the floor, and the strong, sweet minty tea was poured into three glasses.
We made a toast, and discussed the popular subjects of football and Marrakech, but eventually it was time to get down to business.
- (from my blog, Two Weeks in Morocco)

WHISKY DU BERBER
In the Saharan desert I watched my nomad friends brew notoriously strong gunpowder tea leaves in a ceramic pot on the fire. They would pull a ludicrously large rock of sugar out of their pocket, break off half of it and put it into the pot. Tea (known as "whisky du berber", or "whisky of the berber") was the ceremony around which the rest of the day revolved. If you had reason enough to stop in the desert, then it was worth making tea for.

"Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company."  ~Author Unknown

One night in the desert, our camels had run away and our guides had been gone all day to find them. When the sun set, Ben and I were still alone, and so were forced to make ourselves a fire. Here I had a chance to try and make the tea as I had watched the nomads prepare it before. Yet it proved to me what I had already suspected - that for every kind of tea, there is an art to making it.

In the light of the headtorch I filled the little grey teapot with water and placed it on the fire. Once it boiled I opened the box of gunpowder tea, and scooped in a heap of the bitter black stuff. Thinking back to when I had seen Barack make it, I let it stew and then added a handful of sugar cubes. Tasting the tea, it was still terribly bitter, so I added another handful of sugar. It seemed there would be no room to add any more. 

Just as I was tasting it again, we heard a voice.
“Barack??” we called out into the dark. The moon had not yet risen, and there was no light except for the fire.
And then we saw a small dot of light moving towards us.
Barack had found his way back to camp, using his mobile as a torch. We each grasped his hand in warm greeting. Barack slumped himself down beside the fire.
“Tea?” I offered him. “It’s nearly ready.”
I was delighted to be able to offer our guide some tea, but it was still bitter.
Kindly, Barack drank the glass I offered him anyway.
“Is good!” he lied.
“Some more?”
He declined, and we laughed.
“Is no good!” I grinned.
“No no, c’est bon!” he assured me.


THE RITUAL OF TEA
Someone who appreciates really good wine, and the ceremony of sourcing it, pouring it, and tasting it, will understand the importance of doing the same for tea. Of course, such a person will usually go somewhere with a really good wine list and cellar. For tea-drinkers, there is The Ritz!  Ben and I were given the fantastic gift one year of afternoon tea at The Ritz hotel in London. (Frankly, anywhere that has a tea menu automatically piques my interest). There were more cakes and miniature sandwiches than any person could possibly eat, but more tragically to my mind, there were more teas than I could ever try in one afternoon. Darjeeling! Lapsong! Assam! Jasmine! Oolong! Where to start? And how to finish?





Actually, perhaps the greatest part of the Ritz experience was the heavy silver tea sets. It made the ceremony of afternoon tea all the more decadent and detailed. In the same way that the nomads took the time to make the tea just the right way, pour it just the right way, and serve it specifically to tradition, with their chipped glasses and fire in the sand; the Ritz hotel in London also gave time and attention to doing things right.


Everyone has their rituals. For me, the ceremony of tea is a comforting ritual, the way that the ceremony of prayer is a comforting ritual for the religious. Of course I'm not a religious person, and on Sundays I don't go to Church - instead I pick up the Sunday papers, make a pot of loose-leaf tea, and say a happy little hallelujah.


There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea.  ~Bernard-Paul Heroux

Risky Business

There are times in life when you have to ask yourself that most insightful of all questions:
"What is the worst that can happen?" For me, I was a publishing assistant. I liked my job, but alas, I didn't love it. I had finally got my foot in the door in publishing, and yet after a year I still found myself in the same situation as I had been in before in every other job I'd ever had: I just wasn't where I was meant to be. I knew I was capable of so much more, and yet taking the safe job options was never going to allow me to that.

So I decided to take a leap, and I resigned from my job. And I didn't have any other roles lined up. I just decided it was time to start doing what I truly wanted to do. No time like the present. It is amazing the different reactions a move like this will give you - many friends couldn't understand why I would put myself in a position where I am not earning any money. So many times I was asked, why I hadn't decided to stick out my old job until I had found a new one? I was tired of waiting things out, locking in another safe option, and ending up in the same position. If I wanted to start following my passions, I had to do it right now, and I had to take big risks.

It seemed to me as if we have become so reliant on the security of a job, that the concept of not having one is completely unfathomable. (I had a similar reaction when I told people we were not having a TV in our new flat - people have come to rely on television so religiously that they cannot see past it, and imagine life without one). Yet what I have come to truly realise - not just agree with but actually understand - is that this is our life, right now. It's not a rehearsal. I should have done this years ago, so why wait another day?

Every day we get up, go somewhere, and spend the whole day doing something in particular. So surely we should be doing something we enjoy? Far too many people don't like their jobs but they stay there and continue to do it because they like the security of the pay packet, and the comfort of the familiar. Others admit that they don't like their job but they do it for the money, so that they can fund their lifestyles outside of office hours. Sure this makes sense, and in fact I used to subscribe to this exact school of thought myself, but I've since learned that for me, this isn't the way I want to live.

I was earning very good money as an executive assistant for one of The Big Four firms in London, and while I could buy nice things and go to nice places, I wasn't fulfilled. I was selling my soul. When I took a significant salary drop to work in publishing, I found was much happier, and, most amazing of all, having less money didn't actually make me miserable. Right now I am earning nothing (albeit for the short term - there is rent to pay after all) but I feel great. A little anxious, yes, but believe me - great. I am grateful too that my boss at the publishing company was fantastically supportive, and let me go (replacing me with two people, I might add) because I am now free to work for myself.

Suddenly my fate is in my hands: what I do each day is of great consequence, and my motivation is put to good use. It is an amazing feeling. I have never felt so free! Sure, it's terrifying, intimidating, and my energy levels come and go in peaks and dips. I can spend two days believing I can take on the world, and then spend two days bathing in self-doubt. This is all part of the vital process and it's a test of my commitment. There is no sense of achievement without a challenge.

What is the worst that can happen? You will not end up on the streets, alone, with nothing to eat. You will not lose your health and your family. Frankly, the worst that can happen is you fail, you run out of money, you stay with friends, get another job, and try again shortly. You will find is that all the things you truly need will still be there. Except you will be better off for it.

Of course, you need to be committed; nobody will help you unless you first try to help yourself. I have parked myself at my home desk every day, networking, job searching, applying for paid and unpaid writing tasks, eager to build my portfolio. The problem is, I know I can write. I just need to prove it. But to get the copy proof, you need to HAVE the copy proof.... and there lies the catch.

There are no real hard and fast rules to anything in life - despite what people may tell you - and I know from experience that self-believe, perseverance and willingness to take the plunge will get you everywhere. Somehow, I am going to make this work. Yes, it's a gamble, and no, there are no guarantees for success. But you will never know until you try. When you take a risk you either: a) succeeed; or b) fail, and learn invaluable lessons. Both outcomes are worth the gamble. So why play it safe? To develop and to discover your potential you need to push yourself, and see how far you can go. You are not going to do it in the safety of your comfort zone.

What is the worst that can happen? It's never as bad as you think.

Recommended reading: Why Do We Believe That Our Job Is What Makes Us Worthwhile? by Alain de Botton