Fa la la la la

Oh Christmas Tree, oh Christmas Tree, deck the halls with bows of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a partridge in a pear tree.

It’s that time of year again. For the last few weeks people have been playing Christmas songs and everybody’s been groaning at how early it is. But now it’s December, now nobody has any excuses.

For the last few years I’ve put the average Christmas carol to one side, ignored the top 40 of Christmas, and found a bit of Christmas cheer in the unlikeliest of places: Australia.

I recently spent a month in Australia, it’s a country where my heart has belonged long before I’d ever set foot there. So much so that ever since I discovered a little thing called Australian Christmas carols, my life (and my Christmas) has never been the same.

Now, I’m sure you’ll agree Australia and Christmas don’t really go together. As a British born human, Christmas is a time when we place bets on whether there’ll be snow, and we always, always have a full roast dinner.

Australia, unfortunately, get all of the hype of a white Christmas, with none of the reward. Some places hit 40 degrees on Christmas Day, and some are threatened with bush fires.

So, what exactly does an Australian Christmas carol entail? Everything Aussie, of course.

There is no song that quite explains an Australian Christmas quite like Jingle Bells. (I know, I know…dashing through the snow hardly sounds Australian, but take a few minutes to listen anyway!)

Pegs vs Netflix

Netflix Cameron

Hi, this is Cameron; your Netflix nexus. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?

You

Hi my name is Pegs

Netflix Cameron

Hello Pegs, how can I help you today?

You

Well, I’m trying to decide whether to get a Netflix account, but it all depends on Queen Dame Julie Andrews. How many Julie Andrews films do you have on your service?

Netflix Cameron

Haha Great question!

Netflix Cameron

One moment and I’ll check that for you.

Netflix Cameron

So I actually unable to find that information, but you can always try our month long free trial and find out firsthand how many Julie Andrews movies we have. And there are no contracts so you can quit anytime.

You

Well that’s disappointing. Do you know if you have the old classics like Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, as well as the Princess Diaries 1 & 2? Those are a few of my favourite things

Netflix Cameron

I do not at this time. We do not have a set list of which titles we have available because they are always changing and are different from region to region.

You

That’s a shame, I’m not sure Queen Dame Julie would approve of that, what do you think? Do you think Queen Dame Julie would go for the free trial to see what’s available or just try Amazon Prime to see if they have a clearer answer?

Netflix Cameron

I think she would absolutely approve of a free month trial to see what we have to offer.

Netflix Cameron

And if you don’t like it, you can always quit before the trial ends and you wouldn’t be charged at all.

You

I suppose that would be practically perfect in every way, I will have to sign up! Thank you for your time.

Netflix Cameron

You are very welcome! Have a great day! And one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind, please stay online for a one question survey.

Italy Day Five: Waterfall Showers, Lake Swimming and Mountain Walks

I feel like my legs are about to fall off. Today has been very busy, and exceptionally enjoyable. I think it’s safe to say it’s been the best day yet.

In the morning we did our usual breakfast/lunch making routine, then set off to Varone where there’s a waterfall. We had to pay to get in, which was quite disappointing as it wasn’t a very big place for the amount we paid. However, it was a wonderful thing to see. From higher up and down the bottom, seeing the water splashing through the gorge it had created was just brilliant. We got quite wet from the spray, and though we didn’t expect to, it was really refreshing. (See the picture below! That was taken on my second trip in to take a photo on my phone so I could blog it!)

After the waterfall shower we went to another lake not far from Lake Garda. Lago di Ledro was definitely my favourite place we have been so far. The lake was big enough that you could see across it and it feel large, but actually it’s quite small. Especially when compared on a map to it’s “big brother” Lake Garda. As Google had informed us, it’s a great place to go if you’re not really bothered by the tourism of Lake Garda. After the disappointing town the day before, it was great to go somewhere that was ‘off the beaten track’. It was busy enough that there were people around and cafes, but it was really quite quiet.

There were a number of rude people, unfortunately, who took over picnic tables yet were lying on towels on the floor! We only wanted one for half an hour to eat our lunch. People’s selfishness astounds me sometimes.

Once I got over the frustrations of human beings, we went swimming. The first swim we’ve been able to do this holiday and I am so glad I didn’t leave my swimming costume at home.

I’ve always disliked swimming in the sea. The mixture of salt water drying on your skin, salt water in your eyes, and the water/sand mix coming out of the sea makes me loathe doing much more than paddling. Even that I tend to avoid. I much prefer to swim in fresh water. It was brilliant. The water was quite cold when you first got in, but it was actually very refreshing. We swam quite a distance, just splashing about in the still water. It reminded me how much I do like water, in so many ways. We have a love/hate relationship. Flooding frightens me a lot. But I love to swim in lakes and I love to go out on a row boat.

The day was topped off by a walk down the side of the mountain. We had an hour before it was due to go dark, so we set off down the hill. It’s a few kilometres to the town, so we didn’t expect we’d get that far – and we didn’t – but we did see how far we can get. The steepest, and most strenuous, part was right before we turned around. When we got back to the top we visited a hotel (which we weren’t sure we could go to, but turns out we could) to get a drink. Then walked the rest of the way in the twilight. It was dark by the time we got ‘home’ but that felt okay. Once we got past the bit straight after the hotel it was one long road uphill.

What a day. Walking, swimming, and more walking, it’s been exhausting, but it’s been worth it.

(I’m a day behind; should get to post todays tomorrow at some point, hopefully.)

Here are some photos from the day:



(I do love a good translation, this was at the entrance to a camping site we walked through.)



(The waterfall! My phone, and myself, were getting very wet at the moment it was taken.)

Italy Day Four: Cable Cars, Long walks and Little Internet

Once upon a time, having constant access to the internet didn’t matter. In 2009 I went to the USA for three months. I took with me a cheap phone and a cheap SIM card that allowed me to make calls and send messages. I couldn’t receive them, or vice versa, I can’t remember which. I didn’t even consider having internet. Our last few holidays have been to France, where even if we didn’t have internet in the house we stayed, we always found a McDonalds nearby to go to. Staying in Italy, in a house where Internet on your phone is patchy and there’s no WiFi is more challenging this time around than I thought it would be. It helps that I have a deal on my phone, £3 a day to get my UK tarriff. But having that little access only makes me want to have more. It’s hard to remember a time before, a world where Tweeting frequently and staying in touch was a given. It’s been four days of patchy internet and I’m already missing my stable connection.

Today we took a ride up Monte Baldo, right to the very top, all 1760 feet in the cable car. It was crowded and unless you fought for your place by a window, you got to see the backs of people’s heads. The view from the top was nice, but you couldn’t see everything the way you could on the journey. It’s like the people who set up the cable car decided that the destination was more important, when we didn’t stay long, the thing we paid for was the journey. As in life, it matters more than what’s at the end.

What we did see, however, was interesting. We spotted a flock of sheep running down a hill like it wasn’t the top of a mountainside. We saw paragliders running off the edge of the mountain. We also saw a small herd of alpacas living up top. It was a bizarre little world. Our car struggled to get less than halfway and yet there were vehicles, restaurants, and even a beaten up old property for sale. I wonder what life is like up there, for the people who have to drive, and anyone who would ever consider buying property there.

It is a shame we didn’t know more about the world above, because if we had we might have come more prepared. We let our sandwiches in the car at the bottom of the hill, and we came down early. For many, they made a day of the top of the mountain. They walked, they ate, they drank, and then they came back down.

But, the journey was worth it, no matter how short a time you spent at the top.

After the cable car, and our lunch, we went for a ride to another town. It was small and charged more for parking, and it was far inferior to the towns we have already been. We walked along the lake side hoping to find somewhere to go and have an ice cream. The walk was long and we saw little more than hotels and people sunbathing. We’re not sit by the pool sunbathing all day holidayers, so that was not an ideal location to be. Then we had to walk back again. Even less enthralling as we walked along the road.

I was glad to finally get some ice cream, however. They don’t do strawberry ice cream in the UK, not really. They do strawberry flavoured ice cream. It is not the same as ice cream made with strawberries. It’s such a refreshing taste, and I have not regretted one mouthful.

Here are some photos from the day:



(The view from the halfway point of the cable car route; our apartment is somewhere behind the trees behind the cable car. See how far we are from the town?!)

(Paragliders taking off from the top of Monte Baldo.)



(Another random translation – they mean machine to pay for parking!)

Italy Day Three: Pizza, Supermarkets and Translations

Today we set out with the intention of visiting Rive Del Garda. We wanted to go because it sounded nice, but then we found out about an event being held there with street food, so we didn’t make up our usual sandwich lunch, and we set off.

Unfortunately, as with a lot of signs for places, they don’t always make complete sense and we didn’t actually make it to the event. So, no street food. Luckily, we carried on driving (after having a wander around the town/a drink) and we found a quieter, lovely little place a few kilometres out. There we ate a slice of pizza for lunch that was the size of my face.

Anyone in the UK who has ever been to Greggs bakers know they do slices of pizza. It’s not square and it’s not that great. What I love about Italy is that you can pick up a slice of pizza anywhere you go, and it’s about the same price as buying one from Greggs. But this pizza is infinitely better!!!

We also made a trip to the supermarket, which may not sound very interesting, but I do like a good supermarket visit. Supermarkets are different in each country. Whilst the overall concept is the same, they all have baskets and trolleys, they all sell food from the country, and they all have (probably low paid) people sat behind tills serving customers.

What I’ve especially found different about supermarkets in this part of Italy is a) how few and far between them are, and b) how small they are. We’ve visited just two tiny ones, the size of a small shop (Tesco Express, Londis, etc.) in the UK. Today we managed to go to a regular sized supermarket (by regular I mean a larger Aldi/small Asda size).

As with lots of supermarkets, we had to weigh the fruit we bought – which we tried to do. Only to realise we needed the number assigned to the product. A little confusing. Then, after weighing the fruit and getting the labels for them, we realised we should have been wearing a plastic glove for picking the fruit up! We used our hands. Oops.

Other than products, it was a pretty average supermarket. It surprises me that Spar is a chain of supermarkets here, whereas in the UK it’s a chain of small shops you usually find are petrol stations.

I do miss the huge stores of the Carrefour in France (where we usually go). I always enjoy the bigger supermarket shopping experience.

I’ve been taking a lot of photographs over the last few days. I tend to get quite snap happy on holiday. I make sure I experience things too, but if it’s worth taking a photo of, chances are I will do it. I can take quite good photos, not necessarily through skill of using my fancy camera (I only know how to change the aperture, I want to do more, please), and tonight the light on the lake was perfect. It’s a pity I didn’t have my camera with me because I had to rely on my phone, and as great as the phone picture quality is (for a phone) nothing beats my DSLR.

One of my favourite things to take photos of, aside from scenery, is random signs and bad tanslations. When I say bad, I mean incorrect, because some of them are anything but terrible. They’re incredibly funny and somewhat beautiful.

A little late from yesterday as we didn’t go anywhere with decent WiFi. Here’s some photos:



(The view of the lake as the sun was going down.)

(Amazing translation!)

(Pizza the size of my face!)

Italy Day Two: Boats, Lemons and a Very High Mountain

It’s amazing how slowly twenty-four hours can pass when you’re in another country. It’s like time has stood still, and yet in some ways it has sped along faster than ever. The fears of the mountainside I had yesterday have already dropped off and I can feel my whole body is exhausted in a way only holidays can make it. Stopping. Just taking time away from every day life, can really make you feel so tired. I thought working was exhausting, but nothing really prepares me for that moment I want to sleep at the end of a busy day out of the house.

This morning we walked up the mountain. It was a road, so it wasn’t like we were climbing, but still we went further up the mountainside, up a steep hill. We walked for about a kilometre, where we reached what we thought was the top of the cable car. It wasn’t. We were extremely high up, the views were fantastic, and yet there was further we could have gone. We’re planning on taking a trip up the cable car, but I’m not sure how any of us will feel about going that high up.

We had to make a quick dash to the supermarket because, like in France, they close early on a Sunday. Or at least some of them do (we found a couple of others that don’t later on). I’m amazed at how lacking in large supermarkets this whole area is. Perhaps we’re not going to the right places, or maybe Italy just doesn’t have as many. I honestly don’t know. What I did find, however, was penis shaped pasta. I don’t really understand why they would sell such a thing, it’s quite random, and something many Brits would chuckle about.

In the afternoon we got the boat from Malcesine (where we are staying) to Limone, which is full of lemons, and lemon products. One shop had massive lemons bigger than both of my hands clasped together. Other shops were selling various limoncello and lemon-related products. Mostly, we just wandered the streets, ate our sandwiches, and had an ice cream. I had Frutti di Bosco, which I think is probably mixed berry.

I really enjoy going out on boats. I’m not a sea person, I don’t have sea legs and in so many ways I dislike the sea. But I do like sitting on, or rowing, a boat out into the middle of a lake. There’s something very different in lake and river air than sea air. If we could have been out on the lake all day, I would.

I am so grateful that we are here, in this beautiful place, enjoying wonderful food and I am so relaxed. Even if walking everywhere and the warmth in the air is making me feel extra-tired.

Some photos from the day:



(Limone from the boat.)

(Gelato!)

(Penis shaped pasta.)

Italy Day One: Stuck Up a Mountain, Send Help

I am sat on a mountain in Italy, surrounded by stunning views and Italian homes. People are riding up and down the mountainside on mopeds, speeding along the quiet country lanes, swerving round bends. Our rental apartment has panoramic views of Lake Garda and the mountains beyond, to the back of the property we have more mountains. I am almost on top of the world.

Yet I feel scared.

It’s rare that I feel this overwhelming sense of panic, of fear, that where I am is not comfortable. It’s difficult to explain. It’s not that I’m scared of being this high up, altitude doesn’t bother me, as long as I feel like I’m not sat on the edge of a cliff face. Nor am I scared of being in the middle of nowhere, as long as I have a means of going somewhere less sparse.

I suppose the thing that bothers me is how long it took us to drive up the hill, how hard we had to push the hire car, and how windy the streets are.

I hold within me a fear of not being able to get home. I don’t know where it came from, or how long it’s been there (except that it’s been there a long time), and that is how I feel up this beautiful mountain.

I’m scared that the car we are using is not powerful enough to handle going up and down this hill more than once a day, or even that, (which means we either stay up, or we stay down). I’m scared that we will not be able to find our way “home” in the dark. I’m scared of going down (that is where height definitely comes in) because we’ve yet to do that for the first time.

A few years ago in rural France, we went out for a walk one day and got lost on our way home. I was stood on a darkened, rural, French street at night, with no street lights, with houses shuttered up, feeling like I was going to be there all night. We couldn’t call a taxi because we didn’t have a number (or know where we were). We couldn’t ask somewhere where the house was, because we didn’t really know that either. We walked until nearly midnight (after setting off at around 7/8pm) and we finally found “our house” and it was the biggest relief. Fearing we would never find our way home is something I will never forget it.

What I feel today is something I hope will pass. We may be able to get a different hire car, if the company allow us to trade it in, and maybe that will help. I just hope that this weight sitting on my chest doesn’t stay there for the whole week. We are in a beautiful place, surrounded by natures greatest gifts, and I don’t want to waste it.

Update: we found a much less dramatic way up and down the mountainside, so I’m feeling a lot calmer about it.

Here are some photos of the area:



(The mountain behind the apartment.)



(The lake view from the apartment.)



(The mountain we’re staying on from below, we think we’re near the light coloured smudge next to the tall tree.)

The Saddest Thing About Death Isn’t Dying

(Before I begin I should make it clear that I am not trying to trivialise dying, I’m not saying the moment when someone does die isn’t painful, merely that death is more than a moment when life ends.)

I’ve only suffered four significant deaths in my twenty seven years (one of which was a pet). I’m lucky. I didn’t lose a friend in school, or a parent as a teenager, or a baby as an adult. I am luckier still in that I had all four grandparents until the age of twenty one (and still have two left at twenty seven).

The two grandparents I did lose weren’t young. They were both ill and death was, and still is, the best way out of their suffering.

The final Christmas with my mum’s mum was hard. We visited her on Christmas day and she sat in a chair asking God to take her. It was her time. It was beyond her time. Her death was not sad, it wasn’t soon enough. The saddest part of her dying for me was watching her wilt away over a number of years. Seeing my mum and aunts look after her, watching her beg for her last breath. The saddest thing was not being able to remember before; before she got ill. I have very few memories of the woman she was because they were all taken by that woman sat in a chair ready to go.

My dad’s dad died just before Christmas and like my grandma his death was more of a relief than sad. Naturally there was sadness, as there was when my grandma died, as there is with any death. He suffered from dementia. So, like my grandma, I watched him disappear into himself until he was a fraction of the man he once was. Again, I barely remember him before.

The saddest things for me are the fact my cousins didn’t know him before, they were too young. It’s the fact he died days before Christmas making an otherwise happy family occasion feel that much harder. The memories I don’t have because they were squashed down by a suffering man.

The third death was my uncle. I barely knew him but he died suddenly of a heart attack. I still have what little memories I have of him. The saddest thing about his death is the family he left behind, the granddaughters who weren’t biologically related to him but whom he doted on, the youngest of which suffered the pain of being there when he died.

Lynda Bellingham died of cancer and like many celebrities before her, she spent much of her life in the spotlight. She chose to give up fighting, to die with dignity. Her loss is not personal to me, but her death is no different to any other. She wanted one last Christmas with her family and she didn’t get it. She was a talented woman who didn’t get to perform her last shows because she needed to recover, she never went back. Those are the saddest parts of her death.

Babies, children, teenagers, adults, the elderly. When we die, whether old or young, we leave behind memories – or a lack of them. The saddest thing is that we don’t get to make memories, we don’t get to watch children become adults, we don’t get to have our parents at our wedding, we don’t have another Christmas with the people we love. Talented people don’t get to carry on being talented. Children don’t get to reach their potential or live their dreams. Parents and grandparents never get to meet their unborn relatives. The grief, the suffering, the having to say goodbye.

That’s where the true sadness lies.

To Kill a What?

Young people don’t read.

It’s a fact.

Out of 10 young people, just 3 of them read daily in their own time. These are figures that were collected by the National Literacy Trust. In 2005 the figure was 5/10, by 2011 it had dropped to 3/10.

Between the ages of 8-11 and 14-16 the percentage of young people who enjoy reading drops from 73% to 34%.

These figures are startling; they’re a truth that those of us who love to read can’t understand.

Let’s face it, reading in school can be difficult, it can be frustrating, it can be boring. I remember lesson after lesson where one pupil wanted to read aloud each and every time; she wasn’t a very good reader, but she wanted to do it. For the class it made it a little boring and tiresome, but with hindsight I know that that probably helped her to become a better reader.

We’re forced to read a lot of different stories in school. In secondary school it becomes more important that we read the ‘classics’, stories which have stood the test of time like no other.

Shakespeare. Mark Twain. Emily Bronte. William Golding. George Orwell. John Steinbeck. Harper Lee. Bill Naughton. Willy Russell.

The list feels endless. The possibilities are many.

We all explore the moors of 19^th Century Britain, the streets of Liverpool and the Deep South, the cities of Verona, Athens and Vienna, an uninhabited island, or dystopian Britain.

Whichever books you are exposed to in school, whichever stories you are forced to read, there are some which stay with us forever.

I have fond memories of studying To Kill a Mockingbird, Blood Brothers and A Streetcar Named Desire.

Others will feel differently about those very same stories.

The fact is, we were given a glimpse into other worlds, we were exposed to stories that we might not have sought out on our own and for that I am grateful.

Today it was announced that Michael Gove – Education Secretary: the man who should be looking out for the bright young minds of tomorrow – has decided the reading list in schools should only contain British authors.

Something which I believe is a travesty.

There is some belief that there are plenty of brilliant novels written by British authors, so what is the big deal?

Well, the big deal is that whilst there are many amazing British novels, there are also many amazing novels written by authors of other countries.

Who is Michael Gove to say which books should or shouldn’t be covered in the curriculum? He is but one man who seems to have a very specific idea about literature and education.

I do not agree that this move is the right one.

Two of the three books I remember from school with the most happiness were written by American authors/playwrights. I have since enjoyed several other books by American authors who I did not read in school, but who have been on the curriculum at some point in time.

Let us reverse this silly idea that we must only explore books written by UK authors for a moment. Let us pretend that we’re from the United States and actually, we should only be studying books from American authors.

The Bronte Sisters. Gone.

George Orwell. Gone.

Shakespeare. Gone.

These are classics which are known the world over. They are studied in schools across the globe. They are sources of tourism; they are connections to British history and themes which are not always explored in a history lesson.

It would be unthinkable to remove Shakespeare from any curriculum.

Let us return to reality.

Harper Lee. Gone.

Mark Twain. Gone.

John Steinbeck. Gone.

Important time periods in American history that young people in education do not get taught in the UK are being wiped from the curriculum. That insight into the past in countries we don’t necessarily know much about is being taken away.

Young people who do not care much for reading will not be able to fall in love with To Kill a Mockingbird or Of Mice and Men or Huckleberry Finn. They will not go out of their way to read these books that have not been forced upon them and they will not learn the lessons that generations of children have been learning from these great American novels.

Yes, there are some wonderful books of British literature, but there are also some wonderful books that aren’t British literature, and Michael Gove’s act will mean generations of young people will never know how great they are.

Random Giving

I don’t give money to charity very often. I have given, and still do give, an awful lot of time to good causes. Over the last ten years I’ve volunteered with several high profile organisations, as well as some smaller ones too. I was a Beaver Scout Leader with the Scout Association, a Samaritan and a volunteer at the Youth Hostel Association’s Doit4Real summer camp programme. I’ve made films with an anti-bullying charity, decided who should get money to do something amazing in their community and helped primary school children with their reading.

Today, for a change, I’ve pledged money for a good cause on Kickstarter.

It all started when I was browsing Twitter, as I do every day, when someone I follow ( @NikaHarper ) tweeted that she’d read several great blogs today. She posted links and I ended up reading about someone I don’t know, about their birthday, and about their hope that readers of the post will support a Kickstarter project.

“if you’re feeling abundant, or lost, or bewildered, or generous, or disconnected…please go to Kickstarter and back something crazy and random……….just go out and…back anything. help an artist. connect your wallet directly to some sort of positive creation out there.”

(amandapalmer.net)

It doesn’t matter which one, that wasn’t the point (though some suggestions were provided) and I thought, what the hey, I don’t do things like this very often, let’s do it.

So I hopped on over to Kickstarter and searched for projects in my local area. That’s when I came across this lovely project called The Boo Puppet Festival 2014, who doesn’t love story telling, puppets and children? (Well, some people don’t, but I don’t suppose many of them will be reading this.)

I pledged £5. It’s not a lot, but it’s £5 more than they had a few minutes ago. It’s £5 closer to their £1000 goal. It’s £5 closer to helping children and their families to enjoy puppetry from the UK and Europe without having to pay a penny. There are paid events running alongside, but due to funding cuts in local government, amazing projects like these are having to make cuts and not host free events – or find more creative ways to raise money.

The best thing about the project that I stumbled upon is that if they reach their £1000 goal the Tempest Trust will match it, meaning £5 actually becomes £10 and that’s even more money towards this wonderful cause.

So maybe this post will inspire you to do it too, even if all you can give is £1, $1 or €1. There’s a good cause out there wanting funding; small organisations, local people, hoping for someone to help them be creative and do something wonderful.

It’s always a risk with crowdfunding because you never know if a project will succeed in achieving its goal, but if it does, if their project gets funded and the money goes out of your account, then you will forever be able to remember that random giving and the part you played.