The Changing of the Seasons and the Tides of the Sea

When I was a smallish child and we were leaving our little house in Buckinghamshire to move, lock stock and barrel, as we did every three years, this time to go to live in Singapore, I watched my red-headed mother cry. It was an unaccustomed sight, as she was, and is, an old-school, notinfrontofthechildren type of parent. When I asked her what the matter was, she said she would miss the seasons. As we spent most of my childhood in hot climes (in the Tropics, as people used to say then), and her complexion made her uncomfortable in the heat, it had been a temporary joy for her to experience the changing of the seasons for a brief twelve months. And here we were, heading back to relentless sun, she condemned to hats and kaftans and finding a spot in the shade where she could worry about whether we had enough sun-lotion on (we hadn't) or whether that last dip in the sea had washed it off (it had).

I think about that about four times a year as the seasons turn. I'm lucky to like that. Most people in Britain spend so much of their time wishing our climate was more like southern Spain. But I like the little landmarks of the year.

I like the dithering about whether to put on the heating. I like the ritual shifting up of coat thickness. I like the days drawing shorter, leading to those lovely afternoons where all the lights are on, and when you get home and close the doors you are warm and cosy inside - hot chocolate and marshmallow evenings. But then I'm a home-bod. When everyone's here and we're not going out for the night I lock both locks on the front door, turn the porch light out and close the porch door. And I think "battening down the hatches', which was my Dad's phrase for shutting out the outside world and gathering the family in safety.

And then when the street-lights are on before six, it's time to start thinking about Christmas. My daughter loves Christmas. In mid-summer when, little fair-skinned blonde that she is, the heat becomes too much for her, she puts on Christmas films, reads Christmas books and sings carols because she says it cools her down.

After Christmas you have the new beginnings of the New Year and then magically, the crocuses start to pierce the winter ground and you have the thrill of springtime. The best flowers bloom in the spring in my opinion, and are too quickly over. But then comes the heady buxom glamour of summer, lazy days, sticky nights and parties. And it all starts over again.

I'm sitting in my new office in the attic of our house. I've just turned the heating on very low and my feet are being warmed under the desk. There is a blue sky and a chill in the air outside. It's good to be alive.

Lights on Green

I've been very stingy with my celebrations.

For the last week or so I've been enjoying a remarkably happy time. I have had a string of those magical days where on the way to work the radio plays your favourite songs and the lights change to green as you approach. There's a space int he car-park and the work all goes as planned. My children have been glorious, temperate and sweet-natured. My husband is happy, well and relaxed. I've been stepping up to my self-imposed writing reponsibilities.

In short, God's in his heaven and all's well with my world. Shame he can't give the whole world a few of those days.

Got to go. Children await my wisdom at school.

Getting older vs getting old

We had a party on Saturday night. Good, good friends, old and new, got together, got on, got a little drunk and had a very good time. One of the reasons we had the party, although we didn't let on to anyone because we didn't want fuss and presents, was that both Martin and I have just had birthdays. I've always enjoyed the process of getting older because I like most of the changes in myself very much. As I get older I get more patient, wiser, calmer, more confident and more tolerant. I know myself better. I like the fact of my friends getting older. I like the fact that B and Y used to be two other kids in my department at university, both going out with others. Then they became B&Y, a couple fresh out of university and embarking on big careers. Then Y became pregnant, long before I was in a grown-up relationship. Then she had her third as I had my first. Now she's experiencing teenage with her oldest, and experiencingg it in a good way. We can talk about our children as well as our old friends. We've all mellowed with age, but when I put a Roxy Music CD on early in the evening while we're all still sober, B and I, much to the embarrassment of my children, will still strike a pose and sing at the tops of our voices. And no one else takes a blind bit of notice.

I like seeing my university friends talking with my new Mum friends from school and my teacher colleagues and my book club friends and my neighbours. These days I associate with those I wish to asociate with. I don't feel I have to know the important people, the influential people, I don't have 'duty' friends. I know myself quite well and I'm generally happy. This morning I realised that I haven't even thought about that extra number on my age. It's not an issue. The kids at school asked me how old I was and I told them. They didn't believe me. Which was gratifying...

I'm more concerned about weight than age. Being thin at 50, when it eventually comes, will make me far happier than when I was fat at 35. I'm going to the gym tonight for the first time in about two years. This is not as a result of my birthday but because of Martin's. I've bought him the services of a personal trainer for his birthday and he's become a thing demented, exercising every day and being abstemious to the point of onsession about what he eats. As a result he's lost about 5kg in 2 weeks. I am shamed into action...

This weekend I passed in the street a couple who live in the area whom I've seen around for many years. The man is grandfather to a child who used to be in my son's playgroup years ago and was obviously called upon for some grandfatherly duty. He was a sprightly chap, with a shock of white hair and a handlebar moustache. I watched them on Sunday walking up a slight hill, he slightly bent now, and walking with noticeably more difficulty, but supported by his wife. They were both silent with the effort of the incline. I had a slight pang as I watched, thinking that there is a time when growing older turns into growing old. I hope that I'll see the benefits of that when it happens, if indeed I recognise it, and I hope that Martin and I will be supporting each other on the uphill climb.

At the weekend I was also faced with evidence, if any were needed, of the advantages of growing old. The husband of a cousin of mine has just died. He was several years ounger than me. I don't know why he died, and to be honest it's not important. But I feel desperately for my cousin and her two small children. What she must be going through doesn't bear thinking about.

To paraphrase Woody Allen, getting old's not so bad when you consider the alternative.

Back to the future or forward to the past...

It's been a while folks. That's down to the beginning of term - new timetables to get used to, new resolutions on the writing/working/childcare fronts. For a teacher and parent September is the time for new year's resolutions, and I am resolute.

So far I'm keeping my deadlines, but we'll see how things pan out.

ANYWAY. What I was going to talk about was a chat I had with my daughter this morning. "If you had a time machine, Mummy," she said, "Would you go back to the past or into the future?"

And instantly I said "The past." And when she asked why, I realised that I can't see the future as being in any way better than the present. How depressing is that? It feels as though we are caught in a downward spiral of human intelligence. While technology is advancing and more and more wonderful things are possible as a result, the power and ambition of the human mind is atrophying almost in tandem. I personally am having a great time, my family is healthy and happy and, it has to be said, relatively privileged. However I am aware that all over my country and all over the world the mismanagement of affairs by stupid, misguided or evil people means that, needlessly, humanity suffers. Meanwhile dogma has replaced thought, and leaders believe that only their way is the right way, and they will brook no opposition or contradiction. This is particularly true when said leader is possessed of an evangelical religious mindset. Like the leader of the 'so-called' free world, the architect of Guantanamo Bay and the man who is trying to steamroller back the Geneva convention and the concept of human rights. At least the fact that so far he's failed means that there are some out there who don't lie down and invite him to tickle their tummy.

I don't see how we can climb out of this morass of bigotry and stupidity. As countries and religions feel threatened and harassed and lash out at each others, the fact that washing around the world are nuclear weapons and hair-trigger sensitivities makes for an uncomfortable peace. And when you get superpowers allegedly threatening other countries that they will 'bomb them into the stone age' if they don't do as they're told.... well, it makes me fear for my children's future.

At least we know that there was a lot wrong with the past. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. I wish I felt more optimistic. I started making my plan of what I would do if I were in charge. You have to be really hacked-off with the status quo when you start doing that. Trouble is, I wouldn't start from here... Maybe I'll put that up tomorrow. For now I'm going to go and spend some time with my children, who are cleverer than most world leaders, as well as a damn sight more personable and better looking.