Saturday, March 26, 2005

PURPLE ELEPHANT'S CORNER HAS MOVED!!!

I will not be updating here anymore.
Feel free to visit me in my new home at
http://www.jimnshelle.net/purple/
Update your blogrolls accordingly.
Hope to see you over there!

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Pssssst....

Please click on this link to find out why I am a happy woman today,
Go on it will be worth it I swear!
Still here?
If I tell you that it will probably be the first and last time you see Purple Elephant singing rather than ranting, will you do it now?
You might even be able to comment.

Guess what we were doing yesterday..

Marching the streets of London.
Thank you to the weather for finally cottoning on that it is SPRING!
Thank you to the Strawberry Thieves Socialist Choir for the entertainment. (I have tried to find a website to link to, but you’ll just have to trust me on this, they were great)
I walked past Tony Benn, but I was too shy to say hello and shake him by the hand, which is a shame because conversing with one of my heroes would have completed my life quite nicely.
I leave you with an interesting link,
The Organisation for Women’s Liberation – Iran.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

The joys of Physical 'Education'

This post was inspired by Ms Lori’s post (and its follow up) I have had trouble commenting over there (surprise surprise it’s a blogspot address) Mind you this is probably way too long for a comment anyway. So here goes.....

I have a rebellious body. Whatever my mind tells it to do you can bet your life my body will do the complete opposite. For instance my mind will say ‘Would you mind walking though this door? It’s not difficult.’ And what will happen is my shoulder will bang against the door frame, which will then set me off balance and bang my other shoulder on the other side, then my sleeve will wind itself round the door handle and my body will be sent sprawling to the ground in the most unflattering helpless position ever. In retaliation my mind will then send a torrent of expletives to my body, via my mouth, which will come out as an unintelligible garble.
Yes I’m clumsy, in fact I am possibly the most clumsy person I know. Couple this with the fact that I have never been able to follow or understand rules and I bet you can tell already that PE classes were the bane of my life.
I’ve had a few PE teachers in my life and they all share the same trait, namely that they cannot understand that some people do not appreciate baring their bodies to the elements while they aimlessly chase around after a pathetic sphere of some sort, whilst others point, stare laugh and then beat them up in the changing rooms afterwards for ‘letting the team down.’
Any so called teacher who can choose the two best players and let them pick their team one by one until only one person is left standing humiliated and dejected (guess who) Any teacher who watches as the team leaders squabble over that person (for she is a person, it seems to have escaped everyone’s notice) and turns a blind eye when they bully her; any teacher who can stand there as all this goes on, should be had up for child abuse.
My first PE teacher in secondary school was the worst of all of them, she used to strut around in a nice warm tracksuit, whilst we where made to wear those revolting pleated skirts and aertex blouses, and if we were ever to claim that we were cold, she took it as evidence that we were not working hard enough. You know me I do like to retain anonymity in my blog, especially for those who do not choose to be here, but my PE teacher’s name was so Dickensian and she did make my life hell, and I’m sorely tempted to let on, ok you’ve persuaded me, her name was Mrs Cowley, and I swear to God I’m not making that up.
Once during one of our typical British summers we were supposed to be learning how to do hurdles for the first time. The athletics track resembled the Glastonbury festival site on the last Monday in June, without the litter. Even the most athletic of students were begging not to go out in the torrential downpour, but of course PE teachers get some sort of commission for every lesson held outside. We were going out whether we liked it or not.
Now the school only owned enough hurdles for us to have a go one at a time and Mrs Cowley made us line up one by one, but no one was volunteering to go first. So naturally, seeing the picture of pure unadulterated fear on my face, Mrs Cowley nominated my good self for the task. Now I don’t make a habit of begging but faced with what was obviously about to be the most embarrassing humiliation of my life, I gathered a little bit of begging wouldn’t go amiss.
‘But I’ve never done it before.’
‘It’s easy. You just run and leap!’
‘But if someone else could go first and show me how it is done?’
‘No!’
‘Please?’
‘Just do it!’ (This PE teacher is brought to you by Nike)
So I stood for a while staring at what might as well have been a row of Eiffel Towers looming ahead of me, there was no way I was going to get over them. There was an eerie silence as even the worst bullies couldn’t even muster a snigger, they too felt my fear.
It felt like slow motion as step by step, slosh by slosh I plodded up to that first hurdle, the closer I got the higher it towered. Now it was getting to the time when I was going to have to leap but as I did I hit a skid patch, my legs gave way, my hands flew out to save me and I landed face down, in a twisted mess of human, hurdle and mud.
For a second I was paralysed with shock but then slowly as the pain shot up my ankle, I knew that even the most sadistic PE teacher couldn’t make me carry on! I’d got out of it! Then I began to shake with laughter albeit a rather hysterical laughter, all that fear, humiliation and relief rolled into one! It was over! Thank God it was over!
I had my back to everyone but I was informed later that for a split second Mrs Cowley’s face rivalled that of mine in the fear department, as she saw all the potential lawsuits piling up on her, the loss of a job even? As she came up behind me, she was actually pleasant and tried to sweeten me up by putting my arm around me. When she realised that I was laughing rather than crying and that somehow, by some pure miracle my ankle was only twisted, not broken and even the hurdle was reparable, the relief for her too must have been great. She even agreed to let us go inside after that and for the rest of the lesson, she was actually kind to me. I was flavour of the moment in my class too, for I had got them out of PE. I had my afternoon of glory.
It was all back to normal though the following day.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Ah! She Posts!

You do not understand how much blood, sweat, tears and bad language went into the supposedly simple task of publishing the post below. I tried all day yesterday to get to my ‘create post’ page to no avail. Ended up having to write and save the post in Word. Everyone seems to be complaining about Blogger in some way or the other and the Status Blogger page is not much help, it just seems rife with understatements. I hope they sort it out soon, or I might have to start PAYING (ah!) for something a little more reliable.

Another false conviction...

So it seems that after a six and a half year stint in prison, Donna Anthony’s murder conviction is going to be heard in the court of appeal. It seems then that she will walk free just like Angela Canning, Sally Clarke and Trupti Patel, just a few of the many cases referred to the Criminal Case Review Commission, based on the flawed evidence of Professor Sir Roy Meadows. Who claimed with very limited evidence that
"one sudden infant death is a tragedy, two is suspicious and three is murder, unless proven otherwise."

I really do not understand how a conviction could be based on such obviously flawed evidence in the first place. Even I can sit here and see that there is absolutely no logic in what he claims.
Does anyone truly believe that once a family has suffered a tragedy that they are somehow exempt from any thing terrible happening ever again. I know there is still much to be understood about SIDS but I cannot find any information suggesting that once the misfortune occurs the whole family is blessed with immunity. I’m not the world’s best mathematician (maybe someone can help me out here) but surely statistically, at the very least, it is as likely to happen the second time as it was the first?
My friend’s Mother knew someone who had two sons, both were run down and killed buy a car, in separate accidents on the same stretch of road, almost exactly three years apart. I knew someone at college who lost three kids in a house fire, tried for years to get pregnant again, suffered miscarriage after miscarriage, then had twins who were born dangerously premature and nearly died (but thankfully survived) I’m sure we all know people who just seem to attract heartbreak and tragedy.
As if losing one child is not enough but to have history repeat itself like that. To then be falsely accused of murdering your children (and we have all heard the horror stories of what happens to child abusers in prison) I just can’t even bring myself to think how I’d cope with just one of those things happening to me.
I just hope to God that if there is no other evidence to prove that Donna Anthony mudered her babies, she will walk free and somehow manage to piece the ruins of her life back into something bearable.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Whoops I missed a day!

Would you believe it I’ve been ill again, this time a really sore throat and swollen glands. Also missed the blog roundup but as I need to catch up with all your blogs I have decided to carry it all over until next weekend and hopefully do a mighty big one.
I’m also behind on my study, after doing so well tying to get ahead before Littleone breaks up from school for Easter. I missed a tutorial at the weekend and I was supposed to be going out with my parents for the day on Sunday. Missed it all.
Nothing to blog about today except illness So if you could just click on the seal link on my side bar for me, it might just save a baby seal, or something, and hopefully we will be back to normal tomorrow.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Fur and the Fickle Fuckwits that Wear It:

or; A Fair and Balanced Look at the Wearing of Dead Animals by Celebrities...
As if I didn’t have enough disdain for the celebrity supermodel culture. Not only do they acquire for themselves a fortune that would get a small Island in south east Asia back on its feet. Not only do they create the idea of a perfect female form, which is unachievable and unnatural for most of us but now it seems they are responsible for making real fur fashionable again.

Here is the celebrity walk of shame.
Jennifer Lopez. Think of all the people who could do with the £10,000 her lastest fox fur outfit is reported to have cost.
Kate Moss receives extra detention points for tainting Glastonbury with another animal's skin. (I bet you she wasn't roughing it in the mud with the rest of us)
Naomi Campbell When fur was not in fashion she appeared in the 'I'd rather go naked than wear fur' campaign she now wears fur on and off the catwalk. Has she no shame?
Coleen McLoughlin I don't even know who this woman is... Next?
Yasmin Le Bon Sporting a tasty fur shawl. Go on I know you want one..
Sienna Miller Hmmm, not sure I know who this one is either... Probably the ultimate insult to these people.
Elizabeth Jagger Keeping the head and tail on? Ewwwwwwwww!
Madonna I'm sure I remember reading somewhere that she was a vegetarian. Although on tying to research this on the web I have discovered that she was veggie once but now enjoys hunting, shooting and fishing. The fickleness of these people astounds me.
Liz Hurley So she likes the 'luxury'of real fur does she? While there are still starving people in the world then that word will always induce convulsions in me.
Jade Jagger Her coat is made of 20 silver foxes which have been kept in cages 2.5 foot square.
Blu Cantrell Err nope, this one is lost on me.
Cindy Crawford Also appeared in the 1994 'I's ather go Naked' ad but is now appearing in an American mink coat ad.

At least it seems that Sharon Osborne is a refomed fur addict and actively encourages others to ger rid of their fur.

An embarrased thank you to ICircle for featuring this article. (I know they have been the recipient of my wrath in the past)

If anyone knows of anybody not included on this list, add a comment to this message and help us to name and shame them in true tabloid style.

In addition it seems that PETA have proved that there is such a thing as a well informed, intelligent, caring celebrity. They have compiled a list of those who have spoken out against fur. There are the obvious choices, (Stella McCartney, Pamela Anderson) etc and also some suprises (Simon Cowell)

I assume I don't need to insult my readers' intelligence by ranting about what is wrong with fur. FurIsDead.com is a useful resorce for all sorts of information. If you are strapped for time then their FAQ is an informative starting point or refesher course.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

A dream

So I’ve managed to secure myself a ticket to the They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Book Awards, mainly because I want to see Benjamin Zephaniah. So I’m sitting there at this posh table with a posh table cloth drinking champagne out of a posh wine glass when they finally get round to reading out the nominations. There was Zola (although presumably he ‘sadly can not be with us tonight’) and the obvious choice of Karen Joy Fowler and Paula Byrne. Each time they read out a nomination they held up a nice neat copy of the book in question. Then they hold up this coffee stained, scruffy computer print out and say that it is a surprise nomination from a new author Purple Elephant.
I sit rooted to the spot with fear, how the hell did they get hold of my novel when it has not even been edited? Some chapters have not even been read through.
I open my mouth to scream ‘But there must be a mistake, it’s not finished!’ but naturally my voice doesn’t work.
In all the excitement Richard has dropped my novel and everyone is looking disgusted as all the dog-eared pages are landing in their dinner.
All the nominees are expected to stand on the stage for when they announce the winner and I’m eyeing up the door contemplating escape but everyone at my table is nudging me, telling me to get up on the stage.
Reluctantly I stand up and try to make my way to the stage without stumbling on my long cocktail dress. Only when I get to the steps I realise that what has been flapping around my legs is not in fact a cocktail dress but my dressing gown. My old purple dressing gown, with the hole in the back that I keep meaning to patch up.