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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yay Mona!

For Red Nose Day the kids had to go to school with their hair in the style of their favourite character. I was so busy spending the whole week thinking about how I was going to get Littleone’s short bob into the style of Mona the Vampire that I totally forgot until 9pm last night that we were also supposed to make a red nose too. After raiding the craft cupboard for inspiration I finally came up with the idea of making a red pom-pom. So there I was late last night watching Question Time and winding the wool round and round and round and round the donut shaped cardboard.
As luck would have it I actually managed to keep her sitting still long enough to do her hair this morning and as uniform is not compulsory in the nursery, she headed off in her red jumper and little skirt. Here is the photographic evidence, spot the difference if you dare.


Anyway when we got there it turned out that only about five kids out of two full classes had made the effort and I wasn’t sure if in her eyes this earned us cool brownie or total embarrassment points.
So when I went to pick her up I discovered that she had won a prize for her hair. Shall I repeat that? SHE WON A PRIZE! Her first ever prize!* Not the Nobel Peace or the Orange or Child Prodigy of the Year but a prize for wearing her hair in a few plaits! Not a bad start I have to say. (but had I known there was a book up for grabs, I might have made a purple cloak out of that old sheet upstairs. *Tut*)
Even so on the way home she told me that one of her friends who has red hair and looked like he does every day, claimed he had come as Ron Weasley. So she walked through the front door, prize in her hand exclaiming ‘Why couldn’t I have gone as Ron Weasley?’
No pleasing some people.

*This reminds me of a weird dream I had last night I will share it with you later.

When is Dairy Free not Vegan?

When Tescos have anything to do with it.
So they are selling an own brand Dairy Free Easter egg, which is great for all the people in the UK who just happen to be allergic to dairy. However for the rest of us who choose the diet for ethical reasons the egg is out of bounds. The reason, a small packet of marshmallows that aren’t even vegetarian due to that fatal ingredient pork gelatine!
I just don’t get it! There are all sorts of non-gelatine sweets that could have been included. It is not as if Tescos are doing themselves any favours, I’m aware that the dairy free market is relatively small so why not make the egg available to the grand majority of this market. This survey suggests that 90% of vegans choose the diet for ethical/ moral reasons so presumably they are not going to eat gelatine sweets.
Oh well, I’d rather shop here anyway.
I feel a snarky email coming on…

Some thoughts on Milly-Molly-Mandy

(I am having one of those days when words just keep coming out all wrong, so I apologise if this makes no sense whatsoever)
The school celebrated World Book Day last week by having a book fair and dishing out £1 voucher to all the kids. Apparently the school got 60% of whatever we spent at the fair to spend on books for the school. Something inside me wants to rant about why the kids aren’t getting free books to encourage reading etc but that is not the subject of this post.
So I took Littleone to the fair and she chose a book on extreme animals and we also came home with Milly-Molly-Mandy Stories which was more for me really because I loved those books when I was little. Coming to think of it, if I remember rightly my mum bought them for me because she too read them as a child.
I used to get excited over the little maps in the front of the books and so over the past couple of days I have been sitting with Littleone tracing my finger along the paths saying things like ‘Oh yes, that’s Mr. Blunt’s Corn Shop, where Billy Blunt lives!… and there’s the short cut to school,(but only in dry weather.)’ It was as if I had lived in that very village myself, along with Billy Blunt and Little Friend Susan, which in a way I guess I did, certainly if wishing was anything to go by.
Yes I lived out my little dreams in a bygone era when little girls could go roaming in the fields, exploring gypsy caravans they just happened to find there, when they could go riding with their friends on the back of their Grandfather’s pony cart, without their mother saying ‘Now only go as far as the end of the cul-de-sac and don’t talk to strangers.’ I also think my obsession had as much to do with what I thought were ‘pretty dresses’ worn by the women than anything else. (I knew nothing of the restriction of corsets)
It felt great sitting there sharing these stories with Littleone just as I had done with my own mother, that was until I got a couple of lines down on the first page, when I found myself reading out loud the following paragraph;

‘Father grew vegetables in the big garden by the cottage. Mother cooked the dinners and did the washing. Grandpa took the vegetables to market in his little pony cart. Grandma knitted socks and mittens and nice warm woollies for them all. Uncle kept cows (to give them milk) and chickens (to give them eggs). Aunty sewed frocks and shirts for them, and did the sweeping and dusting.’

Ouch!
Despite all this a grand part of me still wants to share the charm of these stories with my children yet now I feel the urge to say to her ‘This is the way it used to be but now things are different, we still have a long way to go but at least these days Mummy can grow vegetables (well if she had a big garden by a cottage that is, or just a garden will do, but I’m sure you get my drift) and Daddy even cooks dinner sometimes.’ But then I still keep having to remind myself that she is only three, and maybe I should let her have her gentle age of innocence without bringing politics into everything we read.
Maybe it is all about balance, as well as Milly-Molly-Mandy, we also read Princess Smartypants (a fantastic story of a princess who doesn’t want to get married and has to keep fighting off endless suitors) and her favourite TV programme right now is Mona the Vampire, who I think is a feisty, imaginative, independent role model, so I do approve of her.
When I used to read Milly-Molly-Mandy I would look back to an idyllic time that I thought had gone forever. With Littleone I hope to read these books and look forward to a time where we can take what is appealing about Milly-Molly-Mandy (the simple life, a return to nature) whilst still retaining and improving on all that has been achieved elsewhere.
Oh and as much as I love them, I don’t think I could cope with living with grandparents and uncles and aunties etc. *Shudder*

But I was a Quaker last time....

Via Kate

You scored as paganism. Your beliefs are most closely aligned with those of paganism, Wicca, or a similar earth-based religion. You may also follow a Native American religion. paganism 75% Buddhism 75% Islam 71% Hinduism 71% agnosticism 67% Satanism 63% Judaism 33% atheism 29% Christianity 21% Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com

I remember doing something similar a while back.

A Question for you today...

How does my sidebar load for you?
Is it slow and does it seem to jam at the Currently Reading and the Blogroll? Does it do this at any other blogs that use All Consuming and Blogrolling?

Weekend blog roundup...

1) A great post at Half Changed World about the minefield school choice. Yep that's another stress to add to the Purple Elephant household right now. Elizabeth makes some interesting points.
2)Purple Elephant's favourite poem of the week goes to 'Praise be to God who pities wankers' by Harry Smart posted here. Found via Feministe.
3) A funny gag at Wildwriter
4) Talking of gagging (did you see that link? Did you see it?)Just to prove that someone with talent can take any subject and make it appealing, I bring you Joshie Boy on Grandma's Festive Holiday Puke Buckets. A response to the beautifully titled Baby we were born to run over at One Whipped Mother. Oh and in case you were wondering ours is yellow, with a broken handle.
********
Looking back over the links, you can probably tell what sort of mood I'm in this week.

The Fear..

Well my first essay for this course was finished, stamped and posted yesterday. I never feel the relief straight away, for a few days after the work is out of my hands the fear sets in. Did I answer the question, or did I meander off on some sort of irrelevant tangent? All those long words, did I use them (or spell them) correctly, or did I point out my ignorance in a most embarrassing way thus demonstrating that I have been bluffing all along and have no literary ability whatsoever? Coming to think of it, did I commit the worst faux pas ever by spelling the author’s name wrong? (It’s Jane Austin right?) And to top it all off, will our postal service deliver the thing in one piece? (Don’t even think about it oh post person, for I have a certificate of posting)
I know what you are thinking, as an older student I am supposed to have more of a grip, I am supposed to see the whole thing in perspective, there is more to life than having a couple of letters after your name. Yet I feel that having been a drop out the first time round, as I get older it becomes more important to me, I have more to prove and more to lose. I think of the wage I have taken away from my family, all that barking, ‘Not right now I’m studying.’ It has to come to something.
So all this navel gazing goes on for a few days, and I can bet my left arm (for I am left-handed) that at least one person (usually me) will turn round and say in a cheery voice, ‘No point in worrying! Not a lot you can do about it now!’ without realising that this is the exact reason I am worrying in the first place because there is nothing I can do about it now.
After a few days I usually find something else to occupy my thoughts (I hear Zola is not bad) and I put it to the back of my mind. Then, in few weeks time something drops though the letterbox and I know that my blood, sweat and tears have been returned to me in an envelope with a grade scrawled on the front. Then the fear returns again.

A meteorologist in the making

So I was going to write a whole post bitching about this godawful weather we are having, when Littleone summed it up far better than I ever could. ‘Oh Mummy’ she declared on stepping out the door yesterday. ‘It’s so cold that it’s made all the hot go away.’
I might just hand this blog over to her, what do you think?

Same title, different day..

This time via Scone
You are 'programming in QBASIC'. This programming
language (of which the acronym stands for
'Quick Beginners' All-purpose Symbolic
Instruction Code'), which is so primitive that
it cannot easily be used for any purpose
involving the Internet nor even sound, was
current more than a decade ago.

You are independent, in a good way. When something
which you need cannot be found, you make it
yourself. In writing and in talking with
people, you value clarity and precision; your
friends may not realize how important that is.
When necessary, you are prepared to be a
mediator in conflicts between your friends.
You are very rational, and you think of things
in terms of logic and common sense.
Unfortunately, your emotionally unstable
friends may be put off by your devotion to
logic; they may even accuse you of pedantry and
insensitivity. Your problem is that
programming in QBASIC has been obsolete for a
long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I am the procrastination queen

When you have cleaned the house, read bag loads of blogs, surfed the net, read some (non-academic) books, and prepared dinner. There is nothing like a good friend to bring a good old quiz to your attention so that you don’t have to make a start on that assignment….
But this quiz is really important, I might learn something…
Cheers Lili..

The Commonly Confused Words Test:

English Genius
You scored 93% Beginner, 93% Intermediate, 93% Advanced, and 77% Expert!
You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go!

So the above screen came up and I routed about in my so-called ‘extensive vocabulary’ for the right words to describe my shock and do you know what I came up with?
‘Fuck!’
Beautiful innit?