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The Swimmer
My nine year old is on week three of his school swimming lessons.
Prior to the first lesson, he was very anxious about getting his hair wet, and getting his nose under the water. This, despite the fact that he absolutely loved the sea and the pool on our holiday last month (and last year, and the year before that).
We bought him a swimming cap, which everyone has to wear in any case. He’s got massive natural afro hair, so the first three swimming caps we bought were too small.
He was very anxious about putting on his swimming cap for the lessons. I said I would help him, as I would be there, but of course, that never happened as they all just marched straight into the changing rooms leaving me alone with my coffee-free café.
Fortunately, one of the teaching staff helps him with his cap.
So he keeps his hair dry. And after the second lesson last week, he came home and informed us that:
- he put his nose under the water and survived
- he wants to go swimming at the weekend
- he wants a swimming “noodle”.
Bolognese!
Last week, we had a new front door fitted.
That morning, I took it upon myself to prepare a bolognese before the doormen arrived so that we didn’t need to get in each other’s way, and so that we had something to eat for lunch for the next few days.
I make my bolognese in a 12" frying pan and cover it with a grease splatter fine mesh to let it cook slowly for a few hours. When the doormen arrived, that’s exactly what my bolognese was doing.
What I didn’t realise, until it was too late, is that the dust from their drilling and general doormen work was settling on the stove top in front of my bolognese on the back of the stove.
This was brought to my attention by my wife, who was already in a state of being very upset by the new door hanging to the right and not the left like her old door.
I inspected the bolognese and the splatter mesh cover carefully for signs of white paint dust similar the to very evident white paint dust sitting on top of the stove.
I honestly couldn’t see anything, although the bolognese did have quite a sheen (although this was after I’d just added some milk to it).
Anyway, my wife refused to eat it, so I had no choice, really, but to eat all of it over the next four days.
If anything, it tasted a bit spicier than normal, not in a bad way, and I have not grown any extra fingers, yet.
The Door
The door was old, but it still functioned as a door. It opened and closed, and kept us safe and warm.
As it got older, it got a bit cranky and quirky.
The spring-loaded closing mechanism no longer worked as it should. If you were a small person, a cat or a delivery driver, you had to beware this big old heavy door slamming shut whether you were in, out, or somewhere in between.
Sometimes the lock wouldn’t work at all and you had to hope there was someone inside who would let you in. Mostly, it required a certain knack to unlock it. Which kept kids out, and ensured extra exercise for grown-ups getting up off the sofa to let kids in.
One day, the housing association’s sub-contractors came to take our door away. It was a fire safety hazard, according to a very expensive risk assessment they carried out several years ago in the wake of the Grenfell Fire.
They came, they saw(ed), they removed our old door in five minutes flat, leaving a gaping hole.
The new door is sleek and fancy.
“It’s a like for like replacement,” they said.
“Hmmm… the handle is on the right hand side,” I said.
“And the door opens to the left not the right.”
“I’m very unhappy,” said my wife.
“It’s not magnetic,” said my nine year old.
“Where’s they keyhole?” my three year old didn’t say, but the question must surely have been going through his mind as he tried to unlock the door on the wrong (right) side with the new key.
Under poisoned skies
Watched Under Poisoned Skies on BBC iPlayer last night.
It’s the sad and shocking story of children in Iraq dying from leukaemia as a result of toxic air pollution from mega rich oil companies burning off excess natural gas in the open air near their homes.
Benzene (found in the air) and naphthalene (found in the children’s urine samples) are the main carcinogens.
Levels of benzene are between 3 and 9.6 Micrograms per cubic meter or “µg/m3”.
Levels of benzene by the so-called soil “hospital” at Southall Gasworks were between 4 and 12 Micrograms per cubic meter or “µg/m3”.
Southall residents to give blood samples
After six years of campaigning for justice:
“The fact that gas used to be manufactured from coal has been lost to the public consciousness, but the chemical legacy remains.”
“These communities already have multiple disadvantages with air pollution, overcrowding and poor housing. This is another burden being placed on them.”
Via: Scientists to examine health fears at west London luxury development
Finally got around to watching Our Friends In The North.
‘None of the issues the show mines so brilliantly – from inequality, deindustrialisation and the parlous state of Britain’s housing to homelessness and the corruption of our public officials – have gone away.’
The two wood-burning incinerators around the corner from our home appear to be no longer in use. One is is covered by corrugated sheets and scaffolding (prior to dismantling?), the other area is clean and relatively tidy.
Solidarity with all teachers today, especially those striking for better pay.
Eight year old is at home, and refusing to practice for his spelling test tomorrow because he doesn’t want to be a scab.
1,001 days since my little one made his debut.