Snow and the British Motorist - A Rant By Crofty

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The thing I like about posting blog stuff by Posterous is that you can pretend you are simply sending an e-mail to a good friend, the sort of friend who wouldn't mind if you had a good old whine and, you know, let rip about something that was really getting on your tits.

Take, for instance the snow. This is not a snow-moan - there has been enough of those. My message to anyone who moans out loud about the snow is this: WE ALL HAVE THE SAME WHITE STUFF. IT BUGS THE SHIT OUT OF ALL OF US, NOW GET ON WITH LIFE DESPITE THE SNOW LIKE THE REST OF US.

That wasn't my rant.

My rant is about car drivers, sorry, that's not fair. Some of you (I include myself in this category) are quite good. You slow down or move aside for a pedestrian who, due to three feet of snow on the footpath, finds it safer to walk at the edge of the clearer road. No, this rant is about the rest of you idiots who seem to think that once you climb inside your metal cocoon you are only governed by the bits of the Highway Code you can remember from when you passed your test, probably thirty of forty years ago, oh except of course you didn't read the bit about pedestrians having right of way and being rather more vulnerable - due to their lack of a metal box protecting them.

These motorists seem to have separated their behaviour from things like 'good manners' or 'common decency' to a kind of arrogance that transcends gender, race, sexuality and binds them together in a one-worldliness based around a common value of behaving like an arsehole.

So, if you were the man whose wing mirror clipped me as I trudged wearily through the snow to work the other morning and thought that shouting at me in a loud voice questioning why I was walking in the road (duh!), and who I shamefacedly admit got the brunt of some rather ungentlemanly ripostes on my part, if you are that man, this is for you.
I appeal to the British public at large to seek new role models of motoring that are not modelled on Mr Toad in Tales Of The Riverbank and whose response to pedestrians was to bawl "Get out of my way!", or role models that don't aspire to the epitome of masculine arrogance Jeremy Clarkson who seems to be breeding arrogance of a scale that rides roughshod (or should that be drives in some sort of four wheel drive monster truck) over any semblance of an idea that the idea of the internal combustion engine doesn't equate somehow to a deity, preventing us from considering that life might, some day, actually continue without motor cars.

There now, that's better, thanks Posterous.

PS The superb image is from Flickr, here's the link:

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Crofty's Message To The Nation on this Pointless Celebration

If you have read my blog before you may be familiar with my views on New Year. Each year on this date I publish my annual message to the nation setting out my views on the festivities. So here it is:

Try telling anyone, as they are liberally splashing Hugo Boss over their manly chest or donning a posh frock (not necessarily the same person you understand) that New Year is a stupid celebration and they look at you like you have just told them you are off to join a commune of some strange religious sect. Now that it's all over I will explain why I have never quite understood the need to draw an arbitrary line in the sand of time and call it a new year. For that is all it is: an administrative necessity to have a beginning and an end of the so called year. I understand why it is convenient to have one but why celebrate it?.. nothing changes.

At least Christmas, Eid or Divali have some sort of symbolism, even if you don't believe the in the spirituality that goes with them; but new year is a nothing. If we are going to celebrate it we might as well celebrate it in April when at least the accountants have something to be pleased about.

For many people this idea of taking stock of the previous twelve months and looking forward to the next is anathema. The time to take stock is when it is right for you. That is why so many new year resolutions fail: people are forced into resolving when their hearts are not in it. When you really want to do something do it; make a plan, find your motivation for achieving it and go for it. Away with this clap trap.

And by way of a cheery note on which to end; did you know that the early hours of new year morning are the most common time for suicide. Surprised? You shouldn't be when thousands of people who have had a shit year and another shit one to come are forced to reflect on the fact.

Happy New Year!

Now normally my grumpiness is tempered by watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny, there's something cheering about good music, a bit of a laugh and great music (and some good whisky), this year though my heart isn't in it. Why? Because a friend of mine was purchasing tickets for Hootenanny and, just before putting in his credit card details, he glanced over the details of his order. The date of the event was, wait for it, in November.

Not quite the same is it? So thanks Jools - wherever you are. Probably watching Hootenanny on his own wearing his slippers, reflecting on his deception of the nation. Sheesh.

Posted via web from stevencroft's posterous

Crofty's Message To The Nation on this Pointless Celebration

If you have read my blog before you may be familiar with my views on New Year. Each year on this date I publish my annual message to the nation setting out my views on the festivities. So here it is:

Try telling anyone, as they are liberally splashing Hugo Boss over their manly chest or donning a posh frock (not necessarily the same person you understand) that New Year is a stupid celebration and they look at you like you have just told them you are off to join a commune of some strange religious sect. Now that it's all over I will explain why I have never quite understood the need to draw an arbitrary line in the sand of time and call it a new year. For that is all it is: an administrative necessity to have a beginning and an end of the so called year. I understand why it is convenient to have one but why celebrate it?.. nothing changes.

At least Christmas, Eid or Divali have some sort of symbolism, even if you don't believe the in the spirituality that goes with them; but new year is a nothing. If we are going to celebrate it we might as well celebrate it in April when at least the accountants have something to be pleased about.

For many people this idea of taking stock of the previous twelve months and looking forward to the next is anathema. The time to take stock is when it is right for you. That is why so many new year resolutions fail: people are forced into resolving when their hearts are not in it. When you really want to do something do it; make a plan, find your motivation for achieving it and go for it. Away with this clap trap.

And by way of a cheery note on which to end; did you know that the early hours of new year morning are the most common time for suicide. Surprised? You shouldn't be when thousands of people who have had a shit year and another shit one to come are forced to reflect on the fact.

Happy New Year!

Now normally my grumpiness is tempered by watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny, there's something cheering about good music, a bit of a laugh and great music (and some good whisky), this year though my heart isn't in it. Why? Because a friend of mine was purchasing tickets for Hootenanny and, just before putting in his credit card details, he glanced over the details of his order. The date of the event was, wait for it, in November.

Not quite the same is it? So thanks Jools - wherever you are. Probably watching Hootenanny on his own wearing his slippers, reflecting on his deception of the nation. Sheesh.

Posted via web from stevencroft's posterous

Crofty's Message To The Nation on this Pointless Celebration

If you have read my blog before you may be familiar with my views on New Year. Each year on this date I publish my annual message to the nation setting out my views on the festivities. So here it is:

Try telling anyone, as they are liberally splashing Hugo Boss over their manly chest or donning a posh frock (not necessarily the same person you understand) that New Year is a stupid celebration and they look at you like you have just told them you are off to join a commune of some strange religious sect. Now that it's all over I will explain why I have never quite understood the need to draw an arbitrary line in the sand of time and call it a new year. For that is all it is: an administrative necessity to have a beginning and an end of the so called year. I understand why it is convenient to have one but why celebrate it?.. nothing changes.

At least Christmas, Eid or Divali have some sort of symbolism, even if you don't believe the in the spirituality that goes with them; but new year is a nothing. If we are going to celebrate it we might as well celebrate it in April when at least the accountants have something to be pleased about.

For many people this idea of taking stock of the previous twelve months and looking forward to the next is anathema. The time to take stock is when it is right for you. That is why so many new year resolutions fail: people are forced into resolving when their hearts are not in it. When you really want to do something do it; make a plan, find your motivation for achieving it and go for it. Away with this clap trap.

And by way of a cheery note on which to end; did you know that the early hours of new year morning are the most common time for suicide. Surprised? You shouldn't be when thousands of people who have had a shit year and another shit one to come are forced to reflect on the fact.

Happy New Year!

Now normally my grumpiness is tempered by watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny, there's something cheering about good music, a bit of a laugh and great music (and some good whisky), this year though my heart isn't in it. Why? Because a friend of mine was purchasing tickets for Hootenanny and, just before putting in his credit card details, he glanced over the details of his order. The date of the event was, wait for it, in November.

Not quite the same is it? So thanks Jools - wherever you are. Probably watching Hootenanny on his own wearing his slippers, reflecting on his deception of the nation. Sheesh.

Posted via web from stevencroft's posterous

The Traditional Christmas Dinner - A Story by Crofty

This is not mine to tell. For all that, it is true. All I have done is to present it here for you. It was told to me this week by a friend.

The Traditional Christmas Dinner

Me and my mum don't always agree on food. This year though I was determined to get my way. I wanted a traditional Christmas dinner: turkey, stuffing, sprouts, roasties, parsnips and gravy, the lot.

I fell in love with Christmas dinner as a boy. I am Oldham born and bred but my first proper Christmas dinner was at school, and it was an eye opener. I wasn't supposed to have it, I was supposed to have the special food my classmates got jealous about.

As one of only a small group of Muslims in my class I had special school dinners. It was allegedly Halal and prepared separately to the other kids meals, this meant they thought I was getting something better than them. To even out the injustice I swapped with them, and that is how I came to love Christmas dinner.

My mum humours me, she'd just do Eid if she had her way, but I love a party and would do them all from Christmas to Divali if I could. Don't get me wrong, I love her cooking, but like many older people, she is stuck in her ways and only cooks what she's always cooked. I love all sorts of food and I've never had difficulty separating the religious aspects of our own faith from the need in us all to simply have a good time – I'll go to anyone's party!

So, this year it's Christmas Dinner at our house, and I'm in charge. Except all is not as simple as you might think. Take the Turkey for example. Have you ever tried to get a Halal Turkey?

It never occurred to me until now, that there are not many Muslim families who want to have a traditional Christmas dinner, so, as I soon found out I'd left it a bit late.

It's about a 120 mile round trip to Fleetwood, but three hours later a rock-solid 20lb frozen Turkey sat on our kitchen worktop after pulling in favours with a family friend who knows a Halal catering wholesaler just outside Blackpool. Looking at the Cyrillic script on the plastic wrapper, I wondered how far the thing had travelled to end up in our kitchen.

It would be touch and go whether it was defrosted in time but I peeled off the shrink wrap, and left it it on the draining board while I got on with buying veg from Oldham market. Even that was fraught with difficulty as the Muslim stallholders I knew looked askance as I bought Brussels Sprouts and Parsnips. Still, by Christmas Eve I was good and ready to stand my ground and keep mum out of the kitchen, while I prepared a traditional Christmas dinner for the five of us: mum, me, and my brothers Aswan, Ziggy and Iffy.

I didn't sleep much Christmas Eve, my mind whirled with the challenge to come, muttering to myself: “twenty minutes a pound, but don't forget the weight of the stuffing”. And that was another thing, the stuffing. We certainly weren't going to eat pork, so there was a problem. Thank goodness for Google I say; and sage, onion, breadcrumbs, rice, cranberry and other bits and pieces that went into the vegetarian stuffing recipe I found.

On Christmas Day morning I was down for breakfast before the others, eager to start. Besides I wanted to be sure the bird was fully thawed. But even in the dim morning light, with the kitchen roller-blind shut I could tell there was something not right. From the door I could the Turkey's skin had lost it's pimply look, if anything it looked smooth and glossy. Then there was the colour: it seemed to glow with an pinky – orange hue... wait a minute...

I flicked the light on taking in the familiar colours that glowed from our Turkey. The I bawled up the stairs - “Mother, what have you done?!”

She bundled herself downstairs full of explanations and exhortations as she tried to explain how my frozen turkey had ended up marinating in Tandoori spices in an old enamelled baby bath.

She had sabotaged my traditional Christmas Dinner. Wringing her hands she looked up at me pitifully, her eyes brimming:

“You know how tasteless their cooking is” she said by way of explanation, “and how can the meat stay moist if it's not marinated properly”

But she didn't reckon with the effect of seven years of sneaked school dinners, I remained determined and pressed on regardless . Four hours later we sat down to a traditional family meal. A Christmas dinner of Tandoori Roast Turkey and stuffing – with all the trimmings.

I think Mum secretly enjoyed it, though I don't think I'll ever convince her about sprouts. I guess we are both traditionalists in our own way, I don't know what the meal said about our culture or heritage, but I know, as we pulled our crackers and tried to explain the jokes to Mum, we were having a traditional family meal together.

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Awkard Conversations - Why We Should Have More of Them and Why Our Policies Make It Less Likely We Will

When your gay mate came out to you did you have a list of things that you wanted to ask? Did all of your blokey fears crowd in on you as you remembered the conversations you'd heard at football matches or in the pub - 'backs against the wall lads', 'don't bend down for the soap in the shower' or 'Gays are alright as long as they keep themselves to themselves and don't try and touch me up'.

How did you get over your ingrained manly prejudice? I'll bet it was over the course of a few months as you had conversations over a pint, and had the opportunity to satisfy your curiosity ('Do you fancy me?... oh good....err, why not, what's wrong with me?...)

Many of us work for large organisations with policies and procedures to make it ok for people to be themselves in the workplace - whether it's a visible expression of faith, or simply being able to be 'out' as a lesbian or gay person. But how many of those conversations have you had in the workplace that make it easier to understand? Not many I'll bet.

You see, most of our policies give us a list of things we must not do or say - in fact in our organisation we even had an acceptable language policy which had really good intent. What we lack though is any organisational help to have open and honest conversations that help us get along better and understand life from another's point of view. In fact rather the opposite, people are just too scared to have the conversation - we've lost the words.

My mate Tony knew the sort of thing that was necessary, he was - is - gay but found a way to have the conversations that were necessary in his environment. In Oldham's working mens clubs Tony found a way to rebuff jibes, and even assaults. It helped him being a black belt in karate. His favourite expression, delivered in a gruff Oldham accent, usually in the Gents with his forearm across the throat of  someone intent on attacking him for his gayness, was 'I might be gay mate, but there's nowt queer about me'.

My mate's gran once had a conversation with a neighbour about someone they thought might be gay, she said '...I don't think he's a proper one, but I think he helps them out when they're busy of a weekend...'

The point is that in each of those examples the conversation was of its time and in its own context - we seem to be stifling that with over eager and well meaning attempts to force our language in a certain direction.

Language doesn't work like that, and until we understand it, we'll stifle exactly the conversations we need to have to understand each other better.

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Ducks Discover They Are Living In A Hard Water Area

Bless them for not being overly bright!
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