I Can't Believe You Just Said That - Part 2

A couple of months ago. I was driving through the country lanes to Tiverton Station. My younger daughter was travelling down from Durham, my son travelling up from Cornwall, and they were arriving at Tiverton within minutes of each other. I had left in plenty of time, as there are often tractors, or cows, or floods, or diversions due to roadworks on that particular route. On a particularly narrow stretch I met a large lorry, so I reversed back for a hundred yards or so to let him through. As I tucked myself close into the overgrown hedgerow there was a bang and a jolt. My front nearside wheel had fallen down into a hidden culvert, and was hanging in space, the car just resting on the front bumper. The car couldn't go forward because in falling into the culvert it had become jammed against the stony hedge; and because it was front wheel drive, it couldn't get enough purchase on the remaining working wheel to go back.

The lorry driver stopped and tried to push me out, but to no avail. Several people stopped to see if they could help, but muscle power just couldn't do it. Eventually, a man of about sixty-five offered to try pulling my car out backwards with his 4-wheel-drive. The lorry driver produced a rope, and lashed it to my car. And hey, presto, out of the ditch we came.

I thanked them both very much. The lorry driver, for whom I'd reversed, said he thought it was a nasty dangerous hole, obviously impossible to see because of the way the hedge had grown over it, and an accident waiting to happen. The 4WD driver smiled patronisingly at me, and as he climbed up into the driver's seat said, 'You women drivers.'

Offended? You bet I was. Challenge him? Erm... no. Partly because he'd disappeared before I'd picked my jaw up off the ground, and partly because I didn't actually know what to say. When I complained about it later to my children as we drove away from Tiverton Station, I had plenty to say about my perfectly adequate and very considerate driving, about how I never hesitate to reverse long distances on narrow winding roads, how I am happy to squeeze my car against the hedge to let someone else pass rather than being precious about my paintwork, how the only accident I've ever had was because some man was driving too fast. But I hadn't said anything to him.

Fast forward to last week. I'm in Sainsbury's. Going down the yoghurt and cheese aisle with my trolley, I move left to make way for an elderly man. He moves the same way, so we do a little 'trolley dance' to get past each other. I apologise for getting in his way. Does he apologise for getting in mine? No. He says (with a patronising smile) 'Women drivers!'

Was I annoyed? Of course. Did I challenge him? No. I gritted my teeth and aimed dangerous looks at his back. You won't be surprised to learn that it didn't have any effect.

So, what should I have done?

I came away from both encounters feeling that I had somehow fallen short of an ideal. Although these were petty incidents that did not harm me at all, I still felt that I should have done something: I should have challenged attitudes that show prejudice. These men were both exhibiting a world-view in which women are inferior - I should have challenged them. After all, as my husband said, when I told him about it, it seems trivial but if you don't challenge it the prejudice will just get passed onto the next generation. In his workplace, he sees a lot of sexism which is not confined to the older generation, sexism in people who might be the sons and grandsons of the two men I encountered.

However, if I'd challenged these men, what might have been the outcome?

I can imagine a few responses:

'It was only a joke, don't get your knickers in a twist.'
'Women - they make such a fuss about stupid things.
'These feminists - you help them out and then they turn on you!'
'Well, I wouldn't have ended up with my car in a ditch!'

I can just about imagine:

'Sorry, love.' (The 'love', or 'dear' would definitely be there, as a way of reinforcing perceived relative status.)

What I can't imagine is:

'I'm so sorry. From now on I will try to reconstruct my attitudes towards women so they are more acceptable now that we are in the 21st century.'

Thinking about this made me aware that it's very hard to stand up for one's own right not to be subject to this kind of undermining, prejudicial attitude. Trying to imagine possible responses made me realise that standing up against it from a position of (as perceived by the other party) social or intellectual or any other kind of weakness can actually reinforce the problem you're trying to address - Silly woman, making a fuss about nothing. Shakespeare didn't do women any favours by providing the incompetent arguee with a handy putdown in  'the lady doth protest too much'.

Now, I can't say that I personally have my life impinged upon by sexism to any great extent. I can ignore old blokes who know no better - they don't harm me in any way. But they are symptomatic of something that harms society. Although things are so much better than they were fifty years ago, sexism still rears its ugly head in so many places: in the workplace, in the justice system, in the tabloid press to mention. In our schools, there are still boys who demean girls, who talk about them as if they are objects. I know of girls whose lives have been made a misery by the sexist attitudes of boys in their school. And in many societies in the world, the legal and social status of women is still shockingly low.

So, I've prepared some responses. If it happens again, I shall say something like: 'Actually, statistically, women are much better drivers than men. But thanks anyway for pulling the car out of the ditch'. And  to the man in the supermarket: 'Yes, we're so much better, aren't we?'

Because, you know, it's all too easy for little boys like this
to grow up into the men we've got to share society with...

Or, perhaps, straight to the point:  'That's a very sexist attitude you're suffering from. I do hope you recover soon.'

I hope they do.

The Love of Aubergines

Vegetables have such different characters. Some are earnest and honest. Potatoes, onions, celery and carrots fall into this category. Some are flighty: asparagus, for instance, never sticks around for long enough. Some are stars in disguise: who would have thought the rough and knobbly exterior of a celeriac could contain such depth? But the aubergine - the aubergine is just glamour in your veg rack.

Beauty in a bowl

I so love aubergines. My family love aubergines. William Morris would have loved aubergines - they are the prime exemplar of something that is both beautiful and useful. Honest, I would buy them simply to decorate the kitchen because they are so lovely to look at. That gorgeous purple, almost black, glossy skin, which always looks as if someone has just finished polishing it. I have a bowl which sits on the dresser, and is there just to receive aubergines. They are the royalty of veg. (Okay I know they're actually a fruit, but so are a lot of things we call vegetables.)

The aubergine bowl, which deserves a picture of its own.
(Potter: Victor Holst)

One of the great things about aubergines is that when you cook them, the flavour can be so rich and complex that even avowed carnivores will accept that veggie cooking can be good. So the aubergine can also take on the role of ambassador.

Reducing meat consumption is good for several reasons. Firstly, it's better for your health. Everyone knows that too much red meat is bad for you. Too many calories are bad for you, too, and many meats are a calorie-dense mouthful. Secondly, a lot of meat comes to the table from animals that have had a bloody awful life. I think it's better to eat meat less often, so I can afford to buy certified free-range and organic meat. I have no problem with the ethics of eating meat per se, but I do have a problem with cruelty and inhumane practices, with animals cooped up in pens and barns the year long, and being pumped full of prophylactic antibiotics rather than being allowed a lifestyle which supports natural health. Thirdly, meat production uses enormous amounts of the planet's resources to produce small amounts of protein which are mostly eaten by the over-indulged, over-developed sections of earth society. If we all ate less meat, the planet would be a happier place.




Chicken, eggs, and eggplants. What a team.

 
So, back to the aubergines. I thought I'd share with you one of my favourite aubergine recipes. But if you decide to make it, make sure you've bought your aubergines a couple of days before you plan to use them, so you've got at least 48 hours to admire their glossy loveliness!

Aubergine Parmigiana
To serve 6 people

4 medium-sized aubergines
2 medium-sized red onions, chopped
3 or 4 garlic cloves, depending on size, finely chopped
4 x 400g tins of plum tomatoes (although chopped ones will do)
About a teaspoon of brown sugar

About 30 - 40g of Parmesan Cheese, finely grated
2 balls of Mozzarella. I use the reduced fat kind, but that's optional. In fact the Mozzarella is optional. If you don't use it, just chuck in a bit more Parmesan.

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Spray olive oil, or reduced fat spray such as Frylight
Table salt (the cheap stuff)


Firstly, trim the stalks from the aubergines and slice lengthways about 1/2 to 1cm thick. Sprinkle each slice with the cheap salt and layer in a colander. Leave it for an hour or so to draw out the juices. Then rinse the salt off the slices and pat them dry.If short of time, half an hour will do. I have cooked this recipe omitting this step, but it isn't as good as the flavours don't seem to develop as well.

Make the tomato sauce by gently frying the onions and garlic in a few squirts of olive oil for about 10 minutes, until soft. It's best to use a large, wide pan for this, as it will help your sauce thicken nicely. Then add the tomatoes and their juice, breaking them up with a wooden spoon. Bring up to a brisk simmer, and continue to simmer for about half an hour, stirring frequently so it doesn't stick. The sauce should now be thick and really rich. Taste, and season with sea salt and pepper. Stir in the sugar to taste.

While the sauce is simmering, cook the aubergine slices. This is traditionally done by frying/griddling in olive oil, but I like to reduce the fat content, so I layer the slices on a large baking tray, spraying each layer lightly with olive oil or more generously with Frylight, and bake in the oven at about 200C until they are tender and beginning to brown slightly. This takes about 15 - 20 minutes.

When the sauce is done and the aubergines are cooked, you can assemble the dish. Layer a third of the aubergines on the bottom of an oven-proof dish (I use one that's about 25 x 23 x 9cm), then follow with a third of the sauce. Scatter a third of the mozzarella on top of this, along with (no, you've guessed wrong) a quarter of the Parmesan. Repeat for two more layers, but using the remaining half of the Parmesan on the top.

Bake for about 30 minutes at 180C. It should be bubbling, and the cheese on top should be going golden, but not brown! We like it with salad, and Waitrose's delicious organic multigrain pavé bread, but any good bread will do. In fact, home-made is even better. And leftovers are delicious with a jacket potato.

Oh. There aren't any leftovers...

I'll post a picture of the real thing next time I make it. Watch this space!

I Can't Believe You've Just Said That... Part 1

The other day, I was chatting with my sixteen-year-old son in the car on the way home from school, and happened to mention that a friend of mine, who worked with autistic children, had moved from working at a mainstream school to a special school. There was a peculiar silence, and my son said,

'I can't believe you've just said that.'

After another, this time rather confused, silence, he explained that among his peers, the word 'special' has a different connotation. Not exactly an insult, but rather a self-deprecatory term, used to make a joke about oneself if one had done something a bit silly or clumsy. My son couldn't believe that the kind of school I was referring to was really called a 'special' school. He knew the original usage of the word, but had assumed, because of the way it was now used among his peers, that it must have been abandoned. Strangely, he was happy with the use in acronyms such as SEN (special educational needs) but uncomfortable when it was applied to a school.

'So do people use it as an insult to other people?' I asked. 'In an aggressive way?'

Apparently not, among his own circle of friends. But he was sure there were plenty who would hurl the word 'special' across the street to someone who had annoyed them. As he pointed out, people who are determined to be unpleasant or insulting love new ways to be so. In fact, once when he was a small boy, he had the dubious distinction of upsetting his sister by calling her a 'Martin-maker'. He was cross, and didn't know any words bad enough, so he made one up. It worked. She cried.

But didn't he and his friends have a problem with it being insulting to people with learning disabilities, or physical difficulties such as deafness or cerebral palsy? Not really, he said, because in their subculture, they don't think of it as referring to people with severe needs, but to people who are just not particularly clever. However, they do feel that as a term, it deserves some mockery, because it is a form of euphemism. They saw it as a kind of overdone political correctness. It was something to do with the transfer of the word 'special' from being an adjective describing needs to one describing an institution: it has the effect of changing the meaning of the word from 'of a particular kind', to 'superior' or 'held in esteem'.

Now I don't know what I think about all this. My son goes to a school where everybody is pretty clever. And I know he wouldn't dream of mocking anyone who had physical or learning difficulties. However, he was uncomfortable with hearing me use the word, so obviously he feels that there are appropriate and inappropriate contexts. But does everyone? How does this type of word become used as a general insult? At what stage does it become totally unacceptable? Will there be a time when we can no longer call a school a Special School, because it has insulting connotations? A time when a school's SENCO has to have a title change?

This reminded me of a conversation that I had with one of my daughters a few years ago, when she was also about sixteen. A photograph of her had been published in the local newspaper, and she was analysing (as one does) how dreadful she thought she looked in it.

'And what am I doing with my hand?' she wailed. 'It looks totally spastic.'

And what did I say..?

'I can't believe you've just said that.'

As a child of the sixties, I grew up in a time when people with cerebral palsy were referred to as spastic. It was a neutral medical term, referring to an altered skeletal/muscle performance due to a tightening of muscle tone. This kind of movement impairment occurs in 80% of cerebral palsy sufferers. The main cerebral palsy charity in the UK was founded in 1951, and was called The Spastic Society.

But as I grew older, the word 'spastic', rather than just referring to a medical condition, became an insult. You could hear it every day in the corridors and on the playing fields of my comprehensive school.

In 1994 The Spastics Society changed its name to Scope. A neutral medical term had been almost completely subsumed by offensiveness. In 2007, the Sussex University linguist Lynne Murphy, described it as "one of the most taboo insults to a British ear".

My daughter, however, was completely unaware of this. She had heard friends use it, and made inferences based upon observation - the way we all learn our native language. She thought it was a neutral word, and had no idea it made any reference to disability. To her, it had appeared to mean 'unnatural looking', or 'posed awkwardly'. She was horrified when I told her the history of the word and all its connotations. And indeed, my son tells me that for his peer group the word does not have connotations of disability either, it just means 'awkward'.

Of course the English language is littered with words that have changed their meanings in a similar way. Moron, cretin, idiot - all of these are terms that were once neutral medical terms which metamorphosed into terms of abuse, and in general usage lost their specific individual meanings. Thinking about my daughter's use of the word 'spastic', I wonder if, as we move further away from the original meanings, do they lose their strength as insults? And if they are cut free from their original meanings, are they still as offensive to people who fall within the scope of their original definition?

I don't know. To me it feels that all these words are offensive when used in a context intended to offend. But some of them are offensive at any time. I'm happy to call myself an idiot if I've done something stupid, and although 'moron' is not a word I like, I can imagine a few contexts in which I might describe someone as 'moronic'. But to me 'spastic' is still taboo, except in the strict medical sense. And there are words which I won't even type because I find them so offensive.

I know I shall still try to challenge the use of words that are offensive to any person, or group of people. Words that draw on people's difference from others or their oppression by others. However, it's easy to challenge your own children, or your partner, or indeed for them to challenge you. Challenging other people can be, shall we say, challenging.

More of that another time.

Dishwasher Drama - Tragedy, Comedy, History...?

Reduce, Re-Use, Re-cycle. We try as hard as we can. We keep our cars for a long time rather than replacing them for newer models; we have a fabulous home-built compost heap (nay, a compost mansion) at the bottom of the garden; our oven is 25 years old and I am not going to replace it because I 'deserve a lovely new one'. With the aid of an angle grinder, our old metal oil tank got re-used as a log store. We produce all our own logs from our garden. We don't buy new stuff for the sake of it. If it didn't wreck the rhetorical rule of three, I'd add another to the trio: Repair.

Last week my dishwasher stopped working. It was churning away - and away, and away - and would have done so ad infinitum if I hadn't pressed the reset button - but it wasn't heating up and therefore wasn't washing the dishes. I gave it plenty of chances to stop playing up: letting it go on different cycles in case it had got bored, giving it a 48 hour rest in case it was just exhausted, and gently pleading with it in case it had a plant-like tendency to respond to kind words. But no. Nothing worked. It just continued to swoosh cold water around inside itself as if had become addicted to some kind of dishwasherine colonic irrigation.

Bother, I thought to myself. It's the element. Better get the dishwasher repairman in.

Got the dishwasher repairman in.

Now, he was very good last time, when the dishwasher was all clogged up with dirt because I had forgotten that it occasionally needs to be dosed with one of those citrus-y poddy things which degunks its system. He managed to get rid of the porridge, muesli, eggshells and so on which were causing the - erm - internal clogging. (I could go into all kinds of bowel/digestive analogies here but I'll spare you that). This time, however...

Enter Dishwasher Repairman. Takes machine apart. Spends at least an hour peering into its interior and sticking metal things into it.

DWRM: It's not the element. Must be the printed cicuit board.

DWRM takes the door of the machine apart. Removes plastic box that contains PCB. Forces open box to reveal PCB. This process takes a further half hour.

DWRM: Well, I can't see anything here, but the PCB must be the problem. It'll be expensive. You'll probably be better off buying a new dishwasher.

ME: How much will it cost?

DWRM phones someone. Scribbles down some figures.

DWRM: Well, you're talking about £150 or £160 altogether, including VAT and my labour. I should get a new dishwasher if I were you.

ME: Is that including your labour today?

DWRM: Yes. Today will be £25.

ME: So that's about £135, or buy a new dishwasher? This one's only five and a half years old, and it cost us £370. I think we'll go for the new PCB.

DWRM: You can get a new dishwasher for under £200, easy.

ME: No, that's too wasteful. I'd rather repair it, and not just because of the money.

DWRM: (Anxiously) Well, I'd have to do some more tests then to make sure it IS the PCB. I'd have to stay here for several hours and run it through all the programs. That'd cost you a lot of labour.

ME: So it might not be the PCB?

DWRM: (Sounding even more anxious) Well, it's probably the PCB...

*********

So now I'm in a quandary. Here are my options:

Option 1: Insist on repair, but risk discovering that it isn't the PCB and have to pay out even more money without the dishwasher being fixed. And that would be throwing money away. With the dishwater, in fact.

Option 2: Buy a new dishwasher, possibly unnecessarily, with all the concomitant environmental costs of the manufacture of the new dishwasher and the disposal of the old one. That really goes against the grain.

Option 3: Call out another dishwasher engineer, who might be able to ascertain that it is the PCB, but might not. Therefore I might have to pay him/her a load of money to possibly end up in the same situation as I am in now.

Option 4: Do without a dishwasher.

Ranking these choices gives me:

Best for the Environment: 1, 3, 4, 2
Best for DWRP: 2, because he doesn't have to risk doing a 'repair' that isn't.
Best for me: None of them really, because of the uncertainty of the outcomes of 1 and 3.

So, at the moment, I'm going for Option 4: doing without a dishwasher. This isn't great for the environment - it takes a lot of energy to heat the water for three lots of washing up per day. In addition, it loses me hours of my time per week. And it will be nightmare at family gatherings!

I'm going to do some research, try and contact the manufacturer directly to see if they can tell me if there is some way of being sure where the fault lies. I don't want to thow away money, but I am NOT going to throw away a possibly perfectly good dishwasher for the sake of a printed circuit board. I want it repaired!

Good enough...?

Okay - how to make a difference. It's a big challenge. You can look at it on so many levels, from the saving the planet level, to the smiling at a neighbour level. From the so enormous it's difficult to comprehend level to the I need to eat more healthily level. This blog is going to be a personal reflection on how a difference can be (or maybe isn't) made, at all levels, from the huge to the minute, the universal to the individual.

There. I've given myself a fairly wide remit, I think. Now off to think about what to write...