Modern parenting

I read an interesting article by Alain de Botton recently (read it in full here). I found it intriguing because it contained the nub of some very important ideas but there was one crucial error (in my opinion).

de Botton considers the central question of parenting: how best to prepare your child for the world. His central insight was summed up beautifully by the final paragraph:

It seems we cannot spontaneously feel important enough to ourselves, sufficiently worthy of carrying our absurd figure through the tangles of life, unless at some point - at around the time when we were still interested in reading Enid Blyton - we were privileged enough to derive a sense of mattering limitlessly and inordinately to another person.

I agree with this wholeheartedly. My children do matter limitlessly to me, more than any one else ever has or, I dare say, ever shall; it seems vitally important that I manage to communicate this fact to them: to let them believe in the core of their being that their father's love is unconditional and will continue all my life.

How best, then, to communicate this to them? Here is where I believe de Botton was in error. He seems to equate mollycoddling with mattering. i.e. I must mollycoddle my children to show them that they matter to me.

Some of the examples he gave were patently reasonable: I should listen to my children, and take account of what they want in my decision-making. I should also listen to my children's questions and try and answer them with care and consideration. This is sound advice I think. It is also, I suspect, a relatively modern notion in Western parenting; one can't imagine the typical Victorian father (however loving) wasting a deal of time on his five year old's whimsy.

On the other hand, though, some of de Botton's examples seem to me absurd:

[One feels obliged] not to go to a bookshop for fear of boring one's charges or to drive them another few miles just in order to get them a special kind of strawberry milk their palates prefer.

Patent bollox! My children matter limitlessly to me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop reading. And I don't think the world should be arranged to suit their every caprice. This is one of the central dilemmas of parenting: I undoubtedly need to take care of myself and the world around me, even when that sometimes (apparently) conflicts with the immediate welfare of my children. I need to make choices, and those choices cannot always be to favour my child, for this will in the long run backfire. An entirely banal example: if I'm bored and irritable because I have no book to read, then my children aren't going to benefit. It's banal, but somehow that's the point...

Responsible parenting means doing the best for one's children in the context of everything else that is going on in the world. I hope that my children will understand that it is in part because they matter so much to me that I will not be driving another few miles for their strawberry milk: because I want them to understand the importance of restraint, and because the world in which they will live is slowly choking on car exhausts.

de Botton's motivations are splendid, and some of what he says is insightful. But we cannot get around the fact that there is no formula for parenting. Difficult decisions just have to be made...

Speaking the truth on Bhopal

I'm currently reading Indra Sinha's Animal's People. It's tremendous.

The book is set in Bhopal, India after the disaster; a fact which I knew before I opened it and which had put me off starting: I'd imagined it would be a sanctimonious over-worthy book full of moral principles that I agree with, and devoid of artistic merit.

How wrong I was: Sinha manages to directly tackle the truly dreadful tragedy that is Bhopal post-disaster without loading his flatbed full of pious and moral indignation. Of course there's plenty of scope for moral indignation at how Bhopalis have been treated but moral indignation rarely makes for good literature, and it won't win too many new backers to the cause.

Instead Sinha mines a trove of truly spectacular vulgarity and crudity to produce a novel that is artistically stunning, morally accurate and, at times, hilarious. My favourite quote so far:

Zafar's lot never write what they really feel which is FUCK YOU WICKED CUNTS I HOPE YOU DIE PAINFULLY FOR THE HORRIBLE THINGS YOU DID TO US AND THE ARROGANT FUCKING CRUELTY YOU'VE DISPLAYED EVER SINCE. They write high-sounding shit like JUSTICE FOR [BHOPAL] and KAMPANI MEEET YOUR LIABILITIES but in a few places freer spirits have been at work: HANG [ANDERSON] and DEATH TO AMRIKA.

That's how to do it! Warran Anderson, you horrible man, read and weep.

* * *

I want to add a little word of approval for another recent read: Aldous Huxley's Island. As a novel it's not the finest - Huxley himself said it was too ideas-heavy - but the philosophising which weighs it down is also intriguing and inspiring.

Perhaps what is best about the book is the unashamed idealism with which it is filled. Who's idealistic these days? We're all so damned cool, the ultimate accessory a sigh of world-weary amused detachment.

The man Aldous is having none of it. He's dreaming of a world where Mahayana Buddhism informs the spiritual practices of a meditating, contemplative populace; where magic mushrooms expand the mind in rituals of spiritual exploration; where children are shared between multiple parents; where manual labour is a part of everybody's daily life; and so on and so on. It's a great vision and kudos to him for sharing it. I'm inspired.

My friend S

A couple of weeks ago I got some bad news: a friend in Australia, S, has just died. Grieving from afar is a difficult process: on the one hand, nothing changes, day-to-day life is utterly as before; on the other hand, I have an ache, a little tender spot that flares up whenever a memory of her comes to my mind.

Writing about her is a way of processing this for me... and it allows me to pay tribute to a terrific, hilarious, and greatly loved friend.

I met her about 12 years ago when I went to live in the Western desert, near Wiluna, Western Australia. She lived in Wiluna and was a regular resident at the station where I lived on-and-off for two years. She was a Mardu woman - that's the tribe round there - and that's why I can't mention her name (or post a photo) as this would be a disrespect.

I got to know her through the medium of Emu Export. God, what a horrible beer. But it's the poison of choice in Wiluna and on the weekly trip to town we would wait patiently for the 2pm cut-off to arrive so we could buy a block of the stuff (30 cans) and head down to the creek for the afternoon.

I was, still am, a dreadful drinking lightweight so I would join these sessions only intermittently and would never last the full distance. But while I was there I was usually with S. Those afternoons were a weird mix of the companionable, the hilarious, the tragic, the unsettling, and (gradually overwhelming all the others) the incoherent.

I remember those times fondly. S was a great person to go drinking with. She was charismatic and, when in the mood, loquacious. She could also be fantastically cantankerous, and cheerfully devious too - handing out cans with a wry twinkle in her eye.

When I think of her I invariably smile for I think she was perhaps the most hilarious person I ever knew. She didn't crack jokes, she just spoke her mind. I see her now chewing on a blade of grass, her jaw jutted out and her shoulders hunched while she gazes into the distance. Then she spits, shakes her head and sighs "fuck dat".... But the twinkle is still there.

It's the lack of pretension that made her so funny I think. Like many people out there she saw the world very clearly - without the scales that fog the white man's eyes - and when you look at modern life square on you can't help but shake your head and curse. Our world is absurd - she saw it, and with a shrug of her shoulders she let me see it too somehow.

Writing about her now I miss her dreadfully. I've hardly seen her in recent years, but, still, for me, a light has gone out. Rest in peace, dear friend, rest in peace.

TV Chef at Royate Hill allotments

It seems like TV chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall must be watching my youtube vids (apologies for the irritatingly enthusiastic commentary):



Inspired by the magnificent piece of film-making above, HFW has decided to bring his circus to our community allotment at Royate Hill, Bristol. He'll be doing some picking, some cooking, some eating, and some filming. That's right, HFW will be cooking beans and peas THAT MY WOMAN, MY BOYS AND I PLANTED (along with many others). I shall spend the rest of the day basking in the reflected glow of celebrity-chef-glory.

If you want to see some more pics of our beautiful bit of paradise click here. (In particular there are some pics of a rather cool caterpillar that has been munching its way through our mullein plants.)

For the record I have more or less no clue who Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is. However my good friend the Harringtoinette has informed that he is cool because he kisses other men when he greets them.

Brian Haw RIP

Brian Haw, peace campaigner extraordinaire, died on Saturday. His contribution to the peace movement was inspiring and very important - he will be sadly missed.




Brian spent more than 10 years camped out the front of the Houses of Parliament seeking to remind our political masters of the blood on their hands. His opposition to the appalling crimes being visited on the people of Iraq and Afghanistan was vigorous, impassioned and sustained.

I had the opportunity to camp with Brian for one of the 3600 odd nights that he spent in Parliament Square. It was a privilege to participate in his protest and made me appreciate his sacrifice even more: lying on icy ground listening to Big Ben bonging away every 15 minutes aint much fun... But it wasn't about fun, it was about standing up for what mattered, and Brian did that in his own irascible way when far too many voices had fallen quiet.

* * *

A measure of the importance of Brian's protest: an impossibly pompous Tory politician, David Tredinnick, appeared on the Today programme yesterday morning to witter on about the importance of removing the camp now that Brian has died and opening the space for the people. He pontificated about the importance of access to parliament and to Westminster abbey, claiming that Brian's camp was an obstruction.

David Tredinnick is a liar and a cad, and he should have more respect for a dead man's grieving family. Brian's camp obstructed no one who wanted to enter parliament or the abbey; the entrances to both could be accessed by anyone who wanted without going anywhere near the camp. What is more, there are many of us who believe that reclaiming Parliament Square for the people is precisely what Brian Haw was doing. The people never wanted the war in Iraq and they don't war the war in Afghanistan, but our political masters simply ignore the people and carry on. The people need folk like Brian Haw to be a thorn in the side of parliament, that house of fools.

* * *

The resistance continues. I got this in my inbox today:

Three English Catholic Workers were today convicted at Newbury Magistrates Court of Criminal Trespass under the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act (SOCPA), and Criminal Damage.

The convictions follows a protest at the Atomic Weapons Establishment in September 2010 organised by the Catholic Worker. The three, Susan Clarkson (64), Chris Cole (47) both from Oxford, and Fr Martin Newell (42) from London were Conditionally Discharged for 18 months and ordered to pay £553 each costs and compensation. The three had created a gateway in the outer fence of AWE Aldermaston and attached a sign say ‘Open for Disarmament: All Welcome.”

In their evidence the protestors described the massive development currently being undertaken at AWE Aldermaston and argued that the developments were in contravention of both the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty.

Brian would be proud.

Useless Knowledge

A couple of years ago, my partner and I both read a series of essays by Bertrand Russell called In Praise of Idleness. One of those essays was entitled Useless Knowledge and it included this:

Curious learning not only makes unpleasant things less pleasant, but also makes pleasant things more pleasant. I have enjoyed peaches and apricots more since I have known that they were first cultivated in China in the early days of the Han dynasty; that Chinese hostages held by the great King Kanisaka introduced them into India, whence they spread to Persia, reaching the Roman Empire in the first century of our era; that the word "apricot" is derived from the same Latin source as the word "precocious" because the apricot ripens early; and that the A as the beginning was added by mistake , owing to a false etymology. All this makes the fruit taste much sweeter.

A splendid attitude, me thinks. In the spirit of Bertrand R. let me offer a couple of little facts that strike me as rather cool and basically useless (to me):

• A quarter of all mammal species are bats. (There are about a thousand bat species and... wait for it... about four thousand mammal species.) There are eighteen bat species in the UK; seventeen are known to be breeding here.
• More than 10% of languages spoken today are spoken only in Papua New Guinea. Around 800 languages are spoken in PNG today out of a world-wide total of just under 7000; that's all happening in an area about twice the size of the UK.

UK out of Libya!

It seems that all of the major newspapers are endorsing military involvement in Libya. Even in leftist, typically dissenting circles there is a marked lack of comment opposing the current military action.

Well, for what it's worth.... I'm against UK military involvement in Libya. When I have time I'll try and write a considered piece explaining why. For now let me say that I don't trust Cameron et al as far as I can vomit. I don't for a single second think that they are instigating this action because they give a shit about the people of Libya.

Why has this military action started? Because the UK government and its allies want rid of Gaddafi, and they want a say in who controls resources in North Africa. They've involved themselves nefariously already, and now they're involving themselves in open warfare. Even as I write they're receiving criticism because enforcing a no-fly zone isn't quite as unambiguous as it sounds. And that's just the way this government likes it. As long as they can argue that they've got a legal framework to drop bombs, then drop bombs they will. And when the bombing is all done they'll be making sure that the right people come to power in Libya, whether the Libyan people want them or not.

The UK government has a hideous and tragic history of involvement in the politics of the Middle East. They should get out and stay out.