Attack The Block – Watch It!

29 Dec

I’m late to the party with this, but how great is Attack The Block? (Answer: exceedingly great, fam.) I felt it worked on several levels, I found it tightly written, and I thought it contained some lovely action moments (especially the corridor scenes amid the firework smoke.) It also featured some memorable comic lines and genuinely poignant moments – for example, when nurse Sam learns her mugger Moses lives virtually alone and is just 15 years old. And not that I’m biased or anything, but a genre film about underprivileged London kids will always get my vote.

The film is about a group of London teenagers whose mugging of a young woman named Sam is interrupted when an alien drops out of the sky. The kids then kill the alien, bringing down a whole load more trouble in the shape of the alien’s bigger, faster brethren. This is the first of several ways in which the aliens and the threat they pose are used as parallels to Moses’ life. He and his friends are at first dismissive of Sam’s mugging, which they scarcely see as a crime, but in the end, just as they misjudged the consequences of killing the alien, they realise Sam is a person not so different from themselves, that mugging her has deep consequences, and they give her back a ring that has sentimental value to her.

There are a lot of ideas in this film about the meaning of alienation and territory, but aside from one or two slightly heavy-handed lines, the script manages not to be preachy or cringeworthy. Moses and his friends are initially presented as masked and therefore faceless, and we are half way through before we learn all their names. By the end of the film, it’s the police who are faceless, emerging from the smoke (as the aliens did moments before), lights and uniforms obscuring their identity. Although you might not necessarily like these teenagers by the end, it’s hard not to find a kind of sympathy for them. They have no money (at one point, a character only has enough credit for one text – one of several moments that is both amusing and poignant.) Although Moses has a Samurai sword, their most effective weapons are fireworks. The turning point for me was when we see the kids running to face the aliens, Pizza Go Go bike and tiny dog in tow. This is when we are given our first reminder that they are just children. Other moments, such as when one boy apologises for his bad driving by saying, “I’m getting lessons for Christmas” add to this.

Moses and his friends mistakenly apply their own code of existence to the aliens. They assume that the creatures turn up en-masse out of a desire to avenge their fallen friend. Likewise, it’s unthinkable that Moses and his friends would simply leave their home (they are deeply offended when Sam says she doesn’t like the area.) Despite their very different perspectives, Sam, gangster Hi-Hatz and Moses and his friends each individually claim that this is their territory, and their actions are governed by their desire to protect it. And it’s the block that this film is really all about, as highlighted through a lovely first-person shot near the beginning when the viewer is drawn inexorably into its looming bulk. Though Sam seems both to Moses and his friends, and to posh, weed-smoking student Brewis to be alien to the block (Brewis explains he was headed to a party at Fulham and after asking why she’s there, is shocked to learn she lives there) by the end Sam tells police that Moses is her neighbour and stands united with him.

The idea that Moses and his friends appear aggressive out of necessity – from fear and self-preservation – is re-enforced repeatedly. Gangster Hi-Hatz accuses them of bringing both “feds” and aliens to the housing block – another way in which the police and the creatures are set up as parallels. Hi-Hatz at one point suggests Moses might like to graduate to selling cocaine for him, and we are reminded that it is very easy for children from Moses’ background to fall into such a lifestyle by the fact that, in this block, the safest place is the “Weed Room”, where Hi-Hatz grows cannabis. The viewer is drawn into Moses world of alienation and abandonment as the block is sealed off, his female friends flee and the police remain ignorant of the threat within, interested only in catching the muggers. As one of Moses’ friends says towards the end, with regard to his knife carrying (and unnecessarily, I felt, but never mind): “Walking around expecting to get jacked any minute – feels like just another day in the ends.”

I could go on. Anyway, bottom line – watch it!

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Four In A Bed

28 Dec

Oh dear, two parenting posts in a row – this will never do. But I felt moved to write something about co-sleeping because of this campaign, which has had huge coverage in attachment parenting circles. In short, the campaign likens sleeping beside your baby to placing them next to a large knife. I’m still waiting for someone to tell me it’s all just a big, stupid joke.

Here’s our bed-sharing background: when I was pregnant with my first child, I was certain I would breastfeed, so I bought bedside cot because I didn’t want to have to cross the room in the dark. When my son was born, he cried when he wasn’t in contact with me, so I slept holding him. Then I slept with him right beside me in our bed. He’s nearly three now, and has his own room and bed available in it, but he also has a single bed next to our kingsized. Sometimes he sleeps in the single bed, and sometimes he sleeps in our bed. He’s yet to sleep in his own bedroom, but he will. It makes me laugh when people say, “you’ll never get rid of him.” …Because of course there are so many cases of fifteen-year-olds demanding to climb in between mum and dad. Now we have another newborn, and he sleeps beside me too – sometimes in the bedside cot, but mostly in my bit of the bed. He didn’t need to be held, so I didn’t hold him.

When I first became a parent I really beat myself up about bed-sharing. I didn’t think I knew anyone else who did it, and the midwives had told me I’d spoil my child by giving him what he wanted (midwives who clearly don’t understand attachment theory and its very sound scientific basis.) Then I read Three In A Bed by Deborah Jackson, which outlined the many reasons why bed-sharing is a natural and healthy thing (and the norm in most parts of the world, and even in the West until recently.) I learned that some of my friends co-slept. I began to see it as something enjoyable, and as something that could actually benefit my child. There are psychological and biological reasons why bed-sharing is A Very Good Thing.

So this time around, I have no qualms about what I’m doing. My newborn doesn’t sleep under the duvet- he has a baby sleeping bag, or his own blankets. He sleeps on his back, or on my arm. He never sleeps next to my toddler, or up against a pillow. And the chances of me rolling onto him – one of the supposed risks – are zero. As has been proven by various studies, mothers (and sometimes fathers) who bed-share are very aware of their baby’s movements, enjoy a much lighter sleep, and breastfeeding mothers often wake a moment or two before their babies, achieving a kind of beautiful synergy.

Now I simply can’t imagine not bed-sharing. I’d love to be able to sit up in bed watching TV, to be able to stretch out, to not wake up with a two-year-old’s foot in my face. But I think what we do is best for all of us at the moment. Our nights are less disrupted. We enjoy waking up to our children’s smiles (um… usually they smile.) I feel safer knowing that I’ll hear immediately if my child is choking (as happened once) or is upset (obviously my children are never upset. Never!) But although this is something I feel passionate about, I know it’s not right for everyone, and that’s fine. So when authorities trot out ill-informed campaigns that aim to inspire fear rather than informed choice, I get mad. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome is such an emotive topic, and one there are no definitive answers to. So to lay such heavy blame at the door of co-sleeping is inexplicable to me, especially when most deaths involving bed-sharing also involve alcohol or drugs – something the Milwaukee campaign neglected to mention. I’m sure they’re well-intentioned, but the adverts are at best misguided, and at worst deeply offensive, and it saddens me that they might put parents off something that could benefit them and their children.

Lots more info on co-sleeping, (and why it actually reduces SIDS) here:

Dr Sears Addresses Recent Co-sleeping Concerns

Co-sleeping & SIDS FactSheet

Peaceful Parenting

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I’m a parent again!

23 Nov

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Here he is – another baby boy, born earlier this month. Blame him for me not completing NaNoWriMo this year. And for my lack of inane Twitter rants.

My labour was quite different this time around: three days of mild contractions on-and-off before labour started in earnest at 3pm on the fourth day. I went to the shops, made dinner and watched TV, determined not to pay attention to the contractions (I mean “uterine surges”… I’ve been dabbling with hypnobirthing) until I was sure I really was close to delivery. Then at about 7pm my surges leapt to two minutes apart, and were very strong. About forty minutes after we got to the birth centre, I delivered. The midwife didn’t examine me once- she said from the look of me I was very close. At 10.40pm, my new son was born, in a birth pool, with my husband, mother and older son with me. It was magical.

I had worried about whether or not to have my almost-three-year old present at the birth. I didn’t want him to be scared, or to be a distraction to me. But because we practise attachment parenting, and have never had a night away from our boy (with whom we co-sleep) I wanted him to be nearby. And part of me also thought it might be a good experience for him. I prepared him by showing him pictures of his birth, buying him a book called Hello Baby by Jenni Overend (beautiful book), and explaining what might happen and how I’d behave. We asked him if he wanted to see his brother come out, and my mum was primed to take him out of the delivery room if he seemed distressed. And in the end, he was there throughout. He told me to push. He talked to me between contractions and was there to greet his little brother the moment I lifted him from the water. I’m so glad I didn’t exclude him from such an important event in his life.

It’s… different having two kids. Everyone said it would be a big change, and it is. True, I don’t have any of the first-time-parent culture shocks to contend with: I know how to change a nappy; I know I’ll be constantly exhausted, and covered in baby puke, and reliant on the people around me for support. I had also prepared myself for the fact that my older son might take time to adjust, and would need lots of attention. What I wasn’t prepared for was how much I’d miss my older son. I can’t cuddle him as much as I’d like to, or read to him or play with him or make his snacks. For the first few days, I felt a little heartbroken because of this. Thankfully my older boy took it all in his stride, which I was pleased about, but also a little sad about.

Anyway, we’re finding our feet. Learning to manage our time all over again. Adjusting every aspect of our life all over again, and reassessing our expectations. But it is wonderful, and I feel so lucky to have another little person to share my life with.

Slightly Spoilery Ramblings About Ice and Fire

30 Aug

I count George RR Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire books among my favourite fantasy novels. I don’t think many fantasy series can match them for drama, plot twists, and the sheer size of the world, its history and its kaleidoscope of characters. As anyone who indulges in any form of geekery probably knows, this has been a good year for readers of Martin’s books, with the delayed fifth novel, A Dance with Dragons, and the first season of the TV adaptation, Game of Thrones, being released. Here are my (mildly spoilery) thoughts on both.

Continue reading →

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A meandering post about my Tottenham, and reputation

8 Aug

I’m still in shock about what happened in north London this weekend. I lived in Tottenham from 1985 to 2006 – most of my childhood and young adulthood. It’s quite devastating to see places where I used to shop, eat - and even my old gym - being burnt to the ground. The police cars that were initially set on fire were parked right outside the house where many of my family still live. People were banging on their door trying to break in, and running down their street with armfuls of stolen goods. A neighbour a few doors away was beaten up in his own home. And the damage that was done in the space of a few hours defies belief. It is such a shame that what started out as a legitimate protest about a terrible incident was hijacked by opportunists ( some of whom undoubtedly came in from other areas.) And it is such a shame that this greed and vandalism then spiralled to take in other parts of London – including Enfield, where I now live. But the initial spark was struck because of set of complex issues and circumstances, and this absolutely must not be dismissed…

Continue reading →

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Today I Flash Mobbed

24 Jun

Today I took part in a breastfeeding flash mob in Paddington Station. At 2pm, over a hundred women, children and babies (and a few male partners) descended on the main concourse, sat down, and breastfed their babies. I say “their” because my toddler fed for about five seconds, pushed away and then said, “See trains now!”

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I wanted to take part in this because, when I became a mother, I felt very self-conscious when breastfeeding in public. This had nothing to do with exposing myself – this doesn’t bother me, and in any case, it’s very easy to be discreet. Mainly, it was because I was scared about being judged or criticised by those around me, particularly as my son got older. There have been similar flash mobs taking place over the last few days, seeking to mark National Breastfeeding Awareness Week, and highlight the fact that funding has been taken away from it. I’ve read a lot of reactions on the web akin to “attention seekers” and “yes it’s natural but no need to flaunt it” or “smug women.” These comments really do annoy me. Attention seekers? Well yes, that’s what this is about – highlighting an issue, but it’s certainly not about exhibitionism. One glance at the dozens of comments from nervous women on our flashmob’s Facebook group is testament to that. And really, breastfeeding should be so normal and so common that no attention is given to it. The fact that breastfeeding can be labelled as “attention seeking” illustrates exactly what is wrong with our society.

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There is also nothing smug about breastfeeding. I’m aware that many formula feeders feel criticised by women who like to champion breastfeeding, and I know some women who breastfeed do criticise those who choose not to. I am not one of these latter women, but that doesn’t mean taking pride in my own choice makes me “smug.” And I have to say, breastfeeding *is* an achievement. It’s tiring, it’s un-glamorous, it’s restrictive and it can be very painful.

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There is also a genuine and general ignorance about breastfeeding. A paediatrician actually told me I should stop breastfeeding to help with my son’s constipation problems (note – breast milk acts as a laxative.) I mentioned to him that the WHO recommends a minimum of two years breastfeeding, and his reply was “yes, well – he’s nearly two.” In all honesty, I think the reason he mentioned it is because he was uncomfortable with the fact that I was breastfeeding my son while talking to him (we’d waited over an hour for our appointment, and my son was very restless.) And this is a paediatrician (who didn’t seem to know where to look as I talked.) Sigh. I consider myself to be reasonably well-educated and yet there are lots of things I didn’t know about breastfeeding until I actually became a parent. For example, it is common (in non-Western countries) and very beneficial to breastfeed a child well beyond age one. For example, it is possible to breastfeed while pregnant (I am nearly five months pregnant myself.) For example, breastfeeding an older child will not rot their teeth and will only hurt if they deliberately bite.

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I am so glad I was able to be part of something that will hopefully encourage other mothers to breastfeed in public.

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Eight Good Reasons Why I Am Not A Genre Blogger

8 Feb
 

 

Inspired* by AL Rutter’s great post Eight Good Reasons Why I Am Not A Writer, (which I discovered via Jonathan McCalmont’s Twitter) I’ve been thinking about this ‘ere blog o’ mine. I used to post genre news, book reviews, movie reviews and all sorts. Then it sort of petered out, and although I will post the odd book-recommendation-with-a-bit-of-meandering-commentary, you’re just as likely to find me rambling on about co-sleeping and bikram yoga (er… not to be practised simultaneously.)

 

So… here are the eight reasons why I am absolutely not genre blogger, in the news-and-reviews sense of the term…


1) I want to write my own fiction, not review the works of others.

 

I first started this blog back in 2006. I called it “Ramblings in Space and Time” and I started it because I liked the idea of having a blog, and because it’s What Writers Do.  Since then I’ve purged old content three times, renamed the blog and sort of withdrawn from the whole genre blogging scene. (Just before it really started to take off… Obviously.) It happened organically… I ran out of things to say. But I also realised writing the blog was sapping some of the creative energy I needed to write the fiction the blog was supposed to support. Cart before the horse and all that.

 

2) Reviewing books is a particular skill.

 

I have a degree in English. I like reading and I like thinking about books. But once I had a blog, I felt pressured to fill it with coherent and entertaining words explaining why I had a particular response to a particular story, and what it all meant in the grand scheme of things…. And that took a little of the pleasure out of my reading.

 

3) I didn’t want to blog just for attention

 

The most successful sites have new content on a daily basis, and often more frequently. I was struggling to post a couple of times a week. But I knew that if I let the momentum slacken, my blog would disappear off whatever radar I imagined it might be on, so I forced myself to post. The ever popular “Ooh look, here’s a link to someone else’s news item!” was a particular favourite of mine. And it quickly became a chore rather than a pleasure. Not good.

 

4) Seer-like, I foresaw the whole bloggers-as-mouthpieces-for-publishers debate, and I did shudder.

 

Bit of an exaggeration there, and I don’t really want to open this particular can of worms… But early on I did think hmm, if I’m super critical of author x on imprint y, will it hamper my own chances of publication? So I decided, OK, I’ll only post positive reviews. Mama always said if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say nuffin. But there’s not much value in a reviewer who can’t make negative observations.  It’s called criticism for a reason, right?

 

5) I read very  s-l-o-w-l-y

 

I also blog very slowly. Er, as you may have noticed. Then there’s all that content to read and comment on and engage with on other genre blogs. Closely related to….

 

6) …These days, I have trouble finishing books.

 

Maybe it’s old age, but I find myself becoming increasingly choosy over what I read, and if a book annoys me, I’ll quite happily abandon it half way through (or even a chapter before the end. Oh yes, I have done this.) Since becoming a skivvy parent my free time has become so precious that I simply will not waste it on a book I find boring or badly written. There are so many other great books to discover, and life is just too darned short.

 

7) Twitter

 

I know, I know – a blog and a Twitter feed are two different beasts, but there’s no denying that Twitter has sucked some of the energy out of blogging. Many of the thoughts and opinions for which I might have created an entire blog post in the past can be effectively summed up in 140 characters. Honest.

 

8 ) I could also have written a post entitled Eight Good Reasons Why I’m Not A Script Writer

 

or Eight Good Reasons Why I’m Not A Yoga Teacher

 

or Eight Good Reasons Why I Don’t Have A Degree In Astronomy

 

Oh yes, I used to submit plays to Radio 4. Oh yes, I did the foundation course for a diploma in teaching yoga. Oh yes, I did the first module of an astronomy degree during my “I WILL write hard SF” phase. I think a person can have lots of interests, but not many passions, and I think I’ve spent most of my adult life learning to distinguish between the two. When I started yoga teacher training, I realised I really really loved doing yoga, but teaching it is a separate and largely unrelated activity (and skill)… one I wasn’t really interested in. I didn’t have that fire in my belly I believe I needed to be a successful genre reviewer. So I stopped.

 

*by which I mean I read the post immediately before bed, then dreamt I blogged this response.

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Why I Love NaNoWriMo

9 Nov

It’s been said that novel writing is a marathon and not a sprint, and I think this is largely true. However, NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which challenges writers to write 50,000 words in 30 days, is exactly the sort of thing beginning writers such as myself need.

For starters, without the pressure of external deadlines, it’s sometimes very hard to force yourself to write- particularly if you have a day job, and a family. Although you could certainly cheat at NaNoWriMo, there’d be no point. The incentive to actually meet this challenge comes from knowing thousands of other people around the world are all doing exactly the same thing.

Also – and most importantly for we self-doubters – it forces you to just write. No sitting for hours contemplating a single sentence (I’m very capable of this) or endlessly planning and plotting but not actually writing (and this.) To finish the challenge, you have to just write, and I think this is the best way to learn how to draft. Honestly, I think a large number of beginning writers, myself included, don’t actually know how to draft effectively. It’s not only nearly impossible to get it completely right first time, I actually think it’s counterproductive. There are new layers and connections to a story that can only be explored through the second or third drafts of a novel. I don’t even think it’s possible to really know what a work is about until you get to the end. I also find I channel a deeper, freer, more creative part of myself when I’m forced to write at speed. Some of my favourite ideas have come when I’ve entered a part of a story where I have no idea at all what might come next.

There are other reasons to try this challenge. NaNoWriMo gets you into the habit of writing every day, which, hopefully, you can continue beyond the month of November. It forces serial restarters such as myself to keep working on the same damned project, and keep moving forward with it (rather than writing fifty different openings, as I seem to have done this last year.) And it puts you in touch with other writers, and with great writing tools (it’s how I found out about the fantastic Scrivener.)

So, I love NaNoWriMo. This is my second year of taking part and I entered it with a lot of concerns about my current project, but I’ve already ironed out most of them. This year I’m also taking part in Picture Book Idea Month (PiBoIdMo.) Thirty days, thirty ideas. If all goes well, I’ll enter December with most of a novel draft and a set of ideas to explore for picture books. Good times, eh?

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I did a Bikram Yoga class and it was HOT

25 Aug

A friend recently got me thinking about Bikram Yoga. I’d heard about the system in the past, but was discouraged by the fact that the practice takes place in 41 degree heat.  I mean, I get hot enough as it is in my Ashtanga practice without the aid of heaters, and anyways, I generally don’t like the heat. Or at least I never used to: after I had my son, I became addicted to the gym sauna - I think mainly because it was one of the places I couldn’t go whilst pregnant. Because my gym time is so limited, I usually stretch while in the sauna. So when my friend started talking about Bikram recently, I became interested.

Yesterday, I went to my first class. Ye gods, it was hot! Just lying on my mat waiting for the class to begin was enough for me to start dripping with sweat (er, I mean glowing. Glowing. Because I am female and females glow, right?) For the next ninety minutes, I trembled through the set sequence of postures, each repeated twice, while a petite teacher armed with a microphone delivered instructions and inspiration (happiness is an attitude, not a destination. Actually, I quite like this.) It was very different from my usual silent Ashtanga self practice. I actually think the constant talking is part of why I was able to get through what was a very, very challenging class. Focusing on her voice meant that the sound of my pulse thudding in my own ears was just that little bit easier to ignore.

The class was very different from my Ashtanga practice, and not just because of the heat. There were some postures we don’t usually do in Ashtanga, and some subtle differences to the ones we do do. The next morning, I ached in places I don’t usually ache after yoga – and this is a good thing. There are no hands-on adjustments from the teachers - a drawback, from my point of view. And we were actually instructed to look in the mirror – something I’ve always done in my practice anyway (please don’t tell.) As the teacher said – Bikram is the only form of yoga where this is encouraged.  Strangely, though, I looked at my reflection, my surroundings, and the other yogis (forty plus, and this was off-peak) much less than I have in any other class. This in itself illustrates what I think is so wonderful about Bikram - I can’t think of a time when my gaze was more inward.

With this form of yoga it is basically all about the heat. Something about the intensity really focused my mind. At no point did I feel I was straining – I was aware of my limits, but didn’t have to strain to reach them; the heat clearly helps with that. The heat also meant my heart was pounding throughout the practice - fantastic cardio. And I really did have to use all my will power not to sit out at some points, which added to the fantastic sense of achievement afterwards. I once took part in a sweat lodge, which I hated at the time, but there is definitely something powerful and healing about extreme heat. And although I felt challenged to the point of exhaustion in this class, I also - paradoxically - felt energised, and came out of the class experiencing a real buzz.

Now I can’t wait to go back. Which is a problem, because I’m not sure how to fit a regular class into my week. And although, after eight years doing Ashtanga, I can do self practice quite easily at home, I can’t really recreate a Bikram environment, and wouldn’t want to. So now I have a new passion. Sigh…

[An aside: it seemed to take me about ten minutes to get my jeans back on after class, even after a cold shower. This won't do - I live in close-fitting jeans. Now why isn't there a health warning about that, hmmm?]

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I heart Inception

23 Jul

It’s a long time since I’ve been as blown away by a movie as I was by Inception. I didn’t quite feel the skin-tingling awe that I felt when I first saw the Matrix, but it was still the best movie I’ve watched in a long time. It probably helps that I’m fascinated by dreams (yaknow… being a lucid dreamer and all that.) It’s the only film I’ve been to where people have both walked out at the beginning and clapped at the end (er… not the same people, mind. But I’m just saying… the range of reactions just highlights its uniqueness.) Given the conservative tendencies of today’s Hollywood, I found it so refreshing (and surprising) to come across something original and challenging – and this makes me very willing to forgive its few shortcomings. I loved the visuals – I want to see more crumbling cities and gravity-defying roads – and I loved the orchestral score. The ending was also pleasingly ambiguous (or not – discuss.)

I’m not entirely without criticism. I found the dialogue a bit info-dumpy at times. I thought that some of the “surprises” regarding Cobb’s wife were a little too well advertised beforehand, and the characters could perhaps have been more fleshed out. And I’m also not a hundred per cent sure of some of the logic. (Like, if they were dreaming about the van, why would the jolt of it hitting the water wake them, when it wasn’t really happening.) But damn! …What a film!

I tentatively say that I hope they make sequels. Tentative, because I want to see the possibilities explored more, but I wouldn’t like to see the life sucked out of the idea, because I think it’s such a great one.  

One for the DVD wish list, methinks!

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