Black Tuesday

Pic from  TimesLive

In 2009 the Telegraph newspaper, using investigative journalism, uncovered a huge MP's expenses scandal. The results saw MPs resigning, being investigated, made to pay back money and in at least one case, imprisoned. 

Now let's imagine that instead of having the Freedom of Information Act which we have here in the UK, we have a brand new bill that has just been passed by South African MPs today - the The Protection of State Information Bill.  Under this bill, anyone possessing classified government documents can get up to 25 years in jail, with no defence of 'acting in the public interest'. 259 MPs voted in favour of the bill. Only 32 against.  As one commentator said:  'All those in favour of corruption:259. All those against:32'

Had we had this bill in the UK during the expenses scandal, the journalists uncovering the story would have been facing 25 year sentences instead of receiving journalism awards.

South Africa is the gateway to Africa, the country which, post apartheid, was meant to be a shining example to the rest of the continent on how to thrive. Yet with this single piece of legislation, the country is returning to the dark days of apartheid whereby it was illegal to speak out against the government. 

Wake up world. Wake up journalists. Take note. This is has severe implications for press freedom. Shouldn't more people outside of SA know about it?  As far as I can see, so far just the BBC have reported on this. 

Yes America might be anticipating Black Friday this week (the day after Thanksgiving when Americans begin their Christmas shopping in earnest). But personally, I think a few column inches could be given to South Africa's Black Tuesday instead.

PS - back to light-hearted flippancy shortly.

When votes really count

Today is election day. And this is one election that really has had me glued to the screen. So much so that I've been watching the Campaign Show on BBC instead of Desperate Housewives or Glee. Now that is saying something.

Even my 6 and 4 year old know all about it and can name the leaders of the 3 main parties. My eldest is in favour of Cameron because he had a friend called Cameron once and he thinks he looks like a nice chap. My youngest prefers the Lib Dems on account of the fact that he likes the colour yellow. As for me, I'm one of the undecided but think I know which way I'm going to go, although I'm not utterly convinced by any of them.

However, as much as the UK thinks this is an exciting election, it pales into significance when compared to the first time I could ever vote.

It happed on 17 March 1992. I was at last old enough to vote and I am so pleased that my first vote was for something so incredibly meaningful. This wasn't an election. It was a referendum. The choice was simple: Vote Yes or No.

Voting Yes meant ending apartheid in South Africa. Voting No meant staying with the status quo. Never had the choice been quite so simple. Never had votes counted quite so much. Never had the queues been longer at polling stations. Never had an outcome been quite so important.

I clearly remember that day and being moved to tears that I was getting a say in how the country would change. And change it did. It's hard to believe that Apartheid was such a recent occurrence that I was able to vote to end it (or maybe it simply means I'm old) but the excitement of that voting day will stay with me forever.

While today might not have quite such life altering consequences, it's just as important to go vote. Because voting is a priviledge. So use it.

The problem with having a far flung family

Here's some background. My father, stepmother and two half brothers live in South Africa. One of my sisters lives in Ireland, the other lives in New Zealand along with my mother and stepfather. I live in the UK. Let's just say that we don't often have family get togethers. Asking my children's grandparents to babysit isn't an option. And I always need to look at the last posting days for Christmas cards well in advance as it's some point in October.

In an attempt to let my children see their grandmother and auntie for about the second time in their lives, I have been looking into going to New Zealand, a place I've yet to visit despite the fact that my sister has lived there long enough to sound like a local. There have always been good reasons why I haven't yet gone.

First I was young and poor and starting to climb the career ladder. Then I moved to the USA. Then I got married so my finances were stretched for some time. Then we moved to the UK and started a new job/found new house etc. Then I got pregnant. Had baby 1. Ten months later I was pregnant again. I had two under twos. I had little sleep and even less sanity and there was no way I would have survived a 30 hour flight with them. Then we moved house again. Then we were flooded. And now here we are.

Now I have a 4.5 year old who will be 5 by the time I plan on going. And a 3 year old. Both with the inability to sit still for a nano second (unless they're poorly in which case they just vomit on people). The thought of the 30 hour flight still makes me want to grab a large meat skewer and plunge it into my wrists. The adjustment of the billion time zone differences with two boys who don't sleep at the best of times makes me exhausted just thinking about it. And even if we have the best, most relaxing holiday in the whole world ever (which it probably won't be as there won't be hot and cold running slaves waving palm fronds over me while someone entertains my children), any feelings of calm will evaporate the minute we board for the return flight home.

But ignoring all of that. Assuming that I want to put myself through a catastrophic amount of stress, the bottom line is that the cost of four airline tickets to New Zealand could buy you a nice small car. And that's flying DodgyAsianairline.com or Quantas which seems to have planes falling out of the sky on a daily basis. The flight prices themselves look reasonable. It's the sodding taxes. They're the same price as the flights. All well and good for protecting the environment blah blah but what's the point of having a nice environment if you can never get there to see it??

My computer screen image is burned onto my retinas such is the amount time I've spent surfing travel websites, flicking between airlines, resorts, tour operators and tripadvisor, with the latter normally sending me back to stage 1. I give up. I despair. I don't know how we will ever get to New Zealand unless someone invents one of those Star Trek 'beam me up' machines or some very strong tugboats tow New Zealand and the UK closer to each other. I wouldn't mind if they towed the UK further South. In fact they could tow it somewhere between Mauritius and the Seychelles. They could pull NZ to just below the Maldives. Everyone would be happy.

I'll take your suggestions on a post it note as to how to resolve this dilemma. Just so you know, I've already ticked off:
- let them come to us. Done
- win the lottery. Tried and failed
- meet halfway. A possibility but still doesn't get around me not ever having been there.
- stuff the children into suitcases to save on ticket costs and on-board stress. Tempting, but I think the NSPCC might have something to say about it.

Old PCs - where memories live (some of which should stay hidden forever)

My husband was just looking for the AOL cd for his new computer. He was hunting in 'the box of all things' (a must for every house) and discovered our old laptop. In contrast to current models, it looks and feels like a rather large paving slab. Husband wanted to throw it out. Not that I'm a hoarder or anything, but I said: 'No! It might have important information on it and besides the kids can play with it or we could sell it on eBay or get it recycled for charity or something else that will require a lot more effort from us than simply putting it in the bin.'

So I plugged it in and turned it on. Little did I know that the old pc was actually a time travel device that sucks you into a vortex to your past.

A few documents I have just found on the old machine are:

• my birth plan for our first son. Oh how the tears rolled down my face while I read it. What a complete and utter pile of poo. Like the birth was anything remotely close to what I wrote down. And as if the midwives even looked at it. Ha ha.

• the email I sent to friends just after giving birth to first son. Why, oh why, did I think it was acceptable to tell EVERYONE about the exact bodily fluids that came out of me during the birthing process? I now know that all women need to 'process the birth' but I think that the experts who say that, don't necessarily mean for you to share it with your entire email address list.

• Half-written business plans for the following businesses: One PR company (not my current one); Swaddleme (a company making swaddling blankets for babies. I recall at the time I even went out and bought a £15.99 sewing machine - only the best quality for me - and reams of fabric to make these blankets having never sewn anything in my entire life before or since); Nosh4nippers (a company that was going to make baby food only I got bored of pureeing my own children's carrots so why I'd do it for the rest of the planet I have no idea). I was just so desperately keen to run my own business (for that read: escape the monotony of looking after a small baby who just puked on me all day) that I came up with any number of crazy ideas spurred partly by sleep deprivation.

• The opening paragraphs or initial chapters of the following books I had begun to write: 'Help! My baby hasn't read the book!'; 'Princess Lulubelle and the Magic Rainbow'; 'Diary of a new mother'; 'The Startling Reality of Being Ordinary'. None got further than two pages in - probably interrupted by the need to feed a small child. But again, showing my brain's inability to accept being nothing else other than a person who wipes small bottoms for a living. And reinforcing the fact that I am a starter, rather than a finisher.

• A powerpoint presentation from my days of doing the PR for the IBM Storage account in the USA. It was a BBL (an acronym for a Brown Bag Lunch - an American term for giving your colleagues a short, snappy educational overview on something you're working on but which they will find very dull and would prefer to be having their lunch somewhere in a deli). It was cleverly called 'Stor Wars' and had the theme music and graphics from Star Wars. It had lots of corny references to 'The force being strong' and 'the mothership of all storage devices'. I obviously thought I was really hilarious back in my geek storage PR days.

• Emails from my bridezilla months when I was trying to organise THE MOST PERFECT WEDDING EVER, except that I wasn't living on the same continent as any of the guests or the wedding venue (which incidentally was in a remote part of South Africa and utterly incapable of keeping up with my New York City standards).

• Photographs of my husband and I from days before we were married and well before we had children. We look so young, so unwrinkled, so thin, so completely unaware of how a few short years would change us into haggard old farts without social lives.

It's time I stop looking at the old pc now because I don't think it's good for my self esteem. But one day when I'm bolstered by a glass of wine or two, I might revisit it. And possibly even finish some of those books. Or perhaps add just a line or two more.