Arrival

I seem to be in an incredibly long tunnel. I have no idea when I got here or how. It's probably a dream then- either that or I'm an architect in Inception?

The ground is covered in a soft moss-like surface. I'm walking far quicker than I know I'm capable of and I cover loads of ground fairly quickly with hardly any effort at all - like I'm on a travelator at an airport. I can't see a source of light but the walls themselves have a dull glow about them so I can see my surroundings easily. The environment is completely alien to me but I'm not anxious. I'm not excited either. I just am.

I gradually become aware of a light up ahead. The tunnel is coming to an end. As I get closer still I see there is a mesh like material all around the exit. I brace myself for getting caught up in it, or maybe waking up. The mesh looks quite flimsy so maybe I'll be able to rip it and get through. Instead when I reach the material, I put my hands out and there's nothing there. 

I stumble out into a bright and noisy courtyard. I'm completely overwhelmed. My senses have gone from minimal stimuli to maximum in a second. There's colour, sky, sunshine, birds, music, trees and people- lots of people. Pretty much shoulder to shoulder. Jostling. Chatting. Laughing. Singing. Crying. Hugging. There's even a conga line of them snaking past. All nationalities are here. And all ages- little kids walking hand in hand with old people. Maybe even different eras are represented too- judging by what people are wearing. There are business like people, kids in school uniform, other kids in jeans and t shirts, soldiers in military gear, goths, tramps, hippies, surfers, elegant looking people in designer labels and everything in between. Some of them look like they've just stepped out of an old photograph- except they're not black and white but dressed in muted browns and greys. It's such an eclectic mix of people it's like a costume party.

The courtyard appears to be part of a city built on a hill. The walls are painted white, dazzling in the sun. There are passageways leading off it in every direction, intersecting with adjacent buildings. As I'm processing all this and trying to orientate myself, a stranger makes his way towards me, jostling a few people out the way and breaking through the conga line (shouting 'Oh- sorry, excuse me..') then when he reaches me his smile grows even wider than before and he embraces me in the biggest bear hug ever. 'You're here at last!' he exclaims, 'I can't believe it!'

I squint stupidly at him because I'm certain we don't know each other. He's wearing a stripey cotton shirt (the non iron crinkly kind), ripped jeans and a navy bandana. I study his face and will my brain to access some clue as to his identity. He's in his 30's maybe with a goatee beard. His kind dark eyes bore into mine, crinkling at the edges with his smile. He is genuinely made up to see me (or whoever he has mistaken me for). He squeezes my shoulders and chuckles to himself 'I've been waiting ages you know- AGES...'

I open my mouth to tell him he must be thinking of someone else when he suddenly grabs my hand and starts pushing past the crowds, towing me along 'Come with me- there's so many people you need to meet!' Before I can argue we're off- pushing our way through the laughing, hugging, singing, conga-ing crowds. In and out of buildings, passageways, cobbled streets and more courtyards.

I am introduced to loads of people, some of whom I know and some I don't. Each one of them seems to know the friendly stranger in the bandana though, and our progress is hampered by exchanges between him and various people who approach us. I am still totally disorientated but don't have time to ask questions- even of the people I know, as I am constantly being whisked away to meet someone else or see a fountain or statue or something else of interest.

One of the people he takes me to is John, an elderly bloke I knew as a child. When I knew him before he was blind, but now his eyes are bright, sparkly and 100% functional. He touches my face with his hand and says I look just like my voice. I want to ask him how long he's been here and who exactly is this stranger in the bandana who has mistaken me for his long lost friend, when I am tugged off once more with 'Ah there she is- come on. See you later John!' And off we go again. John waves to the back of bandana man's head and as I look back at him, he's laughing and dancing with the people on either side of him.

My tour goes on for ages. There are endless introductions and reintroductions. I loose track of who's who and how they are related to each other. I'm exhausted by the newness of it all and yet not breathless at all, even though the city streets are steep and hilly and we have been rushing around between all these different buildings.

Eventually we come to the biggest room yet. It is HUGE with a long wide table down the middle of the room, laden with food. There are big bowls of fruit of genetically modified proportions (grapes the size of satsumas, melon-sized oranges), silver covered serving dishes with delicious smelling contents and pitchers of water with yet more sliced fruit floating on the surface. No one seems to have time to stop and enjoy it though. There's too much chatting and excitement. 

We pass by the top of the table and I'm being led out to an annexe of the hall when I spot the throne. It's the most impressive looking thing ever. Elevated 2 steps above the rest of the room and about eight feet high. It's made of gold with dozens of glistening stones embellishing the sides and back. I know at once the jewels are authentic and it belongs to someone of massive importance.

'Where's the king?' I ask, trying to slow down and look at it properly.

'Huh?' Asks the bandana guy, barely slowing down and excusing us past yet another group who are in the way.

I stop dead. He's still holding my hand so rebounds back towards me. 'Where's the king?' I shout this time and point to the throne. He waves a hand at it dismissively. 'I'll sit down for a while later- I can't sit still for two minutes now you've got here!' He takes my hand and turns to go off again, but I tug his hand hard and force him to stop and look at me.

I uncurl his fingers from mine and turn his hand over. My heart lurches up to my throat, suddenly pounding wildly like I've been running up and down cobbled city streets for the past few hours and it's only just realised. I grab his other hand and examine it too. Like the first, this palm is also badly scarred. A loud sob comes from somewhere near my stomach and I crumple. 

The crying is uncontrollable. I sob against his chest in a mixture of awe and love and appreciation and snot. I'm so overwhelmed I think I might explode. Like a little child who can't command their emotions, I struggle to express them AND breathe. I cling to the bandana man digging my fingers into his arms and choking on my words 'I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...' 

He's silent for a while, like he knows I need to say it, then eventually disentangles himself from my grasp and holds me at arms length, staring at me with his head slightly cocked to one side. He looks happier yet (if that's possible) and maybe even slightly bemused. 'I know you're sorry. You told me before. A long time ago- remember?'  

'Yes but this time I reeeaaallly truly am!' 

I have never meant those words properly before. NEVER.

'I know. You said before. I forgave then. We moved on- yeah?' He embraces me again as my breathing slowly returns to normal. Then he pats my back furiously and yells in excitement, 'Oh there's Karen, from your student halls- 4th floor- remember her? Come on!' And he grabs my hand and we dart off together through the crowds.

Holding his hand, I laugh and run and know I am awake.

Punishment and dementia

A few weeks ago I confiscated J's ipod after he was mean to his sister. Initially he took this rather well, but later on that night the contraband item was no longer on the office shelf where I'd left it. J denied all knowledge of it's current whereabouts and as there were more pressing matters at hand (involving the staged bedtimes of 3 children, the answering of a dozen emails and the consumption of a large glass of red wine and a family bag of maltesers) I did not pursue the matter further.


However, the next morning I found said confiscated item under its owner's pillow, and suddenly J remembered, Oh yes that's right, I did take it back without asking and yes that was wrong of me and I'm VERY sorry mummy...

So ipod was confiscated for 2nd time in as many days, only this time I did not leave it in plain view of the owner. Whoah no- I hid it. Sneakily and effectively. Rather too effectively. When I came to return the thing I couldn't find it.

Cue many tears (him), lots of apology (me), a 4 hour road trip which felt much longer than it was and the treat of being able to spend some journey time playing games on my phone (normally not allowed, but felt it was only fair given the circumstances).

On returning home we searched some more but still no iPod appeared. I knew the room I'd placed it in (our bedroom) and the general area within the room it had last been seen (on top of chest of drawers by window), but many items in our bedroom and indeed all over our house are not static at the moment (About 1/3 of our belongings are packed up in boxes and stacked in the dining room so we can move house as soon as the mortgage people decide to give us some money and stop playing email tag with us to demand bits of paper and question the wisdom of cancelling direct debits from energy suppliers who no longer provide us with energy yet continue to steal take our money). So anyway, the hiding place I'd so carefully chosen for the iPod was not only hidden, but possibly portable too, making it a really really good secret hiding place.

There have been many iPod centred conversations in our house recently. I won't bore you with them all, but here are some of them:

---
J: Mummy, the next time I'm bad and you have to take my ipod away can you pleeeaaase remember where you put it?

Me: I will honestly and truly try to do that mate. And maybe you could try really hard NOT to be mean and then lie to me and then you'll get to keep all your stuff! (Big smile and I try to hi-5 him).

J: (Half-heartedly slaps my hand) Yes, but it is still lost just now though, isn't it?

---
E: Mum, the next time you take something off Jackson and hide it I think you should tell dad where you put it.

Me: That is a great ideas. Thanks.

E: Or you could tell me.

Me: Mmmm. Probably NOT.

E: (At 12 1/2 he is often treated as an honorary adult and looks affronted at my reluctance to confide in him) But... why??

Me: That would cause the balance of power in this house to shift a little too much like this (I demonstrate with my hands) and that's not a good idea.

E: But I wouldn't tell him.

Me: Probably not, but you might do. Or you might get mad with him then accidentally tell him you know where it is even if you don't say exactly where and that wouldn't be good for your relationship with him. Yeah?

E: (Clearly wrestling with this scenario) I get what you mean by that...  but I really don't see it ever happening.

(This kind of response is why he gets treated as an honorary adult, although it's not a guaranteed consistent response which would be expected of an actual real grown up)

---
Madi: If you can't remember where Jackson's ipod is then it will be lost forever.

Me: I'm sure it will turn up though.

Madi: If it doesn't then he can share MINE! (An old Zen MP3 player which came free with a Staples order about 4 years ago and WAS Jackson's up until Christmas when he bought the one I have lost from Ethan for £10, and which no longer works properly after its adventure in the 40 degree wash cycle in the pocket of her jeans).

Me: That is ever so kind Madi. Jackson's very lucky to have such a thoughtful sister, aren't you mate?

J: Yeah- thank you Madi! (whispers to me) Isn't it broken though???

---
K: So we still haven't found his ipod then?

Me: Nope. You want to try looking for it?

K: Nah- we'll find it when we move.

EXACTLY.
---

The S word

We're in the car listening to Blow me one last kiss by Pink, an annoyingly catchy track that sounds completely the opposite to the subject matter that is being covered (there's a name for this. Onomatepia? Nonomatepia?) Anyway, two people have broken up. They loved each other once but really hate each other now and it's all emotional and messy and heart breakingly sad, but the melody is inappropriately upbeat and joyful so the kids love singing along. They're just not sure what to do with the recurring line involving all the sh*t that the break up has caused. The CD has blanked it out, so we are trying to think of another word that will work.

We use poo dog in our house, but that doesn't fit.

In my buggy pushing days the streets surrounding our house had a fair amount of canine excrement. Jackson got mixed up when learning to say dog poo and transposed the 2 syllables and it's confused me ever since. In moments of impending squelchiness when a childs foot was about to make contact with a pile of dog faeces, adrenaline often caused me to forget the correct English term and our made up one so we developed the poo dog alarm instead, which was simpler and quicker. But only after a few incidents like this: 

We are walking home. The buggy wheels, buggy board wheels and up to four pairs of shoes are all making intermittent contact with the ground. We are travelling pack style in roughly the same direction, with slight varience in tragectory and large fluctuation in speed. At least one child is in full conversational flow about how puddles are made / who's been on the sad list today / what good and bad reasons there are for disturbing a sleeping parent, when I become aware that in about 2 second's time we have to negotiate 3 sets of wheels and four pairs of shoes through a path recently trodden by an incontinent dog watchyourfeet! I can't get the words out fast enough poodogthere! That's not right nodogpoo! Imeantdogpoo! No that's not right either poodog! poodog! Iwasrightfirsttime! Why are so many bits of us in contact with the ground?? slowdowntherespoodog! Decelerate, I repeat decelerate! Whoowhoowhoowhoo! Nicely avoided people! Thank you so much. I'm sooooo glad you're on my team.
And so we avoided the S word. In all senses of the S word. Repeatedly. However, at some point along the line the boys became aware of the S word, the F word and a few others I don't know about. I am naive, a bit like Madi who recently alluded to the L word.

Me: I don't know that one babe. What is it exactly?
Madi: I CAN'T tell you because then I'll have said it!
Me: Maybe it's not a bad word though. We can't think what it is.
Madi: It's... It's lost.
Me: Lost? (She nods vigorously, looking shocked) As in L.O.S.T? (More wide-eyed nodding) Why is that bad?
Madi: You know, like when people say 'Get lost'...
Me: That's not swearing babe. It's not very kind to say, but it's not swearing.
J: Yeah, it's not like the F word or the B word or anything. You know Coby sometimes says the F word and then he has to go and see Mrs Wakely. And once Harry said the S word by mistake. He was trying to say 'SHIRT' (Collapses into giggles)
Madi: (Looking confused) But I don't know ANY of those words!
J: (Touselling her hair) Ah Madi, that's a good thing! You don't want to know any of those words!

Which begs the question: Why are some words swearing when others are not?
• I don't know is the answer. They just are so we don't say them.

But why?
• Well I suppose people who don't know you make all sorts of assumptions about you and what kind of kid you are by what you say. And they might think you're horrible and rude without even getting to know you.

Which is pathetic really. But it's the first answer I thought of and is probably kind of true.

It has always confused me though. I don't know all the rules and have never bothered to investigate them. Which is why I use inappropriate language myself sometimes. (I have only recently found out what knackered denotes in this part of the country, but after it meaning very tired or malfunctioning for the last 40 years, I find it hard to accept it may mean something else). 

And language changes too, so what was shocking a generation ago is acceptable now. When I was a kid I wasn't allowed to say pee. Wee was OK (or better still wee-wee) but not pee. What's that about? One tiny little consonant and grandma gets really offended.

I'm a bit intrigued by hand gestures as well. Take the peace sign. That's cool. That's reaaallly great and if more people wanted it and made active moves towards it then maybe there would be less greed and hate and pointless warfare.

But keep your 2 fingers extended and rotate your wrist round 180 degrees and all of a sudden you've communicated to someone that not only do you NOT want peace, but you are zealously inviting disagreement and conflict.

I just find that plain weird. How can the one gesture mean 2 completely different things? That's an international diplomatic disaster just waiting to happen that is.

We had a rather unfortunate incident involving a misunderstood hand gesture and a childless ex-neighbour once. I can write this now as we've moved house so often you won't know who it is.

Childless ex-neighbour lived 2 doors away from us at the time. Childless ex-neighbour was also wife-less and pet-less but did have a car that he loved and polished for hours every Saturday, and a slope in front of his house down which our kids liked to whizz on skateboards and bikes. Childless ex-neighbour did not like children playing so close to his house and his shiny clean car, especially when children in question had a double driveway and space to play outside their own front door. However, childless ex-neighbour never communicated this to anyone, and as our driveway was flat and wheeled toys + slope = more speed, the kids played there LOTS. This was a problem but we didn't know it.

Eventually childless ex-neighbour got annoyed with children whizzing and riding and bickering among themselves in the vicinity of the shiny clean car and asked them to play somewhere else. Jackson responded in the way he normally does to a direct order with a verbal 'Right you are' accompanied by a Sid-Salute, a-la Ice Age 3.

It turns out that childless ex-neighbour had never seen Ice Age 3 and thought he was being insulted on his own front doorstep by a delinquent 7 year old.

The first I knew about it was the hoover dying on me and an ashen-faced Ethan telling me that Jackson was crying and childless ex-neighbour (who was at that point a current neighbour) wanted to talk to me.

We'd been in the house for four months by then and we'd never spoken. Oh dear. I passed a sobbing Jackson on the stairs and managed a hug and his snotty version of events before opening the door.

Childless ex-neighbour was very cross. Yes I know who you are. Your child did this. And then he did this. Ice Age? Sid the sloth? Well that means nothing to me. Rah rah rah and he walked off.

I chased after him. I made the following points in a calm manner. When he interrupted I let him spout off then chased after him some more to continue making them.
1: I'm sorry this is our FIRST conversation and it's gone like this (i.e. you never came over to welcome us to the street)
2: This has clearly been bothering you for a while. I wish you'd approached me sooner and we could have discussed this without shouting (although I'm not shouting- you are)
3: Our children shall avoid playing on the slope or anywhere near your car which is obviously very precious to you (Saddo... but each to their own)
4: I will speak to Jackson and tell him to keep his Sid Salute to members of his immediate family and friends only (i.e. You are neither)

We followed this up 2 days later with a home made card confirming our conversation on the doorstep and the request that he immediately broach any future issues should they arise. We all signed it- Madi even put kisses.

We then invited childless ex-neighbour to our house warming.

He never came, but he started to wave and say Hi in the street.

Then we moved house 5 months later and he officially became known as The man who doesn't know who Sid is. (And we NEVER mention the salu*e)...

More more more

OK, HayDay is making me question identity and the nature of existence FAR more than is actually healthy or probably even sane to do so, but we are 3 weeks away from a big conference, we are moving house imminently, Keith isn't here, I'm pre-menstrual and there's no wine in the house. Oh and our next address could be one of 3 places - just to make life interesting. Hence I shall ramble on about pixels and other pretend stuff and not about how real life is scaring the pants off me.

I've told you about this game before but honestly- there's SO much mileage within the confines of this digital farming experience that my head is bursting just thinking about it.

I'll presume you've read the other blog and have looked the game up and are closet farmers yourselves, OK? And I'll then ask you to consider with me that the items available to buy in the game are either functional or decorative - yes? 

Goats = functional. They produce milk that can be made into goats cheese that can be made into feta pie that can be sold for many pretend coins. Goats have a job. Goats pull their weight. But goats are not pretty. Sorry, but they're just not.

Cats & dogs = decorative. As in real life, so in pretend farm world, these household pets offer no contribution at all to the day to day running of things. They simply wander around leaving you to do all the manual labour stuff alone, look miserable until fed, then without so much as a thank you swan off to sleep under a tree somewhere. Useless.

However some items offer a bit of both. Form and function. Hurray- we can have it all  with apple or cherry trees. Invest in raspberry or blackberry bushes and gain both attractive foliage and edible fruits. Jam making. Pie baking. Cherry lolly freezing. A whole range of possibilities open up while the overall appearance of your farm is improved as well. Win win.

Then we come to fencing / walling options. This is where my brain fizzes and I start asking Noodle (our real cat) for advice because everyone else has gone to bed.

These items are purely decorative- it says so on the fake shop screen. Chicken coups and cow fields have already got secure boundaries, so we don't need additional fencing to stop our animals wandering off and getting squished by the delivery lorry. 

I'm not into decorative, but I AM into organised, so I do have a bit of fencing around my edible plants and some more lining the driveway up to the farm house. Nothing fancy, just white picket fencing, like this:

Now, for slightly more fake money you can have hedging. I have some of this next to my orchard. Just because.

And for just a few fake pennies more you can invest in some stone walling. It will last longer and needs no maintenance. I have some of this on the main road leading off the screen. I bought it in a moment of weakness. I have no excuse. I'd just levelled up and it became available.

The choice of boundary options is only limited by budget and acreage. And it's the budget thing that causes me some concern. Because somehow, for some reason, the game makers saw fit to programme in a type of wall that is so outrageously extravagant and unnecessary that surely there has been some sort of mistake. My shop screen must have a glitch because at the foot of my 'pretty but useless' list of fake stuff for sale is THIS:

Yes, a GOLDEN wall. Made of yellow pixels. And retailing at the market price of 10,000 of your fake hard earned non existent coins.

Why Why WHY???

The ONLY reason anyone would buy this for their fake farm is to make it pretty. The golden wall does not sprout golden leaves or golden fruit. It's primary purpose is to stand there and sparkle and do sod all towards helping you fulfil the never-ending orders of consumable goods. 

Fencing is fencing. Fake golden wall or fake white picket fencing- it will do the same job for you.

So why buy it?

To show off, maybe? So you can enjoy the cha-ching of the purchase, place each section of it in pride of place within your kingdom and then LOOK at it? Then if you are lucky, some other (poorer) farmers may stumble upon your farm and gaze in wonder at it's sparklyness and envy you for it.

I'm trying to feel the envy. Honestly I am- because I think that's what they want. Instead I'm thinking Are you MAD??!

My brain won't let this go. Why were these purchases were made? And how can farmers such as the one below have possibly have accumulated so much wealth that they have been able to purchase too many golden wall sections than there is comfortably room for? 

I have analysed the possible explanations and offer the following explanations:

• The farmer is a child who has access to both an iPad and a parental apple account password (and hopefully the full knowledge and consent for both).

• The farmer is an child in an adult body who has access to both an iPad and more money than responsibility.

• The farmer is a nerd who has hacked into the mechanics behind the game and has unlocked the secret to infinite diamonds and coins. This person or persons unknown would be most suited to a career in cyber crime prevention and should probably contact the MOD. Or NASA.

• The farmer's best friend is fake friend and regular level 50 customer from the farm next door, has no other job aside from fake farming, and has nothing else to do all day except play HayDay and repeatedly buy the most expensive thing the game can offer in order to go to bed each night with a sense of achievement.

I hope it's the third one. And I hope they will be fake friends with me.

Clutter (pt 2)

I have a mild form of clutter paralysis. It's like the opposite of hoarding, and something I believe will soon be recognised as the mental disorder obsessive-compulsive spartanism.

Having too much stuff around me stifles my ability to function, so I'm forever assessing what we need then recycling the things we don't. This can make visitors nervous sometimes. They fear they may find themselves either placed in a cupboard or put in my take to charity shop pile. I say 'mild' because I've read of people who suffer this far more intensely than me who constantly give away stuff they actually use or wear on a regular basis, whereas I only get rid of things that are actually redundant. (Although there have been a few fairly big exceptions to this over the years including a wardrobe which we could have done with 3 months after giving it away as we moved to another rental property and an external hard drive, which in my defence edged slowly towards the bin in the garage over a 6 month period. (I was giving it a chance you know? It didn't even try).

Spartanism extends to my digital activities too. My desktop looks like this:

If I'm working on something and save a few files on the desktop for convenience I MUST file or delete them before logging off, or deal with them FIRST THING the following day. Otherwise I feel like this:

Reports indicate that people will compulsively discard items like clothes, books and even expensive electronics and furniture in an effort to free themselves from what they consider to be clutter. It seems that people who compulsively throw objects out — the opposite of hoarding — are overwhelmed by possessions. Fewer belongings makes them feel more in control of their life and surroundings. (WiseGeek)

I totally relate to this. The more manic my life becomes, the less likely I am to ask the kids nicely to come back and pick up their nerf bullets / hello kitty trump cards / hand drawn tributes to our dead hamster Omnon / other assorted kiddie crap that is strewn around every room they've played in so far today, and will instead pick up a bin bag and yell 'I'm tidying up now!!.....'

The off switch to this behaviour can be triggered in various ways:

• Go on holiday (stay somewhere else for a few days and the neat rules don't seem to apply)
• Decorate (If the house is tipped up with brushes and rolls of wall paper, finishing THAT job overwrites any mental fixation with neatness)
• Have visitors / house guests over (ditto above- focus on people, not clutter)
• Move house (rather extreme I know, but it does have the same effect. And we have moved house quite a lot recently so it's been helpful therapy)

As long as one of the above happens fairly regularly it will prevent our home from looking like this:

So if you aren't doing anything today, please come round for coffee.

Winning and Losing

Me and kids are in car at leisure centre after swimming lessons. K is arriving at Severn Tunnel Junction in 4 minutes time and I can't quite remember how to get there. It's only a few miles away but I've been there only once before and it was dark and raining and we got lost because the sat nav (delivered in the voice of Homer Simpson) had a glitch and kept trying to make us drive over a railway line.

Me: No! Homer's dead. Charger's not here... Argh. (Addressing kids) Remember that time we picked Daddy up from the train station and it was dark and Homer took us the wrong way- does anyone remember where that was?
J: Kind of... Wasn't it near where Rowan used to live?
Me: No idea. I never went to Rowan's house.
E: Use Waze
Me: Waves?
E: Waze- on your phone. (He takes it off me and launches app). Ah look, you've not used this much. You're a Baby Wazer.
Me: Am I?
E: Yep! You know I'm a Bronze Wazer.
Me: How come?
E: I just keep it on all the time when we go places. Like when we went up to Scotland. And Scarborough. And when we went away in the caravan. Ha- I'm beating you!
Me: You used Waze as a passenger?
E: Yeah- so it recorded all the miles I travelled. That's how I got all the way up to bronze. And you're still a tiny BABY wazer... 
Me: But... You weren't driving.
E: But I'm BRONZE!

Heights

A few years ago I went on a 'Go Ape' day in the Lake District with a bunch of mates and staff from the Childrens' Centre along the road that I LIVED at when the kids were young. 

It promised to be a fun team bonding experience to unite volunteers, staff and parents alike. It was April and sunny. Transport there and back was being provided. The entire day was to be spent outdoors, hiding and seeking with different coloured flags, canoeing in the nearby river and saving each other from swamp monsters with ropes, hula hoops and planks of wood. 

It would be a whole day off from motherhood- playing with other grown ups instead. And best of all- it was FREE.

The day unfolded as promised and for the most part was a bonding experience- aside from a brief altercation between 2 teams when some treasure (a selection of small beach balls) was stolen from one canoe by an opposing team. Words were exchanged, paddles were splashed on purpose and a few of us ended up caught in the cross fire and joined in the splashing more than anyone- just because we were wet and reckoned everyone else should be. However, it ended well with us all singing Wonderwall very loudly and badly and laughing a lot.

The bestest bonding bit wasn't screeching singing Wonderwall until our throats were sore though. Nor was it escaping quicksand using only lateral thinking and some green hula hoops or defeating a swamp monster with six planks of wood and a length of rope. 

The most adventurous bonding bit was the Pamper Pole: a 25' telegraph pole with handles all the way up, a small platform at the top and a trapeze suspended 8' away, tantilisingly close but hopelessly out of reach unless you STOOD on the platform and jumped out towards it. The team had to take it in turns to scale the pole, stand on the platform at the top, then jump into mid air towards the trapeze and hang there for a few seconds before being lowered safely to the ground by the rest of the team, who had solemnly sworn to prevent death by plummeting. 

Cool. Bring it on. Heights don't really bother me. I love white knuckle stuff as long as it DOESN'T involve spinning, which the Pamper Pole so far had shown no signs of. We watched with excitement as others took their turns. We held the rope for the climbers on our watch. We cheered when team mates reached the top and jumped. In unison we lowered the victor back to earth and high fived them on touch down. We commiserated the ones who climbed back down, muttering 'I just CAN'T do it...' and then it was my turn! 

I climbed into a safety harness, got secured into it by our instructor and approached the Pamper Pole. It was just like any telegraph pole in any street in the country. I wondered if they got them from the same supplier? I began my ascent, feeling at once the pull on the safety harness as my team mates tensioned the overhead rope to support me. I climbed quickly and easily, feeling like a squirrel. I thought how novel it was to not see the world from a 5'6'' perspective. I marvelled at how quickly everything falls away and how privileged squirrels are being able to do this without bulky ropes and chains. Rung by rung I climbed, not even out of breath, impressed at how much height can be achieved in such a short time and how tiny... the people... on the ground... had suddenly become... 

I was half way up.

I kept on climbing but slowed my pace, suddenly missing my 5'6'' view of everything. Look up- not down. That's it, the Pole is still right there in front of you. Embrace the Pole. It is your friend. One rung at a time. Then embrace. Next rung. And embrace. Now the next rung. And embrace. Now the next rung. And... I seem to have run out of Pole. 

There's only sky up here and NOTHING to hold onto! Now that I've reached it, the platform that looked so solid and reliable and perfectly adequate to accommodate a pair of feet has shrunk to the size of an A4 piece of paper. I'm not sure how to manoeuvre myself into a position where I can actually stand up on it. Not without my friend, the Pole.

My team yell encouraging things from the ground and I'm constantly aware of the tension in my harness. I KNOW I won't fall to the ground and die painfully. But from a position of leaning horizontally over the platform, hugging it into my chest, I'm not sure how to progress to standing on top of it and not be hugging anything. I have been sitting and standing for many years now, but right at this moment 25' up in the air I can't seem to remember how to do the bit in the middle. 

Maybe I'm not that fond of heights after all? The parting words of my mother play back in my head when I left her babysitting that morning, 'Just remember Jennifer- Be Careful. You have 3 children at home!' 

I compromised. I maneuvered awkwardly into a sitting position and sat on the platform instead. I desperately wanted to stand on it but the instructions on how to do this were missing from my brain. After a minute or two of sitting I pushed off and  l a u n c h e d  myself in the direction of the trapeze. I touched it, the team lowered me back to earth and cheered when I landed, and then it was all over and the next climber, already harnessed in, began to climb the Pole.

Ah well. Sitting is OK. It's not as good as standing, but it's more exciting than climbing halfway up then climbing halfway back down again.

I thought I was OK with heights until I was way much further from the ground than normal. It turns out, I don't really like heights at all. 

This is true of many other things I'm sure. How many beliefs do we have about ourselves and each other that have never been tested by way of contrast to see if they are accurate? I may think I'm pretty laid back or reasonable, but unless I'm faced with someone who is controlling or unreasonable (or BOTH), and manage to retain these qualities, how do I know? 

Seriously- just how easy is it to show generosity to a greedy person? 

Or to meet sarcasm with courtesy? 

How about being reeeaaallly mega reasonable to someone who so isn't?

Not that I know any such people at all in real life or anything. (Whoah no- I'm only supposing). 

I bet responding with courtesy in the face of its absence is just like trying to stand up on a teeny weeny wobbly platform a mile into the air when you are not a squirrel. 

And being reasonable to those who lack it is probably doable, but not something that is natural or easy. And a safety harness (in some cases provided by a solicitor) would be advisable.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's pixels

It all began so innocently. 

Download HayDay from the app store Ethan said. 

It's free he said. 

I'm playing it and we can trade stuff! he said.

With so much going for it and half an hour before he went to bed I downloaded it, launched it and began to play.

The premise, similar to most sim games around now, is simple: 
1. Start with almost nothing (A small overgrown farm)
2. Get introduced to the gameplay by an ally who coaches you in the basic strategies of the game (in this case a scarecrow)
3. Get given responsibility (6 small squares of fertile land and a chicken coup) 
4. Receive frequent small rewards which increase your power very quickly but in incrementally tiny ways
5. Da-Dah! There's an evening of your life gone and Ethan should have been in bed an hour ago.

Oh. Dear. Me. This game is evil. It is sneakily designed to suck hours and hours of your life away. Forget Facebook / Twitter / Blogging. They have nothing on this. Spare time? That's a thing of the past. Event management? Screw that for a career- you are a FARMER now.

The responsibilities are just staggering. I'm not sure I'm emotionally ready for them. These chickens are dependant on me. They need me to feed them and collect eggs from them regularly or they may starve or become egg-bound and die.

And then I level up and get a cow field and the stakes are even higher. I'm a dairy farmer now as well (I've only been at this 10 minutes and harket me!) The cows are a bit needy as well though. They also require feeding. And milking. But then I am rewarded with milk as well as eggs, and the customers and coins pile in even faster so I level up and acquire a dairy. Now I can make cream and cheese and sell that as well as the milk and the eggs, so I get even more orders and more coins. 

Without hardly trying I level up again and get a bakery. Now I can produce loafs and corn bread and sell them as well as the eggs and milk and cream and cheese and the customers still keep calling. 

Each hen lays an egg 20 minutes after feeding: guaranteed. 

The cows are ready for milking an hour after feeding: guaranteed. 

And each time I sow seed on a tiny square of fertile soil, the land produces twice what was planted. I don't need to buy anything anymore. I'm living the good life and am totally self sufficient. God bless you mother nature!

The game makers have an additional strategy that comes into play about now.

6. Networking. 
We can visit each others farms. It's totally interactive. Trade and commerce be alive and well in these here parts. I've already been to Ethan's farm cause he showed me how to befriend people in the first place. His farm's a lot like mine, but he's arranged his dairy and his silo differently. He's also placed his fertile land in big long strips (I've done squares) but that's great. He's organising his space. Maybe that will spill over into real life one day and his room will become a bit tidier? He's really making his farm his own. Its sweet actually...

Another one of my friends is no one I know in real life but a computer generated regular customer of mine who owns a neighbouring farm. He is on level 50 (I'm on level 4). Maybe I should go and visit his farm? He's been over to me loads of times already, so it only seems neighbourly. 

But what's THIS? My loyal customer's level 50 farm has acres and acres of flat green land with none of the forest or rubble or swamp land that I am plagued with. And it is stuffed full of livestock and farmer gadgetry. He has two feed mills. And two fields of cows. And three chicken coups! He has pigs and goats and horses and a dog. His dairy and bakery are surrounded by about 10 other bits of industrial machinery that I had no idea existed a minute ago. (I wonder what they do??) His barn is bigger than mine, his Silo is taller than mine and the whole farm is so pretty. There are apple trees, cherry trees and row upon row of raspberry bushes, decorative shrubs and white picket fencing. Butterflies are hovering round pots and pots of neat orange and red flowers and there's a swinging garden bench next to a fountain overlooking the jetty at the edge of the fields. It's the most beautiful farm ever...

I want butterflies. A fountain and a bench wouldn't go amiss either (if I ever get the chance to sit down). And most of all I want my land to be free of swamps and rubble and all the other junk I was left to sort out. My neighbours farm is amazing and mine is rubbish. My little farm is struggling like most other other farms in this country because of the stupid EU and...  Arghhhhh is that the time? My poor cows will be lolling around in discomfort with udders a-swollen wondering where I've gone...

I mosey on back to my tiny level 4 farm to get on with milking and egg collecting and feeding and harvesting, idly wondering why my level 50 neighbour comes over to my farm to BUY eggs when he has 3 times as many chickens as me? Maybe he's just helping me out- we stick together and help our own, we farmers. Or maybe his chickens are post-menopausal and no longer lay eggs 20 minutes after feeding? Or maybe he just comes over to gloat and is actually plotting a take-over?

I survey my kingdom and sigh as I take in the sight of the overgrown wasteland behind my farmhouse. I need more TNT and shovels... Elusive items that appear only occasionally on harvesting, or in the newspaper. Items that can be bought with gaming diamonds which can be slowly earned by the laborious task of farming... or (for the impatient / richer farmer) purchased at the App store for anything between £1.49 and £69.99. 

That IS mental, right? Paying for pixels, figments of the game makers imagination, with actual real proper pounds sterling and pence. 

I am tempted though. 

Wow. Digital materialism.

The desire for more can be a tricky thing. 

I get sucked in just as much as the next person. Although strangely not in the traditional big house / nice car / exotic holiday kind of way. 

We may wander round Ikea for an hour and a half and only actually purchase 4 mugs and a bath mat, but I will have spent a small fortune on storage solutions in my head. 

I buy a bit too much food (which is highly ironic given my lack of enthusiasm for cooking anything) then end up wasting more than I like to admit. 

And I want pretty pixels for my fake farm.

When the kids were little and we needed one, I also had a bit of a thing for buggies. In 8 years and 3 children we got through a Mothercare travel system, a Bertini steerable stroller, a Phil & Ted's double buggy, 2 Maclaren XTs and a cheap £35 buggy from Argos which eventually collapsed with a child still in it. I can still talk animatedly and knowledgeably about the benefits of pneumatic tyres (lined with kevlar or slime) over hard plastic wheels and argue persuasively that it's always preferable to buy a 2nd hand Maclaren than a brand new £35 buggy from anywhere. Please don't get me started though. Keith's just glad he no longer looses me in the nursery aisle in ToysRus.

Where does this restless need for better and more come from? And how to resist? Cambridge theologian Harry Williams, has a theory:

It's natural for us to always want more- more love more money, more prestige, more everything... But our wanting more in fact goes deeper than anything our earthly environment can supply, and we misunderstand if we imagine we can be appeased by what this limited world can give us. For our desire is literally insatiable, which means it belongs to the order of infinity. Our wanting more is the way in which we clumsily express our intuition that we were made for what is endless and without bounds, that is, for God. (Consumer Detox, pg 98)

Isn't it weird that time, energy and wealth are expended every day on accumulating stuff that can't ever be owned in the real world? Striving towards the big house / nice car / exotic holiday is actually just as ridiculous as spending £69.99 on HayDay gaming diamonds. 

The transferrable value for any one of them is zilch. 

They offer NOTHING beyond the realm for which they were created. 

In the short term though- the the pretty pixels are cheaper.