Migraine

Warning sign.  I'm here to tell you to slow down, no to make you slow down.  You're trying to do too much.  You're putting 100% into everything.  You only have 100% to give, not 400%.  Do the maths - 4 times 100% = 400%.  Stop it.

Just. Slow. Down.

A crippling migraine tells me that today I need to be a little bit more respectful of my body.  Somebody commented yesterday that they can always tell when it's me walking down a corridor because I'm walking at speed.  I don't have enough hours in the day to cram everything in that I need to do and I will not let anything drop.  My work for the charity committee, my work for school - seeing students who are not my own and doing workshops, even though I'm only supply.  My time with my daughter once I'm home, well that is too precious, stuff can wait.   I'll just work doubly hard after she's in bed.  And she absolutely needs a from scratch meal almost every day, doesn't she?  Well no, but I find myself doing it any way.

Migraine tells me that something has to give.  It will be my health before anything, and that means I'll get to a point where I do everything half-arsed through exhaustion.  That can't happen.

Migraine, I heed your warning.

A Day in the Life...

Good morning this fine, fantastic, beautiful day!

Yes, so I've been lazy this week in blogging terms - not in any other way though (if only).  In fact I've been so busy I've barely had time to catch my breath.  Yesterday was equally hectic but in a non work/commitments kind of way.  As I've seen a few people doing this this week I thought we'd bring you "A Day in the Life of Beadzoid and Babyzoid"

Incidentally, A Day in the Life is my favourite Beatles song, just so you know.

The day begins a little late by 'new life' standards as I get up at 8.15 just in time to scrape Babyzoid out of bed to kiss Daddyzoid before he goes to work.  I do not have a photo of this because I just got up.  And as someone spent too long surfing Ebay, I'm still a little bleary-eyed.  Babyzoid is still recovering from the previous day so is coming to terms with having been unceremoniously plucked out of bed before she's properly woken up.

With Daddyzoid gone it's time for Breakfast.  Weetabix followed by toast with Nutella for little 'un. 

What? Do I have something on my face?

Time for me to fire off some emails: First one to our Bliss campaign manager with some demands and ideas.  Poor woman.  Next a fellow campaigning friend to acknowledge her email of what she has done this week and marvel at how quick off the mark she is.  I toy with the idea of asking her to send me some cupcakes after she made the mistake of giving me one at our campaign meeting last week.  Seriously, they are to DIE for.  I then email one of the committee members of the charity committee I recently joined about another meeting regarding the website redesign.  Met the web programmers last week, now I need to meet the graphics designers.  I then share my plans to hassle all the other committee members at the next board meeting regarding general marketing and social media strategy.  All good stuff! I then respond to an email from chairman of the committee (who was also one of Charlotte's consultants in the SCBU) concerning the NICU graduates day we're organising.  I consider writing a blog post. I decide it's too sunny and Babyzoid hasn't seen her mum much all week.

I decide I need a Diet Coke.  I go to the one I chilled yesterday in the freezer:

Oops.

I then phone the garage as my boot hasn't closed for several weeks and my break light is out.  I know this as a taxi driver kindly yelled it at me out of his window on the approach to the M1/M69 roundabout.  Thanks pal.  We are told to bring our car straight away.  I say I need to throw clothes on first as I had a late one.  I then fret the whole way about how he will be expecting some party-hard early 20s piss-head and will be horrified to find a hungover mother with a young child.  I am of course not hung over, but that's what I would have assumed from my 'late one' comment.  What a numpty.

We get to the garage.  Babyzoid thinks it will be fun to take a run up and hurl herself full pelt into the side of our parked car while the mechanic is fiddling with the boot.  Tears ensue.  The boot mechanism needs to be replace so we go into the office to pay for the tail light, Babyzoid still wailing, the mechanic trying to be polite but obviously struggling with an oncoming headache.  Oops I've forgotten my purse, I say I'll be back.  They decide to trust me - it's only £2.50.

Whilst picking up purse I pick up a Union Jack edition French Fancy and a mini lollipop to calm Babyzoid's tears.

We get to the garage and start heading to the office.  Babyzoid having only just stopped crying trips over and grazes her knee.  Greaaaaaaaaaaat.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

We go into town.  I try on a dress in a charity shop (frugal).  Babyzoid smiles and says "Mummy Princess!" I melt and buy the dress.  This girl will make a great saleswoman one day.

I also try on some jeggings.  I don't trust shop mirrors so I take a snap to check how my arse looks.  It looks pretty damned fine.  Awesome!

We then stop in the grassy area for a small tub of ice cream

Away from my ice cream or I stab you with my spoon!

Town done.  To the supermarket.  Babyzoid is now tired and narky and plays up the whole way.  I retain a calm serene demeanour the whole time (hah!)

Home. Babyzoid to bed for a nap (god damnit, you will!).  I spend the time replying to yet more emails and sorting out my tax and my gas and electricity switch.  Restful.  I wake her 2 hours later.  This is what I find:

Still struggling to wake up (what is with this girl today?) she tries on her Peppa Pig pirate hat and eye patch that came free with the magazine:

We then have veggie burgers for our very late lunch in honour of National Vegetarian Week!  For once she can eat on her lap.

I then get to work making a Moussaka (this is NOT vegetarian).  It takes over 2 hours. Babyzoid turns her nose up at it after eating a third of it.  She then goes to bed as my husband's friend turns up as arranged.  We then eat Moussaka and mini paprika roast potatoes before drinking wine and indulging in a bit of retro guitar hero:

Rockin' out!

The friend goes home and my husband and I fall into bed exhausted.

.................................................................................The end..........................................................

Silent Sunday

Oh dear...

Geeks

I'm quite happy to hold my hands up and out myself as a geek.  After all, I seriously cannot contain my  excitement at the thought of all 5 Star Trek Captains together at a Star Trek convention in October this year.  In London *squeeeeeeal* MUST.BE.THERE!  As a teenager I had a huge poster of the Starship Enterprise above my bed and I eschewed all Disney Paraphernalia on a family trip to Disneyland, California when I was 16, instead coming home with a Captain Picard T-shirt (make it so!) and a book on Zen Buddhism.  Definitely a geek.

Not to be confused with Nerd. A geek does not have to be smart, a Geek is someone who is generally not athletic, and enjoys Video Games; Comic Books; being on the internet, etc. Urban dictionary.

I wouldn't have been happy to admit to being a geek at school.  After all, the geeks were only one step above the nerds, y'know, the ones who were uber-intelligent but didn't care that their specs were NHS or that short sleeved sheets and slim-leg grey trousers were fashion suicide.  I was top set, and actually quite athletic til my boobs grew in the 10th year and it all went pear-shared (literally).  No, I was a rebel - with my leather jacket, tight-chained leggings and red hair.  Okay, so my idea of actual rebellion was to occasionally wag school only to head to the library to complete my English coursework, but I looked the part.

That aside, I counted the geeks and the nerds amongst my friends.  They were certainly more pleasant to be around than the so called trendy kids - y'know, the one's you see pop up on your Facebook with a gazillion kids to someone equally unpleasant from the year above.  You tended to get a higher standard of conversation with nerds and geeks, though I'd often bring them down to my level (nerd-confuddling, a fun pass-time).  Even aged 14 they were already discussing the merits of socialism and existential literature (yeah, even in the North).  So they were pretentious, but you will never find the perfect teenager!

As a teacher I am reminded of this on a daily basis and I see the same social divisions and forms of self-expression that existed almost 20 years ago (and no doubt 20 years before that too).  Nobody wants to be labelled, but it's no fun being on your own - it's so much more comfortable to be part of a group.  I didn't have a group at school after about the age of 13.  I was a little bit transient, wanting to be myself and at a time when there was no alternative movement (the term 'emo' had certainly not yet been coined, thank god).  Yes, a group would have been comforting - safety in numbers and all that, but I've never had a strong enough desire to fit in.  That would be too sensible *sigh*  However, I'll never forget walking through the town centre, aged 14, with my mother one day (I know, being seen in public with a parent at that age? Social suicide!).  We walked past this pub which was always pumping out the 'Heavy Metal' music I absolutely loved.  A group of long-haired leather jacket wearing people walked past and greeted me.  I must have given them a funny look as they responded with "Don't worry, we're on your side".  I didn't really think too much about what they meant as although I had already been bullied a fair bit over the years, the image was new so I hadn't yet had bother over it.  I retained the 'alternative image' throughout the remainder or my time at school and came to understand what those friendly metal-heads had meant.  One day I would make friends who would accept me for myself and wouldn't label me a 'grebo' and spit at me.  And indeed I did.  Many times over.

And so as a teacher I always want to say to the quiet student sitting on their own that everything will be so much better for them in a few years.  The nerds already know it.  They will excel and become highly paid professional people.  People will have to call them sir and boss and they will reap the rewards of not having conformed.  The geeks, well, they're not so self-assured as they share many of the same social inadequacies but don't have the self-belief.  I would love to say to them that this awkwardness is temporary and that the boys and girls will love them for their individuality in a few years (especially those who pick up a guitar - every girl loves a cool rockstar dude) but for now I simply ask them about their video games and whether or not they will be attending the Star Trek convention.  At which point they laugh at me and exclaim mock indignation at what a geek I am, bless.

Silent Sunday

Goodbye nights, hello sanity!

So tonight will be last night at work.  For the past 8 months I have been working in a call centre to help make ends meet after I decided I couldn't face going back to school following my PTSD breakdown.  People thought I was mad.  Why do a job that is 'beneath you' when you are a qualified teacher? They would ask.  Often this was my work colleagues, belittling the hard work that they do and putting themselves down in the process.  My reply was that no one is above anything and that I was happy to not be completely stressed out and taking work home with me every night.  But I have also really enjoyed working amongst people who have been friends as well as work colleagues.  It doesn't matter to me how educated or successful a person is, it's how they are as a person that counts and I have made many friends who I will be keeping in touch with.

The reality of these awful austere times is that mothers often have to make really hard choices.  If they had followed a professional career, do they carry on with it, knowing that they won't have the energy to give the 100% they so badly want to give their children?  Or do they give it all up and accept the financial consequences, maybe even having to take a lowly paid night job to make ends meet, as I had done?

It used to be that returning to work was a simple choice - either do or don't (assuming you were not a single parent of course). Now, lucky is the parent who is able to be a full time mum (or dad) while their partner is the sole breadwinner.  Our situation (big student loans, a big mortgage and a child who doesn't live with us) means that one wage alone is not enough.  Indeed with the rising cost of fuel and utilities one wage plus my part time wage is a struggle and we have been sinking a little further month on month. Something had to be done.

I am therefore returning to teaching.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the interaction with the students and the fact that no two days are ever the same when you work in a school.  But it's not what I want, not really.  I'm lucky that I've managed to find a compromise - I will be doing supply teaching as and when needed.  As the only Business and Marketing specialist on the books who is also prepared to do general cover, I hope to be as busy as I need to be whilst remaining part time.  After all, I still want to spend precious full days with my daughter before she goes to school and the opportunity is lost forever.  I also hope that it will allow me to save some funds that I need to get more qualifications behind me as I look to set up my much delayed new media marketing agency (I registered the company 9 months ago!), or failing that employment within the industry.  I have been spending these months building on my traditional marketing knowledge foundations and I have loved doing so, but it's not enough.  But I am not prepared to launch myself until I am properly ready and feel qualified (damn my perfectionist INFP tendencies).

Whatever happens, I am determined to enjoy the journey and not be forever looking into the future (another INFP trait!)  I don't see the last 8 months as a waste - indeed they have helped me rebuild self-esteem resulting from the breakdown and indeed the toxic working environment that existed even before I had a child.  But I most certainly will not miss working nights, stuck at work when I should be kissing my daughter goodnight.  Wishing she'd let me just slump on the settee in the morning while I recover from having got home at 1am.  I am so lucky that I have a choice to earn more and actually be able to afford childcare.  Many don't, and I feel it for them, yet still the government believes we have it far too easy, judging by the slew of policies attacking the finances of working families.  But that is a whole other post... For today I'm just going to be happy that Zombiezoid will be no more.  Amen to that!

I'm an Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving kind o' gal

On Monday I wrote a post about some reservations I have in attending Brit Mums, alluding to a lack of confidence I have when in a large group of people.  The fact of the matter is that I am and always have been a complete introvert.  I relish my own company and prefer one-on-one interaction, though small groups of girl-friends are of course always fun.  I love catching up with friends - and indeed meet up with several of them individually several times a week - perhaps more than an introvert ought, but I do find that constantly being forced to deal with the outside world drains me of energy.  Unlike extroverted types, who are energised by company, I very much find that I need to recharge afterwards.

I kind of see it as the introvert being battery-powered, eventually running out of juice unlike the extrovert who is permanently plugged into the mains.  Stretching the electrical device metaphor a little further I'm a little bit like my treasured smart-phone, I'm really quite productive and awesome (hell yeah) for a number of hours, but I quickly run flat and need to be switched off completely if I'm not going to totally die.  Yeah, enough with the battery powered objects now before I start comparing myself to something completely inappropriate.

So June is going to be tough.  June is the month when I'm not only going to Brit Mums, but also to a national marketing conference and the Bliss charity training day where I'll be doing a little workshop on use of social media in campaigning.  All of these events are in London, which is not somewhere the introvert feels particularly at home (Agh, the big smoke!)  Indeed I commented on an excellent Outspoken Media post on introverted personality types in corporate culture that I might need to sleep for the whole of July!

I've always felt a little freakish in my seeming lack of stamina , especially since I'm really not a shy person anymore.  In fact I'm so totally not shy these days that people express utter disbelief when they find out I ever was.  But introversion is not shyness, and indeed there are lots of personality types at the introversion (and the extroversion, for that matter) end of the spectrum.  Indeed introverts can still have traits within their personality which are more generally found in extroverts, such as gregariousness in company - something I'm told I do on occasion display :)

A couple of years ago I actually took one of those online tests based on the Myers Briggs Type Indicator.  I came out as an INFP, which stands for Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving and is seen as the 'Idealist' of the personality spectrum.

Here are a couple of things it told me about myself:

As an INFP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit into your personal value system. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in primarily via your intuition.

True.

INFPs are highly intuitive about people. They rely heavily on their intuitions to guide them, and use their discoveries to constantly search for value in life.  Every encounter and every piece of knowledge gained gets sifted through the INFP's value system, and is evaluated to see if it has any potential to help the INFP define or refine their own path in life.

Also true.

INFPs do not like conflict, and go to great lengths to avoid it. If they must face it, they will always approach it from the perspective of their feelings. In conflict situations, INFPs place little importance on who is right and who is wrong... and indeed don't really care whether or not they're right. They don't want to feel badly. This trait sometimes makes them appear irrational and illogical in conflict situations.

Um... yeah.  That too, unfortunately.

'Personality quizzes' are often to be taken at face value but the Myers-Briggs is highly regarded and a cut above many psychometric indicators.  It is heavily based on Jungian thought and I feel it is a tool that can be highly useful in understanding why we react the way we do in given situations.  I have also learned to be accepting of myself and not come to the conclusion that every conflict must be my fault because I can be sensitive.  Indeed I have developed a severe dislike for being dismissed in this manner.  Oh you're upset by that? Gee you are sensitive.  Oh bog off.

I have a strong value system and I am constantly having to decide whether something is really unforgivable if it doesn't measure up and sometimes you know, it is - it certainly has been on a few occasions this year.  But as long as I don't expect everything or everyone to match up to my high ideals, it's okay to draw the line on occasion.  Hell, I myself can't possibly hope to match up to them (hence the INFP trait of constantly setting oneself up to fail) so I really don't expect anyone else to.  The line is where I draw it and I think I'm starting to be more confident in making sure the line is a reasonable one.

If you want to take a Myers-Briggs type test then this website plenty of sources to choose from.  The Myers & Briggs Foundation gives all the background on how the intention was to provide insights of type theory, making it accessible and useful.

I'd love to hear from anyone who takes or has already taken a test and how accurately (or not) it describes you.

Help! My 2 year old won't eat her greens!

Giving Babyzoid her breakfast this morning has been a frustrating exercise, not helped by the fact that we had run out of Weetabix due to a breakdown in the shopping routine thanks to my allergic reaction to antibiotics.  I don't particularly like doing so but I relented and gave her toast with Nutella.  I have to confess that a few times a week (usually after a night shift) this is what I eat in the morning, and we usually share it.  This morning though Babyzoid got a whole slice to herself - but instead of enjoying this rare treat she simply munched all the spread off the top and left the mangled toast base behind.  She then proceeded to ask for sweets, pizza then cake (crying when I said no to cake).

Somewhere along the line things have gone wrong.

I used to lovingly prepare wonderfully nutritious meals that would see her easily reaching her 5 a day.   She would also have a very good balance of the other food groups - enough dairy to provide calcium in my milk-hating daughter, protein in both meat and fish (red meat only occasionally) and a good range of carbohydrates for fuel.


Never keen on fruit Babyzoid would at least eat nearly every type of vegetable going and would relish the strong flavours of beetroot, kale, aubergine, everything!  Now the only vegetable I can get my 2 year old to eat is broccoli - she won't even eat toddler favourites peas and sweetcorn.

One of the problems I'm ashamed to admit has been the allowing of a little junk food into my daughter's diet.  I've always been of the opinion that anything is fine in moderation, but I'm wondering if it was a mistake to allow the odd Happy Meal and pizza at such a young age - perhaps I should have waited until she could understand that these foods are okay for the odd treat but extremely unhealthy as a daily staple.    If I'm again honest I feel a bit of guilt that I have sometimes taken the convenience route through tiredness - spending 5 months working 5 nights a week (getting home at 1am) then 3 nights a week for the last 3 months.  I have on many occasions been exhausted and sometimes succumbed to the lazy.  Not regularly, but sometimes.  And perhaps once they've tasted the 'delicious' fatty foods, they want them all the more.

Maybe I'm beating myself up unnecessarily as with just about every meal there is each food group represented (even lunch - I cannot get my daughter to eat the humble sandwich!) - although things do go wrong on this front when Daddy is in charge *sigh*.  But unless the vegetables are 'hidden' she will leave them.  Sometimes she will eat the protein only and it's very frustrating.

So what to do?  Do I simply accept that Babyzoid's taste buds have changed and give in to her demands for sweet carb-heavy fayre (Um, NO!) or do I go against another principle and 'hide' the vegetables, just to get her to eat some (indeed I remember reading a Mummy Zen post where she had a similar dilemma).  I think I'm going to have to do the latter, but my principles will not be slain so easily - not when they're so important.  See, her father and I love food.  We're not vegetarians (though I was for a couple of years as a teenager) but we love vegetables.  I love vegetables more than I love meat and I will often forget the chicken or pork on my plate of roast dinner until near the end of the meal.  We both want to instill this love in Babyzoid so although elements of her dinner are going to have to contain masked goodness I am still going to persevere in offering her the vegetables and I am convinced that she will get back on track - even if it takes several months of frustration.  And perhaps a harder line in reducing the junk food which will be made so much easier by the fact that I have one night shift remaining before I start supply teaching.  With the levels of obesity rising at such a rate and Britain being named as the fattest nation in Europe, I can't allow such bad habits to take hold and I thoroughly approve of Jamie Oliver and Steven Gerrard's attempts to make the Government take children's nutrition more seriously.

What do you do to get your pre-schoolers to eat fruit and vegetables?  Have you resorted to tricks or bribery?  What advice would you give this frazzled mum and others in the same boat?

Brit Mums: There had better be gin...

I'm going to Brit Mums in June and I'm starting to get a little anxious.  I mean, a blogging mums conference?  Agh.  Who will I speak to?  I don't know why I'm going or what I hope to achieve because I really just blog for fun.  Truly.  I like to write and I like to engage with people.  I also like hiding behind a screen with a cute little avatar that looks more like that chick out of The Adjustment Bureau than it does me because I don't do real life meet ups with cyber-peeps.  Indeed last time I did meet someone off the Internet I ended up marrying them - eventually.

I'm really not sure about the thought of meeting all of these determined women who know exactly what they want and why they are there.  So I think "why do this to yourself?  Why not just stay at home?"  Although I'm going with a friend, I am still a little nervous because I don't know what to expect.  I've been to conferences where I've had to network and I'm fine with that.  Even at the Institute of Directors in London when attending an Economics Forum I had no business being at (because I was so NOT an Economist, just a lowly Business teacher) I still managed to look and sound reasonably confident when asked by a high ranking civil servant my opinions on the economic arguments for immigration (seriously).  Total blagging spewed forth and I might very well have spoken complete tosh, but if I did I was blissful in my ignorance as the fellow was very kind, bless him.

I'm not good in groups and I really haven't seen many familiar faces on the Brit Mums Pinterest board, so I'm picturing lots of cliques, none of which I will belong to.  It's senior school all over again!  And apparently everyone will have business cards.  For real.  I'm tempted to get some printed: "Beadzoid; Speaking bullshit and babies since 2010".  Come get me brands!

Although I'm about to dip a painted black toenail into the world of sponsored posting, I'm really not up for reviewing every new toy or baking product that comes out.  Other people already do that way better than I ever could (she says, diplomatically) so I'll be skipping past the blogger outreach folk and heading straight for the bar.

So I guess I'm just going because a) I said I would, and b) it's going to make me challenge myself in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable (If only I could get my kicks from say, learning patchwork quilting).  I'm sure it will be fun and I doubt I'm the only one shitting bricks at the thought of it.  Still, at least the first evening will be pressure-free, spent smiling and clapping at people accepting BiB awards (I did NOT know this part when I signed up!)  After all, attaching it to an event is one way to ensure an audience, I guess *wry smile from the cynic in the room*.

So is anybody else going who is also a little apprehensive?  Anyone who worries they'll be feeling like they're the only one at the high school prom without a date (mind immediately flicks to Carrie, buckets of pigs blood and a devastating trail of vengeful destruction in the Beadzoid wake)?  Hoping there will be a Stephen Fry figure at the helm encouraging speech-makers to be mercifully short so we can all get back to the bar before last orders.

All I can say is, there had better be gin - and lots of it.

Drug Allergies

Beadzoid has been offline for a couple of days, not through laziness or writers block but through a bit of drama related to antibiotic usage, resulting in a paramedic being called, then two days near-solid sleep.  It's not the first time I have reacted badly to antibiotics, though the last time was approximately 14 years ago when on two separate occasions antibiotics put me in hospital for a shot of adrenalin, one being Penicillin and one not.  I've now had what I assume are allergic reactions to the drugs with rash, visual disturbance, headache (severe in the first two instances) and the suggestion of a swelling throat.  Of course I can't say for definite that it's an allergy to the drugs themselves, I can't even say I'm definitely allergic to Penicillin anymore - if I ever was (allergy can resolve after 10 years or more)  - it could very well be a reaction against a minor ingredients, common to the drugs (or perhaps allergies to an array of different minor ingredients).

I'm tempted to speculate that I'm just one of those sensitive people as I've recently had reactions to Sudafed and a Paracetamol product containing caffeine.  As I nearly always get a rash when drinking coffee (but not when drinking Diet Coke) I previously assumed that strong doses of caffeine might be an issue, but now, I really don't know.  The reaction to Sudafed wasn't pleasant but it did resolve after a couple of hours.  The antibiotics reactions were more severe and being unable to see the faces of people talking to me (a bit like migraine, but worse) was definitely scary, not to mention the skull-crunching headache.

Doing a cursory Google (always dangerous) of how one might get to the bottom of any drug intolerances or allergies it seems that there is no definitive test.  There is a method involving intradermal skin testing, followed by drug provocation tests undertaken in hospital that are expensive to run, and are only about 50% reliable - can't see my GP going for that.

So what to do?  I will of course visit my GP and give him the documentation that the paramedic left me with.  But it seems that all I can really do is keep a drug diary and make sure that I have antihistamines at the ready in case of reaction, which will reduce the likelihood of that dignified jab in the bum being needed.  It does of course mean that I'm going to be very reluctant to take medicines from now on, though it's rare I have antibiotics anyway and GP's aren't prescribing them as readily as they used to now there is more understanding around when they should or shouldn't be used.

Has anybody else had any reactions to drugs, particularly the ones mentioned? If so did you ever resolve the issue?  Do you have any advice for those with drug allergies?

Roy Hodgson's speech 'impediment': Bullying, or a bit of a laugh?

When the FA appointed Roy Hodgson as the new England manager I don't think anyone predicted the nature of the outcry that would follow.  For it wasn't "Why not Harry?" that The Sun, News International's popular tabloid newspaper chose to go with, it was the speech impediment mocking "Bwing on the Euwos!" Outcry followed and once again News International finds itself at the centre of a storm, albeit not as serious as the troubles of the previous day following the Parliamentary culture committee's damning of its CEO, Rupert Murdoch, being declared "not a fit person" to run a major international company.

You have to ask, what was The Sun playing at?  While the very nature of newspaper journalism ethics is being questioned in the comprehensive Leveson enquiry following the phone hacking scandal, it now opens News Corp up to allegations of bullying to go alongside those of criminal activity, corruption of the Met police officers and unscrupulous political dealings.  The Press commission received over 100 complaints about the Hodgson article and the FA condemned it as unacceptable and disrespectful.

But what of the response?  Radio 5 live coverage called on speech experts and commentators who deemed the Sun story 'silly' up to damaging to those who might as a result find themselves subject to mocking or bullying - those with genuine speech impediments.  And I say genuine as the language expert on the Victoria Derbyshire program pointed out that Roy does not even pronounce his 'r's' as 'w's', as is the accusation.  Mr Hodgson in fact has 3 different methods of pronouncing the letter which he uses interchangeably, and this could very well arise from the fact that he has lived in and coached football teams in a variety of countries, including Switzerland (where he managed the national team) which has three official languages in French, Italian and German, as well as a fourth, Romansh.

Twitter, arguably the best instant barometer available to gauge current public opinion contained much criticism with some giving the newspaper a dose of it's own medicine in terms of ridicule:

Congrats to The Sun on their front cover - a sure-fire way of getting the whole country behind #RoyHodgson If only that was the intention...

Suggest he only answers Sun's questions in one of 6 other languages he speaks. Or just use long words. That'll sort them.

Totally disgusting abuse of #royhodgson from the #sun today. Like the school bully picking on the new kid in class.

And my personal favourite:

Roy Hodgson speaks five languages. That's over four and a half more than The Sun (quoting a Guardian.co.uk comment)

Of course there were those who found the headline and story amusing, obviously sharing The Sun's opinion that those complaining had suffered a major sense of humour failure.  Grammatical structure mangling has been left in tact for the following tweets:

That's actually proper harsh what 'The Sun' have done but so funny #RoyHodgson


people are complaining about the sun's headline today about #royhodgson i thought it was hilarious...


You can laugh at the standard of the comments of support (though perhaps they have this morning been given weight by Jonathan Ross's defence of the article) but what does it say about a society that deems mocking those who are in some way different funny?  Do people laugh at those in wheelchairs?  Or those who have no hair, either through receipt of chemotherapy treatment of the distressing condition, Alopecia?  Is it acceptable to point and laugh at children who speak with a lisp?  Of course not. Then why should such blatantly malicious and extremely public mocking be passed off as humour, and those who don't see the funny side deemed humourless?  The Sun newspaper did not get their man of choice which must be a new experience for them as they usually get their favoured Prime Minister following a general election, even if it means switching partisan allegiance as they did in 1997.  It has not handled this disappointment with good grace.

I feel bad for Roy Hodgson as the headline and resulting furore must have been personally embarrassing. He already knew that he was not the 'people's choice' as everyone has been saying and even the FA have all but acknowledged with their defensive unveiling of the new appointee.  But I hope that this story will be a tasteless flash in the pan - not only for Roy's sake but for the many children across the country who have speech disorders and could very well be bullied by children who see these headlines as justification for their actions.

I do however hate to use the term speech disorder as it implies an actual inability to speak, and that clearly is not the case here.  Pronouncing certain letters differently to the majority is not an impediment to speaking nor to being understood.  Those with a stutter are perhaps the closest to having an actual disorder in as there is a genuine block on the flow of speech.  But as the extremely eloquent gentleman on the Radio 5 Live phone in said, people often mistake a stammer for a lack of intelligence, which is usually an untruth.

As much as we pride ourselves on being a reasonably advanced society, if we allow the mocking of those just a little bit different to pass without condemnation, then like the teacher who ignores reports of bullying in the playground, we are ignoring our responsibilities to each other.  I don't think there can ever be an argument for censorship of the media unless individual or national security is at risk, but that doesn't mean those who conduct themselves in such an irresponsible and disgraceful manner should not be taken to task in the strongest possible terms.

Are you a bit of a prat?

If like me you love your social media including your Facebook, your Twitter and your own little corner of the blogosphere (prat points coming my way for use of that term) then you have probably used some form of analytics tool to tell you how you're doing - sorry, how influential you are being.  Klout (the Standard of Influence, no less) is more often than not the tool of choice (how many times can I use the wonderfully suggestive noun in one paragraph?) as people take pride in pinning the little badge to their blog side bar.  Not above a bit of self-congratulation myself, mine would be displayed proudly also if I could get the darned code to embed since I did my blog redesign.  Actually, scratch that - I just logged in and found my influence has diminished by two whole points whilst my back was turned.  Unbelievable.  I'm also wondering if Klout really thinks I'm slightly influential about Existentialism or whether that was one of the topics I added for a laugh when I was bored one day, no doubt listening to Killing An Arab whilst doing so.

Can you tell I take this stuff seriously?

Which is why I found Klouchebag, the latest influence measurement tool (yes!) so brilliant.  Instead of Standard for Influence, it prides itself on being the The Standard for Asshattery.  Perhaps an Urban Dictionary translation might be necessary for fellow Brits who might be unfamiliar with this most delightful of American colloquialisms.  

Asshat: One whose head is so far up their rear end it could pass for a hat; used to describe a person who is stubborn, cruel, or otherwise unpleasant to be around.

I do believe it is interchangeable with the equally excellent douchebag.

So how did @Beadzoid fare?  Not so bad actually.  

See?  Mostly Alright.  I can live with that - even if the algorithm does haul me up on my misuse of the English language.  Harumph!  Incidentally, with Klouchebag the lower your score, the better.

I shared this with a good friend of mine and, well... she didn't fare so well:

If you would like to see if you too are a bit of a prat or a mere flagrant abuser of the English language, then visit Klouchebag, or you can visit Klout for a more serious analysis on your social media efficacy.

Tweet to make baby care an NHS priority

Anyone who has read my blog for some time knows that I had a daughter born in extreme prematurity.  She was fragile and very poorly when she entered the world 13 weeks early.  She had excellent care in two neonatal units already stretched to the limit by funding and staff shortages.

But this is not about the past.  This is about the future - the lives of the thousands of babies who will follow their own NICU  journey.  They need to be protected and Bliss the UK's largest premature baby charity needs your help to stop the danger currently facing neonatal units across the country.

Cuts to front-line staff in any area of the NHS is a concern, but when the patients are helpless little babies who were born too soon or too sick there is a real danger that real damage could be done to the care that these fragile patients receive.

Neonatal infants cannot communicate when something is wrong and the wonderful staff who attend to them must rely on complex equipment and machinery to alert them that immediate attention is required.  If specialist nurses are overstretched and too few in number then something could be missed, and the results could be catastrophic.

We need to stop this happening.

This is a request to anyone who has had a premature or sick baby or knows a family who has.  You can take action and it will only take seconds if you have an active Twitter account.  If you don't then one can easily be set up at Twitter.com.

I then need you to send a tweet to urge the Health Secretary to make neonatal care an NHS priority. As part of the Bliss SOS (Save Our Specialist nurses) campaign we're asking you to tweet the Department of Health to stop cuts to baby care and ensure that vulnerable babies are given the best possible start in life.

The tweet:

@DHgovuk stop cuts to nurses caring for premature and sick babies - make baby care a priority in the mandate to the NHS @Blisscharity

Simply copy and paste the text above into Twitter and click send.

Done that?

Please spread the word - encourage your friends to send the tweet too.

Why not send your own tweet to the Department of Health with your own experience of why baby care should be an NHS priority?

Click here if you are interested in reading more about the SOS campaign, or go the the Bliss website.

Thank you.