Winter and her colleagues

I have known Winter and Summer for a very long time, but we have never really been close; more like acquaintances that pass with the seasons.  As a child, I never actually noticed either of them; their overbearing dispositions were of no relevance to my day. But these days, their annual visits leave me wanting the other to arrive, for no other reason than to get rid of the current one. I don’t dislike Winter and Summer per se, I just prefer life when they are not around, as they make me uncomfortable, often cause me to lose sleep, and they hang around for so long that they sap my energy.

My first memory of Summer’s power was a steaming hot day in July of ’79, when I sat in an Indian doctor’s office in Delhi with my mother, while the sikh tried to convince her that he needed to burn a rather unpleasant wart disease off my hand. The last thing I remember was keeling over in the 50 degree heat as we ran from the crazy man’s office after he pulled out a blow torch.

Most days I admire Summer’s brilliance from afar, as I generally can’t bear to be around her for long when she is in her prime. She is very bright and dazzling, but also very schemey, and will not hesitate to burn you when you least expect it. Deep down she’s not a bad season; she just needs to be handled with great care and caution.

Winter at her most intense ain’t no cup of tea either. A lot of people know how to handle her adverse outbursts, but I have always found her to be most untrustworthy and downright frosty for the most part. Every time she rolls into town I find myself despondent and depressed for months on end.  I do everything I can to limit my exposure to her, and if that means travelling to the other side of the world for a while, then so be it. 

I think my key issue with Winter is that I always underestimate her influence, and then when I least expect it she kicks me when I’m down and without layers. Although, when properly equipped, I can neutralise her strategy with a warm fireplace and a cup of hot chocolate.  As with Summer, I often admire Winter’s beauty from afar, but we will never, ever be friends.

Winter and Summer don’t tend to spend much time together; probably because they have conflicting views on important matters like climate and weather, and hibernation and migration. While one of the few similarities between the two is a fondness for the sun, they still disagree over how much power it should wield. The overbearing nature of both Winter and Summer means they both need to be dominant, and will never be able to share the limelight.

In contrast, I adore their playful comrade, Spring. She is warm, dynamic, colourful and cheery; sometimes I think she is so loved by all because she always comes just after Winter departs, so it’s not hard to greet her wholeheartedly. But she blitzes into town, unannounced for the most part, and never stays long enough for me to fully appreciate her.

Violent school bullies

I am of a generation that didn’t know or see or understand violence until I was in my early teens. I didn’t watch much television, mum and dad got along, we didn’t have computer games, and we played and fought with our friends face to face rather than bully each other through a machine.  I played inside, then I got kicked out of the house to play in the backyard.  I was fortunate to have a carefree childhood, being a child; growing up at just the right pace.

When I was in high school, I remember watching an after school fight, for the simple reason that it was on my way to the bus stop. What I saw sickened me, and I was relieved when my PE teacher turned up and dragged the two protesting morons off to the principal’s office to, presumably, give them a kick up the backside. And I can ensure you that not one kid left standing in that dirt car park was anything but completely terrified of our furious teacher. And no-one considered suing the school or putting the episode on You Tube. How quickly things change.

The stories I hear through personal accounts and through the media of school bullying these days breaks my heart and makes me angry. It’s easy to place the blame solely with the parents for the behaviour of these borderline sociopaths, but helicopter parents are only part of the problem.

I big part of the issue with school kids these days is that education unions don’t let teachers use discipline in the classroom.  I’m not talking about corporal punishment; I’m talking about telling them to be quiet.  Teachers can get a rap over their knuckles in some schools for asking their students to be quiet and listen!  The geniuses in charge think teaching young people how to behave in a socially acceptable way is politically incorrect; they should just be allowed to be themselves.  Unfortunately, the consequences of this idiocy means the good kids have to suffer, the teachers have to suffer, and the rest of society has to suffer when these thugs leave school.  

I don’t know anyone from my generation who is worse off from having being disciplined when they were young.  Smacking is distinct from child abuse, and any parent who doesn't know that can take quite a bit of the credit for their kid's anti-social behaviour.  Every teenager in history has rebelled against their parents; the kids in the fifties did it through the quaint use of rock and roll.  For the most part, kids need to be moulded into decent human beings, and that requires some discipline from those who have been through it before and have come out the other end.

The progressive movement has ruined education and childhood. Their idea that non-punitive discipline leads to healthy, balanced children is plain wrong. Lack of any discipline is too permissive and leads to unruly children. The evidence can be found running around terrorising other kids and teachers in every public school playground in Australia.  

And helicopter parents, who don't let their kids learn from their own mistakes, are part of the problem; because these kids never have a chance to learn that their actions have consequences until they are arrested on a charge of assault and battery that may ruin their lives.   While many of these kids should to be placed in remand centres (a place to store young criminals before they graduate to adult prisons), a lack of any common sense in the criminal justice system means the judge will likely let the kid off, and then he's our problem.

Formula One memory lane

I'm on to Day 6 of my A - Z Writing Challenge - blogging the letters of the alphabet until the alphabet runs out. Math has never been my strong suit, but by my calculations, that will be around 26 days. 'F' is Formula One - that's the coolest sport in the world, not the hotel chain.

F1 first came to my attention in April 1994, when images of the death of three-time world champion, Ayrton Senna, were all over the news. Senna was killed after a 300 km/h smash into a wall on the straight at the San Marino F1 Grand Prix. I was shocked by the sickening impact, but I watching the next race because I was fascinated by these road rockets shooting around the track. It wasn't long until I was hooked on the thrilling, dangerous, exciting sport of F1, learning about the drivers, the teams and the complicated intricacies of downforce from the commentator Murray Walker. Walker was an entertaining commentator, full of fantastic 'murrayisms', and his love of F1 had me convinced in no time that the sport was as safe as houses.

I travelled to England in 1995 on a working holiday visa, and it was only a matter of time before I attended an F1 race. My favourite team was McLaren, with it's then red and white livery, and I saw one up close when I attended the Monaco Grand Prix that year. The colour, the fans, the screaming engines, the wonderful people on my tour and the beautiful mediterranean weather made this an experience I will never forget. It was the first of many races I would attend over the next few years.

I relocated to Oxford from London, keen to mix with the locals and live in the gorgeous English countryside. By chance, I met the Tour Manager for the TWR Volvo British Touring Car Team in a pub in town. He got me a job in TWR's PR area - a job I probably wouldn't have landed if I wasn't young, blonde and Aussie. I ended up travelling with the team for a year and a half around the countryside, and worked on occasions for their sister team, the TWR F1 team. I thought it was the best job in the world, but I had to leave as my visa was to expire - rather dramatically, but that's a story for another time.