Anyways I have thus far discovered that I live in *the* whitest area possible (99.2%), which I can’t say I really needed figures to tell me. Even five years down the line I’m startled by the lack of diversity about these parts. I’m in a majority as a woman, a considerable minority as a student and a minority as an atheist. Also there’s still about 7% of people lacking a bathroom around here…Oddly this doesn’t entirely surprise me, there are plenty of outdoor loo buildings around here, the coal man is still a regular fixture, and one of the rag and bone men has his cart pulled by horse…

But I did finally discover who my local candidates are:

Candidate 1 is the incumbent, Labour, female, irritating. She grins a lot, to the extent that I’m starting to wonder if someone has infact taped the sides of her mouth up. She’s pro ID cards, top up fees, and voted against an investigation into the Iraq war.

Candidate 2. New tory boy. Replacing his deceased partner who stood in the previous elections. Which strikes me as both very C18th and a slightly strange baton to pass on. From his very shiny leaflet I know that he stands outside of buildings quite a lot, looking somewhat creepy.

Candidate 3. Lib Dem. Failed to get a seat somewhere else in the county at the last election. He has a science degree, which makes me like him a bit more…But has a job title that makes him sound vaguely as though he does something dodgy with men with big moustaches, briefcases, and monobrows in rooms with ceiling fans and sinister lighting.

Candidate 4. Is a racist fuckwit, and unfortunately will probably poll third.At least.

Candidate 5. Is from the Official Monster Raving Loony Party. I have to say I am rather taken with policy point number 25 from their website “NHS Dentistry.
All newly trained Dentists will be require to have three teeth removed, 2 fillings and root canal work done without anesthetic. Then they will know the agony they inflict on the rest of us.”. And also point 42 “All teachers should come to school dressed as pink teddy bears then they will not be so intimidating.”…

Unless I am overtaken by a desire for dentist torture, and the prospect of poetic licensing I will most likely be going for the LibDem candidate. Which is in many ways quite a dispiriting thought, since the chances of the poor sod winning are pretty low. I am located, after all, in the heart of fascism. Around these parts Conservatives are practically hippies.

Of course Mr LibDem might help his chances a bit, by catching up with the other candidates and actually do some canvassing…Just an idea there.

So I got the job, though I won’t start for a couple of months (if I don’t get my ass into gear and fill in yet another CRB form I won’t start at all), and it’ll be sporadic hours.

I am utterley and completely in love with my new (second hand) camera, and am  fairly much on a mission to take photographs of anything and anyone. I’ve not used an slr in yonks, and the previous one (which is sat in my bag doing naff all) was film. So this is a whole world of new buttons. I have banned myself from using any of the automatic pre-programmed functions and am restricted to only manual, aperature priority and shutter priority. My reasoning behind this is I’m never going to learn properly if I rely on the machine to make the decisions…It does however, result in passers by being subjected to somewhat manic cackling when I’m looking at the last thing I took a picture of. Today especially with the sun suffering from chronic indecisiveness, one picture okay the next veeeery over-exposed. But these are my efforts so far.

Right off to revise physics…*

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*19 different bloody things listed on the exam frontsheet…*sigh*…including: lenses and sight correction, stochastic radiation, ultrasound, and the mechanical advantage of joints…wooo bet you’re jealous

• I have sore elbows, I woke up about three nights ago with them looking like a 7yr old’s knees. They hurt. However, I’m more annoyed that I don’t know why and how they got like this.

• My eyes are sore too, but that’s contact lenses. Nothing mysterious, just thought I’d share.
• I have a job interview in the morning. As well as any good luck thoughts you may kindly wish to have, I’d like some good direction thoughts as I’ve not had chance to practice going there.
• And I’m having to wear full on heels because my only non-sk8terish flats make me look about 6.
• Oh and as well as my elbows I’m covered in little bite marks. Not impressed. I may be a fan of the loving more than one concept, but my idea of more than one does not include arm biting little bugs.
• I won a camera on eBay. I’m very proud that I did proper saving and selling of previous cameras to buy it. I am aching for it to turn up though, really badly want to get my hands on it.
• Bizarrely quite miffed that I’m missing a stats lesson tomorrow. This is not normal behaviour I’m sure.
• Desperately trying to remember what that plumbing foam that you get in tube shapes is called…it’s not sponge. I know that because I can touch it without freaking out, and I can’t touch sponge…but I want to know its name so I don’t look a complete numpty when I go to B&Q.
• I want it because I’m changing a nappy bag into a camera bag…I absolutely loathe camera bags, they’re hideous to look at…really truly fucking ugly…and I’m sure having a camera brand name plastered all over something isn’t tremendously safe with regards muggers et al.
• I have an eye test on Friday. I’m grumpy. it needs doing though if I want more contact lenses. Which I do. I like being able to see where I’m going and not getting run over. But I dislike the battle for my prescription, the attempts to sell me after care and pretty much the whole process.
• Though I hate the dentist more.

One of the bits that interested me (enough to blather on to Max about it) was the new section on Non-Suicidal Self Injury, for cutting (etc) in teenagers. Which I am quite pleased to see, I know quite a wadge of the MH community in the UK seems to find the current DSM laughably/terrifyingly old fashioned in some respects, so I think acknowledging that not everyone who self harms does so as a precursor to suicide attempts is helpful*. Though obviously for many it is the initial practice stage toward, but assuming it is for everyone, is unfair on those for whom that is release enough.

I’ve been reading it too with two heads on. Head one is the head that’s applying for a part time job that relates to all this. Head two is the head that’s struggling to come up with ideas because my friend (whom we will call Jemima for anonymity) that I’ve mentioned to some, if not all of you, seems to have reached a slightly odd place in her usual cycle and I’m not sure what. If anything. To do.

Jemima is a self harmer. She’s not a release only cutting teenager though, she’s a long time practicing mid twenties teacher. Often she has spoken to me about her desire to kill herself, but her inability to go through with it. She sees this as a massive failure on her part. To me it’s one of the few things that makes me feel it is probably okay to not set up camp outside her house.
She doesn’t appear on any radar anywhere because she’s never been to the doctors about it (she has been self-harming and suicidal since she was early teens). I’ve encouraged her endlessly, but though I can reassure her about things from the perspective of the MHA83 I can’t entirely reassure her on one of her fears which prevents her going to her GP. Her parents finding out.
She lives not far from the main site of my college, as do her parents. Her GP is the same one she, and they have always used. It is the local practice. Everyone at the practice knows the patients, that kind of place. Her parents are friendly with said GP, and it isn’t wholly inconceivable from he, or even his receptionist, might say in passing “Jemima was in yesterday”. Which would leave her in an uncomfortable position. She is petrified of changing doctors for fear her parents may find out that too.
She is a talented and clever woman, but she wouldn’t agree. Despite the fact that she has a good degree from a very well respected university, a PGCE, is studying for a masters and is the head of a subject she isn’t good enough. Sadly not only from her own perspective. She has the unfortunate circumstance of being the younger sibling of a phenomenally successful woman. I’m not exaggerating to say that Jemima’s sister is paid a lot of money to do one of the most prestigious jobs in the country. She has very impressive credentials-Oxbridge. Oh and happens to be model like aesthetically too. All in all perhaps not the big sister you need when you’re feeling kind of shit about your own abilities. Especially when your mother is a comparer, one of those parents who insists on telling child a why child b is better than them. Or opts for the technique, that one of the mothers of my childhood friends chose, which involves repeatedly saying  to other adults “oh but Sarah is so much more academic than Pippa” whilst Pippa is stood there.
Jemima isn’t successful enough by not only her own standards, but her mother’s standards.

And then there’s her job. When I was a child I hero worshipped my school teachers. They could do no wrong. Even when they were moody or arbitrarily minded I had absolute faith that they were at the core unbelievably clever people who knew exactly what they were doing. I never had those thoughts that many children do, that their teachers live in the classroom. They were always absolutely human to me, just amazingly clever and kind humans. When the first of my friends to become a teacher qualified I found it bizarre for a good few years. But still they seemed good people. Apart maybe from that friend’s headmaster (at her old school) who frankly sounded like a bit of a tosser. Though I’ve never really been niave enough to think that management in schools would be much nicer than they were at the colleges my mum taught in, so that wasn’t a particular surprise. All that I know about Jemima’s work though has made me doubt the humanity of some teachers. Her colleagues clearly know something is not right, but ignore it. She has been out and out bullied my her line manager. She cuts herself in her classroom (when the students aren’t around) and no-one chooses to notice. They are either the most phenomenally unobservent set of teachers on the planet (and we’re talking about a group of people trained to spot note swapping at 100 yards), or a bunch of twats. I generally prefer not to think badly of people I don’t know but after all this time I find it really hard not to go there and lamp the lot of them.

None of the above is to blame for her cycle. But it doesn’t help. She’s been self harming for years as I’ve said. She has gaps, the last one being nearly a year, and I’m very proud of her. She had a very bad car accident a fortnight back on the A60 (busy and tediously long raod) and has had a setback. Which I think is understandable. The thing is though she’s got a new habit, something new to control. And its food. She’s been having weight issues for a while and when she said she was going on a diet for the new year I was pleased for her. Then last week I found out what her diet is composed of: one meal a day. This one meal is one can of tuna, or if she’s really pushing out the boat, two, and some vegetables. And a can of some hideous no sugar coke thing. Oh and some mints. Her deeply unobservent colleagues have failed to realise that she isn’t eating lunch, and have in innocence complimented her and told her to “keep it up”. That and her weightloss thus far have encouraged her, and my suggestions that perhaps it isn’t the most sensible approach is being ignored. Which I understand, but I’m frustrated. I want her to look after herself, but I’m running out of ideas. I find it quite easy to deal with all this on an abstract level, and on a practical work sort of level. But I don’t think I’m exactly equipped to deal with this as well as she needs. I am not the kind of person who would make a nurse let’s be honest, and I think that’s what she needs. I am at a loss honestly. I can’t fix it, and she’s too scared to.

*There’s also going to be the inclusion of binge eating (presumably called something else) as a separate diagnosis like ana/mia are, and the likelyhood that there will be a teenage temper control diagnosis to replace bipolar when they are young and hormonal (which has benefits and disadvantages obviously, but I think perhaps more of the former).

Question here for my random occasional visitors. What’s going on at Sutton Scarsdale Hall that has meant my site and my Flickr pictures of the hall have had lots of vistors lately?

I’ve googled (and even yahoooooood) and I can’t find anything that suggests something exciting is going on, so can someone enlighten me? I’ve had visitors from Nottingham, Derbyshire, Manchester, University of Huddersfield, University of Leeds, random Virgin customers that all come up in Southampton (but I think that’s just because of the weird way Virgin set up IP addresses, either that or most of Southampton and Portsmouth visit me every week anyway) and more. All looking for Sutton Scarsdale Hall. So, er, why?

Things I have discovered:
Walking in tyre tracks is really really not a good idea.

Running is very cold weather makes me breathe like a dying person.
Zoë’s assertion in the Updates comments was soooooo right…more another time.

*Not my description, but I do have to concede to the describer that it is indeed north of him.
* Yes, it is one of those places where drivers are known by their names.

Other issues. I have comprehensively concluded that I really don’t understand other human beings. Y’know that Katy Perry song (no, not the one that’s guaranteed to annoy Max), Hot n’ Cold. I’m guessing, on account of the fact that all my regular readers have what might be regarded as better musical taste than me, that you won’t all be totally familiar with the lyrics. But take a guess and I’ll bet you’re pretty near (if you really can’t imagine then the lyrics are here). I think some people are confused, which is fair enough, but some people should maybe deal with that in their time rather than confusing other human beings too. Who would maybe like to know what the devil is going on, and that if it involves them, perhaps their permission/opinion might be sought first. Oh and the bus thing happened again. Weirdo .

I am unilaterally crap at quadratic equations, and am having to redo something that’s GCSE level. And not for the thing I thought I’d got wrong. Which is both disheartening and reassuring all at once!

The beetle, should you wish to furnish yourself with one, comes courtesy of my old boss Steve. Actually he probably won’t have any beetles since he ended up with them by accident, but he has lots of little soldiery fellas and necrons if those chaps rock your world.

Ignore this bit of daft aggregator code- smx2aji7dr

Not in the way that most people mean when they say that-in the sense that they don’t travel far out of their town-more in that distances seem to have shrunk for me.

When I was a child we went to two places on holiday (to be fair we only had two actual holidays so that’s not entirely unreasonable)-Whitby and Derbyshire. The former, for those who don’t have a map handy, is in Yorkshire, and smells like fish. It’s also where the characters in Heartbeat, when it wasn’t *that* bad, used to take holidays. It is sort of like a posher version of Skegness and Scarborough, but not quite Eastbourne/Brighton gentrification.

In Derbyshire we went to a place called Rowsley. It is round the corner from Chatsworth house, and nowadays is mostly famed for having a hotel (The Peacock) that Keira Knightly and some bloke stayed in when they were filming some film that I’ve not seen, so can’t recall the title of. It’s not far from Matlock which is Derbyshire’s administrative town (and as far as residents in that part of Derbyshire are concerned is the county town), and Bakewell which is the puddingy bit. We also stayed for a bit in Tideswell which is closer to Buxton (according to Google Maps it’s in Buxton, I think the people of Tideswell might have something to say about that).

Both holidays seemed miles and miles away from home. Partly I imagine because it was a week/2 weeks trapped with my mother and grandmother, and no hope of escape. Mostly I suppose because of perspective. The distances I travelled ordinarily at that stage were considerably smaller. According to the map my first primary school (sat between 1,2,3 psychiatric hospitals so site of much parental paranoia*) was 0.6miles from our house, 10 mins walk. My second Primary School (which was named differently, and was a nice 50s building) was a mile and a half from my house (30min walk)as was my secondary school.

Now I live 15 miles ish from the two nearest county towns/cities (much as I like Derby and find it friendlier than Nottingham it is really only a city because of the Cathedral, it is just a big town otherwise). I live  ten miles from where I’ll be going to college. At least once a week I travel into Derby or Nottingham, and once a week travel ten miles with 2.5 on foot (because joined up transport isn’t nearly as joined up as it should be). I was, until 3 months ago, travelling once a week to Bakewell, which is nearly twenty miles away, and none of this struck me as being far at all. In fact I regularly describe Mam Tor as being around the corner (25miles) and Glossop as just up the hill (40 miles).When I go ‘proper’ shopping, which hasn’t been for some time given that the skint fairy has made herself comfy, I think of Trafford as being a nip up the road (53miles), and Meadowhall* as local (30 miles).The journey to Max didn’t strike me as particularly long (120miles), which I did try and express to the man at our local train station. Sadly my argument of “it’s only a two finger stretch across the map and just straight down” didn’t work.

The fact that some of these places are regarded as distant arrived in my inbox last week. My travels to Bakewell had been as part of an ongoing support project. However, the project I was part of ended and I and the person I was supporting were transferred to the next nearest project. Though ostensiably happy for us to transfer over they evidently weren’t, given the distance between me and the person I was supporting. With a few initial flurries of “well perhaps someone closer could support X”, well yes if you want to magically counjure up someone with the requisite skills and an instant level of trust. They concluded that we could meet half way, and then after we had had a soujourn in visits due to belated travel expenses they decided that it was too far, and they wouldn’t fund the support. Fortunately X is in a better place now and has developed some natural support systems, but I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t annoy me. Firstly because frankly it isn’t that bloody far, and secondly why should distance be a barrier to someone getting the right kind of support?

However, it has made me realise that my world has got bigger and smaller, all at once. My concept of a long way seems to have changed considerably. When friends in chidhood went on holiday to Cornwall it seemed a million miles away, these days it doesn’t strike me as far at all (still though it doesn’t strike me as somewhere I have any great desire to go-the language and history, yes-the many beaches, rahs and surfer dudes, no thanks).

I wonder if I’ll get to a stage where this seems around the corner?

*2, which was Mapperley Hospital (previously Workhouse as so many were), was changed into the Priory Nottingham. Which contrasts nicely with the one on The Wells Road which is where Nottingham’s Drug and Alcohol services come from. So one road has the posh drunks, the other has the regular type. The last I knew number 3 was primarily Children’s and outreach. All were fully functioning (and to a certain extent still are) when I was at school, and then there was this one (which is a gorgeous Hine building) which was closed while I was at school, and is now very expensive flats. Also closed during my childhood was this one (no I can’t work out which bit used to be it either and I used to know what it looked like). Fortunately the one my mum used to teach at is still open, which is just as well since otherwise your options are pretty much the locked floor of here, or this place here.

*Incidentally-Google Maps when I zoom in on Meadowhall that means I want to zoom there. I do not want a closer view of bloody Rotherham and a “we couldn’t find anything called” sidebar. I know it’s not there that’s why I selected “Zoom Here”.

Title is apparently how long it would take me to walk to Paris.