Dogshit Park

After walking across the green sward of Ruskin Park yesterday, taking the opportunity of a warm sun to feel the earth below my feet instead of tarmac, I soon needed to be vigilant and nimble. A short step here, wider stride there, a little pirouette and leap here. the joy of spring hadn't quite entered my step simply the need to avoid the endless piles of dog turd smothering the park from west to east, top to bottom. I think Ruskin Park should be re-named Dogshit Park in honour of those dog-owners who choose not to pick up the contents excreted from their dogs' behinds but instead seem happy that this public park should come to resemble a sewage works. Thank you for the ballet lessons.

Films

Since we've been back in Britain we have been doing a lot of getting ourselves ready for the imminent arrival of our baby. This has mostly involved a combination of totally re-decorating our bedroom (from the terrible waste of life feeling brought on by visiting retail parks to the result of a much more pleasant room to be in), shopping for baby things (and sorting out the wonderfully kind loans and gifts friends and family have given us), sorting out a baby room (we plan to have him or her in our room for the first 6 months but need a place for all the things), going to ante-natal classes (must not drop the baby like I dropped the doll), having midwife visits, creating a birth plan. Oh, and reading something about these here babies.

It has also been a welcome break to go to the cinema and see a couple of films that have enabled us to stop thinking about the baby for a couple of hours each time.

First up was the much talked about and awarded Slumdog Millionaire, an intense spice-fueled rush through the streets of Mumbai. Slumdog successfully re-creates the experience of visiting India which assails all senses at once. The film uses a riot of colour and sound matched to a fast-paced narrative as the backdrop to a story that charges through one emotional encounter after another. It is an exceptional cinematographic outing, from the acting and directing to the photography and score. Humour and tragedy are bound together by a silver thread of love that runs from the start to finish. It certainly deserves the awards it has received to-date.

Second was Vicky Christina Barcelona. Another BAFTA award-winner that has been touted as Woody Allen's return to form. I think the last Allen movie I enjoyed was Hannah and her Sisters way back in the 1980s. Since then I have seen a couple I thought mediocre but have avoided most due to their poor reviews. This has been a shame because I rated Woody Allen as one of my favorite directors until the 90s. It was with relief and laughter that I watched VCB unfold. The setting is beautiful, of course being Barcelona, and the story is of top Allen comedy while avoiding being weighed down in subjects of neurosis that he has mined to successfully in the past. Yes, there are personal issues in the movie but they are explored freshly by a young cast that Allen has working to the best of their abilities rather than by an old man still coming to terms with existence. He was great at the existential angst in the 70s and 80s and now he was discovered that he can be great at more modern worries too.

Snowbusiness UK

Snow arrived in the UK on Monday. The most for 20 years. 

It brought complete and utter chaos.

As if we had never seen the cold, white powdery stuff before. 

Schools closed. People skidded to work, some didn't. All of London's buses were cancelled for the day due to the wrong amount of snow. This was the first time in  the 100-year history of the capital city's bus service that all buses were cancelled. I'm sure more snow has fallen before on buses that were probably much heavier and without the advantages of power steering or ABS braking systems. 

Russians laughed at us on national news, Swedes chortled at us in the newspapers (though worried they might not be able to leave 

this island.) The general theme from citizens of countries who have regular snow was along the lines of 'aren't you lot crap.' I'm sure old people are laughing or bemoaning too.

The great things were seeing lots of parents and children sledging together in parks. Plenty were having lots of fun, heightened I'm sure by the surprise of the day off and the sheer adventurous fun of a slope and some snow.

The kids were off because the schools were closed, some parents kept at home without this free, national child

care service. I heard mothers moaning about it while kids said 'c'mon mum, my feet are freezing.' One mate I once played football with who runs his own business decided to give everyone the day off so he could go out and play with his child who had never seen this much snow before.

Hardly anyone bothered to either shovel the snow or compacted ice from their path outside their house or clear a stretch of road with grit or a spade. I gritted and shovelled the bottom of Fulton Road, where its junction with another road had left s thick layer of ice, because we wanted to use the car to pick-up some paint. Two women passed at different times. One, maybe in her thirties and by her accent from the south, complemented me on thinking of others. A retired Sheffield-born lass shouted over 'Don't waste your time on others!'

Two faces of modern Britain caught in their attitudes to me spending 20 minutes clearing a short bit of road. It made me think. Perhaps if we spent less time complaining about the weather or the slippery conditions and a little time clearing a stretch of pavement or road, maybe just 30 minutes, we'd all have fairly clear routes and be able to get around a lot easier.