Things I am thankful for

I am thankful for PS22 Chorus who sings with such freedom and enthusiasm, and that there are still inspiring music teachers hidden in the state school system.

I am thankful for my son's laughter which makes me happy beyond belief. I am grateful that motherhood is like a shoe made from real leather; something that you worm your way into slowly, until it fits, even though the process is sometimes painful.

I am thankful for the concoction of extraordinary elements that constitute Loch Leven: fresh air and vivid blue waters from the tap in the sky, framed by solemn braes with highland coos and other beasties frolicking about.

I am grateful for people who are kind without trying to be, for strangers who change your flat tyre without making you feel like an idiot, and for living in a village where niceness is not a cliche.

I am thankful for this breath, in this moment.

Second-class citizens

Anybody who's ever had to move from a third-world country to a first-world country will say the same thing: you get treated like a second-class citizen. I'm trying to write this with not too much bitterness, because in the end I'm grateful that we have the opportunity to be able to live here, and raise our son here. That's the official line.

But let's be honest: most migrants from a country like South Africa are either highly skilled and/or qualified, or very young, keen and able to work harder and longer than most - because we're so desperate to stay. And it is a slap in the face cold dose of reality when you arrive here and realise that you have to begin at the bottom again. It doesn't matter that you're already in possession of an excellent education and top-notch degree (paid for by the apartheid regime), that you have experience working for some of the best schools or companies in South Africa, that you are in all respects a first-class citizen, whatever that may mean over here: you have to start all over. I have had to contend with jobs in the UK that are far below my abilities, education and experience, and be thankful that I got it in the first place. I know a migrant with a Chemistry degree working in a care-home; another an ex-headteacher of a prestigious private school who will have to cpmplete one more year of study before she is 'allowed' to teach in junior high school. And we are South Africans - I can't imagine how bad it must be if you're from Tonga. (Lolohai Tapui, good for you on employing hiring Max Clifford to handle your media profile, nail the media for more, say £200 000, per interview.) To make matters worse, the government is now submitting proposals to make it even harder for immigrants to become legal citizens, extended from 6 years to 8 or 11 years, depending on your willingness to do community work. I can understand and agree with proposals to stop unskilled and illegal migrants, but why punish hard-working, desperately-trying-to-do-the-right-thing migrants in the process?

To add insult to injury, I am further shocked by the lack of knowledge about immigrant rights by well-educated Brits: no, we do not qualify for any benefits and no, we receive no childcare benefits and no, our baby has to get a South African passport because he is not automatically a citizen just by being born here. We do get free healthcare on the NHS, but we've been paying proper council tax and other tax since we first arrived.

Why don't you just go back to South Africa? Because there we don't have a justification for being treated like second-class citizens.

My in-laws and other animals

My husband's family recently reunited in the centre of our worlds which is more or less Scotland. Like many South Africans, they are dispersed all over the planet and for many people, admittedly, this might be a blessing, but not for us. We like them, and we had the whole zoo here for almost three weeks (with the exception of my father-in-law, who was here in spirit). Just to give you an idea, here follows a short introduction to the menagerie:

My mum-in-law is a badger, always scurrying about doing this or that. I was eternally grateful for the help in the house - as one tends to be with a small baby and guests - and she was just wondeful. Like a typical badger, she enjoys solitude and is fiercely protective of her family. Badgers feature frequently in English fiction, usually as a well-loved character. Well, my mum-in-law might not be in the books, but she is certainly all over them.

My husband says he is a panda. Panda?! was my shocked response. Of all the animals in the world, why a panda? Because they are mystical, endangered and extremely good looking, came his cool reply. After a bit of research on Wikipedia, he still seems un-panda like: he eats everything, is a committed partner and will hibernate if that was humanly possible. He is the picture of docility, unless irritated.

My brother-in-law, who lives in America, considers himself an eagle. He is excessively observant, but from a distance, and will swoop down on unsuspecting cuddly animals. (My cats are still fine.) He has a softer side, hidden under a well-preened exterior - preening being something of a male quirk in the family. Eagles have the unfortunate tendency to kill weaker siblings, maybe that is why my husband chose to be a panda.

My other brother-in-law is still living in South Africa, and he is a cat; either a glorious growling lion or a playful Balinese as the mood fits. Curious and fond of attention, he likes to explore and manoeuvre into the highest perch in a room or down the most impossible hole. He is also very picky about who he belongs to and not the other way around. And he digs lots of holes in the ground, but not for that!

My sister-in-law, who hails from America, is a cat, but she defnitely wants to be a pet. She shares many of the characteristics of an American shorthair: moderate temperament, not too active or too lazy, and she is a wonderful companion to live with. But don't be fooled by the calm exterior: she has a tough hide and some sharp claws.

And then there is my father-in-law, the monkey. Restless and sharp as a tack, he is entertaining and very proud of his tribe. I'm in fact grateful that he stayed in one place long enough to breed such an impressive bunch. He loves stories and food but thankfully has impeccable table and other manners.

I am avoiding myself, and my family, which is a tale for another rainy day. Which in Scotland might be later this afternoon.

Disclaimer (Thank you, Bennie, for the inspiration and outline)
The writer of this e-mail message accepts no responsibility for the actions of Gordon Brown, Jacob Zuma, the Lehman Brothers or Sisters, the Axis of Evil, or for any unexpected pregnancies. The writer is not responsible for those who are not responsible. This message may not be copied, forwarded, stolen, hijacked or duplicated by any other means without a bribe being paid to the sender. Failure to comply will lead to your personal details being handed to Microsoft, the Illuminati, Readers Digest, Susan Boyle, the National Association of Tele-marketers and Haas Das se Nuuskas. This message has been declared swine flu-free and fair. No rain forests were intentionally damaged or animals kicked in the compilation or transmission of this message.
And please don't ban me from the family.

Luscious Loch Leven

We live about ten minutes away from Loch Leven. It ranks high among my favourite places in Scotland, and the more time I spend cycling, driving or walking around it, the more I'm drawn in by its compelling beauty.

Loch Leven has something for every taste and interest. We love cycling and the recently opened Loch Leven Heritage Trail provides a perfect opportunity for a few hours of traffic-free pedalling. Or lazy walks, if that tickles your fancy. The path is of consistent excellent quality and it is flat for the entire way. On sunny days you bump into all kinds: I screeched to a halt the other day when I saw a rhodesian ridgeback. This one had no ridge, and his owner told me the breeders wanted to get rid of it, and he rescued the puppy.

Vane Farm belongs to the RSPB and it is a bird-lover's mecca. I'm a complete ignoramus where birds are concerned, after two years in Scotland barely able to distinguish a goose from a moose, but this place has me bristling with excitement. In the coffee shop with spectacular views over the loch, one can feed on organic grub food and excellent coffee, all the while learning more about birds of a certain feather. The shop stocks all kinds of bird paraphernelia, including live worms, and it's a good place to buy gifts.

What gets me most about Loch Leven, though, is its history. Every time my eye catches the ruins of the castle in which Mary Queen of Scots was held hostage, I'm reminded that she must have looked out over the same waters and stared at the same hill while blethering with her servants and working on a tapestry. Or maybe she made use of the sultry spring light to convince George Douglas to help her escape. I wonder whether she appreciated the beauty or was just worried as she wrote letters to her baby son from her lonely window post. This is the wonder of Loch Leven.

I'm BAAAAAACK!

Since my last post, a few things have happened.

1. I have had a baby, with a donation from my husband;
2. My spelling has deterioraetd;
3. Obama is now president of the United States, and Zuma (not Gwen Stefani's son) is president of South Africa.

My lack of posts is due to the overwhelming nature of points one and two. Sometimes things are so momentous that you suffer from an overload of material and thus, silence.

We are having the most wonderful Summer here in the kingdom.

As a South African I thought I'd be able to cope with heat but I seem to have lost that ability. Each morning I stand in confusion in front of my extensive winter and autumn wardrobe, and don't know what to wear. The small pile of summery clothes are being worn to extinction and being a pessimist realist about the weather, I don't want to spend on garments that might be worn seldom in future. Sort of trying not to jinx it. The weather is wonderful for the baby, who now has the freedom to stick his bare toes into his mouth without a sock to contend with. And of course everybody is complaining about the sunshine, which further illustrates that us humans are never happy. Or that contentment is independent of context. But that is a matter for another day, I have to go and weed...

Paris

We have been to Paris. I would like to roughly paraphrase Descartes:

'I have been to Paris, therefore I think, therefore I am.'

The magnificence of the city is overwhelming. Strange enough, this has been my second visit to Lutetia - the ancient name of Paris - and ten years ago it did not impress me as much. Maybe it's like good red wine which needs some maturity to be appreciated. Appreciated we did, and we've more or less decided to make it an annual trip for clothes shopping and much-needed artistic inspiration.


Paris excerts a gentler pressure than its cousin, London. In Londres I've always felt the frantic urge to create something formidable, to assert myself and do amazing things. In Paris I felt inspired to be creative in a way as gentle and urgent as the aquamarine waters of the Seine snaking its way through the suburbs...ok. ok....I'm getting carried away - I'll admit, the water is a murky shade of aquamarine. Coming from Pretoria where the grandest person-made structure is the Union Buildings, and with a tiny Museum of Modern Art, the grandeurs of Paris are wonderful to behold.


A few most refreshing things about Paris are the following:
1. An endless supply of outstanding quality croissants for breakfast, in a pretty standard hotel.
2. The almost total lack of Amreican shops and influences on the high streets.
3. The absence of yobbos
4. How incredibly chic everybody was.

...a very chic resident...

Friends, neighbours and countrymen, lend me your shears

We love our neighbours, Dave and Sandra. They are borderline eccentrics with a dollop of individuality and humanity added to the mix. Dave belongs to the famous McCrae-clan who owns this wee castle:



But just before you get excited and think we've hit the big time, the McCrae family is huge - 14-children-in-one-family huge. Dave has amazing memories of visiting the castle as a bairn (child) with his extended family and it seems like a magical bairnhood. Sandra comes from Germany and is an all-round great girl. She once invited us for tea on a Sunday afternoon and we dragged our stuffed selves home just after 9pm!

They are considerate. For example, their house attaches on the other side to a house that the newly arrived South African clan would like to buy. (We're thinking of establishing our own little kingdom in the kingdom that is Fife, bespoke tartan included.) In any case, they're graciously keeping prospective buyers away by frightening off those who come to look. One time a viewing couple was standing in the garden and Titus, Dave and Sandra's adorable German Shepard, chose that exact moment to poke his head through the hedge. The woman gave a shriek and they were never heard of again - she had a dog phobia.

Dave works for the council and we make fun of each other's working habits. Yesterday I was working in the garden and he sauntered out, Titus in tow.
'A-ha! I see yer not working! What are ye doing at home?!' He asked mischievously.
'I'm on holiday, duh! Why are you not working today?!' I asked.
'My lift's wife is pregnant, and she went into labour a bit early, so the work said I should sit tight, they'll let me know if they need me today,' he added cheerfully.
'You lucky b**%%%,' shouted Duan through the window, still in his pyjamas at 9:30 am.