tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50609152621813558112024-03-19T04:18:25.838+00:00EM_PHATICWeekly peek into the head life of wife, mum of four and author Emily BarrosoEmily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comBlogger153125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-87858404237293985102021-11-21T17:27:00.000+00:002021-11-21T17:27:32.803+00:00Busy Busybody<p>I am stunned, nay, aghast that I haven't written a blog for almost 5 months. What have I been doing with this motor mouth, with all these words. Allow me to catch you up - you the other busy folk, and you, who read this blather - actually strike through on 'blather' I do try to write meaningful stuff as well as quip. Quipping is what has got me through some of the far too meaningful stuff in my life, and I'm afraid it's here to stay. But back to busy. We've all been busy haven't we? We lead busy lives. Busy is our excuse for everything: Why haven't we been in touch (busy); You have been busy haven't you? (if you have a few kids). Busy is a oneupmanship thing too, the 'I'm busier than you.' It's like the adult version of 'my dad's stronger than your dad.' We're all busier than can be because we have important things to do. We have statuses to feed, platforms to build, social media posts of us with other people that no one else is interested in to post; Facebook rants to have. Lately I've been so busy I barely have time to wee, I wait until I am in eagle pose (yes, I find time for yoga sometimes) before dashing off to empty the ignorant bladder that doesn't get how busy I am, and I will be chatting about that and looking forward to hearing more about your busy lives too, given I am a busybody. A busy busybody.</p><p>But how about not being busy? I am about to enter a very busy week in which I will be finishing off artworks for a group show on the 4 December; writing a book proposal as well as continuing work with two editing clients and decanting the middle floor of the house to the ground floor in preparation for building work. The upper floor of our house is also being built and we five are trying to live in the gaps. The thing about trying to live in the gaps is that they are not big or wide or high or deep enough. I've just come back from a run in the Conwy Valley - deep, wide, expansive, beautiful creation, during which I meditated on the general busyness and the gaps, the gaps that I am mindful of and determined to widen. I love being a home educating mother, wife, artist, writer. What I don't like is when I get too busy to enjoy just being. Not being 'a' whatever, just being. Just being the runner moving through the landscape; feeling the warm cup of tea in my hand and staring at the mountain outside my windows; just sitting in the countryside or reading a book; staring into the middle distance and dreaming. What does just being look like for you? Get busy thinking about it.<br /></p>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-43087699875208810992021-06-27T15:32:00.000+01:002021-06-27T15:32:07.968+01:00A Comparative Doddle<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>It's the middle of what's turned out to be an eventful year. We finished our holiday apartment despite losing our builders during lockdown, sadly we can't coax them to return and tradesmen are now being paid such silly money that we're building the rest of our house ourselves. More affordable, albeit slower. In my experience, builders can't be relied upon to turn up when they say they will, or even call back, so it's he and me. We did have some lovely builders for the first stage of the build, which was fantastic, but all the stonework and woodwork and decorating was done by us. Many months of grafting. Old school repointing of ancient stone is fingertip-grinding stuff but the results have been worth it and the reviews have been exceptional.</p><p>Our kids are crazy for karate these days, having begun a month ago and now on to yellow belts, which are very pretty, but I don’t think that’s the point. They train three times a week. Our daughter had her first surfing lesson this last birthday and she is now sold. If we're to pay for any further lessons one of us will need to be sold too. Her recent birthday was more eventful than usual. We started out with our heart-exploding doughnuts and other treats from the local bakery who are single-handedly ruining the health of the town, then daughter and one son went off the local park while I cracked on with fashioning my three into surfers to place on top of the 3-tiered (and almost teared, when I thought the only thing that was going to rise was me) cake complete with surfboards, ocean and waves. I try to outdo myself every birthday with my cake sculpting mayhem but as it turned out this time I was only going to get 20 minutes for that cake accompli. I'd just finished the 3 surfboards when son 2 came back from the park with blood pouring from a gash atop his head. He'd leapt up and been accosted by a chunk of wood. Husband had to scoot him to the small local hospital who 'don't do head injuries' so it was off to one of the 2 larger hospitals in the area - the one that has a triage for kids, thank God - not a given round these parts and before long (as in, a few hours not the 9-12 it usually takes) he was home all glued back together again unlike Humpty Dumpty. As per my daughter’s request, we'd been due to have a particular lunch, so I made it in haste and packed it up for a now pre-surf picnic that became necessarily post-picnic. Then it was a scenic drive in Snowdonia and on to dinner after which I hastily fashioned the surfers for the cake. Their arrangement sums up the day. One of the kids is surfacing from the water, one is half on the board and one is flat out. We rounded off the evening with our usual family party with a playlist that included many family favourites, amongst them, AC/DC, Sia, ZZ Top, Michael Jackson, House of Pain (seemed appropriate) Beastie Boys and various other modern acts my daughter chose, some very good but I can't remember who they are.</p><p>Life is generally not getting back to normal, as in we can hang with people, though there is no normal for us. Each week is different as it is for many homeschooling, freelancing and now freewheeling homeschooling families - Our cars were both scrapped just before lockdown and we've been hiking, biking and training (requires patience) it since then, but recently we bought a Mazda Bongo, and as such, we find we're automatically (in both senses) in something of a bonkers Bongo club. Other members wave maniacally at us as we drive down the A55. There are physical meet-ups too, which we won't be joining (we have so much in common! Our Bongos!), but I am sold on van life. Yesterday we went to visit friends on the Llyn peninsula and our new fridge (oh the fun to be had with van accessories!) kept the fizz and the lychee juice and all of us, all chilled, if you don’t count the country stop where I leapt out into mud or manure so that I could help our youngest could throw up in a bush. I've never been that into vehicles, but I'm sold on this one. There have been weekends in the sea in Anglesey, trips to Snowdonia where we can huddle over a table of freshly made coffee and admire the views rain or shine or rain again, and the usual biking to my studio to paint and work where the sea and mountain views are some of the best of God’s palette. I've been working on a couple of interesting books for clients and, having finished a book in March, am working on my first factual narrative - no research! I am the research. A comparative doddle. Happy mid year bears!</p><p><br /></p>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-31699521529968325622021-06-01T16:19:00.000+01:002021-06-01T16:19:37.307+01:00The Art of Seeing<p>Last week, in the full splendour of a rare Welsh sun, I sat with my three children in our little courtyard, taking them through a 40-minute drawing exercise that I did with them. As I drew a rosebud, stem and leaves, and later, part of the birdbath, I was captivated by how the more I looked to draw upon, the more details I saw.</p><p>This might sound obvious, but how often do we look at flowers or trees en masse and miss their individual and particular beauty as they blur into one? At first sight, here, above a vigorous stem were tight buttery petals pushing and birthing to come out of a divided cap - like an elve's, surrounded by green leaves, some small and a waxy lime colour, some deeper green with ridged edges - less sharp than they looked. </p><p>On closer viewing, I saw tiny veins in the petals and mini thorns emerging like baby serpent's fangs. There was the beauty of discoloured blemishes and parts of the flower not usually seen without close examination. Seeing it so deeply, I fell in love with the rose as I drew - with its beauty and budding claw, its blemish and pecularity.</p><p>Should people not be seen in this way too? With their particular characteristics, however strange or offensive on the surface. (Oh yes, they do spring to mind, don't they, and when they do, I try to picture them as newborns, before life has hardened them and stolen their beauty leaving only thorns.) We all came forth as beautiful buds, before the trials of life caused blemish and dropped petals. Often a wounded surface is abrasive. A tortured soul is one who projects and anger is symptomatic of pain and should be seen as a cry in the dark. The laughter of a clown belies fear and anxiety. As I drew, I meditated on these things, the art of seeing gives rise to the truth of what lies beneath.</p>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-41241243015047607172021-05-15T04:10:00.000+01:002021-05-15T04:30:34.055+01:00On the Shoulders of Giants<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>Soon after I wrote my last blog - 5 days later - I lost my dear father in law, John. In a way, we'd lost him a year before, as dementia took hold, to the extent that he forgot how to walk, and an operation left him in need of round the clock care. Dementia takes the mind and the body with it - it's a rapacious beast. We had just under a week of decline, a time that we were able to spend with him, holding his hands, cradling him talking to him, being there, present, with him. This past year of not being able to see him has been very hard, particularly for my husband, but small comfort has been taken in the fact that the stretches of time for him would not have had the significance for him as they did for us. His carers regaled me with stories, he was, and they said ‘a character.' Indeed he was, he was a man of great character, and of conviction. As a vicar in South Africa, he had to flee with his family in 1986, as he was on the wanted list of the South-African government. His crime? Praying with his black congregation against apartheid, As he later said, he wasn't trying to 'take a stand' he was just doing what he thought was right, what he felt convicted to do. But in South Africa, doing what was right could go very wrong for you indeed. But he would speak up if something needed to be said, and do something, if something needed doing - which didn't bode well for DIY projects - no one could actually screw up a screw like he could, but if something needed to be put right, he would do it. He also had a wicked sense of humour, and was an hilarious mimic - completely irreligious, and quite the mick taker. I used to call him the Irreverent (as opposed to Reverend for those unfamiliar with Anglican terms!) John Hillman. We had much in common, not least our political and social convictions - mine were also formed in South Africa, standing up to the police on behalf of black children - but our sense of the absurd was the same, and I will miss our robust theological debates.</p><p>Losing John has brought back memories of my own grandfather, also born in Liverpool, and similarly, a man of conviction. As a child he took me along to the children's homes where, as a lifelong member of TocH, he would show films. I remember his agonising over the political situation in the former Rhodesia, now #Zimbabwe. He had a strong social conscience and believed in majority rule, at a time when the minority were in power, and like John, and perhaps given their #workingclass upbringing, though Grandpa went to grammar school - the same one as John Lennon, another working class hero of mine - the same goonish sense of humour. I did not have my father in my life, but these 'fathers' of mine have left me an example of how to stand up and face situations, even when the majority are facing the other way. They both showed, in the examples of their own lives, that you didn't just ignore what was going on around you and live a comfortable life while others were suffering. You did something about it. Neither of these men had much cash to spare, but they were extraordinarily generous with what they had, and I think this generosity of spirit - this largesse - in every way, is what made their lives so meaningful, and so impacted the world around them. They left their mark, and I'm richer for them.</p><div><br /></div>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-15608944113317946942020-12-06T13:35:00.001+00:002020-12-06T13:35:21.410+00:00Not Looking Out for Number One <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtEdXUZXerXw_6bn8zL_jkgg_c8kDVfmZF2AMLF6Vp0XHkKqwNp7KlI0lnBk4Dm_9QtWJ6WrlQGs7vcS838foyIWD_MQnz4nKdanMQFUGouIDB1uEOEuKdxDi4kjSbGrB7Gbqz2nSyWM/s701/_v_t1.0-0_p526x296_129670240_3097892143644309_269552910444402638_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtEdXUZXerXw_6bn8zL_jkgg_c8kDVfmZF2AMLF6Vp0XHkKqwNp7KlI0lnBk4Dm_9QtWJ6WrlQGs7vcS838foyIWD_MQnz4nKdanMQFUGouIDB1uEOEuKdxDi4kjSbGrB7Gbqz2nSyWM/w180-h320/_v_t1.0-0_p526x296_129670240_3097892143644309_269552910444402638_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />This is a recent painting inspired by the 1c piece from Rhodesia, 1974 (now Zimbabwe) that I found in my studio recently. It’s a metre and a half tall and over half a metre wide and has the shades of bronze and copper that I am currently fixated with. I’m also preoccupied with value systems and what the numbers mean in our culture, and with what numbers, in this case, the number 1, can mean expressed in other ways; in and through individuals for instance. In our culture, people tend to look out for 'number one' or put themselves first - it's hard not to! - the pull of the culture is so strong. I like the expression of 1 as unity and oneness - the inscription states: We are one. 1 also expresses uniqueness, people are individual yet unique, but if we express love and empathy, we can still be one people, rather than peck at each other, which is out of order, as it were. My nana used to fondly call me number 2 as I was the second granddaughter. I didn't seem to mind. My sister was so desperate to be number 1 in all things that I was quite happy with my renegade 2ness. There is power in everyone and every number counts.</div><div><br /></div><div>People always ask me what I'm reading. Currently, I have my nose in Goodbye to All That, by Robert Graves, which is splendid, and I use that word deliberately. The book has helped me get the vernacular of the time, that I've needed to nail in my own soon to be released book, Big Men's Boots, The Truth, which is also set in the first world war. I'm also consuming the WW1 tomes in order to make my home in the trenches, if you catch my drift. I often find myself sobbing with indignation at the injustice of it all. It all seems so vivid still. I always read the bible - Paul's letters currently. And, gspel, I try to consume and exude the words of Jesus. I'm better at the consuming bit, but hoping some sort of transformation is taking place, in order to help the mankind that kindly exists alongside me. On that note, my home-educated kids are having a creative and thought-provoking and thought-airing lives. There is much creativity and debate that takes place in our house, as well as much silliness, and general comedy - all of us do comedic turns, and we are all daftly yet deftly entertained. I miss my number one (only as he was born first) son who is in London. Here he is as a fetching footman in Brigerton. It hardly bridges the gap but is better than not seeing him, albeit trussed up in a wig, pantaloons and tights. A far cry from his usual get up.</div><div>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpIE4RnAkKU</div><div><br /></div><div>Elsewhere in my life, I have begun teaching writing, which I haven't done - apart from a few workshops here and there - since I left the college I was teaching art (mainly drawing) and art and writing in a therapeutic context in, in 2009. I've had a delightful first group, and I'm thoroughly enjoying teaching. If you are interested in my courses or editing, publishing and marketing seminars please see subscription services at emilybarroso.co.uk </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-26435363969604033382020-11-07T15:09:00.000+00:002020-11-07T15:09:03.184+00:00Reasons to #Write the #Times<p>I'm told that more people are taking up writing than ever before. This is not surprising given we are living through #unprecedented times. I write to make sense of the world and my place in it; to aid my mental health and as a way to #focus and meditate; and to take myself away from what I am going through and to put myself somewhere else, somewhere 'other.' Writing, I am convinced, makes one more empathetic, it is a way of imagining oneself as other, whatever form that #otherness might take. </p><p>Writing steadies me and helps me keep charting my own course. Writing comes from the deep well of the imagination where our core selves reside, which is why it is sometimes hard to 'go there' but this is the place of authenticity and truth. Writing is a brave act, not a self-indulgent one, though I believe it leads to self-improvement.</p><p>As more of us take up writing, for reasons stemming from the personal to the professional, it can only have a positive effect and what is good for the individual, radiates good to the #community. Writing is also an act of gratitude. We write because we can because we are gloriously able to create. It's a life-affirming act in and of itself. We record our trials and tribulations, our sorrows, but also our #joys and our #triumphs. It's good to share.</p><p>Writing now will help you to take stock, manage your thoughts, and make sense of this strange world that we find ourselves inhabiting. You will also be keeping a record for the future: for the future you to look back on, and for your grandchildren or anyone else, who is going to be fortunate enough then, to look at the gems you scatter now.</p><p>Writing during these seasons of lockdown will help us feel less isolated, less alone, less of an enforced individual, and more of a group. Human beings are made for relationships. Writing gives us confidence and connection, and since we often write with an audience in mind, we will naturally seek one out. So seek out a reading, writing community to cheer you on.</p><p>Finally, writing is magical. You flick a switch and if you trust it, it's like turning on a tap. There is no muse required, just a childlike desire to explore and to build from there if you wish to. Just step out and see the rainbow, I encourage you to write during this time, even if this takes the form of #scribbling in a journal. You'll thank you for it. Now is the write time.</p><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="50tei" data-offset-key="3pjpi-0-0" style="background-color: white;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="3pjpi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><br /></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="50tei" data-offset-key="bo60g-0-0" style="color: #14171a; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 19px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="bo60g-0-0" style="direction: ltr; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bo60g-0-0">Starting to Write is a 4-week course for £37.50 </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="50tei" data-offset-key="bikp9-0-0" style="color: #14171a; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 19px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="bikp9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bikp9-0-0">14 November 2020 on Zoom at 11-12 pm </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="50tei" data-offset-key="4qcnc-0-0" style="color: #14171a; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 19px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4qcnc-0-0" style="direction: ltr; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4qcnc-0-0">Subscription Courses </span><span style="color: #1b95e0;">www.emilybarroso.co.uk</span></div></div></div>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-48048124334528857642020-10-25T00:18:00.674+01:002020-10-27T11:20:56.065+00:00#Hansford&Sons #emergingartistplatform - Money for Nothing?<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The online art market is exploding, and as it does so, individuals eager to part artists with their money are popping up quicker</span><span style="text-align: left;"> than you can say Eduardo Paolozzi – which most of them can’t. Like any artist who has only been painting with intent since 2018, apart from occasional painting bursts in the kitchen, I have been gratified by having been followed by art magazines and galleries via Instagram, and have had my work picked up for a Dutch website. I have also had a number of online organisations suggest I pay them to repost work on their websites, most of these are badly written, unprofessional and riddled with exclamation marks – a sure sign of what lies beneath, as it were; so when Lauren ‘S’, contacted me to say she loved my work and would I contact her, initially I was sceptical, but </span><span style="text-align: left;">given I have not yet got round to getting my own website made, the option of having my work up on a working website seemed an attractive option.</span></div><p></p><p><i>Hey Emily-Jane</i></p><p><i>I hope you’re ok!</i></p><p><i>I really loved your work on your page 😍 - so amazing!</i></p><p><i>I’d love to offer you a place on our Emerging Artist Platform 🎉</i></p><p><i>I work for Hansford and Sons Fine Art and I’d love you to be part of our team</i></p><p><i>If you’re interested let me know (I hope you are) and I can send more info! ☺️</i></p><p><i>Lauren</i></p><p>I looked at the Hansford & Sons Fine Art website, they did indeed appear to be art experts. I asked for more info…</p><p><i>Great! Here’s a little more info for you- It’s so exciting! ☺️What we do is create a page for you on our website (we have 20k unique visitors a month, not to mention our regular buyers) You can never have too much exposure, right? As well as this, we also offer artists the chance to exhibit at many of our exhibitions around the world and virtually. Also, coverage and promotions on all of our social media platforms! It’s really great at the moment ☺️ If you’re interested (which I hope you are) or would like anymore info then I can send you everything you need to know over email including how I can sign you up ☺️</i></p><p><i>Lauren</i></p><p>I Googled Hansford & Sons and found a ‘gallery’ in Great Portland St. Quelle Impressive! I know the Gt Portland St area well. Gt Portland St tube was my local station for 30 years, and I didn’t know about virtual offices until I began to find out more about Hansford & Sons. I asked for a phone meeting with Lauren, and though I was unsure about how much experience of the art world she had, she was enthusiastic, and so, emojis with heart eyes and the exclamation marks aside, I signed up, and opted for the £49.99 option rather than the £29.99 one, though I realised afterwards that given the uncertainty around the exhibition opportunities for both, the only difference was that I had the opportunity for unlimited uploads, and the commission if I sold anything, would be less - 15% rather than 20%. Incidentally, the artists I’ve spoken to were only charged £29.99, not £49.99. I have since been sent a screenshot from another artist who recently paid £29.99 for the same commission (15%), so as it turned out I'd had been better off, by £20.00. And I'd be feeling a little less ripped off.</p><p>From </p><p>Lauren’s email to me:</p><p><i>There are 2 annual payment options for our services: </i></p><p><i>Basic: £29.99 - This will include exhibition opportunities, 5 new uploads per month and 20% commission on artwork sales.</i></p><p><i>Premium: £49.99 - This will include solo, group and virtual exhibition opportunities, Unlimited uploads, 15% commission on artwork sales.</i></p><p>Before we paid, my husband suggested I contact two friends who buy fine art to look at the company, in particular, my friend who had worked for a fine art shipping company, but unfortunately, I did not get round to that. I should have asked for terms and conditions since none were apparent on the website and Lauren did not provide me with any. I have since asked them on more than one occasion for them, and have yet to receive any. My first warning bell came when I paid my money to an ‘accounts team’ and received no confirmation of payment. I then heard nothing until I contacted Lauren to find out what was happening, whereupon I received a message saying that she had received notification from ‘the accounts team’ that my payment had been made. My page went up just under two weeks later, which is a lot quicker than some of the artists I've spoken to have experienced. Several of them have waited months from payment to page being up. They only seem to action anything if you trigger them - more on triggers, of which there are plenty, later.</p><p>At first sight, I was pleased with the way my page looked on the EAP platform, though they had not included some of the information I’d sent: key information that singles you out from the many artists (100s? 1000s?) they are quite possibly signing up, such as my exhibitions and social media details, so that people could look into me off-site. Also one of my paintings was upside down and despite my requests, they did not correct it – or update my details. Further, they had left work I’d sent off with no explanation as to why. I did not hear back from Lauren S or Deeksha H as to why this was when I messaged them. Not responding was, I felt, unprofessional. Deeksha H who put up my work on the EAP website, and made some initial changes, informed me that I could not post unlimited work as they had said when they took my cash, but could submit 5 pieces a week. Despite this being different to what I was told, as outlined above, I was unlikely to submit more work than that, so I was prepared to let it go. As it turned out, I did not actually get to submit any more work, and the first, limited set of work that I initially sent to Lauren to send on to Deeksha H, remained partially there, as did the upside-down painting. I tried, over several weeks, after painstakingly photographing and adding the necessary text for the images, to get the work that was left off up, and the first set of work corrected. I was also told to get further work to 'uploads' before the Wednesday of each week, but I was unable, over a two week period to get an email response from uploads, and seemingly, neither was Lauren when she sent work on for me. The fact that I was unable over two consecutive Wednesdays to get any response from 'uploads' much less any further uploads up at all, didn't bode well for any future transactions.</p><p>Had I received a generic message stating they were experiencing delays or some such communication, I would have perhaps been fine, instead I was told by Lauren that they were experiencing 'internet troubles' in ‘their area’- in London? I’d also looked at some of the work being put up at the actual gallery in Stoney Stratford, Milton-Keynes and at some of the virtual exhibitions that they were putting up. I formed the opinion that some of the work was not really ready to be exhibited. I’d already had enough of EAP’s unprofessionalism and, after talking to another artist, who'd had a worse experience than me, I asked for a refund. Unsurprisingly, nothing much happened. Lauren stated she was ‘on vacation,’ though she seemed to be busy ‘putting up exhibitions’ and so on. I was told that my refund request would be sent to the director, Jazz Jade and to contact her myself as well. Then the work I had sent went up (though my painting remained upside down and the key information about me remained off) despite my request to cancel my association with them. If this was how they handled my work, how would they handle any potential sales were my work ever be found on their website, amongst the many hundreds of works, unless I directed traffic there? I searched for 10 minutes the one day and found nothing.</p><p>During my brief association with them, I was unhappy with the whole Hansford & Sons operation. I would question their art expertise; they do not have an actual gallery in London but Stony the crows, there is a physical gallery Stony Stratford, Milton Keynes that features rolling exhibitions as well as solo virtual exhibitions. These seem to be run on a pot-luck basis. An artist who has shown there told me her work looked fine, though the prices were put up incorrectly. There is a virtual office with a messaging service and phone numbers that were never answered when I rang them. Another artist who exhibited at the Stony Stratford gallery had, as we say in Zimbabwe, one hell of a job trying to get his artwork back. After having difficulty making contact with them, he eventually managed to arrange a courier to go to the gallery to collect his work. In the message stream, I have seen between him and EAP he is advised that if “he needs help finding a cheap courier to let them know.” He duly arranged his own courier, but then spent a protracted period of time trying to engage them in sending his work. He did not hear from them until eventually, Jazz Jade told him that she wasn’t ignoring him, she’d had her bag stolen and that she had “only that day managed to get a new iPhone with a sim card in order to contact him.” I would have thought that any arts business would have a database of clients and not be reliant on one mobile phone's sim card? When his work arrived it was battered and torn, having only been wrapped thinly in bubble wrap with no cardboard. He took several photographs of the damage to his work and also the inadequate packing materials the gallery had used and I include them below.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKPg2r1Si88ruekppLK5QZo1NmN3n9rQ3yxH4RYfppjWtpD7fkvfcOvjsIgnkMqTOg6dRuQH1kqsWJZzJAvX0MEW8uAHngDijGiGDOphZ9DYGKM3YDIKy-L9Rechai-v4luPGq3_jgVc/s816/Lending.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="816" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKPg2r1Si88ruekppLK5QZo1NmN3n9rQ3yxH4RYfppjWtpD7fkvfcOvjsIgnkMqTOg6dRuQH1kqsWJZzJAvX0MEW8uAHngDijGiGDOphZ9DYGKM3YDIKy-L9Rechai-v4luPGq3_jgVc/s320/Lending.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />When he complained, asking why his work had been sent as it was, he was told that he ‘had not paid for cardboard,' and that it was the courier’s fault and to contact them. They also showed him a contract that he says he had never seen nor signed, that they say they gave him at his exhibition. He is currently pursuing a claim through Trading Standards. Unsurprisingly, the artist is very upset and said that galleries usually have plenty of wrapping materials and that it was basic common sense not to send anything valuable with such poor protection. In my last communication with him, he told me that he remains disappointed, and cannot believe they are trying to get away with what they have done.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MFhKLGXTJDgLNccBDN9ysNFa9Zhv6Uoov0DgGel3EDs6o5kikS9iEvfCrVg9D8gViJDdWJFnKiHcWQzmBaFfDGveWX42s4wbb6DfhJWfC-60W-mLq2l3fbo_bah3Z2dbTzXwIhCMSA8/s1600/damaged+art+3.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MFhKLGXTJDgLNccBDN9ysNFa9Zhv6Uoov0DgGel3EDs6o5kikS9iEvfCrVg9D8gViJDdWJFnKiHcWQzmBaFfDGveWX42s4wbb6DfhJWfC-60W-mLq2l3fbo_bah3Z2dbTzXwIhCMSA8/s320/damaged+art+3.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlesSaNAdgk8hyphenhyphenwU8GiQOkYWES5fYsztS3_xSfqnuboQmWQgOTbXIfAR8kD3IJkPEcqBzdj9xBPfHQAJLF5zRYpwadWW-yVpbXdz2hvz6Fhyz9qiddxpo1QKyWMdoW_MFv4I0zo9AZpTU/s1600/damaged+art+2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlesSaNAdgk8hyphenhyphenwU8GiQOkYWES5fYsztS3_xSfqnuboQmWQgOTbXIfAR8kD3IJkPEcqBzdj9xBPfHQAJLF5zRYpwadWW-yVpbXdz2hvz6Fhyz9qiddxpo1QKyWMdoW_MFv4I0zo9AZpTU/s320/damaged+art+2.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBp5Zjw8VNDjEld0hLtSPU-oGT6fbBW1X2aZZclKTB2SJ4xWPntD3DFszNsdqg0F71WX402fYxyPoWUKweFzz23oLpo65CiEDlsRxpaJuO16BIe8G0Ey6AzFL7Q9fUiaNDqac4GZKcV8/s1600/damaged+art+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBp5Zjw8VNDjEld0hLtSPU-oGT6fbBW1X2aZZclKTB2SJ4xWPntD3DFszNsdqg0F71WX402fYxyPoWUKweFzz23oLpo65CiEDlsRxpaJuO16BIe8G0Ey6AzFL7Q9fUiaNDqac4GZKcV8/s320/damaged+art+1.JPG" /></a></div>Hansford & Sons claim to be able to restore artwork, but they haven't offered to help him in any way shape or form. His paintings are now in very bad shape as you can see. He is still trying to get the company to respond to his messages and his requests for compensation. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ24XlfYSc_MCeMt8_5BOveCYFmde9v9qJ6KmyzCc4Vbc270HhTIwRbYS_Ad11EOu71nWHgxVJ9CW3qfBUt08KsAnchCAX_SNh7G6P22m_vKBZNpnIgltY60WhgPNv4bWB02PgEnu2VgA/s795/Restoration.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="795" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ24XlfYSc_MCeMt8_5BOveCYFmde9v9qJ6KmyzCc4Vbc270HhTIwRbYS_Ad11EOu71nWHgxVJ9CW3qfBUt08KsAnchCAX_SNh7G6P22m_vKBZNpnIgltY60WhgPNv4bWB02PgEnu2VgA/s320/Restoration.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile, after weeks of failing to contact Jazz Jade, regarding my refund request, I warned her that I was going to take action if they would not communicate with me regarding my refund. At the deadline I had given before I began action against them, I reported them and began contacting other artists to tell them of my disappointment. I also added the links to the howsmydealing website https://howsmydealing.com/2020/07/20/the-emerging-artist-platform/ (a website that catalogues the experiences that some artists have had with galleries and art businesses, including EAP) and to the professional bodies that deal with any possible illegal activities. Jazz Jade then became much more communicative than she had been previously. She sent me 3 lengthy provocative audio messages making comments about my children, my age, my work, and how she speculated I spent my time and what she was going to do. She said I would be hearing from her lawyers, for, what she claimed was, ‘defamation of character,’ if I did not stop telling other people about my experiences with EAP. I told Jazz Jade that I would not be silenced and repeated my request for a refund. The audio messages were deleted before I could play them to my husband that evening, but I have quite a few written messages in a similar vein in my possession. Take this one for example regarding the money I’d paid them to be on their site for the ten days I was up before I requested a refund. </span></div><p></p></blockquote><p>Wed, 7 Oct, 15:56 <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </p><p><i> to me</i></p><p><i>“Darling your £50 wouldn’t even pay for my dog food... let alone my petrol. I have made great things happen for many artists and I’m so Jolly because despite your claims I will continue to do so! </i></p><p><i>Make sure you fill out that form, that’s what you need to do try and get that £50 quid.” </i></p><p><i>Good Luck! </i></p><p>Here is the refund page to which she refers, which I filled out in detail, I included details of all the audio and written abuse I had received.www.emergingartistplatform.com/account-actions </p><p><i>After giving my reasons for requesting a refund, I was told this by Jazz Jade: </i></p><p><i>“Thank you for your comments but I do not need to take advise </i>(her Misspelling)<i> for a clearly begrudging individual. Your evidently desirous of the opportunities other artists on the platform have and this envy is causing you to be deliberately uncooperative.”</i></p><p>Of course, were I desirous of these ‘opportunities,’ I would have stuck around for longer than 10 days (not taking into account time between paying and actually being up on the platform). </p><p><b>Jazz Jade</b></p><p>Apart from her interesting approach to business, Jazz Jade seems to have several personas. She advertises herself by turns as ‘the CEO’ ‘CHAIRWOMAN’, ‘ART APPRAISALS’ & ‘HEAD OF EMERGING ARTIST PLATFORM.’ She is also known as The Director of Hansford & Sons. Those capital letters are from the Hansford&Sons site, but the addresses given for Hansford & Sons in the capital of the UK appear to be postal or 'virtual offices, and, as I mentioned, any London gallery does not seem to exist. The Great Portland Street address looks to be a postal address. Her style of communicating to artists that EAP scout and whose work they appear to enthuse over and advertise that they want to help is unusual: “Did you think I was going to make you Pickarso,” she said to me on one of the audio messages. On her Instagram page (Missartcurator) Jazz Jade posts photograph after photograph of fine art, with comments such as:</p><p><i>missartcurator</i></p><p><i>“Stunning artwork unique piece from” #rogerhilton </i></p><p><i>“This #sculpture is beautiful unique piece by” #albertogiacometti</i></p><p><i>“Astonishing piece of artwork from the great artist of all time #pablopicasso </i></p><p><i>“Fantastic work from” #sandrabotticelli </i></p><p>Botticelli might turn in his 510-year-old grave. May I suggest the nom de plume, Missrepresentor?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNiB7O_XPBe0WfdTlP8gdcpQMpI91jdwH87vMdbcziHTmJpIIczES4kde-BRqc99LjGBXS3UBl-2rjlPHOXb2nEtmhtXZmk9AubnewlFE8TIKZEvOgBbTTrltNSSeJ3or3tzWCI4Rfz4/s786/Artists.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNiB7O_XPBe0WfdTlP8gdcpQMpI91jdwH87vMdbcziHTmJpIIczES4kde-BRqc99LjGBXS3UBl-2rjlPHOXb2nEtmhtXZmk9AubnewlFE8TIKZEvOgBbTTrltNSSeJ3or3tzWCI4Rfz4/s320/Artists.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Hansford & Sons Website</b></p><p>I took a closer look at Hansford & Sons, the people they say work for them and their social media sites. The text on the H&S site is inconsistent, and some of it is identical to that on other art sites. The badly and error-ridden text littered with exclamation marks appears to be theirs. The rest gives a misleading impression, for example, if you click on ‘artists’ you will see people like Peter Blake, Barbara Hepworth and John Hoyland advertised to look as though they represent these artists, or at least, that they are in fact, bona fide, experts. But anyone would be bonkers to imagine the young women that work for Jazz Jade represent these world-class, famous artists. Their 'headquarters in Bloomsbury Way,' is shared with 820 other companies, given they are virtual offices that anyone can inexpensively hire. Here is what they claim about themselves:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGQeuH6nnQNbTkEmK9MWeqhQBwkNrL1tHABbYIpQoOGAweBjbW_g4KDTkP3qkRVfgH9JOZnuawDMB5CbXpRyzAhrND6L6avwsrw5Zac8UR19yZ8VkxdNtf2HgtPf5d2nEVfcF29dC08s/s626/H%2526S+About.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGQeuH6nnQNbTkEmK9MWeqhQBwkNrL1tHABbYIpQoOGAweBjbW_g4KDTkP3qkRVfgH9JOZnuawDMB5CbXpRyzAhrND6L6avwsrw5Zac8UR19yZ8VkxdNtf2HgtPf5d2nEVfcF29dC08s/s320/H%2526S+About.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>They do have an extensive history of identifying emerging art pieces that appears to be getting more and more extensive and widespread as the volume of artists who have their details on their Instagram pages reveals. It is the manner of the identification procedure that I would question. They claim to have an ethos too, that in my opinion and experience, exceeds any realm of possibility.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSXTUMY2sLV_EIQ_seS6ZZwWJ-a9JBJ5Nn5DTCMRbpeosWe-NDU9jyRPxYTIzSHWSbAbED5H8BsheU_ktaF-UkKq3dkp9njU4QcxsmPMNb6ZkbubyET0E1SeV12dQyoVqqHXE702ayVk/s624/Ethos.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSXTUMY2sLV_EIQ_seS6ZZwWJ-a9JBJ5Nn5DTCMRbpeosWe-NDU9jyRPxYTIzSHWSbAbED5H8BsheU_ktaF-UkKq3dkp9njU4QcxsmPMNb6ZkbubyET0E1SeV12dQyoVqqHXE702ayVk/s320/Ethos.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />They do indeed keep abreast of things, in terms of having identical wording to other Fine Art websites, that they attribute to themselves. Take this for instance, a page with identical wording to one on Momart’s website: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduIjjnydOdGU9WMl6ei34-tXIIX4KZxIpig4FITCNNN_JCh50PUu8ygfgIrBmEKUf-urShyphenhyphenXHc4suwUfUSetV4YPxHieei3mQuOK5SGwyy0mSPF8v18Dt4y9aLCssVpwtQn6XuH0Tu44/s861/Momart.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="861" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduIjjnydOdGU9WMl6ei34-tXIIX4KZxIpig4FITCNNN_JCh50PUu8ygfgIrBmEKUf-urShyphenhyphenXHc4suwUfUSetV4YPxHieei3mQuOK5SGwyy0mSPF8v18Dt4y9aLCssVpwtQn6XuH0Tu44/s320/Momart.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>And from Momart's website page: https://www.momart.com/services/art-storage I contacted Momart, who thanked me and said that they will be taking action.</p><p>Though they cannot manage any form of communication, they claim to be able to manage and catalogue art collections.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwj4ZMedzuIEdnJ_LVyHlU87lV_5GJPdcY_Ky515zpXS9Ld8V2vlkbZGPA9-TdjmQYicWn2urAKrAxMIprz_gJ9w6cRKn9PYKluTerfM4zps4a9JM2WubY-pl0jLY2RAprhMZdH0htn40/s840/Management+of+your+art.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="840" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwj4ZMedzuIEdnJ_LVyHlU87lV_5GJPdcY_Ky515zpXS9Ld8V2vlkbZGPA9-TdjmQYicWn2urAKrAxMIprz_gJ9w6cRKn9PYKluTerfM4zps4a9JM2WubY-pl0jLY2RAprhMZdH0htn40/s320/Management+of+your+art.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>T<span style="text-align: left;">he video of the team (as in accounts, finance etc.,) could, I suspect, have been taken from stock photos. A number of people search the internet for new subscribers, apparently from their bedrooms. I researched all the staff there, and the only one that can be actualised is Jazz Jade. Matt exists, though he does not appear to work for the company anymore. Lauren, Misha, Ginny and Sarah et al, do not appear as members of ‘the team,’ though they apparently are, and have appeared at Hansford & Sons’ gallery in Middleton Stoney. Photographs on the Hansford & Sons website also look to having been taken from a stock photo library or other websites. </span><span>I found the 'framing' section, to be particularly interesting. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span>As for the<b> #emergingartistwebsite</b>, this is what they say about themselves: </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSgh0BAV5E1BpefbWzo29kOGiBWxvU4In_lEkTEGE3G3Sk8A3IQAhRoRyYp7D7TdcDftEW_osu7X2nEnh9O6gsRv08usJBPhe5cKLoYaW7UEDeT71vq_k0I-CcnaigiNaTA_c-N8oH6Y/s878/EAP+About.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="878" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSgh0BAV5E1BpefbWzo29kOGiBWxvU4In_lEkTEGE3G3Sk8A3IQAhRoRyYp7D7TdcDftEW_osu7X2nEnh9O6gsRv08usJBPhe5cKLoYaW7UEDeT71vq_k0I-CcnaigiNaTA_c-N8oH6Y/s320/EAP+About.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I believe that anyone who is prepared to pay the subscription fee can sign up. There is no handpicking. I believe the reason EAP ‘take care of promotion and sales’ is so that potential clients do not make contact with artists, for reasons that some artists are discovering.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEMrHOz5_PptwvP0OQZjb8viOwxBQc8ngB7UzuxXfmerCNP1Csao1Gipdwc_n01H-r6DUUIjWbeMZMH5JX-pkORfsLcVh0BpMj26qKrCyiPzVuM8AT1SnpBNFlkhbTeW2VO90mbKR6rE/s963/Testimonials.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="963" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEMrHOz5_PptwvP0OQZjb8viOwxBQc8ngB7UzuxXfmerCNP1Csao1Gipdwc_n01H-r6DUUIjWbeMZMH5JX-pkORfsLcVh0BpMj26qKrCyiPzVuM8AT1SnpBNFlkhbTeW2VO90mbKR6rE/s320/Testimonials.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />An artist on the howsmydealingwebsite https://howsmydealing.com/2020/07/20/the-emerging-artist-platform/#comment-27801 wrote how they only discovered they had sold work when the person who said they had bought their art from EAP/H&S tracked them down to ask where the work they bought was. I’ve spoken to an artist who is many hundreds of pounds out of pocket. There are no testimonials on their website from happy customers, nor artists who have actually sold work, only subscribers who perhaps hope to be featured in the Stony Stratford gallery and notably, not one of them speaks of having actually sold any work. None of the many artists I have spoken to in connection with the platform have sold work and been paid for it. I know two of the artists on that Testimonial page. One is taking action against them. Another has expressed dismay at what he has since found out. Another artist friend was asked for a testimonial, she has since asked for her page to be taken down. These appear to have gone up since I joined; a system of damage control? <p></p><p><b>Lucian Hector</b></p><p>Another person linked to Hansford & Sons according to information registered to at Companies House, is Lucian Hector, who is named as company director. Lucian Hector appears to have been involved with a number of companies. The bank I paid my subscription to is in Luxembourg. They also claim to know insurers in Switzerland. Why Switzerland? There are lots of ‘Independent Partners.’ </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYejuE892Gm9BCaq6CHLKwdD_dmfK1Xiw39h7hDr4TWVVhcxByUjNXOZHUVhnrhc4bxdl1BZBAx0d9MIN3i1hGXoc9KSNuelo6srW53xDilYY_23oyY-lIuef4sICnzNpF7Y2CDgW0JaA/s913/insurance.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="913" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYejuE892Gm9BCaq6CHLKwdD_dmfK1Xiw39h7hDr4TWVVhcxByUjNXOZHUVhnrhc4bxdl1BZBAx0d9MIN3i1hGXoc9KSNuelo6srW53xDilYY_23oyY-lIuef4sICnzNpF7Y2CDgW0JaA/s320/insurance.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Two of Lucian Hector’s former companies have been dissolved. Did the companies owe money? There was a business called <i>Trust No One,</i> which was registered to an address in Chiswick High Road. Another is called <i>Power to Art</i>, registered to an address in Woking which seems to be the only actual address - to a flat in Woking. On LinkedIn, Lucian Hector says he was educated in the Virgin Islands and has a Minor in Fine Art. This quote is also from his Linked In page: <i>‘'Others Have Seen What It Is And Asked Why. I Have Seen What It Could Be And Asked Why Not” - Pablo Picasso. </i>He also happens to have the same name as the famous artist, Lucian Hector Jonas. Apparently, he also had links with a company called Mr Reem in Montpelier St in London. I wonder if the gallery in Stoney Stratford is in good financial order?<p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gVCM1g6lOQv5MwLKGlQeFeEgZ62Cjyb9RchIo8CA0wLNvNSKeg3GgBtD3hN7EZES2KEl7nsHbgCS8iLT6KEbkZNLNSnL5Uvyqj_sUnnIboqh2EMId4DuolhyphenhyphenF47tPQ7l1hx-as1ddDg/s698/M+E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gVCM1g6lOQv5MwLKGlQeFeEgZ62Cjyb9RchIo8CA0wLNvNSKeg3GgBtD3hN7EZES2KEl7nsHbgCS8iLT6KEbkZNLNSnL5Uvyqj_sUnnIboqh2EMId4DuolhyphenhyphenF47tPQ7l1hx-as1ddDg/s320/M+E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />My hunch is that Lucian Hector, Jazz Jade and no surnames and co. are trying to get as many artists as possible to pay subscription fees. I wonder about the emergingartisplatform's "20k unique visitors a month, not to mention our regular buyers," that Lauren told me about. There is a section on their website for Middle Eastern Investors. <i>“We Believe Opening Up This Side of The Art Market and Making Middle Eastern Cultures Aware That There Is Money To Be Made By Investing Into Post War Modern British Art.” </i>But there is money there, and they want some of it, though I doubt they’ll be seeing much of it despite their 'deep understanding they<i> has</i> carved out,' (sic.) People with the kind of cash they hope for would go straight to Christie’s, for example, unless they’re daft, which I think not. But then I don’t claim to be an expert despite having actually studied art<div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2vyrlAGy1biQ3_bphJjE3WSR4_nkXyfOJMji8Ux-HVw372OJ-fqfJ2Q56XBwbwo9TWNh1_MGkOCASCLEU3TCy3rDYi7O8AYVPmjhwfyNIWNLAas_MK14jcF10htUHVwszZqUZCgao6M/s629/Area+of+Expetise.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="629" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2vyrlAGy1biQ3_bphJjE3WSR4_nkXyfOJMji8Ux-HVw372OJ-fqfJ2Q56XBwbwo9TWNh1_MGkOCASCLEU3TCy3rDYi7O8AYVPmjhwfyNIWNLAas_MK14jcF10htUHVwszZqUZCgao6M/s320/Area+of+Expetise.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Hansford & Sons don't, in my opinion, live up to their claim to be experts. I’ve been in touch with multiple artists who have grievances with EAP. There are artists whose clients did not receive work they paid for and artists who were not paid for work sold. I did finally discover an artist who lives near the Milton Keynes gallery, who has sold work after exhibiting there, and been paid for work sold. I asked her if she has proof as to whether the clients actually received her work. She did not reply. It’s easier for unscrupulous businesses to take advantage of artists living abroad or further away. When artists have tried to get recompense they are likely to get the same reaction I did. Indeed an artist that is owed money was also told, as I was, that she would be done 'for defamation of character,' after a number of false accusations were made about them (the artist). An artist I know has been left suffering from anxiety and stress and another wept when they saw the condition of returned work. Given the £30/£50 per subscription, not many would take their cases to court. Others are in a far worse boat than me as I think I have illustrated. It seems immoral to me, and quite possibly illegal. Hansford & Sons (who the deuce are the ‘sons’? Answer: There are none; daughters would have been a better noun,) are canny in that they have a small gallery in a nondescript part of England and they provide a ‘service’ of sorts. I received a sympathetic email from Trading Standards, so they are aware of them, as are the police, but I will update them now that I have received an update on my refund from them, (see below) but given this is deemed a ‘business to business’ transaction there is not much that can be done in my, comparatively mild case, though no-one enjoys spending money and getting nothing for that money, and being treated as I have outlined to boot. These are Jazz Jade's responses to my refund request:</p><p><i>"Your refund request has been denied. You will be receiving an email shortly explaining the reasons for our decision, so kindly pass that on to ‘trading standards’. Best Wishes"</i> (No name as to who sent this but I’m guessing Jazz sent it). </p><p>Late last Saturday night, I received a list of reasons as to why my refund was being denied. I was told my reasons for requesting a refund were all 'false or sophistry' though I simply outlined my experience for which I have all the emails and messages. Various untrue accusations were made about me as well as threats. Other artists have received similar responses and accusations when making complaints. Just to be clear, I have not bullied any staff, unless politely requesting a refund is considering bullying.</p><p><i>PLEASE NOTE</i></p><p><i>This decision is final and if ANY of our team members receive any form of contact from you we will be reporting you to the police for harassment. Bullying of our staff WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.</i></p><p><i>Yours Sincerely</i></p><p><i>Julian </i></p><p><i>EAP</i> (All capital letters are EAPs; my guess is 'Julian' is another of Jazz Jade's personas)</p><p>Many subscribers come from abroad, where it is harder to seek recompense or refunds for stolen work or fees not paid to artists and clients. From what I understand, some artists in the UK aren’t having much luck either retrieving refunds or getting paid for work sold. However, if enough affected artists report Hansford & Sons/EAP to the police via Action Fraud, and to other relevant professional bodies, they might eventually be compelled to act. I wrote this to expose Hansford & Sons for who I feel they really are and because I have been in contact with artists who are very upset about it indeed. I hope other artists might be saved the stress I've suffered during this experience and all the time it has taken up. Artists abroad who think they have representation via experts from London should investigate further. A fine idea they may well be getting about the UK art market.</p><p>Sadly, art scams are becoming more and more prolific. An artist friend whom I met researching Hansford & Sons has experienced dubious operations in London, Portugal and the USA. Her advice is to always check the fine print EAP, I have not seen any. Never pay to display, particularly when commissions, sometimes as much as 30% are on top. Never send work anywhere unless money has cleared in the bank. Also beware of 'vanity galleries,' or publications that offer to advertise you; they are looking for you to pay for advertising space. Agora and Vogue amongst them. My advice? Bide your time, hone your craft and wait until you are ready to show - be clear-eyed about where you are, and about the art market in general. If you’re asked to pay, stay away. Can you imagine any legitimate gallery in London asking you to pay a fee to show your work? Meanwhile, as artists, we need to spread the word. The fact that Hansford & Sons/EAP repost work on Instagram and have ‘virtual galleries’ and a gallery in Milton Keynes, may well be enough for some artists desperate to get a foothold in a saturated market, but artists, do you want people who misrepresent themselves to represent you?</p><p>Please see this site for more information: https://howsmydealing.com/2020/07/20/the-emerging-artist-platform/</p><p>confidential.com</p><p>If you have been affected by any art scams please contact:</p><p>Action Fraud </p><p>https://www.actionfraud.police.uk/</p><p>Metropolitan Police</p><p>https://www.met.police.uk/ro/report/ocr/af/how-to-report-a-crime/</p><p>Insolvency Service </p><p>https://www.insolvencydirect.bis.gov.uk/externalonlineforms/CompanyComplaint.aspx?fbclid=IwAR3YGXu5A4g3YpECtpYRpmTQQQ7PvpVqfYIODOQ5RdpJOsAog4jiOU6BzdA</p><p>Court Action can be taken here: https://www.gov.uk/make-court-claim-for-money</p><p>I can be contacted here: www.emilybarroso.com</p><p>Twitter @emilybarroso1</p><p>Instagram for more updates on art news @emilyjanehillman</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-18774109275847771462020-08-08T12:03:00.001+01:002020-08-08T12:03:07.389+01:00Humanism Schism<p><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I've had my letter from the government detailing that I can ease up on shielding. One of the highlights of recent days was Lidl opening, a five-minute cycle ride from here. Lidl have wide aisles and hand sanitising facilities in place, yet despite Welsh Government stating that people advice to maintain a 2 metre distance, most shoppers in Lidl on the two occasions I have been there, are not even trying to maintain distance. They amble along, sometimes in groups, reaching over people and ignoring the radio pleas from the Lidl speakers, asking them politely to maintain distance. On the roads, crowds of tourists amble along, often (in my experience) refusing to give way to cyclists despite polite requests or bell ringing. Motorists often put foot instead of giving way, and I often see people texting on phones in vehicles and on a number of occasions, texting as they cycle - I kid you not. Local forums where pedestrianisation has been posited quickly become ugly, with business owners and their cohorts swiftly forming an angry braying mob.</span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt;">On social media, tribes attack other tribes. Beaches, pathways and the local green, are vast dog toilets. Most dog owners clean up but there are daily missile attacks. Imagine if humans let their small ones poop all over the place? Drivers belch out pollution and take up too much room on the road, not heeding the rules for cyclists. I find the SUV drivers particularly unyielding. Outside our town walls, 'boy-racers,' some barely 17, I assume, but with the appearance of boys much younger, race on the A55 and any roads that are clear - thankfully not usually within our town walls, they'd never get up the speed. We moved from London to a UNESCO world heritage site, with amazing castle, despite its brutal history. I am sorry to say that too many are treating the environment around here brutally. So many selfish people clawing for themselves, their families, their dogs, with nary a thought that they are running roughshod over people, historic buildings, animals, mountains and sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Why are people so selfish? I have one answer. They are their own gods. If you don't believe in God, you don't believe in consequences for actions. You believe you have the power to make your own way, your own standards. In short, you are a law unto yourself. The above is an example of what that looks like. Humanists, for instance, posit that humans should not look to the bible or a holy book or God to run their lives. They can do that for themselves. Idealistically, they suggest looking after the planet for instance and treating each other well. Hilariously, one humanist philosopher has written a lofty and self-consciously stylised alternative to the bible. As with most copies, the original is better, and, in my experience, if followed, is life changing, and works. It shines up and puts the God-given moral compass into action. The problem with humans 'doing it for themselves’ is that some of us behave as I have outlined above, and worse. Some of us try to do well and some of us try to muddle through, dodgy compasses unplugged from the life-source, charting their own careening course.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-7577154066366986792020-07-18T14:39:00.001+01:002020-07-18T14:57:07.999+01:00The Dangers of Small Town Life<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: cambria; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
It’s been two months. Remiss of me not to check in. Hello! Or Helo, as it is in Welsh. Croeso (You’re welcome). I’ve been working hard at learning Welsh, whilst relearning Spanish, which I learnt as a small kid when we lived in Spain. As a child I was tri-lingual, given my father was Portuguese, which for youngsters is as easy as getting on a tricycle, so given my former glory, I’ve taken Duolingo at it’s word (duo=2), sorry to patronise. I think it also stands for too much. It’s been a humbling experience – not as easy as riding a bike. I recognise that if you move to another country, and contrary to common belief, Wales really is another country, then learning the lingo is the way to go; though most English-speaking folk don’t learn it, which really is a bit colonial, and only feeds the annoyance of many Welsh speakers whose ancestors have endured English colonisation since Ed the conqueror, who built the castle, here in Conwy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here in Conwy, the locals are having a spat about the high street potentially being pedestrianised over the summer due to Covid19. Feeings have been running higher than Lance Armstrong in/on? The Tour de France. Attitudes have been harder than his butt. I’m for, and on local forums, I’ve politely stated my case, only to have it used as a handbag (handhag?) to hit me on the head. I’ve encountered derision, scorn, red-faced or hand-shrugging emojis, playground nastiness, sarcasm and sexism. Hate not debate seems to be the ethos, this is how strong the against forum is. The pros are nicer and more pro, obvs! (wink emoji). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Back to LA (not the place, the bloke and on to cycling dopes). In another message stream, on a local forum, people have been going wild at the notion that cyclists are allowed to use Marine Walk, where folk like to meander with their pets – fair enough right? But ‘right’ on these forums, means fascistic. There were angry emojis apace, when bike racks were spotted on Marine Walk. Following a comment that cyclists should ‘just be polite,’ I was blocked on the site for asking what being polite as a cyclist looked like. My question was: “Should we ring our bells, get off our bikes or shout out ‘excuse me?” I genuinely wanted to know so that community feeling between cyclists and leggers could be improved. In response the person who ran the site demanded where I lived with two question marks and blocked me from the convo, if you could call it that. Sometimes I miss London still (crying emoji). Small town life is wonderful, thanks to the setting, but as to characterisation and plot…<o:p></o:p></div>
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The streets, and the paths that people in Conwy must share – on foot – on bikes – but mostly in cars, are narrow, sadly, like the minds of some of the people (insert crying with laughter/shocked emoji here), and I believe, cannot sustain the continued battering and disdain of people determined to continue to pollute the streets (over 400 vehicles a day endlessly stopping and starting - farting great blasts of sea, land and lung pollutants that erodes historic buildings. We need to think outside of ourselves for solutions, to the pollution of mind, heart, land and community. We are all parts of a communal whole.<o:p></o:p></div>
Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-64298548946032922172020-05-15T13:06:00.003+01:002020-05-15T13:06:30.575+01:00A 40th on Lockdown<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">My husband recently turned 40. Given lockdown, I gave his birthday much thought. It seemed so...significant, in more ways than that four, coupled with that zero signified. Need I remind us that we are living in deeply significant times. Life and death times. We are always living in life and death times, it's just that we kid ourselves that we are not. Encased in our sludgy-jelly soft bodies, we, (the human collective) mostly go blithely on our way as if we have any control over whether we live or die. This threat, (and for most of us it really is just a threat), looms large through our media and other dystopian cultural commentaries. Though the streets are silent(er), there is a babble out there. Some have responded by frantically making videos, others (mild hypocrisy alert) are digitally commenting all the time. Others are weighing up the meaning of life, and death; some are quietly, or loudly, freaking out. Having sorted out the meaning of life: God/Love. Simple/Not Simple, I got on to planning my husband's birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">Our car packed up just before lockdown and I am one of the ones who can't flip to furlogh, so cash levels are jokey. So what to do for this significant man, this significant day? The kids and I decided on a 3-day extravaganza, Mexican Fiesta - we all like Mexican, and a dash of Tequila never goes amiss. The kids agreed to do a performance and unanimously agreed that this should be La Cucaracha, perhaps inspired by life - the cockroaches that we have had to put down in the alleyway between our house and the restaurant we live in close proximity to. Armed with lyrics fearfully close to our hearts, we set to (best way to dispel our own fears is by singing and laughing at them, no?) And no sooner had my husband took off on his bike with his large backpack and bicycle to do our weekly shop some five miles away, we got to work with on the crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">By the time the man of the moment returned, the children had turned 2m flat cardboard packaging into a giant tortilla that my middle son wore, complete with coloured paper cheese, tomato and lettuce, and oval cut-out for his head. Scraps of cardboard were made into hats that were hastily spraypainted outside. The kids huddled in the courtyard learning lyrics and I painted Cape-Town in acrylics (my beloved's birthplace). That night I baked his birthday cake and iced and decorated it while our soon-to-be Mexicanised man was in the shower - this included slapping the buttercream that I had made all over the place and drawing 40 on the cake with an icing pen. Happily, I can knock out signage pretty accurately on the one-off, but he wouldn't have cared - it's the taste that counts. Cards were made and lovingly described. Following a tip-off from another Emily, I asked some of Simon's friends to make videos of memories. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">The actual fiesta was wonderful. The sun shone, we walked in stunning Conwy; the kids' performance was hysterical - they came down singing la Cucaracha as I carried in the cake, ponchos and hats on, heavy eyebrows and moustaches pencilled in, my daughter playing guitar, my little son bashing a tambourine and the middle one staggering around as a giant tortilla, as my daughter sang and my sons mumbled and bawled out la Cucaracha; the videos were heart-warming; the painting was loved and exclaimed over, and the surprising messages others sent - amongst the cards and the many moving messages sent electronically, there was a genuinely funny joke and a hilarious poem from one of our German friends; there were parcels on the doorstep that kept appearing. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">We ate fabulous food and drank tequila and had a noisy Marvel Movie Festival. We were well, we were together. We toasted life. He said it was the best one yet.</span></div>
Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-46993938190231977792020-04-20T12:56:00.000+01:002020-04-20T16:27:27.449+01:00The Power of Critical ThinkingAfter seeing yet another Facebook platitude with some random statistics from an unknown source, with its subliminal messages (yes, plural) and fearmongering, I'm reminded how important it is that we all think for ourselves and mind the gap, between what is stated and what is unsaid, unresearched, unscientific or otherwise engendered. If only critical thinking was taught in schools. From primary school. I remember being so disappointed a number of years back now, when my eldest son was progressing to years 11/12, and his school decided not to do the International Baccalaureate. Their Critical Thinking module seemed critical then. Academic hoop jumping does not help us think. Now, more than ever, we need to read widely, and behind the numbers, as much as we can, and not just accept and repost things at face value. Those of us that can decode statistics. I look at them and get my husband, a doctor of sciences to decode them, so I am not saying we all need to be statisticians, but there are websites that explain things if we can be bothered to look at sources.<br />
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I no longer comment on 'political' posts on Facebook. I don't see the point. People will keep posting what they want to believe, however erroneous the source material, but for those of us who are in any way serious about the truth, I think we should overcome our desires to be 'right' or 'right-on' and think first before we post/repost, after all, there are so many mechanisms of control at play - in and out of the press, do we really want to be their mini-puppets of mind control? Where I mostly find Facebook unhelpful, Twitter is handier in terms of people commenting at the source, and I have found it to be a helpful means of acquiring information at the source - mind the trolls though, they really are lemmings. We really must consider before hopping on board - why are people repeating this? Is it true? Might there be an agenda? What subtle messages lie behind this statement/text?<br />
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The government is getting quite a bashing from 'people who know better.' I feel a bit sorry for them (the bashed and the bashees.) These are unprecedented times. Wouldn't it be more helpful if we drew together despite our differences to actually make a difference as so many are doing with words of encouragement and offering to but shopping for people and so on? Of course, we need an opposition government to hold our government to account, but couldn't they, given the times, just think a little more critically before criticising? I was stunned by the tribal hatred that came out against the PM when he was in hospital. Don't people stop to think that there was a man, a partner (of a woman with child), brother son? Whatever our political allegiances, let's think before we 'speak.' The internet is fraught with hazards. And often just fraught with so much postulating and talk that would not take place face to face.Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-34093271566266505342020-04-08T11:35:00.000+01:002020-04-08T11:35:47.241+01:00On Homeschooling: A response to a BBC Article from a home educating parent<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-52151411" target="_blank">https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-52151411</a></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;">This is my response to the above BBC link.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;">No, you should increase your expectations but not in the way that you seem to think. My main concern is for children whose parents are less well off and for whom going to school is a lifeline, and for many a decent meal too. My son went to state schools in London in affluent and less affluent areas, so I understand the diversity of the school system. Many of his friends went to private schools, so I have seen children emerge from a variety of schooling systems.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I understand the concerns of parents, but for those of us who home educate, I can’t help feeling bemused by this article given whom it appears to address. I really don’t mean to sound smug but my children are all well above what is expected of them at their ages,</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> academically, but also, and perhaps more importantly, in terms of emotional intelligence and confidence, and we do not usually do more than 2 hours a day of formal input, from me or my husband. Mine range from 7 - soon to be 11. However, my children are 'schooled' for most of their waking hours. The elder two read prolifically: literature, but also comics, National Geographic and any books about animals and small creatures, prehistoric or not - my 8-year-old knows far more than me about the natural world than I have learned in 5 decades. My youngest who reads as well but is more gripped by numbers builds Lego that is 16+, not because he is bright, though he is, but because he has the time to do so and nob one has tod him he can't. As such, they do all sorts of things they wouldn't be able to do at school, not least due to the time constraints of overstretched teachers, including Computer Programming, sewing, and sculpting, building wooden cars vehicles with power tools and mountain climbing and hiking. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;">Outside our home, they all attend classes at the local climbing wall, swimming pool and theatre school. the boys do athletics; my daughter attends Brownies, a cooking club and a gaming group. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;">At other times of the day, we engage in discussions and debates with them on a variety of topics from History, Society, Culture, Science, Spirituality, and Ethics to Lady Gaga and Sia. The opinions of young children are particularly fresh and insightful. There is so much to learn from their fresh experience of life. I bore them with my back catalogue of music and play classical music (good for the brain and creativity) when we are painting or drawing. My daughter practises Welsh songs and ABBA for her singing tutor (I join in there, sometimes: "Oh, Mum!"). They learn Welsh or practice times tables and spelling on their i-pads; we tell stories, discuss current affairs in the car, look for critters on walks and cycle rides. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0px;">We spend hours on Lego and whacky games, some educational ones that we make up using whatever's to hand - dice, dominoes, chalkboard at the moment. And we do lots of art and singing. They have time to do all of the above. This is the difference. This is what's on offer. It's what seemed best to us, and our circumstances. Yours are likely different and your kids may be in a school where their needs are best met. I've no doubt about how we are (imperfectly, I'm sure; but best we feel) meeting our children's diverse needs. Don't panic in the interim, there is much on offer for those that this article points up.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">This is a snapshot of how we do things at the moment. We prefer to say 'home educating' rather than 'homeschooling' as we don't currently use curriculum materials, some homeschooling parents follow an academic curriculum. I make sure they are equal to or above what is expected at their ages but I don't get hung up about it. When my youngest didn't automatically start reading at the young ages of the other two, I let him continue with Lego and numbers until he naturally began seeing words. My husband encouraged me to leave him be until he was ready and able to catch on fast with confidence. He's still quicker at maths than me, but happily, my husband paid more attention in that department than I did, otherwise, I'd be swotting for every lesson, not so much for primary maths but for secondary, my husband has already begun algebra with my ten-year-old. When I do need to swot, I enjoy it. It's a learning opportunity for me. I also consult what I call The Book of Vorderman when my memory fuzzes.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I don’t see anyone asking the homeschooling/educating community for advice, but here’s some: If you’re worrying don’t, chances your children will catch up. We do not spend hours a day schooling, though our kids attend a lot of outside activities, clubs, and classes such as theatre school. Trust your children and use this time to have quality time with them. Do creative activities with them and address their emotional needs. If you have a garden do crazy family games or engage in bonkers combined singing and PE activities as we do. Focus on them and their other needs. I understand this wasn’t planned or a life choice, but nevertheless, it is an opportunity. Do something visionary and mind-expanding with them. Do it differently.</span>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-80526112689695987252020-03-24T18:30:00.002+00:002020-03-30T16:29:03.033+01:00The Earth is Breathing AgainI opened my window today to blue skies and a warm breeze. The hilly landscape that I can see from my window seat is green and scattered with grazing sheep. Birds soar; there is hardly any sign of human life, but for the silent queue of people waiting for the pharmacy to open. The air that I breathed today felt fresh, and, did I imagine it? Unpolluted. It seemed that the earth was breathing again. Due to Covid-19, there are fewer planes in the sky, (When was the last time you heard one?) and fewer cars on the road. When this ghastly phase has passed, can we somehow, keep things cleaner, so we can all keep breathing better, and longer. We do so take our air for granted.<br />
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Our car, that we recently bought a new clutch for, has packed up. It refuses to move from second gear. The nation, like our car, seems to be refusing to accept that they must stay indoors to beat this ghastly virus. Here in Snowdonia, record numbers of walkers were out climbing Snowdon and otherwise ignoring advice not to go out and about, or travel to second homes. The current crisis has been compared to the Second World War - food shortages and the like - but would people have snatched up all the bog roll then, or selfishly disobeyed orders to stay at home or only go out if necessary?<br />
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In other news, I have continued my cold showers and open sea, cold water (sans wetsuit; with cozzie only) which is, as I have previously mentioned meant to reduce inflammation and increase white blood cells. It is certainly invigorating. The fam and I had a wonderful hike up our local mountain today, and we were actually hot afterward: the day was practically balmy, as opposed to barmy - the state of mind of throngs of people descending and ascending Welsh mountains in recent days. The few walkers we met kept the requires 2m distance. I continue to produce a fair amount of paintings in-studio and editing continues on my third book. As to Covid-19, it's horrid, but this too will pass.<br />
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A recent video of me swimming in an ice-cold sea in bikini and wellies (it was rocky, I was rolly).</div>
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Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-50995012223447862022020-03-14T14:26:00.000+00:002020-03-14T14:26:57.230+00:00Bluetits<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
I have been determined to swim all year round in the sea this year and today I finally achieved my promise to myself. A friend introduced me to a group of swimmers who swim through the winter in cold waters. They are called the Bluetits, adorable, no? Today I bolted my coffee, got out of my warm bed and drove ten minutes to the coast where I took the plunge into a freezing cold sea. My tactic was to bolt in and keep on going until I began to swim. I made it, for a minute at least. It was invigorating, and, I think strengthening, if a little bonkers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPecWVFY5Aj3LeevyFu2ot2RoXQ8lMVaFyDTG9TKlZWHDmAhh1ui1X86IL9B5kaIo7kICZ0Zx93OyqFSRKbWVz5pJ9X0zptZQwTxuPLCAYc1g1Ponhzu9F-w-s4EucPPXxZe8Seq5LszU/s1600/IMG_8085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPecWVFY5Aj3LeevyFu2ot2RoXQ8lMVaFyDTG9TKlZWHDmAhh1ui1X86IL9B5kaIo7kICZ0Zx93OyqFSRKbWVz5pJ9X0zptZQwTxuPLCAYc1g1Ponhzu9F-w-s4EucPPXxZe8Seq5LszU/s320/IMG_8085.jpg" width="240" /></a>Advocates of swimming in cold water say that it increases white blood cells and fends off diseases, presumably by boosting immunity. I boosted my confidence and attracted a small amused audience at any rate. I felt pretty great afterwards. The water was a bit shocking, but I am going to continue with this jape, at least once a week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is a Dutch dude who is super fit, and goes by the nimble name of Wim Hof. Wim likes getting most of his kit off before delighting in swimming in freezing waters, or just hanging out in the ice for extended periods of time, or just rolling around in the like an unclad toddler making snow angels. Google him, he has to be seen to be believed. As do I, which is why I add this little video so you can stare agape at my winter sea swimming japes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In other news, painting at the studio is going well. I have produced a number of abstract works in acrylics and oils. My three youngest children come in with me on a Friday and produce wonderful paintings and drawings. I am also working on the second book in the Big Men’s Boots trilogy. Life after cancer is good.<o:p></o:p></div>
Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-42974967362509000342020-03-02T19:44:00.002+00:002020-03-02T19:44:50.209+00:00Grit and Green GloopI've just made and drunk the most startling green drink. I won't bore you with the ingredients, except to say, you'd want to approach it gingerly, the Incredible Hulk would be attracted to it, and it would repel vampires. My children screamed and ran away when they saw me drinking it. My middle son looked as though he was going to chuck up his dinner when he saw what is supposed to make me thinner - not really, that just rhymed. It's good health I'm after, after all that surgery and chemo cocktails, that are really mocktails as in mockingtales not sans alcohol cocktails, that are all tail and no ****. A crock basically. They really call those chemo bags chemo cocktails, on account of them being mixed just for you. Besides, the road marked Care What You Weigh is peopled with crazies and guarded by the hounds of hell.<br />
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That's not all. I also did a Grit class today. No, I did not learn how to remodel a driveway. I am on a mission to remodel myself, given I am miles away from what I looked like when I was an actual model. Truth be told, all that cancerous not being able to move much over 2019/20, plus (size) the eye-popping, hip expanding, family frightening, steroids, have left some heft. And so it was that I turned up at the desk at my local gym today, where I was asked by an amused staff member whether I'd ever done Grit before. I thought of some of the folks I've had to deal with this week and almost replied, "Yes, I do it most days," but I figured he'd take that kind of quip as a fib. The staff member continued to grin like a loon. "Are you being friendly or smiling because of what I'm in for?" I asked. "Both," he said. "Do you have any issues with blood pressure?"<br />
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Before long I was pumping iron, as my heart pumped harder than a whole house party from 1993. I wielded a weighted barbell and just, well, weight, and also swung weighted discs between my legs, as if I was going to shotput at any moment. Leaping lunges and sideways press-ups were also de rigeur. Or irregular, in my case. I also had to make like a beetle with a two-second memory - hand and foot going forward, centre, backwards manoeuvre. Most people in the class were young and fit. I just looked like I was having a fit. I emerged with a face the hue of beetroot. Everyone else looked normal. The instructor looked amused, but at least he wasn't grinning like a nutter.<br />
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I now feel crap, and seem to have a cold coming on. Thus the green gloop. I shall have to retire for bed with a stack of books and a hot toddy. Darn, I've foresworn alcohol for Lent. Can the rules be bent? It's medicine right? I'll put lots of ginger and honey and...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmhzT8FmWyDGeLhEmezjzlunDmF2tygL6YHkbsfzbrFzPDSs8gABNvWnxKTDTDN3hc5rm-eymbE2Rp2ri8WBk1uMykYgrzTIsKgTYYu7I007IjqPrixxJdFZx7uX-clS4afKpkl9B6Ok/s1600/166D134D-6BAF-4123-A392-D8D8D4C5C520+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1219" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmhzT8FmWyDGeLhEmezjzlunDmF2tygL6YHkbsfzbrFzPDSs8gABNvWnxKTDTDN3hc5rm-eymbE2Rp2ri8WBk1uMykYgrzTIsKgTYYu7I007IjqPrixxJdFZx7uX-clS4afKpkl9B6Ok/s320/166D134D-6BAF-4123-A392-D8D8D4C5C520+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a painting I did last week. Lots of green there too.</td></tr>
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Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-58185624442763613902020-01-27T16:03:00.000+00:002020-01-28T16:19:35.402+00:00Debate, Not Hate - #Holocaust Memorial Day 2020As we remember the holocaust today, I have been struck afresh these past few days by Prince Charles's erudite and sensitive speech, delivered recently at the World Holocaust Forum at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, January 23, 2020. This part in particular seems most pertinent:<br />
"All too often, language is used which turns disagreement into dehumanisation. Words are used as badges of shame to mark others as enemies, to brand those who are different as somehow deviant. All too often, virtue seems to be sought through verbal violence. All too often, real violence ensues, and acts of unspeakable cruelty are still perpetrated around the world against people for reasons of their religion, their race or their beliefs. Knowing, as we do, the darkness to which such behaviour leads, we must be vigilant in discerning these ever-changing threats; we must be fearless in confronting falsehoods and resolute in resisting words and acts of violence. And we must never rest in seeking to create mutual understanding and respect. We must tend the earth of our societies so that the seeds of division cannot take root and grow. And we must never forget that every human being is be-tselem Elokim, “in the image of God,” and even a single human life is ke-olam malei, “like an entire universe."<br />
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Since the referendum on the EU in 2016, our society, if social media is a temperature gauge, has become increasingly bigoted and intolerant of those who hold differing political beliefs. People, human beings made in the image of God, are decried in the most appalling terms. Those who voted for Brexit are condemned as migrant hating racists, on the kinder end of the scale and far, far worse on the other end of it. There is reported hatred on the ‘other’ side too, though on social media I have not personally seen it. Moral high grounders many of whom have likely never seen the inside of a council flat, much less been on an estate, had a free school dinner nor seen a food bank, but nevertheless speak on behalf of 'the poor' dole out hatred to those very poor who might well have voted for Brexit, or anyone else who does not agree with them. Such ironies are beyond those who litter social media with their propaganda sites while, immune to their own bile, they ignorantly and shamelessly use the kind of bigoted hate speech that they label and accuse voters from 'the other side' of.<br />
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Out there in the real world, beyond media bubbles and cushdie town houses (guilty!), the people that those who hold the 'correct' view, seek to protect as they loftily espouse their righteous ideals, often, I suspect, for effect, are struggling to get their children adequately educated in a system that is failing them (they can't afford private) or are battling illness, divorce, poverty, the NHS, the social care system and so much else. They don't have time for Twitter, Facebook, Instagram (blogging even!) or any other forum on which to carefully craft their tribalised thinking (often not usually their ideas at all) and their lives. In this world of facade, let us all remember living and dying, tolerating and loving, and seeking change in debate rather than strengthening hate.<br />
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<br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-21143292567940093642019-12-02T18:14:00.000+00:002019-12-02T18:14:44.552+00:00Leap of Faith with #PTSDI've just sat down to work after watching my three youngest children at their regular climbing wall sessions. Watching children learn, develop and extend themselves never ceases to amaze me. As I walked around the zones, I chatted to a young girl who was waiting to do what is called, 'The Leap of Faith' - which requires, after roping up, jumping out to an aerial swing before being lowered down. Nervously, she shared with me that she had sweaty hands and was worried that as such, she would not be able to grip the swing. She reminded me of myself, of my own sweaty hands and fears. But of my being brave too. I climb mountains, swim in deep sea, and generally take new opportunities that push me beyond my perceived capabilities - over the years, this pushing through has taken the form of chairing a charity for which I organised major events and did fieldwork; running (small) companies; engaging in public speaking; doing an MA; writing and promoting books, writing, producing and directing plays and arts events - all these things terrify me but I nevertheless do them. With each endeavour fear rises up like Snowdon, and, face like flint, legs and belly like jelly - hands slick and a quiver too - I have to start climbing all over again. I've been fighting #fear all my life. This has sometimes made me quite scary, you have to be, to face fear down, or so I thought. I put on a smiley-face now, along with the brave one, which likely makes me look like a clown. I act like one too.<br />
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As a mother, I try very hard not to communicate any residual fear to my children (Will the fear, like oil reserves ever dry up? Will I ever be the sheik of shriek?) though I am still sometimes hypervigilant with them - hovering for instance, during risky stuff, like a demented beaky bird when I should just fly off and let them fly. I am still sometimes overly reactive if one of them falls over or cries out - their cries soon drowned by my own well-crafted ones; I try not to worry about them missing out in some way, as such I have to take off my Big Chief Interferer Bonnet on a regular basis; I manage worry when they are away or out of my 'control' with 'get a grip woman' talk - courtesy of my patient and statistical husband, or indeed myself - I have faith reserves that I can summon up, but this takes effort - like pumping breast milk in a restaurant behind a scarf; whereas the fear reserves spring up so easily instead, drawn as they are from vast reserves of deep pain and trauma laid down when I was little but built upon by the (actually, two) earthquakes I have been in, the (past) abusive relationships and the near death experiences I have had. It is always a battle not to look back, not to sorrow, not to regret, not to look down, but, face like flint, to drive forwards. Having a superhero disguised as an engineer for a husband helps. As for the four children - don't tell me there is no God.<br />
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I'm not sure of the exact cause, but I've suffered from #complexPTSD since I was a child.It could have started when my mother took us from Spain where we had been living, back to Zimbabwe where she told us we would never see my father again. Soon afterwards she introduced us to a stepfather who assaulted me violently on a number of occasions - the welts that grew on the inside were far worse than those on the outside of my girl's body. Or it could have been the sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of my mother's sister's husband. A sensitive, artistic, truth-seeking child, I was not allowed to speak of these traumas, which in any case were denied. The fact that I spoke out about or reacted to what had happened in my family of origin meant that I was the object of more punishment, ostracisation and blame. Compounded by all the blame, #PTSD was my closest companion and my deepest shame. I still shake, and the small hands that used to pour sweat still get clammy on occasions. Given these events took place in an environment where I should have been cared for caused deep chasms of remembered trauma - painful events of the past were faultlines, as deeply grooved as African earth in the dry season. Trauma, pushed deeply into my body, nevertheless manifested in the present, throwing up migraines, vivid nightmares, extreme jumpiness and hypervigilance, that in my teens and twenties, developed into anxiety, depression, sleep and eating disorders and drug and alcohol dependency - having my eldest son put a full stop to penultimate thing 1 and mostly, thing 2 - though I'm best off avoiding those kinds of parties. Like long-gone fags, you always fancy one, but they're a smoking gun.<br />
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A master of disguise, and my actor father's daughter, I tried to hide all my symptoms, especially the shaking and the sweating, of which I was deeply ashamed; I took on the cloak of self-loathing that my parents and sister gave me and hid under it, disguised as many things, (you would never have guessed, oh how 'I' hid.) None of these guises of me were the bright, authentic, God-created/ive me, she only emerged years later after I began to escape. E'gads, perhaps she's not here yet lads. Get on your ponies and flee! My sister, who has been quite open about wanting to be the only daughter, delighted in provoking me and making me weep; she thought it was hysterical that I was so easy to terrify, and took great delight in scaring me in various ways; I was so satisfyingly and easily terrified to tears. I learnt quickly to try and hide any weaknesses. As I grew, I learnt coping mechanisms - humour became a tool - I fended people off by being sharp-tongued. Outside of the family I found comfort in friends and the families of friends, in unsuitable boyfriends. As a young adult I developed all the physical symptoms that come with complex PTSD, myriad physical symptoms, including an irregular heartbeat and digestive disorders. Nevertheless I was an intrepid adventurer, but let loose prematurely on the world and without any family lifeboats, I took risks, some of which nearly killed me. I learnt to be 'very strong', to never ask for help or money (from the age of fourteen I was earning my own money), not to trust people, to cope on my own, and to be wary of intimacy.<br />
<br />
Until I took my own leap of faith and actually found a faith, not least, someone outside myself to trust, as well as my divine, ever-listening, ever-actually-hearing husband I did not begin to heal properly and to come to understand rather than ignore the confusing eruptions of PTSD. (Humorous Husband does so much hearing of me, that if I did not also make him laugh or talk politics and home-schooling and much else in-between, he might have thrown me out with the peelings.) I still manage my symptoms, but I did not seek help for PTSD specifically, nor fully understand what it was that I suffered from, until recent years when, having left my abusive family of origin a few years before I had to deal with them during a recent court case (which precipitated a phase of profound healing, beneath rock bottom - in those dark and scary fissures in my infant earth.) I only stopped 'being strong' when my mind and body finally reached their limit and began breaking down, only then did I get the specific and professional help I needed. Such is the armour that I have built up over the years that I still struggle to ask for help, even from those nearest and dearest. True healing lies, I believe, beyond the professionals, in my case, without and deeply within. Only we have the tools, 'they' can only do so much, though being able to voice things to my husband or close friends has helped enormously - and the occasional shrink though they're like gold dust, and often you have to do the gold-mining. My hands still sweat occasionally, as when I watch my own children climb a rock face or walk too close to a precipice, or even at sports days or when my daughter acts or sings or dances solo. They sweated slightly this morning - in memory or empathy with the young girl I was encouraging to jump - that girl who drew on her own reserve of faith and took the leap of faith. Her smile afterwards was sunshine to the soul.<br />
<br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-85800299936309764342019-11-24T17:11:00.000+00:002019-11-24T17:11:31.530+00:00Whack-a-Roddy ToddyOn account of a cold, I've just made myself a hot toddy with French brandy (tres posh!) cloves, cinnamon, clementine (Oh, my darling, oh my darling!) and lemons (Bells of St Clements). The toddy is whack-a-Roddy (Emspeak for doing the trick), and I'm feeling loads better, though how I will feel when the brandy wears off is anyones guess. I hope to distract myself later with an episode of The Crown. My son is an extra in it though I've peeled my eyes and still haven't spotted him. He's tall dark and handsome if you happen to see him and is in the Welsh scenes. Speaking of which, the Welsh scenes are political with a capital 'P', nationalist #Welsh sympathies are thoroughly addressed by a watchable but nevertheless comical Prince Charles, who is as PC in it as his initials. The accents on The Crown are a right laff, but they don't distract, they add to the entertainment. Has anyone else noticed, since the Prince Andrew debacle, how normal PA sounds compared to PC, though PA is not PC at all. I don't know what to make of the recent allegations against him, but I do think he should be stepping well back. PA, should not be able to address the public at all. I wonder what PC thinks. Wide and birth spring to mind. What kind of king will PC be? Should there a be a crown at all? It does seem rather quaint and outdated. Rather like the accents on #TheCrown.<br />
<br />
Back to me and on to my knee. I've been merrily decorating the Christmas Tree with the nippers, and this afternoon, when I got up, something went above my knee and it wasn't the rest of my leg but something alien and super painful. I've never done my pin in, but this is stonkingly painful. I can walk around like a normal human, but when I have to bend it to sit...roof hitting...I yelled for Nurofen and my daughter came scurrying. I'm going to have to have another crack at weeing standing up. The last time I did that I was about four. Have you tried threading baubles? Bloody awful, trying stuff, just when you think you have them threaded, they bounce off petulantly and roll under the tree so that you have to practically knock over the whole thing to find them. Now there's a Christmas message right there. Tree looks good though. I'd take a picture for you but my phone is stuffed on account of the chemical sunblock I doused it in when, running late and having splattered some sunblock on my fizzog (I wear it all year round so that the wrinkles are kept aground, and not on my face) scribbled some make-up on, sans glasses so what I looked like was anyone's guess, I tossed it all into my bag and went running for a London bus without properly capping the sunblock. If all this is what being 50 means, I will need more hot-whack-a-Roddy-toddies, and minions, minions of minions to scurry around for me. Yes, please put the carols on...<i>Hark the Herald Angels Sing, plea-ease, easy my dodgy knees...</i>I think another toddy is in order.Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-62739414162788330902019-11-10T20:08:00.000+00:002019-11-10T20:17:16.356+00:00Discombobulated but Bobbing Along<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;">It’s a little over a year since I went to hospital for a hysterectomy and six months since chemotherapy ended, there was reconstructive breast surgery on account of dodgy lumps, summer last year as well. The years of preparation for the #1975Inheritance Act case I brought against my stepfather and my sister’s husband, the executors of my mother’s will, and the trial and settling of the case, are now also over - three and a half years of a part time job acting as my own solicitor to save money on costs – the costs that the other side have recently had to 100% pay, thanks to their persistent refusal to negotiate. These have been the dark materials that I would rather not have been part of the fabric of my life. But now that these matters are concluded, I have been trying to get my body (mind and spirit) back together again. It’s sunny outside, where I have just been for a walk/run combo based on an app that let’s you walk/run to build up your fitness. I staggered home, after the push me pull you (to run, pull myself along the quay), red faced but staggeringly triumphant. I am also hiking in the mountains, gleefully jumping around like the capricorny mountain goat I fancy myself to be. And (soon) swimming beyond the summer in the sea. For which I will need a wetsuit. Years from now, I fancy being one of those crazed grannies that down a shot of Vodka and then, legs bowed, run into the freezing sea, their hair on ice and their jowls billowing in the wind.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;">Since my diagnosis, I have been experiencing a kind of horror at being in this body of mine (more cumbersome, thank-you steroids and hysterectomy). After all, there was something of an alien spaceship growing on an ovary, that, left to it’s own vices, would have sent out ever more substations and cell-distorted aliens, to strangle the life out of me. The surgery took the tumour, but also the cradle that had nurtured my four children, and almost all that had led to them being there. I mourned these unseen parts of me that had sheltered my secret growing children, that unseen, I had nevertheless loved. Post breast surgery, parts of my torso were removed to patch up other parts. My body was then hystercectomally eviscerated. Still other parts of me were cut out – binned? Incinerated? Gone. Where? Torn asunder, I went through, the motions ordered (thankfully, of course), in a disconnected state. Doctors flashed statistics at me like a flickering black and white movie. Would I die? Would I live? For how long? I tracked along, zombie like, in a body that did not feel like it was mine. This was my body, my life-giving body, that had turned against me. And now, hysterically, the aftermath of the hysterectomy: full blown men-oh!-pause. My husband certainly pauses as he blindly approaches an occasionally slightly mental me through my brain fog and jitteriness. I am trying to stop being suspicious of my body where so many wars have been raging. I need to love its disparate parts again, and to nurture it back to life. There have been bleeding wounds, inside and out, stitched up. But what else, who else was stitched up? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;">My mind has been over matter somewhere. Out there. Where? Scattered. It's been displaced, bobbing alongside, above? - my body, held together loosely, by a string. My mind has recoiled in horror from my cut out body and I need to get them reacquainted. Also cut out, during my year of illness, these past years, has been me from family of origin and from my grandmother's estate via my mother's will. </span></span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 18px;">I went straight from chemo in April to court in May. </span><span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;">Tracking my illnesses like a dark shadow and periodically ambushing my mental health, these past few years, has been dealing with my sister’s abusive husband who represented the family leading up to and in court and seeing the orchestrated (by my sister’s husband) mendacious witness statements (How could they? is too tame a phrase) during the three and a half years of preparation for the #1975Inheritance Act case and the eventual (they repeatedly delayed) trial where my former sister, her husband, stepfather and brother, brazenly lied in and out of court so that they could get away with the estate and, as we tried to, and still argue: fraud. Court was jaw dropping stuff. You couldn’t make it up, though they did. M</span></span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 18px;">y shredded emotions have been shelled by first my mother’s actions and then, her offspring, my sister, both of whom used their husbands to assault and attack me historically in case 1 and on-going (here, on this blog, weeks ago) in case 2. He has been stalking me online incessantly since 2015. I have a four year's full file of years of written attack from her husband, the last bit a death suggestion that only weeks ago appeared here on this blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 18px;">Though I won the 'battle against cancer' - does this war terminology help? Peace with my body and mind must now be made. I 'won' the court case too though it was not the path I would have chosen, I would have preferred for us all to sit down and discuss things, though that would have meant sharing as I argued (successfully) that we should do. It takes a while to wash your mind clean from all this ugliness. But what else was shattered? My spirit...I don't say soul...I think we are body, mind and spirit. My bewildered spirit has been a raft on a sea whose stormy waves have sometimes formed themselves into watery cliffs off which my little craft (not least my writing craft) tips and slips into the watery depths below, where all former beliefs, all I held true was buffeted again and again over all these life and death things. But it's over now. Chemo and court are done. The sea is stilled. The case is won. I prevailed. I sit on the beach now, discombobulated: like the Iron Giant, the several, severed parts of me are scattered here and there. See me cranking along: a torso, (a la the scene in The Holy Grail where the torso keeps fighting - <i>Come On! Is that all you've got! </i>Oh the laughs! Thank God for the laughs, the pulling myself together laughs that have always kept body and soul together. See me here, in search of my body and head. Putting myself back together again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "cambria";"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-63101152199415354102019-10-10T16:10:00.000+01:002019-10-10T16:10:16.923+01:00#One in Four - A Poem for Mental Health Day
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<u style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">One
in Four</span></u></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">The
statistics are one in four</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sooner or later t'will come knock, knock, knocking at the door<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Yes,
rhyming is what mental folks do!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When they are in a bit of a stew</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And not bob, bob, bobbing along</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Please take the time to become acquainted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">With
those imbued with a</span><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;"> drone in the head</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">Bone memories</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Of things done or things said</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Some of them, might very nearly be dead)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What
it is, a</span><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">nd
what it isn't</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">So
many assumptions<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And
supposes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Before
the schism splits<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
in four<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes
you only find out t</span><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">he
extent of it,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In
the papers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes
you're beguiled by the smiles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I'd
never have guessed!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But
one in four<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Shame,
conditioning, a</span><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">nd
all the rest,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Keep
smiles laid<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On
faces dressed in Sunday best<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That,
behind closed doors crumple<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Like innards sucked from skin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">They are the clowns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Dressed up but feeling down</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Their
eyes fixated, hearts frustrated,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Racing along, s</span><span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">weaty
handed,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">Sometimes, community has disbanded</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Pupils wide from prescriptions</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Memory trains
on brains, tracing, tracing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tracking
this way and that<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stained
from abuse and misuse<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Yes, one in four</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Have
a heart,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Yes, you have one<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For
the smiling ones,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Who
struggle to keep the inside<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">From
getting out<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Help
them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">To
banish the ghosts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That
have hurt them the most<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And
the ones that mock and scorn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In
the land of the living<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
ugly red-handed that just keep on giving</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">Have
a care</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In
this godless place<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For
members of the human race<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Who
don't fit in with</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">How you think they should </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">These one in four</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">They
are not like you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But
there is always a tipping point<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Even
for you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What
grief lies in store<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For
the heartless ones?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When suffering comes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">You
will know the score<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
in four<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Is
that a knock at the door?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-58226689752133643752019-09-16T21:24:00.002+01:002019-09-16T21:31:52.685+01:00Gym Palace
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<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">As part of my recovery package courtesy of
the NHS (thanks everyone, including me). If only there was champagne in
that package, and Botox inducing face masks or the like, but no, I am being
given cut-rate gym sessions at the local gym (not gin, sadly) palace. I see
someone called Dion who takes me through the equipment at the gym while we
discuss Oasis and other bands from the 90s. He's a spring chicken but his taste
in music is sprung. We discuss the lack of guitar music these days, along with
my lack of muscles, these days. I reliably inform him that this time last
summer I was 2 stone lighter and fit - running up that hill fit - the one most
people can't get up without taking a rest. He looked sceptical. Dion then gives
me a list of classes to attend. The first one is called Circuits. Sounds
hectic. Just the ticket to knock off a few, pounds that is, but when the other
gym gear clad grannies and granddads arrive, they look like they are about to
be knocked off the planet. Clearly Dion did not believe a word that I said. I
cheer up when I see a basketball net. I smugly toss the ball through the hoop,
over and over again, from further and further away, just to make a point. The
instructor and the coffin dodgers ignore me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">The
B52s start playing and the gym instructor gets on the headphones, whilst
showing everyone how to have a knees up, but not the kind I prefer, he points
his knees up to the ceiling and taps them to the floor getting a bit of a
wiggle-vibe on as he does so. The old folk join in but only lackadaisically,
given its a bit of a social club and chat-wise, they are warming up. There are
ten circuit stations, ranging from standing up and sitting down on a chair,
using a rubber band to discourage bingo wings, using a gym ball to polish the
wall, using some tiny weights that Jerry would laugh at, and, piece de la
resistance (but not with a resistance band) walking up and down. I decide to
really give it some welly in order to feel the burn so do everything at triple,
nay, quadruple speed, which ain't hard to maintain given the competition. At
the 'throw a ball to one another' station, I fling the ball through the hoop
like a crazy person. Instead of walking up and down, I tear from one end of the
gym to the other like I'm sprinting to my car in Llandudno after leaving it for
92 and not 90 minutes. 90 was also the average age of the folks in my class,
but they were good for a chin wag at the water station, where they gave me
plenty of tips, such as how I ought to take it easy. When I splashed my face in
the ladies afterwards, it was the colour of allotment beet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-top: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 14pt;">I
decided to supplement my exercise programme by ducking and dodging the tourists
and old folk down Conwy High Street like a pro skier on speed, coming at them
at an alarming rate and keeping it up in the Spar for good measure, almost
unsettling the stacked baked beans in the process, which, if I'd taken Dion's
advice, ought to have been used as weights during my supermarket sweep. I
haven't been back to circuits yet. I may try speed cycling next, but I had
trouble getting into the stirrups at the gym, and wouldn't want to make a
spectacle of myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-42789930426716330552019-09-09T15:41:00.002+01:002019-09-09T15:48:12.123+01:00Why I brought a #1975InheritanceAct Case 2<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Blog before last I wrote of my recent win in a #1975Inheritance Act case. Following the blog, The Family as the judge referred to them, left a series of public comments on these pages, basically telling me I deserved cancer. (I
have recently recovered from chemotherapy treatment for an ovarian tumour; I also detailed what the last 3.7 years have taken on my mental health). The comments were anonymous, but linguistically, they remain true to form - the incident that led us all to the courtroom this year, began in 2015,
with a public Facebook attack that The Family left via my author profile (it caused the rift that caused the split - family and financial). The public
chastisement of women is a thing for The Family and one it seems, they are not going
to let up from. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">For the past 3 and a half years and counting, my sister’s husband has used every opportunity to vilify and attack, in writing, my husband and myself. I have a file of this written abuse from 2015 to several weeks ago. D</span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">espite being trounced in court (he was the second defendant) he has stalked my every social media page and this blog since his vendetta began. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">"How can you take your
own family to court?" The Family also queried. I think the former explains the latter and besides,
I would never take my </span><i style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">own</i><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> family to court. I have been unable to write freely here until the case went to trial, given my sister's husband would police everything I wrote for his 'witness' statements, but also the case had not gone to trial, so the principal of open justice had not been triggered. Speaking of triggers, 2 things spring to mind: I now know mine comprehensively and avoid them at all costs. 2 of the men in my family who have been shooting at me have actually been shot at and are best avoided.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">The facts of the case are
these: My great-grandmother left her estate to her son, my maternal uncle. A
year before my mother died in 2016, my maternal uncle left his/his
mother's estate to my mother and her sister, stating that in the event of their deaths, the estate should go to
her survivors. It also stipulated that it not be sold for 6 years. My mother
assured me verbally on numerous occasions, and in writing, that the house would
be left to her 4 children of which </span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I am one. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Shortly before my mother died she made a will specifically cutting me out and leaving the entire estate to her husband. Not a penny or a brick in the estate was marital money as I have always protested, (all of it was my maternal uncle's, and, as the judge pointed out, it would not be seen by the courts as such). </span><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I had no issue with my mother's husband
having my uncle’s money, despite my uncle being very clear in his will that my
mother’s husband should have his MG and 5K only. I also had no issue with my
mother’s husband remaining in our family property until he died. Further, I
would never have cut my 3 siblings out, reprehensible as I consider them to be.
But The Family, 3 of them in particular, had plans to benefit themselves only. The others may just be daft. Or, given the prevailing cult-like atmosphere in The Family: brainwashed. Yes. There were cults too. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Following my last blog The Family also complained thus: "And now you're blogging about it?" Yes, I've been blogging about my life since 2011, apart from the enforced many months gaps I mentioned. Amongst various vocations I have had in my 36 years of work (I began work at 14), I am an award winning writer, though The Family don't know much about me. We were informed, via their witness statements that I am a drug smuggler who smuggled drugs into the country on the backs of dog collars (imagine my dogs and those of the police meeting!). I am also told that I am (presumably), a violent schizophrenic <i>I am afraid of her becoming unwell, because she knows where I live. I</i> kid you not kids<i>. </i>My sister unreliably told the court (no evidence, because it never happened) that I have threatened her at the 2 private schools that she has been head at. The only true stuff that I could pick out, was the stuff about the witches. Yes, you really can make it up as you go along, as long as you get all your witnesses to sing from the same, orchestrated hymn sheet. But The Family are right. Form-wise, the blog doesn't cut it.</span></div>
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Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-77175494602681701492019-08-04T15:05:00.000+01:002019-08-04T20:34:41.219+01:00Antisemitic Spite<span style="font-size: large;">Two of my sons are named after Old Testament prophets. The other is named after the Italian boy of a countess that I once worked for as a teenage AuPair. This OT naming is not particularly unusual nor usually fraught with political barbs, there are mini 'prophets' a plenty, but it became so for me at a children's play centre a few years ago, when on hearing my son's name, one of the mothers said, "You're not a Zionist are you?" I replied that I didn't know, that I'd need to look into it, "Are you?" I asked. She gave me a funny look and took herself off. Given I felt I was being judged (and not by a Deborah) I took the word home, looked it up and then put it on the table to examine it. This is what I figured out: I believe in Israel's right, its necessity, to exist on their historic land. As far as I know, through the bible and other historical texts I have read, the Jews lived in Jerusalem before the Muslims, yet Jerusalem has, for the past 70 years been divided between Israel and Palestine - the call to prayer is part of the atmosphere there. Jewish and Arab Israeli's mostly live happily alongside each other according to a new poll </span><a href="https://972mag.com/poll-israelis-positive-view-jewish-arab-relations/140846/">https://972mag.com/poll-israelis-positive-view-jewish-arab-relations/140846/</a>.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When Israel was established in 1948, there was nowhere else for the Jewish people to go. No one wanted them despite what they had endured in the Second World War. I am deeply sympathetic to their historical sufferings; I am also sympathetic to the plight of the Palestinians in the settlements (Palestinians currently make up 20% of the general voting population according to this BBC article </span><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/8165338.stm">http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/8165338.stm</a><span style="font-size: large;">). Israel is far from perfect, and should be held to account for specific actions or policies, it clearly has complex issues that are yet to be resolved, and t</span><span style="font-size: large;">o criticise Israel is not to be anti-Semitic but across social media and social situations, it seems that socially acceptable criticism of Israel provides a pretext for anti-Semitic attitudes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Recently, over a crowded table at a friend's 50th, someone in fashion howled with laughter on hearing my son's name, this despite her naming her children along the lines of Frank Zappa's. The assumption was that the assembled would join in but her husband just looked embarrassed. I have also noticed a disturbing rise in antisemitism on Twitter. Many of my left-leaning friends are anti-Israel despite it being the only democratic country in the Middle East. Israel is the only country in the Middle East who has a Pride celebration for instance, where those of Jewish and Arabic descent party happily together. I think there is an assumption that Arabic groups are shunted out of Israeli society and discriminated against in general, but Arabic is one of the official languages of Israel, and I am told (by people who have visited) that Arabs and Jews, live peacefully together there and minority rights are protected. Arab Israelis are active in all areas of life including in the Supreme Court and in parliament. I will not lecture on what Israeli ingenuity has given us or how many Nobel prizewinners are Jewish, but I do wonder about cultural jealousy as a possible cause for this antisemitic spite.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I have some Jewish blood through my great, great grandmother, or so I am told through my cousin David Leitch, who traced our ancestry on my grandfather's maternal side from Odessa to Denmark to Liverpool and wrote about it in his book, #FamilySecrets. As we know, this historical peripatetic movement of the Jewish people has been essential for their survival. Why so much hatred for the Jewish people still exists in our society given the Holocaust is still recent history is beyond me, but it is an insidious social disease that needs to continue to be recognised, spoken about and decried when it is seen. Anti-Semitic hate incidents reached a record high in 2018 </span><a href="https://cst.org.uk/news/blog/2019/02/07/antisemitic-incidents-report-2018">https://cst.org.uk/news/blog/2019/02/07/antisemitic-incidents-report-2018</a> <span style="font-size: large;">and Corbyn's leadership has been dogged by anti-Semitism. I am concerned that hatred of the Jewish people is becoming an acceptable leftist view and one that is assumed and presumed by the inhabitants of the moral high ground.</span>Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-55308818269308013102019-07-27T15:37:00.001+01:002019-07-27T15:37:26.453+01:00The Family
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<span style="font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14pt;">Part 2. 'The Family' as they
are appropriately termed by the judge - though I do not mean to make out that the
judge was of a Mafiosi mind - but it fits - did not reckon on the tenacity and
sheer bloody mindedness of child 2, who ABHORS injustice and saw this final act
of her mother as, well, the final nail. She did not act alone, in fact the fingerprints of the dastardly
ones that married into The Family are all over the death documents x2. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14pt;">Finale:
Child 2 'wins' and gets full costs. But there are no winners here. Only losers.
Though the morally bankrupt ones had to be taken on. Especially the
orchestrator (rhymes with woman hater) who has likely done what he has to other
crossers and who will likely continue to do, unless apprehended. By the law.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I will dissect this foul
smelling cadaver with a pen (mightier than the sword) in the weeks and months
to come. I'm still coming to terms with the ugliness of all I have been
through. What happened in court, where I discovered monsters behind the scenes, is hard to digest. I don't have a grid for what I have seen. It
would be hard to put into believable words. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Behind my own scenes and indeed through them, I battled
breakdown followed by 2 bouts of major surgery, hot-heeled by an ear shrivelling
diagnosis and high blasts of chemo that have left a legacy of instant menopause
and scarred, burnt and bruised insides that, given so much of me has been pulled out, now find themselves displaced all over the place. The scars unseen, physical and more, are stubbornly
ropey. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But outside where the light causes the dark to fade, there is pure,
unadulterated joy. Not least in the faces of my girl, my boys. I am not a
victim. I am an overcomer. Come on life. Keep on coming. I'm here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5060915262181355811.post-3790589802826966582019-07-26T22:10:00.000+01:002019-07-26T22:10:16.331+01:00The #1975InheritanceAct
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This epoch (three and a half
horrible gobbled years) began in the weeks before Christmas 2015 and ended last
Monday with a victory of sorts, in court. Though I'd call it rough justice.
Very exposing, court, and open to all sorts of untruths peddled by unscrupulous
people. You have to take a long hard look at yourself, while you are forced to
look at them, those you hoped not to see again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The #1975InheritanceAct, I am reliably told, was drawn to help
the illegitimate children of men who died and so could no longer support them
(if they ever had), so that ALL the children of the deceased benefitted and not
just the 'legitimate ones.' The act was amended in 1975, interestingly, the
year my stepfather entered my life. Here is the premise of my 1975 Act: 1966 -
Beautiful woman (my mother) marries beautiful man (my father). Marriage is
disastrous. Woman leaves with 3 children and snip! Cuts ties. Woman marries
second, younger man. Middle child does not accept status quo. She is still
tied. Upshot: She and her views have to go - this is executed (sometimes
violently) by degrees, until, child 2 gets the message, which she eventually
does when she is close to 50. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Though her IQ is high (or was - all that recklessly high living!) she is slow
to realise what the family have been and are up to. It takes a cop with a lot </span><span style="font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 18.6667px;">to gain</span><span style="font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14pt;"> (an acre, plus a lot of house) to launch a public Facebook attack with
his wife and daughter braying from the sidelines, and the silent complicity of The Family to make her go.
Why? A bolt from the blue prize has arrived by death courier, courtesy of the
woman's uncle and grandmother. A mere year later, death comes calling again
and the prize passes on to one not intended by the uncle to inherit: The
Stepfather pockets the cash and sells the property to the Machiavellian one.
Did Machiavelli wear pink and lilac suits? Do lies smell of roses? Was his
testimony like pink icing on a gently rotting cake? Did he eat all of it?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Franklin Gothic Book"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Part 2 Tomorrow</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Emily Barrosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281576503152050808noreply@blogger.com