Life post-Brexit (UK)

These are just my own idle thoughts, based on what I’ve heard on Radio 4 and read in the papers.

Brexit is supposed to be mainly about sovereignty, yes.  One of the main grouses is about having to jump through the hoops set by Brussels.

A farming programme yesterday said post-Brexit they have all sorts of formalities to go through that weren’t there before when Britain was “family”:  forms to fill in, customs checks (previously just drive through), health/sanitation checks for food cargo, etc etc. 

This calls to mind something I’d often thought as a cyclist dodging inconsiderate drivers, sometimes in hairy close shaves:  “All drivers should be made to be cyclists for a while, so that they can experience at first hand what it’s like to be at the receiving end of inconsiderate driving.”

Maybe they should’ve done a similarly spirited dry run for Brexit before they voted:  go through all the hoops in their interactions with the EU — as private individuals (tourists, employees in EU-based companies), and as commercial entities. 

They might’ve thought twice about voting for Brexit if they had been made to queue up for ages as non-family (instead of just walking straight through), go through checks (visas, work permits, papers) as non-family. 

Oh, and of course, the hassle of having to apply for visas and other permits beforehand — even applying online would still take time.

(UK, 2020)

What’s happened to all those ecological inventions?

 

Listening to the donations appeal for MAG (Mines Advisory Group) on radio reminds me of something I’d read at least two decades ago about someone coming up with a creeper (by tweaking its genes) whose leaves will turn colour (purple?) if it detects the presence of a landmine below the surface.  This would mean human beings won’t need to be involved to look for and remove landmines.  I don’t seem to have heard anymore about that creeper.

Another invention was for clearing up oil slicks at sea.  A farmer had come up with the idea of wrapping hay with a fish net, then rolling it up into a tube.  Take this long tube out to sea where there’s an oil spillage, then pay out the tube like a trawler boat releasing its net.  The hay will absorb the oil, thus mopping up the surface of the water. 

The third one is related to water, a favourite environmental subject of mine, having been brought up in Singapore.  This was back in the 1980s, I think.  Someone out in Mexico had discovered that the roots of water hyacinth will clean water to 98% or 99% purity, even water from sewers.  Just grow water hyacinth over sewage ponds.  The resulting water can be drunk straight out of the pond, illustrated in that TV report I’d seen.  Maybe it’s because water hyacinth doesn’t grow in cold climates (it’s a tropical/sub-tropical plant) that this natural water-purification project hasn’t taken off here.

Christmas dinner disasters: 01 (UK)

 

At one Xmas dinner party, the hostess pulled the turkey tray out of the oven to check if it was done, but was a bit too rough.  The tray slipped out of her grasp, and landed on the kitchen floor, spilling the contents:  turkey and turkey fat.  

Catching a whiff of the turkey, one of the guests’ dog ran into the kitchen and started to slither about on the turkey fat.  

It was pandemonium in the kitchen as people rushed around trying to contain the situation.  Some tried to grab the dog before it got to the turkey, some tried to scoop up the turkey.  All were skidding around on the greasy floor.

Christmas dinner disasters: 02 (UK)

At another Xmas dinner party, the hostess pulled the turkey out of the oven to sprinkle some salt on the turkey skin. 

As she was talking to her guests, she wasn't looking properly, and ended up grabbing the washing up liquid bottle instead of the table salt bottle.  The turkey started to froth.  She had to rinse the turkey under the tap for quite a while before the bubbles subsided and she could put it back into the oven.

Riding in a sports car (Singapore)

Neighbour’s younger son, Robert, had a sports car.  

He’s three years older, so I’d be at least 15 when he invited me and my schoolfriend Mary Liew to go for a ride in his convertible.  We sat on the boot, and let our hair fly in the wind as the car sped along in the night air.

The car had two horns, I soon discovered.

Singaporeans in those days used their car horns a lot, mostly out of impatience: urging a dawdling pedestrian crossing the road to hurry up and get out of the way.

When Robert caught sight of an old man crossing the road in his doddery way, he tooted the car horn that went like a fog horn: a low, growly, frog-croak sound.  

Then Robert spotted two young ladies walking down the road ahead of him.  He tooted the other horn: a shrill, wolf-whistle sound.

Whenever I think of a sports car, that evening ride in Robert’s sports car would come to mind, complete with the sound effects.

(Singapore, 1960s)

Deportment classes: 01 (Singapore)

 

An article in the Metro of 07 December 2020 features an East London school bringing in an etiquette expert from outside to teach their pupils “how to improve their appearance, etiquette and communication skills” for “making sure they are as confident as they can be during interviews, and, if successful, at their new schools”.  The lessons covered “everything from…sitting position…to table settings, greetings and posture”.

This reminds me of my Deportment classes at secretarial school back in 1973–1974 in Singapore.

The Deportment class teacher was an ex-model from London, Miss Cleo Manning.  She appeared for the first lesson dressed in hot pants (remember those?) and a page boy hairdo cropped quite short, à la Twiggy.  She could’ve stepped straight out of London’s Hippy Sixties.

Lesson One was for Miss Manning to assess each one of us: point out our weaknesses for us to make improvements on in subsequent weeks.  We’d be graded, the same as for the other skills (shorthand, typing, Business English, etc.).

A few months before this, I’d decided to perm my hair, to give it more body, as I have proportionately wide shoulders and a proportionately small head.  This proved to be a right pain.  Every time I washed my shoulder-length hair, it’d lose its curls a bit, which meant spending ages putting it in curlers, waiting for the hair to dry out, then removing the curlers.  Easily half an hour, if not longer.  At twice a week, this amounts to a lot of time spent on just maintaining the perm.  If I was going out on a date, I’d have to blow-dry the hair to speed up the process, which meant adding to my mother’s electricity bill.  After a few months of this hassle, I decided to let the perm die out.  (No, I don’t think we had hair straighteners in those days.  Or I hadn’t heard of them.)

It was at this stage that my Deportment classes began.

Miss Manning took one look at me, with this neither-curly-nor-straight hair on my head, and told me my hair was “shaggy”.  I was instantly reminded of the shaggy dog (breed: Old English Sheepdog) featured in the adverts at the time for a well-known brand of paint:  all fur, even covering the eyes.

She also said that, without eye shadow or lipstick, my face didn’t stand out — she could hardly see my eyes or my mouth.  

(My consolation was:  most of my classmates were given a low grade for this as well.  Lots of Singapore girls in those days — maybe still today — didn’t wear make-up at all, never mind heavy make-up.)

(Singapore,1974)

Deportment classes: 02 (Singapore)

 

Miss Manning’s Deportment classes were the last period of the school day (3:30–4:30pm).

There’d be a mad rush to the ladies’ loo, to apply as much eye shadow and lipstick as possible.  Not just the amount, but the shade as well:  striking blue eye shadow, scarlet lipstick.

We’d look at each other and say, “Uggh, you look horrible!  But you’ll get a good grade from Miss Manning!”

And we certainly did.  She was very pleased with the results: “That’s better!  Now I can see your eyes and your mouth!”  The stronger the colour of the eye shadow and the lipstick, the higher the mark.

Because the class finished at 4:30pm, we didn’t have time to go to the ladies’ loo to clean up our faces, as it was too close to 5pm when office workers generally knocked off work, so we’d rush out to the bus stop looking like performers straight out of a Chinese opera.  Putting up with stares — some in shock, some in disapproval — was nothing if we could just manage to get on the bus home.

The only person in our class to escape the eye-shadow-and-lipstick requirement was Somyot — a young man from Thailand.  (Not sure why he’d chosen to do a secretarial course in 1970s Singapore when gender roles were certainly very clearly defined.)

(Singapore,1974)