My West Wing hero - International Women's Day

Female role models, do you have any?

I’m going to celebrate International Women’s Day by writing down my female heroes, as they stand, right now.

Because role models change as we change. As you have new priorities in your life, so your outlook shifts, you turn your head in a different direction and there they are - new role models you never knew existed before.

I do wonder what role models say about us. Are they out-of-reach aspirational? Or real people sitting in the office next door, willing to help and mentor whenever you need it? Or entirely fictional, coming to life from the TV or pages of a book, into your subconscious and commenting silently on every decision you make?  

Mine are mainly real and are mostly journalists. I take a little bit of something from all the role models I have, I don't necessarily want to be them, there's just something about what they do, who they are and how they approach life as a woman that appeals to me.

Anyway. On this day of celebrating all things female here's my list - I have more who are close to me, but I'll keep those to myself.



CJ Cregg



(I’ve even provided links).

Eleanor Oldroyd – Broadcaster of 5Live fame. (I’ve worshipped her almost as long as I’ve stalked Bryan Robson)

Ann Leslie – Foreign Correspondent

CJ Cregg – character from the West Wing

Sue Davie - Chief Executive Meningitis Trust

*New entry* Fleet Street Fox – Tabloid journalist and proud

And here's an Oxfam link for good luck :)  http://www.oxfam.org.uk/get-together

Bonding in a Crisis - The Gallery

This photo makes me laugh out loud everytime I look at it. Bonding during a Friday night trapped in your office.

We form so many great bonds, my dogs, childhood friends, distant cousins. But the ones I’ve formed in work are some of the strongest because often they’ve been borne out of adversity. 

It's the connection you form by being part of the same crisis.

What a crisis brings to a team is a strong bond. A deeper understanding of how your colleagues behave in the midst of an emergency and the strength you all take from coming out of the other side. Battered, bruised - but smiling, stronger and much better equipped for the future.

And with memories and photographs that will make you smile (and wince!) for years to come.

there she is again...!

 The 2007 floods tested me and my colleagues to the limit. The challenges were everywhere. Continuing to deliver a service as demand increased, but without computers or an office. Keeping a staff rota running 24 hours at locations across the county when people couldn’t travel. Keeping morale up when staff were spending their spare time queuing for water.

Empathy is a big part of crisis communications, if you understand what people are going through you do a much better job, and we did.

As a result I feel a strong and lasting bond with the staff, organisations and reporters I worked with during that emergency. It improved the way we worked together and turned us into a slick, well-oiled machine the next time a crisis occurred.

Because from that experience we knew who we could trust. We saw the best and worst of people and shared something that would never be repeated.

So I now have a bond with a small group of random people that will stay with me for the rest of my life (mainly built around smelly socks, long nights without sleep and improvised beds) even though many of us don't work together anymore.

 It was an unreal time, working with amazing people and it’s something I never want to forget.

This post was inspired by The Gallery on the Sticky Fingers Blog. Click on the icon to read more blogs.

About that six day warning...

Last week I wrote a post about the unrealistic expectations and laziness of men when it comes to leaving the house. You can read it here. One male blogger, incensed by my nonsense, sent me this response. Read it and weep.

Dear Wife,

Last Sunday you told me that we would be going to your Sister’s house this Saturday, for lunch. I grunted my acknowledgement and forgot about it instantly.

On Monday, you mentioned that we would go for a walk in the woods while we were at your Sister’s at the weekend. I filed that under ‘that’ll-be-nice’ and gave it no further thought. We only need legs to go for a walk and I have two of those. I considered myself ready for the challenge.

On Tuesday, you said how excited you were about going to your Sister’s at the weekend and I distinctly remember asking what day we were going, why we were going and what we were going to do while we were there. You did a special womanly sigh and informed me that we were going on Saturday, for a walk and for lunch. “What time will lunch be?” I asked, “Lunch time, or later?” It’s important to know the difference between a ‘meal’ which can be served at any time, and ‘lunch’, which should be at 12 O’clock. I’m very set on this detail.  “Lunch” you replied.

On Wednesday you asked me what time we needed to set off in order to get to your Sister’s for lunch on Saturday. I remember thinking to myself that this was a remarkably strange question considering that I didn’t even know we were going to your Sister’s, not to mention the fact that we have both lived in the same respective houses for at least six years and we have visited them at least four times a year ever since. Surely by now you should have got the hang of how long it takes? We don’t even use the sat-nav anymore. “Half past ten,” I say, “eleven at the latest if we are to get there in time for lunch.”

On Thursday, you had a day off talking specifically about your Sister but instead spent an hour banging on about how you don’t have anything nice to wear at the weekend, and the general lacking in your ridiculously over-stuffed wardrobe at the moment. I told you that fourteen different outfit combinations looked lovely on you but no actual decisions were made.

On Friday, you pointed out that if we were to leave the house for half past ten the next morning, then we was really going to have to get on with it when we got up. You mooted the idea of setting an alarm but shelved it in favour of a gamble that the kids would wake us instead. I reminded you how long it always takes you to get ready and that we really did need to be away in time because your Sister’s kids would eat all the sausage rolls again, if we were late. You nodded in agreement – that particularly cold and food depleted visit has never actually been forgotten nor forgiven.

For six days you have nagged me about this visit. For six days you have been planning it.

So why is it, love, that with twenty minutes to go you are still sat in your PJ’s with your nose deep in Twitter and need me to tell you to get ready?

An hour ago I mumbled that perhaps you could possibly have a shower first, on account of how much faffing this always entails, and you shrugged me off. I looked over at the kids half an hour ago and I thought you were leaving it a bit late to get them ready. I shook my head in disbelief at your apparent lack of thought. 

It only takes me five minutes to wash my pits, sack & crack in the shower (I’m nothing if not thorough), five minutes to dry and throw on the closest pair of trousers and shirt to the end of the rail, and another five minutes to follow you around as you use your special female Voodoo magic to locate my otherwise lost phone, keys, socks and sunglasses.

Fifteen minutes – that’s all it takes me to be ready! I’m ready with five minutes to spare and where are you? Upstairs, messing about with the kids now that you’ve finally noticed they aren’t ready.

Will you please get a move on? Those greedy nephews of yours will be tucking into the garlic bread soon.

Love you

Husband x

About that 20 minute warning...

Dear Husband

We need to talk about leaving the house and that 20 minute warning.

Nothing annoys me more in this world than when, after an hour sprawled in front of Breakfast TV drinking coffee, you announce that we’re leaving in 20 minutes.

Then……in 20 minutes, when you’ve showered, dressed and packed your one bag – you start shouting at me, “COME ON! AREN’T YOU READY YET? WE’RE LEAVING!” then under your breath “bloody woman, she takes hours to go anywhere.”

You see, your argument is based on how long it takes YOU to get ready.

Just You. With hardly any hair (no drying), hardly any packing (one pair of pants for 5 days), and absolutely no one to look after whilst you’re doing it.

In the 20 minutes you’ve kindly allocated me to get out of the door, I am:

·         Having a shower

·         Wiping a child’s bottom

·         Getting back in the shower

·         Breaking up a fight

·         Giving up on the shower

·         Standing on lego (allow 1 minute for pain to pass)

·         Clearing up lego

·         Washing up breakfast dishes

·         Losing my towel

·         Answering the door to the postman

·         Remembering I lost the towel….Hello Postman ;)

·         Putting my underwear on

·         Retrieving my pants from a child’s head

·         Throwing my clothes into a suitcase

·         Throwing clothes for two kids into a suitcase

·         Putting the rest of my clothes on

·         Setting my hair on fire with the straighteners

·         Setting my towel on fire with the straighteners (oh, there it is!)

·         Breaking up another fight

AND I didn’t even get chance to check Facebook.

So next time you shout “20 minutes and we’re leaving”, I’ll grab my one bag and I’ll see you in the car.

Love you,

Wife
Read the Husband's response to this letter...click here