We had an evening of board games at our house tonight. Present were three Latvians who speak varying degrees of English, a South African (moi), two Swedish nationals - one with an English accent and one with a South African accent (my son and husband respectively), an Irishman and two English nationals, one of whom has a somewhat Zimbabwean accent. Quite a mixed bag!We realised early on that we had to avoid some games because they were definitely biased towards the English speaking people present (Scene It, 30 Seconds, etc.). The evening went off very well, but there was a somewhat interesting interlude when one of the Latvians (the one with the strongest English) was playing battleships with the Irishman. She knew the rules. He didn't. So she was trying to explain them to him, but he was struggling with her accent and she was struggling to find the right words... and with his accent. Heck I struggle with his accent, too. It took me three attempts a few weeks ago to figure out what he meant when he told me that Obama had gone out for a 'borrgorr'.Somehow the game got underway, but there were hiccups.When he says A and E, they sound very similar to an unpractised earShe calls H 'ush' while he calls it 'haitch' - so she kept thinking he was saying 8In Latvian, the letter I is called 'ee' (as it is in several other languages) and she kept mixing the two upBut the best was G and J. They simply could not figure out which one the other meant. She would say G and he would ask, "Juh?" To which she would respond "Yes. Juh." Of course, she was no doubt thinking of words like geography, and had no idea that we call J 'juh' and G 'guh'. Then he would say J and she would have no idea which he meant either. Fittingly enough for a church group, they settled on J for Jesus and G for God.Then, as I drove her home later, she told me how nervous she was about driving in England, because she is used to driving on the left. I pointed out that we do drive on the left in England, but that I had always thought they drove on the right in Latvia. No, she insisted. They drive on the left. It is we who drive on the right. Since we were in the car at the time, quite clearly driving on the left side of the road, I assumed she was confusing the words for left and right. Then it dawned on me. When we talk about the side on which we drive, we refer to the side of the road on which we travel. When she does, she refers to the side of the car on which the driver sits.As we get to know these ladies better, I foresee many such misunderstandings, and it occurs to me that a simple translation isn't always enough to ensure clarity of understanding. There are frames of reference and paradigms in play.For those of us who are called upon to develop multilingual resources, this might well be a consideration. It might be worth having a sense check with the translator and looking for a more readily understood transliteration instead.

Never once when I was at school did I hear of a well-known children's author visiting a school to read some of his/her works. But, in the UK, this is a fairly common occurrence. There are even websites which make it possible for a school to find an author willing to do this.Of course, the author gains exposure to his target audience, but he also gets to share some of his passion for literature, for stories, for the wonder of words with a new generation of children.The children get to hear a new story, they get to meet a famous author.You would have thought that it was a win-win situation.But a group of Britain's best known children's authors have called a halt to these visits because of the introduction of a new vetting process designed to protect the children from would-be predators. Under the new scheme, people who want to work with children will have register on a national database at a cost of £64.Yesterday morning, I heard Philip Pullman, who is one of the authors taking this stance, talking about their decision on the radio. He called it "dispiriting." As he points out "Children are abused in the home, not in classes of 30 or groups of 200 in the assembly hall with teachers looking on." I believe he has a point.Anthony Horowitz is similarly put out, "After 30 years writing books, visiting schools, hospitals, prisons, spreading an enthusiasm for culture and literary, I find this incredibly insulting."A DCSF spokesman explains "This is because visitors to schools, even if they are supervised by a teacher at all times, are being placed in a unique position of trust where they can easily become deeply liked and trusted by pupils."What worries me is that we are teaching children and society at large to view with suspicion the relationship between an adult and a child, to view every child as a potential victim and every adult as a potential predator. Some schools have even banned parents from the schools' sports day and swimming galas for fear that one or two or 20 of the parents might have nefarious intentions.I would have thought that the relationship between children and adults in society was under enough strain. Of course, it is nothing short of tragic when a child is abused by an adult. But is legislation like this not teaching children that is the norm? Are we not creating the impression that the State is there to protect the dear little children from the nasty, wicked grown ups?I once knew a paedophile. I boarded in his house for my first 6 months at college. Fortunately for me, I was far too old for his tastes. But I can say that the girl who was the object of his twisted attentions at the time was the daughter of close friends of his. These were people who trusted him and were delighted that he was prepared to contribute to her upbringing so generously.I deeply regret that I never had the courage to tell the child's parents what was going on under their very noses. Not that I think they would have believed me for a moment, of course.I'm uncomfortable with the thought that we are placing every adult under suspicion with the measures we introduce. I predict that, rather than protecting our children, it will further polarise and fracture our society, thereby affording the deviant greater latitude in which to forge a relationship of trust with a child whose life is devoid of healthy relationships with an extended circle of adults.But I pray that I'm wrong.

It's been some time since I posted one of these. I have been surprised to learn how many people have missed my daily photos both here and on Facebook. Primarily the combination of the volume of work going on in my dissertation and the worry about my son's girlfriend's health have been sidetracking me.I am on day three of an induction workshop on a new contract, and this pic was taken at lunch time int he atrium area of the Regus offices in Southampton.

I have John Zurovchak to thank for the link to this video. A well known song, but just see how the choir has used their bodies to recreate an African storm at the beginning. So creative.I was deeply touched that the piece made him think of me! It fair choked me up.

Sometimes what one person thinks is bad news can strike another as good news. A forecast of rain might be bad news for the holidaymaker and great news for the farmer. It's all a matter of perspective.Today, the geneticist told me I will be placed on an increased risk register and screened annually for breast cancer. Is this bad news? A doctor may have thought so.For me, it's great news.When we first moved to the UK a decade ago, I expected to able to have the same screening I had had in South Africa. There it had been elective, but my medical insurance had gladly paid for it. So, once a year, I had a mammogram and a professional palpation.On the NHS, elective screening is not on offer, and I didn't have the money to opt for private screening. I explained my family history to them, but they were not convinced that this constituted a sufficiently increased risk to warrant screening over and above the standard provision of a three-yearly mammogram between the ages of 50 and 64. No palpations are made at all. I'm not sure what happens after 64.The doctor who broke this news to me was puzzled that I didn't receive it cheerfully. Didn't I understand that he was telling me I was at no greater risk than the next person?In the intervening years, additional events within my family have meant that I am now being offered the annual screening. I am delighted. The doctor who broke this news to me this morning fully understood this. Perhaps it helps that this time it was a woman.Can you say safety net?Perhaps we ought to bear in mind that perspective/paradigm can have a significant role to play in how the material we include in a learning resource is received by the learner. With this in mind, it is so sad that the learner is so seldom involved in the process of the development of new learning materials in the workplace.

I recently heard a radio interview with Anna Sam. If you haven't already heard of her, I suspect her book is going to be a corker. I'm looking forward to reading it. To quote The Independent,shewas part of a legion of 170,000 French women who are, in her words, "omnipresent but invisible". She was a "beepeuse" (a woman who beeps) or, more officially, a "hôtesse de caisse" (till-hostess). In other words, she was a supermarket check-out girl. She began to blog about her experiences, and, when her blog gained stellar popularity, this was repurposed as a book which is about to be translated into seven languages.Her experiences should have us all playing closer attention to the way we treat the 'invisible people'. During her interview she shared how mothers often tell their children without attempting to lower their voices, that, unless they work harder at school, they're going to wind up stuck in a dead end job like this.My children encountered similar snootiness at their previous school, where teachers frequently told kids that, unless they put in more effort, they would wind up flipping burgers at [insert franchise name here].All over the UK at the moment immigrants from Latvia and Poland (among other places) are stacking supermarket shelves and picking and packing in warehouses. They are diligent and conscientious. Relieved to be working when so many are out of work. Some of them suffer abuse from their neighbours who hurl insults (and worse) at them for "coming over here and taking our jobs." Trouble is, said neighbours didn't want those jobs to begin with. To accept work of that nature would be to take on a label they were too proud to accept, because their parents and teachers told them that those jobs were beneath contempt.Surely the burgers need to be flipped, the bins emptied, the shelves stacked and the merchandise picked and packed? Why should there be shame associated with providing this service? Admittedly, these are not highly paid jobs - they are not particularly highly skilled. But what of that? It's an honest day's work, which is more than can be said for some of the wheelers and dealers in the world of blue chips.It's an odd society which doesn't want to do the work, but doesn't want any outsiders coming and doing it, either.

Do you remember your first pay cheque? What extravagance did you indulge in?My elder son has a summer job working in an office. Today he received his first pay... well, it wasn't really a cheque, it was paid in by BACS transfer, but you know what I mean. He's had part time jobs before, but this is a full time, if temporary job. Rather well paid, too, for a lad of seventeen.So how do you suppose he spoiled himself?A box of 10 chocolate eclairs from the bakery, for the princely sum of £2.He has always been careful with money. When he was little, he would ask for something such as, say, the Beano comic, to which my husband would respond, "Sure. You can buy it with your pocket money. That's what it's for." My son almost always chose to do without.He does plan to take his girlfriend out for a nice dinner, but other than that, the money is earmarked for a car when he goes to university.Shades of his paternal grandmother who grew up in the great depression and tends to turn a penny over five times before deciding to put it back into her pocket. It obviously skipped a generation, though - my husband doesn't have that kind of fiscal discipline!

We've taken advantage of the UK govt scrappage scheme and scrapped John's old banger. We also traded in my car and consolidated to get one brand new car. My first one. Ever. John has twice had brand new cars, but they have always been company cars, so it's a first for him, too. Apologies for the poor focus. My camera couldn't cope with the LCD.

I went to the hairdresser today for a long overdue haircut. The woman who owns the salon tells me that business is on the up and people are starting to book colour treatments again. Apparently, just a short while ago, people were doing their own colour treatments at home and only going into the salon for a cut and finish. Is this a sign of an increasing optimism? Has the recession bottomed out?'scuse the photo - I'm not great at self portraits.

CIO magazine has a list of forty great time-wasting sites for a Friday (you have to sit through a bit of an ad first, more's the pity). This one generates comic strips, but there are all sorts of other fun things to while away a Friday afternoon instead of working.

For anyone who has not yet cottoned on to why our current, conscience appeasing way of delivering humanitarian aid to Africa isn't working, please read this book. It wasn't written by a rock star or a Hollywood celeb. It was written by a Zambian economist called Dambiso Moyo.This is one girl who has her head screwed on right. What a pity the big wigs aren't listening to her... yet!

As longer term readers will know, I had a bit of a bumpy ride on the journey to adulthood. Divorced parents in an age when this was uncommon. A permanent shortage of money which meant that I went without a lot of things my peers took for granted. Add to that some bad choices both on my mother's part and mine, and you have a recipe for disaster. The fact that my life is far from disastrous today, is something for which I am permanently grateful.On a recent trip home, my Mom told me "You did a good job of raising yourself," which I took as an apology for the choices she made in respect of me. And it is true that, by and large, I did raise myself. My childhood was neither easy nor happy, but over the course of the last 24 hours, I have come across two different stories that put things into perspective.This story in Cape Town's Cape Argus newspaper tells the story of a boy of 15 called Tapiwe who left Zimbabwe after the death of both his parents in search of a better life in South Africa, only to find that the streets were not paved with gold, after all. He became one of Cape Town's many homeless people, sleeping under a bridge. He worries about his little sister, whom he left in the care of neighbours back in Kwekwe. He hopes to be able to find a way to support her, but is unable to get work in South Africa because he is under age. The Adonis Musati Project is trying to help him complete his education and improve his chances of securing a decent job.Last night, our church heard from a young man called Minjun from North Korea whose father died in prison when he was only 9 years old, after the authorities learned that he was making trips into China to earn money to feed his family. Because of his father's criminal record, he was unable to get into a decent school. At 17, without daring to tell his mother, he left North Korea for China and from there made his way to South Korea to start a new life. He struggles with guilt for having left without telling his mother and he worries about the treatment she will receive because of his 'betrayal'. He told us of the many people in N. Korea who are dying of starvation and of the poor medical care provision which saw his little brother die in early childhood of TB - an eminently treatable disease (my own father had it and was successfully treated).What hammered these two stories home to me is that my elder son is the age that Minjun was when he fled from North Korea, while my younger son is the same age as Tapiwe. I am so glad that neither of them needs to have to face a journey like this, all alone.

Alex Dawson has put out a request: Where do you find sanctuary? He invites replies in whatever medium you like: words, images, video, etc.So here's mine. There are a few places.The first is in prayer. When I pray I feel as if I am surrounded by an inviolate bubble. As if I have taken refuge in the biggest, safest lap in the universe.The second, more corporeal place is right here. In these eyes:Twenty one years later, after two children, innumerable wrinkles, several grey hairs (in spite of my best attempts with hair colour), and a significant increase in weight, he still looks at me with love, affection, fondness and - blow me down - desire.The third is here. Our family room at home. People boggle at the colour scheme of neon colours but we absolutely love it. It is our family bolt hole, and we spend a lot of time here together.

I find it fascinating to explore what motivates people to behave the way they do. The more I understand about what motivates people, the more likely I am to create engaging resources.Yesterday, as I drove along the winding country road to fetch my son from work, no fewer than four times did I come around a bend to be faced by a car taking the bend hell for leather from the other side, encroaching onto my side of the road. In one instance car was plumb in the centre of the road (which a friend of mine refers to as 'taking your half out of the middle'). On that occasion, we narrowly avoided a collision, because there was nowhere for me to go: an embankment came all the way up to the edge of the tarmac on my side. On the other three occasions, I had to mount the grass verge to avoid a partial head-on.I know that I am a particularly defensive driver. These other folks, I would hazard to say, are plainly not. Why not? Why do I drive differently from them? Have two near-fatal collisions in my life have given me a glimpse of my own mortality and fragility? Is it because I'm a Mom and have become accustomed to protective parent mode? Do I care more about my car than they do theirs? Am I over-cautious? Are they thoughtless? Do they have that same sense of 'it won't happen to me' that sees people having unprotected sex or experimenting with addictive drugs? Do they rely on the other person giving way (a kind of 'chicken')? Are they playing the odds that no-one will come from the other side in the few seconds it takes them to get through the bend?If you're someone who drives like my four close encounters yesterday, I'm really curious to know. What goes through your mind as you cross over the white line on that bend?

Today was the funeral of Harry Patch who died last month aged 111. His death follows shortly after that of Henry Allingham, another WWI veteran who had been the world's oldest man at the time of his death. The officiating clergyman called it "the end of an era". That phrase gets used a lot and is seldom warranted. Today I believe it was justified. With Harry's death the last first hand voice from the trench warfare of the First World War has been lost. From now on, it all becomes hearsay and second hand accounts.Harry kept silent about his war experiences for decades after the war. When he did speak, it was to condemn war in the strongest terms. He said no conflict was worth the loss of a single life. I tend to agree with him. Having heard since his death of some of the atrocities that he witnessed, I find it remarkable that anyone returned from the trenches to lead a normal life.At Harry's request, his funeral was attended by a German Charg' Affaires, whose reflection can be heard here. His whole life was about peace and reconciliation, which was further reflected by the choice of song performed for the occasion by a chorister, and performed here by the inimitable Joan Baez.

Have you ever played the game called associations? Two people face up to each other. One starts by saying a single word. The other responds with an associated word. The idea is not to hesitate or repeat any words. The idea is also... and this is the tricky bit... not to call out a word that is associated with your own last word, but with that of your opponent/partner.There are certain things that just belong together in our minds. Certain words and phrases that evoke specific mental images.For example, I'll bet if I said "skinned knee," most people would picture a school boy in short trousers. Skinned knees are things that happen on playgrounds, or out in the neighbourhood aren't they?Well I skinned my knee yesterday. As I got out of my car, the door decided to swing shut again and smashed into my knee. The movement of my trouser leg against my skin under the weight and force of the door took the skin off my knee cap. Then, of course, my trouser leg stuck to the (ahem) wound, so that the next time I stood up, it ripped away painfully.I had forgotten how painful a skinned knee can be. Even when it hardly bleeds.In my days in the high school netball team, I skinned my knees many times on the tarmac surface of the court with my aggressive style of play (all determination and little skill). It was no big deal then. It was part of the scenery, and therefore unremarkable.But take a thing out of context. Put it somewhere unexpected and it attracts a lot of attention. People ask me about my knee. A middle aged woman with a skinned knee is an unexpected sight.Itiel Dror talks about this a lot in his work. One of the tests he does to demonstrate this is to read off a list of words to test subjects, then to give them a certain amount of time to recall as many of them as possible. Usually, many people recall the first few and the last few, with very few or none at all remembering those in the middle, resulting in a parabolic chart.Then he repeats the experiment. This time, somewhere near the middle of the list, the word 'penis' is mentioned. Almost without fail, absolutely everyone remembers that word. The resulting chart is appropriately phallic (an effect that would no doubt be spoiled if you put the stand out word nearer to the start or end of the list - Itiel is something of a showman, too).Even among intelligent, scholarly adults, the word is unexpected enough to draw attention. To be memorable.It's a good learning design tip. Surprise them. Throw in a curved ball. Why not?

You might not have heard the name Tom Daley before. Especially if you are neither British nor interested in the sport of diving. So, a little background.Tom was selected for the British olympic squad and competed in Beijing. Team GB did not fare very well, but Daley was quite philosophical about it, in spite of the hail of criticism that inevitably followed.Something he was less able to overcome was bullying at school. Daley spoke out about his situation and the whole country was aware of the seriousness of it. Eventually things got so bad that he felt forced to change schools. Sadly, this is something we see more and more of - that the victim winds up having to change schools because 'the system' is powerless to take effective action against the perpetrators.Daley recently won gold in the individual event in Fort Lauderdale. Hopefully that will silence some of his critics.I am pleased that Daley's profile, coupled with his willingness to speak out, has shone a spotlight on this problem. My sons' head teacher is of the view that bullying is a universal problem, that there isn't a school in the world which is free of it. This is not to say that she condones it. Quite the contrary. But she recognises how common it is.And of course, most kids aren't like Tom Daley. They don't have his profile. The country's press doesn't howl in outrage when they are bullied. So they may feel as if there is no-one to whom they can turn.My own sons both begged me not to take up the matter with the school authorities, believing that this would only make matters worse. I overrode one of them... and proved him right. Things did get worse. Then my husband stepped in and pushed a little harder. We hope that we might have begun to see the light at the end of the tunnel of torment.Yes, bullying probably is in every school. It is certainly in many workplaces. And it takes a variety of forms. But that doesn't make it right. We shouldn't put up with it.

Today, the English printed press is almost universal in its choice of lead story. The details have been released of the three perpertrators in the death of 'Baby P' - as he was known to the British public for long after his real name (Peter) was made known elsewhere in the world. Not only have their names been published, but much background information as well.What emerges in respect of the mother is a picture of a girl with a tragic past and a history of self-absorbed poor choices. In respect of the two men, the picture is of a history of brutality and sadistic tendencies.The debate rages today as to whether it was wise to have revealed this information. There are fears that this will result in the release of a torrent of anger and hatred from the British public. On one radio show, mention was made of the possible change of identity for the three on their release and of relocation to Canada. I can't imagine that this would be a popular option with Canadians!As I read the reports, trying to avoid the purple prose of some of the tabloids, I realise that all three of these people were probably subjected to some pretty awful things in their early lives. Things which were bound to have had a negative effect. But I'm here today to say that you don't have to follow the path to its logical conclusion.My own early life was not a pretty picture and, by the age of 20, I was on track to be a lost cause. I think I can bank on those who know me to back me up when I say that I am not.I am not trying to big myself up here, by any manner of means. I am just hoping that perhaps even one person whose life looks set on an inexorably negative path will read this and know that it doesn't have to be that way.You have a choice.I urge you to summon up the strength for one moment to stop expending all your energy on blaming your parents, your teachers and the system, and take a good, long look at yourself in the mirror. This is where you are now. This is the reality of your life. These are the cards you hold. What happens next is up to you. Take control of it yourself. Choose not to be the victim of your circumstances. Choose to overcome them. Choose to be the very best you that you can be in spite of it all. There are very probably hands reached out to you. Stop being such a stiff-neck and grab hold of them. Go back to school if you want to. Call a helpline if you can. Book yourself in on that rehab programme if you need to. Tell someone what you've decided to do. Take a deep breath. Straighten your shoulders. Lift your chin. Put your hand to the plough. Do not look back.You can do this.You can.

Jane Hart has listed five sites where you can learn to touch type online, free of charge. As the ratio of keyboarding to writing changes, it becomes increasingly useful to have good keyboarding skills.When I was at school, typing was only available to girls and only those in their final three years of high school. The choice was that or maths. So choosing typing was like opting for a female stereotype many of us were trying hard to escape. I took maths.But keyboarding is now a part of pretty much everyone's daily life, and it stands to reason that our kids need keyboarding skills now as much as our grandparents needed penmanship skills. As far as I know, this is still not an integral part of the primary school curriculum.More's the pity.

The BBC has published an interactive map of crime patterns in Oxford. Apparently, Oxford was selected because it is the closest thing to a typical British city in respect of its demographics and crime statistics.It's a very useful map, but some people are expressing concerns. Think of it like this:You see how the crime rate is increasing in your cityYou become afraidYou want something to be done about itYou are told that the only 'something' that can be done involves curtailing civil libertiesYou trade your liberties for increased securityHmmm. Not easy. Presumably we don't want to choose ignorance, but we also need to steer clear of fearmongering.

Apparently, a competition is underway to name seven new wonders of the world. This site would like to suggest a few lesser known alternatives. Just looking at the photos gives me such a lift. Is this little planet of ours not rich in natural wonders fit to blow the mind?

If you know me personally, or if you have been reading this blog for some time, you will know that I have a love for stories of triumph. I am prone to standing up and whooping (at the very least metaphorically) for sheer joy at all that is unquenchable, indomitable and indefatigable. Like you, I have been crushed, battered, bruised and broken at some points along life's journey. Like you, I have had to overcome these setbacks.Does Angelou not capture it perfectly with her words? And does she not perform her words with consummate skill?I like to carry with me into every project a sense of the people who will use my resources, of their own falling and rising. I like to to strive with every resource I create to make a small contribution to that rising.How 'bout you?

Linda Hartley shared this link via Twitter today. It broke my heart. No child should ever be given the impression that they are bad or ugly. Just look at these precious little faces as they effectively write themselves off as both of these things! These kids need a dose of Maya Angelou!What are we teaching our children?

I learnt something about myself this week. I am more shallow than I would like.On two occasions this week, I attended meetings at sexual health clinics. When I reported to the front desk, I felt the need to make it clear that I was there in a professional capacity and not as a patient.I was disappointed in myself. Several people have responded with variations on the theme of "Eew!" when I have mentioned my current project. I have no such reaction. I consider sexual health to be a subject of critical importance. Since the material I am working on is of a clinical nature aimed at specialising clinicians, I realise that I am going to see and include in the learning materials some rather gruesome images. I have no qualms about that. Our doctors need to know as much as possible about these matters and they will see far worse things in the course of their careers. Somebody needs to put the learning materials together. It might as well be me.I was reminded of a group of people I once encountered. All wore matching T-shirts and name badges. They were obviously on some sort of outing. Some of them gave outward signs of some form of mental disorder, others were indentifiable as having Down Syndrome. Among the group, there were also some with no discernable impairment/special need. But of course, not all mental disorders manifest by means of any outward signs, so it was likely that some of those who seemed unimpaired had special needs, too. Some, however, had to be staff.Such is the graciousness of these people that they felt no need to distance themselves from their charges in any outward way. They felt no need to wear anything that identified them as carers rather than patients. I was deeply impressed by this at the time.My experience this week tells me I am far more superficial than they.Mea culpa.