Don't mess with a kung fu panda

Because it hurts...

A final story about Grandad (for now)

I managed to give my tribute to Grandad yesterday. This was the last story I told...

And I also learned from Grandad that the greatest gift you can give the people you love is the time you spend with them.

I’d like to end with one story, which has been told and retold in our family so often that it has passed from tale to fable to legend. But it’s still worth hearing, and maybe you won’t have heard this.

When Grandma and Grandad used to come and visit us in Shrewsbury when Dave and I weren’t little, but were littler that we are today, we would always greet Grandad with the same question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’

I realise that may sound like a bit of an odd question for kids to ask. But the reason we asked it was this – if Grandad had brought his old shoes that meant he was going to be able to come across the road with us to the football pitches and play football. (Bear in mind he was probably in his late sixties at that point, but still – playing football with Grandad was something we really looked forward to.)

On one occasion Grandma and Grandad arrived and we eagerly asked the question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’ And he hadn’t. I don’t think me and Dave were very good at hiding our disappointment, so even though he hadn’t brought his old shoes to wear, he agreed to come across the road with us to the field and play.

So, we were playing football. And Grandad swung his leg back to really leather the ball and he connected with it beautifully. But there was a really loud ‘pop’ and we wondered what had happened. The upper part of his shoe had completely disconnected from the sole, which was flapping underneath. That kind of curtailed our game, even though as the master fixer-upper he was able to loop the lace underneath and tie the shoe together.

Grandma wasn’t very impressed when we got home. Especially as Grandad then had to wear his jerry-rigged shoes to church the following day. He wasn’t embarrassed, although if I remember Grandma felt mortified. And, later we used to laugh about it. ‘It was a good game we had though,' he said. ‘Up until that point.’

If you can permit me a moment of indulgence I’d like to add something to that story. I know Grandad had a faith and it’s a faith I share. And part of that faith is the hope and the certainty that this moment in time, this parting, is not forever. I know I will see him again and he will see me, and we will recognise each other. I don’t know when that will be, but I know that compared to the length of history, it will be in quite a short time.

And in my mind’s eye I imagine that meeting. And I can almost imagine him standing there, holding a slightly lumpy bag, and smiling his slightly cheeky smile. And I’ll look at him. And I’ll look at the bag.

And I’ll ask ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’

And I dearly hope he says yes.

Dignity

Dave and I saw our first dead body today. It was Grandad lying in a coffin in a chapel of rest. We didn't know whether to go, but we both agreed afterwards that we're glad we did.

It was strange because he looked so well, as if he would wake up any time now and smile when he saw us. And at the same time it hammered home to me the fact that he had gone, and this man who has been a fixture in my life for so long is now not going to be around and somehow I have to get used to that and live on without him. I cried. And Sarah my foster-sister, who I was supposed to be making sure was alright, gave me tissues and patted my arm until I was okay again.

And he lay there with no effects of the stroke visible. He was in a suit, looking dapper as he always did on smart occasions. He looked younger than he did when I saw him last. And in death he looked dignified, which he couldn't in the hospital.

And I think that's why I'm glad I went to see him, because the illness which robbed him of so much had been defeated. And he looked like he could wake up at any time.

And in a real sense, in the world that's really real, I know he already has.

Car trouble isn't always trouble

We were driving up to Shrewsbury yesterday and just as we reached Pontypool the exhaust decided to break. After an RAC man gave us the all-clear we drove on, sounding like rude boys in a done up car, to Abergavenny. At Kwik-Fit we were told we could go back to the depot in Newport where they had the part. 'Forget that' we thought, and carried on to Shrewsbury, roaring through the countryside like city hoons on a day trip to ruralshire.

After eventually arriving in Shrewsbury I booked my car in with the family mechanic for Monday morning. Today I borrowed the parental Peugeot to drive over to Wrexham to see my Grandma. I wasn't even half way there, when the 'STOP' light came on on the dashboard, the temp guage was banging the side beyond the red, and there was blue smoke trailing from the exhaust.

Another RAC-man, who appeared deceptively young but had done six years fixing motors in the army, arrived and diagnosed that the water pipe had blown and the engine was dry. A jury-rigged fix later and we wended our way carefully back to Shrewsbury (Mum and Dad had driven to the rescue too), stopping for pancakes at a Little Chef first.

On reflection, this was a load of hassle on a weekend I could have done without it. But on the other hand, this could have happened on Tuesday when we were driving over to my Grandad's funeral. And it turned out my Grandma had forgotten I was coming and had gone out for the day anyway, so if I'd made it to Wrexham it would have been a wasted trip. So, the hassle served a purpose, and if it was going to happen it was good that it happened then.

The new word for fat

We had a conversation today at coffee time about how malted milk biscuits are sneakily bad for you because they’re full of hydrogenated fats. I commented how I have hydrogenous zones (complete with “seductive” stroking motion).

We all laughed. In fact, I laughed so much that my hydrogenous zones shook.

New Job Title - Word Wizzard

On Friday I got a compliment from someone I did a quick sub-ed for. “You are a word wizard!” they said.

I liked that so much I took it to my boss and asked if I could have it as my new job title. He jokingly agreed. So there you have it. I’m now no longer a staff writer; I’m a word wizard. Matt even made me a sign to put up by my desk. Ironically (he says) he spelt wizard wrong.



All I need now is a hat.

Some better, and unexpected, news

So, on a day where I had some of my saddest news ever, I also heard that Cadbury's are moving their Dairy Milk brand into fair trade certification by the end of the summer, instantly trebling the amount of cocoa traded fairly from Ghana in any given year.

Compared to my other news that was completely unexpected. In the past Cadbury's have been very defensive about their trading policy. In fact, I think we still have the letter they wrote to us saying they weren't considering it as an option.

There's power in persuasion, people.

Sad but not sad; shocked but not shocked

It turns out that the next time I see Grandad will be in the next world. I got the phone call this morning from Dad before I set out to work.

I'm still processing it really. Everything seems a bit still and numb. I feel very calm.

We were expecting this to happen, yet it still feels slightly unexpected. I feel relieved for him, that he has been released from a suspended death. I know where he is now, and who he is with, and I am utterly confident I will see him again. And yet, this is a sad day for me. It's the kind of sadness you get when you hug a friend goodbye at the station, or get in the car and leave at the end of the weekend with your folks. It's the sadness of separation for an indefinite time.

Two unexpected compliments

Over the last few days I've had two unexpected compliments.

The first was on a Negotiation Skills course I went on for work. I didn't want to go, but unfortunately my negotiation skills weren't good enough for me to get out of it. The irony.

We did a group exercise in negotiating and afterwards I was complimented on my body language, particularly the way I make points by making a circle with my thumb and fore-finger to emphasise the point I'm trying to make. This is apparently an inclusive enforcing gesture. It's taught to politicians to get the point across without alienating people, but I do it naturally. The direct comparison the guy made was with Barack Obama. (Yes, really!)

I've been asked a few times if I've ever considered a career in politics and while it's tempted me in the past (enough to do Politics as an A Level subject, for example) I'm not sure it's a career I'd want to pursue. Doing something like serial trouble-maker Mark Thomas would interest me, but I couldn't sell my soul to a political party, and it's very hard to run as an independent.

The second compliment was on the youth weekend away when one of the other leaders, "Edna", a teacher by trade, asked me if I'd ever done teacher training or been a teacher. She was really surprised when I said no, because according to her I was doing everything right in communicating with the kids, holding their attention and getting my message across. I felt a bit embarrassed really because it's quite a thing when someone in any industry tells you that you would be good at the job they do.

Again, teaching is something which I've considered. In fact, my dear old dad still brings up the possibility of me going into education on a regular basis. I think he thinks it might be my real calling. But realistically I would hate teaching as a career. Most of my friends who are teachers are burning out and any joy they had for the job has long since leached away. One or two still like getting up for work, but most don't. And I think it would kill me slowly too.

I get to talk to the kids in the youth about things which really matter. Subjects with an eternal applicability. Why anyone would want to teach kids stuff that doesn't matter or that they're not passionate about beats me. But then I guess that may be why so many teachers fail their students.

Still it's nice to know I have a couple of potential career options open if I fancy a change.

And reason number 10 why Peter Griffiths was wrong…

My good lady wife reminded me of another assertion by Peter Griffiths at The Great Fair Trade Debate which either completely missed the point or was a deliberate misrepresentation (your call).

10) Peter Griffiths claimed that fair trade is about paying higher prices so that some of the money goes to the producer. Again, not quite right. Some fairly traded products are more expensive than unfairly traded equivalents. But then many companies who trade, even in this country, tend to drive the hardest bargain they can. Promising one price, then offering a lower price at harvest time is one classic trick.

But what about those fairly traded products that are cheaper than their equivalents? They do exist. What’s going on there, in Peter Griffiths’ view of the fair trade world?

If fairly traded products do cost more, there are often a number of different reasons for that. Trying to trade across geopolitical trade tariffs and barriers are reasons for higher prices. Simple economies of scale play a part too. Nestle dominate the world coffee market and can drive down their prices if they want to (guess whether they do or not), but they also have their own packaging plants and can fill chartered planes with coffee. They don’t have to pay a third party to have their coffee packaged and transported, so it’s cheaper for them to get the coffee to market.

Plus, ‘fair trade’ is more than just ‘we pay more money’. Yes, sometimes there is a ‘fair-trade premium’. But at its heart, ‘fair trade’ is about sustainable relationships – where the buyers pay the agreed-on negotiated price and don’t try to wiggle out of it later, where long-term trading relationships matter, and where producers are often paid some of the money upfront so they don’t have to go into debt while the crops are growing or the products are being made.

Thinking that ‘fair trade’ is all about money, and not realising that actually it is a life-affirming dynamic, is the kind of error made by the kind of person who doesn’t understand that human beings trade with other human beings – and trade is just one of many human relationships. Or, to put it another way, the kind of person who extrapolates behaviour based on the premise that everyone behaves like automatons, then wonders why there complex models don’t work in the real world. Or, to put it a third way, a person who is a classically trained economist.

And just to set the record straight, because my good lady wife told me I’d got one of my facts wrong, the chap from the Windward Islands wasn’t actually from a co-operative. He was a member of the Windward Islands Farmers Association (WINFA), which works on behalf of the farmers e.g. to get the Fair Trade Mark on their bananas.

But even if he wasn’t from a co-operative, he still (rightly) took offence at Peter Griffiths’ assertion that someone in the developing world would automatically steal if they had the opportunity. But then that statement was based on an anecdote, and according to Peter Griffiths, anecdotes don’t count as evidence…

And finally…
I stood up and said something at the debate, challenging Peter Griffiths on a couple of these things. Obviously when I sat down I thought of several more things I could have said. That always happens.

Anyway, Cath has told me that she met people at a fair trade fair at the weekend who commented that what I said was helpful. When she went into the shop at the weekend, one of her co-workers said that she’d heard I’d stood up and made a good point. Fame.

But my encouragement to you is speak up and speak out in those situations where you just know you have to speak up and speak out.

Take courage, because other people want to, and will love the fact that you have.

And the more of us who do it, the more other people will.

And the brighter we shine, the more we roll the darkness back.