Nicky's Journal

The offspring's various plans mean that this year we'll be celebrating Xmas on Boxing Day.
So, obviously that means that Xmas Day will be Boxing Day and will involve bubble and squeak made with leftover sprouts and potatoes... Obviously... :-)
We will, however, be doing the normal Xmas Eve things today.
Last minute shopping is accomplished and the ceremonial opening of the family cards is scheduled for this afternoon before some of the offspring flee.
Postal strike may also mean that my lack of organisation with Xmas cards goes unnoticed... or at least excused...

I was assigned to be on combat school at Kentwell this year.
In addition to those of us from Edinburgh, we had one new person who was very promising, a returner from previous years who is good and another newbie who also seemed keen, but had small kids and therefore mostly wasn't around.
Combat School is now slowly building up a group of regular pupils among the participants, which is nice - makes it look more appropriate.

On the first day I discovered that the dairy staff were all sick and there was one of the bakers in charge of it, on her own, so I went and helped out there instead. Unfortunately my kit was a bit posh for it.
On the second day the (massively overworked) bakery couldn't spare the baker, so the day started with me and one actually person who was supposed to be in the dairy, but had never done it before. It took until nearly midday for J1 to manage to find somebody who had appropriate kit, was free, and had done it before. I did a quick reminder on what was what and then fled.
... and none of my clothes smell of cheese... which is probably a minor miracle...

Another minor miracle was a dry day for packing up camp.


From there we headed to J2's farm.
We did more sword practice, some archery, and quite a bit of new cookery with different equipment, which worked well.
I'd forgotten the dye pan, and the river was in flood so we didn't get to soak willow to make baskets or build an oven in the river bank.
Also had a day trip to Hexham for a change.
Unfortunately the day we packed up there wasn't dry. It's taken a week and a bit to finish drying everything out back at the flat.

Today I am sewing all the things again.

Making new linen coifs, since it appears that my default design isn't okay for a late Elizabethan event.
There was the obligatory 15 mins spent looking at the pattern and going argh about the fact that only two of the dimensions are actually specified, and the instructions are less than comprehensive, but I think I have it sorted now. Fingers crossed.

Naturally I can't find the several metres of dark red wool that I know is around here somewhere. I may end up with an orange jacket over a red skirt... [/fashion victim]

Recently I was having a conversation in which the subject of Rolf Harris came up. Guy I was talking to launched into a rant about how he thought it was dodgy that nobody had mentioned problems at the time.
If it was for real surely, he said, somebody would have spoken up.

He didn't know me well enough to know that I was abused as a child, so he missed my first attempt to indicate distress.
It was hard to get my breath, let alone form words.
I held up a hand, barely, like an unconfident schoolchild who isn't sure of the answer, and the third time I said his name he stopped and looked at me and realised that something was wrong.
Again, words were troublesome, but I had enough space in his silence to put a few together "Give me a minute. Then I'll tell you why."


There are so many reasons.

1) I was ten. In the days before sex education I didn't have the words or the concept to actually describe or explain anything that was happening.
I get pretty angry about people saying that sex education 'destroys children's innocence'. That's entirely about adult discomfort, and not at all about children. Knowledge is power.

2) I wasn't aware that refusing an instruction given to me by an adult was an option.
Good children, and especially good girls, are supposed to do what they're told. In childhood there's a whole bunch of 'because I said so that's why' and 'it's for your own good'. Innoculations and the dentist hurt, so the mere fact of a thing being unpleasant doesn't offer any indication that a child has a right to complain.
I remember the first time there was a news report on the formation of (I think) Childline. I was 20. That was the first time I'd heard that anyone would regard what happened to me as something that was morally wrong. I remember the white hot fury that nobody had told me that.
Nobody had told me.
I went out for a walk, and freaked my flatmates out completely because it was way past 1am when I felt able to come back and they were on the point of calling the police.

3) Victims get the blame.
Look at what happens even now if somebody complains of abuse.
Even if there's supporting evidence somebody will claim that they're 'exaggerating' or that they must have consented really or done something to make it their own fault.
Even the current pope, who is about a million times less evil than his predecessor, is still claiming that tiny children provoked or invited the abuse they suffered at the hands of adult males in positions of power over them.
Abusers aren't stupid. They mostly don't do this stuff in front of independent witnesses. Almost all complaints of abuse will boil down to one person's word against another, and abusers have both power and a vested interest in personally discrediting anyone who reports any abuse.

4) Nothing would be done.
It's incredibly recent that the police now keep reports of abuse on file in case other reports on the same person come in.
They used to just be thrown away because they weren't sufficient on their own to justify a prosecution.
Nowadays it's still unlikely that an abuser will face justice. Even a decade ago it was practically impossible that they would.

I was at a Beltane drum club last night.
Chap on the door didn't have a stamp, but instead a permanent marker pen. Mostly he seemed to be drawing willies on people.
I didn't say a word, but I assume the raise of my eyebrows was sufficient. He hastily changed what he was drawing on me to a butterfly. :-)

So... busy, busy, busy as usual.

Nearly finished a shirt for Arden. I embroidered an oak leaf design on the collar and cuffs and am just assembling the final shirt now. Need to check that the front opening is long enough and hem it, and then that's done.

On Monday morning I'll be helping a student makes a herald's tabard for our next feast, and on Monday afternoon another student and I will be painting heraldic designs on tablecloths.
Then it's volunteering on Tues morning and calligraphy on Tues evening...

Today, if the weather allows, we'll have the Champion's Tourney.
I don't expect a large crowd of spectators in this weather. It's really cold out there. I'm wondering how many layers of thermal underwear I can put on before it starts to prevent me moving my arms...


Made it out to the Citrus Club for the first time in a while on Friday. I got the opening time wrong so we (xora, Becca, Anth and Jacky) were tragically forced to sit in the Filmhouse Bar and drink beer.
Music was a bit bland to start with, but it did liven up, and we danced plenty.
My back started complaining at around 2am. Not as young as I used to be.

There was a group of youngsters, two girls and a boy, who were dancing with us. By about half way through the night they were coming over and inviting us on to the dance floor whenever we sat down.
A different young man first of all approached Anth, who was briefly polite and then ran to the dance floor, and then me. He was a little the worse for wear, but seemed nice enough. He said he was impressed with how we were all having so much fun and not caring about being the oldest people there, and something about apologising for being male and having lecherous thoughts and wanting to date all three of us. Danced with him for a bit. He persisted in chatting me up for a bit, but did eventually give up and just dance for a while before wandering off.

xora gave Becca and I a lift up the hill on his way back home, and stopped by for a cup of tea.

Went out to meet D for lunch. We had a good chat about life in general and also randomly reminiscing about childhood accidents. I had a sibling to inflict mine on me (and vice versa). She, as an only child, had to rely on random collisions to a greater extent. :-)

Charity shop crawl on the way back, and acquired a couple of useful things.
It's cold out there. I can just about feel my fingers again now.

Tom Robinson gig was good.
The support act was a bit unimpressive. Not actively bad in any way, but seemed to only have one idea, which isn't enough for a 45 minute set.
Tom Robinson himself started his set by saying "Now I know all of you in the audience are dreading those four little words 'from my new album', so I want to reassure you that I will be playing 'Glad to be Gay', 'Martin' and all the other favorites, but I will also be playing some songs from my new albuum as well."

After the gig we headed to the pub to meet R and family for his birthday drinks. They'd gone for a meal, which we'd missed because of the gig, but apparently the food was excellent and they had a good time.
H had made carrot cake, since R is a strange person who doesn't like chocolate. Tasty.

So far this term I've done two of the mid-week talk thingies.
First one was just 15 mins as part of a group presentation on crafts and activities that we do. Last Wednesday's was a calligraphy workshop and talk, which was a whole two hours.
The students seem to be doing pretty well at it so far. Not sure exactly how I'll fit in extra calligraphy sessions for them to practice in, but we'll see how it goes.

Four new recruits for combat, which is a manageable number.
Again, progress seems to be good this year.

Punk festival in Blackpool was good.
Also I wasn't actually worn out at any point. Could probably have done a bit more than I actually did on the first couple of days, but I didn't want to end up dragging myself through the last couple of days and not appreciating things.
Think we all saw stuff we liked.
Made a couple of new musical discoveries, and ended up in the front row several times.

Camping at Hadrian's Wall last weekend was fun. Bit chaotic as it followed on so closely from getting back from the punk festival so packing was a bit random.
Made pottage, shot arrows, played with swords a bit and paddled in a river (and had to remove one small leech).
Everybody trod in cow dung at some point, since we were in a pasture, but there was long wet grass to clean it off on...
There were two farm dogs, one a bit grumpy and one incredibly friendly. Both obedient enough to stay out of the tents (and therefore away from the food etc).

August is very hectic with work as well as social stuff, but mostly in a good way.