Extreme Gardening

Today is a strange day to put it very mildly. I am very very lucky because whenever the world is strange (and that is quite often), I am able to go out on dear Amos (a horse) and he puts the world straight again. This morning I went out on him to do extreme gardening. This involves going down an overgrown path with a pair of secateurs and trying to clear the path. It is much much easier on foot. I dropped my phone once and the secateurs twice and getting back on is not as easy as it was 20 years ago. Extreme gardening means that you regularly get a face full of brambles while the horse charges onwards and you are engulfed in the debris that you have just cut down. On the way home it is worse as the horse is keen to get home so that anything other than perpetual motion is not an option. This turns more into bramble jousting, trying to aim the secateurs at overhanging brambles while you go past at a pace. The best thing about extreme gardening is that it leaves absolutely no head space for anything else other than the task at hand and today that was sorely needed.

I was major grumpy this morning and Amos, once again, put things into perspective. The thing is, we have quickly arrived at a point that seemed unimaginable only a short time ago. We are battling with extremism, misogyny, racism, disablism (is that a word?), elitism and all kinds of isms and that is just from our own government. This ‘leadership,’ if you will call it that, has given the green light to people to feel that they can say stuff and behave in a way that is abhorrent. As the day has unfolded it appears that we are going from bad to worse and all signs of hope from this morning are fading fast.


What has happened is actually brilliant, amazing and fantastic. In the space of a few short weeks, thousands, nay millions, of people have stood up and said ‘bollocks to bad people.’ This is very very inspiring. The dialogue of what constitutes a good leader has actually changed. Previously, it was assumed that any leader was a lying, cheating, egomaniac out for their own gain and can’t be trusted but then along came a man, and many others, who have the actual interests of the people at heart. Think what you will of individuals but actually the amount of people who took themselves off to the polling booths in support of somebody they could actually believe in was thoroughly soul restoring. It would seem that the narrative is actually changing. Sick stories make sick nations and what has happened is that a healthy story is emerging.

Although it may feel as though the voice of the majority is being trampled upon, it’s not true. I think that we should stand up and be proud of what has happened, especially young people. The next generation turned out in their many to cast their vote. It has made a difference. They make a difference. I really hope that they know this and that they are strengthened, rather than disheartened, by what has happened. The young people of today recognise that good has to triumph rather than greed and this has not happened for a while. These past few weeks have seen a swell of people not prepared to accept lies and deceit, not prepared to just drudge about drowning in apathy and feeling unable to do anything about it.

The next bit, whatever happens, is not going to be easy but the shift has already happened. This morning I woke up thinking that I just want to move away, that I’m fed up of living in an area that will never change but then, with a bit of extreme gardening, I was able to see what was actually happening, what has actually happened and it is very exciting. I truly believe that greed, cultural narcissism and the ‘each man to his own’ narrative is dying a death. We have a new narrative of strength emerging, one that is ready to reach out for the greater good and that this is now the majority rather than the minority.

To all those who have voted for the first time, I would urge you not to get caught up in the ‘ugh I voted and it doesn’t make any difference,’ story. You have made a huge difference and this is just the beginning. What you have done has injected a shed load of hope into a nation that was in desperate need of hope. It may not be the answer that people were looking for but, in the long term, this is exactly what we are looking for and, for that, I thank you deeply.

Smile Like You Mean It

I  Home Flown

So  I’m  up  a  mountain  in  Crete. It’s  idyllic. I’m lucky, I  know  I’m  lucky. I’m  working  hard  and  my  legs  are  turning  into  steel  rods  carrying  things  hither  and  thither  up  and  down  the  hills. I  usually  live  in  one  of  the  flattest  parts  of  England, we’re not  used  to  slopes. But, I’m  lucky.  I’m  with  nice  people, Crete  is  stunningly  beautiful  and  the  sun  is  shining  pretty  much  every  day. I  have  a  passport  that  allowed  me  to  travel   (for  now  anyway  ) effortlessly  on  a  plane  to  get  here  and  I  sailed  through  passport  checks  on  arrival .

When  I  was  younger  I  travelled  quite  a  bit .  I  was  fairly  used  to  not  understanding  the  language of  the  country  I  was  in and  used  to  struggling  to  make  myself  understood .  I  was  pretty  used  to  being  treated  with  disdain  because  I  was  English   (in  the  80’same,  being  English  was  not  cool  and  it’s  rapidly  looking  that  way  again). I  took  it  as  standard  that  being  a  lone ,  female  traveller meant  being  hassled ,  coming  up  against  prejudice  and  having  to  have  my  wits  about  me. But  it’s  been  a  long  time .  Over  the  last  twenty  years  I’ve  only  really  travelled  to  visit  friends  where  a  warm  reception  has  been  guaranteed.

The  Greeks  are  renowned  for  their  hospitality  and  I  have  been  on  the  receiving  end  of  their  welcoming  smiles, friendly  waves and  open  determination  to  try  and  decipher  my  arm  waving  to  describe  things. I  have  been  sent  on  shopping  missions  as  part  of  my  job  here  and  it  is  actually  quite  hard  to  mime  a  lettuce  and  spring  onions . Try  it . .. Olives  are  much  easier  and  paper  napkins  are  a  doddle .  However ,  there  is  one  man  who  stands  resolutely  blank  faced  in  the  face  of  my  miming  and   (very) pigeon  Greek. At  first ,  I  thought  he  was  just  shy  and  maybe  a  bit  frightened  of  my  exuberance .  I  soon  came  to  realise  it  is  because  I  am  foreign .  He’s  a  rare  one  out  here, the  Greeks  are  gloriously  friendly  and  generous  in  my  experience .  What  was, what  I  thought ,  shy  soon  became  mildly  hostile .  I  soon  noticed  how  quickly  this  chipped  away  at  my  confidence .  How  frustrating  it  was  to  not  be  able  to  ask  him  why, to  not  be  able  to  have  a  conversation ,  to  not  be  able  to  tell  him  that  I’m  a  mother ,  a  daughter ,  a  human.

I  am  grateful .  It  is  a  timely  reminder  of  what  my  friends  are  going  through. That  not  being  seen  as  human  quickly  seeps  through  to  create  a  second  layer  of  skin, it  becomes  a  part  of  you. A part  of  you  that  is  difficult  to  shake  off  even  when  amongst  friends ,  in  safe  and  welcome  company .  I  am  reminded  of  the  priceless  value  of  a  friendly  smile from  a  stranger which  can  lift  the  spirits  and  transform  a  day. You  don’t  have  to  go  out  and  perform  miracles ,  save  the  world  and  everyone  in  it. Just  smile .  Just  let  someone  know  that  they  are  so  welcome  to  share  the  same  bit  of  earth  that  belongs  to  none  of  us. We  are  all  only  here  for  a  short  while  so  smile  like  you  mean  it. None  of  us  has  any  more  right  than  the  next  person  to  be  walking  this  beautiful  planet  of  ours.

Last in, First out

Last in, First out is, apparently an accounting term and is something to do with data but it is more commonly thought of as the last one in is the first to leave. It’s known in the work place as the most recent to arrive are the most likely to lose their job and such like.

I have been thinking about this since my trucking trip in February and what happens in group situations. Discussions came up around sibling groups and who was where in the pecking order (another not particularly complimentary turn of phrase unless you are at the head of the pecking order) and how, where we sat in the sibling order impacted on our behaviour in a group. It’s interesting, it’s not a new thing but it’s interesting all the same. I am the youngest in the family and there was a general feeling among the youngest siblings that we were ‘last in, first out,’ not as in first to leave home but in a different way. The feeling was that you arrive into an already formed family and that you are an add on, additional, expendable almost (very very general sweeping statement but this was the conversation) and that you have to carve out your place in some way.

As the last to arrive it is necessary to try and think up something that hasn’t been done before, either you are very quiet, or very noisy, or very clever, or very something. It’s not alright to just jog along in a mediocre way as there always lies the risk that you could be out, as you were the last in. You are not a necessary component of the already existing set up. This wasn’t a conversation about how woe is us but about behaviour and then translating this to the wider population i.e. the refugees that we had travelled across Europe to take stuff to. People who arrive in another country are rarely permitted to be just mediocre, they have to be very very at something or other. They have to gain a place rather than it being just awarded to them because they are. Last in, First out. Newly arrived people are judged on their merits, what they can offer and how they can add to a situation, generally economically.

And to bring this round to what is happening in this bat shit crazy world, it all seems to come down to economics. It feels as though the humanity in discussions seems to have left the scene. All talks of bombs landing are reducing deaths to statistics and how much a bomb costs and how that money could be spent elsewhere. Just don’t drop bombs I say but apparently that is too simplistic. Maybe it is. All talk of the Euro referendum has been reduced to finances and single markets and amounts written on the side of buses rather than the distress it is causing to many families because of the uncertainty that lies ahead. And now another election and there will be more statistics bandied around, finances and, within that, the real discussions of real people just get reduced to background noise. When people are not heard, they shout louder and louder until they are heard and sometimes have to change what they’re shouting about in order to get heard.

Of course money comes into stuff but not half as much as we are led to believe. There is plenty to go round, it just needs distributing a bit more evenly. You offer homes to people because it’s the right thing to do, it really is that simple. The prime minister spoke today that she thinks that the whole country is pulling together. I’m not sure when she last stepped outside her front door or whether someone is feeding her porkies cos that’s not what the rest of us are seeing. There will be much talk of the ‘common good’ over the next few weeks but without any conversation about the fact that there is increasingly no longer a common good. All talks are serving to divide people. It feels like pitchforks at dawn rather than pulling together. I do hope that something good comes out of all of this but feelings are running high and those feelings are generally ones of fear. Fear that we and our loved ones are next on the hit list. That we might be considered the last ones in, in some way, and the first ones out, in whatever cookie way is going to be thought up next.

Please remember to be kind. Kindness is massively underrated. Just because the government is behaving like a bunch of toddlers fighting over the last ice cream, doesn’t mean that we all have to follow suit. There are many people who are very worried about their safety, about their future and the future of their children. Please do not use them as bargaining chips. Please do not expect them to perform extraordinary feats, split the atom all over again, in order to awarded a place of safety. It is enough just to be human.

p.s the photo is of Tom dog staring out at a seal in the sea. It is of no significance whatsoever other than I like the photo and I am now not going to see Tom for a month and I miss him already!

50 and (trying to be) Not Out


This is more of a personal post and I am going to try and not rant but can’t promise anything…

In 2013, 4 years ago, I gave up my full time job, sold the house and set off on an unknown journey of storytelling and writing. A few months earlier I had gone to Nepal with my son and we had walked for a month up to a height of over 5600 metres. It was at the very top end of what I could do physically and it was a life changing experience in many ways, not least because we went in monsoon season so were clambering over land slides and we didn’t die but it came pretty close. Nearly dying makes you look at life differently. I also realised that our physical health, although we can help it along, involves a great deal of good fortune. I returned to work and the popular refrain, found in many offices, of ‘When I retire I’m going to…’ suddenly rang a bit hollow. It made me wonder what exactly I was waiting for. Did I really have to wait another 20 years to do what I really wanted to do even though I did also enjoy my work? I was 47 years old at that time.

I decided to take my own fate into my hands and throw the cards up in the air (let’s see how many cliches I can fit in here). I decided that, having experienced how amazing it was to have a functioning body, it was too risky to wait until retirement to do stuff. What if my body packed in earlier than that and I never got to do anything? I also decided that, at the age of 47, I was young enough to take some time out of, so called, normal life, and then be able to get back into employment a few years later. Wrong!

Blindly I set off into the sunset in my old post office van with my trusty lurcher by my side. No job, no house and happy as happy can be. I studied storytelling and started telling stories hither and thither and this opened up a whole new world that I had never known existed. I wrote, and had published, two books, something that I had always wanted to do. I became involved in volunteering with refugees, another life changing experience. The money was trickling in but it was flowing out because that is what money seems to do. A time had come to go back to work but with a whole set of new things that I had learnt along the way and, in theory, finding work should not be a problem but it has not turned out that way.

It would seem that at 47 it is true that you can pack your job in and find another job but past the age of 50, this is no longer true. I had heard all the statistics and rumours that women over the age of 50 struggle to find work but I didn’t listen or, rather, I didn’t believe it. Over the past year or so I have applied for jobs, been for a couple of interviews, although most applications don’t get as far as the interview stage, and nothing. I have applied for jobs for which I am definitely qualified and a million other reasons why there should be no reason why I shouldn’t get the job. Apart from my age. So, I set about asking people of their experiences and asking various employers of their opinions and, yes, it is definitely true. Women over the age of 50 are way less likely to be employed. In fact, statistically they are the least likely people to be employed. Men over the age of 50 also do not get a great deal but it’s not as bad as women. It has, naively or not, come as a bit of a shock.

I have searched articles and statistics and forums and blogs to find out why. There are many articles about the fact that this phenomena exists but there is no actual reason why. I am none the wiser. There are soooo many people saying that this is, indeed, the reality but no reason why. I would dearly love someone to enlighten us all, brutal honesty and all. In theory, women over the age of 50 should be good to have around. Years of experience, generally no young family around and dramas reduce dramatically as the years go by. I have spoken to women who, also, are not even getting to the interview stage even though they are ideally placed for the job and, at the age of 50, there are at least 15 years of work left to do before getting to this mythical retiring age which is rapidly disappearing into the horizon anyway.

What is going on?? There is loads of evidence that points to age being the only factor for not getting an interview and how come I didn’t know any of this? Have I been living in a vacuum? Does everyone else know this? Will someone enlighten me please?

Also if anyone is able to offer an old codger a job that would be great too…

Hurry Up And Wait…


On the Isle of Lesvos there are currently around 65,000 refugees stuck on the island. I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, mainly for my own benefit to keep trying to get my head round the fact. The winter is, apparently, a particularly harsh one and this has been born out by the recent deaths from hypothermia. Many families have been moved into hotels and there is also a Greek naval ship at the port that houses some 150 men of a whole host of different nationalities. Everyone is waiting and waiting for a response to their asylum claim, for a response to anything really that will mean that they can move on with their lives. The naval ship sits in the water tantalisingly close to the ferry that leaves daily bound for Athens, where they would love to be able to go but can’t. Just wait.

While we were there we managed to do a distribution to the men on the ship. A joint effort between Hope and Aid Direct, The Truck Shop, Help Refugees and I’ve probably missed out some vital other people. One truck was kitted out with rails and coats were sorted and sized and hung up. Same with sweatshirts that were boxed up into different sizes and packs with hat, scarf, gloves and socks were prepared. It sounds easy but it takes hours and manpower and humour. Another truck was kitted out with stock to replace the rails as they emptied. The whole point was for people to be able to take their time and choose what they wanted, try it on and maintain some dignity and humanity in this whole sorry mess. We were not allowed to board the ship and doing distributions is not hugely popular so we parked round the corner and did what was meant to be a covert operation but was very busy.

As there was so much waiting to be had and it was cold, a member of the team, Bernie, had the genius idea of taking a burner down and some pots and making tea for people as they waited. This not only warmed people up and gave everyone a chance to chat but also took some of the angst out of waiting. The whole thing about having nothing means that when something is being offered there is an added tinge of desperation in case said offerings run out before you get to them. As we all drank tea together it meant that the angst melted somewhat and people then went on to choose some stuff with a more cheery and relaxed air. The atmosphere in general was one of laughter, chat and people’s stories that never ever fail to leave me utterly flabbergasted and humbled.

One young lad talked about his journey to turkey through Lebanon and he then walked across Syria. His travel friend was shot and killed as they went through Syria and he mimed having to duck and run as he made his journey. He is 20 years old. Two young men showed their injuries from the police. It seems to be an international sport at the moment, having a physical and every other manner of pop at the vulnerable. Each a story of resilience and courage, the very same resilience and courage that is normally applauded but that the media are telling us to fear. Every single person was courteous and funny and there was laughter ringing in the air despite the bitter cold of the night. It also showed that putting in an amount of preparation paid off in being able to offer a distribution that was organised and dignified. One young man said that it was the first nice thing that someone had done for him since starting his journey. It was a joyous evening that left everyone feeling as though we had managed to do something positive and that the aid had got to those who really needed it.

The stories were also shared with a level of resignation as each person told how long they had been stuck on the island – 3 months, 5 months, 9 months and with no solution in sight. Just wait. Waiting has been a feature of this trip. Hurry up and Wait. Quick rush to the border, scrabble about for documents and wait, sometimes really really wait. Quick hurry up and get everything to the warehouse and wait. Load up the trucks in a hurry and wait. Unload the trucks in a hurry and wait. A massively diluted version of what our friends from so many different countries are having to do. Hurry up and leave their homes and then wait. Hurry up and register and wait.

Hurry up and wait is also what we all have to do in the world at the moment. Hurry up and do something about the madness that is so very quickly surrounding us all. Hurry up and make our voices heard that the cruelty being carried out is not in our names. Hurry up and be super kind to our fellow humans and then wait to see what pans out. It doesn’t feel as though we have a great deal of time to mess about to just stand by and watch the circus that ‘leaders’ around the world are creating.

We left the island the next day and, as we were boarding the ferry, a number of the young men came out to wave us goodbye. They waved their thanks and I think that I speak for everyone involved on the convoy when I say that it was an incredibly moving moment. At least it was one hurry up and wait that had been a resounding success. The whole evening, and indeed the whole trip and movements happening across the world, can be summed up by the words of Margaret Mead: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”



Puppies and Madness


We have been on the Isle of Lesvos for a few days now, sorting out aid, unloading and loading and unloading and loading, distributing aid and generally doing what needs to be doing. A contact had managed to find a warehouse to rent for a while and all of the stuff is piled high in there in categories that make things easy to find and easy to distribute. All of this takes time. There are some people who, as ever, are the ones who are very quietly just ever present in these situations. People doing the incredibly unglamorous work of manning a dusty warehouse in the middle of an industrial estate that could be anywhere rather than on a beautiful Greek island. These people do this all unseen and unheard, young people who have given up whatever they were doing and have chosen to man dusty warehouses to their bit for the world.

The situation in Lesvos, and Greece in general, changes by the hour. These people are pawns in the game of someone and are at the whim of rules that make no sense and can change like the weather. As it has been so cold many families have been housed in hotels and homes for the duration of the cold period. Apparently it is a particularly hard winter. There is, however, a camp called Moria Camp, the conditions of which defy belief or it should do anyway. I realise that my threshold of shock has been raised somewhat over the past couple of years.

The Moria Camp was an old prison and still has fences and razor wire to remind everyone that they are in a prison and some brand new razor wire and fences thrown in for good measure. People are LOCKED IN to this place and the conditions are less than savoury. Some are in the prison accommodation which is a Greek prison that has lain disused for some time so it doesn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to picture the level of luxury. Many are on the outside in tents. I know I’ve gone on about the cold but it really is cold and people are quite literally freezing to death. Yesterday we heard that there had been another death at the Moria Camp. I went there with some others and was talking to one young man who is stuck there. He was saying how frightened he and the others in there are. How terrifying it is to be treated so inhumanely, to know that they are now in the hands of a Europe that does not care about them. In the last week two young men, previously fit and healthy young men, have died of the cold. Actually and quite literally frozen to death in a small tent designed to be slept in on a balmy summer weekend with friends and family. Not for someone to live in in these bitterly cold conditions and especially not someone who is seeking a place of safety. Suspend all judgements and imagine that it was your child/brother/father/cousin/best friend who has frozen to death because the relative authorities are too busy booting the political football about to give a damn about whether they live or die. Only two large NGO’s are allowed inside this camp and the authorities, i.e. the NGO’s allow them just one blanket. One blanket in this cold! A tent in this cold! I can very well imagine not being able to survive in this. It is shocking.

Yesterday morning another 4 young men died inside the razor wire fences of the camp. Apparently asphyxiated from a some kind of heater trying to stay warm. I don’t know whether that is a gas heater or from burning plastic or what, it’s hard to know what is what. Tensions are rising understandably and the authorities are rapidly trying to find places for people to be. Places miraculously materialising where previously there were none. The conditions defy belief or I wish they did at least. I have begun to realise that there are no depths to which the ‘authorities’ will not sink. Just the actions of Trump within one week of being ‘in charge’ is an indication of what is possible.

Yesterday 3 of us went to a hotel where there are 100 children with their families and we did some face painting which was chaos but at least the children were laughing for a bit and it made me feel better anyway. The parents got a little bit of a break. I see a change, though, in the eyes of the people. Before people were desperate but there was hope. Some of these people have been here for a year waiting and waiting for their fate to be revealed to them by an inefficient and inhumane system. People waiting to be reunited with loved ones, to start their lives, children waiting to go to school. I don’t ask people where they are going anymore because it is almost unbearable to see the quiet shrug of shoulders that is the reply. A reply that before would have been full of enthusiasm for a potential life that lay ahead. Now what I see is lack of hope and that kills people more than any other thing because it kills from the inside out. Without hope there is nothing. Even the darkest story has to have a thread of hope running through it. I’m starting to lose hope about all of this.

It is hard to remain buoyant in all of this. It is hard to feel that we are making a difference and are not part of the problem. I guess we are all part of the problem. It is hard to know where to vent all this stuff and what could be better than being buried under a pile of puppies. There are 9 puppies at the warehouse from different litters who were found by the side of the road without a mum. They are bouncy, very very cute and need lots of cuddles. Being buried under a pile of puppies should be prescribed, I reckon it would cure loads of conditions. The trick now is to not actually take most of them and stick them in the now empty truck and bring them back home…


Mind The Gap…….. between expectation and reality



What happens in any group of people is that there is a general forming of the group where people show their nice sides, find commonalities and agree that they are going to pull together as a group. When I used to work in youth work we used to call it ‘forming, storming, norming.’ (We also used to say that if, by the end of the first day, you don’t know who the wanker is then it’s probably you but that’s a whole different matter). The next bit is storming when people start to get a bit pissed off with one another, they get tired and are no longer able to hang on to the spiky not so nice bits of themselves and the spiky not so nice bits of themselves start to poke their heads out of the cave. Then it is norming when everything settles down again and the cycle starts all over again.

As I write this we are currently sat at the Hungarian/Serbian border and it is safe to say that the storming bit is the phase that we are going through. Coming up to the border we lay bets on how long it would take us to get through the border. I, optimistically, said 1 hour and 47 minutes. Pffffff what a fool. Chas, the organiser of the whole thing, then revealed that the record for the longest delay was actually 3 days. As I write this it is starting to feel like we might actually top that record. Bureaucracy, that we all know and love, is rearing its ugly head. Apparently, on the last convoy in October, there was a blip on one of the road tolls with one of the trucks in Hungary and, apparently, this is not an easy thing to sort out.

To say it is chilly is a massive understatement. I think it’s slightly warmer than yesterday’s -16 but not much. It’s character building anyway. Different aspects of people’s reactions to delay are starting to emerge, some of them funny and some of them not quite so funny. I’m not sure that I have ever had a straightforward journey in my whole life so I do feel like I have an unfair advantage in the managing delay department. But, to everyone’s credit, we are in a situation where ten strangers are thrown together in an unusual, requiring slightly above average managing skills, situation so it could be a great deal worse. Humour, as ever, wins the day.

Which brings me back to Mind The Gap. I am starting to realise, and truly believe, that all of the ills of mankind can be put down to the gap between expectation and reality. I expected the journey to have some sticky bits and the reality is that it does. I expected it to be cold but the reality is that it is f*****g cold. The journey I can cope with and the cold I really struggle with. The difference between expectation and reality.

Take a very simple situation like a trip to the shops. You expect to drive to the shops, park the car, do what you need to do and come home again. If the reality is that there is nowhere to park, just that slight alteration in the gap between expectation and reality can be a day changer. If we relay this theory to the refugees, which is the whole point of this trip, then the whole gap between expectation and reality becomes a cruel gulf.

How people are managing to survive, and I suspect that some are not, in tents in this cold is beyond me. Why anyone on this planet expects it to be alright to expect people to survive in tents in this cold is beyond me. My expectation of our governments was that they showed some humanity to anyone in need if it is within their power to do so. The reality is that our governments have shown themselves to be of a cruelty that I had hoped never to see. It should be no surprise. I have an image of World War 1 in the trenches where a whistle was blown and young lads with surnames, say A to G, were sent ‘over the top’ to an almost certain death. It is an image that has stuck with me that shows the stark reality that we are just pawns in someone’s game somewhere. Our governments have never shown compassion. I don’t know why. I absolutely cannot understand it. I can understand the fear of an individual who shows prejudice towards that which they are ignorant and fearful about. I don’t agree with it but I can understand it. I cannot understand why whole organisations are capable of outright cruelty towards people. I just don’t get it.

Something like this convoy is an antidote to that which we are being fed and led to believe is the way to behave towards our fellow humans. It is only ever alright to show compassion and humanity towards others at a time of need, regardless of the reasons that lead to that need being a need. It could be argued that a convoy like this is not necessary in the grand scheme of things but there is a whole chain of events that lead to a convoy being possible and necessary. Every single person who has contributed towards the aid, to shops donating food, to the person knitting a blanket, to another person donating a fiver, is actually saying that they give a shit and do not adhere and agree to the way that refugees are being treated. Not In Our Name you don’t. A whole line of people who talk to other people, who inspire others to use their courage to act against what is rapidly becoming the norm. If the reality is becoming that people are numbed to the cruelty and inhospitality being shown to others then we need to change the reality. This convoy is a small, but important like all small things, drop in the ocean towards that happening. Rather than change our expectations to meet the reality of the changes going on in this world, we actually need to change the reality.

Meanwhile, we shall sit and wait at this border waiting for our reality to become slight more mobile and animated…


Parachute Packers


I am writing this from somewhere in Germany where it is very cold. We have trucked our way through France, Belgium and now Germany. We have lost one another a few times, radios have failed us a few more times than that. Only one minor incident with one truck reversing into the prized massive truck of a big Polish bloke who turned out to be extraordinarily good natured. Ten very different personalities trucking their way along but with one common cause between us.

I had a very proud mummy moment yesterday. I have many proud mummy moments because I’ve been blessed with a real dude of a boy who gives a shit about the world. Chris, my boy, has set up a charity (see picture above) to deal with festival waste. He gathers tents, sleeping bags, clothes and all manner of other things and instead of it all going to landfill, which is what usually happens to it, he gets it to people who need it. It’s hard work. It’s massively unglamorous work and he needs a lot of help to do it.

I am travelling in a convoy of 5 trucks with various aid on board to go to the camps in Greece where desperation abounds.Amongst that aid is also some 200 plus sleeping bags that just happen to be the very same ones that my son gathered at the V Festival in Chelmsford last year. He gathered them and, by a combination of fate and strange circumstances, I’m delivering the very same sleeping bags to where they need to go. A proper personal delivery service. How cool is that?!

Which brings me to the parachute packer story. Apparently, so my co-driver Suleman tells me, there was a WWII parachutist who was being awarded a medal for his acts of bravery. When receiving the medal, he reeled off a long list of names of people to thank. The following day, he was contacted by th parachute packer to say that he had not been thanked. A parachutist is seriously stuffed without the dedicated, precise work of a parachute packer.

Which also brings me to here and now. Yes I’ve just spent the night (and about to spend another night) freezing my nads off ‘sleeping’ in the back of a truck. Yes, I’m driving a few thousand miles to deliver aid to where it needs to go, but I’m not the hero here. The hero is my son who traipsed round a post apocalyptic festival field gathering sleeping bags and is also looking after my dear Tom dog. The heroes are the people who drive up and down the country sorting and delivering aid. The heroes are the people who, in all good faith, donate money to make this kind of stuff happen. There are people making phone calls, answering emails and I could go on and on.

I’m just driving a truck. There are so many people who give a shit in order to make this happen. There are people who quietly get on with stuff and don’t get any recognition for what they do. I could name names but I’m not sure how much those people appreciate being applauded in public. So to all you people out there, all you parachute packers, a deep heartfelt thanks. All of you are what is stopping us from going under at a time when a tsunami of ill feeling seems to be washing over the world. If you want to be not just a parachute packer but a van packer then do get in touch with Chris. If you have a van to lend Chris for the summer to actually pack things into then that would be even more heroic. You can have fun packing away tents, sleeping bags etc after festivals and it is way more fun than it sounds. You get to meet lots of give a shit people who are the best kind of people.

There are so many parachute packers and, like the parachutist, we’d be royally stuffed without you.

The diary of a Mother Trucker


Today is turnaround day for many people all over the world. For many more it is the same old same old unseen injustice but today there are people stepping up and using their voice.

It is the first day of Trump being president of America and there are so many wrongs with that, I think that most sane thinking people will agree with that. I guess his wrongness is way more blatant than previous people and it makes it a great deal easier to rally against than the subtle wrongs that have gone before. What will come of it we don’t know but there are people rising up to say their piece and that can only be a good thing as long as it is done in way that is intelligent and fruitful.

There is much talk of free speech. I know that whenever people have cornered me about refugee speak and I have said that their views are not acceptable then the age old ‘But everyone is entitled to free speech’ sentence is hauled out of the unimaginative box. Of course everyone is entitled to free speech but that is not the same as hate speech. One is legal and the other is not. To wish death and ill upon another fellow human based upon their place in this world is hate speech. It is vile, disgusting and, quite frankly, terrifying. To have an exchange of differing views is useful, this is free speech. I know that I tend to move in circles of like minded people out of choice and it is interesting and a wake up call to be called into a discussion that shows different views. Not an argument, a discussion. An argument is about who is right. A discussion is about what is right. There is a fundamental difference. It is never right to wish bad stuff on a person, or a group of people based upon religion, colour, place of birth etc. It’s just ignorant. There may be reasons and those reasons are often personal i.e you were mugged by someone. In which case it was one arse of a person doing something wrong to you, they do not represent a nation or a religion or a group of people.

I have no idea what will happen from today, as do most of us. Trump is one man probably having his puppet strings pulled by a whole load of other crazy people. Putin is one man. Assad is one man. None of them can operate alone, they require a whole team of people and whole nations to be behind them. By going on a march and using our voices we are openly declaring that we are not part of the team driving all these insane actions, that we are prepared and ready to actively oppose. By keeping quiet you become part of the team driving the Trump et al chariot. As Desmond Tutu said, ‘If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.’

Another quote recently shown by my dear friend Hilary and written by Naomi Shulman says: ‘Nice people made the best Nazis. My mom grew up next to them. They got along, refused to make waves, looked the other way when things got ugly and focused on happier things than ‘politics.’ They were lovely people who turned their heads as their neighbours were dragged away. You know who weren’t nice people? Resisters.’ So a whole bunch of not nice people are marching across the world today and having their voices heard.

I am setting off today to meet with my fellow truckers and am driving a truck to Greece. I did this in the summer and was the only woman truck driver that we came across in Europe so I gave myself the title of Mother Trucker, which makes me sound slightly more badass than I actually am, which pleases me. There is another woman on the journey this time and that pleases me too. We are driving a few trucks full of aid to the 65,000 plus people still stuck in Greece. I first went to Calais in August 2015. I first went to Greece to volunteer with refugees in November 2015. The narrative has changed considerably during that time. I was called a volunteer in 2015 and now I am introduced to people as an activist. I’m doing exactly the same thing but it is now seen as an act of rebellion rather than an act of charity. That is the narrative that is happening around our ears. The frog slowly getting boiled to death in his own water without even realising.

So, apparently, I’m one of those not nice people. Thank heavens for that and I have so much and so many people to thank for that. A long long line of ancestors who were also not ‘nice’ people, I have some well worn footsteps to walk in. I thought I would try and write a bit of a diary of mother trucking across Europe over the next couple of weeks or so as internet and everything will allow. So, dear fellow not nice people, keep marching and shouting and writing and drawing and singing and doing whatever and I’ll keep trucking…




Earlier this week I had the pleasure and honour of hosting these two fine people for just one night.

Red and Silva (the colours of Christmas as it so happens) walked from Big Ben in London to Lincoln Cathedral, over not nearly enough days for that distance, to raise money for a young mother of 3, Natalie, who has had a serious car accident leaving her bed bound. They want to buy her a fancy pants wheelchair that will enhance her life that has been so tragically altered.

It was Red’s idea. He has never met Natalie, he just read about her plight. Silva has never met Red. He just heard what Red was doing and chose to join in. I’ve never met Silva. I know Red through campaigning for the children in Calais online – one of the many people who spend hours each day, unseen, unheard and taking no credit at all for all the work that they do. These are two people who simply decided to get up off their arses and do something for someone they have never met.

Red and Silva embody, what should be, the spirit of Christmas. Doing something just for the sheer love of a fellow human being. Red and Silva give a shit and this is why it was such an utter pleasure and an honour to play a small part in their journey. It was meant to be 140 miles but it would have been way more than that. I picked them up late at night in the thick fog in the middle of nowhere in a place that google maps had taken them to, which was off course but we all know that about google maps.

They were being driven by a determination which transcends any personal gain, any wish for recognition or glory. I saw the state of Red’s feet and there was nothing glorious about them I can assure you. They were being driven by the very human wish to better the life of another unknown human sharing the same planet. I am not one given over to mush but they were powered by love of the very purest kind. Red and Silva represent all that is right with the human race.

I have seen a lot of this over the past year. Many, many people who are driven to be able to do things for people, give to people at a time when others are in trouble and they are able to do something about it. I have seen love and altruism on an epic scale that has restored my faith in the human race. I never knew that there were so many people quietly battling away for a better world with a stoic determination that is totally unmovable. I have also seen hatred and ignorance that cuts to the very core, that is culling kindness at the same rate that we are culling our planet. They might even be the same people. I have seen good people sit by and do nothing. I have seen people become divided by fear and statistics and hatred. What I would say, though, is that there are many more good people than there are those wishing ill upon others. When I see hatred spewing out of our many forms of media I hum a little tune to myself and I would invite you to do the same. It goes like this and is hummed to the tune of ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes…’

‘There are many many more of us than you. There are many many more of us than you. There are many many more of us. Many many more of us. Many many more of us than you.’

There is great strength in numbers as the saying goes. So, it would be good to up the numbers of people who give a shit. Increase the numbers of Reds and Silvas on this planet.

Red and Silva have now arrived at their destination and I hope that they have been able to raise enough money to buy a wheelchair for Natalie. Well done lads, you are amazing you really are. What Red and Silva have done is way way more than walk from Big Ben to London. They have stepped up to the plate and shown the power of love and I am in awe of them.