The Shoogly Peg

Radio 2 is my station of choice. I like a bit of 6 Music, often have Capital FM on in the car and occasionally check out Classic FM, but by and large I’m a Radio 2 sort of girl. So I sometimes catch Steve Wright’s weekly astrology segment, in which callers receive advice based on their star sign. And every time I hear it, I think “What a colossal heap of crap”.

I am not, it is fair to say, a fan of astrology. Which is odd, because I love predictions. I like to predict my whole week, in detail. I plan out what the major events of each day are, what preparation they will require and any potential problems that need to be anticipated and avoided. My brain whirrs constantly, churning out minutiae about what’s coming up next, and then next, and then next again…

But I’ve hit a snag. Or to put it more conventionally, I’ve had a baby. And it turns out she doesn’t have a lot of respect for my schedule. If she wants fed, or changed, or cuddled, or some other thing that I’m frustratingly unable to identify, then it needs dealt with now, regardless of what I had planned. Babies = unpredictability. This has taken some getting used to.

However, today I decided to embrace the uncertainty. After a shaky morning, when I ended up showering two hours later than usual and not getting any of my intended chores completed, we went into town to meet Dave for lunch. Eilidh was in a chirpy mood when we finished, so she and I went for a wander afterwards, ending up in GOMA. I’d intended just to tootle round the ground floor and leave. But the current exhibition is a display of abstract sculpture, which I’m afraid I did not admire. I mean, one of the exhibits was an umbrella. Just an umbrella, sitting on the ground. I accept that I am a total ignoramus about art. But surely plonking an umbrella on the floor cannot constitute a serious day’s work for anyone?

Anyway, not wanting to leave in a barbarian strop, I popped up to the second floor and came across an exhibition titled Tales of the City, which I liked very much. It contained paintings, photos and sculpture from GOMA’s most recent acquisitions, and included work by a chap called David Sherry, who I had not previously heard of. Which is not surprising – about the only artist I can reliably identify is Rolf Harris, and currently the less said about him the better.

David Sherry does bizarre things and gets people to take photos while he’s doing them. My favourite was the picture of him chasing a tram, and the accompanying explanation that he had originally done this in Glasgow, spending a day running for buses that were too far away to catch. The text noted casually, “I missed 63 buses that day”. I loved the idea of him sprinting frantically up and down Renfield Street, baffling the wee old ladies and coughing bald men who populate the bus stops thereabout.

Why is this idea any less daft than sticking an umbrella on the floor and calling it art? I’ve no idea, but quite unexpectedly, I really liked it. And who could have predicted that?

Four weeks ago today, I had the most intense, frightening and amazing day of my life.

In the late afternoon of that first day of spring, I gave birth to my daughter, Eilidh.  And in her first four weeks, she has introduced me to several new worlds.

There is, first of all, the experience of being at home during the day. These days I know what our postman looks like, I do frivolous things like listen to the Radio 4 Afternoon Play, and I have discovered that our landline receives a startling number of sales calls.

Then there’s Eilidh herself: a completely new person exploring an unknown world. Gradually, my partner and I are learning to interpret her various noises, watching her slowly take control of her limbs and wondering with grotesque fascination what will be in her next nappy.

But most of all there is the world of help, love and support that she has opened up to us. From the day I went into hospital, I have been overwhelmed by the kindness of  friends, family, colleagues, neighbours and acquaintances, all of whom have generously given gifts, flowers and good wishes. Tiny babies certainly bring out the best in people: none more than the inspirational women of the NHS who took care of us in hospital.

From the endearingly posh and reassuringly brisk midwife who started my induction to the staff who gently washed me following a seventeen-hour labour, from the nurse who showed me how to bathe my baby to the auxiliary who offered to bring me food when I couldn’t walk after an epidural, these women surrounded me with their knowledge, support, help and empathy. They were all first-class, but the two that I will remember until I go to my grave were the midwives with me throughout my labour. These women combined ability, humour, sense and humanity in a way that made my partner and I feel safe even at the most scary and painful moments.

As Eilidh finally emerged on that sunny Thursday, she was met by a row of three smiling female doctors and my two wonderful midwives, all calmly helping our little girl  into the world with kindness, knowledge and confidence. I wish I could show Eilidh a photograph of that moment. Because this is what we want you to aspire to, little Eilidh. You can be anything you want to be: a doctor or a teacher, a plumber or an actor or a travelling acrobat. Whatever makes you happy: but if you have kindness and confidence, then you have everything you need.

While reading my Sunday Herald today – yes, I know it’s Monday, it takes me all week to get through the Sunday papers, what of it? – I noticed an advert headed “How you can help write the rules for the Press”.

It was, according to the strapline, issued by by the Editors’ Code of Practice Committee, and it invited the public to help the British Press reform itself post-Leveson by suggesting changes to the Code of Practice and accompanying Editors’ Codebook.

Obviously, this is a good thing. But there are two problems with it.

Firstly, the Committee has not made public any detailed information about which elements of the code it is reviewing. So we can’t comment on any proposed changes, and it does not appear that there will be an opportunity to do so.

More seriously, I’m worried that this review is addressing the wrong issue. Leveson was clear that the problem with the press is not really the Code, it’s the total lack of respect for the Code’s provisions and the absence of consequences when it is breached. He couldn’t have put it much more straightforwardly than this:

“There have been too many times when, chasing the story, parts of the press have acted as if its own code, which it wrote, simply did not exist.”

Most people know this, and for that reason, I’d be surprised if the Committee receives many responses to its consultation. And one of the best ways for a public body to get itself out of implementing a change is to be able to shrug its shoulders and say, “Well, we consulted the public, but they weren’t interested”.

That’s why I’ve just responded to the Committee expressing the hope that there will also be a review of both the implementation of the Code and of the consequences for contravening it. If you’d like to do the same, visit their website.