Women Of Note…

I read a snippet today that got me wondering.

Ruth Sunderland of the Daily Mail has suggested that the appearance of high profile women on bank notes here in Britain will bolster female interest in the engineering profession. 

Those that have received a guernsey in the proposed Womens’ Engineering Society (WES) campaign include crusader of the skies Amy Johnson and doyen of the digital Ada Lovelace. Sunderland suggests that the appearance of women such as this right at our fingertips could help to inspire young women thinking of a career in the engineering industry, or even the banking sector.

If you head on over to the source of all this inspiration, you’ll find out that WES is an organisation that supports women in technical professions. Formed by the women who took up engineering during WWI while the men were away, the WES will celebrate its 95th anniversary next year and in looking for ways to attract women into non-traditional roles, they will launch National Women in Engineering Day on 23rd June 2014, 100 years to the day after the start of WWI.
 

Further wiki-style investigation has led me to understand that, apart from Elizabeth II, the only other woman appearing on English bank notes has been Florence Nightingale who did the rounds on a tenner between 1975 and 1994.

Australian lolly fares better with the fairer sex featuring on 50% of bills. There’s warbler and sweet inspiration Nellie Melba, two Mary’s – Reibey, a businesswoman and Gilmore, a poet – and a couple of suffragettes (Edith Cowan and Catherine Helen Spence).

And then if you flip an Aussie fiver, you’ll find one of the two women who have held the royal reins longer than any fella in British history. She’s had an upgrade on the new polymer notes having only made her mark previously on paper of just one dollar denomination. The previous five dollar note featured champion of female immigrant welfare, humanitarian Caroline Chisholm.

Anyhow, I digress. It got me thinking who might appear on currency of the future. Would Angelina Jolie’s humanitarian efforts garner her a spot on a greenback? What about Claire Balding, one of Britain’s best sports reporters, beaming up at you from a British bill?  And then there’s Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female Prime Minister – how will she be honoured by her world of back-biting back benchers and odious Opposition?

Who do you think should get their bonce on your banknote?

My Paris pastiche

So here we are at the last of my Paris posts. There have been more than I expected to write from a 4 day trip but the juice of the moments – the ones when you breathe a sigh and say to yourself ‘I can’t believe I am here: life is good’ – were far too good (I thought) to squeeze into less.

So how do I sum up such a fantastic trip? A break from the ordinary? Or immersion therapy of sorts?

The word pastiche emerged in French language in the late 19th century as a derivation from the Italian ‘pasticchio’. The Oxford Dictionary defines a pastiche as an artistic work in a style that imitates that of another artist, work or period. Paris is certainly that. But rather than being the imitator, the modern city holds quite a candle to its revolutionary past, the blood of hundreds of generations and thousands of iterations of itself embedded in its cobbled lanes and wide boulevards. So this post is my candle to the City of Lights. My Paris pastiche…

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Paris parallels

Firstly, I know I said that the Armchair Tours of Paris would start next but Mother’s Day (the Aussie version) falls on Sunday 12th, which is tomorrow, so you’ll have to wait a little longer. C’est la vie.

In thinking about how I would roast honour my lovely Mum this year, I was taken back to my very first visit to Paris…with Mum. We’d been away for 5 weeks and Paris was the final few days of our continental grand tour. We were tired and non-French-speaking so we had a few multitude of silly moments together in the City of Lights. (A rather ridiculous session of charades with a patient shopkeeper in an effort to get directions to the nearest cash point springs to mind.)

And I took what seemed like a squillion photos then too (which, in the pre-digital age, cost me an absolute fortune to have developed). Mum took more.

It is well-known in our family that Mum is a little…well snap-happy.

And this has been borne out over the years as her wanderlust has expanded to take in places like the USA and Canada, and adventures like a snowstorm in Petra, a cruise on the Nile and a whole lot in between.

I know this for a fact. I’ve been back to Melbourne. I’ve seen the evidence photo albums.

Anyway, I had been wondering whether I had kept any photos of her from our inaugural parlay with Paris…and you’re in luck (Mum maybe not so much…) So here’s how much things have really changed.

There was our bird’s eye view from the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower on the night of our arrival in 2000…

Paris2013_eiffeltowerme+mum

…while this time my opening night perspective was a little more grounded from the Place de la Concorde.

Paris2013_parismay13concord02Being new to the whole travelling lark, we were fascinated by the public loos in the streets of Paris. There was some consternation about what would happen if you got stuck in there. Mum was relieved in more ways than one when the door opened……while this time around I was just relieved my loo with a view came with no windows directly opposite.

Paris2013_hotelpavillonoperabourse6This was a rare moment of still and quiet contemplation for Mum near the Jardin des Tuileries……whilst last Sunday I found mine – with a good book in hand – on the way from Raspail to the Jardin du Luxembourg.

Paris2013_parismay13tojardindeluxemborg11And finally there was Mum’s first espresso on a cafe terrace overlooking the Place de la Concorde (she succumbed my nagging sound advice after five days of having moaned about Paris’ horrible and expensive cappuccinos)… 

Paris2013_EspressowithMum …whilst not too far away, on a grey afternoon more than 12 years later, I found heavenly, chocolate-y solace – and a coffee – at Angelina.

Paris2013_EclairatAngleinaSuch great, great memories!

So all that’s really left to do is to find her an armful of gorgeous flowers (freshly pic’ed from the Jardin du Luxembourg)…
…and send her lots of love and squillions of virtual hugs.

Happy Mothers Day Mum!

Disconnected…

I woke up one morning about four weeks ago and realized in a flash that I’d hit a wall. Most days I can’t wait to get to work. On this day, I struggled to get myself out of the house.


No I didn’t write this. It’s a quote from Tony Schwartz, the opening line of his HBR Blog on the 19th April.

But it could just as well have been me, because this is exactly what happened.

Feelng full to the brim, my usually cheery demeanor was flailng about, limp and crumpled, under the heavy demands of work. To do lists that never appeared to get any shorter. Colleagues who, despite me giving my all, seemed to always want more. WIP (Work in Progress) folders stacked in order of importance urgency, glinting manically through their plastic sleeves.

So I booked a trip…and completely disconnected.

No phone. No internet. Just me, my guidebook and some excellent and eminently suitable reading matter, Paris: The Secret History (check out #18 The Book Nook). Four days completely immersed in the streets and gardens and cafes of Paris.

I had no idea how rejuvenating just four days could be.

Tony sums it up beautifully:

By the end…I felt empowered and enriched. With my brain quieter, I was able to take back control of my attention. In the process, I rediscovered some deeper part of myself.

So I am back at work still facing the overwhelming mountain of work but with a little more perspective and my personal motto re-etched in my brain. Don’t live to work. Work to live.

And a whole swathe of Paris pics and precious moments to share with you.

Disconnected in the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

So stay tuned for more from the City of Lights soon…

The Word On The Street…

Here I was flicking through the Evening Standard on the bus home tonight, the sun (yes, that bright, shiny thing in the sky has been back this week) bouncing boldly off the windows when I turned the page and saw this…

Alicia Martin’s sculpture at Casa de America, Madrid
Source: http://cubeme.com/blog/2012/03/19/alicia-martins-biografias-installation/

How amazing is that!

So I googled Alicia Martin and saw that she is quite the clever clogs with this installation caper. She did one in The Hague in The Netherlands last year…

Aren’t they just fantastic? You definitely couldn’t do THAT with a Kindle. (Sorry Audrey!)

ps…reminds me that we’re overdue for a visit to the Gidday Book Nook too…soon peeps I promise.

Feet First?

It often fascinates me the time the people spend on coming up with stuff. I’ve heard all about creative minds and how being unconstrained produces leading edge thinking and world changing ideas. But there are times when I think to myself, what exactly is the point?

Last month I went to The Lost Lectures, a series of talks which are held in ‘secret locations’ around London with the aim of moving out of traditional spaces and bringing the imagination to life. It was my first Lost Lectures foray and I found myself enchanted, interested, puzzled and ultimately pretty happy about my latest discovery. But one of the talks left me a bit underwhelmed – a talk about jelly architecture by self-professed jellymongers, Bompass and Parr.

I get that jelly is fun. Frogs in a pond, hot donuts oozing with the stuff, a partner – albeit controversial – to peanut butter and integral to trifle, jelly has been a part of many a childhood.


Kids dessert frogs in a pond
In recent times, flavours have become more sophisticated to appeal to adults while jelly’s natural qualities have continued to meet demands for effortless healthy living.
 
And then there are vodka jelly shots. And jelly wrestling. (Just catering to whatever jelly predelictions you may be harbouring dear Gidday-ers. I know you’re an ecclectic bunch!)
 

But Bompass and Parr make buildings…yes buildings…from jelly. Here’s one they’d made – and some people had eaten – earlier…

 


It didn’t taste great. Which was disappointing, particularly as Sam Bompass had seemed so passionate about the flavour and quality.

But lo and behold, something dropped into my email box last week that lifted my jellied spirits (no vodka involved).

Gummi men!

In Japan, Valentine’s Day is observed by women offering gifts to men and this is reciprocated one month later on White Day. FabCafe invited a group of customers to make jellies by using a mould from their own 3D body scan to create the ultimate individual gift – the gift of themselves.

Aaaah…how romantic. Makes my knees go to jelly.

So should I eat the head or the feet first?

Smear Campaign…

One of the to-dos on my early morning, bleary-eyed bus trips is checking out some of my favourite bloggers. It’s an efficient and effective use of the 15 minute trip. I am not ‘at my best’ first thing and habitual early rising for work ‘starts’ over the years means I rarely sleep past 6am – so rigid routine is the only way to get me out of the house and engaging with the world at large at the hour of the sparrow’s fart.

On Friday morning, I popped over to check out the goings on of fellow Aussie, The Vegemite Wife. Her caustic wit and antipodean observations of life here in the UK often have me nodding in agreement or chortling quietly  on the bus like a mad woman and even though we’ve never met (she lives somewhere ‘up north’), I feel a certain kinship.

Her post last Friday gave a nod to an important anniversary: one year since she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. It’s not for me to share the details of this with you and I would suggest you read her update one year on to understand the context of her story. Needless to say, she’s not one for wallowing in the ‘tragedy’ of it all and like any self-respecting Aussie, simply gets on with it. But her main point is this – she went without a Pap Smear for 15 years and when she finally ‘got around to it’, things were far more advanced than they would have otherwise been.

I have a wonderful friend that I have known my whole life. Literally. We are the same age – actually she’s a day older – and from the neighbouring bed in the maternity ward, her Mum (of 3 children) was responsible for keeping my ‘first-time’ Mum just a little bit sane. Both the Mums and daughters share a special bond that defies our lack of proximity. And a few years back, this life-long friend of mine learned that she had cervical cancer.

I don’t know what shocked me more – her diagnosis or the fact that this was a woman my age, an aware and pragmatic person who never seemed (to me anyway) to shirk life’s personal responsibilities. The treatment she underwent was incredibly aggressive and while successful, gave her a new perspective on what she wanted and she chose to move to India as a more conducive environment for both her physical and spiritual recovery. (She has blogged about her experience and recovery here.)

It had been just 4 years between Pap Smears for Nathalie.

I have no doubt there are many other stories like this – it seems that cancer touches us all in some way, whether directly or by association. My purpose in writing about this today is in the hope that these two women – who face(d) this and have the courage to share their stories – will encourage some heads out of the sand and a flurry of female footsteps treading paths to local clinics for regular Smear tests.

It’s summed up perfectly by my fellow Aussie up north…

Don’t be a twat like me and leave it .. to have a Pap smear. Do it now.



I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Increased Liquidity…

I’ve gotten a bit behind on some of my emails recently. Travelling and work and pretty much life in general has meant that I have been a bit bereft of my daily dose of clever clogs. But I’ve been catching up today and have found something quite inspirational.

Across the ocean, in the birthplace of Paddington Bear (darkest Peru for those of you who don’t know the story) lies a collaboration that has produced some liquid magic – a billboard that wrings moisture from the air and produces filtered drinking water.

Lima’s water billboard
Image source: www.springwise.com

The ideas was formed by partners UTEC and Mayo Publicity/DraftFCB who have blended engineering excellence and creative thinking to bring this life line to the people of Lima. Check out this video to see how clever they’ve really been…and what a difference they’ve really made.

It touched my heart to see the boy laughing at the sheer joy of tipping a bucket of cool, safe water over his head. Wonderful stuff.

In a world concerned about the increasing scarcity of life-giving resources like water, I couldn’t help thinking how ingenious this was. It’s worth pondering how it could be used all over the world.

And how much we take turning on the kitchen tap to fill a glass with fresh water for granted.

London Lullaby…

This week has been an absolute treasure trove of fascinating finds.

It started out with my foray into John Lanchester’s Big Fat London Novel, Capital on Monday night.

Friday night I went off to The Lost Lectures, an evening of enchanting topics for enquiring minds in a ‘secret’ London location.

And mid-week I was checking out my daily fix of clever clogs-ness on Springwise when I came across a rather beautiful and inspiring idea.

Great Ormand Street Hospital (GOSH) is a children’s hopsital in London which is famous for its innovative research and forward-thinking practices in child healthcare. As part of a redevelopment project, it has had the exterior pipework on a section of their building repurposed to create a Lullaby Factory, a series of horns and tubes which play sounds to soothe the young patients recovering from illness.

Image Source: www.studioweave.com

StudioWeave created the intricate piece by adorning the existing pipework with horns of all shapes and sizes which can only be seen from inside the hospital. The ‘music’ was composed by sound engineer Jessica Curry and can be listened to on the Lullaby Factory radio station or through special listening tubes. Between them they have fashioned a kind of industrial lullaby.

In 1929 Great Ormand Street Hospital received the rights to J. M. Barrie’s work Peter Pan – the royalties from this continue to help fund the work of this amazing hospital. So it seems fitting that they continue to create a little Neverland-style magic for the children of London.

Leopard Flats

Well I was set to post about all sorts of trivial things this week. The new Pope. The new head dude up in the space station. New revelations in the horse meat scandal. A visit to Sadler’s Wells. The anticipated shape of Sunday night telly now that Dancing on Ice and the wonderful Mr Selfridge have taken their final bows.

And then these arrived.


They are my very first own-design Shoes of Prey shoes. Made especially for me.

I was beyond excited. Opening them was an experience in itself with layers of bows and paper lovingly swaddling my luscious leopard-print flats.

There was even a photo.

(Shoe afficionados – like Lil Chicky, who I hold entirely responsible for this new addiction after a small shoe showcase over Christmas – will know that this is to put on the outside of the shoe box so when all of your lovely leather, scrumptious suede and general foot-ish fabulousness are stacked up in your cupboard, you know exactly where to find the perfect pair.)

But I digress.

I love them. Really LOVE them.

I’ve always wanted a pair of leopard-print shoes. There’s something immensely frivolous about animal print and the Shoes of Prey website is a veritable treasure trove of imagination and creativity and just plain desire.

They arrived on Tuesday. It’s Friday night and I’ve worn them twice already.

Super comfy as they are, they come with a little bag of tricks – heel grips, gel inserts and the like – to ensure that you can create the perfect fit for your fetish feet. And a super lush shoe bag has helped my little leopard friends make the commute to the office this week in what has been some rather inclement (and unseasonably chilly) weather.

Not for them the travails of the chill and damp. Oh no.

Oh and by the way, if you are wondering about the potential perils of buying made-for-me shoes online, the Shoes of Prey returns policy is awesome. If your new arrivals don’t make your soles sing and your heart beat a little faster, you can return them – up to 365 days later.  Yes that’s right. A whole year. I couldn’t believe it when I first placed my order.

But I don’t think that will be necessary.

Because I love them.

Really love them.

A lot.