Living for Disco

VSO recently asked me to give a talk to new recruits on why doing VSO is wonderful and amazing and everyone should do it. I wrote back to them saying that I’d be happy to, but was unsure as to whether I could actually be inspiring, given the sexual harassment/death threat thing, and the depression thing, and oh yes, the dashed expectations of sharing skills and changing lives thing, and perhaps they should think of looking for someone else for now?

I do think that VSO is amazing, and I would and do recommend it. It’s just that my experience was frustrating for many reasons, and it’s still very recent - although, frankly, the craziness of my current job is tinging my memories of my Namibian work with rosy gold. Ask me now! Ask me now!

Anyway, they seemed rather taken aback by my response and suggested a debrief, to take place at a returned volunteer weekend in Birmingham, this weekend. To whit, I will spend a weekend surrounded by people who have finally been let loose in an environment where they can say “When I was in Ethiopia/Ghana/India/Namibia…” until they are blue in the face, and no one will roll their eyes or glaze over.. Oh, the intoxication.

I received an email setting out the schedule for the first day, and it begins with a session entitled “Just one thing…” to which we are encouraged to wear our favourite outfit from our time overseas. I am now wishing that I had spent that vast amount of money on the Herero dress I saw in the window of a tourist shop in Windhoek. My favourite outfit from Namibia was a pair of cut off jeans, a khaki t-shirt from M&S, my Mr Price plastic flip-flops - now sadly defunct, and adrift somewhere in Malawi, and my Ray-Bans, which are so scratched I can no longer see out of them. I’m not sure I’m going to measure up. Perhaps I should take my red satin witch’s hat…

I’m alternately filled with horror and amusement at the idea of this session. I know what many VSOs are like, and they tend to go all gung-ho and dress in splashy African prints and styles that just look outlandish on middle-aged, middle class white women. Then I feel shame at being so bitter and twisted and not entering into the spirit of things as I should. It makes me feel like an errant schoolgirl. I expect I will sit there chewing gum, rolling my eyes, and flicking paper balls at the facilitator.

The scariest part of all is that when I go back to Harborne Hall, it will be over two years since I was last there, and it will feel like five minutes.

Just one thing… How did the time go by so fast?

I am unwell. My limbs feel terribly heavy, my head is pounding and I just can’t face the thought of doing, eating, drinking, watching, or reading anything. So I’ve been sitting on the sofa, my bleary eyes fixed on the bird feeding station, willing it to begin sporting avian life, all in vain.

Apart from being very dull, it’s also dis-spiriting. From my little patio in Windhoek, I could see all manner of brightly coloured birds at close range, as they stole strands of wool from my mop, or dropped little gifts on the tiles for Boris to sniff at. I know that Bournemouth is not Windhoek, but even so, I’m supposed to be able to attract some birds to my little garden. Even a blue-tit would be nice. I simply don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.

I don’t suppose it helps that it’s lashing down outside. The rain is so vicious I expect any birds venturing out would find themselves shredding in half a minute, and if I were them, I’d be hiding somewhere warm too.

This lack of birds is becoming somewhat of an obsession with me. I started off so excited at the thought of a garden full of twittering, feathery little bodies, and now the only reason I leave food out is out of some kind of misplaced stubbornness - an unwillingness to admit defeat, and the fact that the birds simply do not like our garden.

Any advice?

Well, that was a brief spell of blogging busyness. Apologies (to anyone still reading) for failing to answer comments - I normally would but for some reason, I think my blogging mojo was not fully recharged.

Not much has been happening, generally, except for the following little bits and bobs:

1. Wedding planning. All going well, except for extremely rude woman in bridal shop who seems to think I wear steel galvanised lederhosen which can be seen at armpit level under a corset. I think not.

2. Bird watching. Not going well. Grandly extravagant ‘bird-feeding station’ purchased, and yet no birds. However, the food is disappearing, so I’m thinking that we have discovered a new species of feathered garden friend - the stealth-bird. I even set up my new camera to do time lapse photography on the damn things, but still no birds. However, somehow, the meal worms I left out still got eaten. So, as I say, stealth-birds. I probably have to trap one and shine some special kind of light on it. Much planning to be done.

3. Fitness regime-ing. After a particularly distressing episode just before new year when I had to be ripped out of a £95 dress in Monsoon, I have been going to the gym. After 4 weeks of cycling, swimming and spinning, coupled with strenuous calorie control, I have put on 2lbs.

4. X-boxing. Project Gotham Racing. I have many fast cars. I drive like a demon. Hands a bit seized up. Dreams of power-sliding round corners. I have no life.

5. Work. Don’t get me started. I’ve gone from a frying pan full of crazies into a burning hellfire of crazy, masterminded by the queen of crazy.

Life is good though. And I hope to be blogging more regularly. Particularly about my upcoming holiday in Australia, courtesy of my sister’s impending wedding. Rah.