The cyclists — razored hair, Lycra, calf tattoos — drink cappuccinos outside the café and talk lovingly about their machines, which they refer to as ‘she’. The owner of the most desirable, immaculate, minimalist orange, black and gold bicycle has matching orange socks, shoes and helmet. He admits that his name for his bike is Harry. ‘That’s fantastic,’ his mate says. ‘She’s called Harry. How does she identify?’
Never forget that all it takes is a political, economic or religious crisis for women’s rights to be called into question again. These rights are never acquired. You will have to remain vigilant throughout your life.
Simone de Beauvoir, 1949
I catch the 11.02 to Paddington. After a few miles the train stops. Inside the carriage it is cool and quiet. Outside birds twitter in green leaves, the sun shines. I read Esio Trot, by Road Dahl. ‘Tortoise’ backwards. The train does not move for an hour. Then it trundles back to Oxford. I arrive home two hours after setting out. I have gone nowhere. I have finished the book.
Two women in swimsuits move the scales around the changing room floor, trying to get a better result.
‘I’m doing well,’ one of them says. ‘Last night I only had a gin and tonic. Just half a bar of chocolate, a couple of beers, and we shared a packet of crisps instead of having one each.’
Makena returns to Uganda, two years after the solar-fridge trial, to follow up on some of the participants.
The owner of a pool hall found that selling chilled drinks from his fridge transformed his business, and is now married with a baby. His wife admits that the fridge was one of the reasons she agreed to marry him.
Another bar owner has been able to put her kids in school and can afford to travel to hospital for free HIV treatment. ‘This fridge saved my life,’ the translator reports her saying. It’s not a figure of speech.
I found it so hard when Jack was a baby, says Ana. The sleepless nights, the times he wouldn’t stop crying, the way my life had become chaos. When I was pregnant again, I thought, this time I will have a nice, calm, placid baby who sleeps through the night. Then I gave birth to Lizzie, and I discovered that Jack had been my nice, calm, placid, easy baby.
I’m in Sweaty Betty with Yana, exchanging an item she’s been given. ’She’s from Ukraine,’ I say, hoping it will help. Another customer stares at us. She is American. ’I couldn’t help overhearing,’ she says. ’That’s so interesting. Are you here on a trip, like travelling?’
While businessman Oleksiy waits for his work visa he is painting his host’s front gate. Two young women with plaits and American English stop to talk. ‘Would you like to come to our church? It’s just around the corner.’ Oleksiy is not amused. ’Is this normal in UK?’ he asks me. ’In Ukraine – no.’
My first (and last?) blog for the Museum of Oxford has been published. The theme was royal visits to Oxford. This is my take on it: https://museumofoxford.org/a-royal-flush
Oxford City Council is struggling with budget cuts, a housing crisis, traffic chaos and one of the biggest rich–poor divides in the country. A local resident suggests that some funds might be diverted to DNA testing of dog poo, in order to track those owners who don’t scoop the poop.
janebuekett 