mmoa_writes

October 31st heralded the end of Black History Month, so I felt (being the intellectual powerhouse that I am) rather compelled to write something that was on my mind.

I am essentially a very cynical girl, you see. I had always had a problem with Black History Month, mainly because I thought it encouraged segregation and stereotypes yadda yadda yadda. And essentially, I still think that. Black History Month all too often descends into a celebration of what everyone appears to think is Black culture (whatever that means - no one has quite defined it yet) rather than Black presence and history in the UK.

But that, I now realise, is just a quibble I have with the way we celebrate it, no longer with the thing itself.

My change in heart came when I was trailing the local mall. In our area of London, there is a large black and asian presence, but looking around me, well, let's just say that you wouldn't think our little area of London nearly as multi-cultural as it actually is. Yes, even if there were, I'd make snide little comments about it, but even I would know that that is better than the strange sort of white-wash (NO PUN INTENDED) that I suddenly noticed around me.

Another reason for this conversion was, interestingly, a quote from a gay rights activist on the usual question "Hey, why do you guys have a gay parade and history month etc. and we straights don't?" and his answer immediately struck me as the reason for BHM: It's because we are still a miniority, regardless, and we are a miniority that seems to have only thugs and drug dealers instead of suicide bombers, and stabbings and drive-bys instead of diplomas and everything else that is taken by our society as a symbol of achievement. Every other day is a majority day, a 'caucasian' day: the journalists who write in the mainstream papers, the doctors, the nurses, the scientists, the politicians. Is this anyone's fault? Hell no, that's what majority is all about, after all.

So maybe for just one month, it'll be nice to cheer ourselves up and remind ourselves that we have artists and writers and comedians and scientists and goodness knows what else.



Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,
Up went pussy cat, and down went she;
Down came pussy, and away Robin ran;
Says little Robin Redbreast, Catch me if you can.
Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall,
Pussy cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall;
Little Robin chirps and sang, and what did pussy say?
Pussy cat said, Mew, and Robin jumped away.



My mother's birthday yesterday. We all pooled together and cooked a fabulous feast, and we all ate too much and rolled around the house after coffee. She was so sweet: she sat stunned for most of the meal and when she did eat, she kept on pausing after every other mouthful. It'll be my sister's birthday tomorrow. Don't know what we'll do for her, though I suspect she'd prefer to be with her friends.



I had a little husband,
No bigger than my thumb;
I put him in a pint-pot
And there I bade him drum.
I bought a little horse
That galloped up and down;
I bridled him and saddled him
And sent him out of town.
I gave him some garters
To garter up his hose,
And a little silk handkerchief
To wipe his pretty nose.



Physics rocked today and even Mechanics was pretty decent. Art was fun and I have finished various studies for my illustration job.

Watched 'A Harlot's Progress' on Channel 4 today and quite liked it, even though I didn't watch all of it. Question Time was rubbish though. *sighs* Have new ideas for dress patterns. More research needed (Tudor style sleeves etc. What can I say? I love Holbein!)



Specially for alagbon:

There were three jovial Welshmen,
As I have heard men say,
And they would go a-hunting
Upon St. David's Day.

All the day they hunted
And nothing could they find,
But a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing with the wind.

One said it was a ship,
The other he said, Nay;
The third said it was a house
With the chimney blown away.

And all the night they hunted
And nothing could they find,
But the moon a-gliding,
A-gliding with the wind.

One said it was the moon,
The other he said, Nay;
The third said it was a cheese,
And half of it cut away.

And all the day they hunted
And nothing could they find,
But a hedgehog in a bramble bush,
And that they left behind.

The first said it was a hedgehog,
The second, he said, Nay;
The third said it was apinchusion,
And the pins stuck in wrong way.

And all the night they hunted
And nothing could they find,
But a hare in a turnip field,
And that they left behind.

The first he said it was a hare,
The second he said, Nay;
The third said it was a calf,
And the cow had run away.

And all the day they hunted
And nothing could they find,
But an owl in a holly tree,
And that they left behind.

One said it was an owl,
The other he said, Nay;
The third said 'twas an old man,
And his beard growing grey.