Today is Buy Nothing Day. Unfortunately I only heard about this after I bought (for £3.50) thorn proof gloves for another onslaught on the allotment. Is this allowed? Or should I have made do with a pair of old socks lined with cardboard toilet roll innards?
It followed a (all expenses paid) night out with an international delegation in a country hotel out of town. Where fine wine flowed with a view to increasing sustainable profits in the countries involved. And the Annual Chambers of Commerce Dinner in Glasgow earlier in the week. Where the 20 year old keynote speaker made millions from his gran's jam recipe - and where I had to wait 45 minutes for a taxi to for a one mile journey that I could easily have made on foot had I not been using a stick.
At both of these events I wore my trainers. Which made the formal dress code somewhat difficult. Not, I confess, as a protest to the gods of economic growth. I don't possess that sort of courage. (Nor of course would it be professional. I was at both events representing my employer. And I'm a stickler for doing the right thing. ) But because, one year after the truck thing, I still have to wear club footer orthotics. Which will only fit in my trainers.
One year in the same pair of shoes. I am a poster child for anti consumerism.. With a penchant for Ebay.... How could this have happened to a woman who couldn't get a past a shoe shop without frosting the window with misty eyed anticipation....
The first year anniversary of being covered by Disability Discrimination legislation passed relatively quietly. No one at work noticed. Until I told them, that is. One or two people sent texts. Considerate and thoughtful. I invited some pals to dinner. We drank fizz and celebrated. Sitting at a dinner table I am perfectly normal. Even funny at times. I can still cook. I can still entertain. As long, of course, that it doesn't involve walking more than a couple of blocks for a crucial missing ingredient.
One friend bought me a new ironing board. Ironing on the floor with a knackered leg is deeply uncomfortable. To be avoided at all costs. And not having access to a car or a pair of decent legs, prevented independent purchase. I am delighted with my acquisition. It has smiling pink dots. Hangs on the back of the laundry door with a certain chutzpas. These days its the simple pleasures that count. In the past it would have been a new tent. State of the art cycle panniers. A sleeping bag that would fold into one's palm. And now I am charmed by an ironing board. Jesus!
One year on I feel I should write down all the zen like things I have learnt. Profound lessons of the heart. How I have reformed because I'm lucky to be alive. But alas dear friends, life is not like that. I have not raised a million for charity. Nor put myself through some dreadful endurance test in some far flung corner of the world. I do not command audiences on how to be good. Or do motivational speeches in the corporate world. I've simply read a few good books, done a spot of gardening and continued relentlessly with my physio. And, in the last few days, reveled in the unexpected pleasure of a new ironing board... My life is almost complete.
It followed a (all expenses paid) night out with an international delegation in a country hotel out of town. Where fine wine flowed with a view to increasing sustainable profits in the countries involved. And the Annual Chambers of Commerce Dinner in Glasgow earlier in the week. Where the 20 year old keynote speaker made millions from his gran's jam recipe - and where I had to wait 45 minutes for a taxi to for a one mile journey that I could easily have made on foot had I not been using a stick.
At both of these events I wore my trainers. Which made the formal dress code somewhat difficult. Not, I confess, as a protest to the gods of economic growth. I don't possess that sort of courage. (Nor of course would it be professional. I was at both events representing my employer. And I'm a stickler for doing the right thing. ) But because, one year after the truck thing, I still have to wear club footer orthotics. Which will only fit in my trainers.
One year in the same pair of shoes. I am a poster child for anti consumerism.. With a penchant for Ebay.... How could this have happened to a woman who couldn't get a past a shoe shop without frosting the window with misty eyed anticipation....
The first year anniversary of being covered by Disability Discrimination legislation passed relatively quietly. No one at work noticed. Until I told them, that is. One or two people sent texts. Considerate and thoughtful. I invited some pals to dinner. We drank fizz and celebrated. Sitting at a dinner table I am perfectly normal. Even funny at times. I can still cook. I can still entertain. As long, of course, that it doesn't involve walking more than a couple of blocks for a crucial missing ingredient.
One friend bought me a new ironing board. Ironing on the floor with a knackered leg is deeply uncomfortable. To be avoided at all costs. And not having access to a car or a pair of decent legs, prevented independent purchase. I am delighted with my acquisition. It has smiling pink dots. Hangs on the back of the laundry door with a certain chutzpas. These days its the simple pleasures that count. In the past it would have been a new tent. State of the art cycle panniers. A sleeping bag that would fold into one's palm. And now I am charmed by an ironing board. Jesus!
One year on I feel I should write down all the zen like things I have learnt. Profound lessons of the heart. How I have reformed because I'm lucky to be alive. But alas dear friends, life is not like that. I have not raised a million for charity. Nor put myself through some dreadful endurance test in some far flung corner of the world. I do not command audiences on how to be good. Or do motivational speeches in the corporate world. I've simply read a few good books, done a spot of gardening and continued relentlessly with my physio. And, in the last few days, reveled in the unexpected pleasure of a new ironing board... My life is almost complete.
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