Today

 

Before dawn, I walked to the top of Southend Lane to catch the 0715 number 678 Gloucester bus (via Tibberton) : the waning moon hung about, to the evident annoyance of the Phillips's cockerel i patient for the sun.

A bit early, so I sat in Starbucks, in Eastgate Street, wrote some Christmas Cards, read a portion of Cynthia Beaugeot 's “The Wisdom Jesus,” downed a bucket of coffee and broke fast with a raison whirl.

The whole of the morning I spent helping the Salvation Army serve a Christmas lunch to the people who need to eat where they can: rough sleepers, those in poverty – I make the tea, pour the coffee and greet our guests. There's a wonderful atmosphere in the room. Major Adrian comments that three years ago we fed fifty, today it's one hundred.

Home, exhausted by the early start and hard work! Had a very long rest. Ordered a new duvet cover from John Lewis as Ray's failure to sort the washing has left the second best bedding an unattractive murky pink.

Made a mushroom risotto, which was not too bad … Probably needed the wine, a vital ingredient I absent-mindedly drank yesterday.

Early to bed. Watched two documenteries on tv, one about darts, the other about the Dukes of Devonshire. I do not approve of having televisions in bedrooms, but a considerable rearrangement of furnishings has taken place, necessitated by the overhaul of the dining room, which needed to be emptied.

Drafted a poem:

Today:

I have lived many lives.

You know, I wonder at it. How, the

Grammar school boys on the bus,

The couple in a B and B who have no stove to cook on,

No money for MacDonalds

And Jeanette – over eighty, sprightlier than me,

Serving the gravy and the roast

With a smile a mile wide –

Can be here. Peering over my shoulder

Watching me write, reminding me:

Today, we lived each other's lives

In a nod, a laugh,

A serious moment

And a cup of tea.

 

Performance Indicators

I loathe and despise The Annual Review. Mine own were conducted by well-“meaning examiners with no concept of the complexities of my role, which was great, because I agreed to stupid 'goals' that needed no particular effort to 'achieve'. This was easy for me, because I'm a very bright woman with an honest face.

My true performance indicator was to engage in (legit) projects with an element of travel to clock up as many miles as I could without spending a penny. I made 100,000 miles before my career ended. Of this, I am unjustifiably proud. ( You know I'm not a good person, don't you?)

My staff got PI's like:” You've got children, get yourself home on time and don't take work with you.” This paid dividends in staff loyalty and excellence of performance that far outweighed the “gains” obtained by stressing them out with unrealistic numbers of Level 3's or whatever the current nonsense was. The pendulum will swing back my way, one day, you'll see.

I am so reminiscing because of Baroness Jenkins weigh-in against The Poor and their lack of ability to cook. You know what your Baronessness, I know Poor who have nothing to cook ON, or WITH but she doesn't, so I guess I should be making allowances. (Thought about it: Naw, she's not excused.)

Sometimes, I am a born-again Christian. That is, until other born-again Christians engage in gay-bashing, or in other ways show themselves a lot more interested in other people's bedroom habits than is healthy for their souls. ” I am not of you,” I get to thinking, “So I guess I must be something else now. Don't know what, but there you are. ”

Make no mistake, I still embrace and revel in the teachings of Jesus, especially when practised. I puzzled for ever over the enigmatic, “The Poor (whom he blessed by the way, it was the rich he sent away empty) will always be with you.” Well, yes, so it seems, but why? I read of Baroness 'apology' ( for saying that being hungry was The Poor's own fault because they were too something (Idle? Ignorant? Stupid?) to cook. Then I knew what the Bethlehem Babe meant: The poor will always be with us because the powerful will do anything to hang on to their riches. If Baroness Jenkins went out and talked to the Poor, and involved herself in their lives, she would become a whole, new, and much better person.

Have I lost the plot. This piece was about Performance Indicators wasn't it? Yes.

One day, and every day, I have to give account of my stewardship. The checklist doesn't have boxes for: Did you make a lot of money? Win any wars? Believe all the right doctrines? Belong to the right church? Get an enormous number of converts? Or even, God help us, Sleep with the right people? No. (I expect you've got where this is going…) I get rated on these criteria: Mary, tell me, did you: Feed the hungry? Comfort the afflicted? Visit those in prison? Clothe the naked?

Did I? Sometimes.

How about you? Find someone who's hungry and feed them this Christmas/Saturnalia/Sun Return! It will make you both feel better. Yes, really, it will.

 

 

Performance Indicators

I loathe and despise The Annual Review. Mine own were conducted by well-“meaning examiners with no concept of the complexities of my role, which was great, because I agreed to stupid 'goals' that needed no particular effort to 'achieve'. This was easy for me, because I'm a very bright woman with an honest face.

My true performance indicator was to engage in (legit) projects with an element of travel to clock up as many miles as I could without spending a penny. I made 100,000 miles before my career ended. Of this, I am unjustifiably proud. ( You know I'm not a good person, don't you?)

My staff got PI's like:” You've got children, get yourself home on time and don't take work with you.” This paid dividends in staff loyalty and excellence of performance that far outweighed the “gains” obtained by stressing them out with unrealistic numbers of Level 3's or whatever the current nonsense was. The pendulum will swing back my way, one day, you'll see.

I am so reminiscing because of Baroness Jenkins weigh-in against The Poor and their lack of ability to cook. You know what your Baronessness, I know Poor who have nothing to cook ON, or WITH but she doesn't, so I guess I should be making allowances. (Thought about it: Naw, she's not excused.)

Sometimes, I am a born-again Christian. That is, until other born-again Christians engage in gay-bashing, or in other ways show themselves a lot more interested in other people's bedroom habits than is healthy for their souls. ” I am not of you,” I get to thinking, “So I guess I must be something else now. Don't know what, but there you are. ”

Make no mistake, I still embrace and revel in the teachings of Jesus, especially when practised. I puzzled for ever over the enigmatic, “The Poor (whom he blessed by the way, it was the rich he sent away empty) will always be with you.” Well, yes, so it seems, but why? I read of Baroness 'apology' ( for saying that being hungry was The Poor's own fault because they were too something (Idle? Ignorant? Stupid?) to cook. Then I knew what the Bethlehem Babe meant: The poor will always be with us because the powerful will do anything to hang on to their riches. If Baroness Jenkins went out and talked to the Poor, and involved herself in their lives, she would become a whole, new, and much better person.

Have I lost the plot. This piece was about Performance Indicators wasn't it? Yes.

One day, and every day, I have to give account of my stewardship. The checklist doesn't have boxes for: Did you make a lot of money? Win any wars? Believe all the right doctrines? Belong to the right church? Get an enormous number of converts? Or even, God help us, Sleep with the right people? No. (I expect you've got where this is going…) I get rated on these criteria: Mary, tell me, did you: Feed the hungry? Comfort the afflicted? Visit those in prison? Clothe the naked?

Did I? Sometimes.

How about you? Find someone who's hungry and feed them this Christmas/Saturnalia/Sun Return! It will make you both feel better. Yes, really, it will.