Is being a realist these days the same as being out of touch?

Just taking a break from not having the time to post for this:

Not in the history of American politics has a president, or even candidate, differed so sharply from his supporters as Donald Trump. Millions of ordinary Americans, most concentrated in rural areas, increasingly resentful of the “elites” in the media, the government and academia, have anointed a man with a golden elevator in his Penthouse as the leader of their populist movement.

It has become painful to participate in political discourse, because rather than arguing over different interpretations of historical fact and statistical data, the disputes revolve around the denial of truth.

The world is rapidly changing, and with those changes, education, or at least trade school training, becomes essential. Alleging that everyone who adjusts to modernity is “elitist” will only traffic in more personal and political disappointments.

I agree with this so much, especially the bit about political discourse being painful. I kind of understand why we choose to stay in our echo chamber, because it’s so incredibly distressing to speak to someone who wilfully denies the painful realities of modern life as a lie supposed elitists tell.

£2.50 per session

Anne does martial arts twice a week not too far from home. I take Eliza along. I also take a snack and stuff for Eliza to eat / do so she doesn’t: 1) get on the mat and try to join in; and 2) throw a tantrum because 1) isn’t happening.

Today, while Eliza was given a pack of dried fruit and chia seed chews, a few of the other kids (younger siblings and a student who’s taken a liking to Eliza) practically lined up to get a piece. So that didn’t last long. Some stickers and a sheet of paper had to make an appearance, therefore, and the kids all wanted to do some sticking, too.

I should run a creche, bloody hell!

Honorary Singaporean

Anne’s best mate is over after school. They’re having a snack, and I ask what they want to do after they eat it.

“Eat some more snacks,” I’m cheerfully told.

Someone get that girl a Singapore passport and a map of all the hawker centres.

What a job

I honestly do not understand how someone who has stoked and revelled in division can speak now of healing divisions, asking people who have been stirred into hating and demonising one another to now work together.

Trump was not elected on a platform of decency, fairness, moderation, compromise, and the rule of law; he was elected, in the main, on a platform of resentment. Fascism is not our future—it cannot be; we cannot allow it to be so—but this is surely the way fascism can begin.

You have quite a challenge, my American friends and family.

Back then, my bonus depended on this

Not since 2008 have I been this obsessed with the actual day of the US Presidential election. I’m knackered with a dilly-dallying four-year old and a one-year old who’s been waking near hourly for the past week with teething issues, a cold, and what seems likely to be a growth spurt, but after the shock of the EU referendum, I am genuinely anxious about what news I will be reading when I wake up.

I’m here all night

Currently sitting up in bed with this little girl sleeping on me like a baby monkey, because she has a bad cold and can’t get to sleep any other way.

What happens when you are incapable of not talking

Anne’s experiencing her second week of school, and she has now made friends (“On the pirate ship!” Oh, if only my primary school had one of those) with twin boys who — while not in her actual class at school — happen to be in the same after-school swim class. Their mum said that they wanted her to have a sleepover at theirs.

Oh, the innocence of youth.

Also, that means today’s swimming lesson involved the three of them mucking about enough to get gently told off by the coach. This could be a long year, pool-wise.

No adults were intoxicated in order to try this recipe

I saw my friend Sally today. The last time we met was Chinese New Year’s Eve, when we heard about her version of doner (aka death van) kebab. It is pure coincidence that I actually made my attempt at death van kebab tonight.

It tasted like a kebab.

Anne liked it.

Eliza ate one whole slice of it.

Neil, disliker of lamb, liked it.

I’m just so surprised that we all enjoyed something that tastes like junk food.

With a few amendments: I’m out of fresh garlic, so used dried, I had to prep the lamb mince on the weekend and freeze it, so it was defrosted today and baked in an 180°C oven for 80 minutes. I also found a recipe for garlic sauce somewhere (dried garlic, mayonnaise, Greek yoghurt, dried parsley) so I could have my kebab the way I like it.