Sunday at the seaside

Today I went to the sea. Our friend Jono has taken Dan out to Porthcawl, about an hour away, about five times, and I have never gone before, because I was always studying. But today I went along! Yippee for the sea.

Jono surfed for about an hour, and Dan and I walked along the rocks on the shore and then sat on the rocks and drank tea from our tea flask. A nice family with a couple of small children and two very happy dogs were hanging out nearby. They were collecting something in small plastic buckets.



Then we went to another part of the seashore in the same general area, and got fish and chips. We ate them on the sandy beach, with a view of some horses and donkeys. These could be rented for a ride to the water and back. You know, for kids.


Then we walked along the shore. Some sort of emergency occurred, so we saw lots of people driving really fast into the lifeboat emergency area. We watched as they shot off a flare (presumably to warn those in trouble that help was on its way). Then we continued to watch as a lifeboat with about five people zipped off the pier and headed out to help.

We walked along the pier and watched a guy catch a tiny little shark and throw it back.


And then we went for a pint. Afterward, we walked back toward the car and got an ice cream cone along the way. Oh, and we also saw a motorcyclist crash on the street. We went over to see if we could help, but four other people were already helping and someone was calling emergency services. Basically, we were of no use to anyone in trouble today.

And, finally, after the fish and chips, pints and ice cream, we looked out at the sea one last time before heading home.

Social workers get a bad rap

Today I've been reading about a girl named Victoria Climbie. She was born near the Ivory Coast of Africa. When she was six years old, her mother's aunt showed up at their home and told her mother that she wanted to take one of the six children to France to educate him or her. Victoria's mother thought this was a fab opportunity for her daughter, even though apparently she had really only seen this woman a few times before in her life.

Victoria and the aunt went to France, getting through immigration by saying that Victoria was the aunt's daughter. They stayed for a few months, then went to the UK. Perhaps they left because the French government was investigating the aunt's claims for welfare-like benefits. When they arrived in the UK, the aunt went to the local benefits offices to register herself and her "daughter." Over the next couple of years, the aunt found a new boyfriend, and the aunt and Victoria moved into his studio apartment. Victoria wet her bed regularly, perhaps because her aunt scolded her and physically abused her on a regular basis.

By the time Victoria was eight years old (in 2000), she was forced to sleep in the bathtub, often in a garbage bag, because of her incontinence problem. She died that year, and when she was examined after her death, doctors found 128 injuries. She never went to school in France or the UK.

This case was a really big deal here in the UK, in terms of what social services should be doing for children. A social worker who had been assigned to her case later lost her license to do social work. This year, she was reinstated with her license, but expects that she will never practice social work again. Many people here are upset that her license was reinstated, because they think someone needs to be punished for Victoria's death.

The social worker in question was at junior level at her agency. She had only been working as a social worker for a year and a half. Her office had given her double the caseload a social worker in her position should have. During the time she was assigned to Victoria's case, she took the case to three of her managers, all of whom told her there were no problems and she should close the case.

I agree that some malpractice occurred in this event. I think it's been a positive step that the government has taken measures to address this issue, and that more attention needs to be paid to child abuse issues. I also think that social work is not an easy job. It doesn't pay well, it can be dangerous, and social workers often face obstacles they're not trained to deal with. It is not a glamorous profession, and most people do not grow up wanting to be social workers.

Victoria's mother was in the UK earlier this year. She made a public statement that the UK social services had let her down, and that she was shocked that terrible things were still happening to children. I have much sympathy for this woman. It would be awful to believe that you were sending your child off for a better life and then be faced with what happened. But I also think she deserves some responsibility for sending her daughter to another country with someone she didn't know well, and for not keeping in close contact with the aunt and her daughter for the next few years.

Much of the media I read about child protective services today blame the state of social services, saying they had a duty to protect our children. Fair enough. That's their job. But it is the job of parents to protect their children, as well.

And this leaves me wondering whether the target of the social services protection is focused properly. A lot of parents seem to have problems taking care of their children, and many directly abuse them. I know we can't have laws about who can have children, but can we offer more support to parents? Can there be classes or support groups about what to do when you feel frustrated with your kids? How to deal with anger better? Could some of the money targeted for welfare and social services go toward training on how to be a better parent to your children? Could high schools offer this type of class? Could obstetricians recommend such classes to expectant parents?

I know there's no easy answer. But there's so much talk about how abortion and even birth control is such a problem, and so little effort is made to help new parents deal with the challenge of having children--wanted or unwanted. Raising kids is not inherent for many people. In the end, the responsibility of caring for children should begin with the people who decide to bring them into this world--their parents.

Fun fact

It's illegal in Britain to have sex with an underage person. It's also illegal to pay for sex (and to sell it, too). To take things a step further, since May of this year, it's illegal to do these things in another country, even if the acts are legal in that country. So if a guy goes to Thailand and pays to have sex with an underage girl (or boy), he can technically be prosecuted under British law.

The enforcement of such a law raises some questions, of course, but it makes me wonder if this has been tried anywhere else. Or if it will deter anyone from prostitution tourism.

Bumper cars and formalwear

Writing to practice writing today. My friend Wook told me he tried to start writing an article for his dissertation, but sat for four hours, unable to write. So I am trying to keep my fingers nimble, and what comes out may be boring, but it keeps me in practice.

Tomorrow I am going on a 24-mile bike ride. Yeah, woo. It is supposed to rain tomorrow, but eff that, we're still going. This trip has been planned for about two months. The dude we rented a room from way back in September organized it. We're taking a bus to a town called Merthyr Tydfil, then riding the old bikes back from there. Should be good times, especially since it will be more downhill than uphill.

My knee is a lot better. That's all there really is to say about that.

Iowa City is flooded, as you may well know. I have spent a lot of time looking at photos of the flooding in the past few days. I hope it goes down soon--a friend told me that a street I used to live on, Riverside Drive, is waist-high in water. Yikes. All the photos are comforting, in a way. The people in the photos look so Iowan, in their shorts and Iowa T-shirts. They also look like they're just doing what needs to get done, no bullshit here. Good luck, Iowa. I have faith in you.

Last night Cardiff University held its annual Summer Ball. Yesterday was the last day of the school year for anyone not currently writing a dissertation. The ball cost 35 pounds (about $70) per ticket, so I opted not to attend. But as I biked through the park to meet friends for sushi, I got a taste of what it was like, and the ride home made the vision even clearer. What happens is that students dress up--like dress up prom-style--and start drinking alcohol in various places around the city--mostly outside, because that's legal here. So there were packs of them standing outside convenience stores, couples walking in their tuxes and formal dresses, all over the student area of Cardiff. The ball itself was in the park, inside a tall chain-link fence. The brightest vision I saw, biking past, was a long line (queue) of probably 40+ people in formalwear waiting to get into the bumper cars.

Scrapey-pants

Today I am prepping for interview number two, which will take place tomorrow in London. I will interview the manager of a child trafficking advice and information line, which is part of a larger charity that basically tries to protect children and rescue children in danger of being harmed.

I just received my first box of organic local (well, English) vegetables. It's the type of place where you order a certain size of box, and they fill it with whatever they have on hand and deliver it to your home. So you don't know what you'll get until maybe a couple of days before, if you check their website. Otherwise, you are surprised. I was surprised with onions, lettuce, broad beans, carrots, broccoli (for Dan), mushrooms, and some other stuff.




On Friday I was biking home and I crashed. It was really stupid. I was about 2 blocks from the apartment, and I was on a street where I bike every single day. I lost my balance and tipped over, scraping up my knee and hand. This was about 8pm on a summery Friday evening, right in front of a pub. So it was by no means private. Fortunately, people in Cardiff are very kind, and three different people made efforts to help me. One guy even fixed my bike so the handlebars were properly adjusted over the front wheel--that got shoved out of alignment during the crash.

Below: knee, post crash, pre cleansing and bandaging by Dan



While we're looking at cool shit, here's a funny picture, though unrelated, from the loo at the Museum of Welsh Life.

My drain is clogged, and other hits from 2008

Hey dudes.

Things are moving along at a suddenly breakneck speed. I went to London yesterday for my first dissertation interview, and have another one tentatively lined up for next week. The first draft of the dissertation needs to be done by July 7, so I can send it to my supervisor for review. Then I do a 3-week unpaid work placement in the interactive department at a certain prestigious business/finance newspaper, during which I will likely stay at a friend of a friend's home in London, behind a curtain in the extra part of their lounge room (living room). Just like Laura Ingalls Wilder, when she went off to teach school--for those who don't quite remember, the family with whom she stayed wasn't very nice and never said good morning, but Almanzo came to pick her up on Friday afternoons to take her back to the Ingalls family until Sunday. Aahhh, love.

Right, so then I go back to Cardiff to finish the dissertation in August, and then maybe I will have a job after that? We shall see.

Anyhow... last week Dan and Emma and I went on a 3.5 hour hike through lovely hillsides of Wales, including one mountainish bit called Lord Hereford's Knob. For reals. We met sheep and horses, got rained on for a few minutes, and basically had a grand time.







After the hike, we went for tea at a small hotel in a roman church, where we met a whole wall full of snails. Big snails, little snails, sticky snails (well, all of them were sticky), squished snails. I know this picture only shows 2 snails, but there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, on that wall.



Next on the agenda: unclog bathtub drain, shower, grocery shopping, research and prep for dissertation interviews (including contacting more interviewees). It sounds like a thrilling day in Wales, no? I might even throw in some laundry. But if I get groceries, there's been an offer of homemade lasagne from the cute boy who lives in my home. It's not so bad.