Chez Spud

Archive for April, 2010

Watching the watchers – clearing up your digital dirt

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I read an interesting article recently on Fresh Business Thinking called Staff and their Personal Blogs. Fresh Business Thinking is a fantastic site for small business owners, providing a wealth of information on every topic imaginable connected with running a business including how to deal with staff and the troubles their pesky personal blogs can bring about.

Most of the article (which was written by lawyers) deals with advising employers to have a written policy about personal blogs, in terms of not writing them during working hours and not writing content that could bring the employer in to disrepute etc etc. It’s a bit of an eye opener that Grown Ups need to be told this kind of stuff. Isn’t that a basic rule of engagement? When at work, do your work. If you’ve got a problem with the boss/colleague, talk to them…don’t bitch about it on the internet. One of the cases discussed in the article concerns a blogger who was dismissed by Waterstones after he blogged about them very negatively, calling them ‘Bastardstones’. I will admit, I giggled at that.

Frankly, anyone who gets caught slagging off their employer in the internet is (a) an idiot and (b) deserves what they get as a result. Surely you don’t need the employee handbook to tell you not to bring your employer in to disrepute by tweeting/facebooking/blogging out your work related rage? And nor can you rely on attempts to remain anonymous, since much of the current case law is made up of ‘anonymous’ bloggers/facebookers who got caught out.  Doesn’t ever decent employment contract contain a clause about being a jolly good upstanding member of the community and not doing anything that could bring the employer in to disrepute anyway? And heaps of stuff about confidentiality etc?

Rather more sinister for all of us Sensibles who don’t slag off their employer online is the final section of the article which deals with ‘Vetting Potential Staff’. The author advises employers not to check up on the personal blogs/facebook pages etc of potential recruits, as it could lead to discrimination claims at a later date. However, the last paragraph of the article clearly demonstrates that some employers DO get busy with google when assessing candidates (and frankly that’s not news). Here is their advice to potential recruits:

“Given that this vetting practice is becoming more common, people should think carefully of the image that they want to portray of themselves online. Before embarking on a job search, individuals would be best advised to clean up their digital dirt by removing content from their personal blogs , Facebook profiles and the like, if there is a possibility that this could send out the wrong messages to potential recruiters.”

I’ve been thinking about my ‘digital dirt’ for a while now, mostly in the context of whether to protect my Tweets or not. At the moment they are not protected, but sometimes they are depending on how ‘public/private’ I’m feeling. I follow various work related people and, ideally, I don’t want them following me back without my permission. Partly because I don’t want them to read the inane rubbish that I Tweet about, but also because I don’t particularly want to lead them to my blog. There’s nothing personally or professionally embarrassing on my blog, nothing that would lose me my job since I’m very careful not to discuss work here. But this is my PERSONAL blog and I like to draw a line between work and play. Alas I have blurred the line myself by following work people on Twitter. Motto: get another Twitter account.

It’s no huge deal if people from work or clients read Chez Spud and, if anyone was in any doubt, I’m easily identifiable given my penchant for the odd self-portrait or 20. Frankly, if you REALLY wanted to find me a little bit of googling would probably get you here quite quickly. Oh, and if you google ‘sex with a pig’, ‘pig in a wig’, ‘ugly girl with glasses’ you’ll get here too. So that’s nice isn’t it? But if my boss told me he’d stumbled across Chez Spud I’d have a moment of slightly embarrassed wibbles but then I’d sit back and wait for him to congratulate me on my natural wit and incisive writing style. Ha. But I’d be totally confident he’d find nothing about our clients, our business, my ‘shit day at the office’, how much I hate my boss or anything insinuating etc on here. Because I just don’t cross that line, common sense says that’s a good policy. (Also, if you’re reading MrBoss…you are brilliant and I love every day of my life working for you. Can I have a rise?)

I’m frequently surprised by really inappropriate/ill-advised/poorly thought through/just ‘too’ personal content on blogs, Twitter, Facebook etc. People showing off about their fun jaunts when they are supposed to be ‘working from home’, heavyweight financial reporters tweeting that their new headphones ‘are SEX’ from their corporate account, all that kind of stuff. People Tweeting all day long when they’re at work, writing blog posts at the office, chatting in chat rooms during working hours. It astonishes me at times. A previous employer of mine had two full-time members of the IT team who monitored employees’ internet usage all day, every day (is that legal?). It was all rather secret, of course, and I only knew because I was involved with an investigation which led to a couple of employees being ‘exited’(not me!), shall we say. But, surely, any large organisation will have some kind of monitoring of both usage and content going on? Formal, or informal.

Perhaps I’m more sensitive to this kind of issue because I work in a highly risk averse industry (the law) and specialise in reputation management. Perhaps I’m just more tuned in to the damage that can be done at both the corporate and personal level by our own ‘dirt’, digital or otherwise. I don’t want to spin off to Paranoia Land, but I do think it’s worth keeping half an eye on the profile that we are creating of ourselves on the internet through blogging and all that jazz. Does it match, more or less, the profile that we put forward in our ‘real’ lives? I really think it’s an error to rely on blogging ‘anonymously’ by not revealing your name, or your employer’s name (as La Petite Anglaise found to her cost – well, her job anyway, she actually cleaned up financially so perhaps she really lucked out.

Perhaps a good rule of thumb should be: if you need to share something but wouldn’t want your employer/mother/child to read it, either now or in the future, don’t say it. Or, if you really MUST say it, get a private blog. Or an old fashioned journal and a safe. Or an imaginary friend. But don’t put it on the web if it could compromise you at some point and, whatever it is, do it in your own time not your employers.

Here endeth the lesson.

PS Dear Boss…this blog post was written in my time not yours. No company time was illegally stolen in the production of this blog post. No clients will be billed for my hectoring diatribe. Just call me Little Miss Perfect.

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Decision Time

Posted under Witterings

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The general election looms, 11 days and counting or something like that. Shouldn’t I know which party I’m going to vote for by now? I ‘think’ I do…but I have some questions:-

  • should I vote for a political party in general, or the specific wannabe Member of Parliament in our area? What should I do if I like the party, but can’t stand the local candidate?
  • what should I do if, overall, I’m happy with the party manifesto and the local candidate passes my acceptability test…but the LEADER of the party (ie potential Prime Minister) is a ninny?
  • thus, in truth, are we voting for a Prime Minister and not a party?
  • why can’t I pick and choose bits and pieces of various parties’ manifestos. My personal, winning manifesto is a bit of a pick ‘n’ mix.
  • are ‘safe seats’ ever really safe? Does apathy play a worrying part in the creation of a ‘safe seat’?

Things about politics that bother me:

  • No doubt, a long time ago, every serious politician went in to politics because they ‘wanted to make Britain a better place’, wanted to be part of the process to effect change, make a difference etc etc. But somewhere along the way, and probably pretty soon on, ego got in the way. I can’t ever get past the fact that a large proportion of politicians are in it because they get a personal kick out of being ‘someone’, and the power and fawning go to their heads and turn them in to people it’s hard to warm to.
  • Thus, as per above, most politicians will say anything to get elected. They promise the moon at this stage in the game, but once in power it’s all about staying in power rather than delivering on promises.

I don’t really have a clear idea of who to vote for. I’m not sure I feel passionately enough about any of the local candidates/party manifestos to vote with real conviction. I’m still weighing it up but, most likely, I will ‘donate’ my vote to my friend who died last Autumn (Emily Pankhurt must be turning in her grave). He was a truly, madly, deeply supporter of one political party…and loudly vocal about it. I miss him, I wish he were here to metaphorically beat me around the head about my sappy wishy washy approach. He’d agree that there’s no ‘easy’ path through the process of deciding which way to vote, but he’d be very clear that you have to pick a party and then support them to the hilt.

He wouldn’t approve, although deep down I think he’d be a little bit flattered, but in the absence of a clear ‘winner’ for me I will be going with his party of choice. Which party? Well, that’s between me and the ballot box…on the basis that it’s terribly impolite to discuss politics and religion. You can never win, and you’re bound to cause offense.  But I ‘can’ say that it won’t be Labour for the simple reason that Gordon Brown looks too tired for another term and he doesn’t seem to be able to add up very well.

Case dismissed.

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Another step along the road

Posted under People I love

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News just in: apparently Bertie is going to Big School in September. Hardly a shock, I’ve known about it for the best part of 5 years. I’ve even known for a while that today was the day I would find out which school he’d go to. It’s hardly ‘hold the front page stuff’ is it but, somehow, just seeing it in black and white makes it all feel rather real, it’s really going to happen. He really IS a big boy and he really IS going to go to school in the Autumn. And now I know which school he’s going to I can now picture it in my head…the school run…the uniform…the classrooms where he’ll spend his days…and some of the children who will be in his class. It’s all taken on a very ‘real’ format, almost cinematic in fact.

Of course I’m excited for him, because he is excited and he’s so ready for school now. He looks huge compared with most of the children at his nursery school now when, for so long, he was seemed so small and so young. It’s a big step to make, to take that first step on the path of formal eduction with all the thrills, surprises, challenges and opportunities that it brings.  And, of course, it’s a significant step along that never ending path of independence…that leads away from me, MrSpud and Diggy and to wherever he wants his life to take him. That’s the way it should be.

But, oh dear, there’s a little voice lurking on a distant shore in my mind that is silently screaming, “DON’T TAKE MY BABY!”. Therein lies the rub: he is ready for school, but am I ready to let him go? Believe me, I’m not an earth mother type – far from it. And he’s spent a couple of days at nursery every week since he was 10 months old, so I’m hardly fretting at being parted from him. I can’t quite puzzle it out what’s brought on this quiet sadness, but it’s definitely lurking.

I told a friend earlier in the week that I wasn’t sure I was ready to give him up to ‘the system’ and for our lives to be so rigidly governed by the pattern of term times, school holidays, the school day, after school activities and all that stuff. She mentioned that starting school also means losing more control over your child’s sphere of influence, and I think there’s a little of that mixed in to it all. But, then, that’s just how it goes and increasing the sphere of influence is a good thing. Right?

I just can’t put my finger on what it is, not at all. Perhaps it’s because having a school aged child means the baby days are well and truly over, but I don’t want another baby and frankly I’m glad to see that back of the early baby days. Shudder. It’s certainly tinged with huge regret that my boys will be split up for the first time, I know they’ll be fine but I’ll miss their loving, glue-like relationship with each other. And I’ll definitely miss our Mondays and Fridays together, just pottering about doing this and that, everything and nothing, visiting people and places and just hanging out…just us three. I wonder what it will be like to potter about with just Diggy, lovely and lonely all at the same time I suppose.  It’s not even that I have any misgivings about the school, because we are very fortunate that he’s going to a wonderful school. I wish I could write about it and the style of learning they follow, but it makes his school too easily identifiable.

So, it’s not because I don’t want to be parted from him, or that I don’t think he’s ready for school and nor is it the school itself that’s the problem. So what is it? I’m sure part of it is a little bit of fear that I’m going to have to give him up to playground politics and all the angst and upset that comes as part of the parcel of children making and breaking relationships.

I just can’t put my finger on it, and writing this post isn’t getting me any nearer to it. Perhaps it’s just the fact that him being ready for school is tangible evidence of the relentless passing of time. I must be getting old because time seems to be slipping through my hands like sand these days, taunting me and teasing me with every grain that trickles away.

Or perhaps I just don’t want him to grow up. Perhaps it’s just that simple, and if it is then I’m scuppered because no amount of ‘blogging it out’ can resolve that one.

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It’s a sensory thing

Posted under Books I love

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A few weeks ago that unthinkable thing happened. I ran out of anything to read. And, since most of our life is packed up in a storage container, I didn’t even have the luxury of picking an old favourite for a gluttonous re-read.

Worse, there was nothing that I particularly wanted to read. So I asked lovely Bee, who is terribly clever about books, for some recommendations. She suggested three novels which, being a total sheep, I immediately bought. I was sure she’d suggested winning reads for me since we share a huge passion for all things Mitford which has set the tone for our friendship. We bonded over a shelf of Mitford related literature in Bee’s study, papered with ‘that’ wallpaper that features in her blog header. Dreamy..

I digress. Quelle surprise.

The books arrived and I applied by usual ‘choose a book by its cover’ selection method and jumped in toOlive Kitteridge: A Novel in Stories
by Elizabeth Strout. I loved it, Bee loved it, we loved chattering about it. Winner.

And then came the Famille Spud holiday and, unlike the pre-children days when I would happily read 7 books in 7 days, I knew I only needed to take one novel with me. For 10 days. Weep. It wasn’t an easy choice. Bee was clearly very keen on The Priory
by Dorothy Whipple (see photo above) and my head said that was the right choice.  But, honestly, it doesn’t really grab you as a ‘must read’ does it, by the look of it. No pictures on the cover, no ‘shortlisted for the blah’ award emblazoned all over it, nothing on the back cover…no plaudits, no choice reviews. Nothing. So, an unknown book by an unknown author with an elegant but plain dustjacket. Against all instincts I trusted Bee and shoved it in my suitcase, ready to shove her in the Grudge Book if required…

Well, dear readers, the novel is completely wonderful. I won’t bore you with a book review, since that really isn’t my bag at all, but if you’re looking for a ripping good yarn, wonderfully written then this is the one. Buy it, read it, thank me.

But, beyond the content of the novel itself, what has left an impression is how utterly beautiful the book is and how its design and construction really added a new dimension to the experience of reading. I don’t think I’ve ever given much thought to this before, although I have some very blunt preferences for books (no hardbacks, nothing with tiny print). But, with The Priory, I’m now a book snob of the visual kind. Uh oh. Just look at the end papers, a 1939 screen-print furnishing fabric:

Actually Bee has blogged in her usual insightful way about Persephone, the publisher of The Priory, already so I won’t go over old ground. In brief, Persephone is a specialist British publisher of ‘neglected’ 20th century authors (mostly female). They have a couple of shops in London, although you can buy their books online direct from them or Amazon or from any book store (I would think as a special order). Their catalogue is small, only 86 books, and each is published bearing the Persephone signature dove grey dust jacket. Even the shop front is painted in the same dove grey. And each has a different, period fabric endpaper print. It’s all very unstated and all very…very…British.

Initially I thought the typeface for the text inside was rather dated. But it quickly won me over with its easy readability and vintage charm. Then I noticed the wide margins…letting the words ‘breathe’. After a while I realised the book was bound in such a way that it falls open easily to the page that you’re reading, and those wide margins mean there’s no spine breaking necessary to actually read the words.

In short, it’s a total joy to read in a purely physical sense…it’s a wonderful novel by any measure, but I really enjoyed this book on a visual level…it was a multi-sensory experience of a surprising sort. What a delight!

Compare and contrast this with MrSpud whose holiday reading consisted of novels on his iphone. Now I’m totally devoted to my iphone, but it wouldn’t even occur to me to read novels on it. He claims it’s better because you don’t have to hold up a heavy book while reading. But it looks totally odd, and you can only fit about 20 words on the screen at a time so there’s all that boring scrolling to do. Nor do you get a sense of progressing through the book, and there are no pretty endpapers. You see, I’m all about the endpapers…

Even the backcover is a masterclass in elegance. No marketing blurb emblazoned all over it, no RRP, no gripping precis. Just the book’s catalogue number. Oh, look at this. 40? Now that’s a number that’s ringing a bell for someone this year [ponders on the serendipity of it all]

We had the Persephone v iPhone debate over Easter whilst my mother-in-law was here. Of course I knew she’d take my side, but clearly I planted the Persephone bug in her as she emailed me this week asking me for the details of the novel I’d shown her. She’s been dutifully ploughing her way through some worthy tome about rocks or something. But the draw of the endpapers is too much. So pulled on my blue stockings and ordered her a copy, rather wishing I still lived in London and could zip to the shop and buy it in person.

I love buying books for people that I have loved, and I know they will love. It’s like admitting them to  a secret club. So far there is Bee, me and the mother-in-law in the club. Who’s joining us?

PS Bee’s third choice was also a winner. The Help by Kathryn Stockett…no pretty endpapers but a super read.

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Thank you

Posted under Uncategorized

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Just scooting in really fast to thank everyone who commented and emailed following my post yesterday about Getting It All Wrong. Your thoughts, ideas, reassurrence and shared experiences are hugely appreciated. I’m making my way through all the emails/comments and you will get a response.

THANK YOU xx

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Getting it all wrong

Posted under People I love

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Anyone still here? I took an unplanned, extended blog break…partly going away on holiday and life getting in the way  but, mostly, not having anything to say. Anyway…

When the Megaboys were babies I was in a state of near constant worry. There were the every day, moment-to-moment worries about whether they were too cold, too hot, getting enough milk/calcium/protein, eating too much sugar and salt, whether they were getting enough sleep etc etc. But, much worse that these ever present daily anxieties was a near constant, background worry that I was Getting It All Wrong. That, despite attending to their every need and following all the available advice, I was basically making a total hash of it. It seems quite laughable to me now but,  when Bertie was a small baby and rubbish at napping, I seriously worried that he would be developmentally delayed through lack of sleep and it would be All My Fault because I was incapable of putting him down for a nap.  These kind of parenting demons haunted me throughout the baby days. No wonder I dropped my baby weight pretty rapidly – just the sheer energy expended by maintaining my constant state of high anxiety melted those 5 stone away…

Eventually I relaxed in to it, and the boys grew from babies in to toddlers and pre-schoolers without incident. I stopped worrying about Getting It All Wrong and accepted that sometimes I’ll get it right and sometimes I’ll get it wrong but, for the most part, we’re on track. But, just recently, that old nagging fear of Getting It All Wrong has made a very unwelcome appearance. I can’t quite put my finger on why though.

I think we’re entering a new phase of parenting as the boys turn from pre-schoolers to almost-schoolers, so perhaps that’s it. I can see the challenges ahead are a whole lot more complex than the ones we’ve left behind and, at this stage, I feel completely ill-equipped for them. Also, we’re dealing with some fairly difficult behaviour from them at times and I’m completely at a loss to know how best to tackle it. But I know I’m not doing it right, because my 4 year old rather quietly, rightly and heart-breakingly, told me so.

Generally I can breeze through most of the pressure points of parenting by reminding myself of that old ‘this too shall pass’ adage. And perhaps this tricky stage will pass, but in the meantime it DOES need addressing somehow or other because they are testing boundaries and we have a responsibility to set them and enforce them. I don’t want to rule with a rod of iron but I can’t abide dreadful behaviour in children either.

But firm ‘management’ is tipping over in to shouty fishwish mummy once too often. And meeting their rage with my rage isn’t helping anyone, quite the reverse. I need some new tactics because my armoury of warnings, giving them choices, picking my battles, time out, walking away and yelling isn’t cutting it.  I can’t expect them to address their behaviour until I’ve addressed my own – I think that’s the nub of it.  I’m the parent, I’m supposed to lead by example and not fight fire with fire. Ah, amazing what happens when you decide to ‘blog something out’.

Any wise sages out there care to share some war stories, or tips or techniques? I don’t want to go in to battle with my children anymore, I want to enforce the boundaries and diffuse their frustration in a calm, adult manner. HELP.

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Happy Easter

Posted under Witterings

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Nothing is safe from the marauding hands of the boys. So, Happy Easter from our hot cross one-eyed bunny. Bertie was a bit perplexed to find him full of chocolate this morning has he hadn’t heard anything ‘loud thumping’ in the night. Possibly I’ve taken the concept of the Easter Bunny a bit far, he seems to have taken on a Father Christmas type persona in Bertie’s head.

No Easter egg for me however (MrSpud, consider yourself grudged). But I got a box of chocolates from my mother-in-law of which I have eaten one. Such restraint. Such smuggery….

Happy Easter to you if you celebrate it, happy weekend if not! xx

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