Sarah Tucker author, she loves you yeah, yeah, yeah

TEACHING TRANSPARENCY TO A NO SHOW BUSINESS

2012-01-31T06:59:00.000-08:00

I went to the launch of the True Fair Campaign launched by Alan and Gina Miller this morning. Check it out on www.trueandfaircampaign.co. It's a very good idea and I hope the government (all sides, all colours) puts their voice behind it. To cut to the chase, they want the City to be more transparent and trustworthy. Whether these two qualities are mutually exclusive I am not sure although my feeling is that if the City becomes more transparent, the public will quickly get to know they are the bunch of sanctimonious, self satisfied crooks we have suspected them being all along.

There were MPs, hedge funders, a professor from the LSE, and various other experts who spoke sagely about what needs to be done to make the City fair and true - transparent and trustworthy.

They talked of moral capitalism, getting the investment institutions to be open and clear about their costs and fees, but as I sat there I feel it's going to be a bit like trying to teach a psychopath empathy. City people do not understand the concept of truth or fairness. Their definitions are different. They live and breathe liar's poker remember. What's more, they know we don't trust them and they don't care that we don't trust them, but because they've been able to get away with it for so long, we've somehow established this level of dishonesty, smoke and mirrors as the norm. Their behaviour has become acceptable, that is until of course, we were brought into global recession by them breaking the market, although the delusional ones amongst them will dispute that.

But why should they change? Why do they need to change when their business is not suffering (there is a cartel of companies operating - so little competition - so all fees are set and agreed amongst each of them) If their business suffers as a result of not being transparent they would do it, but they don't need to, because it's not suffering - or not suffering because of lack of transparency. And yes, the public may believe the city to be dishonest but they don't care about that either, so although one journalist gamely suggested the city should be 'shamed' into being more transparent, I don't believe they understand the concept of 'shame'. They live in a bubble of self congratulatory validation which even overshadows that of show business. The City is a 'no-show' business. And when they fail, it's everyone else's fault and everyone else is to blame and pay. That's how a psychopath feels, or a narcissist - I'm never sure which one. They don't want anyone to know what they're doing or understand their business (including the government) - that's why we got into this mess in the first place.

An MP who was there, an ex hedge funder, told me the thing the City should do is to get across to the public that the work they do creates industry, creates job, creates work, does a lot of good. But then he worked in a different 'City'. A partner for a company, when his business made money, the company shared the profits, when it lost money, he would wake up in cold sweats at three in the morning realising he could, would and should lose everything. That is genuine risk, that is how business works and when it pays off, the rewards are well deserved. I feel transparency will only show in more detail how much these people are being rewarded for failing, and they know it and that's why they don't want to do it.

Gina and Alan know it too and I applaud them. By merely launching this initiative, they are throwing down the gauntlet - sign up - or you're a liar, not to be trusted and are over charging. The smoke is already starting to clear. The mirrors are getting shattered. The reality of the City is one that cannot be trusted. The past decade has shown this already.

SHAME AND ARTIST

2012-01-16T06:34:00.000-08:00

One weekend, two films. Very different. The Artist, silent, elegant, eternal, black and white, detailed, romantic, where, every aspect, look, pout, movement, breath was studied. A fairy tale where the dog saves the day, the man saves the woman and the woman saves him right back (I kept thinking of the last scene in the film Pretty Woman at that point - a film that glamorises meaningless sex - probably not the intention of the producer) the Artist is not of our time or any time really. Just wonderful to watch.

And to a film about meaningless sex that doesnt glamorise it. I found the film Shame disturbing, I think i was meant to. I imagine couples leaving the cinema refusing to discuss it or talking about it for days afterwards. Some scenes were incredibly disturbing because they are relevant. The Internet has taken sex addiction into the sitting room not only of those like the isolated protagonist of the film who is financially and physically fit but emotionally fucked. But to the millions who are addicted to Internet porn and chat lines while their children watch CBBC in the room next door.

Shame was about debilitating lack of self esteem, misplaced values and total lack of understanding of worth, and increasing inability to delay gratification. Shame also showed to powerful effect the inability to differentiate between love and lust. The protagonist at one point holds his sister aggressively, eyeballing her, sneering at her 'what do you offer me? What do you give to me? You're a liability as though she owes him something.". That upset me. I know too many people like that. He compares his worth and achievements with the fact he has a day job and an apartment but he's so much more damaged than she is. His boss is the most insidious revolting character in the film. Judging the behaviour of others while without guile or shame betraying his wife and children continually all the while coming across as the loveable jack the lad. The film portrayed the man's need for constant gratification as addiction. Just as gambling is. Just as alcoholism is. My research has shown the jury is still out on that one amongst sex therapists. Cosmopolitan would have us believe that men are t the mercy of their libido in much the same way the Bible and all religions for that matter always seems to think it's the woman's fault that men are as addicted to sex as they are. But then it was written by men.

And as my next book circumvents the subject matter a little, I found myself looking away from the screen at certain scenes and looking at the faces of those watching to see if they were numb to what they saw. They were. The screen was full of deeply damaged characters who were reflecting themselves back at us, with a few exceptions, like a mirror. Not all the characters on the screen were damaged as I am sure not all the characters in the cinema were either, but I learnt as much watching the watchers as I did the screen. You need to be in the right mood to see this film. I'm just not sure what mood that is. And the film is called Shame. But at no point does anyone show any degree of shame. Perhaps that's the most disturbing point of all.

A BLISSFUL AND MURDEROUS FESTIVE SEASON TO YOU ALL..

2012-01-16T06:15:00.000-08:00

Christmas was spent in Mallorca at the Bon Sol hotel, a beautiful, warm, special place clinging to the coast line just outside Palma. On Christmas Eve, we segwayed around Palma, taking in the sites in a few hours that it usually takes a day to tour, and stopped for hot chocolate and those mini pizzas which aren't called mini pizzas but look like mini pizzas. And visited Miro's home where echoes of his greatness and success still linger. He's a testament that dreamers do get paid too and you can be creative and commercial and not lose your soul and sense of purpose in the process. He's a good role model to any aspiring creative who's told by fearful and possibly well meaning parents that accountancy will always be a safer prospect.

On Christmas morning we skimmed stones on the beach at Puerto Portales in twenty degrees although we didn't go for a swim as the owners father of the Bon Sol would do every single day of the year. Then we walked along amongst the bijoux shops and the market place where the healthy and wealthy wandered with their well groomed children and their well groomed dogs (they always remind me of thoroughbred horses - beautiful, fragile, good to look at and ever so slightly pointless). I drank a spiced wine and Tom ate some sort of spiced cookie and then we walked along to the large yachts where the oligarchs hid behind their tinted glass, occasionally peering out at us peering in. A lot of them came from the UK - the yachts that is not the owners, well I presume not any way. We travelled back along the coast on foot, admiring the view and the skyline. And watched Ab Fab which was good and Doctor Who which wasn't.

New Year I spent in Stratford Upon Avon amongst seventy other wannabee sleuths, on a murder mystery weekend organised by the larger than life Joy Swift who started the concept of murder mystery over 30 years ago. About eight actors act in character during the entire weekend and you mix with people, couples, families, you don't know, and are given clues, witness murders and meet police officers who tell you who did it at the end. You get prizes if you guess who, what, where, how and why. There's an incident room where the clues are put up on the walls and as the weekend progresses more are put up. Some take it very seriously others just enjoy the ride. It is incredible fun. I would recommend it highly and have done so to everyone I have met and have written about it in full for several magazines. I don't think it's suitable for young children as Joy herself would admit as the plot lines are frequently quite dark and the dialogue between the actors so realistic it is unnerving. I have since taken a very keen interest in all things Poirot, Marple and Sherlock (I knew he wasn't dead - it was Molly I'm sure on the bike) and will be returning to see if I can improve my score, this time with Tom in tow. Google Joy Swift. Her murder mystery weekends are ingenious, incredible fun and worth every penny.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE FIVE OCLOCK IN THE MORNING BEDTIME...

2011-12-20T17:15:00.001-08:00

I am now the mother of a teenager. He is blessed and so am I, so we're both lucky. He had six friends sleeping over, so I felt like snow white with the seven dwarfs who ate donuts, popcorn, coke, hotdogs, pizza, chocolate money and a cake in the shape of a crest fallen rugby player with candles sticking out of his bottom.

They had sleeping bags all over the downstairs floor, one slept under the tree and woke up with pine needles protruding from his chin - sort of natural acupuncture I suppose - and was very polite 'Is this a non drop tree' he asked me as I carefully stepped over boys in bags. 'yes but people don't usually sleep directly under it.' They had three films to watch, watched half the first, but were deep in boy talk. I was confined to the bedroom and only went down to make sure food was all ok, drinks were ok, furniture was ok, and that they were ok. They were ok. They got to sleep at five in the morning. That was the very good bit.

Remains of the day Tom played with some of the presents (lets say Apple did well out of the Tucker household this year) and then I took him to see Hugo, directed by Scorsese, produced by Scorsese and J Depp, and starring in no particular order Ray Winston, Sacha Baron Cohen, Jude Law, Christopher Lee, Ben Kingsley, Richard Griffiths and Johnny Depp playing a double bass.

Set in Paris, beautiful cinematography, homage to Amelie and Cinema Paridiso, a dash of Benjamin Button surrealism, with the talent behind and in front of the screen it should have been faultless or at least very good. Stunning to look at it would have been superb as a silent movie. In fact, I would have enjoyed it as a silent movie and ironically it was sort of about silent movies. It's fantasy, so suspend the fact the accents are all over the place, and that the character with the greatest warmth is a metal doll, and that the lead boy is so infuriatingly maudlin and wooden you want someone like Roald Dahl to come along and introduce him to the child catcher (Sasha Baron Cohen doesn't quite do it in his blue uniform - he doesn't do sinister like Robert Helpmann in Chitty Bang Bang). I found myself wanting 'Hugo' to be run over by a train twice. And he meets a girl who is almost as nauseating and comes out with lines that are so strange, no wonder Hugo can't think of anything to say in reply. The grown ups are some of the best actors in the business but their scripts and direction were dreadful. The children were just dreadful. I found myself drifting off and wondering if it would have been better if Sasha Baron Cohen had played his character as Bruno, Ray Winston and Ben Kingsley as their gangster characters in Dirty Sexy Beast, Christopher Lee as Dracula (fangs are still in trend), Richard Griffiths as Uncle Monty from Withnail and Johnny Depp had played the Mad Hatter of Willy Wonka and Jude Law - actually Jude Law was good, but he was only in it for five minutes. The kids would not have lasted five minutes with that lot.

What is good about it? Well, the metal doll is good. And the dogs in the film perform really well to camera. There is a piece to camera by a dog in a bath which is great. And Baron Cohen says some funnies occasionally desperately trying to be rude, but he came across as restrained as if being leashed back like a dog with an invisible electric fence. The dogs and the dolls don't say anything they just look at the camera but it works. I just wish all the other actors had followed their lead...

CHECK OUT TANKUS THE HENGE. THEY ARE SUPERB.

2011-12-13T13:03:00.001-08:00

2011-12-10T11:27:00.000-08:00

SHITTY TRADER....

2011-12-07T03:09:00.001-08:00

City of Miles of interchangeable squares

 full of meaningless suits and control freak bulls and bears

 obsessive compulsive psychos with designer habits

who drink like fishes and bonk like rabbits

their only meaning is to profit and survive

walking like the living dead willing themselves alive

thinking themselves pretty in a world of funny money

pouring out their emptiness to expendible honey

stocking up on false friendships with sick and fanatical brokers

who ensure their clients stay coked up and end up dead no hopers

these boys live in soul less buildings a reflection of their greed

reflecting self absorption, its self awareness that they need

their cars are fast and shiny, like the women they enjoy

treating every clinging person as a Christmas cracker toy

they have no guile, these baby bankers getting off on destroying men

and smiling at those they wish to stab in the back again and again and  again

money runs through their veins and their brains and their balls

making all around them smaller and themselves the biggest fools

not realising they're being squeezed by life, the system and the thrill

seeking selfish fun blindly and the closure and the kill

optioning their worth in life as little more than cash

hedging all their offshore bets before the final crash.

FLASH MEN AND FIREPLACES.

2011-11-26T09:38:00.000-08:00

Flashman had died. Or rather the wonderful actor Richard Morant who played the character of Flashman in Tom Brown School Days has tragically died. I never met him, but I had recently met his stunning wife Valerie, who is the kindest person you could ever wish to meet. My heart goes out to her and her family.

Morant also played a handsome character in Poldark although I was never a Poldark groupie like my teenage peers at the time. But I remember at the age of seven, while other girls were role playing as nurses and dancers, I was role playing as Tom Brown being tied up to a fireplace by Flashman. It may have been broadcast at four pm on a Sunday afternoon but that series was definitely pseudo erotic. I didn't care if I ever met Tom Brown, its Flashman I wanted to meet. And that was at seven. The character of Flashman was the bully, the attractive bounder, the dark side of Jane Austen's Darcey - an author who never got why women are so attracted to wankers. Forty years later the idea still has it's appeal. Although knowing the flash men I've met over the years, they are nothing like the Flashman of those school days. Today, these men invariably have insurmountable self esteem issues, and are invariably the ones who would prefer to be tied to the fireplace.

sanity in her madness...

2011-11-24T14:18:00.001-08:00

Recently visited Petersham Nurseries, the beautiful, imaginative, over priced and slightly pretentious garden centre and restaurant where they charge £4 for a slice of beetroot cake.

First for a Halloween event where there were lots of actors wafting around Petersham House, draped in smoke and mirrors, pretending to be mad and deranged, and guests had to guess who done it, how it was done, and why it was done. I am still not sure who did it but think it was to do with money being gained dishonestly by the master of the house, and payback. Everyone was scared, laughing nervously, feeling slightly unsafe but impressed by the performance. Hoping it wasn't real.

And last night, I visited the same house, to watch Ruby Wax and Judith Watson in their funny and poignant two woman show 'Losing it' sitting amidst actors, models and psychoanalysts who were there to watch a play about...madness and suicidal thoughts and how the usual middle class response to people having breakdowns is to either ignore them hoping it or they will go away or tell them to 'perk up, have a cup of tea and if your insurance allows head for a 'spa break' in the Priory. It was slightly unnerving as at the Halloween event in the same room, on the same stage, an actress had hung from the rafters, a noose round her neck exactly where Ruby talked about her 'voices' and suicidal thoughts. Everyone was scared, laughing nervously, feeling slightly unsafe but impressed by the performance. Hoping it wasn't real.

Spooky huh?

THE DOUBTING THOMAS COLLECTIONS and POETRY IN EMOTION

2011-11-03T03:13:00.000-07:00

Please check out my latest two publications! The Doubting Thomas collection which is a series of stories for three to six year olds. There will be more out just before Christmas. And the other is a collection of poems, some of which are rather naughty.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/THE-DOUBTING-THOMAS-STORIES-ebook/dp/B005Z4A088

http://www.amazon.co.uk/POETRY-IN-EMOTION-ebook

THE MAN WHO SHOULDN'T BE KING

2011-10-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

So a law that was passed three hundred years ago is to be changed. Law of succession can go to the first daughter as well as to the first born son. I think that is a good idea. The women have done a far better job of ruling our country than the men have. I wish more out moded laws that make no sense a part from the collection of revenue and wasting of time could be changed. But hey, times (sort of) change and what was relevant to the sexism of then isn't relevant to the sexism of today. Queen Elizabeth has made a far better, stronger monarch, than her father or her uncle ever could - both weak pathetic selfish little men. Just a pity that this law starts with William and not with the present monarch. Anne would make a far better Queen than Charles would a king. And, oh, by the way, another law that is changing will allow would be Kings and Queens to marry Roman Catholics, of which the devout Camilla so happens to be. What with Tony Blair turning Catholic we'll have Prince Charles at it next. Bless their little sanctimonious hypocritical hearts. I have only met Prince Charles a few times. He is a very small man. Diana made him look smaller in every way but even without her, he remain a very small man. In 'that' interview she said Charles would never be king. I do hope she's right.

AND ME! birds have more fun. x

2011-10-26T14:53:00.001-07:00

http://youtu.be/l12K0gs2fJ8

PARAGIDING IN ITALY THIS SUMMER. SARAH & TOM TUCKER

2011-10-25T11:28:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_profilepage&v=9CCp0LwbHEs

WOMAN'S HOUR IN MARRAKESH

2011-10-21T23:10:00.000-07:00

So there I am - waiting for my moment to be on BBC Radio Four's Woman's Hour and talk about playground politics and I was in Morocco. The producer called. I couldn't get a line. Then when I eventually got through they interviewed me on my mobile in a carpet shop somewhere in the Medina sitting on a carpet. Initially they wanted to do it while I was interviewing someone making a metal lamp but with all the banging I suggested we go somewhere else. Here is the link for those who are interested http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b015zrrn#p00l8lxp.

MEETING MR BENN

2011-10-15T14:56:00.000-07:00

I met my hero, or one of my heroes this week - the creator of the character of Mr Benn. Mr Benn time travelled long before anyone else did and with less hi tech and special effects. I would watch that children's show fascinated by this gentle, oracle of a man, who looked (was drawn) square although he wasn't square in any way. He would occasionally go to the fancy dress shop and meet the 'shop keeper' who would suddenly appear just when things were starting to get interesting. Mr Benn was the common man, the grounded rounded person surrounded by colourful controlled chaos, learning from each of his adventures but ultimately helping those he met more than they helped him. Yes, he was able to see his street - Festive Road - in a different light, noticing more detail and perceiving his surroundings with more clarity after each of his adventures - appreciating what he had and what was around him. After meeting David McKee who wrote the stories (the full interviews will be on radio in the next few months and in articles in the national press) I realise that McKee is Mr Benn. The wise and gentle creator of Mr Benn believes that children should respect their parents as the real heroes in their lives - not the celebrity sportsman and performers that they do now - and that life is about who you are, not what you have or what you do. Mr Benn dressed up but never forgot who he was and his roots. I asked Mckee about his travels. He couldn't think of any significant journey although he's travelled extensively. He simply answered, after thinking for a few moments, that his mother once told him that walking down your own street in life had enough to offer if you looked hard enough. I personally always like the idea of disappearing into different worlds occasionally just like Mr Benn did but being my own shop keeper. I think everybody I know would. That was the simplicity of Mr Benn - he tapped into something that is eternal - our need to occasionally escape not just from our space but ourselves. Escape from what we have and what we do, and challenge ourselves and our fears.

TUCKER TIME

2011-09-29T16:14:00.000-07:00

I am just back from Las Vegas. I am half way between Las Vegas time (eight hour difference) and London time so slightly dazed and confused - Tucker Time. I am writing the feature for a national paper so won't give too much away. It was emotional. Highlights - visiting The Joint, the venue in the Hard Rock Hotel that opened in 2008 with The Killers and Paul McCartney and is amazing. Motley Crue we were told rocked the joint the most and there are as many stars in the audience as there are on stage the venue is so 'right'. We were allowed behind stage to the dressing rooms, and the host talked about the rock stars who had performed there. Fascinating absorbing insight into a world everyone thinks they know so much about and which I feel having visited LV knows nothing. Another gem was visiting the recording studios at the Palms Hotel, where Lady Gaga and Will I Am had recorded (not together) during the weekend we were there. Michael Jackson stayed there for three months recording his last record and security was so tight very few of the staff at the hotel knew he was there. Our host at the studio who has worked with all the good and great both in LV and New York was a truly incredible lady and should write a book about it, but I suspect will never do so.

Other highlights - well I danced at a pool party at Encore at the Wynn Hotel, in front of Pete Tong (he was inches away) and he asked if I wanted a drink but I didn't understand him - but then the music was very loud and I am getting a little deaf. I understand he has the same problem. Or that is what I think he was asking.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, for a month or so...at least. xxx

UTTERLY OAR SOME

2011-09-20T06:46:00.000-07:00

Not so much owl and pussy cat, more the ingredients for a perfect storm - three parents, one ex boy, six twelve year olds and a maths and geography teacher in one rowing boat, who had (sort of) practiced for a twenty two mile race down the Thames in appalling conditions. The start was wonderful. Loads of boats bobbing about all over the place. A lot of people dressed as catwomen, batman, sailors, soldiers, more sailors, (mind you, they could have been sailors), Indians, ballet dancers (?) animals - lions, tigers, anything that bit basically. There were the dragon boats who looked as though they had been training since they were out of the cot, and people like us who looked as though they had been training for an hour on Sunday mornings in wonderful sunshine. Yes the sun did shine at the beginning and at the end, but by the time we got to Tower Bridge it felt very Ben Hurr. The rain poured down, we had thunder, lightening and lots of shouting 'come on boys, we can do it!" which the grown ups were really saying as much to motivate themselves as they were to motivate the boys.

The safety boats at the start were shouting at all the boats who were in position and were not due to start for another hour as everyone was tiered - the slowest went first - so there were a few shouting matches which made it all the more exciting. But there were no fists flying, no scuttling of ships or mutinies to report. We started strong, cris-crossing the Thames dramatically avoiding the other boats - mainly the sea scouts - who we managed to bash into twice and cross oars with, but they looked like they were used to that sort of thing.

By the time we reached Tower Bridge the waves were crashing around us, the boats were banging into us, the safety boat kept coming up to us and telling (shouting at) us to move over, making it ironically very unsafe as they created waves which kept us bobbing up and down powerless to go anywhere. The ex boy wanted to have a pee, tried three times (stage fright) and think managed it on the forth attempt. Men have to do what men have to do, and women have to do what women have to do, but women manage to wait. The deputy head of the school was on Waterloo Bridge bellowing encouragement to us as we rowed (still at ramming speed) and we smiled, until the boy at the front told us we weren't a quarter of the way yet.

We counted the bridges. I remember when I was on a tour on the bateau mouche in Paris the guide telling me about the bridges or as he called them the 'bitches' (his accent) and I kept thinking as I passed under each bridge, the French guy was right. London is a stunning, fascinating, wonderful city. I love it. I know I love it because by the time we got to Barnes bridge we were all utterly soaked, cold and very tired and I was still wondering at the beauty of this place.

There were times when we were rowing all by ourselves, then others when out of nowhere loads of boats seemed to appear (or catch up with us) and then go off into the distance.

By the time we reached Richmond Bridge we were all very tired indeed. The ex boy had rowed across the Atlantic so I thought this would be a piece of cake for him, but even he looked knackered. The teachers kept chatting and texting and consequently made rowing sometimes difficult (can they lose house points for that?) as we all had to keep in time. And the last mile we had a race with an ebay boat (sponsored by I don't think it was second hand, but could have been) which they won. Only just. But hey, they beat 12 year olds and only just!!! The photos at the end say it all. We all looked very satisfied and absolutely exhausted. For any who ask, it was tougher than running the London marathon. We did it in three fours forty minutes which is a very respectable time indeed. The sunshine would have helped but it was an experience and a very good one and something I recommend everyone does just once. Just once.

BOTOX AND HAIR DYE

2011-09-14T01:18:00.000-07:00

Love and light. Love and light. I'm sending out loads and loads of love and light. It is a very bad thing for anyone who is in the spotlight, actually any one who puts themselves in the spotlight, to have a thin skin. Unfortunately anyone who is remotely creative tends to have a thinnish skin because that's one of the reasons why they are creative - or that's what I think anyway. It is also a very bad thing to read reviews just before you go to bed. I have had some stinkers in my time and I always seem to read them just before I go to bed. One review I got for one of my books went along the lines of only stupid people who had just given birth would buy it, so that managed to insult all new mothers as well as me. Then there were the reviews of the fiction novels where they would put the books in bins, thought all the characters, especially the lead female character was utterly vile, thought that only the good reviews were written by friends (if you did thank you!!) and in one case thought the work was a rancid piece of mince and hateful. A lot of them seem to come from Manchester. And now they've got really personal by a husband downloading the mummy mafia app saying they saw me in on Daybreak and feel I need botox and hair dye. I must admit I read it and thought, now that's just silly, but they have a right to their opinion and although I have no intention of having botox I am thinking positive thoughts and possible high lights. Love and high lights. xxx

TOP TEN TIPS ON DEALING WITH THE PLAYGROUND MAFIA - AS SEEN ON DAYBREAK TODAY 6.45AM

2011-09-07T23:46:00.000-07:00

Sarah Tucker is the author of a fictional novel ‘The Playground Mafia’, which hit a nerve because there was so much unspoken emotional truth in it that it has sold over half a million copies. Sarah does not claim to be a psychologist or counsellor, her tips have developed through the research and some direct experience of playground politics over the years. She receives between 50 to 100 emails each week on playground politics and has collected together here some advice from those she has interviewed over the years, from teachers, parents, mafia members and victims of playground politics as well as some words of wisdom from the children themselves. This list of ten tips might help you with playground issues and over competitive parents. 1. Remember the only thing you have in common with the other mothers at your child’s class is that they have children the same age as yours. That is where the similarities end. They are not your friends or confidents. Don’t treat them that way. Or feel you need to treat them that way. This causes unnecessary pressure. 2. Always keep your own counsel. Confide in your friends out of school, never those in the playground no matter how sympathetic they may be. You are going to meet them every day for the next nine years. Do not mention any marriage or financial or emotional difficulties. Furthermore, do not act as ear to any gossip mongers either. 3. Just because your son/daughter picks a best friend, you do not need to make best friends with the parents. Parents often feel obliged to do just that. Don’t. It is not necessary. 4. The teachers are extremely aware of the playground mafia and I got many anecdotes for the book from this source. If you need advice, always speak to the head teacher or the form teacher about your child. You don’t need to network with other mothers who – if they are mafia – will treat information as power. 5. Never arrive early for pick up. More opportunity for you to be pounced on. 6. Always polite but opaque, as in quite dull. If they cannot grab onto anything about you, good or bad, they will neither be threatened by you, interested to cultivate you as one of their members. Most mafia were bullies as children and haven’t kicked the habit. As children you could have had a fight in the playground, as an adult you are likely to get a GBH assault charge. So no matter how much they snipe, ignore them. Focus on your child. 7. Be aware that there is no mafia ‘type’ – they do not look like bullies, they come in all shapes and sizes, may have had or not had successful careers. The one thing they have in common is that they need to get a life, stop taking themselves so seriously and focus on their child’s development and no one else’s. They need above all to mind their OWN business. 8. Mummy blogs and networks are not necessarily the best way to work out issues. If you need to befriend a mother, make it one who has children two years above that of your own,who you genuinely like and trust. She is not in direct competition with you and will have been through the playground mafia issues herself. 9. See the funny side of all situations. I met a mother who googled all the children’s parents in her class and only asked those children around for playdates who had parents with high disposable incomes. This is more common than people might think. These parent types live vicariously through their children on many levels. 10. Playground Mafia will always claim they are being overly competitive because it’s necessary to get into good schools and they must push their child and further his progress. They do nothing of the sort. All good parents encourage their child to do well, mafia systematically try to undermine other children so they do less well, and also undermine the confidence of other parents. That is not good parenting, this is politics. Most playground politics occurs when the children are at infant and primary school. There is less need to mix with other parents at secondary school so less opportunity for the playground mafia to snipe. Enjoy your children’s childhood. Don’t let the mafia ruin it. And if all else fails, just drop your child at the school gate and pick up avoiding all eye contact with any other mother. Sarah has now devised an APP for mums to use not only to detect mafia mums but also avoid becoming one themselves. As part of a nationwide 'mummy mafia' campaign in conjunction with Red Balloon, the organisation which focuses on the recovery of bullied children, Sarah is asking mums throughout the UK to take the mummy mafia test and send in the results to her at madasatucker@aol.com. Alternatively send them to her website www.sarahtucker-website.com on the comments section, with anecdotes about some of the playground politics you have personally experienced. Sarah says, “Tackling playground politics is a step closer to making sure the time in the playground is something new mothers can enjoy and look forward to, rather than dread and navigate around. I believe children bully because they witness the grownups doing the same - lead by example is always the best policy.”

SOME LIKE IT HOT

2011-08-22T10:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't been to Italy for ages and my view of it is across between A Room with a View and La Dolce Vita. Some like it hot and I like it hot but it was too hot. As in closed oven hot. But everything else about it was Merchant and Ivory drop dead romantic. We travelled to Le Marche which is like Tuscany but they do it for real rather than for show. I think it's less to do with the fact they don't know how to market themselves and more to do with the fact they are not prepared to sell themselves. We rode horses in between gorgeous medieval villages void of tourist shops and trappings but full of butchers, bakers and shoe makers. We mountain biked, which was exciting and terrifying and still have skin on my knees which is a miracle. Having gone full pelt over my bike around Richmond Park on many occasions I now have scars on both knees which will be with me forever that look like carpet burns. Hey ho.

The trekking through the gorges was magical. Stunning countryside, dappled light, ice cold water but on that hot day it didn't matter. It was the perfect piercing hot temperature for ice cold water. Eating peaches that dripped with sweet juice. Lov-er-ly. And the paragliding which made me feel like an eagle although I undoubtedly looked like an ugly turkey. I didn't care. I was told by one of the head honchos that 'this is a sport for men to do manly things amongst men.' Well they got a mother and her son for a morning, and in my articles, I'm going to get more mums and their children to do the same. Fabulous experience, utterly amazing barring the cow pats we landed in on the way down. Thank goodness they were dried. (Thank you sun!)

BIG BROKEN SOCIETY..

2011-08-13T13:14:00.000-07:00

So the riots have subsided. I don't think it was the police, nor the government rhetoric, nor the announcement by Cameron that we have a broken society, more profound than he or his speech writers realised (see my blog on mindgames, mud and Murdoch). It was the fact that shopkeepers in the end were standing outside their homes prepared to protect their properties and small businesses from the looters. The looters expected public support for their actions, because there is obscene imbalance between the wealthy and the poor and the recent cuts have impacted much more on the poor than the wealthy. And although they have no right to loot, they do have a right to be furious.

The student protestors had public sympathy in general, but the looters lost it as soon as they attacked homes and small businesses (they should have stuck to the big soul less brands synonymous with big business and false promises) and the parts of London synonymous with the greedy. As it was, the poor were robbing from the poor. The 'full force of the law' is not the way to deal with the broken society. The Law is one of the institutions that is broken.

ANGRY

2011-08-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

I'm in Austria watching what is happening in the UK on CNN. They are showing lots of images of buildings blazing, shops being looted, and a man being helped up by people who then proceed to mug him. There's also some highly articulate people talking about why the riots are happening. Why the rioters have absolutely nothing to lose. That the 'have nots' are now having something to say about it.

The other story is how the stock market is going up and down like a yo yo. The story if you like is about those people who 'have'. People dont' give a diddly squat about what happens on the stock market. We are told it matters - we know it matters - the recent financial crash had global implications for all of us, and are continuing to (re read first paragraph). Billions of pounds have been made in the last few days by those who are playing with the market. The money is numbers, meaningless unless you have that much money to play with in the first place. Global gambling. Legalised mugging. This lot are bored as well.

The gangs are setting fire to the wrong parts of London.

GLUM IN THE SUN

2011-07-25T15:00:00.000-07:00

And so I went to Thorpe Park. Hot heady heat amidst rides that had names of tortuous horror films (Saw), condom sounding rides (Colossus - or is that just my mind?), and weapons of natural destruction (Tidal Wave, which perhaps should be called Tsunami. Or perhaps not). Then there were others called Rush, Vortex, No way out (I identified a bit with this one as it was in the dark), and Nemesis Inferno which the boys I took thought was 'the best'. I think they should call a ride 'Ouch'. I'm sure 'Brain Damage' would attract a following.

I was surrounded by teenagers. Fat ones, emaciated ones, join the dots spotty ones, ones who practiced the Victoria 'I am too cool to smile' Beckham pout, and others who were cool but didn't know it. Many others who thought they were, but weren't. I am so pleased I am not a teenager again. Anyone who ever angst for these times should go to Thorpe Park. It reminds me of the insecurities of that age. Of wanting to be noticed and not wanting to be noticed. Of wanting to stand out and not wanting to stand out. Of wanting to be something, anything other than who you are, under the guise of gaining any experience, good, bad and ugly. I know quite a few forty somethings that are still going through this phase or have re entered it.

I didn't go on the rides. Instead I waited in the 'shops' the riders had to walk through at the end of each roller coaster. In one they sold 'victims blood slime' next to sweetly smiling teddy bears with Thorpe Park emblazoned in embroidered yellow on little blue jumpers. It made the bears look creepy and sinister. Then there were the voodoo doll key rings (without the pins), mini marshmallow chain saws (they looked like chain saws), little statues of a man with a very white face and blood red mouth on a tricycle which is something to do with the film Saw, but I've never seen it so didn't get the point and rather than be impressed I just thought them very strange. There were a lot there so don't know if they had sold any. Then there were huge medals for going on each of the rides. You could get three for £10. And loads and loads of jelly sweets and other brightly coloured sugar immersed gelatin filled crap.

I sat there in the sun, and kept thinking of what the place reminded me of. I've been to Alton Towers and Universal Studios in Florida and Phantasialand in Germany, and other 'lands' with rides of this scale, but this one was different. As I sat watching everyone scream their heads off, and praise themselves afterwards for not throwing up and still being able to smile, speak, see, walk - I breathed in the whiff of pizza, pasta, curry, chinese, fish 'n chips, mexican drift in the breeze - and I thought of the story of Pinnochio and the land he ended up in when he started to turn into an ass. I left with stealth, as the ride Stealth was closed.

SOME MUD STICKS

2011-07-24T19:03:00.000-07:00

I fell in the mud. Walking down from my home in France to the nearby village of Najac I slipped in a puddle and went flying in the cartoonish way you do when the sun is shining, birds singing and all is right and white with the world. And then bang. I mention this as since my last blog about mud not sticking it seems some of it has. Ms Brooks/Wade has been arrested, I'm told Murdoch senior played up the senior moments to the hilt and deserves an Oscar in 'I don't know what time of day it is' method acting. His son I am told was totally spaced out but according to Murdoch's biographer (who doesn't sound as though he liked/respected his subject matter very much) will be arrested soon. Perhaps. I still think these people are slippery. Keep thinking of that character in The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin..."I didn't get where I am today by.....".

The guile less were briefly pushed off the front page by the mass of innocents who were sacrificed en masse in Norway. The man who planned it is, I am told photogenic and articulate. Unlike most who do this sort of thing, he didn't kill himself, which makes me feel he still has something to say and do to camera. The 93 he killed also had plenty to say and do. The guilty are always dealt with with much more civility than the innocent. And are always given the last word.

PROFOUNDLY RELATIONAL STRUCTURES

2011-07-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

What does that mean? What do those three words mean? Profoundly relational structures? Intellectual deep throat perhaps? I think the audience would have listened more intently if he'd used that term than the dry dull verbose political patter he did. I heard this and other gems when I went to a think tank evening this evening which was (I am assured) filled with thrusting young MPs all wanting to do the greater good, whatever that is. I attended because I was told it would be good to network with these people. But I walked away confused as to why it would be good to network with these people? I couldn't even understand what half of them were saying. It reminded me of the days when I worked with management consultants and they spouted out one sound bite after another after another which meant sweet FA.

I dressed up like a grown up to have a grown up evening and felt I'd arrived in the land of the morons. There were three speakers - the head messiah, an MP (one of the thrusting ones I think) and a Lord. Bit like father, son and holy spirit I suppose in reverse. The Lord was a dreadful speaker and I haven't got a clue what he was talking about but he kept mentioning 'paying for results.' I drifted off at one point and he mentioned 'paying for results' again and I immediately thought he'd changed the subject to phone hacking, but no such luck.

The MP was a little more animated but no more illuminating, telling us absolutely nothing about everything as all good politicians do. The Messiah was very enthusiastic, at one point almost jumping up and down, but I am still not quite sure about what. Perhaps about being on a stage in front of a big screen with a new website in front of it with loads of thrusting young MPs watching him.

I know I've been in the playground a long time, but I felt like the boy with the Emperor with no clothes watching these dull dull men - one after another - spouting platitude after platitude, and jargon after jargon - about helping the poor, and paying for results.

The room was full (I was assured) of professors and lecturers and other learned folk who listened in revered silence at at the way in which the head honcho threw out how he intended to 'change the terms of debate'. I didn't have a clue what that meant and I didn't have a clue when I left although I did ask a lot of people questions afterwards and they didn't seem to know either.

I am sure the message was a good one. Just the messengers were naff.