Not my favourite day

I am a fortunate soul. I have a wonderful family, I know many amazing and inspiring people, we can afford (just about) for me to work for free at things that matter to me. I have far too many animals and a veg garden prone to flooding but that's OK.
And I love my city very much indeed.

However, sometimes it all goes a bit tits up. Yesterday was one of those days.

First of all - women, cross your legs. My apologies for this bit.
Today I had my 3-yearly cervical smear test. Like every woman in the country of screening age, I received the notification letter with a glum sigh. Yes, I know we have to do it, it's the smart course of action but still...
I procrastinated just long enough to side-step the Easter school holidays and scheduled it for first thing on a Monday. "get it over with first thing."
The speculum isn't exactly comfortable and I actively dread the click...click...click noises they open it.
Unfortunately, the nurse was inexperienced.
(I did warn you to cross your legs)
She's a total poppet. She's warm, friendly, kind, well-meaning and has a terrific manner with patients. She has the sparkly blue eyes of an old Hollywood movie star. She's great at taking blood and doing inoculations. She's just not quite got the hang of cervical smears.
Yet.
It took 8 goes.
 EIGHT.
I had to ask her to stop, I couldn't take it anymore.
She fetched an experienced nurse who sorted it - without pain - in 2 minutes.
Talking to one of my Very Excellent Mates afterwards, she'd had the same nurse with a similar result (fewer tries, more bleeding).
Ick.
I thought that was the worst my week would be. Everything's on the up from that, surely.

After dropping Z's forgotten lunch at school and buying the approved summer uniform polo shirts at the shop down the road, I drove to work on my lovely Vespa.
The roads are generally quiet at that time of day but a combination of road works, building works and changed lane marking mean a couple of sections are more awkward than usual. This resulted in the cars in the lanes either side of me simultaneously deciding to be in my lane, which they did without indicating and seemingly without noticing me on my scooter. Cars in front and behind, and moving in from either side - adrenaline spike! Luckily the car behind blasted its horn and they both swerved back into their lanes. People tell me scooters are dangerous. My experience is that no, it's dozy car drivers that are dangerous.
After that burst of near death excitement I went to the marvellous Play Lab.

Play Lab is a pop-up play space in the centre of the city. It's brilliant and if you are local to Leeds do come ad see us. It's on New York street opposite the post office, on the road down Kirkgate Market that leads to the multi-story carpark and the bus station. We're there 10-4 every day, sometimes later as well.
We have an empty shop that we've filled with Lego, toys, pillows, hula hoops, craft bits and a visiting coffee shop. We've pompom makers, chalks, markers and paper, stuff for den building, plenty to mess about with. That's the drop-in-and-play bit, totally free.
Downstairs we run workshops and inventors clubs to get kids exploring what they can build and create.  It's flipping lovely.

I'm acting as a self-appointed intern at this community-based project. It was clear to me the founder, Emma Bearman, couldn't possibly manage all her plans with the workforce she had funding for, so I nominated myself. I do a few days a week - mostly just being there to welcome people, help kids with activities, do the odd errand, clear up and so on. Having an extra body to (wo)man the play space can be a help.  It's very rewarding, if occasionally very noisy!
After a 4.5 hour shift I locked up and headed across town to collect a book from Waterstone's. My arthritis hasn't been great, so I was walking awkwardly and was jostled a couple of times. I put that down to my clumsiness.
When I got to Waterstone's and went to pay, I discovered my wallet was missing. On the unlikely chance I'd left it at work, I went back to Play Lab and searched for it. No wallet. I'd definitely had it when I bought those school shirts. I definitely had it when I tucked it in my cotton shopping bag when I got to Play Lab, and tucked it out of sight in the back of the cubby under the motorbike jacket.
There wasn't a lot in it - frustrating things to replace like loyalty cards, membership cards, drivers licence, credit and debit cards, and a couple of gift vouchers. Things I'll now have to reset on all websites I buy from. Hoops to go through because I bought out Hamilton the musical tickets with that card and I need it to collect the tickets.
Oh, and two really nice commemorative £2 coins in the separate compartment for my coin collection
(I know, I know, coin collecting is lame. Don't judge me. I've had a rough day.)
I'd been pickpocketed on my way through town.
That pretty much broke me.
It was such a crappy thing to happen, with so little advantage to whomever stole the wallet. It had been a really lousy morning followed by a nerve-wracking commute, a lovely but draining shift with my bad knees and now lots of inconvenience and frustration, as well as costing me about £50 to replace things.
I sang fed up songs on my way home (thanks to Lily Allen and Belle and Sebastian for their excellent work in this field), felt thoroughly narked with the world and went to bed early feeling drained.
Monday the 16th can piss right off.
So here I am on Tuesday.
I have an open bouquet of daffodils on my kitchen counter., which is enough to brighten my day. Yes, living in a city means there is crime and it's damned annoying when it happens to you. However, living in the city also means there are amazing things like Play Lab, providing a warm and welcoming space for families. There are large bookshops like my lovely Waterstone's, and fun places to go like my beloved Everyman cinema. There are Kirkgate Market traders who call out and wave when I go by, friends to commiserate with when rotten things happen, and thousands of connections and intersections of communities that make life richer.
I'm shaking off yesterday and looking forward to tomorrow. There are rumours of sunshine.

Robot invasion

Back in April I blogged about the wonderful March of the Robots events the kids and I had such fun attending.  This half term saw the climax of the year's festivities with a massive party, and we were first in the queue for tickets.

First of all we went to the chocolate robot workshop in the city centre.  We got a set of sweets each, a pot of melted chocolate to use as glue, a stir stick to apply it and a sheet of greaseproof paper on which to assemble our masterpieces.

There was an example on the table to follow, which looked pretty cute.  Never managing to resist the urge to jazz food up a bit, I gave it a face and sprayed it with the edible silver spray.

Now, we're not the sort of family to follow instructions if there's a chance to go our own way.  The facilitators were split - one kept telling us we were doing it wrong while the other was delighted that we threw ourselves into the activity with originality and enthusiasm. The kids filtered out the "umm, that's not how you do it," and preened at the praise.
Miss B made her Robo-Minnie-Mouse while Z went for something more like a cute version of the Bad Robot logo :

Luke and I both decided to make robots that could stand up. This involved a bit more frustration than initially hoped, and a lot of snapped mint Matchsticks.

Obviously the kids ate theirs the second they finished then divvied up mine between them.  I did snag a few cheeky mini Reeses peanut butter cups from the keen facilitator for myself though! 

Next we had a quick look for the little Cubebots hidden across the city centre.  I love these little fellows - they have a cute 50s vibe and I love the little LEDs inside that make them glow. Whenever we found a large Cubebot in a shop window we could go inside and claim a little Cubebot kit for myself. 

I'm a huge fan of Playful Leeds. I love the spirit of adventure and the willingness to gamble on an idea that motivates Emma and her team.  What kind of nutter decides to fill Leeds with 10,000 robots made by people of all ages and backgrounds? And then talks that idea up into funding and then reality?  My kind of nutter, that's who. And I want everyone else to throw himself into it too.

So, on our way through town I accosted anyone with a kid to say "Did you know you can make chocolate robots at a free activity for half term just over there? Your little 'un look just the right age to enjoy some building with chocolate." I tweeted about where we spotted the Cubebots and gave hints to anyone we saw clutching a Cubebot map. 

By the way,  one of the things I LOVE about my kids is that they're fine about having their mother do this stuff.  They are resigned that the downside of having a mum who finds out about all the cool stuff to do, is being there while that mum tells total strangers about it.  And buys the helpers coffees to say thanks.

After the Cubebot hunting we headed to the main event - the Minecraft party at the Leeds City Museum.  

What a party! It was a strange combination of very loud and rather quiet; excited movement and stillness (except for mouse clicks). A hall full of kids, tech and old school craft supplies all for one purpose - having fun. It was brilliant. 

In the centre of the room were tables full of kids playing Minecraft. Not a word from any of them - they were focussed on the  screen ahead.  

Around the perimeter were the activity stations - making Minecraft objects from Hama beads, cutting out and assembling Minecraft paper models, making masks, creating Doodlebots (if you hadn't done so in the Spring) or sewing with conductive thread to make quilt squares with LED lights.  This created the noise - kids chatting, laughing, shouting, showing off and asking questions. The combined impression was one of happy chaos.

The quilting woman, Hayley, very kindly let me have a go while the 3 kids were busy Minecrafting. It was remarkable stuff - as soft as flexible as normal thread. I'd love the chance to play with it again. However with my Works In Progress pile being as massive as it is, I daren't buy more supplies so I have managed not to click Buy It Now when I looked i up online.  It is Very Cool Indeed, though.

Thanks again, Leeds. You did your children proud

Changing my mind

This year the Grand Depart of the Tour de France was in Yorkshire. If you live here you couldn't escape it - for months it's been the focus of events, festivals, exhibitions, the whole nine yards. There is a basic insanity in a French cycle race whizzing around Yorkshire (seriously, what's that even about? The Tour d'Italia left from Belfast, too. It's madness) Suspect geography aside, I was all for it. I have many cycling enthusiast friends and I knew it would make them happy.

But personally? I couldn't care less. I don't ride a bike. I don't want to ride a bike. I am not interested in watching other people ride bikes.  I'd see them go past because it's An Event and I approve of Events in my city but it all left me a bit blank, really.  Like when the Olympics came to London in 2012 - nice for people who like that sort of thing but I don't want to watch people doing PE so I didn't bother with it.

That was before.

Before crazy, lovely knitters made 23,500 tiny Tour de France jerseys as bunting. Before the city's flower beds were replanted yellow. Before Yorkshire Tea had commemorative boxes made. Before the sun shone, the whole county came out to stand and cheer, and the glorious event kicked off in style.

It was wonderful. People laughing and chatting, the promotional vehicles flinging key rings and gewgaws into the crowds, police motorbike riders high-fiving everyone. 

The cyclists were an anticlimax as they flashed by because they were in a big pack, whizzing past us on their way to the official start line at Harewood House. They weren't racing as such on our bit of the route.  They were also bunched up so close it was hard to pick out individuals from the peleton. Clearly the hillsides were the place to be for the exciting race stuff. 

After the cyclists had gone by we walked home for lunch. I only meant to turn the race on the telly so our visitors could see it but I was hooked and watched the whole thing. From cheeky Jens claiming King of the Mountains to the drama as Mark Cavendish crashed out metres from the finish line I was fascinated.

I haven't kept up with it since - I think I need my friend Alison with me to explain who is who to properly enjoy it. But I remain immensely proud of this region for putting on such a good natured, enthusiastic and beautiful show. Three cheers for the remarkable Gary Verity for bringing the Tour de France here. If he can make a convert out of this doubter, he can do anything.

When pedestrian is anything but

Friday was one of those remarkable days when exploring the city on foot pays dividends. I walked 6km around the city centre and an area of Leeds I don't know at all - Armley.

Armley for me meant two things - the Victorian gaol that glowers down at the big roundabout and Mike's Carpets, the former Methodist church that's been a cheap carpet shop for about 30 years.  I knew nothing more about it than that. No longer needing a cut price roll end of carpet for a bedsit, nor knowing anyone at the prison I'd had no reason to visit it.

As part of my radio homework for my mentor, I needed to get out to an area I didn't know or feel at home in, and find someone to interview on a more news-y story. I thought of a couple if possible things to investigate further and off I set.

First I had a couple of things to do in the city centre itself. It was a beautiful sunny day and walking about was a pleasure. I chatted to a few of the market traders I like - Joe and Liam, my two favourite fishmongers, Sue at the wonderful B&M Fabric stall - and got some of the market gossip. It's a hotbed of friendships and rivalries, and always interesting.

I met Liam when getting an interview about the affect of the market car park closure on local trade the other week and liked him immediately. He's so passionate and enthusiastic about what he does... pretty much my favourite things. He'd worked for a big fishmonger on the corner, struck out on his own with a weekly oyster bar, and planned for months his perfect fishmonger's stall.
It is a thing of beauty. Big mirrors at the side of his shop create the illusion it's much bigger than it is. Standing near the carefully arrange display you see beautiful fish and shellfish stretching out to infinity between the reflections. The tiles are a glossy black rectangles laid like bricks - it's very 1930s chic. The giant refrigerator units behind the stall are covered in chalkboard, with all the fish and shellfish listed. It's classy, it's attractive and it makes me want to sip champagne and eat oysters. I settled for some samphire to go with the evening's mackerel.

After a bit more pottering in town, I took the bus to Armley Town Street. I had it in mind to visit the Pay As You Feel Cafe on the corner of Chapel Street - even bag an interview if I could.

It's a fabulous idea - taking waste food from supermarkets, restaurants, and the Leeds Market and making meals from it. Slightly wrinkled peppers are still delicious when roasted, and being beyond a sell-by date doesn't stop an apple tasting great in a pie. The Cafe takes makes its dishes from the donated, discarded food and just asks people to donate whatever they feel like. It's a beautiful concept.

As it is run mostly by volunteers and on a shoe-string, it is closed some days its opening hours say it will be open. The nature of the enterprise, I guess, but very frustrating when I arrived to find a closed door and no information. I'd asked ahead of time on Facebook and Twitter whether they would be open as usual but got no reply until the following evening. Ah well.

I had also read of a study by Professor David Dunstan of Queen Mary University of London, saying the best way to get rid of snails was to remove them to wasteland about 20m away. With the RHS publishing a recent survey that 20% of gardeners admit to throwing snails over the fence to their neighbours' gardens, I thought I might be able to visit the Armley allotments and get some comments.

That didn't work out either.  No one was working on the allotments at the time, despite the glorious day.

Hmm, my bid to find some audio for Andrew wasn't going very well.

I went to the library/one stop shop to browse the notices and posters in the hope of finding something newsworthy. I got advice from a lady there for a good cafe to visit for lunch and headed that way. I really enjoyed my stroll along the main street - I hadn't realised what a huge Eastern European community lived in Armley. Many overheard conversations were in what I assume to be Polish, as they were between the shoppers and staff in the many Polish shops. It felt wonderfully multicultural. Browsing the food shelves was brilliant -I picked up some packet foods to try with the kids - chocolate drink, toffee pudding - and promised myself I'd bring my Very Excellent Mate Rach's 8 year old daughter Delilah for a poke around the shops. She's teaching herself Polish and is very keen.

The recommended cafe looked packed so I walked along to the lovely Nurture Cafe run for St George's Crypt.  The Crypt is a Leeds charity for the homeless and has been doing great work for many years. The cafe is part of that - it provides cheap and delicious food at a small profit - my sandwich was wonderful - and also feeds homeless people with a St George's Crypt voucher a free hot meal.

I love those vouchers and have bought them in the past. They are £5 for a book of 5. Each one entitles the bearer to a hot bath or shower at the Crypt and a hot meal in one of their 3 cafes. Rather than giving small change to someone asking in the street, you can give them the voucher and know they can get a proper dinner. I think it's such a smart way of helping people.

I had a quick chat with the women at the cafe about how it works, but they were too busy for a quick interview when it wouldn't be going on air to promote the Crypt's work. I don't blame them at all, but I couldn't spent 3 more hours in Armley just to pop back for a 2 minute chat. I'll save it for another day.

I did chat to a lovely bloke in one of the Polish shops about how the communities integrated, but he was too shy to speak into a microphone. He had very positive things to say, though.  This encouraged me as 2 octogenarian ladies I got talking to in the cafe had been vociferous in their anger and distrust of "foreigners taking over the place," and I had felt rather discouraged.

Still, I had no audio so I needed to get on with things.

Exploring some side streets I cam upon an unusual sight - what appeared to be a building site with a series of wedding marquees across half of the plot. I investigated further and met the very passionate Mr Khatana.  He was leader of the mosque that was now walls and rubble.  In order to have space for men and women to worship separately, they needed to expand. They were removing the roof and building a second storey on the existing building. However, this meant they had no mosque for 3 months.

Not a man to let such things get in his way, Mr Khatana ordered a several whopping great wedding marquees be erected to make a temporary mosque. It had interconnecting rooms, heaters, carpeted floors, a small study and a chandelier. The sides were drawn back on this hot sunny day, but could be laced up tight and were weather-proof for rainy days. A porta-cabin to the side housed toilets.  I loved it - such invention in the face of an obstacle, and such huge pride and enthusiasm from Mr Khatana for his mosque.  I had the grand tour, got my interview and was pressed very earnestly to come back and see the newly finished mosque later in the summer.

Woohoo! Audio! And a very pleasant experience as well.  I may not be happy with rules saying men and women must be segregated, but heck, what business is it of mine how the good folk of the mosque wish to worship? I love their spirit. Enthusiasm is one of my favourite things in people. I can't help but get swept along with their positivity. Mr Khatana had even pressed his phone number upon me so I could ring and find out when the new mosque was ready and have a tour then too.

Waiting for a bus back into town, I saw a bloke waiting in a car that had a UKIP poster on the window.  I asked if I could chat to him about the changes he's seen in Armley and how he felt about them.

Terry was a man with a lot of anger and frustration. He lived all his life in Armley, except for military service posted in Germany where he met and married his German wife. He learnt German, she learnt English. It was expected of her to adopt the culture of her new country.  Terry, as a white working class bloke, was in the majority, knew this place was his place.

Now, at age 63, he feels ousted from his home. He doesn't recognise the religion, traditions, language or food of many people who share Armley with him. Where many see the changing population of Leeds as bringing richness, depth and value to the city, Terry sees strangeness and feels alienation.

He said to me "I've become more of a racist." That shocked me, hearing him acknowledge and name it; I've only ever heard people say "I'm not racist but..."
He told me Friday was a no-go area where we were standing because of (Mr. Khatana's) mosque. That "them muslims" just abandon their cars all over the place when going to the mosque and that Terry "paid road tax."  I asked him if better parking facilities would sort out his concerns - not pointing out that the mosque attendees presumably paid their road tax too - and he said yes, parking would help but look at all the foreign shops and foreign people spending money there! It's bound to be benefit money they're spending. Look at this ghetto!

As the area was full of well-maintained terraced houses with tidy gardens, I did query what he meant exactly - it wasn't a graffiti covered dump, it looked nice here. He admitted that yes, it did look nice, but it was a ghetto in the sense that only muslims lived here now, and East Europeans had taken over the other bit.

"We've lost our voice. We use to have free speech but now all that's racist, or homophobic, or religion-phobic." He wanted the borders closed, and an agreement that people who came here did so with the intention of taking part in what he thought of as "our" culture, and spoke "our" language.

I've lived a sheltered little white, liberal life. I haven't had my home feel less mine, and I like people. I moved about a bit when I was young and I settled permanently in Leeds when I was 22. I feel the city is more mine each year, as I get to know it and its people better.
Terry had the opposite experience. He had a home, he felt it belonged to him and people like him. It altered over the years and he didn't alter with it. Now he's stuck in a mindset of distrust and resentment - wanting things to be as they were, finding petty reasons like parking or shop signs to hang his frustration on.  He can't get the home of his childhood back and he can't accept Armley as it  is now.

Views like Terry's disgust me when I see them in the paper, or hear them shouted by politicians aiming to stir up division for their own ambition. But I didn't dislike Terry. He was friendly and open towards me. I suspect if he were my neighbour he'd be the kind to loan me tools and put my bin out if I was away.

No, I'm saddened by the way our political discourse failed us so blokes like Terry can't find a way back. The two voices shout "close the borders" and "don't be a racist."  How does that help? We aren't going to - and shouldn't - close our borders. Heck, if we did, what about Terry's wife?  And yelling "Don't be racist," only vilifies people rather than engaging with them.
I think Terry'd be far happier if he really knew his new neighbours.  I expect if he actually met Mr Khatana in neutral circumstances they would get on - they both have a lot of pride in what they do and enjoy a good natter.

I'm glad I spent the day on foot in Armley. I learnt a lot more than I expected to.

Taking what's on offer

It's the end the Easter school holidays here in Leeds. The weather has been up and down but we've had a marvellous couple of weeks. Our city does us proud when it comes to kids' activities, and we were hard pressed to choose between all the events on offer.

I love Leeds. It would take a great deal to get me to leave it. I came here when I was 21, and had only a 7 month period in the last 24 years away from my city. I love the people, the theatre and arts, the beautiful buildings in the city centre, the sense of community in all the little villages that make up the city itself.

But most of all I love the things Leeds offers its citizens.

For many years I went to the free Opera in the Park in July, performed by our own Opera North. We'd enjoy the busking in the city centre through the summer weeks as part of a street performance festival. We've gone to almost every Light Night arts festival, heard brass bands in the park and tired the kids out at the Breeze roadshows offering them chances to try loads of activities and sports. Last summer we had a beach set up in the centre of town, complete with helter skelter and swing boats.  

This year Leeds is having a March of the Robots theme.  It is a series of events and activities to engage both adults and children in a playful way with technology, creativity and the cityscape. We'd already built cardboard 'Robots' at Light Night - Luke decided to be the robot, climbed in a box and had other kids write questions on it which he'd answer through a slit he'd cut in the side. When he was sealed up in it I named the box Schroedinger's Teen.

For the Easter holidays Luke went off to the Leeds Young Film Festival to see things for free as part of the jury. Mark took Miss B to a circus skills morning where she made new pals, learnt new hula hoops tricks, balanced peacock feathers on her fingertip and passed spinning plates back and forth. Z and I went to a workshop to build a sentry robot. 

It was AMAZING. We built a little computer using a clever little chip called a shrimp and a 'breadboard' to connects all the wires and circuitry. I was a little intimidated as I know nothing about electronics but I came out feeling as proud as Z of our joint effort. He now has a room guard with a heat and motion sensor that triggers a tune and flashing lights. "To alert me when siblings or, erm, other people come in," as Z explained to the interviewer.

Incidentally, Z hit new levels of geek that morning. He wired up and programmed his own computer, used different colour LED lights for eyes like David Bowie then inserted it into a robot form he'd decorated to look like My Neighbour Totoro if he existed in Minecraft universe. Yep - computing, music, anime and video game geekery in one activity. 

The next day meant even more free robot creating. We had a fantastic time building Doodlebots: little things with marker pens for legs that spiralled, lurched, glided or juddered across a paper floor. 80 odd kids built them and the sight of their diverse inventions making patterns across the paper was amazing.

I'm looking forward to seeing what Leeds will bring us next.

At the Heart of West Yorshire

Hello webby friends,

Happy New Year, hope you had a lovely break and that your "Oh God, I'm back to the grind" feelings were fleeting.

Over the holidays I met with the Deputy Editor of Radio Leeds, Katrina Bunker, to discuss bringing my  radio presenting dreams a little closer to reality. Katrina was so friendly, knowledgeable and practical I came away brimming with plans and hopes. The first of these was a session shadowing Andrew Edwards as he put together and presented his 3 til 6 drivetime show, which happened yesterday afternoon. I couldn't have asked for a better introduction.

Andrew and his producer Tim Daley were firming up their running order when I arrived at 2pm. This first hour was very technical, getting audio ready, queuing up the songs for the various regular features, finishing scripts, confirming guests. They explained the software they used, how things were sourced and decided upon. I met their reporter Daragh, political editor Lou, Paul with the weather and the news and sports reporters. Harry Gration from Look North is a big enough local star that when I got home 4 people asked me if I met him (yes I did. Awesome tie!)

My head was spinning a little, trying to keep track of all the information. The technical side wasn't the main focus, of course, but it was a lot to take in at first sight. Tim and Andrew were very patient in the face of my total lack of knowledge and probably ridiculously naive questions. The software available to them was amazing - I'd love to have a play on that music archive! It was like the world's greatest record collection at the touch of a button. And news feeds - the Rip and Read news stories Tim showed me conjured images of an old fashioned world of telex, cigarette smoke and "hold the front page" urgency.

As Andrew said, the complete trust between the two of them in one another's competence and support was a key part of the success of the show. The Editor (or Deputy, in this case, as Editor Rosina Breen is on secondment at the moment) gives them the freedom and creativity to put the show together, they have utter faith in each other's ability to get their bits set up ready to roll and they make a very complicated set of tasks look effortless as it goes on air.

Once the programme began, I sat in with Andrew in the studio. Geez, he's good. Radio can flatten sound  as it comes out of tinny little speakers, I've noticed. As he talks, Andrew modulates his voice through its range to keep the sound interesting and avoid any monotone dreariness. He must talk to the clock in order to keep regular bulletins in their rightful place, I'm sure he must. But not once during three hours did I feel he was rushing something nor spinning it out to cover the last few seconds.

I made a note of the language Andrew used - partly to spot patterns and partly because I do love words. He was positive and encouraging, but not in a false "hey there, pop pickers! Here's another smashing tune..." way. He talked of fond memories watching old Sci Fi programmes, hearing new versions of old favourite songs, being pleased to see regular guests for the first time this new year.  Any negative comments were in a warm, self-depreciating tone - "Are New Year resolutions a pile of rubbish or am I just being an old grump" - to act as a foil to other contributors.

I thought about this a good deal.

Television is demanding. It's a toddler clamouring for attention, it wants you to look and listen and not do much else but pay attention to it. Radio is a friend sitting at your kitchen counter with a cuppa, chatting to you while you do the washing up, or keeping you company as you potter through the house and garden. It doesn't mind if you can only listen with half an ear for a bit, or if you've only 20 minutes to spend with it.

To choose to spend time with it, you want your radio pal to be good natured and friendly. You don't need someone grumpy or overly upbeat - both can suck the energy right out of you. You just want someone who is nice to listen to (and occasionally talk back to) and who chats about things of interest to you. Quite a lot is said on the BBC training web pages about picturing your listener, and I guess that's who I see: my friend Jean washing the coffee cups in  her tiny kitchen, or my friend Kirsty making packed lunches and feeding the kittens, or Liz and Andy driving to and from work.

After the first chatty, informal hour of the programme I joined Tim at the producers desk as the more news heavy part of the programme began. It was a quiet news day, so Tim had time to talk to me about how radio had worked in the past and where it was going. He was really interesting and insightful (although rather intimidatingly dismissive of music on the radio. I am NEVER telling him any of my favourite records. Ever.) Local radio has an interesting position, he explained. It has one foot in the easy, "give people what they want to listen to" camp and the other in the Reithian "tell them things they ought to know." How national stories and events affect them, here in West Yorkshire, is of more relevance than getting drawn into the media'n'politics bubble that some national radio programmes inhabit.

Tim talked about how pressures from cutbacks, the loss of new, young listeners as kids no longer rely on radio as their new music source,  and changing technologies are all things that will radically change the role radio has in society. To have a future it needs to be proactive in finding new ways to matter to us. Tim's eloquence and knowledge made him a fascinating person to talk with. Broadcasting is entering an interesting phase.

For the final hour I sat in with Andrew again, less intimidated by the screens and control panels but equally absorbed by that most interesting of all skills, Making Hard Things Look Easy. Professionalism like this always thrills me - it's part of why I love some actors, or skilled bakers, or other skilled craftsmen and women - they do something with such apparent effortlessness that you are fooled into thinking anyone could do it. They wear their expertise lightly.

People came in to do their bit - weather, sport, promotion of that night's Look North. There was friendly banter, some pre-recorded segments and between it all Andrew threading various bits together into a cohesive unit. At the end he cleared up, returned all the settings to neutral for the next person to use the studio, and talked to me about what I'd seen and learnt. As I walked out into the driving rain, I couldn't stop grinning. My head was full to bursting. More than ever I know that this is something I want to do.

A Tale of Two Cities - and neither was the right one.

Hello webby buddies!

Last Thursday I was going to Birmingham in preparation for Friday's Women In Radio event. Mark was coming home from London about 10pm, so Mum and Dad kindly offered to  drive over from North Wales to collect the kids from school and look after them in the interim. I booked my train tickets and a night in a capsule hotel. I researched things to do in Birmingham that evening and learnt the route from hotel to event.  I would arrive at the event rested, refreshed and prepared. Everything was organised.

And then came the weather.

Trains were disrupted heading to Scotland, my radio told me. My train was still going on time, claimed the mendacious National Rail Enquiries website. Ever the Girl Guide, I set off an hour early to compensate for bus disruption and a difficult walk across town. I arrived at Leeds station to find out my 12:11 train was running 10 minutes late, so I popped to the wonderful Laynes to grab a coffee.

Back at the station with 20 minutes until my train, I heard the annoucer say it was cancelled. 3 minutes later it was back on but delayed until 12:28. The 12:41. Then 12:52. Then cancelled.

By this time I'd acquired a retinue - an older lady going to her granddaughter's house, a young student going home to Northampton and a young Polish woman whose excellent English didn't extend to understanding platform announcements. Three of them had stood staring at the Departures board on the platform near me at the start, and during the various platform changes asked if they I could show them which one to stand on. We did the commuter version of The Grand Old Duke Of York - marching up and down the overhead concourse.

The beleaguered blokes at the information desk told us all to head to Manchester because they had trains running to Birmingham. One Manchester train was late and the next delayed 20 minutes. We were sardines in a slow moving tin, rerouted around a fallen tree and Dewsbury and waiting for a free platform outside Manchester. Those trying to get to the airport to catch flights were heading towards hysteria, the poor souls.

Upon arrival in Manchester Lena, Beena and Susan, my multi-generational girl band and I sought the next Birmingham train. Hurray, we would catch the delayed 14:07! Except we wouldn't. It was cancelled. As were the next four. There was a hope I could get a London train to Northampton (bye, Beena!) and head back up to Birmingham from there. However, reports were sketchy about trains from Northampton and I didn't want to get stranded too far away from both my destination and home.

News! Trains from Leeds were going to Birmingham now. We all piled onto the platform to head back the way we came. Then no, someone's friend in Leeds asked the station staff there and the rumour was quashed. Nothing was heading to the midlands for the next few hours.

"It's Cross Country," said the Transpenine staff. "All the other companies have given us some information about what's happening but Cross Country aren't keeping anyone informed. It's anyone's guess what's happening. There's nothing coming north of Birmingham and nothing from here north of Preston."

"Until  they tell us more, we're getting our information from the Departures board the same as the passengers," said the nice woman from Network Rail. "We know a tree fell on the overhead lines near Crewe and caught fire. But we have no idea how the clear up operation is going. They said up to a three hour delay when they got in touch at 2:15  p.m." This was at 5:15.

Yes, I had missed the last train to Birmingham by 10 minutes because of that re-routing around Dewsbury. Oh joys. But surely now the three hour window was up we'd get moving again? The 17:40 went on the Departures board and we all felt a surge of hope. With a few minutes to go that too was cancelled.

Those of us from Leeds were over 5 hours delayed by this time. The resigned expressions on our faces were starting to look strained.  I wondered how the station staff were faring. It couldn't have been an easy shift to work.

"If anyone gives me aggro today I'm off! So far people have been fine but you can see them getting more and more frustrated. I understand, but I'm frustrated too and I can't help them. It's been mad." That nice Network Rail woman was looking fed up.

"I thought there would be more argy bargy," the British Transport Policeman said, "but so far it's just been people looking fed up."
"And we can't blame them for that," his colleague chipped in, indicating the display of cancelled and delayed trains. "It's a nightmare."

Susan went to book a place on a coach. Lena did the same, but I saw her later. "Coaches are full," she said. "So is my hotel," said a woman nearby. "Wish I hadn't checked out this morning." 5 blokes decided to go in together on car hire. Several people were complaining loudly that when flights are this delayed they at least get cuppas and sandwiches.
I paid 30p to use the toilet. I begrudged it. It seemed small-minded to make stranded passengers pay for using the toilets when they were stuck in the station for 5 or 6 hours. The change machine swallowed my 50p and only spat 40p out. The bloke cleaning the loos bumped into the lady in front and all her bags went everywhere.

A group of men collecting for a charity for blind dogs approached passengers every few minutes. Not dogs for the blind, dogs who were themselves visually impaired. That is a very niche charity. The men remained undaunted by asking the same crowd of passengers that had been there for hours. Surely we'd be less likely to give to blind puppies the more we were badgered? Or perhaps they hoped we'd donate just to get the sticker to get them to stop asking.

I couldn't take it. I needed to get to Birmingham. I needed a sit down. I needed something other than an M&S sandwich and a cup of lousy coffee from a kiosk. I needed something good to happen.

I went to Sainsbury's to buy a bottle of water. On the end of the aisle were big boxes of chocolate biscuits at two for £5. If something good doesn't happen when you need it to, lateral thinking is the way to go. I bought 2 boxes and headed back to the concourse.

"My fellow passengers! I am having a lousy day. I've been stuck here for hours. I suspect most of you are having a lousy day too. In order to offer something nice in these trying circumstances, I have bought us all chocolate biscuits. Please take one and pass the box to your neighbour."

I actually got a cheer. A little one, but still. Those who didn't want chocolate biscuits (how can that happen?) still smiled and passed the boxes on. Small kids grabbed several before their mums could object and I grinned. It's hard being bored when you are small. Someone offered me his seat. Someone else came over to wish me luck on my journey.

With remaining biscuits I went to the station staff. The Transpenine blokes were delighted to have some. The Transport Police, though...

"No thanks, love. The wife's got me on that Dukan diet," said the first.
"It's Slimfast for me," said his partner. Two big tall men looking tough and gruff in true Northern Bloke fashion turning down biscuits because they are on fad diets; I couldn't quite suppress a grin.

By 6:15 my Network Rail woman told me, "Officially, I have no new information. Unofficially, give it up for today - from here at least. It might be better in Leeds." Obviously everything is better in Leeds, I thought loyally. And I took her advice.

When the next (delayed) train arrived for Leeds I got on and retraced the journey I'd made 6 hours before. Leeds station was much quieter than it had been in the morning, so I had a glimmer of hope that trains were running. But no. The display board still showed all trains to Birmingham as cancelled and the information kiosk staff were pessimistic.

"We could try sending you to Sheffield and then to Peterborough and see if you can get to Birmingham along that line but I can't guarantee it. Leeds to York, York to London, walk from Kings Cross to Euston and then Euston to Birmingham could work, but you might not make the last train from Euston to Birmingham and be stuck there. Just go home, love. Try again in the morning. I don't know about the 6 o'clock train but by the 8 o'clock train surely they'll be running."

The Women In Radio event started at 8:45am, meaning it was the 6 o'clock train or miss it. I felt ready to cry. Dad picked me up from the station and offered to drive me down early in the morning. I couldn't even express appropriate gratitude, so exhausted was I from all that fruitless waiting in Leeds - Manchester - Leeds. I was grubby, anxious and and so stressed about not getting to the event I was ready to explode. A message from my lovely mate Andy sent at 7pm offering to drive me to Birmingham reduced me to tears. Such a kind offer. Sadly it was gone 9:00 when I'd got back to Leeds to receive it.

Ironically, the travel disruption meant that Mark headed back from London on an earlier train than planned and got in at 9:40. "I'll drive you. Let me just grab a cuppa." There's a reason I love him so much.

So, 10 1/2 hours later than planned, 15 hours after I'd initially set off I arrived with Mark in Birmingham. A bit late to manage that early night, but who cares. BBC Women In Radio, I was ready and waiting.