Anyone who knows me at all will know that I am a mass of contradictions. For example, I'm not very social, but I do like to host small dinner parties for friends; I'm quite selective with whom I share personal stuff, yet I've started this blog;  some colleagues have become really good friends at school, but I'll avoid going back to see them. I know right - it doesn't make sense.

We all have bad days, we are all busy and we all sometimes would rather keep ourselves to ourselves. These are the strategies I've implemented over the years to counter these moments.

Sally Flint's Work Place Social Interaction Code - revised 2019. 
(Failure to adhere to these terms and conditions will result in you being known as a miserable old toad.) 

• Fake friendliness by smiling and making eye contact with each and every colleague in the corridor, even those with whom  you've just had an email argy-bargy. (It's not always the librarian's fault when kids are five minutes late back to class!) 
• Say a follow up 'hello' and British nod to all colleagues in the corridor who have given you even a glimmer of a smile back to your original greeting. It doesn't matter if you know them or not. Avoid names to avoid errors.
• Keep your face neutral but practise ventriloquism and utter expletives (but keep them under your breath) to those who rush past and don't even glance at you. 
• Make sarcastic comments to those colleagues who choose not to see you. "Nice to see you too ... you miserable git! " Keep them just out of ear-shot, after all you do have to work with these people. 
• Force those, with whom you've had a difficult professional exchange,  to say hello, with a loud, cannot be ignored,  friendly greeting. "Oh hi Tina, you look in a rush." Keep the "yeah right" sarcasm out of your  smile as they reply, "Ah sorry, didn't see you there." It is of course possible that they haven't seen you (not likely though!)
• Learn the layout of your workplace so that you can take alternate routes to final destinations, thus avoiding staff with whom you'd rather not chat. This increases your step count by anything between 500 and 5000 steps a day. (After a particularly unpleasant disagreement with a senior colleague I managed to do this for several years. When however forced to  speak  (s)hewas much nicer than I'd remembered - silly me!)
• Learn to recognise talkative colleagues footsteps, have a planned escape route for the avoidance of a chat you don't have time for. Have you noticed how some colleagues apply the 20% - 80% rule to 80% chitter-chatter? 
• Walk purposefully emitting an air of you'd love to stop and chat if only you weren't so busy. 
• In situations where you really cannot avoid interactions,  be shameless in your use of  'noise phrases', e.g. "Not long until the end of term now ... It's warm today isn't it ... have a great half term won't you ..." type thing. 
• When possible time your bathroom and canteen visits to be slightly out of sync with the regular breaks and lunch schedule. This does mean that you may have to hold your bladder on occasions and have a rumbling tummy, but on the plus you do get to eat lunch alone. 

 
I can be the world's worst, or best, (depending how you look at it) avoider. Here's comes the contradiction again though - I can't stand it when I spot other avoiders avoiding me.  It's not friendly, is frequently poorly executed and thus upsetting. So, whilst it is too little too late, I've given myself a stern talking to. From henceforth pledge to not fake a smile, but actually smile. I'm sure with a bit of practice the art of avoidance is one I will learn to avoid all together! 

​It was my wedding anniversary today (23 years!) and I was very lucky to receive a lovely card and gift from the old fella. This has gone hand in hand with compliments and kindness throughout the day. I’m feeling a bit guilty though as, whilst I am fairly sure I had bought Mick a card, at some point, it was nowhere to be found this morning. I really don’t know what happened to it. The same goes for my gift for him - also missing. I can explain this; it hasn’t yet been purchased or thought about and realistically isn’t ever likely to be.
 
It's not so interesting, but actually Mick was pretty exhausted today as had only just arrived back to Bangkok from UK, incurring a 6 hour delay on the way. I think all he really wanted to do was sleep. Despite this, he made an effort and even donned a pair of long trousers, to take the hour and half trip into town, to eat at a restaurant I had wanted to try. We went for coffee and cake afterwards, but by mid-afternoon I was just a bit bored of all this togetherness. I asked him if he minded if I went for a massage with a friend which he didn’t.

Once home we companionably watched Coronation Street and GoggleBox together. I know, living the dream right! I didn’t interact with him very much, though, as I was distracted with writing this blog post. He didn't mind being ignored too much!
 
Now, I’m not gushing about Mick’s easy-going nature  and, should a self-defence be required, I had booked a vegetarian restaurant I thought he would really like. (I’d have preferred a steak to the mushy mushroom mix that passed as my burger.) Regardless, it does seem that just possibly I might have possibly been just a little blasé in my ‘can’t be bothered’ attitude to our anniversary. After all, I wouldn’t pretty much ignore my friend’s birthdays or my parents’ anniversary and I would have not have been happy if Mick had forgotten. I can’t decide if I’m being lazy or sexist (in assuming he won't care about cards and gifts), or both! It seems that there are some double standards at play. I won’t even get into how it is ok for me to sit quietly reading for hours on end, but then complain that Mick is too quiet the minute Leeds United start to play.
​
Anyway, t’s Mothering Sunday tomorrow in the UK. My kids are grown up, so in no way is it Mick’s job to remember and celebrate it. Will I mind if he doesn’t? You bet I will!

I was having an on-line catch up with a teacher friend the other evening and asked her what her holiday plans were. She explained that they weren’t going away as her daughter was revising for her IGCSEs, so it made sense to stay home. I quipped that she was being a ‘Tiger Mum’, to which she responded more like a ‘Soi Cat Mum’ (alley cat to non-Thais). A laugh out loud moment! Of course, my friend was being neither. Rather, she was being a good mum, creating a positive learning environment for her daughter, in which she could prepare well and  fulfil her maximum exam potential. Oh Lordy – I sound like such a sincere teacher-y type some times!

The text chat got me thinking, as some years ago I had read Amy Chua’s ‘Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother’ from which the term Tiger Mum’ is coined. For those who don’t know the book it is a brutally honest self-reflection by a Chinese mum about her own parenting style, part of which includes her determination to make her daughters excel, particularly in music. The focus is on Sophia and Lulu who have no time for play-dates or fun, but rather are forced to put all of their energy into learning the violin to a very high standard. When the girls were not being ‘bullied’ into extensive practising, then they were being forced to excel in other areas such as learning Mandarin. It’s only gym and drama that seemed to not really matter!
 
The book was a good read and made me consider the difference between eastern and western approaches to learning and education. As an international schoolteacher and mum, whose kids have friends from across the world, it encouraged me to reflect on what are cultural stereotypes and what are, in fact, cultural norms. At the time of reading, I was hesitant about sharing my conclusions. (Is it just me, or does anyone else spend half their lives worrying that they are being unwittingly racist or at least culturally ignorant?) The truth is, though, that I had a lot of sympathy for the Tiger Mum. She had sacrificed her own interests, money and devoted all of her time and energy to her kids, only, to some degree at least, to have her efforts thrown back in her face (eugh – cliché!) when, at the end of the day, she only wanted what was best for her children and for them to be successful (more clichés!) I think though the mum's definitions of what constituted success was flawed. The reader also questions who owns the success. Was it the girls, the mum herself, or the societal group of which they were a part?

The question of what success means to different cultural groups is a big one. I remember teaching an IB TOK lesson and tiptoeing around the edge of a discussion on ‘what makes success in different cultures?' I was afraid of exposing myself as an ignorant believer of stereotypes, (rather than the multi-culturally sensitive, open-minded balanced facilitator of stimulating and thought provoking discussion I had been aiming for!) I needn’t have worried; the kids were prepared and eager to discuss the extent to which their own and their parents’ family expectations and values and definition of success were derived from culture and whether this did, in fact, adhere to a cultural stereotype.  If you’re wondering … yes … some Asian kids' parents did have aspirations for them to become engineers or doctors and felt anything less than an A star was a fail and yes.. some Western kids' parents were simply not bothered, or just wanted them to be ‘happy’! I think though the similarities and differences between views of what constituted success differed enough, within and between cultures, (derived from my very small sample of students) for me to be unable to draw any firm conclusions. How’s that for a bit of ‘fence sitting’ and ‘playing it safe’!?
 
What I do feel certain of, and I can think of a few teacher friends who will regrettably agree, is that in international school environments, there is no chance of Tiger Mums or Tiger Dads becoming extinct any time soon! It is probably fair to say that their existence  is not culturally specific, transcends all nationalities and annoys most teachers!  
 
As I was thinking about this blog post I left my eldest daughter in London a message asking her if she could think of examples of where I’d been a ‘tiger mum’. I was afraid she mightn’t have forgiven me for forcing her to attend her swimming group, ironically called Tiger Prawns, far longer than she had expressed any interest whatsoever in doing so – let no daughter of mine be a quitter, not even when they have to compete with tears in their eyes and a tummy bug about to erupt in the pool!  She didn’t call back, as she was busy attending to business in her role as Social Secretary of the UCL Swimming Club she adores being part of. I rest my case! She did send a quick text though and told me that I hadn’t been too bad in the ‘Tiger Mum’ area. I haven’t yet asked about the areas I had been bad in, but for now I’m going to let myself off the hook!

One of the things I used to love about watching Men Behaving Badly starring Caroline Quentin, Lesley Ash, Martin Clune and Neil Morrissey was how they created humour from exploiting clichéd stereotypes. I remember an episode where the characters Gary and Tony were horrified about the idea of Dorothy moving in with them. The fear was that Dorothy would make their place too girly and fill it with cushions. Sure enough, at the end of the episode there were` Gary and and Tony sitting on the sofa, beer in one hand, and cushion in the other, begrudgingly accepting of their changed circumstances.
Humour was also derived in the sit-com from mocking old people in their cardigans and slippers, and not being able to get up from a chair without emitting something between a sigh and a grunt. (If you’re over 40 you’ll know what I mean, if you’re not then listen to the next person over 40 you know as they stand up from a chair.) I laughed along merrily, little knowing that, it would be but a blink of an eye before I became that middle-aged cliché, showing my age! For example:

• I spend a substantial part of every day communicating to my nearest and dearest the state of my current aches and pains.

• I frequently use clichéd sayings such as ‘these days’. ‘living the dream’ and ‘showing my age’.

• I am consciously aware of constantly using clichés but I can’t stop. 

• So long as I’m within an 8-mile radius of home, with good parking facilities, the idea of coffee and cake in garden centres excites me.

• I genuinely love Marks and Spencer’s jeans and can’t think of a better present than one of their gift vouchers. 

• I have started buying Christmas cards and wrapping paper in the sales. I now use phrases like ‘stock up in the sales’.

• I try to keep up with technology, but frequently need to call on the younger generation to fix glitches, load apps, and explain text abbreviations or modern sayings, which I then can’t bring myself to use. (Apart from ‘spilling the tea’ – that’s a great one Bets!).

• I try to embrace the energy, self-belief and confidence of young people but find myself frequently irritated by them. I do not like being ‘invisible’ and being seen as ‘having nothing left to offer’. I am not afraid to set people straight on this though it seldom ends well. The recipients usually give me one of their ‘it’s a difficult age for her’ sympathetic looks!   

• I’ve got a new respect for oldies who have already got all the experience I have and reams more. I’m mindful, if not aways successful, of not being patronising, as the ‘young ‘uns’ sometimes can be towards me! What goes around comes around (damn these clichés!)
• I’ve countered all my middle-aged anxiety, angst and anguish wisely and maturely by buying a Porsche Boxter (S) sports car.  
• I’m too scared to drive my sports car. Actually it was bought by my husband, Saint Mick, not me. Incidentally it is a shade of grey that either is ‘understated cool’ as Mick claims, or befitting our joint 50 somethingness.

• I’m mindful of being thankful for the good things in life and keep a daily ‘grateful’ record. A double whammy – mindfulness and gratitude all in one!

• I am prone to day-time napping.

So, yes, without a doubt I'm ‘showing my age’ with a few quirky behavioural traits. Are any of them familiar?
Yours,
Sal (self-outed as fifty and proud!) 

I am just recovering from the jet-lag of having recently found myself back on a plane, this time flying direct to Bangkok on British Airways from the expansive and imposing Terminal 5 at  Heathrow, rather than via Schiphol, with KLM from dinky little Humberside airport.
The advantages of travelling from a local airport such as Humberside are many. For example:

• Short travelling time from home to the airport; this is particularly significant at the end of a journey. There have been occasions in the past when travelling from Heathrow that  I have talked incessantly or even worse, sung loudly, to keep self-designated driver Saint Mick of Thana alert and awake during the three-hour drive up north. Any counter claims of barely being out of Europcar’s car park before falling asleep are strongly refuted!
• Friendly airport staff with heart-warming local accents and dialect and the ability to be in several places at once. At Humberside it is the same staff at the check in desk, the boarding gate and I suspect they even fly the little city hopper plane.
• Easy routines.  We know exactly the type of see-through Jiffy bag preferred for liquids and which type of belts and boots can and cannot  go through the people-scanning machine.
• Local knowledge of alternative travel options if and when taxis don’t show up. Shout out to Cable Taxis for saving the day on my prior trip when the taxi I booked didn’t show up – shame on you Juj’s!.
• Speedy transit through the checking in or checking out procedure. This is an airport with only a gentle hum of steady travellers, consisting largely of oil riggers or those on hen and stag parties to Amsterdam.
• Entertainment provided by aforementioned other travellers.
• The pleasures of watching the little man clean the clock in Schiphol airport during a stop over before the second leg of the journey.
• Anticipating and enjoying a cooked breakfast at the only, but much revered, restaurant at the airport.

 
Equally though a large airport also has its positives. For instance:

• People watching in large, bustling, slow moving security queues.
• The inadvertent auditioning for ‘One man and his dog’ as a sheep whilst being herded about in long winding taped rows by nameless scary staff who don’t make eye contact (though the non-eye contact part does suit me.)
• Being called madam in a long-suffering tone.  Am I supposed to somehow intrinsically know that the Northern Line joins up with the Piccadilly Line?
• The unexpected opportunity to learn how to scan a barcode phone ticket at the self-service check through a repeated try and fail approach, with no intervention from staff.
• Being afforded exercise opportunities, such as walking to the furthest gate in the airport when both transit trains at Terminal 5 are broken.
• Engaging in mountaineering opportunities such as climbing countless steps, with heavy luggage, at multiple train stations in order to travel to reach the airport.
• Playing party games such as musical chairs while finding somewhere to wait for the flight.
• Using up loose change by spending almost twice as much to buy a coffee at Heathrow compared to Humberside.
• Standing for an hour on a  long underground tube journey to stretch the limbs. Or being offered a seat on a long underground tube journey to remind you of lost youth.
• Flying on a very old Boeing 777/200 with great legroom, but where the TV screen is so small it is like going back in time to having a portable black and white telly next to my bed!

 
Swings and roundabouts eh! The reality is that, for me, the small airport beats a larger one every time, although the advantage of non-stop does lure me back to Heathrow from time to time, along with the chance to catch up with eldest student daughter in London. This trip Annie and I had a lovely catch up together without me being too annoying (I think!) and even managed to go watch #Matilda in the West End.  Being afforded the opportunity to be spend time is something that I am very grateful for.  For this reason, Heathrow airport, always wins. So in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator  Heathrow, “I’ll be back!”