On Foodbanks

Cardiff Stuff, Social enterprise, , , , ,

There’s a food collection in work at the moment, for the Cardiff Foodbank. They do amazing work, collecting, sorting, and handing out food to those most in need in Cardiff and this post is not meant to be negative about foodbanks in any way shape or form. But – hello – last time I checked it was 2013. That’s TWO THOUSAND AND THIRTEEN, people, and we are lucky enough to live in a first world country. What is going on if people cannot afford to feed themselves and their families? And if the UN is officially ‘alarmed‘ by the situation in the UK?

Seems to me as if there are three problems here. Firstly – wages. Yes – isn’t it wonderful that we have a minimum wage, currently £6.19 an hour.  Except it’s not actually enough to live on, is it – that would be £7.45 per hour, as calculated by the Living Wage Foundation. But we wouldn’t want to put the minimum wage up to a Living Wage, would we now – think of all those lovely multinationals who wouldn’t take twats like Iain Duncan Smith out to lunch any more if we did such a thing.

Secondly – benefits. (Just a little reminder here in case you’re a Daily Mail reader that only 2.6% of benefit claimants are unemployed. Or to  put it another way, only 3% of benefit spend goes on Jobseekers Allowance.) But jobseekers, DLA, attendance allowance, incapacity benefit – the point is, none of them do what they are supposed to do, which is to give people a reasonable amount of food, warmth and dignity. Of course, a fair bit of the benefit bill goes on income support and housing benefit, and another big chunk of HMRC spend goes on Tax Credits, so that those people on minimum wage can actually afford to live. Hang on, couldn’t that be solved by raising the minimum wage a bit so that the state didn’t have to top up their earnings? Oh – sorry – we couldn’t POSSIBLY raise minimum wage – see Iain Duncan Smith and his lunches, above.

So that’s one side of the coin – people don’t have enough money to buy food.

The third problem comes from the other side – the food prices themselves. Now, I know everyone seems to worship at the magically correcting free market altar, and I know on paper that market forces, rational expectations and the like should all make for a wonderfully self-levelled world. Which I suppose they might, if everyone just consumed what they needed. But once greed becomes a factor, the idea of free market economics providing for a fair and happy world for us all just goes right up the swanny. You might have heard of ‘food speculation’ (but depending on which newspaper you read, you might well not have – it’s something of a dirty little secret for the people in the know).  Basically, food speculation is bankers betting on the price of food, to make cash. So some people come out of it very well indeed, thank you – like Barclays, who are estimated to make up to £340 million a year from gambling on our food supplies. But most people don’t. Those who are hardest hit are the food producers, and next on the list is anyone for whom food expenditure makes up most or all of their income. Which is a hell of a lot of people in the developing world – and, because we seem to be regressing here in our supposed world leading country, more and more people here in the UK too.

What can we do about it? First and foremost, please give to your local Foodbank. Just a couple of extra items in your trolley is going to make a real difference to someone – it could mean a child comes home to a hot meal for instance. Secondly – don’t vote Tory – they really are a cliquey club of rich little schoolboys who don’t give a shit about you, me, or our kids, as long as they’re all right. Thirdly – check out Bankers Anonymous to help those poor wankers – sorry bankers – quit their gambling addiction. And finally, if you want to know more about food speculation, the best and clearest information is to be found on the World Development Movement’s website, along with ways in which you can  put pressure on the government here and at a European level, to regulate betting on food prices in global markets.

I guess I’m thanking my lucky stars that it’s not us at the food bank. Probably you should be too.

On being a Dysgwr Cymraeg

Learning Welsh, Wales, Welsh Medium Education, , ,

‘Dysgwr Cymraeg’ means Welsh Learner.

I’ve been plodding along, on and off, for about 8 years, ever since the husband decided he’d like the kids to go to Welsh medium school – which means that they receive all their education through the medium of Welsh, and become effectively bilingual. Choosing Welsh medium education for our children, when we are both first language English speakers, brings a whole set of challenges and worries, which at some point I’m sure I’ll post about in the future. In the meantime,  because it’s all about me, yeah, I’m just going to bore you with the trials and tribulations of being a Dysgwr Cymraeg.

And here’s number one – did you notice there that it was the husband’s idea to choose Welsh medium? Of course we researched it and looked into the pros and cons together before deciding, but it remains his idea. SO WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE LEARNING?

Number two – my brain is broken. I used to be able to pick stuff up so quickly when I was in school. I mean, I worked hard (not much else to do when you’re a bit of a misfit) but it was never a struggle to get reasonable marks. Now, it’s a different story. Literally nothing sticks.

Number three – everyone tells me to practise on my kids. Which would be great, if they could understand my efforts. And even when I do manage to make myself clear, with much effort and signing and brain squeezing, the responses I get range from pitying looks to mild hilarity. From a five year old and a seven year old. Thanks a million. Now I feel REALLY good about it all. And it’s only a matter of time before the three year old joins them.

Number four – the language is changing quicker than I can learn it. When I started learning, I was taught to say ‘Rydw’i eisiau’ (I want). A few years on, and that’s only taught for written Welsh and I should now say Dw’i eisiau. And my kids all say (including the three year old) ‘Fi eisiau’. STOP! It’s hard enough being forty one and having to learn this stuff, without it bloody EVOLVING around me.

Number five – mutations, those effing, blinding mutations. If you have studied Welsh, even briefly, you’ll know what I mean, If you haven’t, you just need to know that you change the first letters of certain words, after certain other words, in certain situations and weather conditions. And there’s not just one mutation, there’s three different types, each for three or six or nine letters, and about one hundred and seventy six reasons why you might use one, two or more mutations in any given 10 word sentence. FFS!!

Number six – ‘one day it’ll just click’. That’s what everyone says. Everyone. Well, if that one day could just come quite soon please, I’d be eternally grateful!

Number seven – yes. oui. ja. da. si. ano. sim. There’s seven thousand different words for ‘yes’ in the world – one for each language. Well, if you include the Welsh yeses, there are seven thousand, three hundred and sixty three ways of saying ‘yes’. I’M NOT JOKING. And they are NOT interchangeable. Kill me now.

It’s not all bad, by the way. It’s a lovely language, and I’ve met some great people through my lessons. I know from experience that when I’m getting a reasonable amount of practice, my spoken Welsh improves dramatically – when I had time to go to class twice a week, I even managed a couple of interviews in Welsh. I can’t imagine being that confident – or having enough vocab in my crumbling brain – to do that now. I keep setting myself little tasks – ‘learn 10 words a day!’ ‘listen to Radio Cymru!’ ‘only look at the Welsh road signs!’ ‘tweet in Welsh!’ but the reality is that I have so much going on at the moment that it is a struggle even to get to class once a week. To be honest I’m feeling quite close to putting the fiddle in the roof (that’s Welsh for throwing in the towel).  Though if I did that it’d be just one more thing to feel guilty about, given we’re sending the kids to Welsh school. And on balance, given the choice between more parental guilt and more Welsh lessons, I’ll take the Welsh. Oh well, dal ati as they keep telling me!