In the words of Whitney...

A friend of mine recently invited me to enter a competition she has been running through her blog at the Speak Out, Reach Out, Camp Out project. The aim – to speak out about something you are passionate about.

Anyone who has followed my blog over the last few months may have worked out that there are a lot of things I am passionate about – ending violence against girls and young women; talking about depression;  volunteering; Girlguiding...

But I've written about these things already, so instead of repeating myself, finally after weeks of brain-dusting, I found my inspiration.

Whitney Houston.

I'm not passionate about Whitney (although there is something about The Bodyguard that I can't quite get over... Probably Kevin Costner).

No, the thing I have realised I am passionate about is the power of young people.

(Bear with me for the, albeit tenuous, link).

When I was asked to attend the United Nations as a youth delegate with WAGGGS earlier this year, I had no idea how I, one person from the UK, was going to be able to stand up and represent ten million girls and young women from all over the world. And even if I could do that, how on earth was I going to convince global decision makers that what we had to say was worth listening to?  Somehow, and I'm still not entirely sure how, as part of an incredible team of young women, we were listened to. The voices of ten million girls and young women were heard by world leaders, and as a result we were recognised internationally as a force to be reckoned with.

This experience really made me think about the power of young people.

This week, the Scottish Parliament voted to allow 16 and 17 year olds to vote in the 2014 Scottish Referendum – the first time ever that young people will be allowed to vote in a national referendum in the UK. I think this is incredible and awesome; firstly, because a lot of young people in Scotland got involved and pushed forward the campaign for votes at 16, and I really think they showed just how passionate they are about having their voices heard; and secondly, in the passing of this Bill, Scotland recognises that young people are worth listening to, and is really leading the way in doing just that.

Over the last few months, it has dawned on me that, as young people, we do have the ability to actually influence decisions, and I hope that more young people start to get involved. As adults, we need to provide young people with the safe space and the confidence to realise that their voice is as important as anyone else's.

In the words of the late great Whitney, “... the children are our future; Teach them well and let them lead the way...”

Need I say any more??

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Update: Click here to read all of the other entries to this competition.

You can vote for your favourite entry here - voting closes at 10pm (BST) on Sunday 7th July, so please vote now!!

What would the Baden-Powells think?

Last night I discovered how bad the world is at keeping secrets.

At 17:08 on Tuesday 18th June, just as I was getting ready for our last night of term Brownies barbeque, an email pinged into my inbox.  No big deal, I get emails approximately every 7 minutes, 90% of which are spam.  But this one was different.  It was from Girlguiding.  And the subject: Confidential.

I didn't manage to read the email properly until I got home after an evening of protecting a barbeque from 16 small people (yes, it was that way round), but I had an idea what it was about.  Earlier this year, Girlguiding carried out a consultation with all of its adult volunteers, youth members and other related organisations to find out our thoughts about the promise.  The promise is really at the core of Guiding, and underpins everything that we do.  Pretty important I'd say...

As a member of Girlguiding, I have promised to "do my best, to love my God, to serve the Queen and my Country, to help other people and to keep the Guide Law".  This promise has, whether consciously or subconsciously, guided (haha) me through my life since I joined this fantastic organisation as a five year old Rainbow, 21 years ago.  I love Girlguiding.  I love the opportunities it has given me - to travel, to meet loads of wonderful people from all over the world, to learn new skills, to grow and become more confident, to inspire girls to become incredible young women, and most recently, to go to the UN!  But I do grit my teeth whenever someone tells me we're a religious organisation and when I'm expected to say grace before a pack holiday meal.        

So, with trepidation I opened this secret message.  And it was a secret.  Well, it was secret, until the press broke the story and all of a sudden social media went crazy, with members talking about "the thing we can't talk about", and non-members totally misunderstanding (I'm not even going to start telling you how angry I was reading the comments on the Daily Mail article.  There's a reason we don't read the Daily Mail).  

As I opened my email, I knew that exciting times were ahead.  Following the consultation, a new promise has been developed and will replace that which I have lived by for the past 21 years. 

"I promise that I will do my best; to be true to myself and develop my beliefs; to serve the Queen and my community; To help other people and to keep the Guide Law".

There are some parts of this new promise that I love, and some bits that I love slightly less.

As a Guide, I struggled for a long time to accept the "love my God" element of the promise - I'm not religious and don't consider myself to have a belief - but I came to realise that "my God" could mean whatever I wanted it to mean.  It could even be the tree at the bottom of the garden if I wanted it to be.

The spiritual element of Guiding has always been important, from day one when it was grounded in Christian beliefs, to today when all girls from any background are welcome, no matter who they are.  So, even though I don't have specific religious beliefs, I do think it's important to understand and appreciate other people's beliefs and to explore our own spirituality, whatever that means to us as individuals. 

The replacement with "develop my beliefs" scares me a little...  But my problem isn't with the removal of "my God"; it's with the word "develop".  I'm pretty happy with the beliefs (or lack of) I currently have, thank you very much.  But I understand why this is more all-encompassing, more welcoming and more accessible than the previous promise.  So I can live with it, although in my head I will probably replace "develop" with "explore"...  Either way, by changing the promise, we are showing the world that we commit to welcoming everyone, no matter what they believe.  I think that's freaking awesome. 

The thing I love most: "to be true to myself".  Over the past few months, since accepting depression and seeing a counsellor on a regular basis, I have started to realise how making time and space for "Rosy" never comes at the top of my list.  As a Brownie, I promised to "think of other people before myself and do a good turn every day".  Clearly this message, that a "good girl" looks after other people before herself, has stuck somewhere in my subconscious.

Me, aged 7, the day I became a Brownie

As I've started to think about what I need and want from my life, I've started to re-evaluate my interpretation of this part of the promise.  I'm so excited that the new promise encourages girls to remember that they are as important as other people.  I hope that this will remind me that I am as important as other people, and that to be able to really help other people, I need to help myself first. 

So, although I think it'll take a while to get used to (after all, having one message ingrained into my thick skull for 21 years isn't going to be easy to change - counselling is teaching me that as well), I'm really excited about exploring this new promise and what it really means for girls today.

I wonder what the Baden-Powells would say.  I hope they'd approve.

Just don't read the Daily Mail.  Please.


[NB.  This post is totally my opinion and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Girlguiding or its members.  I understand that others may disagree with me, and that is fine.  Please respect my opinion and I will respect yours.  Thank you.]

Happy Fathers' Day

Sunday 16th June 2013

Today is Father's day. I don't really do Father's day, it's like Halloween or Valentine's day - just another money-making Hallmark cards day.

But today, I am thinking about my Dad. I'm really bad at telling people I'm thinking about them. Take Christmas for example. I know it's nearly Christmas because the shops tell me (although, saying that, Christmas could be any time from August onwards. I spend most of the year in a permanent state of confusion). But despite the glorious/ vulgar reminders, do I remember to send cards or buy presents? No. Not because I don't care. Mostly because I forget.

Anyway, today I'm thinking about my dad, and what better way to tell him than to show the world how awesome I think he is?!

I remember how he rescued me the day I fell in a pond just after my brother was born. Ok, I don't remember the actual rescue, I was pretty concussed, but I remember standing on the wobbly paving slab and him telling me to be careful, and I remember him being with me at the hospital after I cracked my head open on said paving slab.

I remember when he got a car phone in his red car, in the early days of mobile phones. Think brick, with an actual wire connecting it to the car!

I remember the day we went to check on our neighbour's house while they were on honeymoon and we disturbed the burglars who had quietly been packing up all their belongings for two days previously. I mostly remember dad chasing them down the street and thinking how brave he was.

Since we moved to Wales, I remember my birthday when dad broke his skull playing rugby so he and my mum spent the whole day in A&E while I sat at home on my own playing my brothers' Nintendo64.

I remember watching him watch rugby. It didn't matter who was playing, he was so passionate about the game you could feel the walls shaking on the other side of the house. I used to think it was hilarious. Now I know where I get it from.

I remember when dad got really ill and could've died from some really rare disease, but he didn't, and that's pretty awesome.

I remember listening to all his vinyl albums over and over. I'm glad I inherited his awesome (terrible?) taste in music.  One of the most played songs, on one of the greatest albums - I dare you not to cry:

Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

I remember the day I auditioned for the Welsh national youth choir and had to sing in the cathedral because the rehearsal room was being used, and I was terrified but dad sat at the back and he cried. Not because I was terrible (despite what I thought), but because he was proud of me. 

 

I remember when he broke his leg, but walked round on it for a month before driving himself to get it x-rayed (and that was only because he'd taken me to the doctors when we thought I'd broken my arm. I hadn't.  I'm starting to see a pattern - I think I can work out where my accident-prone-ness comes from...)

I remember the day he drove me to Edinburgh when I started uni, and he showed me where he had lived when he was an undergraduate.  And I remember the day I flunked my degree and I phoned my dad and cried down the phone for what felt like ages. But at the end of it, he pointed out that he got a third from Edinburgh, so it wasn't all that bad!

I think my dad is pretty damn awesome. 

I am proud of my dad - for believing in himself and not being scared of it; for singing the harmony louder than the choir, the congregation and most of the village put together; for the care and compassion he shows for others, no matter who they are; for owning a million and one books I'm not convinced he's ever read but that he can tell you exactly where one is in one of his many bookcases/ piles on the floor; for his attempts to teach me chemistry even though I didn't have a clue; for giving me his high pain threshold but driving me to the doctor/ hospital/ A&E anyway; for giving me his love of rugby, even though I support Wales; and most of all, for believing in me when I don't believe in myself, which is a lot more often than I tell him.

I know my dad reads this, so I hope he doesn't mind (and if he does, he'll tell me soon enough), but today's post is dedicated to him.

Thanks Dad, for being awesome. Happy Fathers day.

Love you.

Rx

The not-so-long goodbye!

Today I did something that terrifies me. I got rid of my car.

I knew this day would come eventually, but I wasn't expecting it to come so quickly. Just two weeks ago my car got a flat tyre. Little did I know this was just the start of a very painful and expensive fortnight, as parts started to fail and fall to pieces.

To many, my car is a 10 year old lump of rust, covered in scratches, missing parts (hubcaps - stolen; aerial - stolen; wing mirror cover - stolen...), and full of the signs of an owner who was less than careful. It's just a car.

But to me, she is much, much more than this. My beautiful car has been my chariot, my castle, my safe place - the proverbial shed at the bottom of the garden.

My car has stood by me through bad times - the day I realised I had depression, it took me to the beach and waited patiently while I sat and stared at the water for hours. It didn't even complain when I filled it with sand.

My car has taken me places - on adventures with friends through the Scottish Highlands; on long journeys to Wales and beyond.

My car has been an extension of my flat - uncomplainingly carrying boxes and bags full of paraphernalia for Brownies, University and work.

My car has needed me as much as I needed her - when its engine failed on a very wet night on our way back to Wales from Oxford; when its radiator fell out on our way to visit a friend in hospital; when its battery stopped working (albeit because I'd left the light on over night). It has let me love it and hate it in equal measures.

My car has had the patience of a saint - when I was learning to drive, and since then, when I forgot it was longer than I thought it was and drove it into assorted stationary objects (most recently a roadside bin).  And some moving ones. 

My car and I have had some hilarious adventures - particularly the winter when we drove to Oxford one very snowy Boxing day and got stuck at the bottom of an icy hill in the dark. 

Recently, my car has been showing the signs of old age. She stopped being able to climb hills as fast as she once could. Infact, she stopped being able to stop at all. She started creaking and groaning more often, and she was getting just too expensive to look after.

Rather than force her to be miserable, I made the difficult decision to move on. After all, if my car was a horse in a western movie, she would've been shot at the first sign of being lame. About 5 years ago.

So today I say goodbye to my old companion, and replace her with a newer, smaller, more economic model. I hope this new car realises that she has a lot to live up to. I'm sure I will grow to love her, and expect nothing more than the space and security my old car has given me, and I'm sure we will have many wonderful adventures together.

I just hope someone lovely buys her at auction. Goodbye old friend.

Yellow/ Custard ... 100 word challenge for grown ups

This week's prompt for the 100 word challenge for grown ups is "YELLOW".  I have struggled with this prompt over the last two days, but wandering around my local Tesco this afternoon I found the inspiration I was looking for, for not one but two posts! 

 Yellow.

As a child, I learned to buy food by hunting out yellow "reduced" stickers.  This started a weekly competition between me and my siblings - Who can find the best bargain?  Who can find the most random item?  Who can find a meal that won't give us food poisoning?

Today, food shopping fills me with a huge sense of dread.  I always miss the "best" items, arriving either too early or too late, and end up with a dented mystery tin and a squashed packet of soggy vegetables.

Yet still, I refuse to buy anything for full price.

--

Custard

"What's yellow and dangerous?" the voice asks, again, for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"I don't know" I reply, wearily.

"I bet you can't guess!  It's so clever!" the voice replies.

"No, I bet I can't.  I bet you're going to tell me though."  Will this ever end??

"It's so clever!" the voice is getting more and more excited.  I don't think I can take this much longer.

"Go on, tell me." I plead.  Anything to make this stop.

"Shark infested custard!!"  The voice giggles away to itself, again.

I am never babysitting my darling brother ever again.