Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear --
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
Oh He gives to us his joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled an gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
Monday 26 July 2010
On Another's Sorrow by William Blake
Thursday 22 July 2010
AJ's last day at Homerton
Today is Aralia's last day at nursery and it was sad. So here's something I wrote to mark the occasion:
What I’ll miss about nursery
What I’ll miss about nursery
Are the two lovely ladies Carole and Felicity
What I’ll miss about nursery
Is my friends the boys the girls and the teachers
What I’ll miss about nursery
The fun times, the play times,
The happy times, maybe even the sad times
What I’ll miss about nursery
The ups and downs
The swings and roundabouts
And all the other things in the playground
What I’ll miss about nursery
How it made me feel safe and sound
What I’ll miss about nursery
The smiles from Lena, Debbie and
Smiles not just for me
What I’ll miss about nursery
The learning, the teaching the playing
What I’ll miss about nursery
The world as it was when I was three
But no more when I turned four
What I’ll miss about nursery
It wasn’t just about me
Wednesday 14 July 2010
A short account of the London 10K (2010)
I set the alarm for 6.06am the night before. Bag packed, route mapped out. Meeting rest of the runners for New Foundations at 7am in town.
So, the alarm goes off at 6.06am and wakes Dillon. Luckily, reflex kicks in and so I pick him up, shush him and put him to bed. And then I promptly fall asleep.
The next thing I know its 6.53am! Luckily, my house is on the way to the M11 and so I get picked up at 7.05am. What a great start!
Starting Line: I don’t normally get nervous before a race but all of a sudden I feel panicky. So I switch the iPod on to calm down a little and…what? It’s not working, I can’t hear anything! I panic even more at the prospect of running without music. As I reach the starting line, I am now completely engrossed with the iPod. Then I find the problem, I couldn’t hear the music because the area around the starting line has an MC blaring out “I Like to Move It” on massive speakers! I think of
1 km: I remember the milestones (Don’t know what they call milestones for kilometres, kilometre-stones?). It helps to have them near the end of the run, not so much at the beginning.
It dawns on me that because of the iPod kerfuffle, I didn’t see the starting time. Its a few minutes before I see a clock. I should’ve bought one of those electronic chips that automatically read your starting and finishing times.
2 km: I have been focussing on the run so much, I realise there are another 36 thousand people running with me (or should I say ahead of me!). I normally run in the countryside where there’s no one around. So I need to get used to people running around me. There are loads of runners zigzagging through all the slow coaches. Don’t they know they’ll be running more than 10k at the end of the day? The fools!
I love overtaking some of the runners. It goes without saying, though, the ones that overtake me don’t count.
An MC gives a shout out to someone with a pushchair. It’s a father of two, who’s bought his two “darling ones” along for the ride. That should be called cheating. He’s got his own supporting fans with him and he gets to lean on something while running.
3km: Running on the Embankment now. It’s very hot and some of the supporters are standing under bridges. There’s a group of eight with these plastic clappers making a loud enough sound to be heard over the iPod. I think: “That’s nothing, mate! Not as loud as a vuvuzela, is it? ha, ha!” As if they’ve heard me, the person on the end gets a big, white vuvuzela out and starts to blow. That’s enough incentive for me to start running a bit faster!
4km: I am starting to think that all these kilometres are not equal. Every once in a while, someone in front decides to stop where they are and without warning. I narrowly miss them and try to run around them (unfortunately, some take more running around then others, bless them)
I am starting to get thirsty but the water stations are empty. It’s very hot now. Some of runners are picking up half empty bottles from the floor. I think I will carry on running.
5km: I am now flagging at the half-way point. My breathing is stable but my legs are feeling heavy. All of a sudden I hear “Daddy, go faster” and for a brief second I’m thinking “How did Aralia get here?” Coming up from behind me, it’s the cheating father of two! Then all I see is the smoke coming from his three-wheeled buggy a la Road Runner.
All of a sudden I am really thirsty and I start obsessing about getting some water.
6km: I think I am hallucinating. There’s big piece of bacon running ahead of me. (You might think - there’s always a big of piece of bacon running away from Anish). Then my hallucination gets better, there’s a fried egg running next to the bacon. Oh yeah baby! To my disappointment, it’s another bunch of fancy-dress runners. I wonder what charity they were running for? Heart Foundation?
The water situation combined with the heat makes me want to jump into the
7km: I notice runners with bright yellow plastic tags tied through their laces. I realise that’s what the electronic chips look like. Apparently, this year the chip also triggers off the camera at the finish line, so you had a picture of yourself finishing the run. I wish I had bought one. Not for any of the reasons already stated but to help the organisers identify my body when I drop dead! (Or at least distinguish me from the other “floaters” in the
8km: The person in front of me is wearing a t-shirt that says “Paula, when I start nodding my head, that’s when you should start worrying.” I start nodding my head then start worrying as I think I may have pulled a neck muscle.
The water stations are closing down. Ah, finally find a table that’s giving out bottles. I take one and start drinking. About 10 seconds later, I realise that I’ve drunk too much and start to feel bloated.
9km: I don’t remember running this bit last time (Westminster Abbey). Did I miss this bit last time? Now I wish I was running the memory-edited version of the route, it would have been all over in 10 minutes.
The loud music is blaring and the MC is egging everyone on “Only 300 metres to go!” I see the finish line (about 10 metres away) and I think surely that’s not 300 metres away.
Finishing line: I made it and look at the clock - 1hr and 10mins (approx). My second personal best. Certainly, out of the two runs I’ve done.
I walk back to the baggage area. It’s another 1km! I meet the rest of the runners in our group. It seems most of them ran it in under an hour (a couple at 50mins!) Oh, the shame! Well, at least I finished it.
Then I hobble off to look for some egg and bacon sarnies.