Two nights running, have woken with some fairly strong "practice" contractions. Not Braxton Hicks, but full on period pain type pain.
On both occasions, have thought, aye aye - should I wake up Mackay? But what of course it's doing is buggering up my sleep even more than it was before, which is somewhat of a nuisance. However.
She's still moving literally all over the place - I've felt her head in about five different positions in the last day or so. All I can do is psychically suggest to her that she gets her bloody head down. Get it down woman!!!
Very unscientific survey wise, I have discovered that every single one of my friends who have had to have a late scan for whatever reason, have been over estimated in terms of weight. Once to the tune of about 3 lbs! So - although that's not exactly hard evidence, it does give me the opportunity to ask some good, solid questions on Monday. What is exactly is the precentage chance of this birth weight being right?
She feels big now though. Uncomfortable in a very different way. Like... well, some bits of my womb, if she decides to go sit in it, she's packed in like a bulging shopping bag, pulling the skin right out - extremely uncomfortable. Other bits there is plenty of room but I don't lose her anymore like I used to.
Anyway, am battling a migrainy headache today so must go. It's the sort I get with the lights in the eyes rather than the headache - so I'm a bit dizzy and fumbly. Probably just lack of sleep. I've got a feeling it's BP, so must try to be nice and relaxed.
You may remember some time ago, I humorously used the phrase "We're going to need a bigger boat". Or, if you cast your mind back further, you may also remember my Doctor sternly telling me that as a vegetarian, I had beeter make sure I eat a lot of protein, or I'll end up with a small baby.
Well, joy to the world, it appears that my nutrition is par excellence... nearing Texan protein standards, I would say, because a week and a bit before the due date (which probably means more like 2 weeks before birth) the beloved child is an estimated 9 lb's, 6oz.
Can I just say that again, bearing in mind that in the course of a week, she can easily put in well over a pound in weight. Nine pounds and Six ounces.
Nine pounds and six ounces!!!
If she does go over term, and possibly, frankly, even if she doesn't, we're looking at an 11 lb baby.
Suddenly, ceasars and epidurals are beginning to look very, very attractive.
On the "plus" side, she's not in breech (again). I don't trust you to lie still, you wee minx but if you can, possibly I would be most grateful. Even though you're about to crack me open like an egg.
I'm going to scan in all her measurements later or type them in or something - in the meantime, Mackay and I are about to go out and view the "London's West End" version of our mate's mad musical extravaganza, as a sort of last "date" before lives and it appears, internal organs, are changed forever.
He said, before he went to the bathroom, guided by me, in order to stick his head down the toilet and puke copiously.
Mackay went out to a pub quiz last night, hosted by Al, and sponsored by FHM magazine. On the team were: Steve from TGP, Stu, Rich Herring, Mackay, Dan Antopolski (who apparently was in an episode, although I'm buggered if I can remember which one) and... someone else I forget. Apparently they couldn't get Ben to do it because he was doing something else. If Ben had been on the team then guaranteed, we would now have some sort of voucher for a weekend holiday for two (hey, babies under 2 go free on most airlines) in Spain. Instead, we are now in possession of a Panasonic portable DVD player, which can also be used in conjunction with a TV. They came second. Apparently there was absolutely no collusion between Rich and Al, who was of course reading out the quesions.
There is a daft way, for me, of loving Mackay when he's very drunk. He is comprehensibly useless in that condition, but he is also carefully gentle, and thoughtful. And invariably hilarious. I couldn't sleep (unusually - ahem) so when I heard a scratching at the outside door then nothing, then some more fumbling, at about 1am, I knew it was him. I hadn't realised "the boys" would be going (Rich and Stu are two of his oldest friends) or else I would have been more prepared for the dishevelled, hopeful faced, staggering berk who stood before me saying "I am good! I won you a prize!" (after taking about 5 to 10 minutes to make it through both sets of front doors). Alcohol can bring out a funny side of peoples' natures, and in Mackay it brings out a sometimes melancholy, but mostly just fumbly need for affection. After much ordering him about, I managed to get him in to bed in one piece, where he curled up against my arm saying "I am good!" before conking out and miraculously, not snoring.
The DVD player is astoundingly good actually. Perfect for short plane journeys (2 hour battery life only - hmmm) and in the future, one suspects, bored child on long car journeys (car power pack available seperately). But, most importantly in the short term, it means (although we miss out on multi region) we don't have to get a DVD player, and we can just replace our TV, the screen of which tends to make everything look like a particularly green episode of the X Files.
Mackay is already rubbing his hands together looking at DVD rental sites, I think more for the novelty than actual usage.
No new on imminent arrivals today, although she is at present pursuing an O'Brien sleeping pattern, being unbelievably quiet throughout the day (paranoia alarm bells at the ready, obviously) yesterday, then keeping me awake from 1 until nearly 4 with constant pulling and pushing (yes, very nice, good, I'm glad you're ok now can you please QUIT).
Going out for an evening out in a mo. Yes! Out of the house! To see other people and not just shop keepers!
And I've taken photographs of it, but I have yet to bother getting out my lappie which has all the photo software gubbins on. Hey, bear with me, it's a relatively old camera (phew, all of.. two years old at least!).
Yes, the birth pool is up, clipped together and currently sitting in the front room, which has a delightful plastic sheeting flooring.
All this, and it could be for nought if she doesn't get out of damned breech. I can barely contain my bitter anger that I really do think it was the amazing-elastic-cosrset-thingy what done it. It pushed her out of my lower abdomen and back up in to the rest of my belly. Next thing you know, no more kicking the hell out of my rib cage, and a familiar head shaped object jutting in to my stomach. that would explain the increase in heartburn again.
The thing that I hate is that there's no one I can blame. If I lie down, I can barely move my right leg without going in to paroxisms of agony. Of course I was going to go to the physio. But they obviously haven't done any research in to breech figures for women wearing these bloody things or they would have warned me. Now, I'm stuck in the position of very possibly causing myself to have a major operation. Fuck! Ok. If I have to have it, I do - I'm not going to screaming in the corner and try to avoid it but frankly.... GOD FUCKING DAMN IT*.
I will phone Penny the Acupuncturist tomorrow but God knows what goods that'll do. More good that sitting around doing nothing, possibly. Marginally possibly.
*I'm rethinking this phraseology. Frankly, it doesn't put my abject anger and dissapointment in to perspective. Listen - when it comes down to it this might only happen once. There's a strong possibility that that is the case. So, here I am, planning the best possible environment to have my child in, for us to be able to go, wrapped in towels and snugs and sleep in our own bed within minutes of her arriving in to this world, to wake up with her snuggling beside me and wanting to feed instead of being in a bloody plastic fucking tray next to a hospital bed and .... all of that. All of that. Going. All because of my STUPID fucking USELESS body that can't even keep it together for the pregnancy so I go and do the stupidiest thing possible... what an idiot. Moron. But how was I supposed to know? Why didn't anyone know? Why didn't anyone bloody TELL ME.
Sorry about all the swearing, Tod.
Haven't had to go out, so am feeling a bit restless, to say the least.
Practiced with Tens unit. Have got plastic sheets to go beneath pool and environs. Can't get pool due to no lining confusion. Watched baaaad Buffy eposide this morning (the one with Zander trying to be "cool").
Er... what else should I be doing? Um... Have done clearing up, pffftttt.... don't have the concentration to read anything substantial...
Aha. Comic shop.
Turned out of course that I had loads to do anyway.
You know what? She's so big now, I can't really slouch on a chair, in any capacity. I have to sit bolt upright.
I have also decided that since I'm not out gallivanting (ie: going to work) I am not going to wear the corset, which pushes her right up and I'm absolutely certain she doesn't like. Particularly since today it transpires that she's in breech again. So I have to try and keep her pushing on downwards and engaging properly.
Scan on Friday, which will be lovely. Seing her again, and so weirdly close to the birth. Then if she's confirmed to be in breech, there's an "ECV" next week. "ECV" is an External Cephalic Version. (What a very knowledgeable info page this one is, if you want to know more). Liz didn't really spend much time explaining what actually happens, so I theeeenk a degree of the third degree may occur on Friday. I like to know what the hell is going on, generally.
BP is up this week, as I suspected. didn't really feel myself as I walked round to Boots to get the Tens Machine. Another tick off job done. And the anti-bed-faller-offer from Argos, *and* measured up for the ole' nursing bras. All in one day.
Pool comes tomorrow in bits - will attempt a photographic record of installation etc.
Hey, thanks for the good thoughts the other day. Felt so completely weirded out. Strange. But, not so strange.
Ok, so one minute I'm sitting here reading my email, the next minute I've got tears pouring down my face and I'm crying my head off for no definable reason.
Except for the obvious. Fear, worry... God knows. It's the strangest feeling you know... I'm so drained and knackered with carrying her around, but pretty soon she's going to be out of me and facing life. I'm frightened in a way for all of us. none of us are going to know what to do, really. Well, no. Not frightened exactly. She feels like... she's in a warm cocoon at the moment. She complains about it like hell but at least she's safe from everything. Even if it's draining the life out of me.
I haven't really articulated any of this, so you'll have to bear with me. Well not articulated it until I sat with my hands shielding my eyes and rocking backwards and forwards for about ten minutes just now. It was just a stupid, meaningless comment in an email that set me off in fact. I don't know. I've been in a strange mood all day. Mackay's been letting his tension out by getting all het up about stupid little things too and...
Bleh. Blimey. What the hell happens next. I tell you something, coming up towards the main event, everything's becoming a bit more extreme. The build up is very intense. I just want it to be over so we can get on with the next bit.
I'm sorry, I'm feeling a bit like a half built jigsaw puzzle with bits all askew.
Oh, it was my last day at work yesterday. I was so intensely busy I forgot to say. It felt very strange and alienating. Maybe that's another reason I've been weeping. Like I'm supposed to shed a skin and grow a new one with a "Mother" label sticking out at the back of the neck. then I'm supposed to go back to work in 6 months and just ... what exactly. Carry on as usual? The whole thing's very mussed up in my head presently.
So I thought I'd put on Sugar to cheer me up. What a mistake! Rarely have I heard post-Pixies geetar-pop-rock sound so fucking melancholy. I can hear some friendly, stupid Paul's Boutique coming on....
I had to mention this because it's such an upstanding and ethically correct / positive / frankly great thing to do.
Here are a couple of links discussing what he did:
Author snubs prize in asylum row
Author rejects prize from 'anti-migrant' newspaper
Would I have the balls to do the same thing were I in his position? I hope so.
A cop on the Today programme this morning talked about London being on a very high state of alert regarding the possibility of a terrorist bombing, and on the train in to work, two large army-sized helicopters were trailing across the skies of south London like two fat bluebottles, circling.
It reminds me slightly of the situation in the eighties and even early nineties, when bored sounding Underground tannoy readers would explain that yet again, everyone had to tramp out of the station because of another bomb alert. And everyone feigned annoyance because in their hearts, they couldn't bring themselves towards that feeling for more than a second - suppose there really is one? Suppose I'm about to be blown forward by the blast? I'm not panicking though, absolutely not... (gulp).
And seeing the helicopters... one can easily see something happening that could mean more of them. Proper sirens. The whole works.
Jack Straw was his usual defensive and amazing self on the Today programme this morning, absolutely refusing to verbally acknowledge any possible link between the bombings in Turkey yesterday and the decision to invade and occupy Iraq. The continual repetition of the ridiculous message that the "free" world must fight these terrorists (doing alot of good so far, isn't it) and the casually pushed away single sentence saying well, of course we'll carry on political means, regarding the Palestine/Israel situation...
I mean... I could of course just blurt for hours on this subject. But I don't think I need to. about 150-200k people on the streets yesterday in town protesting and they skimmed over it on the news - no government figure even acknowledged it. I'm really beginning to hate the country I live in, and can't possibly vote for this bunch of cowardly, lying bastards again. The desperate thing of course is that means no Gordon Brown, and I don't trust any other economist with the British economy, frankly.
But, well - he supported the war publically too. Even though I doubt very much if that was his personal view (reading between the lines).
I try not to have that many opinions about celebrities because... well to be honest I can't really be bothered to. However, I have been surrounded by people pontificating on the fate of Michael Jackson (the singer, not the television executive) for the last 24 hours and feel frustrated enough to state that I literally have no opinion on the matter.
As far as I can see, there are three possible states here: 1) He is a knowing child molester 2) He is a child molester who does not realise that anything he has done with children is wrong or 3) There are any number of unscrupulous people in the world who will try to get money out of him because he's rich. If any of those scenarios are right, how can anyone apart from those people directly involved possibly tell? Therefore, what's the point in having an opinion?
A few things occurred to me this morning, which were - if nothing is unearthed this time around, then in future, the cases, which could mount up or not - for cash reasons or otherwise, may become less and less believed. Secondly, I thought that his position as a living human being is now so unbearable and intolerable that whether he has, unwittingly or otherwise, behaved inapropriately with these kids or not, I should imagine his minders etc are taking turns at a suicide watch or at the very least have thought about the possibility of something like that happening.
Whether he is guilty or not, one can still feel sorry for a person so immensely screwed in his life. I've never liked his music, though have grown to at least respect the "Off the wall" stuff as fairly intelligent. But what kind of a life must one have had to lead one to such a fucked up existence. Many other people who have celebrity profiles seem to lead almost average lives in comparison. I remembered this morning seeing Keanu Reeves in Pret a Manger once just eating a sandwich with a mate. Reasonable life is possible.
At a complete other end of the scale, Mackay has been doing Jury service, and he, as well as the rest of the jury, found a burglar guilty of stealing this and that from someone's house yesterday. He got 4 years and had I think McK said over 40 other convictions for petty thievery. He was a 40 year old man who never looked up from the dock floor through the whole trial; who refused by shaking his head vigorously to testify on his own behalf, thus leaving his defence to an almost pointless attempt to extracate him through questioning non-dodgy DNA evidence (he left a hankie stained with his own blood at the scene). After he had been found guilty, his defence called for several things to be taken in to account: He had long running problems with drug addiction. At the point of his last release he had begged to stay in the nick and receive help, but his sentence was too light so he was chucked out with no safety net. He went to his family's place, and his family refused him entry.
Here is a man whose entire adult life experience has been one of institutionalisation, drug addiction and misery. McK said that everyone on the jury felt horrendous about it but ironically, a 4 year sentence means that he may now get some help with addiction and rehabilitation. As Mackay pointed out, what a stupid and false economy it has been thus far to give this man no help because his sentences were too light - thousands upon thousands of pounds have been used up in terms of petty theft, police time and incredibly expensive court time bringing this man to court over and over again. Humiliating him and destroying what little dignity he had in the first place. If there is a cold and economic view to be taken over the validity of rehab and courses etc in the nick it is that one. Never mind those arguments from the point of view that this is a human being who deserves help. Who has asked for help.
There are crass and obvious comparisons that one could make between these two people. But I'll leave it up to you to think about those.
Here's something Warren picked up from the New Scientist concerning Racial bias and the effect it has on brain function.
Reading this is struck me that it would be interesting to do a much wider study, including people of all races, and those who puport to not be racist. I wonder what the test results would be like for people who explain themselves as non racists, but who do notice difference? Would some sort of cognitive dissonance occur?
Only marginally related. In the college Mackay teaches at, apparently there are a couple of Somalian kids in the 99% Asian population (it's in the Southall neighbourhood and it's a crammer). They are unmercifully taken the piss out of almost constantly for no real reason other than they are not Asian, so it seems. Tis a strange business - racism does seem to be treated as if it's a one way street, whereas rather bleedin' obviously it applies to any majority population where the minority are shown as being from a different race. McK said the teachers who saw this behaviour most were unbelievably shocked by how casual and open the kids were about it. But, if the kids were white and the Somalian kids were Asian, something tells me it would be more covert and possibly nastier (though that's just me being prejudiced against white racist kids, obviously).
It's a tangled old mess, so it is.
No news other than extreme knackerdness from weight lifting, since she's grown so much weight wise in the last 3 or 4 days. Stretch marks are now reaching *above the level of my waistline* on these trews. I told you I was extremely oversized, didn't I.
Pray that she's under 10lbs. Please.
So we're in week 37 territory.
So I've had a "show" a couple of weeks ago...
...and now, milk: little squishy, weeny amounts is actively visibly there. Get-attable. The strangest bloody thing possible - taking a part of your body that has previously been - well if not inert exactly, at least the most it's been able to do is squish small sebum noodles out of its tiny volcanic tips. Now, doing the ritual greasing - whammo, a load* of yellowy creamy juice suddenly appeared. Blimey! How can I describe it. Frankly, it's freaky. If one is wounded, and one squeezes the wound, out comes some lymph fluid and blood. After 33 years, you get kind of used to that. Or, alternatively, if one has a nasty swollen lump and squeezes that, out comes a stinking corruption, an almost obscene sludge.
This looks closer to the sludge than the blood, but it's to be welcomed, so the brain does a huge about face. In the immediate, it shouts: "Oh God, what the hell is that!" then mere miliseconds later a reassurred "Oh, it's milk...". But still, not exactly usual behaviour for one's breasts! Not thus far in any case.
Well that's what it feels like when you've only seen a few dribbles, anyway.
*I say "load" - more like the amount you'd get of blood if you pricked your finger. Probably even less.
So the major point in this is... the countdown has more than just begun now. We're getting there, and fast. Thank God!
Sleep deprivation has been vaguely stopped in its tracks for at least 1 day, since I chose to go to bed at 8.30, and was asleep within an hour. Certainly, the waking up at 10.35, 12.10, and 2.35 (awake then till 3) broke it up a little but woke at 7.54 with a remarkable sense of having had more or less enough sleep. It's rather bemusing, and I'm not really sure what to do with myself. Should I just go back to bed anyway to grab some more sleep while I can? Or should I potter round the house clearing up in readiness for sprog? Sadly, Mackay has the answer to that one sewn up.
Actually went to the second half of the NCT course yesterday and although it told me more or less nothing I didn't know already, for someone with my abysmal memory, it's handy to go over some things like panting and breathing techniques once again. Sadly and almost inevitably, the course was far more enjoyable and participative than the NHS ante-natal - the reason obviously being the more interrogative and demanding nature of the participants (ie: a bunch of middle class couples from Clapham who had paid to be there, ratheer than a mixed bunch of Streatham and Tooting residents). The NHS classes I had to try desperately not to be the person with lots to ask about and contribute, but as I'd suspected with that particular class, the people who seem to be wanting to stay in touch and communicate are inevitably, the more articulate and responsive members. Without a doubt it's a class & culture thing rather than anything else, but what can you do?
And lastly, yesterday was almost a record day for extreme heartburn. Stupidly, I took the opportunity to eat a ton of biscuits at the NCT class and all that wheat 'n' sugar played havoc with my system *all day and night*. Hence the wakings up which were uniformly for the reason that I had a large, glowing acid debilitation eating me from the inside. I worry that I'm beginning to fuck up my stomach entirely by the amount of antacids I'm taking to try and combat it (usually to no avail). God knows, I'd be sticking pins in my eyes if I thought I could never enjoy a decent pinot noir again for fear of grimacing on every sip.
Sometimes I read what I've written and raise my eyebrows to the ceiling! But, well - sod it, you like what you like, in life don't you. No point apologising for it. A £15 luxury like that, one a week or less is a hell of a lot less extravagant than having a taste for jewellery.
I've got one of those lines - I can't remember what they're called now, but the meridian line down the centre of my giantess's belly. After looking at a gorgeous looking woman on the ante-natal class who had a really dark brown line against her African already pretty dark brown skin, I assumed that the pregnancy books were describing something that happened to black skin but were being politically correct.
But there it is. I must take some digital photos of this belly protruberance thing because it quite unbelievable - but, all the bruised scars (and to an extent the humungous stretch marks) might make people shudder a bit too much. "Too much information!" they would cry as they looked away, grimacing.
Meanwhile my reaction to all of them will be "Yeah well, imagine living with it you weaklings!"
Despite continued exhaustion and too much stress at work, I'm in a mucho better mood that the beginning of the week, for no discernable reason. It could simply be that I get to wear a nice comfy pair of trousers.
*Yawn*. Back to work. You know what though as well? I keep forgetting what week I'm in now, because the weeks have flipped over completely. I'm now at "3 weeks to go" rather than "37 weeks". Three weeks to go just sounds delicious in comparison to the alternative.
two weeks late but what can you do. At last I have more than 1 pair of wearable trousers. Having a belly which has grown out of my normal size (in all but 1 pair of cheapo stretch pants) I had to get a pair of trews the next size up and joy of joys, they're really loose on me, thus proving that they are in fact a bit big.
I just want to make that clear :) It's not because I'm really fat.
Working in the office today and joy of joys travelling in and waking up at 7 (after eventually getting to sleep at 2, then waking up, waking up, waking up all night) rather obviously I have huge black bin liners beneath my eyes.
I can't believe I'm a week and a half away from stopping work. Every hour closer is a joy, I'm telling you.
I notice a growing theme of just general discomfort and lack of being able to think positively about anything this week. Can I just qualify and say "anything positive about my immediate position". Makes me wish I had gestational diabetes and would be induced next week.
I've come to the conclusion that both McK and I are suffering from bad sleep deprivation symptoms. Particularly Mackay, since I've always suffered from insomnia and am thus slightly more used to it.
But he's been in a bad way for a while, and now, the bit where I have to change position to lie on my back but upright is causing him to get up and go and sleep on the sofa bed. It's the snoring. I'm very congested. This is a much better solution than that which he had been employing - sighing alot and huffing, which did the trick in that it woke me up. But then I was likely to wake up anyway.
Week 36. 4-ish weeks to go. They can't come soon enough, I'm telling you. I would gladly swap sleep deprivation due to small person being on the inside with the outside version. At least then I won't feel like I'm trying to get to sleep with a stitch in my side.
Sorry, really not doing well on the excitement and joy front these last few days. Just exhausted.
I have a cold.
I am being forced to wear a weird, 6 armed, thick webbing, elastic and cotton corset that I can't sit down in (but it is heavenly when I stand up).
Sprog has dropped down and is now causing me to want to go to the loo every single time I stand up. Heartburn hasn't gone away. Groin pain barely baearable. The Post Office are refusing to deliver my Mothercare parcel and "Blooming Marvellous" have failed to deliver my extra-enormo sized trousers after 2 weeks of waiting. I have 1 pair of trousers I can now wear - and I've had to sew them up once.
And to top it all after a perfectly lovely evening out with Danny, Quinn, Ada (who is still ludicrously placid), Haddock types as well as Stephen, Becca & Spike (who laughed! And looked wonderful as a result instead of the serious faced little kid I saw last time)... woke up on the day I'm supposed to be in an NCT ante-natal class which we have paid for with a raging sore throat and a need to sleep for at least another 7 or 8 hours.
So all in all am not in a terribly good mood.
The cast recording of Jerry Springer the Opera is taken from a live performance instead of redone in a studio. Which is a great idea.
I know I've said this before but it really is explosively, wonderfully bonkers.
Here's a Channel 4 news link: China news which demonstrates fairly succintly both the problems I have with positivity over the Chinese handling of their "emerging market" economy, but also the inate issues of being an emerging market within a capitalist worlwide economy.
I say this because the glorious and wonderful Mr Joseph stiglitz, for whom I have a great deal of time argues in a much more cogent way than I ever could that the Chinese handling of their economy is wonderful since they are coming through and building their GDP like a steam train on full whilst the rest of the Asian market is still struggling post-Japan trauma (and indeed Japan is still suffering "Japan" trauma). All this without any intervention of the "Washington conspiracy2 ie: the IMF and the world Bank. Anyone who has done any hmmm, I'd say "alternative" economics reading will know that, beyond the kneejerk anti-blobalisation arguments, there is a real case for enormous criticism of particularly the IMF, which frankly, has on occasion behaved like a McKinsey graduate filled bunch of arrogant American cunts who have absolutely no loca sensitivity. I think to an "extent" that has changed slighlty, but to be honest not by much.
Anyway, so eschewing the World Bank and IMF intrusion in to the economy has historically allowed China to build it's GDP and growth at it's own pace. Which is good, yes. However, what Stiglitz touched upon in his book but didn't dwell on were the social consequences of the breakdown of communism and the trmendous sacrifices that a countrylike China makes whilst it is establishing itself on the "emerging markets" circuit. What you've got is bugger all social infrastructure to catch the unemployed, when moving to a capitalist based economy from a full employment communist based one. Whole areas of cities which were purpose built around factories, with the classic thing of social needs based locally - Doctors, Dentists, schools, shops, hairdressers... all in established, organised blocks. All social amenities melt away for these people when the factory itself closes, and literally thousands of people are left with nothing - no money, no amenities. Horrific. Funnily enough, it was a Channel 4 News film I saw about a year ago that took secret footage of some previously industrious Chinese areas that revealed this horror.
So. The outcome of moving to a market economy without having a social network there is shocking short term poverty, even starvation. There is, of course, a long term upside to grabbing your foothold in to the emerging markets circuit. Korea, Thailand - classically quite a few growing Asian economies have done this. You start with mass production of tat, it builds local economies through the introduction of non-agricultural wages & profits (ie: subsistence level farming has no wages generally speaking), those wages are spent locally, thuis producing more local industry - yada yada. India is a prime example of a country that did this very well (also with a relatively small amount of IMF intervention, much to their evident disgust) - what they did though was build local markets, ie: it's a frickin' huge country, thus it can sell product to itself fairly well thank you very much. This protected it from the horrendous falls of Malaysia, hong Kong, Japan etc when the shit hit the fan. so what you want then, if you are Korea, Thailand, China.. etc is a combo of external FDI type industry where in the first instance you're making shoes for Nike and plastic spoons, but also you're generating business internally and creating internally owned businesses which can grow as a direct result of this influx of wages... magic formula, increase GDP, everyone's happy. Yes?
Well. No. Read the Ch4 article above and you'll see that in the transitional years, when the country is so poor that aspects of working lives like personal safety, for example, or employers worrying about the health of their employees are a luxury, developing market countries are getting fucked royally by the countries they are selling to. It's also a question of them gritting their teeth and the question being asked - given that we and they do live in a capitalist economy, do they go through the years of being ripped off, pissed on, employees killed or maimed for life because eventually, they will be generating enough GDP to be able to move away from plastic spoons, dangerous chemicals etc and build say TV's, bigger goods that are worth more, educate their people - basically move up the food chain *or what*... maintain an arable economy? Have zero GDP growth? Somehow create an alternative economic scale in which the accumulation of wealth by the greedy just won't appeal? Come on, it's never going to happen.
It doesn't take too long to look back in the social & economic history of the UK to find the same pattern - children working in factories, being killed, no social welfare as such, average lifespan pathetic - now as a generalised whole, you've got a social network which acts as a net for working people in this country. Howlong did it take after the industrial revolution - 150, 175 years? Of which there wre many generations living in such abject poverty that they couldn't even afford washing machines.
So China is currently in the "it's people are being fucked" stage and only have relatively stable economies in single cities, but it's so enormous, so unbelievably huge, you wonder how the hell it's ever going to build a sustainable social economic network whilst so much of it's citizenry are subsistence level farming. I mean the irony is enormous. They still suffer famines which they don't advertise too much, and yet their GDP growth compared to some neighbours is almost off the scale. One can only hope that wave like, the economic strictures which at present mean so many of their population are stuck in jobs which may either significantly reduce their lifespan or even kill them will eventually wash over the country and out of the other side. I secretly hope that eventually, the west will run out of countries to economically rape like this, and whilst those plastic spoons will still have to be made somewhere, they'll cost 3p each to make instead of 0.03p, because the workers will be unionised, will have canteens, proper safety equipment and working hours. Imagine the shock of realising how much things should *really* cost?
I did an awful lot of work on the economy of India whilst I was at college and I must say, I was really proud of their stance. They grow, sure but their GDP growth isn't super-zap-pow enormous. Foreign investors would gnash their teeth because they wanted more, but there was the Indian govt, building roads, laying in more rural electricity and putting money in to education. There are hundreds of small Indian firms building albeit slightly lame Indian cars, TV's - you name it whilst the govt keeps a few too many tariffs on externally built products, but you know what? It protected the economy, it protects locally created income. They're skint, sure but they're not starving. They're making use of the opportunities that arise and creating businesses out of nothing because they speak English - instead of just basing whole economies on selling products overseas, they sell their voices! So protecting local manufacturing. There's a hell of alot wrong in the economy, but I remember feeling really proud of them - and reading a McKinsey report on India which jesus, was straight out of the Washington handbook and was a pathetic call for FDI (ie: ripping out the economy from the outside in - giving away growing business to foreigners - look at the scumlike way the US has pulled Iraq in to economic advantage units for *US* companies with *zero* money going back into the local economy beyond tiny wages).
So on a slightly different tack, the Indian school of gentle GDP rise is something that I argued at the time should happen in Africa - and hopefully that may now begin to happen - the reliance on ex-Empire economies for FDI (particularly this means the EU) is dreadful - what they should be doing and some are is also increasing local trade and keep the resultant revenues within Africa, thus boosting the economy from the inside, with added protection against worldwide busts.
I've just added that bit on the end there because it's all so interrelated, but this kind of chewy discussion was what I really loved about learning Economics. It's a fascinating topic and one that I'd love to go back to - hopefully I will next year. Meanwhile, reading Economics journals and picknig up on this kind of news report is as near as I get!
By the way, feel free to discuss - none of my arguments are set in stone and are merely muses. Besides which, I enjoy a good discussion about economics because I'm using my brain for something other than small person related home based economics (ie: how much is the nappy laundry per month).
So because I'm going though a DB and organising it and it's the dullest thing in the world, and because yesterday was one of my "work at home" days I ended up watching what appeared to be a never-ending stream of "Angel" episodes in the background whilst working.
Rather than going in to it (how horrifically sad that would be) my quick capsule review is: It's not bad. Could be better, but it's relatively funny and the characters aren't too one dimensional. Tthis is how long I carried on working yesterday because I couldn't be bothered to stop - I turned on some eps at about 2pm. Switched off the 3rd tape at 9.
But - this is exactly why I borrowed them - relatively inane, relatively well written, time passing fluff full of gratuitously nice looking yoofs, for the point at which I can barely move about. The series clincher at the end of Season 1 was mind you *shockingly awful*. What's in the box? Is it scary, is it terrifying? No, it's just some old character brought in to spice up the ratings. Actually made me laugh: Angel dancing sequence, and the first singing bit. Favourite character thus far: Wesley.
Realised that my skin above my bellybutton is completely numb fromthe laporoscopy and now it's so stretched tight that covers about 4 inches or so of flesh. Tis very peculiar. No other exciting news to report.
So I did the "big shop" which entailed going down to Mothercare to be measured up for nursing bras only to be told to come back 2 weeks before the birth (groan).
But managed to get a load of stuff and also mis-buy 2 things (further groan) so I have to go back again again!
But luckily the rest of the gubbuns were online purchases. Handy when there's a postal strike, huh?
Two more things left to do: 1) organise the nappy laundry and 2) tens machine rental.
The house is filling up with this stuff. Blimey. It's all happenin'.