Right or wrong….

It was the Kings speech that made me think of the strange prejudice towards those who were left-handed. It was alleged that King George VI was a left hander, who had been forced to use his right.

So what is it that  makes sensible intelligent people, detest the thought of left-handedness? I have read many theories; but am still none the wiser!  When I recall certain incidents from my childhood, I can, as an adult, realise what happened to me. As a child I had no idea! The following is an account of what I remember and how I applied a childs logic.

There were two of us in a classroom, who had to sit on our left hands, if the left hand came into the teachers vision, a few raps over the knuckles with a ruler would follow. It seems strange that I remember the pain of sitting on my throbbing hand, rather than the pain of the ruler.

I was never afraid to go to school, but I yearned to please the teacher. I constantly told myself, to sit on my wrong hand, I didn’t say left; as I was unaware it was called left. I assumed that I was doing something wrong, and I  did all Icould to make sure the teacher would be pleased with me.

I was bought up in a children’s home, and I seem to remember keeping my hands in my pocket (I still do) maybe to hide bruised knuckles, also I was always falling off my bike, so maybe all the signs of the ruler were masked by the falls! Even at a very young age, I didn’t want to rock the boat; how on earth can a young child be aware of the need to keep silent?  I carried that don’t rock the boat syndrome well into my adult life. I don’t remember if I suffered this ‘corrective treatment’ in the home as I am unable to match up my punishments with the crimes. To be fair, I doubt it, as most of the punishments were done by staff, who I think were probably on relief. Please don’t get me wrong, on the whole, the incidents were few and far between, and I am not sure if I am more haunted by what happened, or what I have forgotten!  So I can only conclude that it was only the teacher who had the issues with my left-handedness. I cannot for the life of me, remember her name and her face is a blank; I can see her hair in a tight bun, and the blue tweed suit she wore.

When I went to Secondary School, I was well and truly right-handed; although my left was the prominent one for sports; nobody said a word, that may well be down to the fact that I was useless at sport, and the correction wasn’t worth the effort!

I have no idea how long it took to make me use my right, but to this day I use my right hand for most things, and I still occasionally sit on my left.

I thought this prejudice was a product of years gone by, but when my daughter was born I knew she was left-handed as she sucked her left thumb. When she was old enough to start drawing; she always used her left. I once saw her grandma keep giving her the crayon in her right hand and then my daughter would automatically transfer it to her left. My Mother-in-law was told to get used to the idea; her grand-daughter was left-handed. I asked her why she felt the way she did, towards left-handed people, apart from, she won’t be able to open a tin or knit: she couldn’t say why.

My proudly cuddy wifter daughter is 19, she has figured out the tin opener, but sadly didn’t master the art of knitting.

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One click from an idiot!

If embarrassment could be measured in size, mine would reach to the top of Blackpool Tower ! All I wanted to do, was get a blog. Nothing earth shattering; just a blog. Now those who know me well, but will not admit it, will tell you: nothing I ever do is easy, in fact I have a secret gene, ensuring that everything I attempt to do is never easy! So I cracked my knuckles  and made a start, expecting a difficult time, i was surprised how easy it was…..  I followed the idiot’s guide, which seemed to be written with me in mind. I got myself a blog name and off I went…

When did I realise I had a small issue? Well that’s difficult to say, as I was blissfully unaware of what I was doing, or what to expect, so putting the issue aside I updated my profile; that took 5 minutes. I returned to try to write a blog. Yes that was the small issue; I didn’t know how! I reloaded the idiots guide and then followed the instructions….Click on… new post Ok looked all over for the…. new post to click on, nowhere on the page to be found. At one stage, in desperation, I looked at the screen side wards, praying it was hiding or at the very least, playing a funny trick on me!  I knew what I was looking for, and this was confirmed by a fellow Twitterite, whom I was having a tweet with on the issue, she pointed out another click prior to the click…..still with me?  Armed with the extra click info, I waited until after work the following day to try it, still no joy, so I changed my profile again.

The situation became ridiculous the day after. I was click…click…and bloody clicking, on everything, even up the nose of an innocent bystander on the home page, what i hoped to find up there was nobodies  business………nothing, zilch, naff all! So for the want of something better to do I changed my profile again.  I am normally a very laid back person, but this  clicking and getting nowhere fast, was getting my mad up.  Click…click… and then, well that was enough: my scream was heard four doors away. I got a text off my neighbour ‘U ok Hell’ a quick reply ‘YES’ followed by a …..’OH SOZ’ I was preparing to ask her why she was sorry, when I was interrupted by a rap on the door. I was confronted by an officer of the law, asking if all was  well!. ‘Yes officer, I am fine…. No officer I was trying to blog…. No that’s not an illegal act (maybe it frickin well should be)…..no I am not being rude…I am trying to do a bl** …Yes officer I will do it quietly in future….’ A quick check…nobody watching and I return to the laptop once more. I was going to finally contact the support centre, when a box popped up. ‘I didn’t exist’ this is where the embarrassment kicks in: I hadn’t actually finished setting up the blog, as I had missed the important bla de bla http: // wordpress.com, or whatever. To add insult to injury the on-screen message read ‘Well done, you are finally finished. Now write!’  The cheeky git, was it timing me?

I couldn’t be bothered to do a victory dance, as i normally would, with victories so rare, i usually celebrate in style, but as this one was a tad hollow, I limply punched the air and lay down; the hard floor cooling my brow. I was now silently weeping, as I was so happy that I wasn’t imagining my stupidity, it was actually real!

My next blog will either be on

a) The failure to post the link for the blog or b) Police response times on a Wednesday afternoon.