Analyse Me

It was a fairly dull weekend, watching paint dry....seriously...we’ve have been revamping the bathroom and downstairs cloakroom. Anyway, I took the BBC’s Big Personality Test, which works out your ‘Big Five’ personality traits, namely...

Openness - how receptive you are to novel ideas, creative experiences and different values.

Conscientiousness - to what extent you are organised, strategic and forward-planning.

Extroversion - how inclined you are to experience positive emotions and how attracted you are to social, stimulating experiences.

Agreeableness - to what extent you are concerned about the feelings of others and how easily you form bonds with people.

Neuroticism - to what extent you react to perceived threats and stressful situations.

Here’s how I scored:

Here's the blurb that came with the result...think it should be taken with a hefty dose of  "Let's not take this too seriously now":

1. Openness: Low score

"This trait is sometimes known as ‘Openness to experience’. People with scores like yours tend to have a less broad range of interests. They usually stick to what they know rather than being overly enthusiastic about trying new things. You may find that generating lots of imaginative ideas is not your biggest strength. It has been suggested that Openness is related to a person's likelihood to hold unusual beliefs. People with low-to-medium Openness may therefore be less likely to believe in things like conspiracy theories."

Nat: OK, so, basically, I’m a boring old fart....although I’ll try most things once, often with disastrous outcomes (such as paragliding and skiing). No plans to go skydiving or bungee jumping or go running off to join the "Elvis Is Alive and Lives in Area 51" followers.

2. Conscientiousness: Medium score

"Conscientiousness describes how dependable, organised and hard-working a person is likely to be. This may be the reason why, of all the personality traits, Conscientiousness is the most consistent indicator of job success. People with scores like yours are less likely to be workaholics, instead achieving a good work-life balance."

Nat: Probably true...I’d say my work is important, but I don’t live to work. I will get a job done, on time and properly, but I know when to call it a day.

"Conscientiousness often gives clues to the amount that a person plans. You probably enjoy planning aspects of your life and may indulge in occasional list-making, but you are unlikely to be averse to behaving spontaneously."

Nat: I’ve been known to do a bit of planning in my time....I recall my soon-to-be-father-in-law joking that I’d planned our wedding in finer detail than the D-Day Landings at Normandy were ever planned.

"Some studies have shown the more Conscientious an individual is, the more disciplined they are likely to be about exercise and diet."

Nat: Ummm.....I’m working on it.....

3. Extroversion: Medium score

"Extroversion is characterised by positive emotions and the tendency to seek out pleasure-stimulating or risk-taking activities. People with scores like yours are likely to be comfortable meeting new people and will usually enjoy social occasions. You are likely to have a generally positive outlook on life and may display a greater gift for leadership compared to those with low scores on this trait."

Nat: True to a point....I think.

4. Agreeableness: Medium score

"Agreeableness measures how sympathetic and considerate a person is likely to be. People with scores like yours are likely to show concern for the feelings of others and will be inclined to help those in need. You probably find it easy to get along with most people, but you won't be averse to speaking your mind."

Nat: I'd say I get on with most people and have found a way to work with some very difficult personality types. I think I was a lot more sarcastic and argumentative in my 20s, more likely to have a heated debate with someone with a strongly different opinion. I came across a lot of chauvinism early on in my life and I still have no tolerance for it.
5. Neuroticism: High score

"In the context of the Big Five personality traits, the term 'Neuroticism' relates to a person’s response to threatening or stressful situations. People with scores like yours may find that they often feel tense or anxious, and may well experience changeable moods."

Nat: Me...tense or anxious....never!


"Some scientists have suggested that Neuroticism was beneficial in evolutionary terms. Early man may have found it advantageous to live in a population where certain individuals had a high sensitivity to threats to the group's survival."

Nat: So, I would have been the one keeping an eye out for rampaging woolly mammoths....or sabre toothed tigers prowling outside the cave?

"There is evidence to suggest that Neuroticism, when combined with high scores in personality traits such as Conscientiousness, can result in a powerful work ethic and a will to succeed."

Me: Well, at least we end on a positive note (see Extroversion).

'Tis The Season To Get Fit

OK, I really need to up my fitness level with immediate effect. One month today we fly to Norway for a week of snow-related activities...we’ll be snow-shoeing most days, but there’s the chance to try cross-country skiing (at which I’m fairly confident I’ll be pathetically rubbish) and (most excitingly!) dog sledding. There’s even the very slim chance we may see the Northern Lights.

I’m not the most athletic of persons, but I do a fair bit of walking most days and have been on some quite hectic hikes in recent years (most notably the Alpine treks with the sadistic Swedish guide back in 2007 described here). I accidentally discovered snow-shoeing when the skiing part of the Christmas 2003 holiday with J and M in the French Alps didn’t really go that well for me. Might have been something to with having to be rescued off a mountain...in a blizzard...with suspected concussion...on the first day we actually hit the slopes.

Never one to do things in half measures, I was pretending to ski when I fell on the piste, whacking my head rather hard. I’d already fallen over a dozen times...even once forwards onto my face, which is apparently almost impossible to do on skis, but I did it! This was a particularly hard thwack on the back of my head, though, and, as I lay on the frozen ground, dazed and wondering which way was up or down, it started snowing very hard. That was it! I completely lost my nerve and could not face the trip back down to the chalet on my own steam. The ski lifts were now closed due to the inclement weather and everyone was hurrying to get off the slopes. We were going to have to get help or things could get scary....so experienced skier J shot off down the mountain, and soon came back with Rescue Man and his orange ski stretcher. He asked me “Do you have travel insurance?” [stupid question for a paranoid, pessimistic planner!] “Bon! Because this is the most expensive taxi ride you’ll ever take!” And at 300 euros for a few hundred metres, I should hope it was!

Rescue Man: Just lie down here

Me: You gotta be shittin' me!

To the great amusement of B, J and M (and to my mortification) I was strapped and tightly bound, like an Egyptian mummy, into the stretcher, and then dragged down the slope at high speed, behind Winter Olympics Downhill Skiing Champion aka Rescue Man. If I didn’t have concussion before that ride, I definitely had it afterwards, as my head hit every stone and tree root hidden under the snow on the way down. What was worse, the vibrations from our rapid descent caused my ski goggles to work their way up my face and the frame dug into my eye sockets....but with my arms tied to my chest, there was nothing I could do. The ski stretcher came to an abrupt halt in trendy Courchevel resort, where the Dior ski suits mingle with Prada. Everyone stopped and stared....orange stretchers usually meant broken limbs. I staggered to my feet. I was in a right state by now.... shaking from adrenaline, only partially sighted from the eye gouging of the goggles and frozen to the core, with icicles forming in my hair.

Rescue Man took me into the first aid office and proceeded to quiz me (in French) about the school my father attended and how many cats my great aunt Doris had...I later worked out he was checking me for memory loss. Luckily J was with me and she’s fluent in French (and Spanish) so she could interpret. I’d forgotten how to speak English, never mind any French I’d acquired at school. By now I was rapidly defrosting in the heat of the office, leaving a pool of water on the floor. I had to complete a form...wish I’d made a copy of it as a souvenir before I sent it to my insurers as it was filled out in the shaky, spidery writing of an octogenarian, with the watermarks of a dozen drops that dripped from my hair and onto the page.

I decided there and then that downhill skiing was not my bag, and that I would have to find some other winter activity to fill my week. And thus I discovered snow-shoeing...what a pleasure! Forget the rat run of the ski slopes.....snow-shoeing is the civilised way to enjoy snow. Breaking trails through virgin snow, trekking silently over crisp fields and through fairytale forests, pausing to sip wine and nibble cheese provided by the snow-shoe guide, while surrounded by absolute calm and breathtaking scenery. Best part: you can go downhill on your butt when faced with a hairy descent....

A slightly undignified descent!

I reckon you need to learn to ski when you’re young and fearless and have a flexible body, say around 7 or 8.....not the wrong side of 30 when the sense of mortality has kicked in and when hurtling downhill on a pair of skis not much wider than a ruler does not seem like a particularly sensible way to travel. Looking back now, I realise skiing is a lot more dangerous than I’d thought and I was crazy to be anywhere but on the nursery slopes until I’d had many more lessons. Every year, people are seriously injured when skiing (I personally know 3 people who have had long-term hospital stays and been off work for months after a slip on the slopes). Tragically, earlier this year, Natasha Richardson died following a head injury sustained when she fell during a skiing lesson in Canada.

But on that sad note, it’s time to whip my cold, lethargic butt into shape....dust off the exercise bike and do daily squats.

I’ll let you know how it goes...

An Ode To Broadband

The internet....what would we do without it? Well, we wouldn’t be blogging for one thing. There’d be no email, no online shopping or gaming or dating or banking....no social networking (Face who? Twit whatever!). Patience would become a necessity, not a virtue, in a world where information was no longer available at a key stroke or mouse click and we’d be flexing our muscles to lift all those huge books through which we’d now need to trawl just to find out a fact that was probably out of date before it went into print.

I’m the first to admit I would have a quite miserable time if I was to be disconnected, permanently. My job would be very different or nonexistent...and I’d certainly have to get in my car and drive into the office every day, not just dial up into my work server.

My reliance on the internet came on gradually...a bit like those extra pounds that have crept onto my middle. It all started at university with email, then surfing the web and sourcing information from online journals...moved to internet shopping, and now, it’s my first port of call for banking, booking holidays, finding a restaurant, even booking a medical appointment. I am constantly amazed by just what can be arranged over the internet....

Like getting a flat tyre changed today...no need to stress, huff and puff changing to the spare one then driving about, trying to find a garage. Just a quick search to find a tyre supplier/fitter, tap in the details....and pretty soon Tyre Man was on my doorstep, ready to replace the punctured one and balance the wheels. Done before you can say Google 100 times....OK, maybe if you said it really fast, but then you may be mistaken for a turkey, possibly not a good idea if you’re anywhere near the U S of A today.

We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in the UK, but I sure am thankful for the internet...today and every day.

I'm the Party Pooper

Darn!

Despite all my OCD attempts to stave off the disease-spreading microbes that go rampaging this time of the year...like washing my hands 200 times a day, overdosing on Vitamin C and avoiding anyone who has even the faintest hint of a sniffle...it appears some ballsy little bugs have made it through the antiseptic barrier, and taken up residence in the back of my throat. They’re currently throwing a Block Party in my sinuses (as in “block-them-up”) and have tapped into my cranial nerves to power their stereo beat box, which is cranked at full volume inside my head....or at least that’s what it feels like!

In retaliation, I’m going for the Vaporise Plan of Action: exterminate the little sods with a constant onslaught of hot lemon and honey infusions, coupled with regular bouts of steam inhalation.

With a bit of luck, they won’t be back....

Lost In Translation

I’ve been back on the ‘figuring out the foreign language’ lark at work this last week....this time it’s a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese, and the documents have actually been translated...well sort, but we still have to trawl through thousands of pages and decipher some of the oddities of the translation process. Sadly, the documents are more concerned with the legal aspects of running clinical trials, so it’s just a shed load of ethical jargon...pretty mind numbing stuff and almost certainly no use to me on my travels.

My grasp of Spanish is very poor...it should actually be a bit better considering I lived in Barcelona for 3 months, a decade ago. My PhD dissertation was in collaboration with the University of Barcelona's School of Pharmacy, who very generously sponsored me to go over and spend time in their labs, using their high tech equipment to figure out the chemical structures of the compounds I was extracting from herbal medicines. Your eyes are most probably glazing over by now, so enough already of the Geek Speak. Suffice to say it was a golden opportunity, academically, and the sole reason I managed to finish and publish my doctorate in less than 4 years. I was thrilled by the chance to travel overseas...I’d been to the UK with my family as a child, but mainland Europe was an unknown entity.

It was also one the hardest times of my life - the longest time I had ever spent away from B, and I felt very isolated in a city where few people spoke my mother tongue. I stayed in a students’ residential hall, in the section reserved for visiting post grad students and guest lecturers. Other guests came and went daily....it was just me there for the longish run. I had a reasonably nice room with en suite bathroom and there was a communal lounge and kitchenette at the end of the corridor. So I was comfortable, just incredibly lonely. During the week, I worked really long hours, never leaving the lab much before 9 every night. The other students (mainly South Americans) were all very friendly....we’d all break for coffee around 5 in the evening and get together in the student cafe for a bit of a gossip. They all spoke fairly good English and wanted to talk to me to practise as much as possible, which was great... it just meant I didn’t learn much Spanish!

But when the weekends came round, I was pretty much on my own and that’s when I felt the isolation. I would spend all my free time exploring Barcelona...I grew to love the city and got to know it very well. As I was on a really tight budget, I tried to walk everywhere, only using the Metro when I was venturing really far from my res. All this exercise meant I lost a load of weight (two bouts of a particularly nasty stomach bug also helped) and I felt very fit by the end of the 3 months. I had a few close shaves when I wandered into some dodgy neighbourhoods, and once I was followed for over an hour by an even dodgier looking man, but on the whole I felt safe and just seemed to blend in with the locals....to the extent that tourists were always coming up to me and asking me if I spoke English and if I knew the way to the train station. Most days I was generous and helped them out; once or twice I pretended “No entiendo” (one of the few Spanish phrases I did pick up) shaking my head tragically.

Parc Guell

One day, I helped a lady of Chinese descent find her way to the Placa Catalunya. She turned to me and said “You speak good Engrish...where you from?” I’d given up telling people I was originally from Zimbabwe (this just drew blank faces), so I answered “South Africa”, as it is the one African country most people seem to know and technically, I was representing my South African university, my home for 9 years. To my astonishment, the lost tourist’s jaw dropped and she blurted out “South Africa? But you can’t be.....you white!” How do you respond to that? Do you query “If there are no white people in South Africa, how did apartheid work then and why did Nelson Mandela have to walk a long road to freedom?”. Tempted as I was to reply: “Well you see, I was black when I left but as soon as landed in Europe, I turned as white as snow”, I bit my tongue. Some people are just best left alone to mull over their own ignorance.

Sagrada Familia

Years later, after we’d moved to the UK, I returned to Barcelona with B for a long weekend to celebrate our sixth wedding anniversary. I’d been itching to show him the city I’d explored that lonely Spring back in 1999. Isn’t it sad when you build up a place to be so wonderful....and it fails to deliver? Don’t get me wrong, we had a great weekend... but to me, Barcelona had changed. It had become far more tourist-orientated, scarily expensive and it all felt a bit tired. It probably didn’t help that almost all the city’s landmarks (those architectural wonders I’d raved about) were covered in scaffolding for repairs (Gaudi’s unfinished Sagrada Familia excluded....we expected to find scaffolding there!), so she wasn’t looking her best. Maybe we picked the wrong time of year (mid December is freezing cold!) or maybe I’d become jaded from all the travelling we’d done in the interim, but somehow the magic just wasn’t there for me anymore.

The one thing that hadn’t changed though....the delicious hot chocolate! Spanish hot chocolate is the best in the world....gooey, thick, creamy and really, really chocolatey.....

And amazingly, the Spanish Chocolate company is now marketing their gorgeous product in the UK. I picked up a tin last week in Tesco....and it’s the real stuff! Chocolate heaven....and not really  all that indulgent at a surprisingly low 91 calories a cup...yummmeeee!

Holy Moley!

I have a lot of moles....

No, not the furry little creatures that dig up your lawn...but the brown spots that may turn ugly and grow into melanomas. Since my dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year, I’ve become a lot more aware of the dreaded disease in all its devious shapes and forms. B has also been nagging me the past couple of years to “get that thing checked out, it’s growing”, referring to a particularly large one that I’ve worn on my neck all my life. There was a time in my youth when I vainly (in all senses of the word) hoped it could be considered a beauty spot à la Cindy Crawford....

Given that my childhood was spent playing barefooted/ faced/legged/armed under a hot African sun... and that my fair skin freckles the moment I step into the sunshine...my GP decided to refer me to a dermatologist. Joy and delight, this meant a trip to our local hospital today, but I did feel a huge sense of relief to be given the all clear from a Mole Guru. It’ll be SPF 50+ from here onwards...

Quick update on my dad:

He started his 12th chemo cycle today and is still going strong....he is an amazingly resilient man. We will know more about his progress after his scan and oncology appointment the week after next.

Child's Play

This past weekend, our 16-month-old goddaughter came to visit with her parents and 4-year-old sister. A and M are really delightful children - sweet natured, fun to be around and easy to please. It was the first time, however, that they were coming to stay overnight and we weren’t too sure what to expect. True to form, I went for the “Plan to the Last Detail” option...so in anticipation of their visit, we’d stocked up on what we hoped would be suitable tots’ fare (fish fingers, mini pizzas, frozen peas and chocolate yoghurt pots), we’d dug out all the animated DVDs we own and had researched suitable (hopefully fun) activities in the area.

Within seconds of their arrival, our usually neat and uncluttered childfree couple’s home was snowed under the metric tonne of (necessary) paraphernalia that seems to accompany small people....bright pink and purple miniature coats and dinky boots lined in the hallway, toys and books were strewn across the lounge, a rainbow of plastic plates, non-spill cups and cutlery occupied half the kitchen work surface and there was a game of furniture tetris being played out in the guest bedroom, to accommodate the travel cot and inflatable mattress that had been added to the residential twin beds, wardrobe and sets of drawers.

Their visit coincided with the worst storm to hit Britain in a year...so anything outdoors was ruled out on the Saturday. Instead we took them to an indoor “soft play” centre with loads of slides, ropes and ball pools....and (thankfully) a coffee shop where adults can take refuge. Anyone contemplating parenthood should probably be required to visit places like this as a training exercise....or perhaps an acid test to see if they can hack it. I certainly took strain from the assault on the senses of hordes of excited children letting off steam, tots throwing tantrums left and right (not our party of course!)....and from getting bombarded from all angles by flying plastic pool balls. Quite literally, an in-your-face reminder of why I’m happy to remain on the sidelines as an auntie and godmother, but no more.

The girls had a fabulous time playing and were worn out by the end of the afternoon...which meant they happily had supper, were bathed and in bed well before 7 pm, leaving their exhausted parents (and even wearier godparents) to spend some adult time together. A chicken was roasting in the kitchen oven, we were onto the second bottle of wine and, as it was a chilly night, we thought we’d fire up our rarely used gas stove for a cosy ambience. Pretty soon, a plume of grey smoke started billowing out the front of the stove. At first I didn’t take too much notice, quelling our friends' curious looks, with “Don’t worry; it normally does that, just a bit of dust burning off the surface of the coals”. However, when dense black fumes started filling the lounge, I decided to take a closer look and spied what appeared to be a foil package smouldering on the top of the oven. The package turned out to be a pack of blackcurrant vitamin pastilles, slowly melting into a pool of burnt sugar. It was probably “posted” through the slot at the top of the stove by one of the girls at some point earlier in the day. No serious damage done....once the stove had cooled down and the top plate removed, the congealed syrupy mess could be easily scrapped away. There is a prevailing smell of chargrilled blackcurrants that will probably be with us for a while yet.

By Sunday, the weather had cleared and we were all keen for a bit of fresh air and sunshine. For the first time in the five years we’ve been living in our village, we went down to our local park so the girls could play on the swings...I say girls, but we all had a go, including their 6-foot-7-inches tall Daddy (his legs tucked awkwardly underneath the swing bucket). Not surprisingly, I haven’t been on a swing for a few decades. I found it quite exhilarating....the wind in your hair, the feeling of (almost) flying....it transported me right back to my childhood. Does give a whole new spin on having a “swinging weekend” though...