How to scare your children
In which a moralist sets a bad example
Anne Atkins has scared me for a long time, after reading what she did to her son a few months back, I’m absolutely terrified.
In which a moralist sets a bad example
Anne Atkins has scared me for a long time, after reading what she did to her son a few months back, I’m absolutely terrified.
In which persuasion is better than force
In the news today: a slightly silly charity has said that people who give any booze at all to children should be prosecuted.
It’s silly, because, banning something doesn’t stop it happening. You can jump up and down and say “don’t do that” all you like, and it will still happen. You have to persuade people not to do it, rather than just tell them they can’t. These people don’t really seem to realise that.
In which we visit the Tate
Deciding to do something cultural whilst in the Big City, I visited Tate Modern to see Rachel Whiteread’s Embankment, her Turbine Hall installation made up of thousands of plastic casts of cardboard boxes.
As I’d visited the work warehouse earlier in the day, my first reaction was: “this isn’t a very neat warehouse”. My second reaction was “ooh, I could just do with a cup of tea”, because the stacks and stacks of white boxes make me think of a giant pile of sugar lumps.* One leak in the roof, and the whole thing would just dissolve.
It was good to see, though, that kids love Embankment. They were all over it, playing hide and seek, darting in and out between piles of boxes. It’s good to have art that you can get inside and move around in, and use for your own purposes like that. The kids might not be thinking about the plight of London’s homeless, but Art** isn’t just for the artist’s purposes. It’s what you make of it that counts.
* In fact, I’m tempted to make a model replica of Embankment entirely out of sugar cubes and starch paste.
** With a capital A, of course.
In which children should definitely be heard somewhat less
Walking through the town centre, I heard a piercing scream, loud enough to make me jump. “What the hell?” I thought, worried that something horrible was going on.
Turning the next corner, I found that something horrible was going on. “HOW LOUD IS YOUR CHILD COMPETITION,” said the sign. “WIN A BEAR.”
That’s really not necessary, I thought. Children are loud enough already. They don’t need encouragement to scream as loud as they possibly can, because it happens often enough in any case. If only it was a real bear.
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