I’ve been watching the fascinating Undercover Boss, where every week the owner of a big conglomerate disguises himself whilst working amongst his more lowly employees. It’s amazing what the boss learns working under cover, seeing the other side of the coin. But then comes the best bit: seeing the workers’ faces when the boss reveals himself, corrects all the wrongs in the workplace, and then rewards deserving staff. That’s what’s wrong in the wider world: everyone sees only their own interpretation of what’s wrong. So many individuals display a deep feeling of injustice caused by ‘others’, who all seem to have what they haven’t. So, what’s the solution? Should we all live in a global commune then, where equal amounts of money are handed out in an equitable system? Sounds like something of which Karl Marx might have approved, yet it was he who said the only way forward was by “revolutionary terror”. So that’s no good. We all want peace, not war. Back to square one then. And me? I’ve learned from the Undercover Boss programme. Empathy is all important. Try to put yourself in others’ shoes and do small things to help those in need. Only then can we understand the ills of this world and come together.
22nd August 2021
Flaming August. Typical non-stop rain here. So, to cheer myself up, I wondered whether a hop over the pond was feasible, especially as our son’s due to have a big birthday next year. But first, I must check our passports. After reading several FB posts on the subject, I discovered that both our passports were already out of date. I knew about the 6 month rule but you actually have to ignore the expiry date - in our case April 2022 - and go by the issue date, which was December 2011! What’s the point of giving you an expiry date then? Good job I discovered all this in time. Imagine if we’d turned up at LHR, only to be sent away again. The good news, though, is that you can now renew a British passport entirely online, including the photos. However, it has to be a recent photo, without glasses, and for me no hiding behind gauze or taken in candlelight! And every time you get it wrong, the system tells you ‘horrible, do it again.’ But I didn’t look any better after 10 attempts. Ah, the traumas of being an older woman. Him indoors, though, had his accepted first time. Typical. And then came the cost. Once you add in the price of secure delivery, it came to a horrifying £80 each! Sorry son. It might have to be Margate next year instead….
15th August 2021
A difficult week. I’ve gone the gamut of feeling completely worthless, from the lows of feeling everything I write is a waste of time, to feelings of personal rejection by everyone, and on to the nadir of ‘what’s the point’ syndrome. But then came Thursday. Not normally a day I relish. Everything bad in my childhood seemed to happen on that day of the week. When grandma went missing and we got that phone call from Belgrave Road police station, it was Thursday. Ever since that day, we eyed that heavy black telephone, with its twisted brown cord, with fear and trepidation. And when the infernal thing jarred us awake, especially on a Thursday, no-one wanted to answer because we knew what would lie behind the sweaty listening piece. Yet more bad news. Even today, when our fixed line rings or my iphone hums its tune, I feel sick with dread. But last Thursday we’d been invited to a lunch club. Would have been churlish to refuse just because of some foolish childhood angst, so we went. I’m so glad we did. Diners there looked genuinely interested in me and my writing. Readers were buying my book. One was even interested enough to ask how, with my latest novel, alternate pages were headed with author name on each left-hand page, title on the right, and how I’d found the cover image. My answer: a professional formatter, of course. I couldn’t have done it. Thank you Mr Interested. You just might have buried my Thursday syndrome once and for all. Will let you know next Thursday….
8th August 2021
When I first started as a writer, I just let my imagination flow wherever it wanted to go. So, along the way, ten books were published in an eclectic array of genres, three of which were non-fiction. But recently, my views have changed. When I look down today’s Sunday Times best-seller lists, nothing really catches my eye as being worthy. A motley collection of crime/thriller/celebrity books, here today, gone tomorrow. As an avid world news follower, I’ve long wanted some of the wrongs to be tackled. As far as racism is concerned, and in particular anti-semitism, I waited and waited for someone to write about it. Of course there’ve been many academic tomes written by excellent authors such as Schama, Montefiore and the like. But what was needed was a novel aimed at ordinary people, something with a powerful message wrapped up in an engrossing story. So, I decided to write it myself. The Meleke Stone is now born, via a traumatic publishing journey, but now available via the icon on the right. I simply want racism to stop for good. Below is a copy of the novel’s Author Note, giving further justification for its genesis.
“..Author’s Note
Someone once said to me that truth often takes a back seat for those with subliminal, obsessional, lifelong-held racist views. It seemed to me, therefore, that in these days of free access to social media, which unfortunately gives a voice to many ill-educated, unsubstantiated, racist viewpoints, it was time to put the record straight.
So, the foregoing story is the culmination of a project I have been working towards all my life. I wanted to write an enthralling, engrossing narrative but with a serious moral behind it. By bringing together two fictitious characters from different ethnicities, one Jewish, the other an Egyptian Muslim - conflating their alternative personal histories and previous mindsets about each other – the story leads them to a lifelong friendship.
I built on the knowledge I learned at first hand when living in Toulouse, France, over a twelve year period. In so doing I was able to give my characters a shared, common background in being expelled from their original homelands and struggling to establish a new life in a different country.
By researching the true, peer-reviewed, archaeological evidence which substantiates the rights of the Jewish people to return to the land of Israel – from whence they’ve been ousted countless times by wave after wave of different tribes over four thousand years - I’ve attempted to alleviate much heartache in the world and draw on man’s similarities rather than perceived differences.
I hope I’ve succeeded, not for any personal reasons, but on behalf of all the Jewish people in the world who are crying out for justice and to put a stop to all the passed-down inaccuracies and hurtful personal parodies that continue to this day. All the Jewish people have ever wanted is to live in peace in their own, tiny piece of land.
That’s why I wrote the poem at the novel’s conclusion. Its message is important enough to repeat again here. That was my single, most urgent rationale for writing this book. Let’s hope it does some good in the world so that, whatever colour, faith or creed people espouse, we can all live in peace and brotherhood with each other.
At early morn’ I had a dream
that man would cease his futile scheme
Blazing battles, suicide missions
Murder, hatred, crazed seditions
Plumb the depths, re-appraise
Be none so blind, none so fazed
Halt the fight, tribe v tribe
Suffused with hate and diatribe
But see with eyes afresh from birth
We’re all one tribe – that of Earth
Olga Swan
2021……”
1 August 2021
When I was 11, I was quite good at the high jump (scissor style) until, for no reason, I suddenly became frightened of the landing. I couldn’t compete after that, so understand the feelings of that US gymnast. But I’ve always been fascinated by how different body shapes do well in certain events. The thin Ethiopians, for example, always perform well at long-distance running whilst the Jamaicans excel at the 100m. When I worked at a university, a physiologist showed me how ‘fast-twitch’ muscles are always best suited for sprinting or strength sports. Do black athletes who have this type of muscle, then, have an unfair advantage? Similarly, should very tall basket ball players be disqualified, or Caucasian swimmers penalised with their more wiry body physiques? Where do you draw the line? But my biggest gripe is the female gymnast/beach ball/athletics outfits. One long-jumper, after the event, was quietly advised to wear longer shorts because of inadvertent indecent exposure. Alarmingly, instead of thanking the female judge, she lodged a formal complaint! No excuse why they can’t follow the lead of the female swimmers and footballers, whose outfits are similar to those of the males. No need to do the high jump looking like a pole dancer!
