Do I look like an idiot? Or: #DearPR...

Dear PR,

let me start by saying that today has not been the least stress-free day I've ever known.  It's not your fault that I'm crawling, bloodied but unbowed, towards the end of Week 3 of my sons' 10 week summer holiday, that our compound now resembles nothing so much as a ghost town without a single other child for them to play with, or that they spent this morning squabbling and fighting in the back of the car both ways during a trip to the supermarket that took four hours from the moment we left the house to the moment we returned. Not your fault; I know that.

Neither is it your fault that I lost it with the Boys only half a mile from home, pulled over and gave them a good talking to, insisting in a completely over the top 'shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted' manner on complete silence for the remaining 5 minutes of the drive.

I also can't blame you for the fact that Moscow's current heatwave has brought the mosquitoes out in high numbers, forcing me to sit here at my desk armed with some heavy-duty Raid to squirt hopelessly at the little blighters as they feast on my shins - again.

And of course it has nothing at all to do with you that right now my hormones are playing havoc with my emotions; possibly if I had received your email this time next week my response would be a little less... shouty.

OK.  None of those things are your fault.

Now let's get onto what is.

Specifically, this:

'Please no not mark the article as 'sponsored' or 'paid for' - if you have a policy on your website to declare third party content, please mark this as a 'Guest Post'"* or "Featured Article".'


I know, Dear PR, that I look but a smidgen of my true age (that's what my bathroom mirror tells me before I put my contact lenses in, anyway).  But do you think I was (expletive deleted) born yesterday?  You are asking me for what is labelled in my rate card as a 'Sponsored' post.  'Sponsored' as in a clear sign that the post has been 'paid for'.  It will be paid for however it's labelled; you know that, I know that.  And bearing in mind that I don't carry "Guest Posts", and have never run a "Featured Article", I strongly suspect that 'The Potty Diaries' readers - who, given their choice of blog are obviously a pretty smart bunch - would be able to work out that it has been paid for too, if I used either of those labels.

May I refer you, in fact, to an excellent post on this very subject from Tots 100? What you are asking me to do - albeit in a small way, but you're asking it all the same - is to break the law.  


The Tots 100 post says; '... the OFT guidelines state that online promotional activity, just like any other promotional activity, must clearly identify when promotions and editorial comment have been paid for, so that consumers are not misled. (if you didn’t know, you can see the OFT guidelines as they relate to bloggers right here)**

So yes, I said 'no thank you' to your kind offer.  The money you were offering would have been very handy, I have to admit, but see that badge on the sidebar?  The one that says 'Brit Mums Blog With Integrity'?

I've moved it further up to make it more visible - in the hope I don't have to deal with this type of nonsense in the future.

***********

Tell me, other bloggers and any PR's who may have read this far; am I a naive idiot?  Or simply a principled blogger?  And what would you have done?


* the triple apostrophe is the PR's own, by the way.

** please click on the link to the original Tots 100 article for the link to the OFT guidelines.

I love comments, but...

Don't get me wrong; I love it when people comment on my blog.  More often than not, I reply to them (well, 'working from home' as I do, any opportunity to have communication with the outside world is welcome), and it's good to build up a dialogue with people in this way.

But I take exception to spammers using the comment box of The Potty Diaries to scatter their website address all over the internet.  Sure, there's a link automatically included on your name when you comment, and that's fine - more than fine, it's part of the fun of blogging, checking out where people write themselves and what they have to say - but for those people who appear out of the blue and say something like 'Great post. Here's a link to mine' with no justification or aim other than to drive traffic to a completely irrelevant and unrelated site, I have a message.

I can always hit delete - and I will. So please don't waste your time, or mine.

Stand clear - Rant in progress

I wouldn't say that our family routine on a school day is boring, exactly, but...

Oh, alright. If you look at it as a straightforward series of events, without the light relief of personal interaction with other members of the family, it is. It is boring.

Mainly through necessity, but it is boring. Every day we get up, get the kids out of bed, chivvy them into their clothes, breakfast them, cajole them into their snow pants (at this time of year, anyway), take them to school, and - breathe... Then, the whole process is repeated in reverse at the end of the school day with the spicy additions of unpacking uneaten sandwiches from lunchboxes, wrestling with homework, tidying up toys (excuse me whilst I glance around the room, realise that yet again the only person interested in said tidying up is sitting at this computer, heave a deep sigh and decide once more to ignore the mess), and a bath. Sometimes, if I really want to go wild, I manage to read them another few pages of Harry Potter before it's lights out for the boys at 7.50pm. (What? OK. It's a fair cop - 8.00pm. Ish...).

That's it. Day in, day out, very little changes. Look away now thrill-seekers, because there are no surprises here...

So please, tell me;

Why is it, every day, just as one or other of the Boys is about climb in the bath and I'm waiting for them with hands dripping with antibacterial lotion ready to oil them up before they get into the water* they suddenly realise they absolutely must, this instant, this very moment, go to the loo for something that more often than not will take longer than just a moment, and which invariably results in my telling them that on no account are they to do it in the bathroom where I'm undressing /supervising the undressing of their brother, and to get themselves to the downstairs toilet facility pdq.

I mean, it's not as if this is a new and exciting development in our day, this 'taking a bath before bedtime'. For the majority of their lives, they have finished their days clean for reasons that involve a tub, warm water, and plenty of splashing about. Neither are Nature's processes and the management of those news to them; this blog may be called 'The Potty Diaries', but that's for mainly sentimental reasons rather than because I still involve myself with that side of their hygiene, thankyou very much...

So why is it that they can't go to the loo when I tell them I'm going to run the bath, in the 5 - 10 minute window before I ask them to come and get into it, rather than waiting until just about the time I have cream all over my hands and no place to put it if not on them*? Why? Dear god, WHY???

* Don't ask about the cream, it's an eczema thing**

** Actually you can ask if you're struggling with the condition in your children and want to, just drop me a note. Always happy to help...

MY Tipping Point

As a rule, I don't write contentious posts, at least - I don't think I do. The reason for that is simple, and it's not that I don't have any contentious thoughts and opinions. Of course I do, just like everyone else. Normally, however, I keep them to myself and keep the content on this blog 'U' rated, especially since I moved here. Don't rock the boat, keep your head below the parapet, don't -whatever you do - call attention to yourself from parties you would prefer not be looking at what you write. That's my mantra, and whilst it's sometimes stifling I stick to it for the good of my family.

Funny though; it's the unexpected stories which can be the ones that cause you to reach the tipping point.

In this instance, it's The Case of the Killer Cucumbers*. Forgive me; I am not mocking the hundreds of people who are currently suffering from E.Coli or the families of those who have died, it's just that - as you'll see - the way it's been handled here (and by 'here' I'm hoping you'll understand I am referring to my current place of residence without actually naming it) - is so farcical as to require a ridiculous title.

The outright ban of all fresh produce from the EC that is currently in force here is a complete nonsense, and it appears that the local populace know it. Nevertheless, it will remain in force for the moment. Why? Because this situation ticks so many boxes.

It panders to the fear that many people here have of 'Elsewhere'. ('We TOLD you they were all out to get us!' Don't mock; this a widely-held view about other nations, born of 70 years of paranoia-inducing propaganda). It allows the government to throw it's weight around on the world stage (as if it needs another opportunity), in an arena that is being watched closely by potential voters still making their mind up about who to support in future elections. It gives the government levers to use in attaining their own ends in various on-going negotiations with the EC (did somebody mention Visas? Not me...).

And it gives local suppliers the opportunity to reap the rewards of a market temporarily free of European competition. Funny how the decision to put the ban in place was taken by a government minister who just happens to have substantial interests in a company that holds the lion-share of the market in locally-grown fresh produce, isn't it?

But it's none of those things that have driven me to write a post I may well take down after I've given it considered thought. I mean, things like this happen all the time, all over the world, as my husband will no doubt tell me (as he asks me to delete this); this is not a country alone in such situations.

No, what makes me really mad about this is that of all the local people I've spoken to (and admittedly, I haven't stood on a street corner with a clipboard, but there are limits to what even I will do for my blog), every single person knows all - ALL - of the above about the way their country works. And, whilst they may regret it, and wish that things didn't work that way, not one of them really expects anything different.

They throw up their hands, smile apologetically, and say "It's just the way things work, here."

And that's what makes me mad. Because they deserve better.

*And I know, it's probably not cucumbers that are the root of th problem...