I've just blown in from Windy Castle

You've got to respect the evil genius who came up with the idea for Peppa Pig World. You've also got to respect the evil genius who came up with Peppa Pig, but that's for a different post that I won't be writing. I have seen enough of the winsome adenoidal juvenile piggie participating in a variety of unthreatening yet knowingly ironic humorous activities with her eccentric middle-class family and colourful cast of alliterating animals. Usually I check my emails on my phone while Monkeyrina has her daily fix. Once she asked for the same episode 8 times in succession. It wasn't even one of the classics (the "Who is Miss Rabbit?" one, for example, or the funfair episode that has led to a family catchphrase of "A pound?!" every time we have waste cash on some useless child-related frippery.) No, it was the obscure tooth fairy episode, which Monkeyrina seems to have regarded as training for her future career of sneaking into people's homes at night to rummage under their pillows. It's not a typical way for dentists to behave but, who knows, perhaps the NHS cuts and the public's unwillingness to pay for private treatment are having an effect.

So one day this evil genius strode into a boardroom with an evil proposal to unite the popular toddler religion of Peppadom with new and imaginative ways of extracting money from their parents ("A pound?!"). Take one obscure and slightly shabby Hampshire theme park, mix with an expensively procured licence, spend £6 million on design and build, invest in a frankly ubiquitous marketing campaign, await pester power and sit back and enjoy the profits.

Happy exicted toddlers, happy revitalised Paulton's Park, happy A1 Entertainment shareholders.

And the parents?

We got there at opening time on a Tuesday in June and it was absolutely heaving. Batallions of pushchairs and purposeful striding towards the comparatively small corner of the park in which Peppa resides. The queues for each ride were half an hour or more - just what you need when potty training. I've never seen so many tantrums, and that was just the mums.

But I have to admit it was well done. It's new, of course, so not yet covered in kiddie sick and chewed gum. It was clever and colourful and lovingly created - just like the TV series. The rides were well judged for the riders' ages, and the playground was one of the best I've seen (and, believe me, I've seen a lot). All the main characters were there, and even some quite obscure ones, which Mr B (who doesn't always have his phone handy when reruns are on) was able to identify for us. There were even people (I assume they were people) in Peppa and George suits, greeting their loyal subjects. Monkeyrina wasn't fooled, however - she knows the real Peppa is made of stone and can be accessed via a hole in the TV.

So what? Well, the fact of it being a promotional triumph, a case study in creating and fulfilling a demand, should be enough. But some other points struck me:

• The pricing structure was unique in my experience - no children's discounts - anyone under a metre is free and anyone over a metre pays £21. ("21 pounds?! That's a lot of pocket money"). 
• There was an overpriced snack bar, of course but we, in a rare moment of proper parenthood, had brought our sandwiches. Our ironic bacon sandwiches. There were no obvious picnic tables, at least none I spotted until after perching on a bench munching Peppa's relatives. Bringing your own food rather than purchasing it from the park did not seem to be encouraged.
• The rest of the park, and there was quite a lot of it, was virtually deserted. This probably tells you something about why Paultons and Peppa were united but is also a good tip if you don't want to queue for what Monkeyrina called the adult roundabout.
• I hear there's a Dolly Parton World. I wonder if it's similar?

Nothing we could offer for the rest of the holiday quite lived up to such toddler heaven. Even the Isle of Wight ferry, although it was a close-run thing. Now we're back in Home World (so to speak) and, after spending all that money, we have our photos to remind us of the day, and they're free. Apart from the official portrait of Moneyrina in Madam Gazelle's classroom. That was £8 ("8 pounds?!") but she looks so happy to be meeting her heroes, even if they were not made of stone, that we we were happy to spend it. 

So there's some inspiration for the cynical for you, right there.

One step beyond

Last day of corporate life - goodbyes said, thank you cards read, tears shed. Now on to greater things, or at least a barbecue and a few glasses of cider.

People keep asking me how I feel. I feel busy. Or buzzy, as Mr B puts it. As much as I enjoy a chargrilled burger, a cool drink and a small child smearing me in damp rose petals ("Do you like my perfume, mummy? Why don't you want it on your tights?"), I can't relax if I'm not buzzing around making plans and compiling lists and writing web copy and creating design briefs for WordFire's visual identity. I'm not exactly going to be sitting around watching Jeremy Kyle and eating doughnuts.

But why not? This is my big chance to do nothing of any particular value for as long as I like. How fantastic!

How tedious. Now I won't be wasting my days working for someone else, there is so much I can do to fill my time:

1. I will read a novel every week.
2. I will meet a friend for lunch every Wednesday.
3. I will...

Hang on, Buzzy Ju. This is real life now. Why set targets for things that are supposed to be fun? Make a list, by all means, but make it aspirational. Hell, make it inspirational. Find the river. How do I really want to spend my time?

1. I want to read as many novels as I can. My Kindle will be loved.
2. I want to gossip over morning coffee, have long leisurely lunches and chatty teatimes and candlelit dinners. Maybe all on the same day.
3. In order to sustain Point 2, I want to join the gym,stay upright in Zumba classes, raise my weights in Body Pump, jog in the early morning mists, lose half a stone and feel brighter, fresher, fitter.
4. I want to say, "Yes, why not?" more often to Monkeyrina and Mr B. Even if it means what I'd planned to do that moment isn't done until later.
5. I want to keep in better touch with my friends, via whatever medium they prefer. Even if it's by phone.
6. I want to make new friends. The world is full of fascinating people.
7. I want to watch TV shows I've never seen before. Jeremy Kyle excepted.
8. I want to make time for Mr B. Parallel laptops is nice, but so is actually speaking to each other.
9. I want to do things I don't want to do. It's usually for the best.
10. I want to stay passionate and excited and committed to WordFire, so that I can stand up and say "This is mine. This is what I made. This is what I am."

 That seems like a life worth living to me.

Inspiration for the cynical

Hey there, little speedyheads. Join me in the river flow - come on in, it's warm in here.

Let's start with the basics. This blog's name is adapted from the REM song, "Find the River" (the last, glorious track on 1992's Automatic for the People, and therefore the last decent song they recorded). Google the lyrics and interpret them as you will, but I see it as a call to freedom, to escape from self-imposed rules , from the restrictions imposed by work or by society, to find your own way, to go with your own flow. 

Incidentally, my first choice of name for this blog was "Find the River" but it was claimed in 2003 by someone who made two entries in a language I can't read and never updated it again. Which turned out to be a fitting opportunity for me, not being blessed with any particular creative powers, to think a little laterally and find what turns out to be a far more inspirational name. 

And that's what I'll try to share. Calls to freedom are not my speciality. I'm pretty straight-laced, down-the-line, more train track than meandering stream. Cute husband (Mr B), cute daughter (Monkeyrina), house, car, job, blah. As my occasional C of E tendencies suggest, I'm not particularly spiritual, and I'm not inclined to warble on about chakras. I am cursed - blessed - cursed with an enquiring mind - I'm the sort of person who can't relax during a massage because I'm wondering why salons always assume you want to listen to pan-pipes while a stranger rubs your back. My idea of spontaneous is going to Morrisons instead of Tesco. My idea of daring is not typing an apostrophe before the S in Morrisons even though the omission is their brand style. My idea of a fun Saturday night is sitting beside Mr B, each with our laptops, as I write my blog.

So when the opportunity presented itself to look for new challenges (that's LinkedIn speak for being at risk of redundancy) I surprised myself with my enthusiasm for seizing them. The redundancy process is long and torturous, and I may not even manage to escape, but life is suddenly full of possibility, of painting and writing and dancing and being somewhere other than a badly lit office for 8 hours a day while the world spins on. 

More prosaically, I also have to pay the mortgage, so self-employment as a freelance proofreader / copy editor / copywriter / enquiring minder seems to be an option for at least some of my time.

So where does the inspiration come in? Once you start to look,  it is there in every imaginable form (remember, my imagination is a little, well, little). Sometimes it comes to you, as song, a phrase, a person. Sometimes it is brought to you, by a friend with a book or a blog. And sometimes you have to go out and find it.

So share the journey with me. Let's find the river and cast our dreams into the flowing water.

This is where I should insert an arty photo of a rising moon. But that would be too predictable. And I don't have one. So here's another wonder of nature - the inside of a tulip. It's included not just a shameless excuse for showing a photo I'm proud of taking (it's in focus and everything) but, close up, tulips don't look quite as you'd expect them to, do they? Rawer, more exposed. Hmm, I feel a metaphor coming on.