Mumsnet: beware lawsuits from angry childcare experts
A few weeks ago my children were drinking bleach in the kitchen while I was once again wasting time on the Mumsnet talkboards (Mumsnet is an online community of mothers sharing advice and support). Life with small children is boring. Small children do not appreciate my witty asides, opinions on current affairs or snide comments about people who are more clever and successful than me. My carefully refined skills in sarcasm and irony go over their lice-ridden heads. Years of developing a repertoire of hilarious office banter stagnate in the hamster-wheel of laundry and hoovering that defines my life as the mother of small children. So, like a lot of mothers—over 250,000 a month visit Mumsnet—I spend more time than I would like to admit on internet talkboards.
Talkboards are the office floor for stay-at-home mothers who want to joke, debate, talk, swear a lot, argue about the best way of using up sausages—basically to get a bit of intellectual stimulation. People are fiercely loyal to their talkboards. You get to know the regulars and they become like the people at work on the desks next to yours. You throw comments into the ether and you know how people will respond, what will make them laugh and what will get their backs up. Talkboards feel cosy. And it's easy to imagine that your comments are only being listened to by your select group of fellow "posters" and will simply disappear afterwards, like when you mutter about your boss to your colleague by the photocopier.
In July I found myself once again gaily ignoring the children so I could log on to Mumsnet to discuss a controversial childcare guru who had teamed up with a washing powder manufacturer for a laundry promotion. "Win a one-to-one consultation with Gina Ford!" warned the blurb, and I was debating the promotion with some other virtual mummies.
Some mummies were incensed about the promotion and declared that they had emptied their stock of washing powder down the toilet. Others said they would actually rather relish the chance of a one-to-one with Britain's number one childcare guru and the author of The Contented Little Baby Book, and we concluded that we would rush out to bulk buy washing powder in the hope of a golden ticket. All in all, it was a funny, flippant and light-hearted conversation.
Somewhere in the middle of the chat, a new poster popped in. "What's so bad about Gina Ford?" she asked. Heated arguments for and against the childcare guru's methods are inevitable on any parenting site; an off-the-cuff joke seemed an easy way of avoiding getting drawn in. "She straps babies to rockets and fires them into south Lebanon." I typed. Ho. Ho. Ho. As soon as I'd posted it, I knew I'd made a mistake. Someone was inevitably going to take me up on such a crude Israel-as-aggressor cliché. We'd been arguing about the extent of such a bias in the British press on another thread. I was poised to apologise. I waited for a backlash but no one picked me up on it. Several posters typed back "pmsl" ("pissed myself laughing," a common internet chat term which takes on a disturbingly literal tone on a website visited by so many women whose pelvic floors are often referred to as pelvic doors). The next day, the thread had been deleted. I was relieved that I'd got away with my dubious joke.
The next Monday I logged on to Mumsnet, wanting a moan. My morning had been terrible. The children were ill and I had been busy sorting washing into sick-with-lumps and sick-with-milk-only (the former requires a pre-wash—a tip I'd learnt from Mumsnet). I was also suffering from a bout of mastitis and wanted some sympathy and advice from some of the breastfeeding-expert mummies.
Imagine my surprise when, before I even had a chance to moan about my swollen breasts, I was confronted with a letter from Gina Ford's solicitors, written just hours after my Lebanon comment, citing my joke as defamatory towards Ms Ford. At first, I thought it could not possibly be serious. I posted a public tongue-in-cheek retraction: "I apologise profusely to—insert name of any childcare guru that I may have offended by suggesting that they are involved in military action in Lebanon—and her followers for suggesting that she/they strap their babies to weapons of mass destruction or are involved in any way with the situation in Israel/Lebanon. I have read her book many times and can confirm that this IS NOT suggested as part of —any childcare guru's—recommended 'routine.' I also apologise to the people of Lebanon, Israel, Hizbullah and the surrounding middle east countries for any suggestion that they may be engaged in dialogue with—any such childcare guru—or her 'followers.' I apologise to any new mums who may have been confused by my post and would advise that if you are considering utilising your baby in any sort of warfare or military conflict, please speak to your health visitor first."
Pmsl, said everybody. By lunchtime however, the story had become embarrassingly popular. I sat with frozen peas on my breasts while each of the terrestrial channels made merry with my quote, which, out of context, seemed rather shocking. I cringed as it unfurled across my television screen, speechmarked and PowerPointed. I shuddered as it was read out on Channel 5 in a squawky middle-aged woman's voice. I sulked as nice mothers phoned in to the Jeremy Vine Show to describe me as immature. I groaned as Victoria Derbyshire on Five Live gravely described my post as a shocking defamation. "IT WAS A JOKE!" I protested to my toddler and baby, who were offering loud protests of their own that we were watching the news instead of Balamory.
I returned to my computer, persuading the children to "sort out" the contents of my office bin while I continually typed my quote into Google, watching the number of hits increase; 100… 200… 400… "Mummy's on the computer and can't play with you at the minute," announced the toddler to the baby, as I worried over the keyboard. (The baby took each piece of rubbish from the bin, putting them in her mouth to check for edible items and then shaking them to check for any musical qualities. The toddler sorted the bin contents into different colours.) American bloggers called me anti-semitic and I prayed that Gina Ford wasn't Jewish, or I was going to have to retire into a bunker in Ken Livingstone's garden. Ford herself issued a statement to various papers that she was upset at being called a terrorist. "THESE TERRORIST SLURS" shrieked the Evening Standard. I thanked God I live in the rural outback where no one reads the nationals.
Later in the day my mother turned up to look after the children so I could lie on the sofa and moan about my sore breasts. As usual, within minutes of her arrival she outranked me in parenting skills and the children played happily together on the rug while she ironed my partner's shirts to crisp perfection. "Stop spending so much time on the computer!" she barked at me. I tried to explain that I had unintentionally offended a famous childcare guru and the newspapers had referred to it. There was a pause and she pursed her lips. "Well," she snapped, "Turn it off and come downstairs before you get into any more trouble."
Google made obsessively tracking progress of my bad joke an easy task. A week after the solicitor's letter, the controversy had appeared in 35 newspaper articles. Ten days later and my quote had appeared on nearly a thousand websites. An online store started selling t-shirts depicting tiny swaddled babies strapped to rockets, with proceeds to Mumsnet and the NSPCC.
I have been a little bit put off from posting on talkboards. Recently someone posted asking how she should get her rubber menstrual Mooncup on to a plane with the hand luggage ban in place. My normal response would have been, "Can't you just shove it up your fanjo?" but I was prevented from posting a reply at the thought of my words scrolling across the screen on the Channel 4 lunchtime news, while the newscaster talked of "…causing serious and widespread offence…"
So, for a while at least, I really might just turn it off and come downstairs before I get into any more trouble.
A few weeks ago my children were drinking bleach in the kitchen while I was once again wasting time on the Mumsnet talkboards (Mumsnet is an online community of mothers sharing advice and support). Life with small children is boring. Small children do not appreciate my witty asides, opinions on current affairs or snide comments about people who are more clever and successful than me. My carefully refined skills in sarcasm and irony go over their lice-ridden heads. Years of developing a repertoire of hilarious office banter stagnate in the hamster-wheel of laundry and hoovering that defines my life as the mother of small children. So, like a lot of mothers—over 250,000 a month visit Mumsnet—I spend more time than I would like to admit on internet talkboards.
Talkboards are the office floor for stay-at-home mothers who want to joke, debate, talk, swear a lot, argue about the best way of using up sausages—basically to get a bit of intellectual stimulation. People are fiercely loyal to their talkboards. You get to know the regulars and they become like the people at work on the desks next to yours. You throw comments into the ether and you know how people will respond, what will make them laugh and what will get their backs up. Talkboards feel cosy. And it's easy to imagine that your comments are only being listened to by your select group of fellow "posters" and will simply disappear afterwards, like when you mutter about your boss to your colleague by the photocopier.
In July I found myself once again gaily ignoring the children so I could log on to Mumsnet to discuss a controversial childcare guru who had teamed up with a washing powder manufacturer for a laundry promotion. "Win a one-to-one consultation with Gina Ford!" warned the blurb, and I was debating the promotion with some other virtual mummies.
Some mummies were incensed about the promotion and declared that they had emptied their stock of washing powder down the toilet. Others said they would actually rather relish the chance of a one-to-one with Britain's number one childcare guru and the author of The Contented Little Baby Book, and we concluded that we would rush out to bulk buy washing powder in the hope of a golden ticket. All in all, it was a funny, flippant and light-hearted conversation.
Somewhere in the middle of the chat, a new poster popped in. "What's so bad about Gina Ford?" she asked. Heated arguments for and against the childcare guru's methods are inevitable on any parenting site; an off-the-cuff joke seemed an easy way of avoiding getting drawn in. "She straps babies to rockets and fires them into south Lebanon." I typed. Ho. Ho. Ho. As soon as I'd posted it, I knew I'd made a mistake. Someone was inevitably going to take me up on such a crude Israel-as-aggressor cliché. We'd been arguing about the extent of such a bias in the British press on another thread. I was poised to apologise. I waited for a backlash but no one picked me up on it. Several posters typed back "pmsl" ("pissed myself laughing," a common internet chat term which takes on a disturbingly literal tone on a website visited by so many women whose pelvic floors are often referred to as pelvic doors). The next day, the thread had been deleted. I was relieved that I'd got away with my dubious joke.
The next Monday I logged on to Mumsnet, wanting a moan. My morning had been terrible. The children were ill and I had been busy sorting washing into sick-with-lumps and sick-with-milk-only (the former requires a pre-wash—a tip I'd learnt from Mumsnet). I was also suffering from a bout of mastitis and wanted some sympathy and advice from some of the breastfeeding-expert mummies.
Imagine my surprise when, before I even had a chance to moan about my swollen breasts, I was confronted with a letter from Gina Ford's solicitors, written just hours after my Lebanon comment, citing my joke as defamatory towards Ms Ford. At first, I thought it could not possibly be serious. I posted a public tongue-in-cheek retraction: "I apologise profusely to—insert name of any childcare guru that I may have offended by suggesting that they are involved in military action in Lebanon—and her followers for suggesting that she/they strap their babies to weapons of mass destruction or are involved in any way with the situation in Israel/Lebanon. I have read her book many times and can confirm that this IS NOT suggested as part of —any childcare guru's—recommended 'routine.' I also apologise to the people of Lebanon, Israel, Hizbullah and the surrounding middle east countries for any suggestion that they may be engaged in dialogue with—any such childcare guru—or her 'followers.' I apologise to any new mums who may have been confused by my post and would advise that if you are considering utilising your baby in any sort of warfare or military conflict, please speak to your health visitor first."
Pmsl, said everybody. By lunchtime however, the story had become embarrassingly popular. I sat with frozen peas on my breasts while each of the terrestrial channels made merry with my quote, which, out of context, seemed rather shocking. I cringed as it unfurled across my television screen, speechmarked and PowerPointed. I shuddered as it was read out on Channel 5 in a squawky middle-aged woman's voice. I sulked as nice mothers phoned in to the Jeremy Vine Show to describe me as immature. I groaned as Victoria Derbyshire on Five Live gravely described my post as a shocking defamation. "IT WAS A JOKE!" I protested to my toddler and baby, who were offering loud protests of their own that we were watching the news instead of Balamory.
I returned to my computer, persuading the children to "sort out" the contents of my office bin while I continually typed my quote into Google, watching the number of hits increase; 100… 200… 400… "Mummy's on the computer and can't play with you at the minute," announced the toddler to the baby, as I worried over the keyboard. (The baby took each piece of rubbish from the bin, putting them in her mouth to check for edible items and then shaking them to check for any musical qualities. The toddler sorted the bin contents into different colours.) American bloggers called me anti-semitic and I prayed that Gina Ford wasn't Jewish, or I was going to have to retire into a bunker in Ken Livingstone's garden. Ford herself issued a statement to various papers that she was upset at being called a terrorist. "THESE TERRORIST SLURS" shrieked the Evening Standard. I thanked God I live in the rural outback where no one reads the nationals.
Later in the day my mother turned up to look after the children so I could lie on the sofa and moan about my sore breasts. As usual, within minutes of her arrival she outranked me in parenting skills and the children played happily together on the rug while she ironed my partner's shirts to crisp perfection. "Stop spending so much time on the computer!" she barked at me. I tried to explain that I had unintentionally offended a famous childcare guru and the newspapers had referred to it. There was a pause and she pursed her lips. "Well," she snapped, "Turn it off and come downstairs before you get into any more trouble."
Google made obsessively tracking progress of my bad joke an easy task. A week after the solicitor's letter, the controversy had appeared in 35 newspaper articles. Ten days later and my quote had appeared on nearly a thousand websites. An online store started selling t-shirts depicting tiny swaddled babies strapped to rockets, with proceeds to Mumsnet and the NSPCC.
I have been a little bit put off from posting on talkboards. Recently someone posted asking how she should get her rubber menstrual Mooncup on to a plane with the hand luggage ban in place. My normal response would have been, "Can't you just shove it up your fanjo?" but I was prevented from posting a reply at the thought of my words scrolling across the screen on the Channel 4 lunchtime news, while the newscaster talked of "…causing serious and widespread offence…"
So, for a while at least, I really might just turn it off and come downstairs before I get into any more trouble.
