The Daily Record - Shari Low

Braced for the long hol on family flights abroad

2012-07-26T06:30:30Z

DEAR travellers, you might want to put your head between your knees and adopt the brace position.

In the most outrageous airline profiteering since Ryanair contemplated charging for the loos, some package tour companies are charging a supplement to guarantee that parents will be seated next to their kids on holiday flights.

In the name of the Patron Saint of Excess Luggage, how can this happen?

The charge - £30 for adults and £12 for a child - adds up to... actually, I'll save that calculation for another day. Next time I'm sitting next to wee Boaby, the child genius from Amasmartwan, I'll ask him. It'll break the ice while his mum and dad spend the £72 quaffing champers 25 rows ahead of us.

Now that my boys are 10 and 11, travelling is relatively stress-free, but over the years, I've come across some horror stories - most of them written in my diary after being incarcerated in a speeding aluminium tube for several hours with two
under-fives.

There have been tears, tantrums, endless complaints and relentless sulks. And the kids haven't always behaved themselves either.

I used to marvel at those families who strolled up to the check-in desk in matching Gap outfits, all rosy-cheeked while giving a happy chorus of, "We're all going on a summer holiday".

I'd be the frantic mess, screeching down the departure lounge 10 seconds before the gate shuts, clutching miscellaneous plastic bags, an inflatable crocodile and two children, while being followed at a distance by a husband who was pretending not to know us.

On board, things didn't get any better. The flight from Dublin, when my teething eight-month-old exercised his lungs the whole way, was as traumatic as navigating the 100-metre seat scrum from the terminal building to the budget aeroplane.

Then there was the flight to Los Angeles when my toddler tipped his dinner over me and I had to wear spaghetti bolognese with an apple sauce pudding for eleven and a half hours.

Thankfully, the experience was numbed due to the fact that I was suffering from a minor concussion caused by being skelped over the head by a Buzz Lightyear doll.

I was scarred for life after another long-haul flight with no TVs that forced us to pass 12 hours playing I Spy. By hour six, I got stuck at H for Help, please, anyone?

I flew to Spain with a newly toilet-trained three-year-old who decided he needed to go to the loo 146 times. Yes, I know he just wanted to play with the funny soap dispenser, but with a baby that's been out of nappies for a month and a half, you don't take risks unless you're wearing waterproof shoes. But all of these incidents and many more are just part of the deal when we travel with our children.

However, this ridiculous move raises a far more terrifying possibility. If some parents choose not to pay the supplement, we're left with the very real chance that the flying Buzz Lightyear could be wielded by an unrelated child whose mother is somewhere behind you, clutching a gin and tonic while immersed in the latest Jackie Collins.

Even the experts can see the concept for what it is. Richard Lloyd of Which? Said: "This is another example of airlines trying to squeeze extra money out of their customers."

He's right. It's a scheme that reeks of exploitation and it's utterly wrong.

The people behind it should be held to account, taught a lesson and made to see the error of their ways.

Twelve hours sitting next to two bored toddlers on a flight with no TVs should just about do it.

Lady Steel's tattoo an idea for first ladies

2012-07-26T05:32:11Z

LADY Steel has caused a commotion with the revelation that she had a jaguar tattooed on her shoulder at the age of 70, an image that was taken from her husband David's coat of arms.

Ignoring all sagging/Bagpuss jokes, there's something sweet and romantic about the tribute. It might even kick off a trend among the wives of former politicians for tattoos based on their husband's achievements. Laura Bush may want to start searching for a place for the loaded gun.

Mrs Clinton would need no explanation for her Cuban cigar. And as for Cherie and that snake...

● QUOTE of the week comes from my dearly beloved, as I filled him in on reports of a snazzy new car gizmo. "This thing is amazing," says I. "It recognises gestures and translates them into instructions for the car. If you wink, it turns the radio on, if you nod, it turns up the volume. Fancy buying me one for Christmas?"

He thought about it for a nanosecond. "Only if it screams for help when it sees you attempting to reverse park."

Sigh. Note to the manufacturers - please program this invention to translate severe harrumphing of the bosom into a recorded message informing husband that for the foreseeable future his dinner is in the freezer.

Disco pants are back in

2012-07-26T05:30:09Z

YOU'RE the one that I want, ooh ooh ooh, honey... Holy Olivia Newton-John, make it stop.

Those black spray-on disco pants have made a comeback, with fashionistas claiming they're one of the must-have wardrobe items this summer.

Sorry about the banging noise - that's me bouncing my forehead off my desk.

I'm taking consolation in the fact that those Lycra kecks on a chunky burd, such as myself, may not impress the fashion crowd, but at least nature lovers will find it appealing.

It's the closest they'll get to seeing two baby seals doing the samba.

Spark the children's creativity

2012-07-26T05:29:20Z

PARENTS, if you're running out of rain-avoiding activities for the kids, there's still time to motivate their inner-JK Rowling with our Big Read Competition.

All they have to do is pen a short story based on the picture shown and they're in with a chance of winning a Kindle Touch and £1000 worth of books for their school.

For full details, go to www.dailyrecord.co.uk/thebigread

PS: On the subject of all things literary, thanks for all the lovely letters and comments about our Book Club page every week in the Saturday magazine.

It has reviews, author chats, reader suggestions and a kid's corner.

If you have a favourite author, or if there's a book that has kept you glued to the sofa, we want to hear about it.

Send an email, with a couple of lines about the book, to bookclub@dailyrecord.co.uk

Omar will be back for more

2012-07-26T05:03:15Z

THIS week's PISH award (Porno Images Shock Heiress) is en route to Omar Khyami, chucked by Tamara Ecclestone after she discovered his starring role in a sex tape.

Ouch.

Mr Khyami leaves the relationship with a payoff consisting of a £123,000 Bentley, a £100k Range Rover, £80k worth of watches and trinkets worth more than a semi-detached house.

That's a drop in a liquid gold ocean compared with the lifestyle that came with being the daughter of F1 billionaire Bernie Ecclestone.

The £45million house, the jets and yachts will be difficult to leave behind.

Call me psychic Shaz, but this won't be the last we've heard of Omar. I'll bet my overdraft he'll take every opportunity to milk his notoriety.

Last month, a life of Formula 1. Next month, televised cage fighting with Alex Reid.

I'm not going to Elle and back for the school run

2012-07-19T05:59:32Z

WE'VE all seen the photos. I'd call them disturbing. Troubling. An irksome sight with the capability of evoking negative emotions.

Yep, for the sake of morale among the female population of the country, those pics of Elle Macpherson doing the school run in skinny leather trousers and skyscraper heels should be declared illegal.

Indulging in (admittedly jealousy-fuelled) eye rolling at early-morning celebs is one thing but, according to a survey, school run competitiveness is alive and well across the nation, with two-out-of-five mums feeling pressure to look good when they drop their wee angel off at the gates.

I'm clearly taking my two boys to Oblivion Primary, because I can honestly say I've never noticed school run clothing cattiness or wardrobe oneupmanship.

The only pressure I feel in the mornings is getting my sons clean from head to toe and deposited on time with the correct combination of football boots, musical instruments, books and dinner money.

Perhaps this state of blissful unawareness can be explained by the fact that I am to fashion what Alex Salmond is to Speedos.

I invariably dress in my standard Maw Uniform - black jeans, a shapeless black jumper and battered boots that are so old I'm fairly sure they were bought at the Dodge City branch of Matalan, right before the Alamo.

When the boys were younger, I considered it a triumph if my ensemble showed no visible evidence of foodstuffs, Play-Doh, or the toothpaste left by small child wiping his mouth on my shirt.

Unlike the 50 per cent surveyed who refuse to leave the house without full make-up, my grooming schedule extends to hair that looks like it's been styled by a wind tunnel and, if there's a splash of colour on my face, it's a shade of Hartley's Strawberry and came off my toast.

But I'm taking my children to school, not attempting to land an endorsement deal with H&M. Sure, I see many uber-glam mums waving their wee ones off, but I just assume that they're on their way somewhere nice or they're naturally organised and among the 42 per cent of women who pick out their clothes the night before.

Not for a single minute do I think that they've been up since 6am, bedecked in heated rollers while plotting to out-do the other mums in the fashion stakes.

So ladies, I'm disputing these findings. Surely we have enough to contend with, between juggling children, work, bills, the credit crunch, glass ceilings and the invention of Satan that is housework?

We've got more to worry about than whether Jeremy's mater has poured herself into Versace jeans and a pair of Jimmy Choos.

If you're unlucky enough to face that kind of competitive atmosphere, ignore it.

All that matters is that the kids get there safely before the
bell rings.

Besides, if events of the last couple of days are anything to go by, school-run skills are needed for so much more than just a morning catwalk.

Transportation hit the headlines this week, with the ferrying of the Olympic teams being described as chaotic. The American squad got stuck for four hours. The Australian athletes got lost for three.

I have a cunning plan. The Olympic powers that be should put school run mothers in charge of logistics.

The roads might be clogged, there
may be tantrums in the back, but somehow the mums will ensure their charges are deposited at the right place, at the right time.

If the teams are lucky, there will be jammy toast on the way.

If they're really lucky, the drivers will be glammed up, wearing outfits they picked out the night before.

They might even get the school run equivalent of a gold medal.

If Elle Macpherson's not too busy.

Poor Scarlett's too darn hot

2012-07-19T05:58:15Z

SPARE a thought for that poor wee lamb Scarlett Johansson, who has been sharing the pain of not winning roles because she is too sexy. Diddums.

Stay tuned for next week when the tortured soul wails that she can't think of ways to spend the £13million she's getting for the next Avengers movie and complains that she's getting sore elbows from polishing her diamonds.

● THIS week's esteemed PISH award (Posing Is Sheer Hypocrisy) is being dipped in perma-tan and sent in the direction of Cherie Blair.

The nauseating images of Tone and Cherie snuggling up to the Milibands at the party's sports dinner heralded the announcement that Blair is back in the Labour fold as a "policy adviser".

I'm confused. Isn't that woman who was grinning for the cameras the same one who walked away with a backward shout that she wouldn't miss the Press?

Didn't she bemoan the pressure that came with Tony's political office? If she really found the lack of privacy as taxing as she claimed, why allow the family to be brought back into the public eye?

There are only two explanations. She's a total pushover, or her ego misses the spotlight. And the Right Honourable QC is no pushover.

Queen of pop should bow to Adele

2012-07-19T05:57:11Z

MEMO to Madonna. Put them away, love, and join us in wishing huge congrats to Adele, who has been named the highest-paid British celebrity under the age of 30.

The 24-year-old chanter earned a perfectly pitched £22.5million last year and she didn't need to sing wearing nothing but a sequined bra and knickers. Or flash her nips.

Not that I'm keeping scores, but I make that Talent, 1. Titillation, Nil.

● STOP the press! Alert the universe! I think there may be an astronaut in an orbiting space station who hasn't yet heard Peter Andre has a new girlfriend. The news has created a huge splash, with every glossy mag running the story he is dating Emily MacDonagh.

So we've decided to jump on the bandwagon, with a heartfelt poem that beautifully encapsulates this relationship. Roses are red, Violets are cheaper, Chicks may come and go, But the publicity manager is a keeper.

● I'M backing Charlie Sheen against the latest scurrilous accusations from a former girlfriend.

Bree Olson claims that Charlie used to post on twitter while having sex. I refuse to believe this could be true on the grounds that it's cruel, unfeeling and would require a male member of our species to have the ability to multi-task.

Report's right up their alley

2012-07-19T05:56:23Z

THINGS You Couldn't Make Up, number 5067.

Or is it 5068? I'll commission a report to find out.

Apparently that's how decisions are made these days.

Some 76 Euro MPs gathered to decide on a name for a corridor in a Brussels building and couldn't agree on an answer, so they ordered a committee to report on the subject.

Should the final title be inspired by our current members, we can look forward to the grand opening of Le Ineffective Alley.

Rules of impulsive commitments

2012-07-19T05:55:01Z

AW, violins and pink fluffy hearts please. Katie Waissel, the annoying one from the 2010 season of X Factor, has got engaged to a US model only two months after meeting him.

I'm not judging, as that's one month, three weeks and two days longer than it took me to get engaged to my husband 20 years ago.

But in the name of the permanent marker, what were they thinking of getting matching tattoos instead of engagement rings?

Dear Katie, the first rule of impulsive commitments? Just buy a ring. Tattoos are a lot more expensive and painful to shift than a bloke you've realised you've got nothing in common with after the lust has worn off.

When it comes to packing a case, I'm in for long hol

2012-07-12T05:59:09Z

ANOTHER week, another addition to the "Pointless Research" pile.

According to a study, a woman takes 28 outfits on holiday. Good to see that in times of war, financial meltdown and Nick Clegg we continue to probe intellectual subjects of deep value to humanity.

However, I do actually agree with the conclusion.

Just as long as the holiday lasts no longer than a day and a half. Twenty-eight outfits? They obviously didn't interview anyone I know.

Once a year I head off for a weekend with my chums that necessitates a suitcase per person, each one of them so toe-crushingly heavy that we toss a coin to decide who has to remortgage the house if we go over the excess luggage limit.

When it comes to a whole fortnight of summer sun, the packing challenges are up there with space flight and persuading Vicky Posh to crack a grin.

Once upon a time there was Einstein's theory of relativity.

Then we had Darwin's theory of evolution. Now we have Shari's Theory of Summer Packing, which basically states that there's a direct relationship between my body weight and the number of outfits required.

When I was young, carefree and slim, I could throw a couple of T-shirts, a few pairs of tiny shorts and five Spandex dresses into a bag and jet off for a blast of sunshine.

Decades later, age, irrational anxiety and increased poundage have resulted in the need for the approximate storage capacity of a small oil tanker.

The day before we leave for a holiday now involves a ritual that includes trying on everything I've ever owned.

Then comes the relationship blip, otherwise known as "Dear Beloved Husband, Just Head For The Spare Room Now Because We'll Have Fallen Out By The End Of The Night".

This is caused by the following steps: I attempt to fit into every item I've owned since 1984. I berate myself for not sticking to the diet and decide I look rubbish in everything.

Husband then walks straight into the no-win situation from hell.

If he says, "You're right love, it doesn't look great", I come over all mortally offended.

And if he does the old, "No, darling, of course your bum doesn't look big in that", I accuse him of just saying that to humour me.

He'd be better going down the pub. That way, I'd still be in the huff but at least he'd have had a couple of pints and a game of pool to take the edge off the stress. But back to the packing.

After hours of deliberation, I panic and throw in the standard 36 different variations of outfits fitting the description "black and baggy".

Next in are the token summer items because in my desperate mindset I've somehow convinced myself that the minute I step off the plane at Malaga my white hotpants are going to fit me.

Then there's the "what if" section. What if it rains? What if it snows? What if we go somewhere posh? Or the biggy - what if we go to a theme park? This necessitates a waterproof poncho and a full medical kit, so that if bird flu hits somewhere between the merry-go-round and the flying teacups, we'll survive until we get to the nearest centre for disease control.

Not that we need to visit a roller-coaster because the whole family will already have had an adrenalin-fuelled experience with a spot of simultaneous surfing on top of the suitcase trying to get it shut. Twenty-eight items of clothing for a fortnight?

I hereby reject that as being ridiculously inaccurate. End of story. Case closed. For once.

Ramsay's bedroom nightmares

2012-07-12T05:58:16Z

FILE this one under Too Much Information.

Sir Gordon of the Effing Ramsay has been spouting forth about the downsides of hotel accommodation, saying that honeymoon suites should be avoided due to unsanitary conditions.

Researching the subject, he even deployed CSI-type equipment that uses a fluorescent light to check for the presence of dried body fluids. He said: "I did a black light search at one of these hotels. I swear to God, it lit up like a galaxy."

A galaxy? Altogether now, "Eeeeeew."

The moral of the story is, don't go away for a romantic weekend without your Marigolds and anti-bacterial spray. Or stay at home and stick to experiencing Milky Ways of the chocolate variety.

● Hang on to your pants, folks. An environmental quango set up to reduce waste is recommending that it would make a significant difference to the future of the planet if we were all to start recycling our underwear.

I'm at a loss as to how re-using my bras could save our world.

Unless of course there's a mad scientist on the verge of blowing up Earth. In which case, the SAS are welcome to use my over-shoulder boulder holder to parachute in to the rescue.

Tulisa ex is a real class act

2012-07-12T05:57:38Z

THIS week's esteemed PISH award (Pathetic Imbecile Snared Here) is being dispatched to Tulisa's ex-boyfriend Justin Edwards. Remember him?

He's the peach who denied, denied and denied again that he'd released their sex tape.

All very noble, right up until the point this week when, ooops, he confessed that he had indeed leaked it after all. Classy guy.

Tulisa shouldn't have been stupid enough to let herself be filmed in the first place but it was a foolish mistake by a teenager who could never have imagined it would come back to haunt her. Lesson learned.

Edwards is guilty of a gross breach of trust and publicity-seeking of the very worst kind. The only thing Tulisa is guilty of is teenage naivety and rubbish taste in men.

Fifty shades of Grey's Anatomy

2012-07-12T05:56:12Z

JUST when you thought you had the whole under-duvet sweaty stuff sussed out, along comes a whole new sexual practice called Karezza.

Based on the Italian word for caress, Karezza involves stimulating the partner to feel intense pleasure but stopping short of the orgasmic tickly bit.

Gents, don't be daunted, because I'm here to help. I've done a straw poll of my chums and we have concluded that this blissful result can either be achieved by the recommended technique of spending 20 minutes of close contact snuggling and stroking.

Or for those of us juggling kids, jobs and exhaustion, the same effects can be attained by delivering a large cuppa and a double bill of Grey's Anatomy.

Shoes sorry now?

2012-07-12T05:55:59Z

THERE we were, all geared up for an epic battle of cosmic proportions and Wee Tom the Pogo ruins it by reaching an amicable settlement with Katie Holmes.

The couple have even released a statement, saying they wish each other the best and are committed to a positive resolution for the sake of their daughter Suri. I wouldn't bet my last Top Gun DVD on the happy families act lasting.

According to reports, the agreement was expedited by the fact Katie relinquished claims to Cruise's dosh, asking only for child support. It's all sweetness and light now but stand by for ding ding, round two when Cruise reads the small print and realises he's been left with the tab for Suri's shoe bill.