Wisebirdswords

Royal Wedding Predictions

2018-05-19T08:01:00.000+01:00

Here are my predictions for Harry and Meghan's big day. How will you score?

	Prediction	Score
Meghan’s dress
Colour(cream/offwhite/ivory /white)	white
Train (none/short/medium/long)	none
Sleeves? (none/short/long/three quarter)	none
Headdress (Tiara/flowers/other)	Tiara
Hair (up/down/half and half)	Half and half
Bouquet (tied bunch/draping)	bunch
Bridesmaids and page boys:
Outfit Colour:	Pale pink
Royals – predict colour outfit/accessories
Meghan’s Mum	Peach/cream
Queen	Lemon/lemon
Kate	Royal blue/neutrals
Princess Anne	Peach/navy
Camilla	Pale blue/navy
Zara Phillips	Navy/cream
Beatrice	Turquoise/navy
Eugenie	Multi-coloured/black
Miscellaneous
What time will’ the kiss’ take place ?	13:05
Will one of the bridesmaids/pageboys misbehave or scene steal?	Yes
Who will have the worst outfit	Posh Beckham or Princess Beatrice	n/a
Will anyone fluff their lines? Y/N	No
How many people will line the streets of Windsor? (nearest wins)	250,000
UK TV Viewing (nearest wins)	15 million

2016-11-13T17:52:00.002+00:00

Suzanne

A story crafted in homage to Leonard Cohen

You could tell that she had been pretty once. Beautiful maybe. Even then, she seemed to have an ethereal quality – a luminescence. But of course, back in 1969 I was just a naive teenager so I didn’t possess such descriptive ability.

The first time I saw her is a lasting memory. I was skimming pebbles on the shoreline just as dusk was falling and she appeared, like an ambulant mermaid newly earthbound. I didn’t know what an aura was, but I knew that I needed to be in that hazy pink and green space around her. I was at that awkward stage, hovering between child and man, but she approached me with a warm smile and not a hint of condescension. ‘It’s all in the wrist action’ she laughed ‘and you need to bend low, just as low as you can get’. She demonstrated, and the result was impressive. ‘Wow!’ I immediately felt like an excitable buffoon but couldn’t hide my admiration. There was an instant recognition between us, a comfort borne out of familiarity from a previous life – soulmate stuff. My heart was racing and I had no idea why this unusual woman was having such an effect on me. I just knew that I wanted to spend time with her, to confirm what I already suspected, that this lady was going to be of great importance in my daily existence, in my blueprint for life.

Suzanne fascinated me and all my mates. She was the most exotic creature we had ever heard in our Cornish fishing village. She wore the type of clothes we had only seen before on T.V., like those hippies in San Francisco. Flowing gypsy skirts and cheesecloth tops, with her bra-less breasts clearly showing through the flimsy material. She lived in a shed behind the sailor’s church, just by the waterfront. Generations ago, families of fishermen would gather there when a boat failed to return from a trip out into the Atlantic so history always hung heavy in the surrounding atmosphere. I felt that if the wooden statue of Our Lady at the entrance to the harbour could speak, she would have many a tale to tell.

Perhaps Suzanne had many a tale too. She must have been in her mid forties – which seems positively ancient when you’re sixteen - yet still had a perfect body. She was very slim and her long blonde hair, tumbling with abandon half way down her back, gave her a child like appearance. Possibly her apparent fragility was due to years of drug abuse - her arms showed the tell tale scars. Or maybe the pain went deeper. But it was her face that was etched by time - and life. There was no bitterness in those bambi-like eyes, or anger in the full lips that held such promise. But the creases across her forehead and the deep lines framing her mouth were testament to tough times, too much sun and maybe a general disregard for her physical wellbeing. There was often a distance in her manner, too, just like a part of her was always somewhere else.

Suzanne was viewed with suspicion by most people in the harbour community. Except us lads. She was kind to us, very kind.

There was a story going round that anyone who came under her spell would be cursed. This was more likely a rumour started by jealous wives, because there was no doubt that Suzanne had an unsettling effect on the male of the species. She was credited with many affairs that were mostly fiction and they used to say that only lost men would want her. I never really knew what that meant.

To me – she was the most wonderful, unusual creature I had ever known. I used to imagine, lying on my bed looking at my pop art posters, what it would be like to be her lover, to travel with her to those special places in her mind, and those special places in her body.

Our mothers told us to stay away, but of course we didn’t. Ruled by surging testosterone levels, we were eager pupils and she was a willing teacher. I suspect that many a young lad became a man, a gift given with great care and generosity by the lady in the shed. Actually, it wasn’t really a shed, more of a wooden bungalow. We would be fishing from the harbour wall, smoking cigarettes and hoping that we looked really cool, and she would walk up to us and say ‘hello boys’ with her shy smile and occasionally invite one to join her.

Except for me. I had a very different view of Suzanne, with her incredible body and her complex mind.

She taught me so much, but not like the others. I used to go to her home and we would sit on purple cushions, smoking dope and drinking elderflower wine. Her bungalow was like an enormous bedsit – one large open space draped with rich coloured fabrics which gave the place the air of a Bedouin tent. No table or chairs, but sumptuous cushions of all shapes and sizes, and a massive circular bed, which was clearly her main living space. In the corner, behind a crimson velvet curtain, were an old fashioned claw foot bath, and a basin with gold taps. I could imagine her naked in that bath, and fantasise how I could soap every inch of that fabulous body. For a sixteen year old boy from nowhere, this was just about as erotic as it could get. Our conversations on those days took on flights of fancy, where we let our fantasies run riot. She told me that the only limit to my life should be my imagination – everything was possible. At other times, we talked about so much, about Vietnam, the pill, The Beatles, Woodstock. She taught me how to meditate, to listen before speaking and to think for myself. She taught me that love could mean exquisite pain or boundless joy. She had experienced both I reckon. And I think that the exquisite pain had turned her slightly mad. Or was she the sane one, in her exclusive world, wearing rags and walking barefoot with such style? Not worrying about what the local people thought, giving without seeking reward, never judging. She used to say that it was only the sailors who never returned who were truly free.

I must confess that my thoughts of Suzanne generated many a time of solitary, self induced pleasure. We were lovers in my mind and my heart and I began to understand what they meant about only lost men seeing her. I truly believe that even though I was barely a man, I was one of the chosen few who really did see her. And to see Suzanne was to become a traveller without destination, lost in that beauty. The beauty of her heart, the beauty of her mind, the beauty of her soul. The beauty of her unconditional, unquestioning love.

And I carried that beauty with me through my life.

I was never quite clear about the nature of our relationship. I knew that it was significant, that in someway she was shaping my present and my future. I suspected that if we ever had crossed that tantalising line from spiritual to physical, the magic may have been broken irrevocably, and the risk was just too great to take. The joy of just being in her presence, for us both to share our secret thoughts more than made up for the fleeting, physical longing when I was with her.

We couldn’t see each other every day, of course. My relentless mother saw to that and I could only manage so many alibis. And no doubt for Suzanne, seeing this angst ridden innocent only now and then was probably more than enough. But in the meantime, we used to leave each other notes under a rock in the churchyard that I used to walk through on my way home. Simple quotations or thoughts, never heavy but always meaningful. What fun we would have had if email had been around then!

Suzanne gave me a totally different perspective on so many things. As a growing lad, my main focus was to get laid, but subtly she changed all that. We often lay together on her bed, just holding hands and talking in a casual way, as though we were sitting across a table in café. And I would will her to turn to me, take my face in her hands and wrap her body around me. And then she would tell me how true love wasn’t about what you expect to get in return, but about how you give. And if you are really lucky, you may be loved back.

Suzanne analysed my tarot cards and told me that I was a healer, which I thought was very weird as I was hopeless at school and certainly wasn’t into alternative therapies. She also saw success and a happy future, which I was sure was just a pathetic attempt to cheer me up. She taught me about manifestation, how you really can shape your future and more importantly, your present.

Thanks to my strange connection with this benevolent lady, I gained confidence at school and started to achieve good grades. And the kudos of my assumed liaison with a woman of substantial experience and undoubted attraction did my reputation with my peers no harm too. Soon it was time for me to leave my cosy existence for the unchartered territory of University. I was toying with the idea of turning down my place as the thought of not having my regular fix of bathing in the wonderful aura was almost too much to bear.

Then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, Suzanne was gone. I went to our rock as usual, and instead of a note, there was an envelope containing a single feather. With a sinking heart and a searing emptiness in the pit of my stomach, I knew immediately that my guardian angel would no longer be a physical presence in my life.

Now some forty years later, I am standing on the harbour side, looking out to sea with the church behind me. The shed is long gone. She was right of course. About everything. I am a healer – a consultant neurologist - and I was lucky enough to find a love who loves me back in just the way that I give love.

And I am so glad, glad that I only ever touched her soul with my soul and her perfect body with my mind….

Truth or Dare? The Quiet Man chose both

2016-03-20T18:04:00.000+00:00

Truth or Dare? The Quiet Man chose both.

How can you know if someone is telling the truth or that their motives are honourable? Whether ‘tis a politician or some other mere mortal , in the absence of super powers all we can do is assess the facts as they are presented and trust our instinct.

I trusted (and in general still do) – that the Tories were the best party to manage the UK deficit. I trusted that their budgets would be fair and that welfare reforms would be exactly that – reform rather than a hatchet job.

My unease with this blind faith was triggered by the cut in the welfare cap after the last election. But Ian Duncan Smith (IDS), often referred to as the Quiet Man, was Work and Pensions Secretary and I believed (and still do) that he is a good an honourable man with a genuine desire to improve welfare provision through reform. I was further disturbed by the apparent imbalance in George Osborne’s budget. More cuts for disability benefits, juxtaposed by an easing of corporation tax and other tax concessions. ‘Still’, I thought to myself in my naïve bubble – ‘IDS is in charge of welfare reform so this can be as bad as it seems’.

And then the bombshell dropped. IDS resigned – apparently completely out of the blue two days after the budget. The resignation letter and the Prime Minister’s response both reveal some pretty raw emotions. IDS does not pull his punches in his letter ‘ ..the latest changes to benefits to the disabled, and the context in which they’ve been made are a compromise too far’ . He goes on..’they are not defensible in the way they were placed within a budget that benefits higher earning tax payers..’ The PM states he is ‘puzzled and disappointed’ at the resignation, stating ‘we collectively agreed, you, No 10 and the Treasury – proposals which you and your department then announced a week ago’

Then the knives were out, gloves off or any other ‘et tu Brute?’ type expletive emanating from the blue corner. Worst of these was Pensions Minister Ros Altman with an unpleasant attempt at a character assassination of the Quiet Man. In an acerbic attack which I suspect says more about her than the man she ‘found incredibly difficult to work for’, Baroness Altman accused IDS of using this platform to promote his views against membership of the EU. She is ‘horrified to see him abuse the freedom to take sides….he seems to want to do maximum damage to the party leadership in order to further his campaign to try to get Britain to leave the EU.’ The implication of this petulant outburst is that IDS is putting his own agenda before his responsibilities as cabinet minster

So what is the truth of this sorry tale? Did IDS indeed comply with the cuts and if he did, why choose the sweet spot of a Friday evening post-budget to deliver his resignation missile – which cut right to the heart of …..well, the right.

I find this whole situation fascinating, not just because Welfare reforms affect us all as they shape the society in which we live, but also the ‘truth’ of the matter. I suspect no-one is actually lying but who is being honourable?

In attempt to solve this weighty conundrum I tuned into Andrew Marr’s programme on the BBC this morning. IDS was to be interviewed and maybe I would have the opportunity to test my truth and honour radar.

There were four points that held most sway for me.

Firstly, the ‘warm up act’ – David Laws, former Lib Dem Chief Secretary to the Treasury, gave a fascinating insight into the relationship between IDS and the Chancellor, George Osborne. Laws reported that IDS said (to paraphrase) ‘There was a running sore…..over welfare policy. George Osborne saw welfare as a cash cow to be squeezed into to help to deliver deficit reduction where IDS had a ‘moral purpose of welfare reform to help people back into employment’

This ‘independent’ view (truth radar says this was a balanced opinion) set the scene nicely for the IDS interview as it painted a clear picture of the two main protagonists in this drama – the chancellor squeezing the cash cow of welfare to produce cuts to repair the deficit vs the ‘moral welfare reformer’

The second deciding factor for me the fact that IDS stated that he wasn’t actually at the budget presentation in the House of Commons of Wednesday (the pictures in the newspapers were old images from a previous budget) – he was, in fact, at a funeral. So the criticism directed at him for standing by in silence as the budget was announced is misplaced. I suspect that saying a final goodbye to friend or family member may have served to focus IDS’s concerns about his conflicting views with the Chancellor.

Thirdly – IDS gave a clear explanation as to how he reached his decision – stating timelines and facts – giving the overall impression of a man who genuinely believed in welfare reform as a long term process, not just a series of cuts. He said that the final blow for him was – yes he knew about the welfare cuts but he didn’t know about the wider tax initiatives to be used in the budget. And I believe him. He said this was nothing about the EU. And I believe him about that too. (Although I must concede that his support of a ‘Brexit’ must be easier from outside the cabinet)

Finally - it wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it. I was impressed with the manner in which IDS responded to Marr’s questions. He started the interview with a calm, but almost timid demeanour, clearing his throat often and choosing his words with care. But as the questioning continued, with Marr skilfully giving IDS the time a space to ‘speak his truth’, the voice became stronger, the passion clearer and the ring of truth louder. This was a masterful way to counter his critics and set the record straight. And I believe him.

Welfare reform, like the NHS, is always going to be a poison chalice for any politician. Policy must necessarily be about medium to long term strategy, supporting those who need help the most and balancing those costs with encouraging those who can take some responsibility for their own financial and physical wellbeing. Reform should not just be about cuts, it should be about facilitating positive change. Change to encourage the weak to become stronger and while supporting the most vulnerable in our society. All of this should be within the context of balancing the books, managing the deficit and implementing a robust fiscal strategy.

I believe that Ian Duncan Smith became frustrated and despairing of the disconnect between welfare reform and George Osborne’s budget and resigned with honourable intent.

The Quiet Man spoke his truth loud and clear today.

If Public Relations was an Olympic Sport…

2012-08-10T20:43:00.005+01:00

There has been a lot of winning and losing going on for the past two weeks – some spectacular achievements and some ‘best forgotten’ moments too. Athletes aside, who has won the Public Relations stakes for London 2012 so far?

Gold medal:
And the winner is…. The Royal Family. Our blue bloods seem to have been playing their own high spec version of ‘Where’s Wally?’. Scan the crowd at any Olympic venue (not just in the Olympic Park) and you could find Princess Anne, Prince Harry, The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and other more minor Royals cheering and screaming with everyone else. You had to look carefully to spot them– dressed in their casual Olympic Ambassador kit of polo shirt and chinos, the enthusiasm was genuine, the joy was real.
From the moment HM The Queen ‘parachuted’ into the opening ceremony – Team GB Royal have got it absolutely right. PB’s (personal bests) have been coming thick and fast – Elizabeth R’s link up with James Bond was classy and funny – worthy of a world record.
Another PB was Kate and William’s embrace as Sir Chris Hoy won a gold medal in cycling. The intimate shot of two young people clearly in love and completely caught up in the gold rush graced many a front page last week. Kate’s passion for hockey and her steadfast attendance at each women’s team match has been impressive and Prince Harry capped the family’s medal winning form with his crowd-pleasing performances while maintaining some serious street cred..

Silver Medal:

It was a close call, but just pipped at the tape into second place is our wonderful military and police whose profile has received a significant boost with an event which started as a sprint (to quickly respond to the shortfall in security staff caused by contractor failure) to a marathon throughout the Olympic fortnight. Cheery, courteous and steadfast, these men and women in uniform have embraced athletes and visitors alike with the warm blanket of discreet, but robust security.

Bronze Medal:

Previous entertaining form and early promise demonstrated with his ‘shabby chic’ appearance at the closing ceremony of the Bejing Olympics meant that Boris Johnson was always a strong contender for a London 2012 PR medal. With his infectious joie de vivre, his buoyant enthusiasm and apparent innocence (despite reports otherwise), Boris is a constant source of amusement and yet somehow his considerable intellect shines through. He must be the only politician in the world who could turn the farce of being stuck on a zip wire, dangling in thin air for several minutes, into a PR triumph. The foreign press love him, the camera loves him, Londoners (mainly) love him and I love him.

As our Olympic dream has become delicious reality there will be many other personal and corporate PBs. But there are also the ‘could do better’ in the PR Olympics. These include G4S – the security firm who well and truly messed up, and effectively committed PR suicide. Our coalition leaders haven’t done particularly well either – squabbling about the House of Lords reform at a time when the nation is basking in the happy glow of global approval.

Hey ho – you win some, lose some – but perhaps the most precious prize of all, worth multiple gold medals are the words of Jacques Rogge, President of the International Olympics committee who described London as ‘a city partying’ . He continued ‘the kindness of the British people has helped deliver more than anyone expected and the success was very reassuring for the future of sport’

So you see, dear world, us Brits are, in the main, lovely people – really – we are!

Our Olympic triumphs so far (and I’m not talking about medals)

2012-08-03T16:13:00.002+01:00

So much for my plan to write a daily Olympics blog! I have been glued to the TV screen and, I’m proud to say, have also attended an Olympic event this week. All the frantic screaming at the telly and cheering in a crowd has left little room for literary pontification. I’ll be bereft when the Olympics finish but at least I’ll get my life back and can attend to the backlog of chores again. The highlights so far have been many and varied, and here are a few of my favourite triumphs.

The opening ceremony: Wow! I must confess that, like many Brits, I was fearful that the overture to the greatest show on earth would be a damp squib. How wrong we were. The director Danny Boyle encapsulated so much of the best of the British psyche – inclusive and diverse, inventive yet traditional, artistic and scientific, but most of all self-deprecating and funny. The James Bond sketch featuring that most famous of leading ladies was hysterical. I received texts and emails from friends across the world telling me how much they enjoyed the joke. Well done your majesty!! Just one duff note – well several actually. I’m sorry Sir Paul McCartney but it really is time to hang up your musical boots. The voice just isn’t up to it anymore and Hey Jude was not a rallying cry worthy of such an incredible night.

London: What a beautiful city, showcased at its very best! The location of some events was inspirational. From the equestrian events at Greenwich Park, the cycling by Hampton Court Palace, to Archery at Lord’s cricket ground, London has proved itself a worthy Olympic host city. The location for beach volleyball (which is a bit like a great party with a medal at the end) is inspired. As the sun set with Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye providing an almost mythical backdrop, a commentator mentioned that this must be the most beautiful location in the world for this great spectator sport.

The out of London venues: Equally impressive. The rowing on a manmade lake just by Windsor Castle, the beautiful Dorset coast and some stunning football stadiums prove that this is not all about the capital.

The BBC: Every sport is being covered, every day. There are over 20 channels with live streams of every event. The specialist commentary, interviews, analysis and human interest stories have kept a nation gripped. I believe the licence payers money has been well spent (for my overseas readers, the BBC is ‘free’ to view in return for an annual licence fee of around £145 ($200) which covers radio as well.). The downside is – all this coverage is very distracting so housework, writing deadlines and general communication with the outside world has been severely limited within my own personal part of the universe.

The tears: Who doesn’t enjoy a good weep of happiness? I seem to be permanently in floods at the moment. Every time the National Anthem is played or there is some story of human endeavour leading to triumph over adversity (any nationality will do) – I blub shamelessly. High spots were Gemma Gibbons (ranked 42 in the world) who looked heavenwards and mouthed ‘I love you Mum’ as she qualified for the Olympic final eight years after she lost her Mum. And the young shooting gold medallist Peter Wilson who broke off in the middle of a post victory interview as he ran towards his father shouting with a voice cracking with emotion ‘Dad’ and fell into his father’s arms. Another heart-wrencher was the very large father of the gold medal winning South African swimmer Chad Le Clos, weeping profusely as he kept saying ‘look at him, he’s beautiful – whatever happens for the rest of my life, it doesn’t matter, just look at him’ . Awwww - surely even the coldest of hearts would melt at such parental pride.

Our Royals: From our parachuting Queen (I managed to persuade one visitor that Her Majesty really DID sky dive into the arena…) to Princess Anne’s silver medal winning daughter the British royals have truly embraced the Olympic Games. Speaking of embracing – in the Daily Telegraph today there’s a charming picture of Kate and William having a joyful cuddle as they celebrate Chris Hoy’s fantastic 5^th Gold Medal. Awwww.(again)

The British weather: So far so good. After a truly dismal June, the sun has been kind in putting in several appearances this week. And the rain, in the main, has stayed away. At least the monsoon-like deposits have stopped anyway.

The general air of happiness: I was at old Trafford for some Olympic football matches last week and even though Team GB wasn’t featured in either match there were over 70,000 spectators. And to a man, woman and child we all had the best of times. We whooped and cheered, oohed and aahed just as though each team was our personal responsibility. And the players responded in kind. At the end of the New Zealand, Egypt match they stayed on the pitch for ages, waving and thanking the crowd. Yes, security was a bit slow and we got wet as we queued to have our handbags checked but so what – we all had a great time and came away happy.

And maybe that is the best triumph of all so far. Despite all the carping and whinging from many UK residents in the build-up to the games, the events of the past week have made most of us happy. Happy to see our country showcased in all its glory. Happy to see sport and sportsmanship at its best. Happy to recognise that we really are good at organising things. And maybe best of all – happy to have something to be happy about at last!

Crisis? What Crisis?

2012-07-25T23:01:00.003+01:00

Has Olympic fever completely taken a hold yet? Not quite – the temperature has certainly risen – but that’s the weather – a high of 32 centigrade signalled that summer really is here.

So far so good – ish.

The traffic chaos isn’t quite as bad as predicted as the dedicated Olympic road lanes are in put into action. But drivers are getting frustrated as VIP’s and official vehicles speed past as they queue in reduced number of lanes, risking a £130 ($85) fine if they stray into the exclusive channels.

As visitors and competitors continue to flood into our airports, there has been a national sigh of relief as the border agency staff have called off their strike, planned for tomorrow. The government challenged the legality of the balloting process leading to the call to industrial action and the PCS union came to their senses as the weight of public opinion was leaning heavily against them. But this victory was tempered by the embarrassing story of an 11 year old boy who found his way through UK security, passport check and boarding scrutiny (not) to take off on a flight from Manchester to Rome, with no ticket, no passport and no boarding card! Even more embarrassing was the fact that the diminutive stowaway was spotted by fellow passengers as airline staff failed to notice that he didn’t even have a seat! Oops..

Rather oddly, the sport started in earnest today – with the women’s football tournament kicking off – three days before the opening ceremony on Friday evening. The good news is that Team GB started with a 1 – 0 victory over New Zealand – go girls!

But again this positive start was nearly overshadowed by another ‘oops’ moment as the North Korea vs Colombia match was almost cancelled as the flag of South Korea, not known as a best friend of their neighbours North Korea, was shown in error alongside the team announcements. The North Korean women stormed off the pitch and could only be persuaded to return after an hour’s grovelling. I know it is a serious issue, but I can’t help smiling as I imagine the heart stopping moment as officials were told of the faux pas….

Still, as my grandmother used to say. ‘Worse things happen at sea’. Everything seems to be on track - apart from our triple jumper Phillips Idowu, Team GB’s triple jumping medal hope, who is not only not on track, he seems to be nowhere near any track as he failed to join the team at their training camp in Portugal.

As the Nation holds its collective bated breath and start to enjoy the greatest show on earth, we can only hope that any other ‘oops’ moments will be equally minor. Crisis? What crisis? All is well – after all – us Brits are usually pretty good in a crisis any. Aren’t we?....

2012 Olympics – the good, the bad and the ugly (so far)

2012-07-24T21:22:00.003+01:00

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. All around us ‘The greatest sporting event on earth’ unfolds. Olympic fever is abound and I seem to sway from enthusiasm and excitement to embarrassment and despair in equal measure – much like the rest of the UK population I suspect.

The good:

‘And the 2012 Olympics games go to…… London’.

Winning the bid to host the games was a fantastic achievement. The UK pitch was spot on – the right mix of history, emotion, technology, youth, celebrity and the ‘L’ word – legacy. A much deserved victory.
The Olympic Park.
Finished on time, within budget. An impressive vista with plenty of green space, some soon to be iconic buildings and, a prerequisite for most public spaces – a controversial sculpture. The Stadium, Aquatics Centre, Velodrome and Basketball Arena all look well worth a visit, even without the sport. This regeneration of the shabby and neglected East London landscape is stunning.
The Torch Relay.
What a wonderful idea. The young and old, strong and not so strong, superfit and unsporty, the good and the great, famous and revered, the humble and charitable, the physically challenged and previously unsung heroes have all been worthy couriers of this precious cargo. By the time the flame completes its 70 day journey the Olympic stadium it will have been carried by 8,000 inspirational human beings. It will have travelled within 10 miles of 95% of the population of the UK. A truly ‘once in a lifetime’ event.
Our police force and our armed forces.
The lads and lassies who are stepping into the breach after the security debacle will provide the best security we could wish for and add some class to the occasion. Bless ‘em all!

The Bad:

Team GB Football.

How can David Beckham NOT be selected for Team GB football? That’s the David Beckham who played a massive part in winning the bid for the games in the first place. The David Beckham who is such an iconic sportsman and global celebrity that he was first choice to welcome the flame into the UK as it was helicoptered in to the furthest tip of Cornwall one miserable and wet day in May. The David Beckham who wears his heart on his sleeve and his country in his heart. The David Beckham who, by his presence in the team alone would most likely have prompted the sale of at least another 100,000 tickets for the undersubscribed football matches. The David Beckham who is a motivator, play maker and, most significantly who scored a fantastic goal from 35 yards in an LA Galaxy match only 10 days ago. Stuart Pearce – the Team GB football manager who didn’t select the best loved footballer in the world – shame on you.
Trying to get on with your daily business in London.
I am fortunate enough not to have to go to London too often but even last week – it was seeeething with tourists. Yes, we welcome you and your dollars/yen/euros and even enjoy your company. But we do not enjoy your rucksacks or your pull-along suitcases. I am short so every time a traveller with a rucksack turns round on the tube I seem to get smacked in the mouth. Last week a visitor (to be fair she may not have been here for the Olympics) wheeled her suitcase over my feet and then side swiped me with her holdall as she sat down. Enough already!
The Olympic Traffic Lanes.
It’s probably a wise move to dedicate lanes to Olympic traffic but it is very confusing and the re-phasing of traffic lights is a nightmare.
G4S Security.
Yes it’s old news now but to award a massive security contract for the games to only one firm seems naïve at best – downright folly at worst. What a monumental c*ck up – and how embarrassing to find that just 2 weeks before the main event the security firm of choice have underperformed to the tune of around 5,000 personnel. Is this such a disaster though? Will we miss the dodgy looking geezers in ill-fitting uniforms, many of whom would have a limited command of the English language and security backgrounds that would make ‘Del boy’ look like Mother Theresa? I think not.

The Ugly:

The British Press:
Always focussing on the negative - the traffic, the security, the ticketing. Come on chaps – we’re not doingthat badly – some good news stories please.
Team GB (again)
How can a team that excludes aforesaid David Beckham, include drugs cheats Dwain Chambers and David Millar. To be fair, the British Olympic Association did try to maintain the lifetime ban but were overturned by the Court of Arbitration for sport, but they didn’t have to select these bad examples. Like they didn’t select the Taekwondo world number one Aaron cook, apparently just because he chose to train independently from the GB team. Shocking and disappointing.
The home affairs select committee.
The public verbal mauling of G4S security firm managing director Nick Buckles at a specially convened committee achieved nothing apart from feeding some dubious egos of also–ran politicians. If you have a crisis, you get together and fix it. Then you have the inquiry and post mortem. The public humiliation of the G4s boss, who accepted responsibility for the potential security debacle simply highlighted the vacuous and self -serving nature of this type of inquiry.
The striking UK border agency staff.
The public and commercial services union have called a strike on Thursday – one of the business days for incoming Olympic visitors. This action is planned on the basis of only 1 in 10 members voting for to strike. Will the public will support them in this sabotage? I doubt it.

And to all the nay sayers about London 2012…….As Boris Johnson, the London Mayor, said the other day ‘stop whingeing and put a sock in it’

To my overseas readers, he meant - ‘stop complaining and shut up’

Hear hear…

How to mess up your National Team – according to the FA school of bad management.

2012-02-08T21:27:00.001+00:00

What an interesting day for English football! Fabio Capello, the England manager who has been consistent only in his ability to disappoint, has resigned from his post just 4 months before a major tournament. Harry Redknapp, the much loved Spurs manager and heir apparent for the England job has been acquitted of tax fraud, reputation intact and immediately employable for the top job on the very same day. Kismet? Fate? Divine intervention? If Harry has any sense (and of course he has a great deal of nouse) he should be thankful for British justice, give even greater thanks for the amazing English Premier League but run a mile from the English Football Association.

The Capello tenure and the FA’s part in this has been a comedy of errors from start to finish.

Here is a quick guide on how to reduce a great footballing heritage to a shambles in a few easy steps:

1) Appoint a manage who has excellent overseas club experience but doesn’t understand the culture of English football

2) Don’t worry about the fact that the manager fails, even after 4 years, to master the language of a nation that is paying him around £4 million a year

3) Despite mediocre performances by the team, re-negotiate his contract prior to the World Cup, even though you have the ideal opportunity to get stop the rot at the end of his contract.

4) Witness a pitiful showing at the World Cup, precipitated by extremely bad man management by your chosen leader, including such poor judgment as failing to share the team selection with the players until the day of the match.

5) Overlook the fact that on one occasion when the English team scored, your chosen manager sat motionless on the side line, arms crossed.

6) Oversee a massive public humiliation during the World Cup bid process, involving the extreme lack of courtesy shown to the UK prime Minister and Prince William. Fail to implement damage limitation.

7) Fail spectacularly in opposition of Sepp Blatter further weakening the voice of English football overseas.

8) Finally, just when chosen manager stands by his man (albeit the man that he unceremoniously sacked for infidelity and then reinstated when he realised that Terry probably was the best man for the job) – fail to support him and precipitate a resignation that would have been handy a couple of years ago.

I actually feel quite sorry for Fabio Capello. He was always the wrong man for the job, great credentials – yes, but wrong nationality, wrong personality and inadequate understanding of the English culture (and language).

I also feel sorry for the English team. They haven’t had a decent manager for over a decade.

But Harry – if I was you, don’t be seduced to take up the poisoned chalice. Wait for the FA to get their act together first.

FIFA get the President they deserve

2011-06-01T15:09:00.004+01:00

It was announced today that Sepp Blatter, the incumbent President of the International Football Federation, will be re-elected unopposed for a fourth, four year term.

The original election was planned between two equally unsavoury candidates. The other one being Mohammed Bin Hammen who is now suspended whilst under investigation for bribery and corruption. (But I thought bribery and corruption was the mission statement for this organisation?)

Mmmm – Blatter vs Bin Hammen – a bit like choosing between Hannibal Lecter and The Pied Piper to babysit – either way it was going to end badly…

There was a faint glimmer of hope that the election fiasco would be halted when, in a remarkably convenient development just prior to the election, Blatter’s opponent was suspended. Step up the Brits – calling for a pause while another suitable candidate is found. Alas only 17 other associations had the guts to support this motion.

So FIFA get the President they deserve. The President who has presided over scandal after scandal and allegations of corruption, fraud and bribery. The President who has presided over football’s governing body as International football is at its lowest ebb. Dirty play on the field and even dirtier play behind the scenes. A refusal to embrace goal line technology and a warped approach in choosing the hosts for the World Cup. Even Jerome Valcke, the FIFA Secretary General has admitted that he believes that Qatar ‘bought’ the World Cup bid vote.

This is the President who pleads innocence in the same way that the family dog looks up at you with an ‘it wasn’t me’ expression as the Christmas dinner goes missing – despite turkey juices dripping out of his mouth!

Even if Mr Blatter was an innocent bystander with all these scandals – he remains culpable as the man in charge. A headmaster may be a veritable saint but if the pupils in his school display constant bad behaviour and the reputation of the organisation falls into disrepute, eventually the school’s governors will give him his marching orders. Standing by and looking the other way in some cases means you are just as culpable as the perpetrators.

Football has not grown in reputation one jot since Sepp Blatter and his cronies have been at the helm. And now those of us who are still struggling to love the beautiful game have been dealt yet another blow. If you don’t play fair in the boardroom how can you expect fair play on the pitch?

So what can be done? Not a lot. The only way to get rid of diseased tissue or an infestation is to either cut it out or treat it with strong chemicals. Alas, neither of those are feasible or legal.

How refreshing it would be to have an ‘anti-corruption candidate as President. To have a governing body that includes representation from the fans, players, sponsors and football management. In your dreams, wisebird, in your dreams.

So it’s business as usual. Sepp Blatter is apparently committed to cleaning up FIFA’s act. There is one other thing that will receive Sepp Blatter’s constant commitment and loyalty. Sepp Blatter.

That hat – and Beatrice shows her true class.

2011-05-14T09:55:00.000+01:00

I must put my hands up and admit that I was among the many who went to print, mocking Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie’s lack of style with their choice of outfits for the Royal Wedding. My comments weren’t particularly nasty, a little unkind maybe, but not as vitriolic as the deluge of insults that followed.

‘The hat’ became an internet sensation, with mock ups of Beatrice’s headgear showing it as a cat flap and even a toilet. And Eugenie was ridiculed for wearing an outfit that appeared to be poorly finished, too tight and unflattering.

But we shouldn’t really be criticising these young girls. It is their designers who should know better. The reason Kate’s wedding dress was such a success was because the designer, Sarah Burton, made sure that the style flattered her client, enabling Kate’s natural beauty to shine through. There was no ego involved in the creation which is probably what makes Sarah such a very special creative director for the Alexander McQueen fashion house.

It is Vivien Westwood, the designer of Eugenie’s dress and Philip Treacy, who put together Beatrice’s hat, who should be mocked. They would have been paid handsomely for these pieces, and they did not do right by their clients.

Coco Chanel once said ‘Fashion is architecture: it is a matter of proportions’

Beatrice’s Valentino Coat and dress were beautiful, and Treacy should have crafted something in proportion. Eugenie has a lovely, curvy figure and Westwood should have created an ensemble to enhance her shape, not bundle it up.

If we are going to bang on about style, let’s not forget that a bigger faux pas was the Prime Minister’s wife, Samantha Cameron not even wearing a hat at all – at least the Princesses cannot be accused of failing to join in with the spirit of the occasion.

So - 9 /10 for Prince Andrew’s daughters and 2/10 for Treacy and Westwood.

At the end of the day, none of this really matters – and as Treacy said ‘no-one is crying’ (easy for him to say – he didn’t have to wear the thing)

But the last laugh goes to the Princesses. Eugenie continues to smile her adorable smile and Beatrice has played the master stroke of auctioning the headpiece on ebay. It’s expected to fetch at least £5,000 for her two favourite good causes, Unicef and Children in Crisis.

Beatrice said ‘, “I've been amazed by the amount of attention the hat has attracted. It's a wonderful opportunity to raise as much money as possible for two fantastic charities. - I hope whoever wins the auction has as much fun with the hat as I have.”

Now that’s what I call real style.

FIFA Corruption allegations – what should England do next?

2011-05-13T17:55:00.002+01:00

So FIFA is corrupt, with six executive committee members asking for bribes in return for World Cup votes according to Lord Triesman, former FA (UK Football Association) Chairman. This is just about as shocking as stating that the earth is round and Katie Price likes publicity. Nothing new there then.

Triesman was speaking at a parliamentary select committee yesterday, a full 5 months after the World Cup tournaments for 2018 and 2022 were awarded to Russia and

Qatar

respectively. One cannot help but visualise a horse galloping away long before the stable door has been considered– let alone locked.

The clue was pretty much in the decision. As I blogged at the time – the venues that were beneficiaries of the shock selections had many things in common:

• Patchy (or none at all) footballing history

• No evidence of a universal love of the game in each nation winning the bid

• No existing footballing infrastructure

• Poor technical assessment (Russia) and unsuitable conditions (extreme heat in Qatar)

• Rich and powerful men, backed by rich and powerful governments leading the bid.

Mmm – I think we can safely say that the final point – with maybe an emphasis on RICH is the key here.

But enough of being a bad loser – how must England react?

Trying to smash the (alleged) corruption within the International governing body for football is a near impossible task, especially while the indominatable, shifty and deeply unlikable Sepp Blatter stays in charge. He has orchestrated almost certain re-election next month.

If we continue to whinge on about our disappointment we will become a laughing stock in the football hierarchy and Triesman’s decision to wait until now to expose this alleged corruption is questionable.

We could walk away from the World Cup altogether and refuse to play a team in the 2018 and 2022 tournaments. But that would achieve very little – apart from exiling our international footballers and robbing the country of at least a faint hope of glory.

No – the best revenge is happiness. And in World Cup terms – happiness is success. The FA need to find a decent, (as in honourable and talented) British manager to lead an International team that is supported in every way to win the trophy. A winter break in the Premiership season to minimise the chances of injury to tired limbs, a supportive national press and an effective PR campaign to engage the fans and increase pride in the team.

Ian Wright, the Arsenal and English player, refused to accept expenses when he played for England because he said that he was so proud to wear the England shirt that he needed no payment. That’s the sort of spirit we need to engender. One of the endearing national characteristics of the English people is that we respond well when our backs are to the wall.

So c’mon Engerland. Leave the politics to one side, concentrate on the beautiful game and plan a strategy to win – not in the corrupt corridors of Football politics – but where it counts - on the pitch.

Ten reasons I love football:

2011-05-08T21:30:00.001+01:00

My Dad: As a native Scot, my father embraced English football when he married an Englishwoman. He stood on the terraces of the Dell, the home of Southampton Football Club, at every home game for many years. When he watched (on TV) the Saints score the winning goal of the FA cup final 7 minutes before the final whistle, Daddy did two things – he sent Mother out of the room because she had a habit of standing in front of the screen at a crucial moment – and he spent the remaining minutes of the match with his head under a cushion – couldn’t bear to watch. So of course I love football.

The legends: From the flawed genius of Georgie Best to the magnificent Bobby Moore.

The quiet dignity of Sir Matt Busby, the surreal quotations of Eric Cantona, and the gentility of Sir Bobby Robson, football history is awash with remarkable characters.

Being part of a huge crowd, mostly wanting the same thing: The atmosphere among a 76,000 strong realm at Old Trafford celebrating as Manchester United score in the 4th minute of extra time is awesome. (I was there to witness the goal scored 36 seconds after kick off against Chelsea this afternoon - the stadium literally rocked)

The agony and the ecstasy: Like any team sport with a limited time frame for each match, the excitement can be breathtaking. Often the result is not guaranteed until that final whistle blows. Penalties? If you are an England supporter – more agony than ecstasy.

The punditry: Both professional and amateur. Often banal, sometimes amusing, occasionally intelligent, watching the expert and not-so-expert talk football is always a good way to pass the time.

The male totty: They may be few and far between, but there are some very fit (in the non sporty sense of the word!) footballers on the world stage. Whatever you may think of Christiano Ronaldo – I defy any woman not to admire his torso when he takes his shirt off at the end of a big match. (Even if you don’t like football – tune in for the last few minutes of a big match – the players swap shirts…)

David Beckham: No explanation needed.

A universal language: ‘We woz robbed’ ‘I’m gutted’ and ‘The referee’s a ……’ can be understood across the world.

It’s one of the certainties of life: Like death and taxes – football will always be with us (and a lot more fun than either)

It’s second only to singing for exercising your vocal chords: Screaming at your team, either in disgust or encouragement is so liberating. I tend not to use bad language as I don’t seem to be very good at it but I do have the dubious honour of being cautioned by the stewards at Stamford Bridge (Chelsea’s home ground) for ‘inciting riotous behaviour’

Riotous behaviour? Moi? Gutted……

Voting can be fun…

2011-05-06T17:45:00.000+01:00

Whenever I have the opportunity to vote, I always offer a silent prayer of thanks for the efforts of Emmeline Pankhurst and the suffragettes who paved the way for women to have the opportunity to vote in 1918.

I also consider those so much less fortunate that us in the ‘free world’ who still risk a bullet when they make a stand for democracy.

As I place my X in the appropriate box, I get a feeling of wellbeing, similar (but less uncomfortable) to when I donate blood – the sense that one is making a least some tiny contribution to the common good. And yesterday’s local elections and alternative voting referendum in the UK was no exception.

But on a lighter note - voting can be about so much more than your collective responsibility to society. It can be fun and informative too!

I shall never forget the first time I voted in a general election. Feeling very grown up – at 18 years old, I went with my parents to the local village hall to complete my ballot paper. As with most polling stations – there were free-standing three sided booths, often in groups of four or six, to enable privacy while voting. Dippy at the best of times, my mother forgot who she wanted to vote for, and, pen in hand stepped out of the booth to consult my father. As she walked towards him, pen, attached to booth, still in hand, she dragged four booths with her and left three startled voters – standing anchorless and without means to vote - in the middle of the hall!

Forward at least three decades and I realise that I am nearly as bad. In the general elections last year. I turned up at our local polling station, another village hall, but took the wrong entrance and ended up in an over 50’s Pilates class! I must confess, I had no idea that exercising your democratic right could be so exhausting….

No such mishaps this year, but I did narrowly miss a Women’s Institute meeting. However, after I voted, as I left the hall I walked past two elderly ladies, sitting outside by the entrance. They were both sporting blue rosettes so one could safely assume they were from Camp Cameron (Camp Cameron – that conjures up an image..)

I wasn’t in a hurry so I stopped for a chat. And very interesting it was too. These ladies were extremely well informed and we had a lively debate on the Tories’ first year in power. We came to the conclusion that we agreed on four key points.

1. The Tory party’s leadership has been weakened by an apparent desire to avoid upsetting their coalition partners (nothing new there then).

2. Lansley has got it totally, utterly wrong with the Healthcare Reform plans and Cameron needs to step in and backtrack (I was surprised at this as I assumed that ‘non- medical’ people would rather like the idea of patient and GP power – but even the man in the street can see through the rhetoric).

3. Cameron was right to wear tails to the Royal Wedding but should never have considered wearing a lounge suit as all Heads of state would either be in Uniform or tails.(For my readers from overseas, there was a lot of press about Cameron fearing that dressing up in top hat and tails would make him seem too posh) Speaking of Posh – Beckham was happy to wear tails of course!!

4. And perhaps most important – Samantha Cameron should have worn a hat to the Royal Wedding – her fancy hair decoration was ‘simply not enough’!

So there you have it – if you want to find out about the burning political issues of the day, hang around outside a polling station.

But at all costs – avoid rooms full of middle aged ladies in lycra…..

The Royal Wedding - different thought processes of men and women

2011-05-02T17:14:00.001+01:00

She thinks…	He thinks…
What a lovely romantic day!	Great to have a day off!
Kate’s dress is beautiful	Pippa Middleton is hot
The train looks fabulous	Pippa’s bum looks fabulous
I wonder what Harry said to William at the altar?	I wonder if Pippa’s wearing any underwear?
I love the way William smiled at his new bride	I like the way Harry seems to be hitting on Pippa
Gosh - David Beckham is handsome	Gosh - David Beckham is handsome
I’m enjoying seeing what everyone is wearing	I’m enjoying watching Pippa’s rear
Wasn’t it romantic having two kisses in the balcony – they seem so much in love?	Wasn’t it great having two fly pasts – the planes were awesome.
How lovely – the two of them driving out of Buckingham Palace in Charles Car.	Lucky William – driving a vintage Aston Martin
I could watch it all over again	Are the pubs still open?

The inescapable truths of the Royal Wedding:

2011-04-30T19:53:00.002+01:00

Many of us are in a happy state of post-wedding euphoria here in the UK. Even the ‘republicans’ and ‘not interested’ became swept up in the tide of good will and sheer joy surrounding the happy couple.

Today the newspapers are full of interesting and amusing commentary about every aspect of the biggest event in the UK for decades and in my home town of Amersham in Buckinghamshire we are no different. Amersham is a lovely small town nestling at the foot of the Chiltern Hills, a stone’s throw from where the Vicar of Dibley was filmed and proud home of the 16^th Century coaching inn where Four Weddings and a Funeral was filmed. ‘Grass roots

England

’ which today provided a good snapshot of the happiest of post mortems. Of course, everyone agreed that Kate was as serene, beautiful and Royal and William as adoring, dashing and ‘surprisingly nervous and normal’ as we could have possibly wished.

Here are the other matters of great importance that have occupied us:

The Middletons got it right: From their stunning daughters to the brilliant reading by their handsome son James. From Kate’s father’s nervous smile and proud bearing as he walked his daughter up the aisle to mother Carol’s inspired choice of a Catherine Walker (Diana’s favourite designer) outfit. With their discretion and patience – right from the moment Kate met William at university – they have played a blinder. If only more of our Royals could be that Royal.

Pippa Middleton is probably the best bridesmaid in the world: Stunning in that dress, viewed very favourably from behind – to have a rear view that stands up to the scrutiny of 2 billion pairs of eyes – this bridesmaid was very special. She was attentive throughout, clearly taking her duties as handmaiden to her sister and surrogate mother to all the little ones – she was just fabulous. And we think someone else thought so too….

Prince Harry is adorable – and we want him to marry Pippa: There seemed to be a frisson between them – it looked like flirting to me as they walked back down the aisle together. Apparently Twitter nearly went into meltdown as the world shared this view. OK so they have ‘significant others’ – but what a great story it would be..

One little bridesmaid was very unhappy: Grace Van Cutsen, only three years old, had to cover her ears to block out the sound of the crowd and the RAF fly past scared her. Bless! I really hope that she can look back on the day as a fond memory. At least she will be able to say ‘I was there’

The two page boys will break a thousand hearts when they’re older. Adorable and no doubt will both be very handsome and very eligible in a decade.

The BBC got it wrong: So wrong. One always tunes in to the Beeb for state occasions but their coverage was deadly. The newsreader anchorman, Huw Edwards, was either ill or his make-up dramatically wrong as his face was a sickly shade of yellow throughout. The commentary was boring and staid, the guests pompous and unimaginative. One annoying young historian was replaced later by a slightly older annoying historian. And a cocky harpist, due to play at the reception who was so far up herself she nearly disappeared… They missed many of the Royals arriving and as the couple emerged from the Abbey – the camera shot moved to the bells. Even a horse which, after unseating his rider, then overtook the Royal coach, was missed.

Best cinematic moment: The guardsman opening the door of the Queen’s Bentley who was then left standing there as Ma’am exited the other side!

Worst cinematic moment: Jake Humphrey (formula one Grand Prix reporter) trying to broadcast from a 2^nd world war Lancaster Bomber which was taking part in the Royal fly past. He was the nearest shade of grey to death itself, and clearly trying very, very hard not to throw up. Luckily – transmission was ‘lost’ at that moment. Phew!

Princesses Eugenie and Beatrice should not be allowed outside without checking the style police: Sadly, Fergie (Duchess of York)’s daughters have inherited their mother’s penchant for sartorial melt down. What were you thinking girls? You are both very attractive - but one outfit looked primed to receive all satellite channels from the hat – and the other one simply didn’t fit.

David Beckham is unbelievably handsome: ‘Astonishingly handsome’ as one

newspaper reported today. He looked absolutely gorgeous – and so what if he wore his OBE medal on the wrong lapel – I defy any man woman or child not to love him at some level.

And finally .. Joy is infectious: One thing us Brits are very good at is pomp and circumstance – specialties are weddings and funerals. But this still managed to be a family occasion – two young people sharing the hope of a wonderful, loving happy future together. A hope shared by 2 billion people worldwide. A moment of peace and happiness in a troubled world.

Have a go at predicting the outfits for the Royal Wedding

2011-04-28T22:50:00.000+01:00

	Prediction	Score
Kate’s Dress
Colour(cream/offwhite/ivory/oyster/white)
Train (none/short/medium/long)
Sleeves? (none/short/long/three quarter)
Headdress (Tiara/flowers/other)
Hair (up/down/half and half)
Bouquet (tied bunch/draping)
Bridesmaids:
Colour:
Royals – predict colour outfit/accessories
Queen
Princess Anne
Camilla
Zara
Beatrice
Eugenie
Middletons – colour outfit/accessories
Mother or the bride
Timings (precise)
Time spent by couple on the balcony
The precise moment of the kiss
Will anyone fluff their lines? Y/N
TOTAL

Royal Wedding Predictions

2011-04-25T21:18:00.004+01:00

Here are my guesses – have a go yourself for some Royal Wedding fun

	Prediction	Score
Kate’s Dress
Colour(cream/offwhite/ivory/oyster/white)	white
Train (none/short/medium/long)	short
Sleeves? (none/short/long/three quarter)	Three quarter
Headdress (Tiara/flowers/other)	Tiara
Hair (up/down/half and half)	Half and half
Bouquet (tied bunch/draping)	draping
Bridesmaids:
Colour:	white
Royals – predict colour outfit/accessories
Queen	Lemon/lemon
Princess Anne	Pale green/navy
Camilla	Pale blue/same
Zara Phillips	Red/ black
Beatrice	Purple /black
Eugenie	Blue /cream
Middletons – colour outfit/accessories
Mother or the bride	Cerise/black
Timings (precise)
Time spent by couple on the balcony	6 minutes
The precise moment of the kiss	1.17
Will anyone fluff their lines? Y/N	yes
TOTAL

Are men missing a listening gene?

2011-04-07T13:35:00.001+01:00

The word ‘listen’ is appearing excessively in the UK news at the moment. The UK health secretary, Andrew Lansley, has been accused on not listening to over 1 million employees of the state funded health system and many experts, advising him that the restructure is unworkable. According to a senior civil servant, Lansley is the ‘worst listener’ he has worked with in a long career serving health ministers.

Now the Prime Minister and Deputy PM have launched a campaign to ‘pause, listen, reflect and improve’

But are men actually any good at listening? Women are renowned as good listeners, but I will freely admit that we also like to talk and share – a lot!

As men get older, they tend to suffer from a well known condition ‘selective deafness’. This complicated filtering system enables them to hear the television, to hear you call ‘dinner’s ready’ and their mates inviting them for a drink. But strangely – ‘can you put the cat out/the tap in the bathroom needs fixing/where shall we go on holiday this year’ becomes white noise, inaudible to the male human ear. Fascinating.

My late, much beloved husband was a fantastic listener in the early days of romance. He would l watch my face intently, his head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes, rich pools of dark treacle, hanging on my every word. Fast forward to twenty years later and ‘are you listening to me’ was my common cry as he kept his finger on the point in the newspaper he had reached when I tried to talk to him. If we had something important to discuss where I needed his full attention, (like the time he surprised me with a gift of two Labrador puppies and I completely freaked) we used to go out for a meal. This tactic was designed to ensure that a) he wasn’t distracted so would listen and b) I couldn’t yell in a public place!

My grandmother used to believe that men’s listening skills involved ‘in one ear and out the other’ which could explain a lot.

Research has shown that men and women display different listening behaviours. Women need more affirmation that they are being listened to. We need to see the head tilted in concentration, frequent nodding, and obvious engagement. Whereas men were found to view frequent nodding as a sign of absolute agreement.

So it may be that women aren’t better listeners, we are just better at pretending to listen!

In Los Angeles, a recent poll found that a third of women felt that their pet’s listened to them more than their husband. On the other hand, there is a UK dating agency that specifically looks for Japanese brides as apparently they are much more ‘silent and attentive’ than Englishwomen.

I guess there are two sides to every story.....

Wayne Rooney – the ugly side of football

2011-04-05T10:17:00.003+01:00

Yesterday the Football Association (FA) gave Wayne Rooney a two match ban for swearing into a television camera during a match on Saturday. At first glance this may seem an excessive punishment, especially for Rooney’s team, Manchester United, as they enter a crucial phase in the lead up to the climax of the Premiership title race.

But, even though I am a Manchester united season ticket holder, I applaud the FA (and it’s not often I say that) and their decision.

I was watching the match on TV at the weekend. It was an exciting spectacle, with Man U pulling back from a first half 2 – 0 deficit with three goals from Rooney in the space of 15 minutes in the second half. It was my idea of a perfect Saturday – slow start to the day then settling in to a favourite armchair to watch my favourite team play my favourite sport. Like all armchair fans that afternoon, I leapt up as the penalty went in. Rooney’s team mates swamped him as footballers do in celebration, but then he shook them off and turned to the camera, his face contorted into an ugly mass of hatred. With what can only be described as pure venom and raw anger, he swore audibly, and for even those hard of hearing, there could be no doubt as to the words he so clearly mouthed. I literally stepped back – the verbal attack suddenly feeling very personal.

The joy of the game was gone for me in an instant.

What a wonderful contrast a few minutes later as Hernandez scored United’s fourth goal. He stood still, eyes heavenward, arms outstretched, with a smile that was like liquid sunshine. It could have melted icebergs. His joy was the joy of hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of spectators all over the world.

Another fine contrast to the miserable Rooney is the goalkeeper, Edwin Van Der Sar, who has served his team brilliantly since 2005, and remained constant in his demeanour and professionalism even as his wife fought a life threatening illness last year. Most, if not all, of Rooney’s off pitch concerns are of his own making. Through greed, lack of control or sheer ignorance.

I hope that Sir Alex Ferguson does not contest this two match ban, even though it may have consequences for the team. I also hope that Rooney goes on to score many more goals for us till the end of the season so his value on the transfer market goes up.

Then I hope Manchester United will sell him. I don’t want to see that nasty face of football at Old Trafford next year.

Thank you Mum.

2011-04-02T10:26:00.001+01:00

In the UK this Sunday is Mother’s day – and my first without my mother. Even though she suffered from severe dementia for the last ten years of her life, my Mum will be very much missed on this special day for mothers.

So I thought I would send her one last card, with my thanks.

Thank you for:

Helping me believe I can do anything: This was such a powerful message that I even applied to join the first

astronaut programme in 1987. The really scary thing is that I got through the first round of applications and am terrified of heights!

Telling me that childbirth is ‘as easy as falling off a log’: Of course it isn’t – but I went into the labour room perfectly calm which I am sure contributed to the very easy birth of my daughter.

Being a fantastic Granny: Staying with Granny and Granddad was always a great adventure for my daughter and niece. And thank you for loving your step grandchildren too.

Teaching me that cooking is about love: You were always a wonderful hostess, even though the kitchen looked like a crime scene afterwards.

Your courage: In joining the Royal Navy during the second world war, and having the courage to marry a ‘poor Scottish sailor’ despite your parents’ disapproval.

Showing me that there really is such a thing as true love: Your love story and long years of marriage gave me the patience to wait for the right one and recognise my true love when I met him.

Teaching me to like gin and tonic: Alcohol was never a mystery or forbidden fruit to so I believe I have a healthy relationship with it.(and very rarely get drunk!!)

Helping me understand that fun, family time and generally enjoying life is much, much more important than housework: Perhaps telling your granddaughter that women with tidy cupboards have very small brains was a little extreme!

Being terribly funny: Even when you didn’t mean to!

Really embarrassing your children: It meant that I have been able to do the same with mine!

Being there when I needed you: getting up at 5am to be with me when my late husband had surgery and managing to keep me occupied and relatively sane whole as waited for him to come out of the operating theatre.

Being fiercely proud of your children: we have all grown up to be pretty confident individuals with a good sense of self worth.

Teaching me independence: If I didn’t press my school uniform, no-one else would.

For my genes: Pity about the bunions and my short sight, but good skin, good health and hopefully longevity are all precious gifts.

If there is a Heaven, I have no doubt you will be there, causing your own very special brand of happy chaos, surrounded by those we have lost but still love.

Ten things women (and some men) need to know about football:

2011-03-31T11:43:00.002+01:00

It’s not a matter of life and death: Really, it’s not. But as Bill Shankly, the legendary Liverpool manager stated, ‘I assure you, it’s more serious than that’. I must confess during the Euro ’96 penalty shoot out , England vs Germany, it felt pretty serious and very painful.

Football really is a game of two halves: Many a match has been transformed by the half time team talk or clever substitutions. A good example is the 2005 Champions League final when Liverpool were 3-0 down in the first half which was transformed in the second half into a 3-3 draw and subsequent win on penalties. The Manchester United manager, Sir Alex Ferguson’s ‘hairdryer’ treatment (when he delivers a verbal onslaught to the team) has been shown to be highly effective in many a second half turnaround.

Don’t leave before the final whistle: Manchester United were 1-0 down against Bayern Munich in the 1999 Champions League final with 1 minute to go. Man U scored in the 1^st and 3^rd minute of injury time. And my husband nearly had a heart attack.

The England football team: Haven’t won anything since 1966

A penalty: Is something that England players miss on a regular basis.

A dive: Is what you do in the box in front of the goal if you want a penalty

Footballers writhe around in agony when they get tackled: Because they want the perpetrator to be given a red or yellow card and because they are sissies. Funnily enough, when they are really hurt they don’t make a fuss and are big brave soldiers.

FIFA stands for: Federation Internationale de Football Association. Or old Fogeys Intent on F****** up A beautiful game

Sepp Blatter: President of FIFA. Very popular in Russia and

Qatar

. Rest of the world? Not so much.

‘We was robbed’: Is what you must say every time your team loses a match.

Ten differences between men and women watching T.V.

2011-03-29T18:28:00.001+01:00

Women	Men
Like to watch a programme with company so they can discuss it and provide ongoing commentary	Prefer to watch alone.
Stand in front of the T.V. to get their attention	Never want our attention when they’re watching t.v.
Leap up in the ad breaks to do stuff	Don’t
Tend to sit anywhere when watching	Have a special chair and woe betide anyone who sits in it..
Love soaps	Probably love soaps but won’t admit it
Do other things at the same time such as chat, ironing, their nails, check emails	Can’t and won’t even have a conversation while watching T.V.
Watch a favourite film over and over	‘Why watch it again? I know what happens’
Ask questions during thrillers – ‘why did he do that? Is she a baddie?’	‘Wait and see’ (and even if the plot is complicated, won’t admit they don’t get it)
Will channel hop if allowed	Hide the remote
Like to switch off and go to bed when it get’s late	‘I’ll be up in a minute dear’

Did you know?

In the UK, the average viewing time per person day is 4 hours, in the USA it’s 4 hours 49 minutes. This means we spend an average of more than one whole day per week watching T.V. This figure dips in the summer months.

In the UK, 97% of households own at least one T.V. and in the USA this figure is 98%.

If it weren't for the fact that the TV set and the refrigerator are so far apart, some of us wouldn't get any exercise at all. - Joey Adams