How come.......?

How come some things should be kept in the home?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 08 Oct 2015 14:13:00 +0000

On Saturday, when my friend arrived for a weekend visit, I foolishly told him that he could purchase a sandwich in town. This didn't seem like an unreasonable ambition in a big town like ours. However, after rejecting various venues (too crowded, too cakey, too flimsy/too main meal'y, no food at all'y), I panicked and suggested what I admitted was a vaguely average tea room. But at least, I hoped, he could get a much needed sandwich there. As we waited to be seated, I again re-iterated the average nature of the establishment. Sitting down at the tables, I realised how dowdy the decor was: Walls painted in what I can only describe as grotty, frumpy 1980s pink were displaying decidedly odd cat paintings: One depicted a couple, standing on their hind legs, about to get married. "That cat looks terrified", remarked my friend. I really felt that he looked proud, but then again, I am no expert in cat expressions. Another painting depicted a mother cat, still on her hind legs, cradling her twin kittens. We couldn't decide which was worse: Painting these wretched pictures, buying them or displaying them, and felt concerned about everyone involved in the process. Meanwhile, the table was covered in an old floral tablecloth, on top of which was a cream platic sheet. Why shops decide that this is a good look is beyond me. Not deterred by these minor decorating sins, the menu, while laminated, still attempted to project a touch of class by mentioning the word "vintage". The classy attempt was carried on in another leaflet which suggested that you may want to buy a souvenir to remind you of your teashop experience, in the form of some vintage plates. These were "displayed" in a small cardboard box next to the till at the front.

While I have nothing against plates from charity shops, It does seem rather cheeky to buy them, display them in such a lazy manner and then expect people to pay, say £2 for a large plate. If our goodies had been served in vintage porcelain, I could at least see the logic, but everything was served in cheap, plain white, rippled porcelain, reminiscent of canteens up and down the country. Anyway, I digress. Back at the table, we were studying our menu. A group of teas were under the heading "made from teabags". "I am not sure whether that is a boast or a disclaimer", I muttered. There was also a bewildering option to purchase "boiling water - without tea, coffee..." and something else. I suppose you had to buy this separately, because their teas were actually quite cheap.

After much eating, drinking and chatting, I decided to go to the toilet. Luckily, there was one toilet for men and one for the ladies. I say luckily, because as I sat down, I realised that I appeared to have a rather explosive stomach. After finishing, I noticed the sound of rustling outside. Oh no, please don't let it be a lady, who will undoubtedly faint if she comes in here. When I nervously opened the door, hoping to find either a man, or better, no-one there, I was devastated to discover the female teashop owner waiting outside. All I could do was walk past, then hurriedly pay and run.....some things are definitely best left at home. And what did my friend comsume in there? Did he buy one of their sandwiches? No, he plumped for fruit scone with clotted cream and jam. That and some hot chocolate with cream.

How come big birds are only fun in Sesame Street?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 27 Aug 2015 12:31:00 +0000

As I was wiping squashed bits of egg from the tent floor, I was wondering whether camping was really the best idea we had had this year. Our normally fairly calm and occasionally sensible children, apparently thought camping was short hand for "run around screaming and giggling". As for the egg bits - how did they always manage to spill all their food everywhere? Worse, as showering at the camp site cost 20p for 4 minutes, I was going to have to severely downgrade my normal shower routine: Goodbye groomed goddess (at least let me dream) - hello hairy yeti! As we had 4 shower cubicles between about 60 people, we were going to have to shower in the evenings in a, perhaps vain, attempt to avoid the morning rush. As it was fairly chilly, I was definitely not moisturising either, so I couldn't even feel good about myself - apart from the smug warm glow of giving our girls an exciting holiday of course, ahem.....At least we remembered the towels this time. 2 years ago, we resorted to using my linen skirt. Something like that will quickly wipe the smug smile off anybody's face.

While we were eating our first meal in the tent, I suddenly realised there was a smell of poo nearby. When I asked why, our eldest daughter rather worryingly informed us that she needed the toilet. This was quickly followed by her saying she didn't need it any more. If you know of any finishing schools still in existence, I should be grateful if you could pass their details on to us - I think we could do with one. As for the smell, we chose to ignore it and it disappeared. Luckily.

Although I have my doubts about camping, our eldest daughter nearly convinced me, simply by saying how excited she was to be in a lovely warm, cosy bed and how it is nice being with your friends, but cosier being with your family. Incidentally, using the word cosy here may be due to her being half Danish. As any Dane will tell you, they will use the word cosy in almost any context (I am excluding myself slightly here, as I do not say it as often as my countrymen, but it means having a lovely time with family and friends).

Anyway, I digress. So, I was almost sold on the whole concept of camping, but was still unimpressed by the fact that going to the toilet and showering requires an, albeit minor, walk. Why can't we have a camper van? Probably because you would have to go on holiday for about 3 weeks every year for 9 years before it has paid for itself, that is why. Speaking of money, in order to save ours, I forced the family to eat a delicious packed lunch, minus the burnt quinoa, which was generally considered unfit for human consumption. Of course, by the time we found the beach and sat down, it was raining....again. On top of that, vicious sea gulls were circling the crowds. "Don't be stupid', I heard one rather unsympathetic mother tell her child, "they won't bite you. You haven't got any food." This didn't bode well, as we were obviously laden with the stuff. Laughing in the face of danger, we settled down on a wall by the beach. Well, at least, my husband and I were laughing. The children were nervous - possibly influenced by an unfortunate encounter with several greedy and intimidating geese a few days earlier (note to self: Next time your friend suggests feeding the geese in the park, just say no). Back at the beach, I was laughing at the stress of it all and said how this just added an element of danger to lunch. No sooner had I said this, than a seagull plumped onto my head, prompting me to scream and drop my precious almond butter sandwich. The gull flew off but my sandwich had disappeared. The girls were of course more nervous than ever now, with the youngest manically squeezing her sandwich to death and panicking about us not letting her put it back in the plastic box. Meanwhile, I kept wondering out loud where my sandwich was. Just then, our eldest daughter jumped down from the wall and said she had found some bread on the pebbles. "That's my sandwich!" I exclaimed, triumphantly. "I just stepped on it." she replied. Ah. We left it there. Of course, as soon as we left, some damned seagull swooped in. I hope he has an almond butter allergy, I muttered angrily. "What a great idea to bring a packed lunch", my husband offered, sounding unnecessarily bitter. We finished our lunch further into town, away from the gulls, but unfortunately close to our youngest daughter's other great fear: Dogs. Still, at least we got to eat in peace, once we had balanced the food, water bottles and newly bought bucket and spades. The seagull incident was the most fun I had had all day :o Later on, sitting in a bar by the beach, my husband tried to allay my fears of being cold if we chose outdoor seats, by saying we would be fine, to which our youngest daughter retorted "unless a seagull pecks my ear."

How come driving is such a challenge?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 25 Feb 2015 14:33:00 +0000

I will let you in on a little secret: It took me about 70 lessons before I finally passed my driving test - on the 3rd attempt. You might think that 70 lessons isn't that embarassing - but what if I told you that these were all in automatic cars?

Clearly, I am not a brilliant driver, not even a great one. I am, however, a perfectly average driver, if your average driver finds parked vehicles and bollards particularly challenging. Although I passed my test in 1996, I hardly drove at all until 2012. During my 2.5 years of driving, I have managed to hit 3 parked cars and 2 bollards. Both the bollards and one of the cars were in the same supermarket. One bollard started swaying alarmingly, though in my defence, it wasn't actually secured to the ground in the first place. I dutifully confessed to the guy whose job it was to assess the damage (there was none), and added that my long-suffering husband had explained, through gritted teeth, that I do not need to get quite that close to the pavement every time I park. "You are just a considerate driver" he offered kindly - implying that I was merely leaving plenty of room for others behind me.

Hitting other vehicles is less considerate. The most mortifying incident happened in the same supermarket: My daughter and I were discussing how a local paper had written about an elderly lady ploughing into the shop's windows a few weeks earlier. We both felt sorry for the poor woman, whose bad driving had been reported for all to read. We then got in the car and I started reversing. At this point, I really should have checked my rear-view mirror. As I did not, however, the scraping sound took me by surprise. Prompted by this, I finally checked the mirror and saw, to my horror, a lovely little scooter being pushed along by our burly car. As I stopped and got out, several employees came running towards us. They had spotted the accident because I had been considerate enough to do it right in front of the massive café windows, for everyone to see. Although there was no damage, I have noticed that the scooter owner, rather wisely, parks on the pavement now.

As we drove off, my daughter piped up: "Everyone in the café was looking. It was really embarrassing". I had suspected as much, which is why I had carefully avoided looking over. "Will we be in the news now?", she carried on. "No", I said, glumly. "How do you know?" "Because we haven't caused any damage". I didn't mention my bruised ego - this wasn't a good time to discuss self-esteem with a 6 year old.

A few months later, I was leaving my friend's house at midnight. This time, I was suitably alert. "No", I thought to myself, "I'm not going to hit the car in front of me, I am no fool." Which is why I successfully reversed (I always worry I will confuse "drive" with "reverse"), started turning confidently in the road, and then drove into the neighbour's car opposite. Ah.

I panicked and ran back inside my friend's house. As we couldn't talk to the owner straight away, we went outside to assess the car ourselves. "It doesn't look like there is any bad damage", she said soothingly, carefully touching the rear light I had just hit. At this, half the light fell out. It turned out, that I had also scratched the bumper. While it did cost me money, at least the owner was kind and understanding - just like my friends: After a few years' practice, I can now drive past them and wave simultaneously, without veering dangerously towards them. A fact I am sure they are very grateful for...

How come parents need to man up?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 28 Jan 2015 10:51:00 +0000

Well, excuse the expression. There is a great deal of debate about whether it is harmful for children to spend such a long time in front of the screen as many indeed do. Some parents are concerned that their offspring seem addicted to the things, and refuse to, say, go outside in the fresh air for a walk. While some parents do resort to banning the offending items on certain days or at certain times, I can't help but wonder why on earth they allow the situation to get so bad in the first place. Have they forgotten that they are the parents and their children are, erm, the child? Why do some parents seem to let their children dictate to them?

Children need parents to act like parents by setting boundaries and telling them whenever they are behaving badly. While you may mistakenly think that your child will become your friend and thank you in years to come for your weak boundaries and disclipline, they will not. Neither will their friends. If they have any. If you do not teach your child how to behave like a decent human being, by telling them whenever they are being rude and inconsiderate, how do you think they will learn? Perhaps you plan to teach them later on, after years of allowing them to do things whenever it suits them.

No, if you let your child rule the house, you are teaching them that their needs are far more important than those of other people. Furthermore, you are making them feel unsafe, because a child needs you to show them what is, and what is not, acceptable behaviour. Often, a child will try to test your boundaries and rules. If they meet only weak and inconsistent resistance, they will keep pushing, in the subconscious hope that their parent will show them the way, by telling them to stop doing whatever it is.

Parents also need to impose a stronger discipline because children are just that - children. Consequently, they are obviously not as capable of making decisions about their future as the parent (hopefully) is. Thus the parent can decide that the child should not be spending 3 hours a day playing a computer game because they will ultimately be happier if they spend more time playing something more interactive with their friends, which allows their imagination to develop. Equally, you can decide to teach the child how to eat healthily by making sure you offer them foods you are happy for them to eat. In everyday life, many children refuse to wear certain items, even things that keep them warm. If the parent refuses to let the child leave the house, the child will soon learn to dress properly. These are decisions that need to be taken by the parent, not the child. Do not let your child tell you what to do. Giving in will obviously avoid a conflict that day, but merely by postponing it and teaching your child to dominate you. You are not equals, and you will not become equals by giving in.

For those parents worried about their children's huge amount of screen time, whether it be TV, computers or game playing, I would simply advise them to act like a parent, rather than a simpering friend, and just tell the children how long they are or are not allowed to spend doing it. If they do not adhere to this, I would confiscate the damn things for a week. At least.

Honestly, why do we think that giving in to our children, against our better judgment, is a good idea? You are teaching your child that if they keep whining, they will get their own way, and that other people's needs are always far less important than their own. Charming. What kind of future are you making for them? Would you want to work with, live with or love an adult like that? Do you think others will want to?

How come free speech comes with responsibility?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 08 Jan 2015 14:11:00 +0000

As you are probably aware, there were some terrible shootings in Paris yesterday, when masked gunmen stormed the offices of satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, killing 12 people,including some police officers. The reason given for the killings was offensive comic strips. The last comic was of an Islamic state militant group leader, but may have been published too late to influence the attacks. The picture was carrying on an Islamic theme, however, where the previous picture showed Muslim extremists saying they had not yet attacked France but that they still had time to do so before the end of January. I absolutely agree that the shootings were horrific and should never have happened. No human being has the right to hurt another, unless they are directly trying to kill you, of course. However, I am concerned that state leaders, the press and many others view this purely as an attack on freedom, democracy and freedom of speech.

While I agree that freedom of speech is a very important and highly treasured aspect of our, so-called, democracy, I do not understand why this term is mainly bandied about when the press offend people. Why must freedom of speech mean the right to say whatever we want, about whoever we want? BBC.co.uk explains that the editor of Charlie Hebdo, Stephane Charbonnier, had lived with death threats and the offices had been destroyed in a firebomb attack in 2011, the day after the magazine had named the prophet Muhammad as its next editor in chief. Charbonnier told the Associated Press in 2012 that "Muhammad isn't sacred to me". This is my point exactly: Muhammad may not be sacred or important to him, but why does that give him the right to upset others? He felt that a minority of Muslims was making life difficult for others, and so he wished to make life difficult for them.

We must surely use our freedom of speech with some thought and care. Since when is speaking your mind, whatever the consequences, seen as more important than carefully mulling things over, before you speak, having carefully considered the consequences on your fellow human beings? Being able to satirically make fun of and criticise people's contradiction, hypocrisy and inefficiency is an essential aspect of living in a free country, and of holding those in power even slightly accountable. This would be the case with the last Charlie Hebdo comic strip before the attacks. However, why is it important that we are legally allowed to hurt people's feelings because you disagree with their religion, or even, on a more mundane level, because you think they have gained weight and have exposed their cellulite on the beach? Why is free speech valued above decency and empathy? It is very easy to defend free speech when you are not emotionally involved, but if somebody published a cartoon depicting your relative, or your God in what you deemed a disrespectful way, would you defend the cartoonist's right to publish it? While comic strips can be a great way of quickly getting a point across to people who are too busy to read long articles (or who, like me, perhaps prioritise their time differently), they are not suited to serious, in-depth discussions, obviously. They therefore often appear crude and rude, which means they are not really the best medium for religious discussions.

I was partly touched and partly puzzled by the reports of streams of images on Twitter and in the paper, of the words "Je suis Charlie" (I am Charlie). I understand the knee jerk reaction of showing the gunmen that you cannot kill free speech, and that lots of others also have the right to say what they want to say. But have people really thought about what message they are also passing on, when they write or pass on the "Je suis Charlie" image? What it basically means is, that they too think you should be able to write anything about anybody. Of course you should, but does that mean it is always the right thing to do? If you are exposing hypocrisy and bad management, then yes. If you are merely venting your frustration and anger by offending people's religion, then no. According to www.bbc.co.uk, David Cameron has stated that in a free society, "people have to be free to offend each other." I do agree, but still question why nobody seems to wonder whether offending people is really very nice. While I hope the magazine carries on, I would just like to see more empathy and sensitivity generally in the press, towards everybody.

Most people, in their daily lives, would never dream of telling their friends, acquaintances and relatives every little thought they have about them, and thank goodness for that. Would we like to be told every time our hair looked bad, or whenever we looked fatter or tired? How would we feel if our choices of partner, house, music, children's names, religion were scrutinised and criticised by our loved ones? Would we happily go to bed, thinking how lucky we were to live in a country with free speech? Probably not. Most people only believe in free speech if it does not affect themselves. Some people love giving their opinion, whether it is wanted or not, whenever possible, without much thought for the effect their words have on other people. While it is wonderful that we have free speech, we have a duty to treat each other kindly and to, occasionally, apply an internal filter to avoid unnecessarily hurting people's feelings. I think we all know someone we would like to filter at times, because sometimes, silence is golden. As Dr. PaulTaylor, senior lecturer in culture and communications at Leeds University said on Jeremy Vine's show on 8/1/15: "just because you can say something, doesn't mean you should."

How come you are better than the kissing Sainsbury's lesbians?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 16 Oct 2014 23:05:00 +0000

Dear frightened mother and Sainsbury's customer.

I hope you have got over your obvious initial shock at coming into close contact with actual homosexuals at the weekend. On Coming Out Day too. In Brighton - Britain's gay capital. I wonder why you expressed your disgust at the light peck administered by Annabelle Paige to her girlfriend and why you feared for your children's safety and felt the need to inform the security guard.

I am sure the security guard must have been confused at first too - especially as she would normally only deal with customers who are actually destroying or stealing property or threatening other customers.

What did you worry the women would do to your children? Do you worry that all gay people are in fact child molesters? If so, have you informed the relevant authorities? Perhaps you don't believe this, but they are just like anybody else. They have the same hopes, fears, hobbies, issues etc. With one sad exception: They feel the need to, nervously, come out and "confess" to their friends and family that actually, they love people of their own gender. Why are they so worried about disapproval and rejection? Because of people like you. So thank you very much, good job, well done and keep up the good work.

How come the BBC was right to show a rape scene in Eastenders?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 12 Oct 2014 15:51:00 +0000

Perhaps you have read about the controversy surrounding the rape scene in the BBC soap "Eastenders"? Essentially, a happily married woman is raped by her seemingly normal brother in law (or nephew - as this is Eastenders, there is some murky family secret there). The rape takes place after she comforts him, while they are alone in her flat. In order to be able to comment fairly on this storyline, I did actually watch it. The rape is not even shown, it is implied: The victim protests and is pushed down onto a table, looking distraught. The next time we see them, he is stroking her hair and he promises he won't tell anyone. The victim says nothing, but later showers and disinfects her clothes.

278 people complained to the BBC while more than 100 complained to Ofcom (an independent regulator of the UK communication industry). This is a tiny minority compared to the huge amount of people who watched the episode - 7.3 million people. However, the bosses of Eastenders were still forced to explain that this soap"has a rich history of tackling difficult issues." Frankly, they are far more diplomatic than I would be. The reason the viewers complained was, that they felt the storyline was too traumatic, and they wanted the BBC to specifically warn that the episode may be disturbing, just before it was broadcast. One viewer tweeted that the soap is always so depressing. To state the obvious though: nobody is forcing these people to watch it, are they?! One viewer tweeted that "it is a difficult subject to tackle with an 11 year old" while another complained that "I was watching with my 15 year old daughter who got very upset!! Disturbing!!!"

Yes, it is disturbing, but because it is deeply contradictory and irresponsible to choose to watch a soap with your teenage daughter, which portrays constantly bickering and unhappy families who threaten and beat each other up, only to discover that your child is unable to cope with implied rape. If you choose to watch the soap with your child, you should be willing and able to discuss any issues the programme brings up, including that of sexual violence. If your child is old enough to understand that the implied rape scenes depict a rape, then she is old enough to be taught that rape does not just happen on an unlit path at night. She is old enough to learn that if her boyfriend forces himself on her, that is also rape.

I suspect many parents who watch soaps with their children do not actively choose for their children to watch it. Rather, they just watch the soaps even though their children are still up. Whatever the reason for the children watching, it is blatantly NOT the responsibility of the programme makers to ensure that their adult television programme will not distress any children whatsoever, just because it is screened before the 9pm watershed. For readers outside the UK, the 9pm watershed is a rule that programmes screened before 9 in the evening, should be suitable for children (that is, no swearing, sexual content, violence). However, as parents, we must take responsibility too. It is totally unreasonable to expect the people with no children, older children or with adult children, to watch child friendly television until 9pm, simply because some parents of young children let them watch whatever they themselves happen to be watching. Obviously, we all make mistakes sometimes, but that does not mean we should blame somebody else.

I should hold my hand up here and admit that our 2 young girls (then aged 4 and 6) once watched the end of the children's television channel CBeebies until the programmes changed to a food programme with experimental cook and liquid nitrogen lover Heston Blumenthal. Consequently, they discovered a real interest in his programmes, so we started finding them online and watching them together, all four of us. One episode turned out to contain a scene in which some very excitable women were drinking liquid chocolate from golden penises. My husband and I felt negligent that they had watched it, but it had gone over their heads.

Crucially, although these programmes had sometimes aired before the 9pm watershed, we would never dream of blaming anybody but ourselves, because as their parents, it is obviously our responsibility to vet what they watch. Similarly, I wonder why the parents of the distressed young Eastenders viewers do not just take responsibility and also seize the opportunity to discuss rape with their children. An opportunity like that does not often present itself, but it is crucial that children feel able to talk to their parents about anything at all, and that the children, as burgeoning adults, understand their rights. Increasingly, children are growing up in a sexualised media environment and some young girls are under pressure from their boyfriends to carry out sexual acts before they are ready, partly fuelled by the easy access to hard core porn. Add to this the fact that many people are confused about what constitutes rape and our children clearly need to be taught better personal boundaries. I am including you, George Galloway in the rape confusion, as you claim that having sex with someone who is asleep is bad sexual etiquette rather than rape! Galloway is not alone, though: a survey for Amnesty International found that 37% of respondents believed that it was the victim's own fault, if they did not say "no" clearly enough. Furthermore, 21% of young men would try to have sex with someone who did not want to have sex with them. Furthermore, some young people have no idea that they are always entitled to say no, whether they have had sex with someone before, or whether they are mid-act and want to stop.

Would any parent not want to help their child understand what is and what is not rape? As Vicky Prior points out in Metro on 7th October, the rapist in the Eastenders story line is the opposite of how rapists are normally portrayed in the media (old, ugly flashers who leap on strangers) and the victim is happy, bubbly and confident, also, she thinks, the opposite of a normally portrayed victim. And, as Ms Prior says, that is why this storyline is important: It shows that rape can happen to anybody, at any time.

If your child was ever raped, you would want them to realise that it was not their fault; and that rape by a friend or relative is still rape, wouldn't you? That is the point of the Eastenders plot. One person, complaining about Eastenders, said that the soap was not the place to tackle this issue: However, with more than 10% of the UK's population watching it, and with young people saying that sex education in schools is too little, too late and too biological, I would argue that Eastenders is an excellent place to tackle this issue, and we should all be grateful rather than complaining about it. The soap even dishes out helpline numbers for people who have been raped, what more do people want?

How come we don't know when to give up and when to keep going?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 22 Sep 2014 21:55:00 +0000

What price are we willing to pay for life? Would we do whatever it takes to prolong it? Should we be allowed to determine when to stop treatment, when we or a relative become seriously ill?

In the UK, treatment is paid for by the NHS (National Health Service), which means the doctors decide whether to carry on or not. In the US, it is mainly insurance companies who pay (unless you are poor and fulfil certain criteria, in which case the government run & funded Medicaid pay for the treatment). Consequently, the American hospitals are happy to continue treating people, as it is not them, but the insurance companies who pay. This is presumably why the US is the country which spends the most money on end-of-life care. As Louis Theroux points out in LA Stories, that also means the patients have to decide when to stop (within reason. Sometimes the doctors will stop treatment even though the patients want to carry on. However, I do not know whether that only happens to poorer patients). Crucially, though, a doctor is, usually, able to assess a patient's chances of recovery far better than the patient himself, whose judgement is often clouded by hope and ignorance.

Sometimes, it is the relatives who are unable to let go, as is the case for Francisco, who appears in LA Stories. After his stroke 3 years ago, he has been a vegetable in a hospice bed, unable to do anything other than grimace. He is mainly unconscious, though his sister insists he is improving. Francisco's doctor says, grimly, that these facilities did not exist 20-30 years ago. He also points out that by choosing to spend money on these vegetative patients, rather than letting them die, we are taking money from patients who could benefit more.

However much we may feel that Francisco's sister is torturing him by keeping him alive, can we blame her? How can anyone ever really decide when to give up on our, or our relative's life? Take the case of 22 year old Langston, who appeared in LA Stories, after a drug overdose had led to a traumatic brain injury. On the 4th day of him lying in a coma, the doctor told his family, that in the best case scenario, Langston would be in a persistent vegetative state, wearing a nappy, being fed through tubes, unable to talk or recognise anyone. In other words, at some point, the life support should be switched off (though she never said this directly). This was after a specialist had checked his brain scan.

After 37 days in a coma, Langston woke up and started talking, being fed from a spoon and recognising people. Later on, he started walking again. His doctor quipped that "he didn't read the textbook". Interesting that she doesn't consider the textbook to be wrong. His medical care cost millions of dollars, most of which was paid for by his insurance. Had his family trusted the doctors rather than their instincts, his life support may well have been switched off before he could wake up.

More worryingly: Had he not had insurance, would his family have been able to afford to keep him alive? Poor patients do get financial help, but what if you are considered able to afford it, by selling everything you own and spending the rest of your life in debt? How long would you choose to keep your relative on a life support machine then?

Sometimes, people avoid treatment for emotional rather than financial reasons. My father Ove was diagnosed with mouth cancer in 1997. After surgery, he had radiotherapy, which involved him wearing a plastic mask, specially constructed to fit his head as tightly as possible. He hated the treatment, but went through with it mainly because he felt that I was too young to lose him (I was 20). He always said that if the cancer returned, he would not seek treatment again. When the cancer did return 4 years later, he made sure I knew nothing about it. Partly because he wanted me to enjoy life and partly, I suspect, because he knew I would try to force him into treatment. The fact that he did not seek medical help has always felt like a rejection of life, of my mother and of me. Though he was looking at alternative treatments, I have no idea whether he had any. Their funds were limited, but surely he could have had something? However, he also seemed to really believe that he would not die as early as he did - he was even planning on opening a photographic studio.

He was a very proud man who felt that he would rather die a dignified death, than let himself be weakened by medicine or chopped up in an effort to remove a cancerous growth. A year later the cancer appeared to slowly spread to his tongue for the last 6 weeks of his life. Presumably, he could have had his tongue cut off, but he did not. He would definitely not have wanted a life of frenzied note scribbling and making incomprehensible noises rather than the animated conversations he was used to. He spent Easter with my mother, myself and my husband and died at home a few weeks later. Throughout, he had continued living life as he always did.

My father had always been determined to remain dignified and in control should he ever become ill, but this resolve was probably strengthened by witnessing his father's 2-year battle with cancer in the late 80s. My grand father Johannes was a hard-working farmer with 6 grown-up children, the oldest of whom is wealthy and controlling. Consequently, he was subjected to several different treatments over the course of his 2 year decline, as his children panicked about his impending death. Apart from the conventional cancer treatments, he also tried bitter almonds, which he hated, and lying in some sort of magnetic drum, which probably did nothing at all. The low point came when this elderly Dane who spoke no English, was flown to London to be treated at the Cromwell Hospital. As the most competent English speaker out of the children, my father was commandeered into accompanying him. As he could not stay in London for as long as my grandfather did, he was distressed at having to leave his vulnerable father in a hospital bed, armed only with a series of basic, written signs. At some point after returning to Denmark, my grandfather became bed-ridden and felt impotent as all he wanted to do was work again. "Don't you just want to rip out those big trees?" he asked his incomprehending sons one day, as he looked out at the grounds. They did not share his love of physical labour. Later on, when he finally died at the age of 76, after being weakened and depressed for a couple of years, it should have come as a relief. Instead, his eldest son rushed out to the nurse and asked her to revive him. She politely suggested that this would surely be unfair, and that he should rest in peace now. My uncle, defeated, left it at that.

Speaking of a 29 year old cancer patient, Louis Theroux poignantly says that "His end was probably hastened by his treatment, but he had also died fighting." Some patients will want to die fighting, despite this affecting their quality of life, whilst others, like my father, choose to maintain their current lifestyle for as long as possible, refusing to sacrifice anything for the sake of possibly living longer and/or being cured. Others, like Lynda Bellingham, choose to stop the treatment when it feels as though it is making their life a misery, staying in hospital when really, they will die anyway and so would rather be at home with their family. However, if the patient rejects treatment, there will often be a question mark in theirs and their loved ones' minds: Would they have been cured with treatment? Perhaps you can never know what the best option would have been, unless you are cured, of course. People are always happiest when they have control over their life and death, but this control may endanger our life or well-being. When and why do we give up? These are very personal questions - the answers to which, we hope, will not be determined by finances or outside pressure...

How come Blackpool rocks.........sort of?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Aug 2014 23:01:00 +0000

This week, we were lucky enough to enjoy a family/work trip to, erm, Blackpool. The accommodation was definitely not as posh as we had assumed, however the owner was exceedingly nice, albeit in a slightly aggressive way. The next morning, we went down to the breakfast room where the stencilled wall encouraged us to "Wake up and smell the coffee". Presumably this was an attempt to distract us from the actual smell (mould). The breakfast was actually quite nice though and had some excellent gluten- free options : )

Exploring the sea front felt like some sort of fitness test - this place is even windier than Brighton! Luckily, our hair stayed put - just. Venturing into one of the many gambling dens in the town, we were quickly passed by an adult shouting "I need to go toilet", which sort of set the tone really. We soon realised that the whole establishment smelt disconcertingly of sweat and chips (the kind you eat, obviously).

In Blackpool Tower, we tried out the coffee shop on the 5th floor, which proudly invites customers to "visit us for free". This tells you all you need to know about the level of exploitation elsewhere in the building, which is stacked full of expensive attractions advertised at last year's prices. Seemingly, the gnome heads who work there are incapable of pressing a few buttons to change the scrolling digital display. However, we still bought a family ticket to the circus, as we had heard great things about it and it seemed far better value for money than me clinging to the door frame at the top of the tower, wailing in terror while my family frolick on the glass floor. Even with the potential of watching some 4d film at the top, the circus was still the better choice. This is bearing in mind that I don't even like circuses. However, it was amazing and totally worth the extortionate entrance fee, even if they did take liberties with their Hollywood theme (I am fairly sure the Stormtroopers were never this comely, and they definitely never wore thongs). Staying with the Star Wars theme, the Skywalkers had us enthralled and terrified as they bravely jumped, skipped with ropes, walked blind-folded and occasionally stumbled (accidentally?) in and, worse, on big spinning wheels on either end of a spinning pylon. Our eldest daughter and I were on the edge of our seats but loved it.

No seaside town visit is complete without candy floss, so we purchased ours from an dodgy-looking local shop. Rather than being a charmingly old-fashioned-looking small business, this shop's steps were emblazoned with slightly threatening stickers saying things like "We sell fags" and "We sell BB guns". Nothing to be proud of, surely? But definitely in keeping with the local market, which boasted a stall featuring a large toy gun section as well as a stall devoted entirely to smoking accessories.

We also drove to the nearby town of Fleetwood, as my husband had to work there that afternoon. The town welcomes its visitors by promising that "we always welcome breast feeding". A, ahem, rather leche slogan, if you will excuse the milky pun. Its tourist office had relocated, presumably because there seems to be nothing to do there, other than enjoy the sea view. After flailing around on a windy field with some students for a while, he was free to go and we returned to Blackpool for a lovely evening meal before enjoying a good audio book in the car on the drive home. We should do that more often : )

How come I am so silly?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 26 Jul 2014 21:39:00 +0000

Perhaps you, like I, imagine yourself to be a perfectly competent adult. Until, that is, you remember all the silly things you have said and done. To make you feel better, feel free to peruse my personal list of incompetence and pure bad luck:

Announcing to a room full of people that George Michael was NOT gay.....the day before he was caught exposing himself to a MALE policeman in a public toilet.

Complaining to friends about the audacity of the airline company, which charged passengers for each of their legs - only to realise that the "legs" they were charging for, were in fact different legs of the journey...

Using the train toilet and watching in horror as the door slid open, revealing a load of fellow travellers staring in at me. That will teach me to assume the electronic door was locked - clearly technology and I don't mix.

Using a heart monitor to listen to our unborn baby's heartbeat and happily sharing this miracle with the grannies. We later learnt that we had been listening to my artery.

Repeatedly hitting the parking bollards in our local supermarket, and, once, managing to hit a parked scooter in the same car park - well, it was in a turning space and luckily there was no damage. I notice the scooter is now parked elsewhere!

Nobody is perfect. If you'd like to share your own imperfections then please feel free to add your comments.

How come you can never be too thin?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jun 2014 16:05:00 +0000

As she strode through the crowded swimming pool changing room, all I could think was how glamorous and slim she looked. Yet despite her being so skinny, she seemingly still managed to have presentable breasts - I found myself hoping that she was the nanny rather than the mother - because this woman made me re-think what a yummy mummy is; meaning I instantly felt about as attractive and cool as a.....well, a not very sexy thing. She also sported an unfeasionably tall pair of white stilettos, which made her look faintly ridiculous. I realised I was quite pleased about this - probably because her looking ridiculous made me feel a bit better. At least I knew how to dress for the occasion (children's swimming lessons). Saying that, when I was at school, my class teacher fell in love with, and married one of the swimming instructors at the pool she took us to, so perhaps this glam mum was hoping to do the same. Still, my husband scored brownie points by confessing that he had been hoping that sparkly, white stiletto woman would get the heel caught in the floor grate. I couldn't help but notice the white ring she was sporting though - why do ordinary (slightly bigger and a lot less glamorous) women never sport such diamond-tastic jewellery? Do lesser goddesses not inspire such bank busting devotion? Saying that, it could just be fake, like her tan. Ah, I feel better now : )

But it is sad that we women always compare ourselves to others. I did a bit of research online and found one of those "thin-spiration" websites that you may have heard of. It is a website filled with photos of slim women, meant to inspire you to carry on with your diet. The owner of the site encourages other women to send photos of themselves to her, which she will publish, as long as they are not anorexic. She also emphasises that being healthy is very important. However, despite being a perfectly good size and shape, I still came away from this site feeling kind of rubbish about myself.

Why? Because all the women looked super slim - think totally flat stomachs and thighs the size of catwalk models (on a fat day - i.e. only impossibly skinny as opposed to dangerously anorexic). I suppose that is a kind of "thin spiration", but not one I need, as I could never look like that without surgery. Much like the Carmen Electra photo I once put up, in order to motivate myself to stop snacking and stick to my exercise plan. Now, if you have never seen this woman, she basically looks like a sexed-up version of a Barbie doll. Therefore, no matter how hard I exercise and regardless of how much food I deny myself, I would only have a body like hers if I sawed about 4 inches off my hips, sucked some fat out of my thighs and put it in my breasts.

Ps: Did you know that 80s Supermodel Cindy Crawford would be classed as a plus-size model, if she was starting out today? Meaning the (UK) size 10 model would be considered slightly fat in the modelling world now. According to Cindy, several of her fellow supermodels were the same size as she was. In other words, our models are getting skinnier and skinnier, as are many celebrities. As these make up many of the role models that girls look to for inspiration, this is a worrying trend. It is like a vicious cycle in which, as consumers get thinner and thinner, models, who need to be even slimmer than mere mortals, have to lose even more weight. And so on....Just to remind you, here is Cindy in her glory days - what a fatty...

Fashiontrendsdaily.com

How come I do this to myself?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 24 May 2014 23:59:00 +0000

I have been on very few proper diets in my life. Mainly because I have managed just fine without them, but also because I have sometimes made some simple changes, such as cutting carbs without following specific recipes. For the past 18 months, however, I have not been exercising much, and as I have also been unable to gather up enough willpower to merely skip the carb part of normal meals, I really wanted to start shaping up a bit more again. So, when I spotted a simple-looking 4-week eating plan in a magazine, I went for it. Which is possibly why, one morning, I find myself walking slowly down the stairs, feeling rather pathetic. I need to eat breakfast because I feel ridiculously faint (and, truth be told, faintly ridiculous). Weakly, I manage to make my (admittedly delicious) breakfast smoothie. I am convinced that I have just not eaten enough the day before, as we were possibly not meant to eat our raw courgette with raw garlic pesto on its own, but rather with a side dish. A few hours later that morning, the raw garlic dinner makes a swift, unannounced exit. Suffice it to say I am grateful to be at home when it happens. Is this the reason I felt so weak? Possibly, since I have been okay since.

The next day, I am eating an unauthorised breakfast in a cafe with our youngest daughter. Feeling rebellious, I pour some skimmed milk into my tea. As I tuck into the familiar berry Bircher muesli/yoghurt, it suddenly tastes overly sweet and I feel even more guilty eating that, than I do about the milk in my tea. Clearly, I should have gone for the boring-looking fruit pot instead, but I thought this was vaguely okay, and more filling. The Bircher muesli really does taste far too sweet - have I become sensitised? Surely I don't eat that much sugar normally. Perhaps I am more unhealthy than I realised? Damn you eating plan woman - for hating sugar and making me fear it too.

Imagine how guilty I feel later that day when I sneak a few licks of coffee cupcake dough. Oh, so evil but oh so good.....

I do love the immediate changes in my body as I seem to miraculously de-bloat after a day but also feel un -realistically slimmer than I can be at this stage. Surely that is psychological? The reason I feel ridiculous, is because this eating plan has managed to make me feel even more paranoid and guilty about what I am eating, than I usually do. And that is saying something. I mean really, why do I feel like a random eating plan, made up by a woman I have never met, should rule my life? I suppose because I can be very determined when I aim for something - in this case, a slimmer version of my current self. The fact that I feel happier in myself when I am slimmer and more toned is rather depressing. Honestly, I would have thought that I would have managed to shake my body shape obsession by now, aged 37. That I could find enough redeeming qualities in myself to enable me to feel happy with who I am - whatever size I may be. I don't think I am alone in feeling like my body is all-important though. The headline introducing the 4 week plan says it all really: "Get back to your fighting weight" - who are we fighting? Ourselves, surely.

How come Eurovision is so amusing?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 12 May 2014 20:49:00 +0000

I mean that affectionately, by the way, rather than in a sneering way. Luckily, this year's crop of hopefuls was as weird and wonderful as ever: The Ukrainian entry featured a guy in a hamster wheel, manically running around while his female colleague belted out the song - perhaps we could connect his wheel to the mains and sell off the electricity generated. Or, box him up and pass him off as a desk toy for giants.

Belarus, meanwhile, opted for a cheesy man with hedgehog hair and a painted-on moustache, who, along with his equally un-cool backing singers sang about being someone's "cheesecake". Yes really.

Iceland was very catchy and full of energetic, colourfully dressed men, while Norway had opted for a lovely, but very serious bloke who makes window frames and doors? This was his first experience of singing professionally, and though he had a great voice, his attempt at looking sincere involved squinting. "He looks tired", our 6 year old observed.

Poland's entry made me regret the fact that the children were still up: The group was dressed in traditional folk costumes, but soon, one of the milkmaids took off her second top, thereby exposing her churn(s). She then proceeded to slowly pump a stick up and down into the bucket, while looking lustily into the camera. Her colleague was doing something similar. So, I guess this is what porny Eurovision looks like. This was obviously an insulting attempt to distract from the fact that the singer sounded like a tortured cat. Luckily, it did not work. While I would say that it is the singing rather than the spectacle of Eurovision that should count at voting time, I do understand that acts want to create a good show. But this is no place to parade bazumbas - of any nationality.

Austria's Conchita Wurst created her own controversy, as she turned out to be not a giant sausage, but rather a bearded man in a dress. In Belarus (the country who voted for the cheesecake song) many disgruntled citizens signed a petition asking for Conchita's performance to be edited out, saying that Eurovision would become a hotbed of sodomy. In Austria itself, a Facebook page, asking for Conchita to be removed, had 38000 likes. Although I did not particularly like the song, Conchita had a fantastic voice and the fact that she won the Eurovision last night is testament to the heart-warming truth that most people, at least most Eurovision viewers, are fairly sane people.

Speaking of controversies, the Russian twins had a fairly unremarkable song, but stood out because the audience kept booing them, whenever they got high points. As our British commentator Graham Norton pointed out, the poor girls are only 17 and can really not be blamed for any of Russia's political actions. As a Dane, I was embarrassed and could only hope that most of the booing audience were not Danish.

Being Danish did give me an insight into why the Danish hosts decided to surprise Graham Norton in the box, and why the host jokingly remarked that Norton had made fun of his weird Chinese jokes. You see, the Danes take Eurovision very seriously and really enjoy the spectacle each year. Certainly while I lived in Denmark, the Danish commentator was always respectful of the acts. It came as a big shock to the Danes, therefore, when they hosted the Eurovision in 2001 and British commentator Terry Wogan did his usual routine of making fun of the acts and the hosts. While I do agree that Terry and Graham's comments are funny, I also wonder why the Brits, Terry especially, seem so scathing. Nobody is forcing the Brits to take part, watch it or fly abroad to comment on it. If you can't stand the cheese, get out of the kitsch(en).

How come the North Korean prison camps still exist?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 06 May 2014 22:04:00 +0000

You have probably heard about the North Korean dictatorship regime with its ridiculously strict rules and punishments. Perhaps you already know about the prison camps - a modern day version of the Nazi concentration camps, where citizens are detained for any number of imagined crimes: Imagine rolling a cigarette using newspaper, which happens to bear the dictator's photograph. Or listening to South Korean radio stations. Maybe you own a Bible or you may have just been talking in a public place about your dislike of the regime. Many of the prisoners in these camps have no idea what they have done wrong. In a way, it doesn't matter, because they are unlikely to ever be let out anyway. Even worse, the North Korean regime operates a system of "guilt by association", meaning that if you commit a "crime", your parents and children will be sent to the prison camps too. Can you imagine being sent to a concentration camp - for life - because your grand-dad was considered to be disloyal to the leader or made a mistake at work?

As Amnesty points out, these camps are difficult to imagine because they are so extreme and so we don't like to think about them, because they are so horrific. However, here is a brief outline: Life in the camps is unbearable - torture, forced labour from dawn until night, child abuse, murder, women being forced to kill their babies etc. These inhumane camps have existed for 50 years and hold some 100.000 people, yet the North Korean authorities deny that they exist. Amnesty International has satellite photos proving that they do exist, and encouragingly, Amnesty believes that one prison camp was closed down because of the international attention a previous Amnesty report generated. However, their satellite images suggest that some of the camps are getting bigger.

Outside the prison camps, the regime survives partly by brainwashing it's citizens, partly by banning all outside influences and non-approved media (though slowly the North Koreans are getting glimpses of the internet and other media, such as South Korea dropping leaflets there), partly by encouraging people to report on each other and partly by eliminating people by sending them go the prison camps. Not to mention the starvation levels: Defectors even talk of children rooting through cow dung to find un digested seeds. Also, people cannot move freely out of the country - they have to escape through a mined and heavily guarded area. However, defectors estimate that most citizens now realise that the propaganda about how happy and healthy everybody is, is propaganda.

If you don't want to stand by, what can you do? By donating to Amnesty International, you help their campaign to lobby for pressure to be put on governments, collecting and verifying testimonies, placing newspaper ads and commissioning satellite photographs. Amnesty's evidence was used at the UN Geneva Summit in 2013. Go to https://www.amnesty.org.uk/giving/north-korea-issue.

You can also join http://northkoreacampaignuk.org/how-you-can-help-3/ and http://www.northkoreanow.org

Thanks for reading this

How come this is a recipe for blissful indulgence?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 23:44:00 +0000

Having washed the newly-acquired deodorant marks off my old wedding (guest) dress before being zipped into the thing by my endlessly patient husband, I am ready for a glamorous outing (my friend's 40th birthday). My pleasure at still being able to fit into this ancient dress is somewhat tempered when he, half-anxiously and half admonishingly asks: "Are you in pain?". "No", I breathe, in a slightly strained way- "it is only tight around the top anyway, so it can expand when I eat!".

Sitting at the station platform, I keep trying to ignore my cleavage. I don't make a habit of showing any part of it to anyone other than my husband and children. Therefore, as I am not really used to seeing my breasts in public, the sight of them, proudly displayed like two apples on a shelf is somewhat distracting and disconcerting. I never did show my boobs, but since having children I am even more reluctant to do so - especially since my eldest daughter once pointed out that they are smaller now, than when they had milk in them. Thanks for that. Still, they look alright when they are all trussed up and pushed out, but even so - thank goodness for my hair, which forms a very useful sort of curtain. Perhaps I should market a fake version, for shy women with short short hair and no sense when it comes to choosing dresses.

Getting off the train and actually walking towards the station exit proves somewhat awkward, as I am not even used to wearing semi teeny tiny heels anymore - not since I re-damaged my knee. Sigh - with these boots and this dress, I do feel glamorous, but I don't feel like me.

Luckily it turns out that I have got the dress code just right for this posh tearoom and by the time I get there I am used to the dress, the boots and the weird little handbag. Sort of. This is good - I no longer feel like a toddler trying on their first proper shoes.

Unfortunately, I feel slightly less sophisticated when I realise how excited I am about the fact that the expensive afternoon tea includes endless refills. Yes! I can eat as much as I want! Still, I stay relatively cool and calm. Until I order the Afternoon tea (finger sandwiches, scones, cakes) and suddenly realise that I am also holding a very comprehensive list of (drinking) teas in my hand. The waitress is waiting patiently while I panic - how the heck am I supposed to know what to order?!I have noticed that the menu states that this tea salon employs tea-ristas (tea experts, I assume), so when the waitress offers her help, I accept gratefully. To be honest, even if a random stranger offered their help at this point, I would accept. She appeals to my inner snob by revealing that, as I asked for a light tea, perhaps I would like the yellow tea, as this is only served in 2 shops in London (presumably this is one of them). Reader, of course I choose that one. It was...well, not amazing, but quite nice. Some sort of apricot blend. Or maybe it was peach - you see - I really don't know much about teas.

Feeling rather full a few hours later, I accompany my friend to the cake trolley (nobody else wanted to, so I foolishly offered to sacrifice myself). The trolley incidentally, is also included in our meal, though whether the re-fills here are endless, I couldn't say. Even if I wasn't stuffed at this point, the fact that we have to walk to the trolley and point to the cake we want is off-putting. After consuming a massive slice of some sort of raspberry sponge-finger monster of a Victoria sponge, I am stuffed. No, actually, make that slightly ill. Add a spoonful of embarrassment at how greedy we have all been. How did we eat so much? More annoyingly, it wasn't actually that much, but the tiny finger sandwiches and the munchkin cakes and scones make everybody look like giant greedy heffalumps as we grab the confections and wolf them down. Plus, eating 12 tiny finger sandwiches makes me feel almost as guilty as if I had consumed 12 gigantic rolls, because my psyche does the maths without taking the size into account.

Still, as I relax in the tiny train seat on the way back home, reading my book and eating some spicy crisps (a far cry from the sophistication of the tearoom), I feel happy and relaxed. What a lovely day : )

How come women are sluts?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 19 Apr 2014 23:26:00 +0000

Obviously, I don't mean that - however, the point I am making is entirely serious: Even in the 21st century, women's (and men's) complex sexualities are represented in stereotypically limiting and insulting ways. For instance, some men in Arabic countries believe that the women they see in Western porn really are spontaneously having sex with lots of different men - and that these women have a strong sex drive, because they are un-circumcised. The idea that un-circumcised women are promiscuous, is also used as one of the reasons for carrying out female circumcision. Even in our more liberal society, we are all also guilty of and subject to prejudices.

Women are still seen by some as either predatory sluts or innocent and corruptible girls - hence why the debate about the 26 year old teacher Kelly Burgess, who had a relationship with her 16/17 year old male student, saw the media reporting that she had caught a sexually transmitted disease from the boy, and her lawyer describing her as young and immature. Have you ever heard a male teacher being described like that after having a relationship with a student?

Conversely, why are ageing men with young partners described as "sugar daddies" while ageing women with young partners are described as "cougars"? How come we decided that men - who allegedly are the ones with the strong, unstoppable sex drive - age and turn into innocent, affable creatures, while women - who allegedly start out that way - turn into sexual predators? The latter being typified by the stereotype of the rampaging female divorcee, whose married friends suddenly shun her - in case she starts going after their husbands? How come male divorcees are never portrayed or viewed in this way? And have you ever wondered why there is no male equivalent to "slut"? Gender sexual stereotypes are insulting and demeaning. Not only that - they are limiting people's rights to express themselves in whatever way they damn well want to. Think of the public outcry when Miley Cyrus started wearing revealing clothes and the outraged hyperventilating when she shot a (sometimes) naked video for one of her songs. So what? Is female sexuality really so frightening that we have to condemn and ridicule those women who are publicly confident in their sexual identity? In private, according to a Cosmopolitan magazine survey, men like it when their girlfriends want to have sex. Duh.

While the frankly polarised way the media report on men's and women's sexuality is demeaning to us all, it also perpetuates and demonstrates these stereotypes. Sadly, apart from these ideas being annoying, they are also dangerous.. Take for instance the worrying 2012 Pentagon statistic that while the debate about sexual assaults in the army focus on the female victims, there are more male assault victims (53% of victims were men - mostly assaulted by other men). So, not only do the statistics get ignored when they don't fit our stereotypes, but the assaults also mainly go unreported when the victims are male, because they feel ashamed, embarrassed and scared. This is partly for legal reasons: Most of the interviewed male victims said they had been scared of dismissal, if they had reported any sexual contact with fellow males - even unwanted contact - because openly gay military personnel were banned up until 2011. However, male domestic abuse victims also tend to avoid reporting it due to feeling ashamed and emasculated. This is not to say that women never feel ashamed in those circumstances, but they generally, certainly in the West, still feel like women.

We are all, to greater and lesser extents, defined by these stereotypes and expectations whether they come from our families, members of our culture or the media generally, so perhaps we could all try to stop seeing stereotypes and start seeing people instead.

How come you need to point that out?!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 01 Dec 2013 08:53:00 +0000

I was having a lovely, wholesome time with our girls yesterday - painting pottery in a local cafe, when one of the other customers stood up and I noticed his t-shirt for the first time. He was a slightly chubby young man, and his top was a little bit too snug around his belly. Printed on his t-shirt, in huge, easy-to-read letters were the words: "May I recommend the sausage", accompanied by a large cartoon hand, helpfully pointing to his crotch. Until this point, his crotch had obviously not been on my mind, but now, rather distressingly, I found myself wondering what type of sausage he was attempting to advertise, in this mimicking of a waiter in a posh restaurant. Frankly, this was an unwelcome intrusion, and one which left me wondering what type of person feels the need to announce the presence of their genitalia to the world. If he felt that having a penis was newsworthy, then I'm pretty sure I would not want to sit next to him at a dinner party.

His garment tops the list of the typically crude and moronic t-shirts available to men in this country (for the people living outside the UK, I should explain that t-shirts for men are often either completely plain, or attempt to wittily talk about how often they have sex). Perhaps his t-shirt was made for the Japanese market, where birth-rates are worryingly low, and the garment could be viewed as a helpful reminder. Perhaps not. I suspect it was merely meant to be amusing. For me, however, it was just jaw-droppingly embarrassing, and I couldn't help but wonder whether he was even vaguely aware of how childish it made him look.

It does make one think though: How come men's t-shirts are supposed to point out how sexually active they are, while women's t-shirts tend to just be pretty? How many disapproving stares would a woman wearing a crude t-shirt referring to her sexual prowess get? If someone made a t-shirt saying "may I recommend the beef curtains", with a giant hand pointing down, would women rush to buy it? It does fit with the increasing trend of celebrities sharing what I assume are meant to be tantalising glimpses of their genitalia, or the life of their genitalia, with us: From the puzzling series of celebrities leaving their limos while flashing their, erm, lack of knickers, to Jordan (sorry, Katie Price) explaining how she shaves her genitalia ("it's called pulling the bits about"). That might not be exactly what she said, by the way, but my search for her actual words brought up a series of porn sites instead, so I gave up.

You might like to know that today I will be wearing a blank T-shirt and keeping my privates private.

How come brown isn't just called brown?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 08:54:00 +0000

We are currently in the exciting process of doing up our new house. Well, my husband and various labourers are. I am stuck babysitting. So, there are advantages to having children after all! However, the stresses of making sure everything looks just right and is done at the right time, is getting to me. Hence why I was lying awake earlier this week worrying about whether we were treating some beams correctly. As if it really matters. Clearly, the domestic (controlling) goddess syndrome strikes again. How can my life be perfect without a perfect house? And God help the child who dares to put their greasy fingers on our (by then) newly painted walls. We opted for the colour "soft stone" in the end. Simply because it was the least poo-like of the many browns we tested. The poo browns were definite no-nos - who would want their bathroom to resemble a toddler's first excited foray into the world of poo painting?

One of the poo browns, rather mystifyingly, was called "baking day". Rather than evoking soothing memories of happy children and perfect cakes, it reminds me of the reality, round ours: A shouting, stressed-out mum begging her children to stop arguing over whose turn it is to stir the dough next, while constantly wiping clean their newly-licked fingers and telling them that no, they can't lick the bowl yet, because it is in fact still full of dough.

God knows what happy associations the manufacturers of "elephant breath", "mole's breath" or "mouse's back" were hoping to invoke? I haven't tried, but since even human beings can have donkey bottom breath in the morning, I am pretty sure elephants must have horrendously awful breath, even at a distance. What about moles? Can you imagine moving in close enough to kiss one - its pointy little teeth at the ready, blind eyes blinking at you? As for "mouse's back" - if I ever spot one of those in the kitchen, I am more likely to whack it with a stick than paint it on the wall.

I guess the manufacturers name the paints, hoping to evoke warm and aspirational feelings in the buyer. How much more comforting though, if they gave them more familiar names. Mine would be: "Vomit on t-shirt" (a vibrant yellow perhaps); "mould round sink" (greeny black) and "crusty old tissue" (a pleasing creamy colour). What would yours be?

How come they need our help?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 10 Nov 2013 23:09:00 +0000

"I heard that if you take it off, then it calms the person down. It keeps her calm like - rather than being a supermarket that's open to everybody, it's just, she's cooled down. That's just what everybody's thinking." The young man looked at the camera as he explained his position in "The Cruel Cut" - a documentary shown on Channel 4 earlier this week. He was talking about FGM - Female Genital Mutilation.

This is a cultural ritual, which involves holding down a young girl and doing one of 3 things:

(1) Removing part or all of the clitoris

(2) Removing part or all of the clitoris, as well as the inner labia

(3) Cutting off part of the inner and outer labia, laying them across part of the vaginal opening and stitching up part of the vaginal opening, leaving only a tiny gap. This effectively seals up the vagina. The future husband is then meant to "open" his wife up during sex.

FGM also covers any other damage caused to the genitals by cutting or burning.

All these procedures, by the way, tend to be carried out WITHOUT anaesthetic. "The Cruel Cut" featured Leyla Hussein, a Somali Brit building support for her campaign to stop FGM. As part of this, she showed some people a video of a child having her genitals cut. Although the viewers could not see the video, we could hear her desperate screams. Just imagine that was your child being held down and cut.

FGM causes a series of physical and mental problems, such as pain, bed-wetting, infertility, difficulty in labour, painful sex, depression etc etc. It is done in the belief that the girl will be cleaner and will also remain a virgin until marriage. The cutting is sometimes arranged by grandmothers, behind the mother's back, to ensure someone will want to marry their grand daughter. However, I don't understand how anybody can inflict this terrible pain and lifetime of problems on a child.

Even though this practice has been illegal in the UK since 1985 and the crime carries a maximum sentence of 14 years' imprisonment, there have never been any convictions here. Some communities here pay cutters to come to the UK and some communities abroad actually send girls to the UK to be cut!

In France, they routinely check girls for FGM, which has so far led to over 100 convictions, while Holland has spent 4.2 million euros on FGM education in the past 7 years. The reason the UK is not doing enough to stop this practise is partly because we as a country are too politically correct to challenge other people's cultural practises, and partly because FGM falls under 4 different government departments.

The young Somali men who took part in the documentary, one of whom I quoted in the beginning, were shocked to find out what FGM actually entails. They decided to join the Stop FGM campaign #stopFGM. Will you? Please click on http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/52740 Once you add your name, you will be sent an email link. Please click on this to sign the petition. Thank you

How come my life has no meaning if there is a God?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 27 Oct 2013 23:02:00 +0000

Let me make it clear from the outset that I have nothing against religion or religious people in general but some philosophies puzzle and concern me.

If I am only supposed to do whatever God wants me to do, then why bother living? I realise that the idea is that He has a purpose for each of us. However, if I supposedly have no say in this purpose, then I am basically a puppet. Following this traditional view, God is surely an authoritarian parent - his boundaries are too tight.

http://chriskidd.co.uk/category/childrens-and-youth-work/

As a wise woman said, in a talk I attended the other day: Give your children elastic, not string. Meaning you should gradually give your children more and more freedom. Speaking of string, when you are an authoritarian parent, like God, your children often end up resorting to more and more inventive ways of cheating you, in order to survive, mentally. Take the ridiculous Jewish invention, the eruv. This is when string is attached to various poles outside, creating an artificial enclosure, which some Jews pretend is actually a courtyard extension of their house. That way, they are not breaking God's commandment that they stay inside on Holy days, or at least refrain from carrying certain objects around outside (e.g. keys, medicines, babies). They seem to believe that God will be fooled into thinking that they are still inside. That's alright then. However, if God really was as short-sighted as Mr. Magoo, or as stupid as George W Bush, I would not trust him to peel my carrots, let alone save my soul.

Jews behaving like sneaky teenagers or some Catholics sinning and automatically repenting, in the way a 4-year old might ("Sorry!", then immediately doing it again), is exactly the kind of off-spring God produces as an authoritarian parent.

In the past few weeks, 2 people have told me that they obey God and listen to God, as opposed to listening to what they themselves want. The first of these people was a woman I had only just met that evening. She was terribly sweet and pretty-looking, but I found her excessively annoying, because everything she said was referring to God. (Example: She talked about having looked at a book about step-parenting at the event we had just attended. Thinking she definitely sounded like she needed some good advice, I innocently enquired: "Did you buy it?" "I was blessed with it", came the reply. Feeling puzzled, I said nothing for a second, but she added, helpfully, "Somebody gave it to me"). She also explained that God has ensured that they are successfully selling off their furniture in preparation for an overseas move (and here I was thinking it was good old-fashioned luck). On the subject of how she and her husband came to sell their house, she explained, earnestly, that at first they had considered just letting it out, because One does not sell One's house without asking God first, but that a buyer was interested as soon as they advertised it for sale. I was dumstruck but nodded politely. Her 2 new step-children are therefore being dragged across the sea to a country they have very little connection to, because God, luckily, is calling her and her new husband to preach His gospel in her small, home-town. How lucky that it is not some hunger-ridden war-zone somewhere. Also, if God is conveniently helping them with absolutely everything, does this mean that He is also busy doing everything for other people? Giving them cancer; making sure they are raped; ensuring a gang kill them etc.?

The second of these people is a friend of mine who explained that she would never encourage her children to follow their hearts - that that is the definition of sin. She would instead encourage them to follow Jesus. My problem with this statement is three-fold really: (1) It feels very sad to teach someone that their own desires are basically evil and cannot be trusted. What would that do to a person's self-esteem? (2) As I said before, what is the point of living, if your only purpose is to fulfil somebody's else's plan for you? (3) How can you possibly know the difference between what is in your heart and what Jesus is telling you to do? Unless you only ever consult the Bible, rather than assuming that God speaks to you through your mind/thoughts.In which case, why do people ever pray for clarity? Perhaps the ones who do are not opposed to following their hearts? Anyway, I am just suspicious when people believe that God is conveniently telling them to do things they wish to do anyway.

I am not saying that people who live like this are lying deliberately. Rather that they are, probably fooling themselves.

I wanted a snazzy end for this post, but I am afraid God did not bless me with one. Git ;)

How come I have seen you naked, Miley?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Oct 2013 20:20:00 +0000

This was going to be a damning indictment of the state of the world. A world in which young women practically prostitute themselves to achieve as many column inches as possible. I was going to say that actually, Adele managed perfectly well to capture her heartbreak in the (vaguely) similar wrecking-themed video to "Rolling in the deep" without taking her clothes off. I would have added that naturally, although Miley Cyrus is a mightily talented, confident and beautiful young woman, I would not want my daughters to watch her infamous "Wrecking ball" video. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see it here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=My2FRPA3Gf8

Why would I condemn it? Because Miley, despite her obvious talents, deemed it necessary to appear naked in this video. She also attempts to lick a sledge hammer in a seductive manner. So no, I would really, really not want my daughters to learn that this is a healthy and respectable way to get attention. However, it then occurred to me that I would never have seen Ms Cyrus' "Wrecking ball video" had it not been for the publicity her naked stunt secured.

I like her song. A lot. On its own merit, rather than because she is naked. But her nakedness is what alerted me to its existence. So, her stunt worked. What is the good of sticking to a "no nudity" principle and never making it, never managing to share your talent with anybody other than your friends and family, and being stuck in some job you hate, while you wait for the right manager to come along and discover you? Talented or not, perhaps it is okay to use your body to promote your career? Provided you are happy with the way you do it. Also, Miley manages to conceal all the most important bits anyway, so that she entices without revealing all. As a listener to Jeremy Vine's Radio 2 programme pointed out, if Miley is enjoying her career, is in control of it, and isn't being exploited, why not have her as a role model? She needs something to stand out from all the other singers.

I think that being naked because you choose to be, is perfectly acceptable and brave. Shedding your clothes because somebody else tells you to, or because you hope to make money simply by being naked, with no other talent, is very different. The only problem is, that young consumers may not distinguish between the naked models in videos and the artists who choose to be naked. However, this is not a good enough reason to dictate what is and is not acceptable.

Another Jeremy Vine listener pointed out how important it is to have positive female role-models who are not just famous for flaunting their sexuality. As there is such a prevalence of pornography, it is important to have a role-model who is famous for something non-sexual. That it would be good to have different kinds of female role models promoted in the media. This is all true of course, but if you are trying to get people to notice your singing, it is no good forging a career in politics.

I suspect that there would have been far less of an outcry if a young male star had stripped off. I guess the argument is that men hardly ever strip off (apart from in gay and fitness magazines). But is it okay to say that women cannot choose to strip off as they add to the growing (flesh) mound of desperate hopefuls stripping off in men's magazines?

Surely the point of equality and emancipation is that women (or men) can do what we like, as long as we don't hurt anyone. Miley Cyrus seems emancipated not emaciated, so she will hopefully not make women feel that they have to achieve an unrealistic body size in order to feel attractive. What is the point of freedom, if we are only free to do what other people approve of? Miley stands for freedom (from judgement), strength and talent - what's not to like?

So, here's to the beautiful, talented and confident women and men, who choose to pursue their ambitions using everything available to them - good for you and good luck x

How come I can't count?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 04 Oct 2013 22:10:00 +0000

So, there I was, getting all worked up about the injustice of it all. Put more accurately, between my house-buying induced stress, my PMT-induced homone levels, my (self-inflicted) lack of sleep and the school issue, I was just about finished.

I spent much of the past week ranting about how unjust it was that my child's reading group were getting one less book per week than some other children in the year, leaving her bored with the same old books. I even sent in my long-suffering husband who chatted to the classroom assistant. She denied that others were reading 2 books a week, which incensed and confused me: Surely she could have admitted it?!

Our daughter (aged 6) picked up on some of our frustration and decided to help (I am obviously not as discreet as I ought to be!). So, she told the teacher that we thought her books should be harder. The teacher responded by writing a moody, patronising note in the communication book, explaining why she should not be reading harder books. Great!

We then wrote a (very) long, polite, explanatory note, saying that there had been a misunderstanding: She did once read a very easy book, but we were happy with the level of her books generally. We merely wanted everyone to be able to read the same amount of books every week. That would be fair. Also, perhaps our daughter's in the wrong group. I spent the next couple of days dreading the teacher's response - what if she dragged me into the classroom and shouted at me for questioning her methods?

Then today, looking through our child's communication book, a sinking feeling set in: I counted the books the teacher and we had commented on every week. For the past couple of weeks, our daughter had read just as many as (perhaps) everybody else: 3. Oops. Because I had not noticed that the teacher only ever comments on one book per week, I had only been counting those she did comment on.

Having admitted the mistake to my friends, what else do I plan to do? What any responsible adult would do, of course: Tear - out - our - note - in - the - book.........and if it does turn out that the teacher has already read it and just failed to comment? Well, I shall just have to tell her the truth: That, clearly, I am a twonk. Who can't count......

How come I have to bare all in order to be covered?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 20 Sep 2013 22:09:00 +0000

So there I was, sitting nervously in the bank manager's very public, open-plan, shared office, telling the nice stranger on the phone all about my medical history. "Where was the mole, did you say?", she asked. I ended my reply with an embarrassed laugh, prompting the disembodied voice to giggle. This wasn't exactly the response I needed to put me at ease, but it is better than the cold, professional silence, that sometimes greets me, when I actually try to make people laugh. Still, having to go through every ailment with the insurance lady, in front of the young man, who busied himself and may not have heard anything, was not something I hope to do again any time soon.

I probably won't have to. You see, my husband and I were sorting out our mortgage and also applying for incapacity insurance for it. In other words, should one of us become too ill to work, our mortgage payments will still be covered, and then some. I think. Honestly, I tried to listen, I really did, but it was so boring, that I just could not remember all the details. I was, however, desperately trying to remember all the details of my past ailments, just in case they were relevant to the medical questions they asked me. I don't even think all my answers were needed, but having heard about people whose life-insurance claims are turned down due to them never having told the insurers about some ancient, unrelated illness has made me really paranoid.

If I had ever worried further about finances, it turns out I can always rely on the Post Office. Increasingly, the Post Office workers try to sell me things, when I am just trying to post some letters. The other day, I had finished sending some items, when the cashier asked me whether I would like a Post Office Master Card. "No thanks, my husband has one", I replied, breezily. "We do 0% on balance transfers for 18 months", she persisted. "I have no debt", I said, feeling rather pleased. "Oh, you pay it off every month", she stated with what I thought was a realisation of defeat. Then, having clearly hit upon what she thought was a brilliant comeback, she offered this nugget: "If you ever get separated, and you want to treat yourself, you can get a card."

Separated from what? My common sense?! How kind of the Post Office to encourage me to comfort myself by buying things I can't afford. Losing my life-long partner is bound to feel so much better, if I treat myself to some debt, which I am unable to pay back.Also, in the midst of my emotional hell, would I really be likely to remember the rather desperate sales talk of the Post Office worker and think: "I know, I will get myself a credit card so I can improve my situation by buying some treats for myself."

Still, there we have it. Should I ever get divorced, I may lose my sanity, my health and my happiness. Our children's family will be broken up, my life will fall apart, but hey, at least the Post Office will support me. Terms and conditions apply.....

Rage against the machine or: How come I can't use it?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 17 Sep 2013 21:00:00 +0000

Well, I had a load of notes about how annoying I find technology, only I have just managed to delete them all - along with a load of my other blog notes. Wonderful.

I wish we all still had to write letters, or, at a pinch, phone our friends. I honestly hate mobile phones and the grip they seem to have on me, and other people. A few months ago, while sitting in the garden with our youngest, I was, as is unfortunately often the case, sending a text to a friend. Upon finishing I suddenly realised that I now had a hair-clip in my hair. "How did that get there? Did you put it in?", I asked our daughter. Turns out she had, without me even noticing. Oh, the shame.

Unfortunately, I am exceptionally bad at using any mobile phone if it is even slightly modern and complicated. Thus, when we were driving one time, my husband's phone rang. It was his mother. I tried picking it up in time, but failed. The phone rang again. Still his mother. More desperate this time, I tried again. Still no luck. When I tried phoning her back, all I managed to do was send a text (to somebody else) with a pre-typed message in it. So, if you ever phone me and I appear to hang up, or not answer, do not worry. It is nothing personal, I am simply incompetent. Or maybe I just don't like you : 0

The way in which people become so addicted to the feeling of being constantly connected to the wider world, through their phones and laptops, is worrying. Sadly, this often means neglecting the people closest to them. Why do people feel the need to update others on their every move instead of just enjoying their life and spending time with their families? Even worse, it seems to be increasingly socially acceptable to stare at the phone in your hand, rather than actually talking to the friend you are supposedly spending time with. This is still not as bad as speaking at a conference, only to find the live Twitter feed screened behind you, filling up with comments about how boring your speech is. Sounds too rude to be true? Sadly not, this really did happen to someone.

While I am not on Facebook, Twitter or any of the other social networks, and while I do not enjoy being online (yes, really), I do sometimes find myself being addicted to the web. Hence why I am currently spending hour upon hour searching out various fabrics, wallpapers, tiles and accessories for our new house. No wonder my husband seems increasingly to have given up any control of the budget!

Pets Part 2: How come poodles don't come in pink?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 08 Sep 2013 22:38:00 +0000

Have you ever wondered why your dog doesn't seem to match your clothes? No, me neither. Though some silly people do treat their pooches as accessories - with potentially dire consequences. Take Camilla the chihuahua, for example. Neil Martin, manager at Bleakholt Animal Sanctuary in Edenfield, told the Lancashire Telegraph in 2011, how this poor dog developed a skin disorder from being carted around in a handbag. Yes really. She was treated as a fashion accessory and dumped when the owners could not be bothered to deal with her allergy. Also, carrying dogs around means they do not learn to socialise properly, which is apparently why Camilla is aggressive.

Rather than, or perhaps as well as, being treated as accessories, of course, some pets are laden with accessories.

Photo taken from http://www.pluspets.net/dressed-pets/

Does this dog look happy to you? Dignified, perhaps? I especially wonder about the glasses, though perhaps they are sunglasses and are supposed to actually be useful. I did use to dress up my own dog, but I was 10 years old and still silly enough to not worry too much about the dog's rights. However, why any adult would want to humiliate and encumber their pet like that is beyond me.

Perhaps if more dogs looked like the vision in pink above, my children would not be anywhere near as scared of them. Which brings me onto the question of why many dog owners feel entitled to impose their slobbering killing machines on the rest of us? A few months ago, for example, a big (ish) black dog was bouncing around happily, near our young daughters, who were excited but scared. The owner cheerfully said (in a posh, Surrey accent) that the dog was harmless, as she "looooves children". Perhaps she forgot to add "as a snack", because as my husband bravely protected the girls against this blood-thirsty creature, the dog playfully nibbled at his hand instead of theirs. Of course, I may be "slightly" exaggerating...

Perhaps our daughters would be better off sticking to interacting with pets on a screen like the 7 year old girl who adopted me on the walk home from school. She chatted happily about a dog game she owned which meant I ended up having to persuade her that poodles do not "come in" pink. This was obviously before I saw the pinked-up pooch above.

The girl could have had an interesting and totally fruitless chat with the Argentinian man, who thought he was buying 2 poodles, when really he was buying 2 groomed, white ferrets, pumped up on steroids. He bought them at a local bazaar, which makes the story even more, ahem, bizarre. Why he could not tell the difference is anybody's guess, though the ferrets had been given steroids since birth (see below. The ferret is on the right, in case you were wondering).

Image credit: http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/home-garden/ferrets-on-steroids-sold-as-poodles/story-fngwib2y-1226615046465

Now, I was going to tell you the true and astonishing story of the Indian man who married a dog, because an astrologer had told him that this would cure his bad leg. I then discovered that this was not the only incident of a man marrying a dog, as superstitious people in India do sometimes arrange marriages to animals in order to lift curses. Another Indian man married a dog in 2007, because he believed that stoning two dogs to death had somehow cursed him (he had been suffering from paralysis and hearing loss since). He believed that marrying a female dog would lift this curse. Sounds dubious to me, but not as bad as the two-year old Indian boy who in 2009 was forced to marry a dog in order to protect himself and his village from wild animals. I - am - speechless. Which never happens. Honestly.