Gertsamtkunstwerk

Glorious Ladybirds

The Guardian has a rather turgid article on the paintings that illustrated the Ladybird 'reading books'.

I recall that we had some of these book at home, and they were immensely readable at the age of four or five. I think they featured children called Peter and Jane, and they used to do vaguely interesting things. At school we had Robert and Judy, which were supposed to last for the entirety of one's Infant career, but I had finished them by Christmas of Infant 2. They were okay, if a little uninspiring. My younger brother had the Dick and Dora books which were dreadful, truly dreadful. they applied the laws of attrition to reading.

Dick is in the garden. Dora is in the garden. Dick and Dora are in the garden. Nip is in the garden. Fluff is in the garden. Nip and Fluff are in the garden. Mummy is in the garden. Daddy is in the garden. Mummy and Daddy are in the garden. Dick, Dora, Nip, Fluff, Mummy and Daddy are in the garden.

. When you are twelve and have to hear a five year old read this, you would actually far rather tidy your bedroom!

Many of the Ladybird books were splendid. Between us, my sister and I had ones on subjects as diverse as Birds, Flowers, Ordnance Survey Maps, British Customs and Festivals, King Alfred the Great, Roman Britain, and knitting, many of which are now being utilised by my sister's children.

We then moved onto the Observer's Books - I still have my Observer's Book of the seashore, and always forget to take it to the seaside with me. Another great source of education was the PG Tips cards and the albums into which they were stuck. We had many that my uncle had collected in the Fifties eg Vintage Cars, Battle Ships. Pauline added collections such as the history of fashion and the 150th anniversary of the Metropolitan Police. The last time I saw PG Tips cards, they featured pictures of the advertising chimps...

Hitchens C on Gibson on Christ

A must read from The Mirror: I detest this film..with a passion

Yet the Sun, a newspaper I despise with my heart, has an article which, in its 'clever' wording manages to be even more anti-Semitic.

Down

Been to the GP's, got two weeks off work and some happy pills, plus instructions to listen to the 'inner child' in the 'feminine' part of my personality, by an extraordinarily cute French locum.

Trouble is, my inner child just wants to couch potato and is throwing a tantrum everytime my backpassage demands to be taken to the smallest room

Defiance of science

Guess what, it seems that the MMR triple jab is safe after all. Quel surpriseMinisters call for inquiry into 'flawed' MMR study

So many aspects of this would have made me laugh if it hadn't been so potentially tragic. Those stupid campaigners who shouted their mouths off lacking the basic intelligence to understand that if they were concerned about the effects of the jab on their child, if they kept quiet, their child would probably be kept relatively safe through herd immunity. Instead, their ignorant hysteria destroyed herd immunity.

The Evening Standard did a vox pop at one of the Beacon Primary schools in my ward. The working class parent from the council estate declared it essential to have her children vaccinated against what were potentially deadly diseases, the middle class parent from the residental street decided that when her son had measles she would treat him with an aromatherapy candle and not bother keeping him off school. A nursery round our way hit the headlines for having a large number of measles cases. One of the first was the son of my acquaintances. He had not been able to have the triple jab because of a heavy cold on the scheduled date and they were shocked that he had got measles, assuming, like many of us, it had been virtually wiped out.

My mother and her generation have vivid memories of the terrible damage caused by measles epidemics - brain damage and death. Someone I know was a victim of the scare over whooping cough vaccine and has damaged eyesight as a result.

On Have Your Say there's an interesting selection of views - I particularly liked Pete from London:

Dave is right. MMR has split the medical profession. It has split it into one very large part and a tiny splinter who insist there's problem. The latter simply won't give up and like to present the split as being down the middle. They make a lot of noise but have very, very little backing from elsewhere.

I remember being shouted off the dreadful Radio London by the diddy-hitler Jon Gaunt for being patronising to the working classes for suggesting that the follow through rates for the single jab are unacceptably low. He was too keen to hear his own voice and blame 'Them' to listen to the fact that a study in a prosperous area of Cheshire showed extremely low completion of the single jab course. It's a real problem in my area, because the interesting juxtaposition of high numbers of a)appallingly apathetic inadequate parents; b)recent immigrants who may not understand English and probably not the NHS; c) new agey middle-class anx ridden types with an innate inability to analyse facts. 60% take up and a measles epidemic timebomb.

Opening night

So much has been written about the Coliseum refurb it needs to be seen (a friend of a friend is in the chorus and says the splendour even extends to the dressing rooms, which are much improved). Just a shame that ENO haven't yet responded to my ticket request, unlike all the other venues that manage to turn them around in less than a week.

Oh, and a tip, if you are feeling bored, or in need of more exhiliration after England whop Scots ass this evening, why not try The Tempest on BBC4. Broadcast on the wireless it sounded ethereally modern and tunefully traditional. The Guardian Leader column said:

The cheering from every corner of the theatre on Tuesday - orchestra pit included - felt like what it was: British opera's equivalent of the England World Cup rugby win.

Punishment by loud music

There is far too much loud 'music' being played in cars round here. If I am sat at home, with my music playing fairly loud, and I hear and feel the thundering bass from a car waiting at the traffic lights, I tend to think that, not only is it anti-social, but it is highly unlikely that the driver is in full control of the vehicle.

It is offensive to impose one's tastes on other people. A few years ago I had a discussion with a Residents' Association Chair. She also objected to others' loud music, partly on those grounds. She said she often thought about blasting opera loud into the air of Brixton. And was amused that when my father used to tinker with the car outside the house he would have opera playing loudly, and my mother would come out and tell him to turn 'the racket' down, in much the same way that she would tell my sibs and me to turn down our racket.

The Guardian has a discussion on the Rhyme and punishment

A few years ago I had to be at the Town Hall at 9 am on Saturday to participate in interviews for a Chief Officer position. I then had to run around and pack before heading in the evening to my friend's house to rise early on the Sunday to drive to Fishguard for a mid-afternoon ferrry.

My then neighbours (tenants) saw no harm in having booming bass until about four o'clock in the morning. I did go round and politely asked them for consideration. On my second attempt, meeting contempt, I said they would be sorry. Sadly, I expect they were too stoned to hear the loud final movement of Beethoven's loud ninth symphony played very loud at eight o'clock in the morning.

Currently I have no next door neighbours...

Education by spam

This is one of those posts you may rather not read. I'm waffling a bit to give the skim-reader time to decide that they don't want to be offended, disgusted etc.

Had enough time yet?? BTW, the digits are not out of prudishness but out of a desire to deter search engine spiders.

Spam mail comes in phases. Although the ones for various dodgy medication are perennial, there often seem to be bunch all at once for cheap mortgages (actually at higher rates than I'm paying....!), or for genuine fake Rolex watches. The past week has seen a whole bunch inviting me to view c(m-splattered girls or sp3rm-soaked models.

Let's briefly explore the fact that it is not actually possible to see sp3rm-soaked anything, because sp3rm are those tadpole-shaped gametes that require a decent microscope to view, whereas the visible ejaculated fluid is s3m3n.

A few weeks ago Channel 4 ran a series about women who work in the porn industry. I didn't watch it but, perhaps foolishly, read a TV review in a reputable national newspaper. One of the programmes featured a woman whose job was go to parties and let men ejaculate over her. Perhaps I am being pedantic but I suspect that probably makes her closer to a prostitute than a porn actress. The point of the story is that sometimes the venue has no shower and she has to get dressed and go home by public transport.

I can understand the attraction for a man to ejaculate onto a woman - first, there's the physical pleasure and then there's the visual pleasure.

But I absolutely cannot understand the attraction of seeing some other man's product photographed (or Photoshopped) onto an anonymous *model*. But if my inbox is any judge, there's clearly a big call for it...

Are you hanging up your stocking on the tree....?

I always know that Christmas is on the way when you see three references to it. Usually around August bank holiday, although I have noticed in recent years people have been talking organising office-parties and relative visiting/avoidance in July.

The office I am auditing this week is directly opposite a Christmas shop. it is most disconcerting when, standing outside smoking, to see a reindeer flashing its lights on-and-off and trees and Santa on display.

Boots the Chemist is offering a Christmas Savings Card.

And two of the 247 spam emails I deleted this evening mentioned Christmas in their titles.

It'sssssssssssssssss Chrisssssssssstttmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Deutschland uber Alles..or not?

On my journey through my record collection, I am currently playing a selection of Haydn String Quartets. Most outstanding is Opus 76 No 3 in C, especially the second movement akaThe Emperor aka a lot else.

The German National Anthem to be precise.

I thought it always has been the German National Anthem. Or, at least, since the days of the glorious but doomed Weimar Republic.

I fell in love with the piece when we sang it in school choir with the words Praise the Lord. My parents really didn't like me playing it; for years I thought their objection was solely to my appalling playing.

Jan Morris links it with Deutschland, Deutschland uber Alles.

There is a bit of history here and here. Customarily, only the third verse is sung these days, to avoid the connotations of Deutschland, Deutschland uber Alles.

When England play Germany at football, of course I am fired up with a deep hope that our boys will win the match - for, of course, Germany are formidable opponents on the football field, and a victory over them is more satisfying than one over an indifferent team - yet I yearn for an National Anthem as exquisitely beautiful as theirs. Even though Haydn was inspired by the dirge-like God Save the King to write this...

The recording I have is strange. I use the word exquisite again to describe the interpretation by the Lindsays. However, it is a live recording in front of an audience in the Wigmore Hall. Somebody sneezes, and at times it sounds as if the person holding the microphone is sniffing sonorously snottily. I'm not sure of the advantage of 'live' recordings of chamber music.

Next month I shall be attending my first ever Wagnerian opera - Das Rheingold. I don't suppose I shall abe able to close my mind to the political subtext, although I understand that Parsifal is the one that has been interpreted as being the inspiration for Nazi-ism - Wagner and anti-semitism; So what is the message of Parsifal; Parsifal and Race; and Wagner Chronology

Daniel Barenboim conducted Wagner in Israel.

My contribution to the world of lap-dancing...

Lyle's unplanned-and-with-disgust-barely (sic)-disguised account of his trip to Redcar's top lap-and-pole-dancing establishment prompts one in an occasional series of reminiscing about my time on the Council.

Caesar’s nightclub is quite possibly Streatham Hill's top night-spot. When I was on licensing they applied for a "Rule 4 waiver". Innocuous though a Rule 4 waiver may seem it is actually about bringing live sex to Streatham* and thus has to be approved by Licensing. There were many objections to the live sex show. The objections were on the grounds of prostitution and attracting seedy types , lowering the tone, or, from the private girls' school, corrupting morals because the girls would have to walk past it.

I had a belter of a Licensing committee, an absolute star, and Fergus of the local paper told me that I had basically written his front page for him, only the editor cut most of it for some competing news story. As it happened I was the only female member of Committee that night - the other regular woman member at the time stood down as she always did because Caesar’s is in her ward. I gave the owner of Caesur's a thorough cross-examining, for which he respected me.

The catch to this live sex-show is that the lap dancers are all men, and the clientele is all female. Even the bar and waiting staff are female on lap-dancing night. It was fabulous as people built up horror stories of sleaze, men in dirty raincoats and random prostitution/condoms/drugs appearing. I referred to media stories I had read about a lot of lap-dancing clubs being staffed by very young Eastern European women - girls - transported over here on false pretences and coerced into a life of slavery. I sought assurances from Fred that all performers would be over 18. He said that he wanted to avoid sleaze and exploitation, which was he was having male lap-dancers for Ladies. He then looked me in the eye and said, "As I'm sure you're aware, Councillor, the women that we wish to attract will not be interested in very young men but fully-developed men in their mid twenties, dressed as firemen...."

I had another question to ask, but really struggled on phraseology, bearing in mind the presence of Christian Groups, Pensioners' Organisations and Schoolgirls. Finally I said, "How can I phrase this delicately? Will your performers be opting for the Full Monty option?" Fred clarified that it would not be a genuine offer if the dancers remained clad.

The last Licencing committee before the 2002 elections was an all female affair. Johanna were standing down. Trevor, the Head of Licensing at the time, teased us, saying that we wouldn't have anything to do with our time. Johanna said she was going to have lots of loud parties. Trevor suggested that the Noise Squad might have to call. Johanna pointed out that, as she lived next to the prison, her neighbours could object all they liked, but couldn't do anything about it. I said that I would, of course, become a regular at Caesar's Ladies night. Funny, despite my oft-quoted promise to organise an-ex-Labour-Lambeth-women's night out to our local lap dancing joint, I have never been, despite passing it on the way home most evenings...

* Once upon a time the 'good citizens' of Streatham objected to the fact that 'Brixton' bus garage was actually in Streatham. And objected strongly to Marks and Spencer's plan to open there because it would lower the tone of the neighbourhood. You still see these 'good citizens' of Streatham turn out dutifully to vote Conservative on Election Day - all fur-coat and layers of Polyfilla covering the cracks. One Tory teller whispered to me in awe that one little old lady was, in the Thirties, 'one of the young fashion things of Streatham'.

Breasts, boobs, tits...

Confession time. I absolutely adore breasts, me. I love my own. I love looking at other women's. I was in the hairdressers last week, getting shampooed, and directly in my line of vision was a twenty-something woman in a moderately low cut top and very pert medium-sized breasts. I love it in summer when women display their silhouette. I can totally understand men who are breast-fixated, even though it can be irritating in a work context when they direct their eyes at my boobs rather than my eyes (look, I'm 5'2", isn't it easier to look at my gorgeous eyes than my boobs). I find the following in an interview with a fave celebrity crush to be a turn-on:

His charm packs more calories per square inch than clotted cream, but it is at least more winning than the usual lardy showbiz schmooze. Indeed, you are helpless before it; in all the interviews where the female journalist has been wooed, her assets covertly assessed and her hand warmly overgripped, nobody in this politically cautious age has ever minded in the least. People threaten legal action for less than his dark devouring eyes insinuate...

In my world, it would be socially acceptable for women to walk around topless in all the places men walk around topless.

I would be quite happy walking around my house topless except I don't have nets in the front window.

I've just been watching Gangs of New York. One scene stuck - in the whorehouse where the whores are wearing dresses that 'forget' to cover their nipples. For me, seriously erotic.

Then we get the Janet Jackson furore. If it was a publicity stunt, it was incredibly bad taste. Notwithstanding that, the reaction has been unbelievable. The contrived shock-and-horror doesn't seem to be about the cynically manipulative publicity stunt but simply about the unspeakable horrors of a bare breast being exposed -

a show that requires parents to send their kids out of the room is unconscionable.

Sure, anything sexual on telly has an uneasy inter-generational tension. I feel uncomfortable watching sex on the TV with my mother. The Christmas 98 special of Men Behaving Badly with Martin Clunes wanking into a Kleenex drew complaints, not because of the subject matter per se but because, as my incredibly liberal cousin put it, she's watching it with her then seventy-something mother and teenage sons.

I just kind of wonder - I'm more-or-less straight, but I am definitely turned on by breasts, naked or otherwise. I feel comfortable with that because I understand my sexuality. All my lovers, past-and-present, have been candid about their fascination for breasts; I know the power of lifting up a t-shirt, especially after I have removed my bra. I remember when Engand lost on penalties to Germany in Euro 96 and a crowd gathered in Trafalgar Square, and the BBC Nine O'Clock News showed a woman lifting her t-shirt and her partner fondling her boobs - what a way to mark defeat...! I would love to do that...

Breasts are powerful, and I suspect that many who complain about Janet Jackson do so because they are uncomfortable with their own reaction. Men, I don't really understand - I am puzzled at straight men who aren't turned on by breasts. Maybe a lot of the complainants were women who don't understand that being turned-on by breasts doesn't make you a lesbian.

Perhaps it's the penultimate taboo. Perhaps if it were socially acceptable for women to go topless wherever men go topless, naked breasts would cease to have their erotc appeal. Maybe it would be empowering, but perhaps it would be a matter of regret.

Dammit, I so don't fit the feminist stereotype...

Cutie wutie cuddly toys

Portsmouth FC are sponsored by Ty, who make Beanie Babes.

Is this the macho all-conquering hardman image that any self-reespecting Football Club wants to project?

Years ago I read Desmond Morris's The Soccer Tribe which said that no football team will ever play in pink because it makes them look a like a bunch of, well, blokes wearing pink.

The Balkanisation of Britain

We're all in a class apart

Really fascinating analysis of the demography of Britain. I can identify with

Looked at in the round London is a foreign country, independent of the rest of Britain...The case of inner London, where the young poor and rich mingle but don't meet, is more extreme.

I joked with Jimmy last night, "How many people do you know who go to Covent Garden one week and Wimbledon dogs the next?"

Great egalitarian me! But, in all honesty, what Covent Garden and Wimbledon Dogs have in common is that they are filled with people living in their own little cocoon and thinking either that everybody is like them or that The Other is so different as to be alien.

I think Sociology is a fascinating subject. Unfortunately, the Sociology I studied as a first year undergraduate was so dry, abstract, pretentious and divorced from actually studying society that it bored me.

Broadening the curriculum

The Qualifications and Curriculum Authority want Children to study atheism at school, which is good. Or, rather

The first shot in the debate will be fired with a controversial report to be published tomorrow calling for RE to be renamed religious, philosophical and moral education and children encouraged to debate such ethical issues as whether it is permissible to express racist views.

I would hope that, if religious schools are allowed to opt out of the parts of the curriculum they don't like, they will not be able to enter their pupils for an RE GCSE.

Ten years ago

This artticle on The legacy of Fred West is frightening and chilling. It doesn't seem ten years ago. I recall being on audit and staying, with some colleagues, in a pub in Llandrindod Wells, where there was another set of people staying, and I made polite conversation "Where are you from?" And one chap answered "Gloucester" with an embarrassed apologetic face and tone that made further chitchat very difficult.

Martin Amis, whose cousin was found to be one of the Wests' victims, describes, in his memoir Experience, how the average domestic day at 25 Cromwell Street was 'a scarcely credible inventory of troglodytic squalor, including theft, violence, incest, rape, sexual torture, whoredom, pimpdom, peeping-tomdom, pornography, child prostitution and paedophilia'.

and from the man who happened to be duty solicitor:

'Here we had a proper nuclear family, properly married couple, with their own house, proper mortgage, lots of kids - and look what had gone on! The fact that some of the moral issues of 10 years ago, the drive for conformity, have now faded is in part, I think, due to the West case: people are now happier to accept other forms of cohabitation, other models.

I had never imagined that such ....evil.... could exist. And yet, again, how interesting to note that the perpetrators had themselves been subject to evil.

Just as a postscript. I worked with someone five years ago who happened to live on what had been Rillington Place, and although it had been renamed to "Pretty Flowers Court" or somesuch, everyone knew it was Rillington Place.

Purity Day

US teens celebrate 'purity day'

I love the quote

US teenager Melissa Millis, who says she will wear a white t-shirt to promote the Day of Purity at her Michigan state school, (said) she was tired of feeling pressurised.

''The way sex is talked about, it's so casual, like it's an everyday thing, like going to McDonald's."

I know this subject has been done to death, and I personally think that sex is wasted on the youth, plus I have concerns about unplanned pregnancies, STIs and coercion, but I also think that this sort of thing is just storing up trouble for later.

A friend at mine at Uni believed that sex was only for marriage, although she never tried to impose her view on anyone else. When she split up with a boyfriend she posed the question, "How much worse would it have been if we had had sex?" I didn't answer, but I felt it an irrelevant question. Break-ups hurt, if you're emotionally committed. If having sex makes it more of an emotional wrench, surely that proves that sex is something that strengthens emotional attachment, and, is, therefore, a Good Thing.

Mind you, I noticed the front page of the Daily Star yesterday: "Abby Titmuss Why I Love Having Sex!"

Classy, I thought.

And I thought some more. I feel a slight contempt for minor celebrities who sell their sex secrets to the Press. On the other hand, I regularly read Cosmopolitan from mid teens to late twenties, and found the candid articles about sex immensely helpful. Not so much in 'put this limb here and move that one there' but in psychological terms, countering the prudish atmosphere of my upbringing which acknowledged that married people had sex in order to procreate, and for other reasons, it was, nevertheless, something that wasn't really talked about. A schoolfriend's mother used to warn darkly, "Even ladies can fall off their pedestal" and a former colleague was not allowed to have her boyfriend in the bedroom after 7pm (because, obviously, that is the time that sex begins...). The first time I saw a naked aroused man I was a little taken aback, not really knowing what to expect.

I'm all for open and candid discussion but I feel there is something desperately narcissistically attention-seeking in wanting to tell everybody so many details.

Like so many things, there is a balance to be struck to achieve moderation and even equilibrium.

Arts Council under scrutiny

The Public Accounts Committee has reported that Closed arts centres 'cost �19m' and has also reviewed other major Arts Council-funded capital projects.

I have two observations to make: I would like somebody to explain why a National Centre for Popular Music was deemed to be necessary and worthy. Surely, most popular music is ephemeral and commercial, and if there needs to be a 'national centre' surely it is the role of the market to provide that. The popular music that isn't ephemeral - does it really matter what genre it is?

Secondly

The committee also said the Arts Council did not seem to collect information routinely on the backgrounds of audiences. But information given to the MPs indicated that audiences "remain disproportionately drawn from particular sections of society".

To which I reply, so what? I expect the 'particular sections of society' are mainly middle-class aspirational people. So be it. I'm afraid I know too many people who, for example, on a hot summer or warm autumn/spring Sundayafternoon will take their kid to the pub, and express horror/surprise when Jimmy and I say we are off to a park or common. If these people can't even bother to go to an open space ten minutes walk away should I be over-concerned that they're not going to cultural experiences? Well perhaps a little, but in the end people make their choices. I certainly wouldn't recommend dumbing down in the name of accessibility. In I suppose the logical conclusion is the Queen Symphony. I quite like Queen, and I like many symphonies, but without blindly prejudging something I haven't heard, I can't see how this will in any way improve any aspect of my life.

Comment on Lyle's site - ethnic monitoring

Lyle's comments box can only take 1000 characters, which is simply not enough to challenge the complacent, naive view of a perfect little world of employment where everybody gets jobs on merit.

I know I ought to post links, to 'prove' my arguments, but I'm afraid the most important link is to my brain and some fifteen years experience in this area and a wealth of absorbed knowledge.

To make a decision to hire on ethnicity is illegal. However, in general, most large organisations have a situation where higher up the food chain , the higher the proportion of staff are white able-bodied men. There is no evidence that white able bodied men are, in general, more able to do the job than other people. However, irrelevant factors within the recruitment process may indirectly lead to discrimination. Without measuring , you don't know if you're doing things right.

Eg in general, men will apply for a job if they meet 50% of competencies, whereas women tend to apply if they meet >75% or 90%. Also, in general, men tend to volunteer more for management courses than women (I'm hazier on ethnic differences). Again, specifically on gender, an organisation that finds itself with more women at a low level and more men at a higher level may conclude it's the way of the world, or may find that many very able women (usually with children) are held back, for example, by unnecessarily inflexible working patterns.

And it's not about politically correct stereotypes; if used by intelligent people, such data can be used to encourage and maximise the potential of staff to get better productivity and success for the organisation, something that is recognised by organisations such as the CBI.

Or an organisation can carry on appointing a self-perpetuating stereotyped minority and stagnate, because they are failing to tap the potential that is out there.

Party planner, me!

I have to congratulate myself on my sheer genius and dilemma-solving talents.
Saturday night - one begins with two basic choices - stay in or go out. The problem with going out this Satuday is that is Valentine's Day. You know that it will be just awful going into restaurants where there will be couples thinking that it is romantic to have an overpriced set menu and 'champagne' (actually cheap sparkling wine), with a dead rose on the table and a dodgy violinist playing cheesy tunes whilst you are scrunched up alongside the couple on the next table. So restaurants are out.

The sensible thing would be to stay in, not an unusual Saturday night occurrence. Something to eat, a few bottles of wine, a film, or some music. Trouble is, there is something I want record off the radio. It's on for four hours. I could either record onto cassette tape, off the analogue radio, poised to switch cassettes at the right moments. But that would rule the stereo out of use for the evening. Or I could tape it via the TV, which would put the telly out of service for the evening. (I can't really expect Jimmy to put up with a four hour broadcast radio of a Russian opera on a Saturday night!).

But I am a genius. We have been saying for ages how we must go greyhound racing. He suggested going a month or so ago but I didn't fancy it because it was bitterly cold and wet and windy outside. So, we will grab an early meal in wimbledon town centre and then we'll go the dogs. Which is a pretty cool way of spending Valentine's Day ie not fulfilling any marketing company's idea of what constitutes romance.

Peaches on blogging

Miss Geldof says I was mad to reveal my secrets on the internet.

Nice if you can get a Times column at 14...

Update 23 June 2004: All you Peaches fans, I seriously suggest you buy this CD - Best of The Boomtown Rats - featuring Peaches' Dad on lead vocals. You won't regret getting this raw passionate rock!

Oi fatty

The London Mail wrings it hands over the latest faddy eating-disorder The victims of permarexia

I'm 29 now and have been on a diet constantly since I was 23. Even though I know I'm fairly normal, with the right weight - nearly nine stone - and a healthy life, I spend my whole time feeling fat. I'm a classic permarexic: I only come off one diet to start another.

Mr Atkins of Diet was a lard-arse and Doctors warn of obesity

For perhaps the first time in my life, I sort of agree with Anne Widdecombe - a sense of proportion is needed.

A light trivial conversation about food and someone said "Oh that has 60 calories". I replied, "Who cares!"

Why do too many people assume that only one element is required in a 'healthy diet' - calorie control (or fat reduction or carbohydrate elimination or whatever this week's fad is). I was at the dental hygenist last week. The same practice I have been attending for thirteen years. Again she commented on my perfect, filling-free teeth and commended my healthy diet. My former dentist - now retired, not on the money he made frome me! - raved about the strength and health of my teeth. He believes I shall have my teeth until 95 - unless the smoking kills me first! - and is of the view that my bones must be very healthy. Personally, I am horrified that all these obsessive weight-losers with their calorie-controlled fat-eliminated diets are going to be such a drain on the health service in years to come, using the taxes I have paid on my cigarettes for their osteoporosis and frequent fractures.

Of course there is an in-yer-face hypocrisy there. 40 fags a day, and, on a typical working day, about six shots of coffee and five or six cups of tea. I am ruled by excessive, addictive nicotine and caffeine intake. I'm not much of a drinker. I rarely drink indoors during the week, which is good. I rarely reach for alcohol as a mood-alterer, which is good. But when I go out, it is not complete without alcohol, be it a meal, a concert, a meet-up, which is bad. And I binge drink, which puts a terrible strain on my liver. Which is bad.

It doesn't take great powers of observation to notice the large numbers of large children. Much of that is the result of poor diet and lack of exercise. The school-run contributes to obesity as well as poor road sense, stranger-danger and social skills.

But I don't think there is a great need for gnashing and wailing of teeth over people like me who are slightly overweight, slightly unfit. I have a strong immune system and healthy teeth and bones, with very few allergies or intolerances. I have a slight endocrine problem which is probably partly the cause of my being overweight. But I rather like my body image, and I reckon I would be sorted if I just got a hula hoop to firm up my stomach muscles.

The unbearable banality of reading

I perused the magazines in the newsagent. All of the mid-to down-market and many of the glam women's titles featured on their front pages stories of extreme weight-loss - 'I went from Size 28 to Size 12' 'Lose 7 lbs in a week'. Prominent on many covers, especially of the celebrity magazines, were Jordan, Kerry, Jade and such people. Magazine editors know what sells. One can only assume that these are the pitches that guarantee sales.

I'm not making out that I'm better than the average drone; I am, however, fascinated by the interplay between the mass media and the masses.

Reading about people's lives is fascinating. I have so many biographies on my bookshelves, and, heck, blogging is a lot about reading about other people's lives. Over the years, I have lost count of the times I have bought a newspaper or magazine solely because someone I like is featured, in an interview, or an in-depth report, or a photo-shoot. But I do like to think I am discriminating. That I'm actually interested in the person because of their sporting/acting/singing/politicking skills. Or at the very least, because they are a hunk that I fancy. I wouldn't buy a magazine because it featured JordanJadeKerry because they have nothing to say. Or perhaps I am merely guilty of arrogant conceit.

It's tempting to conclude that there is a big conspiracy going on to brainwash the plebs so that they don't dare think about the issues that matter, and hold nobody accountable. But there is no evidence that it's an organised conspiracy. These magazines exist solely to make money; they make money from advertising revenues, which, I assume increase in line with readership figures. Advertising must increase sales - otherwise it wouldn't happen.

Advertising is not all about brainwashing. Assuming we accept a society where the buying of goods and services is fairly fundamental to our lives (and I accept I willingly partake in that society), it is helpful to have information about the goods and services. Fortunately, I have the ability, education and training to filter much of that information. I just wonder whether people who are buying into the "Lose 5 stone and be JordanJadeKerry" are as gullible in the way that they process advertising.

Or perhaps I am being unduly condescending. Perhaps the majority of people who read about JordanJadeKerry are capable of being sceptical, treat the whole charade as a meaningless circus, giggle at the superficiality of these ciphers, and give thanks for their reasonably comfortable, reasonably simple, reasonably happy lives of ordinariness, fulfillment and joy.

What is actually far more disturbing, especially in my own reaction, is headline "I was raped by my own son". What part of my brain filtered that as something that would be interesting to read? Fortunately, a split second later I felt a revulsion at myself. And yet, the magazine editors know what sells.

Probably, I am not alone in being luridly drawn to and simultaneously repulsed by a story designed to horrify and titllate in equal measure. I suspect that the inclusion of that story - as well as the 'I kept my rapist's baby'; 'I was the next victim of the Camden ripper' stories - illuminates our society more clearly than any number of 'I became a size 8 JordanJadeKerry'.

Yes, marry for love...

Stupid wanker writing on the tax benefits of marriage.

The wording is pretty outrageous:

The problem is that governments, of whichever party, decided many years ago that we should have all taxpayers treated separately for tax purposes.

Hence the principle which existed in the past, that the husband and wife were a single taxable entity, has been systematically dismantled.

This makes me so angry, this sort of attitude which made me very anti-marriage when I was anti-marriage, now that I am engaged, makes me want to push against the smug arrogance of tossers like this. People get married for all sorts of reasons - I've had friends marry because of pregnancy, immigration, desire for an ostentatious 'big day', work, romance, whatever.

Good, people make all sorts of life choices for all sorts of reasons. What I can't stand is when people try to claim a moral superiority because they have made a pragmatic choice.

What this article fails to even address is why there should be any tax-advantage in being married. Surely any tax allowances should be for those supporting children or dependent adults. (Are there any tax allowances for those caring for aged parents?)

Bizarre

OK, I admit it - Jordan is remarkable. She has the talent to be a total slapper and yet needing to get out more, at the same time. Her 'affair' with David Beckham was a 30-second brush-past in a nightclub.

You know, if I included in my list of 'conquests' every man (and, for that matter, woman) with whom I felt a 30-second frisson I would have an extremely long list, including people whose names I never got, a wide range of celebrities, and, even, some bloggers.

What is even more baffling is the dispassionate way in which the Mirror is reporting this. I'm not sure what we the reader is supposed to think. Are we supposed to go all gooey and envious and set out to emulate Jordan.

I am amazed at the utter banality of what classes as news in our 'top' tabloids.

Perhaps the newspapers are just laughing at the poor deluded fools who lap it all up in lieu of anything worthwhile in their own lives.

But big-up to Samantha Morton. She's come a long way, and it will be so cool if she wins the Oscar.

When good pets go bad

Another TV post, inspired by Scary and friends.

Christmas Day 2003. Absolutely nada on TV (We'd watched Meet the Parents, just three days before Jimmy's first visit to my mother's house...)

We fell onto Reality TV (241 on Sky). Oh, that channel is bad. No actors, no scripts no stunts. Cheap titillating TV. What got me was an imported programme called "When Good Pets Go Bad". You've Been Framed Animal Special. It wasn't enough that we should laugh at the man who lost his trousers whilst being attacked in a field by a bull, or watch the smallpox-infected monkeys make their break from the vivisection lab. Oh no, every five minutes we were told "There is no such thing as a bad animal, just bad humans who mistreat good animals."

It was particularly entertaining to see moralising mixed up with xenophobic cultural imperialism. Those naughty rodeos in the 'badlands' of Mexico THIS IS CRUELTY; those Koreans and their horse fights THIS IS BARBARIC; those Spaniards setting fire to bullls's horns BRUTAL EUROPEANS.

The longest strand was, fitingly, about Father Christmas. Or, rather, some good ol' boy who kept reindeer and dressed up as Father Christmas. Unfortunately, one day he had a horrible run-in with a reindeer, which took a very long time to maul him, and drag him round the paddock and blah blah blah, and there wasn't a lot the emergency services could do , and poor old Santa ended up in hospital with broken this and that. And the poor old reindeer had to be put down.

"But we staged this reconstruction so that you can see exactly what happened when a good pet went bad..."

Erm, excuse me! You made another reindeer maul and drag this bloke round the field, dressed as Father Christmas, merely to provide cheap TV footage, with not even the excuse of cultural tradition, and you dare to lecture the dreadful dirty foreigners about animal cruelty. It so got my goat (which proceeded to toss me on its horns round the living room, which just shows that there's no suchthing as a bad pet, just a good pet that has been hurt by the cruelty of humans).

Top drama

Jonathan Freedland, interviewing Stephen Poliakoff sings very highly the praises of Perfect Strangers. And quite rightly. It got me thinking - look, I was reading it in the Most Boring Accountancy Lecture ever.

People are for ever making lists of their top songs, top films, top sit-coms, top books. What about top TV drama serials - ones with a definite start and end, not of the Casualty/ER type.

I have six: Brideshead Revisited, To Serve Them All My Days, Jewel In the Crown, Boys From the Blackstuff, Our Friends In the North, Perfect Strangers and In A Land of Plenty.

The bfi has a list of the Top 100 British TV programmes of all time. For about 95, I can either say "Oh my!" or "You know, I've never seen that!"

Ooh and read Nancy on TV. A hearty hear-hear from me!

Speedblogging

I must get back to this blogging.

Great weekend, thanks for all your kindness. Two lovely meals, one at Sarastro and another at our favourite Chinese, Chuen Cheng Ku, plus a fair amount of drinking, lots of sleeping, and a film Something's Gotta Give. We' seem to be participating in a mini-Jack Nicholson Festival this year, having seen As Good as It Gets on the TV and About Schmidt on Sky Box Office. During the film , my phonenever seemed to stop vibating with text messages so I was surprised, angry and relieved to read that Manchester United won a last-gasp 4-3 after being 3-0 up.

I haven't really being following the news, partly because my back and shoulders seem slightly strained so I'm trying to ease off home computer use, and partly because the internet connection at work was farked, but am I right in saying that Senator John Kerry McFadden has won in the Bush? Psssst, don't tell anyone, but were I to change my name on marriage I would be called Gerry McFadden....good reason not to change my name....

And it seems that my political masters have set up a new agency named after a modern form of Calypso. Oops!

Incidentally, I believe that the deaths of the Morecambe  cocklers to be desperately sad. I do have strong opinions, although, of course, no easy solutions, but this is not the place to air those opinions.

Pressies

I've got none.

But my sister warned me they would be delivered between the 6th and the 9th. But I've now had a peak, and this is what I shall be getting: The Oxford Companion to Music, The Complete Flanders and Swann and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

From my fiance I'm getting a dirty weekend. I expect nothing from my brother. Seeing as though he has not yet received his Christmas pressie from me...!

Air Supply

Their greatest hits was given to me by Andrew, erstwhile boyfriend of my sister and of my onetime best friend. For a while, Andrew was a bessie mate.

He wasn't really giving me Air Supply,. It just happened to be on the other side of the tape that had a Brian May album on. All that remains of Brian May is Starfleet and Let Me Out. The rest was dire, so in a moment of extreme poverty* I used it to tape some hits off the radio.

It was slightly distracting, because he called round to give me a tape moments before an Adam and the Ants was being shown on the TV - in the days before video...

I've never really made my mind up about Air Supply, nor REO Speedwagon and Chicago, with whom I often confuse them. In no way do they fit my image or my demographic profile - but I stopped bothering about that twenty years ago.

All of their songs have nice tunes and words with meanings. But the voice of the lead singer gets very grating. I couldn't bear to hear them live - I'm not sure what would be bug me most, his voice or the thought of being surrounded by slightly autistic denim-clad males of un age certain with shapeless beards and headhair.

The words speak very powerfully to a teenager who is learning about love and emotions etc. I'm afraid now I am older and wiser more cynical, they just come over as sickly sweet schmaltz.

* it wasn't really extreme - I had shelter food clothes education etc etc but the pocket money didn't stretch to buying a blank tape cassette.

All You Can Eat

Undoubtedly kd lang's worst album. See Mike's comment on a previous post.

When I read the comment, I wondered what he meant, but thought it a bit harsh. Having spent 36 minutes listening to unvarying dirge, I realised that I have played this album rarely, and only when playing all albums in a sequence - I have never impulsively put it on the stereo.

A few days ago I played a double compilation: Acoustic 2, which is a singularly pleasant listen, taken in the round, with some exceedingly pleasant tracks: Drift wood, Have A Nice Day, Thank You, Emergency 72, She Cries your name, Brown Eyed Girl (eventhogh blue-eyed girls are much better, Everybody`s Talkin, Shine, Catch the wind, and Days.