Gertsamtkunstwerk

TTFN

I'm leaving the internet in just over twelve hours for more than a week.

The comments box is turned over to my readers, should they so wish. For tips on how to get your comment published, look 'below the fold'.

When I was on my blogspot blog and went away for a week, a couple of people decided to play with my comments box on my top entry which accumulated 114 comments.

If the 114 is reached in this comment box, that will leave us just 5 short of the Magic 10,000, at which point prizes really will kick in. Please bear in mind that the total may include 'pending' comments on this or other entries, so don't assume that the 119th comment in this box wins the Prize

Be nice and keep it clean.

Anyone who trolls or flames will be banned for life.

NB I have also deleted the monthly archives from 2002 and 2003 in the hope that this will prevent the server running out of space

PS I don't mind comments in French, Italian, Spanish, or German; I'm struggling beyond there, I'm afraid. I also often use Google Translator for reading

Interview with Pláci

I've just uploaded this interview from Heaven and Earth from May to YouTube - slightly truncated at the end. I'll sort stuff out properly when I get back from holiday.

Please don't tell my Mother I've uploaded this

Chance to hear Bolcom's 'Canciones'

The Segerstrom gala's little gaffe

National Public Radio, of which KUSC is a member station, will rebroadcast the two gala concerts Oct. 1 and 8 on its "SymphonyCast" program — over the air and on the Web. KUSC will wait until Nov. 18 and 25 at 6 p.m.

I won't can't guarantee being anywhere near the internet on or around 1 October, so consider this your one and only reminder.

Total Recorder may prove helpful for recording if you can't be at your computer at the relevant time.

Saturday night tales from Gert Cottage Triangle and beyond

We went out last night.

We went out to the bus stop, walking along the road where last week we had espied a scrote riding his bicycle the wrong way along a one-way road.

Last night the scrote's stupidity was surpassed by the BMW driven at speed the wrong way along a one-way road road (with cars parked each side). I thought that if you're going to drive the wrong way along a one-way road it's best to do so in reverse so it looks like you're driving the right way. Or, if you insist on pointing the car into oncoming traffic a speed closer to 10mph rather than greater than 30 would be wise, especially if you're not wearing a seatbelt.

We got to Streatham and crossed over, passing a Northbound bus-stop where a bus was stopped and an altercation was taking place. Two young women, late teens/early twenties, were yelling and screaming at the driver "So because of you we're going to have to walk home in the dark...?" and his response was tauntingly "Oh, it 's my fault is it?" They were really having a go at him, as their friends stood on the pavement and mocked and jeered. He seemed quite relaxed about it. someone set off the alarm on the bus, presumably by opening the window.

I might be wrong but I assume the women had tried fare-dodging and he was having none of it. This is where I confess stupidity but I always think that if you try something and get found out it's always best to bite the bullet, hold your hands up and slink away inconspicuously. And try the same trick on the next bus. But, apparently, this isn't what everybody does. I interviewed someone on the subject of customer applications. Her observation is that if staff suspect a fraudulent application and ask awkward questions, the applicant tries to bully and domineer in an aggressive manner, rather than what I would do is play the innocent "What me, I'm a nice polite person..."

In the restaurant we were joined within the space of a few minutes by three couples. The first to arrive had a debate about smoking or non-smoking. The non-smoker insisting on smoking, the smoker saying 'no, it's not fair on you let's go to non-smoking'. "Early but not first date" we commented.

The second couple quickly decided without debate what wine they'd have and conversation focused on the menu. "Been together years," we commented.

The third couple arrived. One asked the other nervously, "Do you drink wine?" to which the reply was "I think so occasionally whatever you think..." "First date," we commented.

Then it struck us. The first couple were both women, the second and third couple were all men. It took us a while to realise, because we were just people-watching the dynamics, and amused at the couple rituals at their various stages of maturity, stages we have been through.

Sometimes Royal Mail works

icSouthlondon - Drunk sends post card to park - and it's delivered

Try sending a postcard to me from info gathered from this blog and let's see if it arrives

Not a war on Islam says John Reid

BBC NEWS | UK | Reid heckled during Muslim speech

Fuck it, i say. Declare war on Islam. And Christianity. And the minority religions. Wake up to the 21st Century where rational thought wins every argument.

The whole bloody lot of them.

They hate women. They oppress women. They are entirely predicated on an order where women are subjugated to the so-called but never proven superiority of men.

Incarcerate the bloody lot of them, I say. Then maybe we can move towards a fair and equal society.

Not that I'm against the private exercise of spirituality. I can't understand why "Faith Groups" have to be consulted on every bloody initiative. Might as well consult and respect the BNP. Or more importantly, give the Ramblers Association, the National Trust and the Football Association equal bragging rights with bloody "Faith Groups". Load of reactionary hate-filled wankers, elected by no one and accountable to no-one.

Yeah, it's the 21st Century, lets have a war on Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism and Sikhism (especially that toss-pot that does Thought for the Day). And then, maybe, we might approach a Rational and Just society.

It just pisses me off that one particular hobby - religion - should be given credence above other hobbies such as trainspotting, cricket-playing and getting rat arsed. Who are these bullies?

Yes...and no

BBC NEWS | Politics | Fear of paedophiles 'a tragedy'

I'm not sure.

I remember my father describing a journey home when he witnessed a young boy struggling to get the chain back on his bike, but was in a dilemma what to do. His instinct was to leap out of the car And replace chain in two seconds flat. Anyone who knew my father would say he was the gentlest kindest man. But also wise. He knew better than to leap out of the car and help.

And what a tragedy that is; that a nice kind engineering type man can't help a small child with a simple task.

A few years ago, just after the Jamie Bulger murder, I encountered a toddler in WH Smiths, distressed at having lost his Mum. In a very very loud voice I soothed him, calmed him down, told him we were going to go the nice lady behind the till, that Mum was looking for him, everything was going to be okay. I was all right, a twenty something woman with a loud voice telling the entire shop what I'm doing. Mum turned up within moments, frantic with worry. No bloke could get away with that.

A few years back I read a blogpost of some youngish bloke who saw teenagers torturing a small child and did nothing. To his relief a middle-aged woman turned up and read the riot act. He was wracked with guilt. I commented he could do nothing, despite his intentions. Middle aged woman was the right person. I'm generally the disinterested onlooker. I am confident that Middle Aged Woman "Grandma" is in control. I'm uneasy at Young Bloke, even though I know Young Bloke is more likely to care about children than be a paedophile.

But there are sick fuckers out there, and I think they should be chemically castrated.

Sir Malcolm Arnold RIP

BBC NEWS | Entertainment | Composer Sir Malcolm Arnold dies

I'm gutted.

85 is a good innings.

But I cried in tears in the pub. My O-Level set woks were by Monteverdi, Handel, Mozart, Schumann, Faure and Arnold. I believe that Malcolm Arnold's Scottish Dances made him worthy of that sentence, that company.

Not a major part of my life; it's years sinceI heard Scottish Dances. But I hear them in my head.

I hope that death is more peaceful than life.

Au fond du temple saint

Today, I learnt how to upload videos to YouTube. And did so.

This clip is truncated, because the free version of the ripping software has a 5-minute limit. Now that I know it works, I shall purchase the full version.

I dedicate this especially to Faye, who just can't get enough of the Pearlfishers' duet - this is the version with Pláci and Eyebrows.

If you want to go onto YouTube and leave me adoring comments of encouragement, just click on the video, and magically you are transported...

Plácido's granddaughter on TV in Spain

Antena 3 presenta 'Ellas y el sexo débil', su nueva apuesta de ficción » Noticias Televisión FormulaTV.com

As far as I can tell, she keeps some of her clothes on. Still, this second link is possibly NSFW, depending on your workplace.

IMDb

Endless Love...just added to YouTube

Diana Ross & Placido Domingo 'Endless Love' Japan 1997

Just one to link to this evening. YouTube...dozens and dozens of women gazing adoringly at Plácido.

End of trial

It seems a long time ago since I began my clinical drugs trial, but now I am undergoing down titration - that is, a gradual reduction of dosage to zero.

Last week I underwent the same procedures that I had at the start of the trial.

It was all a bit amusing because the physiologist was on leave and the doctor was substituting and was not entirely sure what to do. In addition it seemed that all the rooms in the Loony Bin, and the Research Room in the main hospital were double booked. Not helping matters was the receptionist in the Loony Bin who I swear was David Walliams as Lou Todd. And with the doctor sharing a surname with a Little Britain character, it had a surreal air to it.

At least the blood-taking went wonderfully. For me, anyway. Just a tiny prick, first attempt, no mark, no bruising. Left arm - inside of elbow. The doctor had instructions on spinning some vials, and one of them had to be smeared on a slide.  The instructions said "Wear gloves." She didn't. I ticked her off.

The following day was the scan. I was really not very nervous about it all. And as I approached the Loony bin, my mp3 player happened to play the wonderful Benedictus from An Armed Man: A Mass For Peace - I said last time that Karl Jenkins is looking after me, and this was evident again.

It was not painful or uncomfortable being in the scanner. The pain and discomfort were, once again, synthesised by pressure being brought to bear on my thumb. Again I was in an extraordinary limbo between waking and sleeping. Awake because I knew what was happening. Asleep because I was dreaming, lucid dreaming, but not the normal day dreaming I do at work or whatever...It was very pleasant despite the monotonous noise and the repetitive but randomly varying pressure on my thumb.

And then I had to leave the tunnel, which was a scary experience. I could not walk straight and I felt very fragile. It was difficult to get to the bus stop and I let buses go that would have meant changing. I had decided I was not going into work, and after  bath I spend much of the afternoon sleeping. I felt like a zombie all day. Not entirely 'out of it', able to function on a day-to-day level, but not actually able to deal with crisis or confrontation should they have occurred.

TV alert...but not in Britain

The BBC...that is, the British Broadcasting Corporation...is launching a new series this Saturday called Spirit Of The Arts.

Spirit Of The Arts is a new unique series of programmes which give an insight into the personal lives of four of the world’s leading operatic stars.

30 September is Renée Fleming; 7 October is Kiri Te Kanawa; 14 October is Cecilia Bartoli.

23 September

Placido Domingo is one of the world’s best-loved opera stars. His illustrious career is now well into its fifth decade, and he is still singing, recording, conducting and running two major opera houses. Born in Madrid in 1941, music was always in his blood. His parents were stars of the Zarzuela, traditional Spanish operetta, and from an early age he was surrounded by music. His family moved to Mexico when he was eight, and he entered Mexico City’s Conservatory of Music.

He spent two and a half years with the Israel National Opera in Tel Aviv, before making his debut at the Metropolitan Opera in New York in 1968. Since then he has performed regularly in all of the major opera houses around the world, and his repertoire has spanned 122 roles. He has established a career as a conductor, and he is also Director of both the Washington National Opera and the Los Angeles Opera. His annual opera competition, Operalia, has become one of the largest of its kind in the world, with total prizes amounting to almost $200,000.

This is on BBCWorld.

I emailed BBC World:

Paul Robeson

A memorial is being unveiled in London to singer Paul Robeson, blacklisted as "un-American" in the 1950s. Tony Benn, one of the surviving links with a support group in the UK, recalls meeting his hero.

There's a pub in Streatham that has a framed photograph of when Paul Robeson sung in Streatham. At least, there was. It's probably been taken down post-refurbishment: the history of Streatham, and its place in world history, has 'no relevance' for the key target demograph.

Further YouTube

By Strauss, with Julie Andrews and John Denver

Florestan's Aria, in two parts. That staging (by Jean-Pierre Ponelle) is extraordinarily moving.

Now, that's what I call applause...from a 1995 concert in Bogota

Four nice clips of still photos with appropriate musical backing: one, two, three, four. Including some contributions from Faye and me.

Excerpt from Luisa Miller, including the "Viva Maria Callas" shout excised from the recent video release...and a Callas War in the comments thread.

A superb concert performance of C'est toi-c'est moi from Carmen, proof that neither costumes not sets are required to be utterly convincing as Don Jose and Carmen.

Mstislav Rostropovich on cello, Plácido on piano

Various Three Tenors 1990 clips: O sole mio, closing medley...I really should get this on DVD; I have it on the same video tape that I contains my first appearance on Fifteen To One. And on vinyl LP.

Thanks to Jolanta as ever for favouriting these, for the numerous people who posted them to YouTube, and last, but certainly not least to Plácido for bringing so much pleasure to so many people for so long. (And long may he continue to do so!)

Yet more YouTube

Aida duet from the Vienna Gala last year

Classical Brits - presentation of Lifetime Achievement Award (if you listen very closely, just after Darcy Bussell speaks, you can hear me scream) and singing Non ti scordar di me. In fact, when you hear screaming, assume that's me (amongst others...)

A sensual Andrea Chenier Act IV finale (with added bonus of Serie A latest scores...)

Four compelling clips from a concert in Buenos Aires in 1992.

Part of the Prologue from Les Contes D'Hoffman - the Kleinzach song. This was the first opera I ever watched on TV, just days after I fell in love with Plácido (he was on 'Parkinson'), and I so love it. This scene is an object lesson, really draws in the viewer.

Recondita Armonia and E lucevan le stelle from 1974, two good reasons the opera ought to be called "Mario Cavaradossi".

And not from YouTube, but an anecdote from Opera-L

Here is a story that often told in Phoenix. I was not in AZ at the time so I'm not sure of the year.

Placido Domingo sang a concert and was whisked off to a dinner immediately afterwards. After the dinner he returned and sang most of his selections for the people cleaning the hall. It was very much appreciated by the cleaning staff, most of whom are Spanish speaking.

Holiday planning

We're going on holiday next week, and even though I am not a great one for a great deal of pre-holiday angst, I think there is benefit in a bit of pre-planning planning. Check that the passports are where they are supposed to be. I checked with Jimmy that various items were still fit for purpose - trunks, sandals etc.

I said that at the weekend I'll make a packing list, which will sub into a shopping list for Monday. He said "I've got a new razor and bought some deodorant..."

"Razor and deodarant?" I asked. "Does that mean we'll be having sex?" (Tone of voice is up to you).

"Oh it depends. I might not use the razor. It depends what mood I'm in. You didn't used to like beards but since that other man, well it seems you like it rough!"

Hmm.

Restaurant service

It must be a bugger being a waiting person in a restaurant. There's little you can do about the rude and condescending customers, who are, after all, customers.

There's the ditherers, the loud, the over-fussy, the 'I need to go off-menu' etc. All part of life's rich tapestry...

And then there are people like me. Always polite (but not grovelling or over-familiar), generally warm, order well, tip reasonably.

I have developed a fussiness about water. My cousin suggested that I should just order tap water, I said that I often order mineral water for the same reason that he orders a glass of pop. Because it's the 'done thing' to order something. Besides, sometimes one orders tap water and it turns out to be not chilled and probably not even drinking water. My nephew said I was just fussy.

Pictures from a concert that opened a concert hall

Concert Hall Opens With Cartier Sponsored Gala Concert Starring Placido Domingo

Jumping at shadows in public spaces

Friday night was just an ordinary night out. We've changed curry house allegiance, a major transition in the life of any individual or lovey-dovey couple. The reason being the annoying TV screen in the corner with its constant churn of Bollywood pop-videos. I do not want TV in a restaurant, and I certainly don't want soft-core pornography. It's the distracting flicker rather than the porn that clinches it.

We walk down the road mindful of the existence of the local bunch of robbers/thieves/scrotes, henceforth to be known as the 30 Streatham Place Gang, because of their fondness for seeking robbery victims outside 30 Streatham Place. Not on Streatham Place, we saw a teenage boy behaving suspiciously on a bicycle. Riding direct and fast at oncoming pedestrians, then, as said pedestrians go to cross the road, riding into road and back-and-forth across road in a deliberate act of aggression. He then concluded we had our wits about us and rode off the down the road, heels on the pedals of his far-too-small bike, knees bent at an angle, wearing dark non-reflective clothing, against the flow of traffic on a one-way road, with no lights on his bike.

On the way home we crossed over and stood at a bus stop on Streatham Hill. A couple came along, she with a BMI of 12 and an IQ to match, he with a pony tail. He addressed me "When's it due?" "When's what due?" I sought clarification. "The bus," he said, just resisting the temptation to add "stupid." But his face and ponytail said enough.

"Which bus?" I asked.

"The one that goes...." he waved his hand in a northerly direction. I didn't think he wanted a southerly direction. Wrong side of the road. He's now determined to take the piss out of me. Bimbo-girl is trying to drag him away.

"Do you want to go to Brixton Station?" I asked.

"If you insist," he said witheringly.

"Four out of six buses from this stop turn off long before Brixton Station. There's usually one every couple of minutes from this stop or the next one..." a few feet along the road. "And one's coming now for the other bus-stop. So move it move it move it move it. Get that bus!" I ordered. They moved it, swiftly. Why the withering condescension when I precisely accurately gave him the exact information he needed? Arsehole.

Our bus, one that turns off, came. We got it. We got off it. We waited to cross the road. "The road" being the three- laned dual carriageway with a 40 mph speed limit (not 30 as for all other nearby roads). We stood at the crossing, waiting for the green man. Stood on the pavement. Suddenly a cyclist appears riding down the wrong side of dual-carriageway to make a right, almost knocking Jimmy off his feet. This time, not a member of the 30 Streatham Place gang, seemingly a proper cyclist, with lycra shorts and a decent racing bike, going at speed. At quarter past midnight, with no lights or reflective clothing, on the wrong side of the road, mowing down pedestrians.

Last night we watched from the bedroom window as the thugs and delinquents of the Thirty Streatham Place Gang congregated on the corner opposite, watching for victims to rob after the Tesco cash machine. One shone his bike lights at a man who walked past. Rode his bike at the man on the broad pavement of Streatham Place. Rode after him. Decided he was too fit, and walking with too much briskness purpose and wits about him to bother robbing him.

Good thing United didn't sign him....

Broken leg fears for Hargreaves

"Owen Hargreaves has broken his leg," I call up to Jimmy.

"United will be pleased they didn't sign him."

"That's a really stupid thing to say, because if United had signed him, he wouldn't have been playing for Bayern Munich and wouldn't broken his leg. And I am sure it is a stupid thing to say because it was my first thought but I had realised the illogicality before I told you."

A bit later he's on the sofa and wants to watch TV. He asks me to walk over and switch on the TV (good exercise for me, apparently...) so I offer also to operate the TV remote control. We then discuss where we're going tonight; after a while he says "Why do you want to watch this rubbish?" This rubbish being All-In Gimmicky Wrestling...you know, we pay a fortune for hundreds of TV channls and have a shouted conversation over...wrestling. So he uses the other remote to change chnnels and declares that a One-on-One with Gordon Brown is no better than All-in Wrestling.

And inspiration strikes! Rather than arcane arguments over OMOV vs Electoral College, we could settle the Leadership via a wrestling match. And Deputy Leader via tag wrestling?

Jimmy says that he should have put money on Alan Johnson, who scored again for Everton. "Alan Johnson?" I say "but Harriet Harman's entered the race. Oh, Andy Johnson. Did he score again?"

It's a laugh a minute at Gert Cottage...

Review of a new concert hall

OCRegister blog: Classical life - post: Segerstrom Concert Hall: First Impressions

Very little about the music, though.

A bit more about the music

Renee & Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall Inaugural Concert

New concert venue 'a beautiful beacon'

And then on Saturday, Washington:

Unfortunately for the bleary-eyed, dessert didn't get served until midnight, just as Mr. Domingo was winding up his always charming but ever-more-lengthy (a record half-hour this time) thank-yous to cast, crew, orchestra, directors, producers, management, benefactors, etc. "Next time," one wag noted, "I'm sure he won't forget the valet parkers."

And earlier in the week, Los Angeles

Fifty annoying things

50 ways to irritate everyone

Naturally I agree with some of them, especialy #27 (although the stuck-up writer might find that that is actually what most students did and still do during their year-out) and disagree with

Houses with paranoid security lights that switch themselves on accusingly as you pass their front gates

- sorry, but I prefer to have my way home late at night to be lit up, and not fearing a would-be attacker on my doorstep. Call me fussy...

But more irritating than any of these is when you mouse over a link in a Daily Torygraph feature and discover that it opens a raucous advertisement with some awful bloke nasally screeching in a way that makes the ears bleed and the soul sink.

via

School selection

I'm neither a parent nor a teacher, nor am I any more a governor or councillor, and nor have I ever worked for the Department of Education, although I have worked in an Education Department.

So, these are just my thoughts, and the only googling involved has been of my brain.

At the ripe old age of coughcough I am in the minority of my contemporaries (other than siblings and old school friends, obviously... ) in having gone to a state-funded grammar school. Even amongst my grammar school friends and acquaintances, the system in which I grew up was relatively unusual in being a 'pure' system* where every child in top juniors took the 11-plus exam and on the basis of that was allocated either to a Grammar School or a Secondary Modern** There was no pretence at the non-grammars being 'comprehensives'*. In all honesty, in areas where there are grammars and 'comprehensives' does anybody choose a comprehensive if they meet the criteria to go to a grammar?

I will hold my hands up and say that attending a grammar school was perfect for me. Academically inclined and with an expectation of aspiration, it was nearly ideal (except for being single-sex throughout). But that aside, I have serious ideological issues with Grammar Schools.

Number 53

Top Tory luvvie Iain Dale has listed his Top 100 Labour blogs.

Notice who is a whole 34 places above David Miliband

Update: Antonia's listed them in a clickable format.

How parents love their children...

| Parents feed pupils through gates

Pupils at a South Yorkshire school are being fed fish and chips through the gates by parents who say the canteen is not providing what their children want. Students at Rawmarsh Comprehensive are not allowed out of the grounds at lunchtime, so some parents are taking their orders for the chip shop instead.

In other news, teenagers at a comprehensive in Dullsville complained, "Books are Boring", forcing parents to smuggle in videos of Big Brother.

"It's not right that my children are being forced to read books about history and geography when they could be doing fun things like watching Beyonce videos," complained Doris Bonkers, 27, parent of Spangle, 15; Porsche, 14; Prince, 13; and Chavney, 12.

And finally, a woman was spotted snorting cocaine outside a Primary School in Brixton Clapham Park this afternoon. Local resident D. said "She's parked right outside the gates of the school, where my daughter will be coming out in a few minutes. I'm going to clock her one..." "Don't get involved," said local cafe owner, J, "I'll speak to the Street Wardens."

When the Street Wardens approached the woman, after her third line, and with her daughter now in the front seat without seat belt, she drove off above the speed limit. Local residents say "It was lucky nobody was hurt".

NAO Reunion

Oh what a blast.

What an amazingly good evening.

The National Audit Office Alumni met at the Cabinet War Rooms for drinks, nibbles and conversation.

I signed up maybe six weeks ago out of curiosity but for the past couple of days I had been filled with dread. I had visions of business cards being thrusted, one upmanship being paraded, and poor sad little Gert on the back foot defensive saying "well, I would be someone but I've had Yuppie Flu for nearly three years."

Nothing like that at all. And a very sharp reminder that NAO people are just about the best on the planet. I tried to avoid the "I work for the HO" but it's unavoidable. "I do as little as possible" went down a treat. The "Well, cut a long story short, long term sick, part time, barely pays the mortgage" went down even more of a treat.

Lovely to see G. who's terribly important but arrived in the smoking place with two fs and a b in a sentence whilst parading a short skirt and high heels. And I mean Grade 3 important; she was hotly tipped as trainee and now she is a seriously senior Civil Servant Essex Girl swearing like a trooper smoking like a fish it's 2206.

To D, my one time line manager, always and still a lovely guy, apologising for not progressing beyond when 'I left him; describing his shotgun marriage eleven years after he and L. moved in together. One of the good guys and clearly happy with being Dad.

N. my one time trainee and ethical inspiration (I told him). Due to become a Dad in two months, having downshifted from Accenture to a small and perfectly formed. Diplomatically, he agreed that I taught him everything he knows. Wonderful to see a lovely, lovely bloke.

And C. I got quite blunt with C. We met on my induction day 21 September 1989. I never had an argument with C, but she did come over as blue-stockinged straight laced. I was absolutely candid, I admire and envy her. She did the career thing, qualified accountant, maternity leave, followed by sprog number #2 and career break and now she cannot imagine going back, but she does a lot of things unpaid. She looks fabulous. I told her she hasn't changed an iota since 1989 physically, but that's not true. This is someone who is happy and fulfilled, and knows that in time she will do something different (children of 9 and 6). So amazing to see someone so formerly straight-laced so relaxed. Oh she'll never be a fashion victim, and kudos right there. But so amazingly chilled.

Just generally, it was so nice to chill with people. The real quality of the 1996 entrants, almost as classy as the 1989 entrants. A, whom I recognised immediately, and J. with whom I soon established connections.

If you know me, please explain the NAO role in my life. A fabulous and arsehole organisation filled - past and present - with the most amazing people. I could not work there again, but 90% of the best people I have ever met in my life are from the NAO.

A wonderful evening and I suspect I might just become a fully signed-up NAO alumna.

The Youth of Today

From the school of stating-the-bleeding-obvious comes Modern life 'poisoning' childhood

Childhood creativity is being stifled by a combination of junk food, school targets and mass marketing, a group of authors and academics has claimed. Dozens of teachers joined children's authors and psychologists to write a letter to the Daily Telegraph. The signatories highlighted "the escalating incidence of childhood depression" and demanded action.

Although, considering it is the bleedin' obvious you would think there wouldn't be any need to state it.

Patrick Holford, a psychologist and nutritionist, who heads the Food for the Brain Foundation, believes swift action is needed to help children. He said: "There is absolutely no question that there is a profound link between children, their poor performance and a poor diet."

And not just children, either. I read of a Young Offenders Institute where they took junk off the menu and replaced it with healthy food in a balanced diet, and behaviour improved significantly...within days.

I find it interesting to read that with the move to healthier school dinners, children are complaining it's not salty enough and are craving crisps. I will admit that I am a little bit salt averse: I don't even add it to chips. However, I do use it in cooking - it draws out other flavours by osmosis. I tried eating in the office canteen a few times but found the food far too salty. I thought it was just me but someone else said the same thing without me prompting them. I think that my "low end of normal" blood pressure may be down to my low-salt diet and I just wonder whether most of the rest of the nation is drowning their food in salt and ruining their health. I wonder - and I stress I am asking this from the perspective of someone who is salt averse - why do people put so much salt on food, even before they have tasted it? I am sure - and correct me if I'm wrong - that, other than chips, food from good quality ingredients and properly cooked, shouldn't require any added salt.

Then I read Parents meddling in student life

Universities gearing up to welcome students in a few weeks' time are bracing themselves for a potentially more daunting onslaught: "helicopter parents". A new generation of over-involved parents hover over their offspring - flooding campus orientation sessions, interfering in registration, meddling with lecturers, administrators and potential room-mates.

I'm not sure whether to be shocked or sceptical. I can believe it happens. A few months ago I met up with some relatives after a University Open Day and decided to keep my thoughts to myself, thankfully, because they showed their surprise that that particular prestigious London university encouraged parents to attend open days. I can sort of understand it at that stage, when you're talking about 17-year-olds, but when you read

Education expert Prof Miriam E David's research at London University's Institute of Education highlighted the increasing role of mothers in selecting their children's university

, one has to ask whether the 'child' has the intellectual capacity or the maturity to be at University, which is supposed to be for intelligent adults.

Even though I went to a horrendously posh University full of Oxbridge rejects and with ridiculous aspirations to be the equivalent* of Camford, it was accepted that by six pm on Day One, parents were gone. Long before registrations and orientations and whatnots began. That was if parents came along at all. There were quite a few mature students, although probably fewer than now and fewer than eg the redbricks. There were loads of Overseas Students and people came from all over England, Wales and Northern Ireland. And even at East Midlands Finishing School there were people whose parents simply couldn't afford to travel and stay over and so on. I wonder at what point the parents let go. I expect they choose their 'children's' job too, and turn up for the first day of work.

* in certain subjects it was far superior to Oxbridge and Cambridge but rather than playing it to its strengths, it tried to be a poor imitation

School Uniform

School uniform 'tax on parents'

The OFT said this was a tax on parents, mostly benefiting the chosen retailers, and called on school governors to scrap exclusive agreements. The OFT calculated that if schools let parents use supermarkets, uniforms would cost £27 less for secondary pupils and £9 less for primary pupils..."There are many people on a tight income, regardless of school, who want to be able to clothe their children in quality school uniforms but they are being forced to pay over the odds." Citizens Advice said the findings reflected the experiences of low-income families.

I am not sure what constitutes low-income. Out of curiosity I googled my old school and was shocked. But not surprised. The uniform has barely changed since the Seventies, or earlier. I actually don't think that I have ever blogged this before, which is strange, because I am sure that all the lurking non-commenting ex-Loreto girls know what I'm going to say...

STRIPES

The skirts seem somewhat shorter than in 1979-86, and interesting to see that they have a one pleat option, although there is still the two pleat option. Can't tell whether it's still made of wool which caused heat rashes in 800 girls for two months every summer. I see it's a pullover rather than cardigan, but still with school colours, and they've relaxed the winter coat rule. Glory be, they don't specify a stockist for shoes, the implication being that everything else comes from the 'school shop'.

I am sure the filthy rich and smug parents of Hale and Bowdon delight in forking out a small fortune for the uniform...I bet the blazer still costs more than most schools' entire uniform. But the catchment area isn't just the stockbroker/footballer belt of North Cheshire but also the rather less prosperous areas of Timperley and Broadheath and Ashton-on-Mersey and Sale Moor. Back in the days it included Stretford and Old Trafford, and Warrington and even Inner City Manchester. No doubt there's a vibrant secondhand market, but I also bet you can't get those blazers new down Altrincham market.

Still, it's nice to see some of my favourite teachers are still listed as staff. Although apparently Sister Pat retired in July. It must have been tremendous fun getting rid of the deadwood - a whole generation of women who were unable to or discouraged from entering more suitable professions went into teaching despite having no natural inclination to do so, and often didn't even have a love of the subject. And it's nice to see Latin is stil on the curriculum.

We're all going on a Summer holiday...

Well, we managed to get ourselves a week in Crete at the end of the month for not very much. It's actually an All Inclusive complex but the online descriptions of the hotel food sound unappetising. However, we had originally said if we got a holiday for that price Half Board it would be so ridiculously cheap that it would be sinful not to spend the extra on eating proper meals in the tavernas and restaurants in the town.

The pictures of the resort lok lovely. Described as 'romantic' and retaining a 'Cretan character'. No mention of fun or parties. We don't go on holiday for fun.