Are retired people 'much busier than they have ever been?'

Do retired people always say that they are 'busier than they have ever been' just because, poor things, they are so old that they just take much longer to do everything and are more inefficient? Thus getting up in the morning takes them twice as long to get dressed because now, instead of putting on their socks by balancing on one foot and pulling a sock onto the other, they now have to sit on the bed and laboriously lift one foot up and slowly, slowly poke a toe (chiropodised of course) into the sock, wriggle and push it until it fits, and then lift the other foot up (after a brief pause for a little rest) and....well...ditto....

Do they also need more tea and general refreshments because of their low level of energy as retired people? That of course would take longer as they cannot now easily reach the shelf where the cups are and have to get a small stool to stand on, and of course their balance is not so good so it takes a while of holding onto various shelves and counters to get there, and then they decide they had better move everything to make it easier (another three quarters of an hour gone)? Moreover they are more finicky about not filling the kettle more full than the cups of tea they are about to consume and thus spend time finding their reading glasses so that they can see on the indicator on the side of the kettle just how full it is?

Then do they walk slower? Do they find it harder to 'catch on?' so conversations are three times as long as they try to understand what the hell someone means? Partly through bad hearing, but also because the world has moved on and vocabulary with it (what is all this 'dissing' and 'shanking' and usb-ing, downloading, uploading etc)?

Then of course they rant more at the television, the unfairness of the world, taxes, women who push into queues etc which all takes time previously used in writing reports, making business calls or, lets be honest, standing by the coffee machine having a chat. No wonder they have no time to sort out the garden!

Then medicines. All retired people need copious amounts of pills. This entails finding the reading glasses to read the labels on the bottles, counting out the relevant pills, finding the glass to fill with water, contemplating the pill prior to ingesting it, swallowing the water, rinsing out the glass, drying the glass, putting the glass away, putting the pills away, losing the reading glasses, finding them, putting them in a safe place.....All things no working person has time for.

Then what about communications? Retired people by their very definition have far less communications aimed at them (well, they all are either medical, insurance or holidays, but certainly a more limited range) and yet they make more of them - for a start their e-mail keeps on breaking down mysteriously, and then equally mysteriously righting itself, and they are helpless until the magic has occured. Then they have to go through all the business of finding their reading glasses again. Then they always immediately lose whatever they have written on the e-mail (that key on the right is the DELETE button you know, not backspace), and have to do it all over again. Then they get distracted by all the spam since they are unable ever to work out how to just junk it and often believe that you must reply POLITELY to all those young men trying to sell them books on how to age gracefully.

Thus we see that retired people are more busy than they have ever been but that is only because they are slower and more inefficient. But correspondingly look at how happy they are! Why are they happy? They are happy because they are busier than they have ever been! Without anyone breathing down their neck criticising their poor time-keeping, tardiness, rubbish work, inefficient meeting management, and moreover they have the pleasant drip, drip, drip of a pension into their bank account without having to experience any of those unpleasant things!! This is heaven indeed.

Also, let it not be forgotten that all those things that in youth make people unhappy - such as not enough fun/alcohol/sex/money/friends/travel etc - no longer exist for the retired person because every single part of them has either slowed down or lost its tolerance for excess. Look at our famous OAP rock stars (Mick Jagger springs to mind) they no longer classify themselves as hell raisers. They have lost the urge...and the energy..and you can see why......

So ladies and gentleman I say to you - do not fear retirement, except in one respect, if you think you are busy now you will be far, far busier then....and you will have to be in bed by 10.00 to get your beauty sleep and give you the energy to find your reading glasses for the twentieth time. Just make sure your neighbours are old too - you won't want to be woken up by drunken shouts as they return from the pub at 11.30 which will involve you in a whole lot of laborious letter writing to the local council. Mind you, that will keep you busy.

All actions have consequences

This is a lesson for us all. You just cannot get away with anything - a playful nip of your sons ear and what happens - you are treated violently by said son. One moment a tranquil child the next a dastardly strangler! I blame the parents......

Les moules

So, it is August. There is no 'r' in the month and so we can have 'les moules'. This is France. This is a hot day. This is lunch. This is a carafe of rose. This is a glass of rose beside the carafe. This is 'les moules' in a saucepan. What more could be desired? (Perhaps not a drip upon ones person, but c'est la vie. This is France. This is a hot day. This is a saucepan of moules with a dripping lid.)

The artists sacrifice.......

So, there is no sacrifice that the artist will not make to get the photo he desires............the public, endless jumping, the relying on the little brother to take the perfect pic (was it achieved? see above), the mum secretly videoing.....

Modernity benefits an old city.

Ahhhh beautiful Siena! Why does anyone go there? They go for the history, for the old buildings, for the beautiful Mosaics, the duomo, the Duccio gallery, the Piazza del Campo, the beautiful views, the icecream, the harmonious layout of the town. Now, you may add, the escalator! Yes. Siena now boasts an escalator which takes you from a car park at the bottom of the hill which the town in all its beauty crowns (a little bit of poetic language never goes amiss) all the way up to just below the Duomo! And we were expecting a long and sweaty walk with many sighs and curses from all members of the family, and possibly some sort of sit down strike half way up (probably by me, I am not renowned for my stamina, just my delightful personality), and then we had air conditioned escalators (their are several, just think about it, it couldn't be a single one) all the way up to the top. Moreover, before you embark upon them there are clean lavatories! Sadly I cannot remember the name of the car park but I imagine it is signposted with a picture of an escalator, but let me recommend it to all. Of course once you are at the top, once you have woven through the streets to the Duomo (about 5 minutes of picturesque curly highwalled passages) it is too hot to stand in a queue for the Duomo (all that marble is like a mirror, you feel like a turkey being basted) but the point is you arrive in a decent condition of coolness and dryness and without a pink face. You may then visit other places in the shade and go back to Siena in the cooler, less busy months for the visit to the Duomo (which will be there for you to see for more years than we are all alive, so don't worry.

Oh, the mysterious Chinese comments on the first clip refer to the legendary 'Stairway to Heaven' in Hong Kong where many more escalators take you from the bottom of the city up to the top - but at the top there is simply a busy road (sorry to disappoint) so, although a shorter escalatory experience in Siena, that experience would be more accurately named as the 'Stairway to Heaven'. I mean - look at what is at the top there!!!

A mysterious presence

The strange and unexplained disappearance of the budgie woman put me in mind of another mystical disappearance that I experienced many years ago, whilst still a young, slender and vulnerable young woman.

This is the scene. Me and my partner (were we married at that point, I can't remember and it doesn't matter) went for a long walk amongst the marshes at Wells next the Sea. We walked out and out, until finally we could see the sea lapping at a small distance - it looked shallow and with only a gentle wave system going for it. We meditated a while on the stillness and beauty (coming from London its always a bit of a shock how quiet and empty the country can be - the space with no human habitation! the space with no human!). We then, realising that the light was beginning to fail turned back, retracing our steps. However, what we didn't know was that the tide had turned and the sea was coming back in and at Wells next the Sea, when the sea comes in it comes in fast. Really fast. So we are threading our way through the hummocks of the sea grass in the rather mushy land, jumping over the creeks which are many and intersect the land unexpectedly, and as we walked we began to realise that these creeks were getting very full, very quickly and indeed the one that we had just come up to was like a small torrent. In fact, to our alarm we realised that it was uncrossable where we were. We started walking alongside it, hoping to find some kind of bridge or a low point, but instead it seemed to get deeper and more malignant in its attempt to cut us off from the rest of the land! I began to feel worried. In all the three hours we had been walking we had not come across a single soul, and there was no real path, just a myriad of tracks through the gorse bushes which appeared and disappeared with no explanation.

But then looking ahead I saw a man. A young man in a long coat with a beard (yes!) at some distance and he paused a moment, looked at us and held my gaze briefly, and then stopped by a stick which was at the side of the creek and crossed! We hurried forward. We realised that the stick was not just some arbitrary twig someone had jammed into the mud but a sort of marker (it was quite solid looking). We knew we absolutely had to cross soon or be cut off so we decided to trust this strangers example, and plunged into the strong current of foaming white horses (well, shetland ponies but the current was strong and it was of unknown depth). In fact, as I was unwilling to either take off my trousers or get them wet, my noble partner at this point carried me across (as I say I was young and slender) to safety, getting soaked up to his waist, barely able to stand (I wasn't that slender - no, really, it was the depth and power of the water that was so intimidating, not my hefty form.) Having arrived on the other side, we heaved a sigh of relief and scanned the empty land for a glimpse of our saviour, and anyone who has been to Wells-next-the-Sea knows just how empty and flat those marshes are and guess what there was no sign of the man.!!!!!! Yes he had appeared, saved us by indicating a safe place to cross and then disappeared!!! Amazing or what? And he looked like St Christopher or possibly even Jesus Christ!

That night we asked our next door neighbour, the Colonel, about the safety of the marshes and he told us how dangerous they were when the tide has turned and that the only safe place to cross those creeks is by the markers, of which there are very few. He himself once, on a shooting expedition had been caught by the tide and had to spend four hours on a tussock (seriously, it wouldn't have been funny, I can tell you) whilst the tide lapped about him! No mystical saviour for him then!

So I am all for mysterious presences - they can enrich and even perhaps save your life in my limited experience.

I have also recently had several mystical visions (ok, so its pushing it I admit but you know, when you've got the visionary gift, you've just got to go with the flow, haven't you heard of the ancient Sybil? I could end up like that - obviously many years from now, but still, a career change could occur) but I shall save them for another time............

Budgie woman

As we walked along the South Bank on Friday we passed a small woman seated upon a folding chair, with, in front of her, a tiny table with two budgies -one yellow, one green - perched upon a tiny bird rest with behind them a small tray full of folded differently coloured pieces of paper. The children were attracted by the budgies and I have to admit so was I. My first budgie was green, called Nutmeg, and I have often dreamed of getting another budgie myself, a little boy budgie, to whom I would teach the words of ancient philosophers......Anyway, there was a woman and two budgies so we threaded a way through the crowds, not helped by the large pink balloon my daughter had strapped to her wrist which kept on banging into people (they mostly took it in good part), to enquire what she was selling. It was horoscopes. For a donation (amount unspecified) you could choose one of the budgies to grab one of the papers for you, chuck it on the tray, and that was that. We had to do it of course. First my daughter chose Jenny (the yellow bird) to select, and then my son chose the other one (I thought it was Joan, my daughter thought it was Joel) and he got his horoscope. I crossed the dames hand with silver (actually a pound coin - does any other coin actually have any value in London?) and we stepped away to read the horoscopes. They were amazing! They were hilarious! They were such that I wanted one too, and we turned back to the lady only to find that she had gone!

Yes, but a few minutes passed and she, her chair, her budgies, her table, her horoscopes were all vanished. We searched up and down the South Bank seeking any trace of her but there were none! This was all the more odd as our initial laughing about the horoscopes had attracted attention and surely this had meant more customers for her...but no...like a mysterious, fairy tale creature she had dispensed her wisdom and disappeared into the rather overcast day like a shadow swallowed up in darkness. Was it because I was not destined to recieve my horoscope? Was it because she was an illegal immigrant and undercover police had suddenly appeared, causing her flight? Had her budgies played up and refused to dispense any more horoscopes? Had she simply had enough? Or had she...had she....been an imaginary figure, and had spirited herself away leaving only the horoscopes as an indicator that she had ever existed?

We will never know. But I was sorry that I didn't get my horoscope. It would have been a laugh.

Here is Ben's:

Young Planet

You'll be an extremely lucky person. Soon you'll receive news from a relative to assist you.(When is soon?). You are bon (sic) under the sign of a lucky star. You'll have a long life and you'll be healthy up to the end of your life.
You'll live 90 years.

Here is Camilla's:

Young Lady Planet (how did the budgie know?????)

The heavenly gift for you will be a wealth man. (I mean what woman wouldn't want that kind of heavenly gift?) Your best friends will envy your happiness, but they won't harm you. (Always good to know) Your lucky star says: you'll live in happiness and silence, and you'll be his before marriage. (Hmmmm....a bit too much information there) You'll inherit a great wealth from an uncle . (She's going to be rolling in it). You'll marry Peter and you'll live 86 years. You'll also have babies.(not too soon I hope).

The Sun - is it more evil than we thought?

As we get older we get wiser. We are better informed (simply, surely, through a process of being around for a long time and the same old things coming up, that, whether you like or not, you will know more because it has been repeated so often), we are also more careful of our bodies (they just can't take it any more - the spicy food, the gallons of alcohol, the sudden leap at a tennis ball, the sleeping in a single bed with no sheets because you couldn't be bothered to make it....), we all realise that with age we simply do not look as attractive (the wrinkles, the etc etc see previous articles, I don't want to appear obsessed by this) and yet......the lure of the sun is still there!!!!

Look at all these people! They have turned their sun beds to face the sun and are lying, practically naked, trying to get a tan! Why? We know the suns rays are full of hideous toxic stuff which will not only make you wrinkle more and dry your skin, but cause skin cancer. We know that. And yet we lie there, soaking it up, in a dream of youth and beauty which can never come again...............

Does this mean that human beings are not only the most intelligent beings on the planet but also the most stupid? Or does it simply not matter since the end is inevitable and whether you reach it today or tomorrow, wrinkled or not, the inevitability of that end is so much wired into our psyche that we simply do not care? Or is the sun more evil than we thought and has not only rays to cause cancer and wrinkle us but also to seduce our brains into performing a sort of primeval worship with out bodies?

Hmmmmmmm! Send your answers on a postcard to the second sunbed from the left where i am soaking up the rays.

Fat and the over 45's

Get depressed all you over 45's. The latest news on fat is that if you are over 45 even if you are eating exactly the same as you were eating pre-45 you WILL get fat. Yes, your metabolism slows down such that whereas before you were just fine, now you are ingesting TOO MANY CALORIES for your once slender form!! You may take this unwelcome news in one of two ways - depending on your disposition and maybe what is on the plate in front of you:

Option one: God, you know there is nothing I can do, my body and age are against me so I shall just have to bow to the inevitable and become cuddly (not fat, I could not be fat). Anyway, cuddly can be nice on a cold night.....

Option two: God, life is just so unfair. I don't eat enough to keep a bird alive. Why, why has this happened to me? Take away that piece of chocolate cake covered in cream and bring me a sliced carrot and a dog to kick. Thin is the only way and now I must follow a stringent diet just like all the celebrities.....

For those taking option two the stringent diet is two fold:

one, cut down on the carbs
two, eat five times a day - but crucially eat only the amount of food you can hold in your two cupped hands. This is all it takes to fill your stomach and YOU DON'T NEED ANY MORE.

Oh, and get rid of the family pet and buy yourself a punch bag instead. Haven't you heard of the the RSPCA?

For those taking option one. You're probably lovely to hang around with as having a nice, sunny nature but please do not become a naturist (for the sake of others) and remember fat people are not just naturally jolly, they have to work at it, so prepare yourself with a good joke book and a raft of amusing stories.

Good Luck All!!! (And just remember, even the celebs get fat - look at Elizabeth Taylor, or Mariah Carey (she isn't even over 45) and what about Britney? Just don't overdo it - think of the length of surgery if you have to have any operation, all the cutting necessary, not to mention the sewing up. Be kind to doctors!)

Piaggia July 2009

Piaggia, Piaggia. All the years of the holidays we spent there and it is still the same although the trees are bigger and Sogna is restored. Ahhhh!!!! I feel a poem coming on...oh no I have been interrupted by domestic responsibilities. Anyone else got a poem?

Throwing pool

Yes. Its weird isn't it. 'Throw/catch...throw/catch...throw/catch...' Where was the swimming? Where was the leaping in and splashing sunbathers? Where was the laughter? Where was even the throwing hard? Or just so the recipient has to leap up so high that they lose their footing and go under water? Where was the drama? (And I don't even mention the lady treating the pool like a breakfast table)

This dull pursuit was kept up by some parties for over an hour! What has the world come to......throw/catch...throw/catch/......? Its a whole new concept in fun - PCfun, where everything is totally ordered and under control. Apparently it keeps the bloodpressure down, doesn't annoy sunbathers as there is no splashing and no noise beyond good humoured gentle laughter. Needless to say none of the players were British which in this instance I must say I am proud to relate. Lighten up you people! You are supposed to be on your holidays!!

Sunflowers

Ahhh the summer. Italy. The hot sun beating down. The fields of sunflowers raising their pretty faces to follow the sun around the sky - or do they? Yes, we were puzzled by the behaviour of the sunflowers and would be interested in the comments of the world at large - preferably if you are an actual sunflower farmer and thus actually really know the answer. So, the situation ......the sunflowers bodies (as it were) follow the sun round but their actual faces whilst pointing in the general direction do not lift towards the sun!!!! There, I've said it!!! They do not at noon face directly up!!!! I promise you!!!! Their raggedy heads are always bowed - but why??? Are they weighted down by their seeds so are physically unable to face the glowing orb that is our nearest planet (but one, I think I'm right in saying)? When they are young and seedless are they more daring in their posture, staring right into the burning beams of the aforementioned orb of brilliant light? Or are they just as adolescent in their inability to meet the eye of maturity as an adolescent? Whatever, they do not act as tradition demands they should and I demand to know why. Answers please to this blog.

The gentleman plumber

Just to continue my observations on the excellence of the service sector I feel that I must sing the praises of my plumber, Errol. This man is not only a brilliant plumber able to do all kinds of things from putting in new boiler to removing the most horrendous huge great birdnests lump of hair from the bathroom plug hole without a murmur of disgust. He is also a man who, in an emergency, is always prepared to rush around and sort out the problem - this was most noticeable when I, on a Sunday night, was hanging up a photograph and hammered a nail right into the centre of a foolishly placed hot water pipe. The water burst out in a thin stream right into my eye, I put my finger over the hole, but the water still flooded out under the wall paper forming a giant bubble of increasingly hot water! We had to drain the hot water system (actually this entailed just putting all the hot water taps on), turn off the mains in the street, and then rely upon our kind neighbours to bring us water to clean our teeth and fill the kettle etc. Errol then turned up first thing on Monday morning, and after a brief chuckle - he said he had heard about people hammering a nail in to a pipe but had never experienced it himself in his long career, and I had hit it dead centre, and the pipe was only half an inch wide - sorted out the problem immediately.

Still this does not make him a gentleman I hear you cry. That is true. This is how he manifested his talent as a gentleman. When he came round the other day (two days later than agreed - it was not an emergency, it was the hair blockage problem) he rang the door bell at some early hour and I was downstairs in the kitchen having got up but crucially only so far as to put on a dressing gown and make a cup of tea. Our house is made so that if you are in the kitchen you cannot get past the door and upstairs to put on some clothes without being visible from the front door (it is glass, though opaque). Knowing this, I decided I would have to be brave, and I answered the door to Errol, asked him how he was, explained the problem, led him upstairs to the bathroom to carry out his task all only clad in my dressing gown, which although not see-through is definitely only a wrap around dressing gown and I had bare feet. Anyway during all this Errol simply did not notice my attire, or lack of it. You may say that this is because I a woman of a certain age and no longer able to lay claim to the 'babe' category to which I might once have claimed to belong, but I say to you, no, it is because he is a gentleman.

I think therefore I will put Errol on my jewel scale, and I shall designate him a diamond for not only his skills as a plumber but his gentelmanliness. Rock on Errol, you have been tested and you have passed with honours........

Living with fame

Fame - we all want it, but do we know how we will deal with it when we have it? Will we go crazy, dancing about singing, 'I'm famous, I'm famous, look at me, look at me"? Or will we be more adult and simply indulge in a little bit of ear digging? Here is an example of the mature response, the 'je ne sais quois" that the dignified, the comfortable, the 'at ease with myself' person takes.....Laurence Rees, history maker, lauded by Clive James at a public event takes a name check in his stride......

Boris Johnson - isn't he a laugh?

Boris Johnson falling in a river. Listen out for the 'oh no' as he tumbles........

Wish you were there

There are sometimes times when you just wish that your feet were still these feet
That you could be there as they are there
And that then was now and where was here
You were there and there was even tomorrow, even the next day, even next week,
But not in the past and not so far away......

Hair dryer

How to enjoy yourself at a science exhibition.

The signs of ageing

This is a rather distasteful subject but I feel it needs to be aired. Yes, the signs of ageing - things you would never dream of (or even probably have nightmares since it would be descending to a level of detail that would be unmemorable) - which I have decided to chronicle.

The first thing you will notice at the age of 45 is that your eyesight will start to let you down. Everyone over this seemingly innocent barrier unfailingly spends ages groping around for reading glasses, complaining that the printed word has shrunk, that the lights are dimmer and that their mobile phone text messages are ridiculously small, what can the manufacturer have been thinking about? But, my friends, it is not they who are at fault it is YOUR EYES.

The second thing you will notice is the hair that springs up or disappears from completely different places than the ones you are used to, and moreover much of it without any encouragement or warning becomes interspersed with white or grey. Yes! Women's head hair becomes thinner, men's head hair falls out or retreats on the scalp leaving peculiar bare patches, which then become dazzlingly shiny as though these unfortunates are polishing them every morning, elevenses, lunchtime, supper etc. Young people think older men are doing it on purpose but we know the truth don't we? Bald heads are naturally shiny without any help. Sorry, it is a cruel fact. As this head hair loosens its grip on the scalp new, strong, lustrous, wrongly coloured (white or grey typically, never blonde or raven black, those days are long past)hair bursts forth from places previously only modestly endowed with the stuff, for example - the nostril, the ear (mainly men),or a mole which was previously just a mole now is some sort of nursery for new vibrant growth, and of course - the eyebrows (see previous blog) - what happens there is, well, for all to see. Out of control unless you take careful heed of the progress of this unwanted development.

The third thing that afflicts the age challenged is fat distribution. Sad to relate that fat, previously held in place by a myriad of tiny muscles in the skin, finally gets the better of them and they begin to let go and 'sagging' takes place. The most notable place for this horrendous effect is naturally the stomach area which begins to descend inexorably towards the knees, followed in the case of both men and women by the breast area - generally it is true more noticeably in women, but it still happens to men. The tits of both sexes drop. Then the jowl starts to droop, giving the familiar downward curve to once luscious smiling lips and the 'old bag' expression is involuntarily adopted by again (sorry lads) men and women, no matter how cheerful they are feeling. You will look grumpy.

It is women, though, who are more affected by the next horror on my list and that is the wrinkling of the joint area. Oh tragedy of tragedies. Ladies, your knees will begin to take on the texture of a dried up prune, pulled downwards by its own inexorable weight. And your elbows. And OMG do not forget the eye lids drooping, drooping down pulled by gravity and the numerous times you have been opening and shutting (sometimes in the course of flirtation, naturally) and generally over-exercising them in the course of your blinking life.

Mysteriously, you will find skin pigment too will finally reveal the ravages of time in both men and women. Peculiar brown spots will appear in places you would rather they did not - your cheek, your nose, your forehead once uniform in colour will now be spattered with weird brown patches seemingly popping up overnight, and they may come on your hands, your decolletage. Nowhere is sacred. Veins will gradually surface, ankles that never swelled will now swell at the slightest increase in temperature, finger swelling will necessitate removal of rings you have worn for twenty odd years.

And you thought it was just wrinkles......ha! ha!

And, moreover, all this is without disease....or death..which will also become more familiar friends as your birthdays multiply.

However, cheer yourselves with this thought. Although age may have its effect on you no one, however rich, can avoid it, certainly not the Queen or Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Also, we 45 pluses have lived in a world where when we were young there was no re-cycling! We could go around on motorbikes when we were 16 without helmets ruining our hairstyles! We could visit Spain and sunbathe on a beach alone except for a handful of fit looking Spanish boys, instead of two inches away from five thousand other British/Germans! We could run for an aeroplane and the guards would let you through the gate without checking your bag! We could buy houses for under £10,000! We could park anywhere we liked, virtually! We could smoke in cinemas! And crucially, we did not have to pick up our dogs poo! Oh happy world.......

Sleeping positions as a character guide

Apparently two thirds of your life is spent asleep. Most of this time, I assume, is actually in a bed, rather than collapsed in front of the tv, lolling asleep in the passenger seat of the car, or during a boring lecture. If so, how significant is the position that we sleep in? Does it really reflect our personalities (yes, according to Professor Chris Idzikowski, director of the UK Sleep Assessment and Advisory Service) but how so, I query, when over your life your sleeping positions surely change? Does that mean that your personality changes? If so, does it change through just the experience of life (good and bad) or simply through the immutable passage of time?

In the light of this thought I have examined my own sleeping positions over the years with a direct comparison with my husbands and my childrens (little do they know but that is the reason why I, a mysterious, white clad figure have been hovering above them, noting their sp's). So, a totally non-scientific study, unlike the eminent Prof. Chris.

My husband likes to sleep in the 'soldier' position (look up Prof Chris) preferably with his arms raised above his head. He has always liked to sleep like this for as long as I have had the privilege of being in bed with him, and what a blight it is! Snoring! He must have invented it! Sometimes it is like waking up to Niagara Falls, other times a steam engine rushing past with a tooting whistle would be unheard against the whistling snore of my husband deeply asleep, or possibly it might be the deep heavy breathing of someone being slowly strangled. So, over the years, I have developed two strategies - one, to give him a sharp dig in the ribs (once, I am sorry to say, so sharp that I bruised him, but I was desperate m'lud) and two, to shout at him something along the lines of 'turn over you are snoring' (the words vary depending on how annoyed I am). However, as he has always slept in this position what does it signify about his character? Well, Prof Chris would say-

Soldier : Lying on your back with both arms pinned to your sides. People who sleep in this position are generally quiet and reserved. They don't like a fuss, but set themselves and others high standards.

No, no, no. This does not describe my husband in the slightest (maybe the high standards but I only slip that in if he reads this).

Now, myself, recently. I always used to sleep in the Soldier position and I am quiet and reserved on occasion, but recently I have found my self adopting the Freefall position. This is quite different. It shows that my personality has changed:

Freefall: Lying on your front with your hands around the pillow, and your head turned to one side. Often gregarious and brash people, but can be nervy and thin-skinned underneath, and don't like criticism, or extreme situations.

Although it is true that I don't like criticism, but then I put it to the world at large - who does? And what is an extreme situation? Teetering on the edge of a cliff on a crumbling path - rational or what? But does this mean that I have changed my personality. And will I ever attain the nirvana of the Starfish?

Starfish: Lying on your back with both arms up around the pillow. These sleepers make good friends because they are always ready to listen to others, and offer help when needed. They generally don't like to be the centre of attention.

Meanwhile what of my children? Well, all of them started off as Starfish, but now they have graduated to different positions, but every time I look at them they are differently positioned and there is a limit to how often a fond mother can pop in and out of bedrooms at night observing sleeping positions. So what are my conclusions? This. Take absolutely no notice of the position your loved ones take when they are asleep as a personality guide. You would do better to take note of what they say and do when they are awake, this will be more telling.

.

Boy behaving badly in the bluebells

Well he is a naughty boy. But who is that nasal voiced bossy woman? Why is she apparently in charge? How come despite apparently being in charge she has no authority? What has the world come to when a boy tramples bluebells?

We need our humour

I have just been to a gallery of modern art. The art was rivalled by the blurb, causing me to ask, who was this unnamed wordsmith who created a new form of obfuscation for us ordinary housewives to copy down in our diaries and laugh at later?

Here was one.

The art work was large scale, often black-on-black silk screened paintings using the words of Sol le Witt. They are entitled Black Dada.

This is what this hero of the English language penned:

Adam Pendleton in a conceptual, multi-disciplinary practice, shifts language, forms and images into an arena of artistic inquiry where cultural-political meanings - what is heritage, what is history, what is self-fashioned - are isolated and drawn into conversations.
This artist works to create a re-historicised present, one that upsets and unbalances comfortably subjective interpretations of history and culture.

In a room off Adam's great works you could see the work of Ergin Cavusogli, a Bulgarian artist, whose medium in this instance was the video. One was of a house on the outskirts of a town with mountains in the background and the sun slowing revealing itself on a somewhat murky day; a rather plump woman emerged onto the balcony, looked as though she was throwing up, and then went indoors again. More might have happened but my attention was drawn to the other video which was of a road and a train track at night. Occasionally a train or a car went past and the sound was tremendous (there was surround sound) just as though you were standing there. What an experience. I should say that I believe the road and rail were in America! So real you could have been there! Well, it was real!

Sadly, our wordsmith had lost his verve by now, worn out on Adam P so the words here were less striking and besides I was deafened by the train so I was unable to note them.

But what I say is give me more. More works and crucially more words juxtaposed to extract the full potential hilarity of this art. Well done boys!

Love or hate? Do these two women have a relationship or is it just a random act of violence? Can we interpret from their facial expressions whether this is the truth we are seeing, the subconcious enacting the true feelings of the women, or is it simply a laugh? Who are they? Should we have this level of violence (if it is violence) available on our computers for anyone to see? Which woman do you think is the victim? The one retaliating with the hand around the throat of the other - pushed to an extreme of what? retribution? revenge? - or the other whose throat actually is being squeezed? Did she deserve it? Should someone alert the authorities?

How to be a best friend

I came across this amazing quiz and thought I would publish it as I think everyone could benefit from seeing if they are a true 'best friend'. Don't be afraid to measure yourself - everyone can learn from just a little honesty with themselves. (PS if you don't know who Robert Pattinson is just look in the Eyebrows piece written in May). ManyAslip




How to be a best friend.

Do you understand the dynamics of a friendship? Are you ready to be introduced as the ‘best friend’? Why do you need a best friend? Find out in How to be a best friend.

In this book, you will discover the do’s and don’ts of becoming a successful best friend. This is something that everyone aspires to be but not many people achieve, as it requires exceptional qualities that you may not have been born with. But, this book will tell you how to acquire these qualities and become the best friend that you know you can be.

Firstly, some useful quotes to illustrate the importance of best friends:

“I believe that the most important thing in a friend is loyalty. I have been let down in the past.” ~ Paris Hilton

“Friends are kisses blown to us by angels” ~ Anonymous

“Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it is a comfort to go hand in hand.” ~ Emily Kimbrough

“If you have one true friend, you have more than your share.” ~ Thomas Fuller

“When it hurts to look back, and you're scared to look ahead, you can look beside you and your best friend will be there.” ~ Anonymous

The following sections give you a taster for the detailed content of this essential book. Topics will be covered such as:

What is a best friend?

Nowadays, people take for granted the importance of having a best friend. It is taken as something that you do not need unless you are twelve years old. In a recent poll 62% of men in the UK said that their wives were their best friends. Here at Pomegranate Books we think that this is frankly rather sad. And what of these poor women – are they trapped with their husbands as their best friends? This should not be allowed to happen and clearly the skill of being a best friend is being lost in the helter-skelter of everyday living.

Following an emergency meeting we decided that although many people claim to have best-friends, they may not really know what that means, which is why this skill is so easily lost in later years. Our aim is to re-introduce these skills and train up a generation of women who truly know how to be a best friend.

Here is a list of some of the sacrifices or favors that you will have to make your best friend:

A best friend:

~ Always, always waits for her friend for lunch, for going home, for going anywhere/doing anything, in fact.

~ Never wants to stay at a party when the friend is not enjoying herself.

~ Never, ever criticizes her friend.

~ Never snitches on her friend.

~ Never deliberately tries to look nicer than her friend.

~ Always stands up for her best friend.

What do you have to do to be a best friend?


Step 1: Pick your friend – remember not to judge people on their looks, for example you shouldn’t pick someone solely for the purpose of them making you look good.

Step 2: Make sure that you share the same common interests (you don’t want any awkward silences!). Interests can include: animals, make-up, the cinema, bike riding, skiing and other wholesome activities.

Step 3: Abide by the list shown above, you don’t want to upset your best friend.

Step 4: Once you have selected someone you have to be prepared to:

~ Support them in whatever circumstances eg when her mum asks what mark you got in a test, never admit to getting anything higher than your friend –‘ I can’t remember’ is an acceptable response.

~ Never be embarrassed by their weirdness in public eg if they laugh uproariously always laugh as well, whether you think it is funny or not

~ Be prepared to spend time making them look nice even though you feel your appearance needs more time spent on it.

~ Never ever get involved with any of their family, they are always your priority e.g when left downstairs whilst she goes up to get her bag say nothing to her older brother when he passes by. You may however, stroke her dog.


Now, just to test how naturally good you are at being a best friend, take our fun quiz! Cover up the scores before you answer but take a note of which letter your answer has.


Are you a good best friend?

1. You are at a party having a great time; you are dancing and meeting people who seem really fun and exciting. Though, suddenly your best friend appears beside you with your coat, and says, ‘I have to leave those people over there are laughing at me, I have never been so miserable in my life’. Do you:

A Laugh and tell her to get a grip, you are enjoying yourself.
B Smile sympathetically and say they are not laughing at her, and introduce her to your fun new friends.
C Go up to the people who are laughing and give them a piece of your mind, take your coat, go home with your friend and watch Hollyoaks instead.


2.You are invited to Poppy’s Birthday Bash but your friend isn’t. Do you:

A Tell your friend that she has not been invited and therefore you will not be going either.
B Tell your friend that it is really unfair that she is not invited but you have to go because your mum is a friend of Poppy’s mum.
C Pretend to your friend you are staying in that night and secretly sneak out.

3. Your best friend has just been given £200 by her grandmother and wants to go to Abercrombie and Fitch to spend it all. You have no money but you have wanted to go and shop there for a long time. Do you:

A Tell her to go on her own – you cannot bear to see all the fabulous stuff she is going to buy.
B Tell her that you are happy to go with her but apologize in advance as you may get a bit sulky as you have no money yourself.
C Go on and on about how unfair it is that your granny is dead and you have no money and all your clothes are rubbish.


4. You are both running in a 2 mile race for charity but your friend is a very slow runner and starts lagging behind, saying she cannot breathe properly. If you come in with the first ten you will get to meet Robert Pattinson. You are currently in twelfth position, you are sure you can pick up speed. Do you:

A Just run as fast as you can, pretending you haven’t noticed she is behind you and gasping for breath.
B Grab her arm and try to get her to go a bit faster, encouraging her by telling her that you are almost there.
C Stop beside her, tell her to breath deeply and try and find a glass of water, giving up all hope of coming within the first ten.

Score yourself on how many A's,B's and C's you have.

Question 1: A = 1 point B = 2 points C= 5 points
Question 2: A = 5 points B = 2 points C = 1 points
Question 3: A = 2 points B = 5 points C = 1 point
Question 4: A = 1 point B = 2 points C = 5 points

Friend-o-meter:


4 – 6 Points – ‘Best friend’

You call yourself a best friend but are you really? Your attitude toward your best pal must improve or else you will end up with no friends at all. Nobody is saying that you have to sacrifice everything for your friend, but now and again it would be kind to respect her. She has feelings as well, you know.

7 – 14 Points – Typical Pal

You give a lot to your friend, and you are very kind to her. Though, some of the things you are doing are merely selfish and could be kinder. You are a good friend, but have not yet earnt the right to be that best friend… yet.

15 – 20 Points – Angel Friend

Wow! You are incredibly kind and look after your best friend more than yourself! Congratulations on being the ultimate best friend, though, you should look out for yourself a little more, it’s about you to!

Tantric buddhism - is it for me? The other day I was in the Victoria and Albert Museum having just received some upsetting news. In order to retain my equilibrium I found myself concentrating hard on a small exhibition of buddha's in which the words Tantric immediately caught my eye. Of course, whilst not wishing to be vulgar we all know why - Sting and his Tantric sex which went on for hours - so I read the blurb and I have to say I began to understand why he had been so attracted to it....................

Yes, it was not all about the sex, or should I say no! it was not all about the sex. Far from it. What Sting is looking for is enlightenment in this life, and this in only attainable through this kind of Buddhism (as I understand it). The sex bit comes in because it is necessary for this to occur through the union of transcendental wisdom (represented by the female) and active compassion (represented by the male). Odd, clearly. I mean the wisdom I can see, the active compassion and male representation I struggle with but now obviously I understand why Sting zips around the world befriending rainforest Indians and so on. He is demonstrating his qualifications for active compassion. Amongst monks and nuns who are celibate apparently this union can be achieved without the sex, but obviously if you are a top, fit, dynamic pop star sex is essential and must be a core part of any life changing religion.

Tantric buddhism furthermore combines meditative techniques such as visualisation and breath control with elaborate esoteric (that's esoteric not erotic) rituals which can make enlightenment possible.

I learned all this from a single informative board and immediately thought, this could be for me!
I already have the transcendental wisdom, all I need to do is achieve union with active compassion and I am well away. It was at this point I decided to create this blog and tell the world to get on with it! Attain enlightenment in a single life time! Control your breathing! Concentrate on a tiny point of white light! It can be done.

Then. alas, I came home and looked on the Internet (for help with more meditative skills) and sadly I found that it is much more complicated than that single board had given me to think. Oh yes, you need training, you need dietary changes, you need commitment, and I am not sure but you may need to cut your hair! I am sure eyebrows would need to be addressed too. So with a heavy heart I realised that there is no easy path to enlightenment and with my busy schedule of writing this blog, commenting on other blogs, working in the bookshop and running a hectic social life for my friends (to which I occasionally invite myself) there would be no time. My transcendental wisdom would simply have to do. Maybe in my next life time I will do better.

Eric Cantona - don't you just love him?

Eric Cantona interview in thelondonnews.

There's something about Eric Cantona that makes me feel that he and I would strike up a wonderful friendship - if only he offered some sort of domestic service.....I'm thinking along the lines of pest control, or possibly plumbing, (although I have people for these tasks) possibly a gardener. In fact that would be good since our garden is so small and the grass fake so he would have plenty of time to weave a magic world with his words. I shall copy out some of his interview just to illustrate my point:

What's tougher: football or acting?

I think it's difficult working in both passions. [Passions - don't you just go crazy for him? ]

Are you surprised that there is so much love for you, even though you retired 12 years ago?

Yes I am surprised - and I liked to be surprised.[Oh the fun you could have with that admission]. I want to be surprised again and again [Fabulous creature]. When I feel this love, I am emotional [Just like me Eric, just like me]

Why did you quit football when you were at the top of your game?

I lost the passion. Sometimes you are in love with somebody and then one day, you're not. It's like a love story. [Possibly not so good, what would happen to my garden if he just walked out one day?]

The passion - is it like a drug?

It's a drug. It's a real drug. [But, oh joy, he is paid for it not vice versa] That's why it's so difficult when you retire from football. Physiologically, you miss something. You miss the drug.

Do you miss football?

No. [What a scream!]

You sitll have connections to the sport, though

Not really. Because when I retired, I didn't want to watch the game for two years because it was like a love story that breaks. I wanted to focus on something else. It's easier. You can't stay in your past [So not just a clown. A wise, wise clown - and gardener, possibly]

When you retired, you said you'd paint and make movies. Do you paint?

I said that? I paint my house [Ahh so decorator rather than gardener perhaps?].

The gift of flight

Ah, the gift of flight. Is it only available to the very young in the sitting room? What quality is it that we oldies lose which means we cannot do this? Or is it simply weight gain? And is that in the flesh or in experience? Or is it both? If this were a picture of me three foot above the ground would you feel the surge of freedom these photos give you or would you simply feel alarm for what would happen to my body when it hit the ground?

The joy of youth
The gift of flight
The damned hard process of growing old......no, no this poem is not working! Other people may try where I have failed.

Haiku: what is the format?

This is serious. Moved as I have been to write poems on my blog, I have now decided to publish a few as yet unpublished Haiku. Yes, I think the world is ready. But are we ready? All of my poetry group seem to think that Haiku's have a different number of beats. Who is right, and who is wrong, and who cares? Your comments please...


Birds twitter loudly
Waking people from their sleep
Fluttering their wings

(Benedict - unauthorised)

Waves leap in the air
Sea breeze scoops up golden sand
A day at the beach

(Benedict - unauthorised)

Your lips are petals
Eyelids silk
My heart beats faster

(Manyaslip - unauthorised)

Your china blue eyes
Like shards of sky
Gaze into mine

(Poppy Simmons - unauthorised)

Sliding my arm around your neck
Folding my body into yours
That kiss……

(Belinda Bowen. Authorised)

You laugh when I kiss your neck
Just one of the things
I love about you

(Belinda Bowen - unauthorised)

When I touch your smooth skin
The world revolves
At a different speed.

(Poppy Gillespie. Just brilliant)

Mirror image

Note the way the yellow flowers divide the two spiritual presences. could they be related? Or is this some sort of timeline or dimension shift we are privileged to see for one brief moment? Your call Guy.

He did it once, who would have thought he could do it again!

Well, you thought you had seen him being hilarious once, who would have thought he would be able to do it again? But he has! He did! And in fact in this clip he was doing it before the other hilarious one! I mean, it is hilarious! And obviously completely spontaneous (well, this time....).

I feel a poem coming on.


Amusing family
How fun it is to laugh
Amusing brother
What a hoot you are
Without your hilarity
We would not be laughing
Without your joking
We would not be having fun
Amusing brother
What a hoot you are!

Two people without the right body.....

Look closely at this and you will see that only one person has the right body.

the hall floor/never more

So, today was the last day
The last day was today
The house is empty
Thank you Mick
The sheds are swept bare
Thank you Geoff
The house is clean
Clean is the house
Adieu 240
240 farewell
another family will grace your halls and slumber in your bedrooms.......
Welcome Howlands ~ begin your dynasty.

Richard - hair cutter or raconteur?

What a fascinating hour I have just spent in the company of my hair cutter, Richard. The things I have learned and which I shall be delighted to pass on. A couple struck home in the light of my conversation with Dave, pest controller extraordinaire: one, that apparently (and this has been verified by others) you can deter foxes from visiting your home by pouring(?) fermented male pee on the area that they like to pee on. Apparently they can't abide the smell - but then who could?

For those who are plagued by foxes however, I would suggest giant mothballs - I have tried them myself and it is possible that they work. Or rush outside the moment they have made their pong and wash it away with strong smelling detergent (a smell which is, I think, more forgiving than fermented male urine).

Secondly, that cows (ok, not vermin but still annoying animals who get in your way) cannot walk backwards.

Apart from these two fascinating facts I learned that if you have a horrible disease where the gungy stuff that makes your lungs elastic gets infected so they are no longer elastic, you will be saved by someone plunging a knife into your lungs! The amazing thing about this is is that this happened to Richard when he was 20 (apparently he has the scars to prove it, but he didn't show me and to be honest I did want him to concentrate on my hair so I wasn't too bothered) and yet Camilla and I had witnessed the exact same procedure in the last episode of Robin Hood! And we had pooh poohed it as being ridiculous and yet just two days later Richard proved that it was a verifiable medical procedure. Coincidence, or what?

I wouldn't go so far as to place Richard on the jewel scale amongst hairdressers but he has done my hair nicely and was very amusing about the foxes and riveting about his personal health, so the hour in his company passed easily. Good old Richard.

No Pestering

Today Dave the mouseman visited my house. Yes, when we came back the other day I smelt a distinctive odour and on looking under the kitchen units what should I find but mouse droppings! It was but the work of a moment to ring Dave of 'No Pestering' and get him to come round and give his expert help and advice. This man is a jewel amongst pest control experts as he is extremely jolly and only lives round the corner so can come at virtually any time of day or night in response to the cry of a distressed victim of pests (only mice, rats, squirrels and cockroaches - he doesn't like anything bigger, or anything that can fight back).

He is also a sensitive soul who not only parks his unmarked van on a different street on a meter (rather than asking for an expensive visitors permit) but sometimes feels sorry for these hideous creatures. Indeed he revealed to me that sometimes when a person calls him over to control the vermin and silently but proudly hands over a jam jar with said vermin hopping up and down for Dave to remove and kill with his bare hands (well in reality some kind of stick I imagine), Dave in fact drives out and SETS THEM FREE. This could of course simply be his way of keeping those calls coming in, but I don't think so. I think he has a heart.

Anyway, he came to our house and as always burst into laughter when I reminded him that one of the reasons we suffer from mice is that our neighbour, who is an even kinder hearted person than Dave, likes to feed her mice with nuts to stop them eating her bread rather than wipe them out through cruel pest control methods. As our house is joined to hers in their nocturnal romps they often fetch up in our kitchen but thanks to Dave's intervention they are swiftly poisoned and hopefully go back under her house to die in the comfort of their homes.

He put down masses of poison whilst I quizzed him on the worst jobs, the most intelligent vermin (rats - there was one that used to live in a restaurant. It lived upstairs and would come down at night, take just the chicken out of the bins and secrete it in a cupboard for a later feast), the most revolting (probably, in his opinion, cockroaches), the dirtiest (mice - no bladders); I found out about the annual pest control conference in Birmingham (pretty dull really, so Dave only goes infrequently if he has no work) and so on and so on. Laurence came down and drew me away saying he had wondered what the party was in the kitchen (Dave, as I said, is a jolly person with a merry laugh). Anyway whilst I was away Dave found a mouse under the fridge which had squeezed its way into a plastic poison trap. He said it had obviously been looking for a bed for the night. Ho Ho Ho.

Still now the poison is laid and it cost me £42.00 which actually is well worth the price to keep the wretched things out of my cupboards. He also gave me some advice: one, the rumour currently flying around Chiswick that feeding mice coca cola will kill them is based on no evidence, and two, those electric plugs don't work either. Finally, he told me that if I didn't want flies in my food recycling bin I must wash it continually and periodically spray it with fly killer without even a hint of criticism that I wasn't doing that already.

Such valuable advice............. he is truly, as I said, a jewel amongst pest controllers. I would recommend him to anyone.

Guy being a laugh

This is an hilarious video of Guy being hilarious at an hilarious last party at the aged p.s house. Long may he continue to make us laugh hilariously. A film of the whole event will follow in due course.

Water egress points

All around the world people have formed a desire to collect things. Stamps, butterflies, coins, African novels - somewhere someone is collecting either the actual thing or a photographic record. I was on holiday when suddenly it came over me what I should collect. Well, actually this happened twice. Once, so long ago that digital cameras had not been invented (I know, I know. Imagine at that time mobile phones were still 'rabbits' - you have to be my age to understand , and believe me you don't want that - well, not until you are...) and I collected images of my feet on differently textured surfaces. I have a stunning picture of this venture, hanging currently behind the door in the bathroom (it has a limited appeal), but then I came upon the concept of fire hydrants which quickly transmuted into water egress points. (I have to confess this has been no better received by certain people...)

How was this? Well, chance really (yes really, I know that is hard to believe, surely it must have been some sort of out-of-body experience, or even at least an announcement made to me by some shining being from another world............but no, I must confess, it was actually chance),I was in the USA on holiday with my family and my camera. I saw my first hydrant. What can I say? It was a red two headed hydrant sheltering in a leafy green bush. There was something so shy about it, so retiring and yet there it was, a modest life saver just waiting to be called upon. I snapped it. The next one I noticed, although still red, was a completely different shape - it was tall and thin with only one aperture (I'm trying to keep out of any kind of double entendre, so bear with the vocabulary) and outstripped the leafy green bush by which it was standing. Then yet another, much more complicated with capped heads, and seemingly loitering with intent upon a stairway. The next employed different colours, different twists and bends. My passion was borne! As I travel about I cannot help but be aware of these esoteric saviours, built by man to save mankind from the horror of fire. Romantic, often demure, but sometimes outrageously large and complex, in such cases caged in by municipal authorities (these were in San Francisco, one can hardly be surprised) they just beg to be chronicled. In Austria I have seen them dripping with icicles; in Venice, city of dreams they are just small plump objects incongrously placed by Renaissance buildings; in the English countryside I found one pressed in amongst the cowpats and blackberry bushes that form so much of our green and pleasant land.

Everyone should look out for them. It is a harmless obsession (I think) and rewarding since they are everywhere, and they are so various! Every country has need of them, and it is my (sad) dream to get selections worldwide, purely for the visual effect. Some will nestle, some will stand proud of their environment, some are designed to burst out of the background in outrageous blues, oranges and yellows, whilst others are simply adorned in grey or suburban brown.

Look out for them. Snap them. Once you have started noticing them, they turn up everywhere. I promise. Go forth and enjoy the everyday beauty in life. I can feel a poem coming up, perhaps a Haiku................

Eyebrows - are they a window on the soul?

Recently I have become very aware of eyebrows. This will sound strange to anyone who has dark/bushy/beetling/caterpillar-like/mono eyebrows for whom looking in a mirror has always had to take into account these hairy forms that edge your eye socket. For me, however, and other fair haired people, eyebrows have never been a defining feature, far less something which needs to be taken into account in your personal face map. It is only now as age has become a somewhat significant factor in my appearance that I have become aware of the role they can play if managed correctly. Yes, age, that hideous gremlin in the bottom of the box of life that we all loathe and yet have to be grateful for since the alternative is worse.........

What age does to the eyebrows is to either thicken or thin them (whatever you would least like), coarsen them, and horror of horrors introduce the element of grey. Yes, your eyebrows can go grey. This immediately adds easily 10 years to your wrinkles.

As a person challenged by this gremlin, and moreover suffering from the invisibility that gender creates as time wears on (except where access to your bank account is required when you are all too visible) , I was horrified to realise that this might happen to me. A friend told me there were various answers - dying (oops! spelt that wrong, I mean dyeing), threading or tattooing. Yes! You could put yourself in the hands of a friendly tattooist and have not only new eyebrows but a whole new expression. Of course over time that expression would change. As your skin slowly drooped down into your eyelids so your expression would become more dour. But fair enough! You would probably feel that way, anyway, so what if your face shows it!

I have not yet decided what action I should take and am still considering it, but what I have become aware of is other people's eyebrows. Just take a look around you - there are poems written on Robert Pattinsons eyebrows (well, not quite, but definitely youtube films); could you stomach Jeremy Clarkson without his horrible bushy growths wriggling about on his forehead adding irony to his oh-so-witty words? and what about Tony Blair, surely we responded as a nation to his furrowed brow with those beautifully arched, sympathetic brows calling on us to just understand what a brilliant job he was doing for us despite our ingratitude. Gordon Brown simply cannot compete - look how wild his are, grey and sort of unkempt. If a man cannot control his eyebrows, can he control the country? Tom Cruise should inspire him with his delicately shaped eyebrows, reflecting the refined nature of his handsome face - he is a man who can save the planet and make millions in the process. And what of Mr Spock? Surely when his creators came up with those upwardly pointing, excitingly exuberant eyebrows they were suggesting the hidden passions of a being who would always come up with surprises no matter how pointy his ears. Nations of middle aged women immediately fell in love..........

Furthermore a glance at any portraits of the past or present will demonstrate how artists have engrossed themselves in the rendering of the eyebrow as a true indicator of personality. Dame Judy Dench, all dressed in white on a white background, manages to suggest all sorts of archness through the refinement of those carefully delineated and possibly tattooed (ok, ok, but she is quite old, can they be real?) speaking, lines of finely plucked hair. They act alone. I haven't looked at Joanna Lumley - but surely they played a part in getting all those gurkha's what they wanted? Gordon, confronted with her, must have felt a certain humility at someone so in control, so able to master the technicalities of the eyebrow.

So, I still haven't decided what to do about mine but I would recommend everyone to look in the mirror objectively and just take note of the subliminal message that your eyebrows are sending out into an unsuspecting world - you didn't get that job? Go home and pluck those brows. That salesman was rude to you? Darken up your brows, use them to enhance your authority. The bank manager refused you the loan? Practice the eyebrow wrinkle, it works every time. Well, unless you are of a certain age and gender. Then you could say, what's the point if they don't see me they're hardly going to see my eyebrows. But never, say never. The eyebrow is here to stay.

Men - aren't they adorable?

Men, don't we just adore them? There are so many ways in which they are so fantastic. They can carry heavy things, for example, and are perfectly happy to carry said heavy things to the dump on a Saturday afternoon (providing there is no sport to watch). If you are on holiday they just love to get a map and guide you around the place, and carry that map in a crumpled wadge in their back pocket. They are also good at kicking a football around with the kids on a sunny day, or even taking them cycling on a rainy day. Men are also delightful when it comes to fetching an extra chair when you are having a drink (coffee or alcohol) with friends and there are not quite enough seats - usually of course having had it politely pointed out to them by their adoring partner first. And what about paying for and carrying the shopping? Some of them will even push a trolley - with a child in it! Yes there are many, many things that make men totally adorable.

But what is it about their tunnel vision? Is it a coping strategy for living with women and children? Is it a hangover from their neanderthal past, and genuinely (as they claim) not their fault? Is it simply laziness? Why can men not see what is in a fridge (apart from beer)? Why are they unable to find that favourite shirt hanging up in their own wardrobe without assistance from a female? Why, oh why, are they able to sit goggle eyed at a computer/television whilst you with your clicky stiletto heels are stomping past, to and fro, to and fro, with all the recycling in its different bags hanging off your frail form as though you are some kind of bag-lady? Then, when they finally do notice that something is afoot (the computer/television screen has steamed up with your laboured breathing) they say something truly irritating like 'what are you doing?'

Is every man on the planet like this? Are they born like it or is it an acquired skill? If it is acquired how have mothers allowed it to happen? Could they not have introduced some sort of instruction procedure which would give them better peripheral vision? Or is it an age thing which is acquired with puberty?

Whatever it is I would like to see an A level course in how to view widescreen. They do A levels in all sorts of other subjects, many of them useless, whilst this would be of supreme usefulness because it would promote harmony in the home. Think of all the shouting that would no longer be necessary. No yells of 'Where is my.........", no accusations of 'I put my ..........in the wash and now I can't find it?' No responses of, ' for gods sake have you no eyes? Here it is", and 'here it is' and 'here it is' and 'grrrrrr!' And above all no exasperated shriek of, 'Didn't you see me struggling to and fro with the recycling!' Really, so many people would benefit.

So I put it to the government or the education authority or whoever, please please address this important issue. Of course i will be wasting my time if they are men who make the decisions on such things since, with the application of tunnel vision, they will not have got beyond the first two sentences.

My horrible dream

Last night I had the most horrible dream. It was so horrible that I actually had to wake myself up from it. I dreamed that I was in a small terraced house with Bear Grylls (this is not the horrible part but it could have been). Why you may ask was I with Bear Grylls - it was a dream, and I do not know what he looks like but I do know that he has been asked to recruit more adults to run the scout movement. Even though this is of absolutely no interest to me - I know what scouts are like, to a boy they are snotty, dirty and no longer do bob-a-job but more give-us-your-bank-account-details- it obviously lodged in my brain. So, it was a perfectly ordinary house and we were in the sitting room. Bear Grylls said to me, 'you must now open your mind to all the horrors that have taken place in this room.' I said I couldn't. He said I could (he's that kind of a man, he will have no trouble recruiting those adults, maybe even me). I said I would. Sure enough as I gazed at a spot on the grey carpet I became aware that a gruesome murder had been carried out there - knives and blood and screams, the lot - and then I looked at another point over by the window and I realised that another hideous death had occurred, and then I realised that the whole room was redolent with disgusting visions of death and I was going to have to go through every single one! It was at this point I managed to wake myself up. For three quarters of an hour I could not sleep again. Then I had a coughing fit (I have recently been suffering with a tickly throat), a disgusting lozenge, and dozed off again.

I woke up at four am for a while just to congratulate myself on not dreaming and was awake for half an hour.

The truly horrible part is I now have such dark rings under my eyes my son says it looks as though someone has punched me and I have two shiny black eyes. Bear Grylls why did you enter my life and make it bad?