Testing, testing…

Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. In fact, I’m an inveterate lover of all things furry.

Do I disapprove of animal testing? Yes, and no.

I can sense some confusion on your part, dear reader, so I’ll elaborate.

It helps if you’re aware that testing on animals occurs for two different reasons. Cosmetic research, and medical research.

I wholeheartedly disapprove of testing cosmetics on animals – but then I also happen to be one of the (seemingly) rare woman who think that make-up, on the whole, is unnecessary in itself. However, as ‘cosmetic’ includes many other things, such as bath products and shampoo, I do try to buy things that I know haven’t been tested on animals. I don’t always check, but then I suppose I’m not as conscientious as some people. If that makes me a bad person, then so be it – let’s put it this way, I do not advocate cosmetic testing on animals.

However, in the field of medical research I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with testing on animals – as long as the guidelines for humane treatment are adhered to. As Dr. Beh Swan Gin (of the Singaporean Government’s Economic Development Board) puts it: “…we feel it’s more important to find the cause of diseases than to worry about the rights of mice…” [Quote taken from The Times, Friday 26th August 2005]

A little harsh-sounding, granted, but it does sum up my views quite effectively.

Militant animal rights activists can be awful; as a recently publicised news story shows. They profess concern for the well-being of animals, and express their indignation over the ethical implications of animal testing – yet do not seem to practice what they preach. Carrying out a six-year hate-campaign against a man who bred guinea pigs for medical research, which culminated in the closure of his business after the remains of his mother-in-law were stolen from the village churchyard – does that sounds ethical to you?

Stop right there, because I can guess what you’re about to say.

Not all those who lobby for animal rights are from the same mould – I’m aware of that. Sadly, however, it’s often the actions of those who are extreme that gain the most publicity. As a society we’re more willing to see the flaws and the atrocities than the good points and valuable work.

I appreciate that not everyone shares my views, however I don’t see why I should keep quiet because many of the people around me believe that I’m wrong. Do you oppose the usage of animals in medical research? If so, next time you have to take an antibiotic perhaps you should think about the animals that were part of its development. If you should ever be unfortunate enough to require an organ transplant, then remember that without the use of animals the techniques that we have developed would not be so finely honed.

If it came to a choice between saving your child’s life, would you refuse treatment because animals had been used in the research leading to a cure?

26/08/2005 ©

You don't need a surgeon, you need a therapist...

“My name is Jacqui. I contacted Living TV for an extreme makeover because I’d love to be able to stop hiding under all this hair and to start being the woman I’ve always wanted to be, instead of the teenage boy I dress like.
The only people who think women don’t need a larger chest are women who already have one. I’d love to be able to wear something glamorous, something sexy. But as you can see, you need a chest to go in there.”
[Television advertisement for Extreme Makeover UK]

You know, I nearly choked the first time I saw this advert. Why? Because the woman in question has bigger breasts than me, and she’s complaining about needing a larger chest?

Get a life, love.

These extreme makeovers have been driving me nuts. Granted I haven’t watched any of them, but the advertisements are enough to have me ranting at the television. Take this woman, for instance. There’s nothing wrong with the size of her breasts; the problem is all in her mind. If she thinks that you have to have large breasts in order to look glamorous then that’s an issue that’s better sorted out by a good therapist than by a plastic surgeon.…

I actually watched one of these shows the other day, ‘The Swan’ I think it was. Really, I should have known better, but I suppose it was morbid curiosity on my part. I spent the best part of an hour shouting at the television – they took two perfectly normal looking women (who, I grant you, would look better if they would just smile a bit more often), and over the course of the programme they managed to transform them into homogenous clones which failed to evince any outward signs of an individual personality. They ended up looking like Barbie dolls, which (I have to be honest) sickened me.

What these women really needed was to be told, in a suitably considerate manner, that there was nothing wrong with them that couldn’t be fixed with a smile and a more positive attitude. I swear, one of them was prettier before they started messing about with her face. They gave the same woman bigger breasts, when what she really could have done with was a reduction.

What’s the point of this little rant? Well, quite frankly I’m not sure. I think that this Chinese Proverb says it better than I ever could:

“If there is light in the soul, there will be beauty in the person.”

04/05/2005 & 23/07/2005 ©

Do not stand at my grave and weep…

…I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
[Mary Frye, 1932]

A beautiful poem, which unfortunately I've had occasion to copy out into cards of sympathy twice in as many weeks. Death’s one of nature’s certainties, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a shock to us when it occurs. Whether we knew the deceased or not, death still strikes a chord with most of us, reminding us of our own mortality.

That’s the rub, isn’t it? Death is always hardest on those who are left behind. However tragic or painful a person’s demise, at the end of the day death is a natural end to their suffering. What of those who die young? You may well ask that question, but I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, and that death comes when it’s your time – whether you feel it is, or not.

So what of the mourners, the bereaved, who are left behind to pick up the pieces? Everyone deals with grief in their own way; sometimes they accept what has happened and move on quickly, but for others grief can be an all-consuming emotion that overwhelms them.

That’s why, really, I’ve started putting this poem into the cards I send in sympathy. To remind people, if they need reminding, that people only really die if you let them – if you continue to think of them with love, then their love can be found all around you. Let them move on in peace, because as long as you have your memories of them, they’ll always be with you.

03/05/2005 ©

My kingdom for a train...

"We're sorry that the 14:48 service to Stratford has been delayed by approximately 47 minutes..."

That's great, it's very big of them to apologise, however it's currently 15:55 and I was hoping to catch the 15:33... goodness alone knows what's happened to that. Or the 15:18 come to think of it. Oh, wait, what's that coming over the tannoy? Ah, it's an apology for the delay of the 14:18 train. It's now 16:00 - be honest Ms. Service Announcement lady, the last five trains aren't delayed, they've been cancelled.

It's not that I don't believe trains can be an hour late - because I know that they often are. However, that's usually national trains, not this sodding metro service that's supposed to be taking me, and I kid you not, about 3.5 miles down the road.

I walk at a good healthy rate, and I can easily do a 15 minute mile - and if I'd had any idea the train service was going to be this bad then I'd have just walked it. But no, the timetable says one every 15 minutes off peak, so that's four trains per hour. I figured I'd easily get to my meeting on time - boy is presumption the mother of all cock-ups.

I'm late for my meeting, even if I go and catch the two buses (which, walking aside, are the alternative route), I'm still going to be late.

So, how about some honesty from Silverlink Metro in future? Why not just say that the previous 5 trains have disappeared off the face of the planet, and that you actually have no idea when a train will next grace the platform with its presence? If, instead of apologising for the delay and asking travellers to "wait for the next announcement", you were to just say "no trains until further notice" I (and, no doubt, most of the other stranded passengers on this platform) could have found an alternative route from the outset.

“We’re sorry to announce that the 14:48 train to Stratford has been cancelled. The next train to arrive at the eastbound platform will be the 15:33 service to Stratford…”

It’s 16:15, I’m going to have to take a cab…

18/04/2005 ©

Senile dementia?

Life's strange isn't it? Bit of a random question, and not an entirely rhetoric one either. I caught up, by e-mail, with a friend I haven't seen in a while...

Me: I’d better get on and tidy my lovely new tool cupboard – it’s really weird, if someone had said to me when I was 18 that I’d be excited to have a tool cupboard I’d have thought they were utterly bonkers, just goes to show you can never tell!

Him: Face it we are getting old - I got excited when I bought a drill.

You know what, he's right. Our priorities change so much, even over the space of just a few years. We go from being desperately interested in boys and make-up, to being desperate for five minutes peace and quiet, and wondering when exactly it was that they discontinued our favourite range of cosmetics... It makes sense I suppose, that as we age we want different things from life - but does that necessarily mean that we're different people?

In the space of six years I've gone from being immaculately (if skimpily) attired and perfectly coiffed to being comfortable in jeans, a scruffy jumper and with hair that often makes me look like a survivor from an oil slick incident. Does that make me a different person? Possibly, although my values, ethics, and other defining characteristics are pretty much the same. Does it make me a better person? I think it might well do, although not by any recognisable standard. I'm pretty much the same person inside, but I think the outward changes signify a serious change - I no longer care what people think of me anymore. I don't pay much attention to what I wear, I don't bother with make-up - if people see me looking less than my best then quite frankly they can take me or leave me. It's not that I don't care anymore, it's that the opinions of others are less important to me than they used to be.

Is this what maturity is? Being comfortable going to the shops with unwashed hair and no make-up on? Going out in public in clothes that should have been sent for disposal years ago? I think it might well be - at least that's my excuse and I'm sticking with it.

And yes, I do have a new tool cupboard, which I love so much that I actually hugged it when it first arrived. Make what you will of that.

18/01/2005 ©

Being able to spell ‘intelligent’ doesn’t automatically mean that you are.

The BBC recently ran ‘The Hard Spell’ – a televised competition to find “Britain’s best young speller”. In short, contestants were read out a series of words, which they then had to spell aloud. There was much praise for all the contestants, and of course the finalists – but what exactly are they being praised for? I’ll happily give them credit for not succumbing to stage fright, but at the end of the day they’re just spelling words.

Words, I might add, that they don’t necessarily know the meaning of. Words, I dare say, that they probably couldn’t use in a conversation if their lives depended on it. Ok, so they don’t need to know what the word means, as long as they can spell it, but to me it seems utterly pointless to learn how to spell reams and reams of words that you’re not going to use. A well-trained parrot could do the same thing, and I’d probably be more impressed.

Is there a point to this particular rant? Probably not actually – there was a point when I first started writing, but I ended up taking an unscheduled break due to illness in the family.

Actually, perhaps there is a point. So the best speller in the UK can spell all manner of words, I’m sure they can spell ‘meningitis’ – but does being able to spell the name of an illness mean that they have even the slightest inkling of what the ramifications might be if they caught it? Does the ability to spell ‘alcoholism’ mean that they’ll be able to avoid suffering from it when they’re older? Does the actual spelling of ‘Alzheimer’s’ in any way suggest how painfully protracted and heart-rending it can be for both the afflicted and those around them? I don’t think so.

Words have power, we all know that, but merely being able to spell them doesn’t signify a thing. It doesn’t mean that you’re intelligent, it doesn’t confer any kind of superiority – all it means is that you’ve done as you were told. I thought that learning by rote was outdated and obsolete, but maybe we’ve just taken a step back to a time when knowing what something is was the same as knowing what it was actually like.

Experience is everything, words pale in comparison. Perhaps those who believe in the Hard Spell should try learning things the hard way instead.

27/12/2004 ©

Excuses, excuses...

An alien sighting, following winds, a dying hamster, and a desperate need for the lavatory, were all offered as excuses by speeding motorists. “It is quite amazing the lengths that some drivers will go to avoid a £60 fine and three points,” Ray King, of Northumbria Safety Camera Partnership, said.
[The Times, Friday December 3 2004]

It’s not amazing at all, Mr King. In fact considering the way we’re raised on lies it would be more surprising if we didn’t embroider the truth on occasion. Yes, I said lies – if excuses were true, then they wouldn’t be excuses, they’d be reasons. Right?

I expect many people would be appalled at my saying that we’re raised on lies, but it’s true.

Father Christmas, the tooth fairy, watching TV will give you square eyes and carrots will make you see in the dark, if the wind changes your face will stay like that, and if you pick your nose your brains will fall out… you get the picture yet? Ok, so we’re quite young when those lies are told, and perhaps they don’t make an impression (although the phrase ‘formative years’ does spring to mind…), but it doesn’t improve with age. At secondary school we’re lied to as a matter of course: the hundred years war (a bit of a misnomer that, eh?), Nelson’s last words (“Kiss me Hardy” – another convenient lie, as you’d feel a bit of a twat telling a class of kids that his final utterance was, in fact, “Drink, drink. Fan, fan. Rub, rub.”), and of course the ubiquitous “your GCSE grades will have a real impact on your future employment”.

What about as adults? The theme continues: one size fits all, open wide this won’t hurt a bit… it’s not you, it’s me…

It’s no wonder we come up with dubious excuses at the drop of a hat, it’s just what we’re used to after all.

Oh, and Mr King? Perhaps you’re on a massively inflated salary, but to the rest of us £60 is a lot of money – and if telling a little white lie means we might get out of paying it, then so be it.

Besides, it wasn’t a hamster, it was a gerbil…

03/12/2004 ©

0800-HEAVEN...

A poster campaign reminding people that God is always there to hear their prayers opened in London. The Churches’ Advertising Network depicts Heaven as a call centre with operators wearing wings and the slogan: “It’s business as usual in Heaven. Lines to God open 24/7.”
[The Times, Friday December 3 2004]

What’s next, a premium rate number leading to an answering service for God? Give me a break.
24/7 telephone lines are, on the whole, a waste of time – so why the church believe this campaign will put them in a positive light is beyond me. My bank has a 24 hour telephone service… I called them one evening this week, and despite the fact that they were polite and solicitous the outcome of the conversation was that I had to visit my local branch to sort the problem out.

Great, very useful so far. Someone was able to listen to my problem but couldn’t help to save their life.

So, lines to God are apparently open 24/7, but even the most optimistic religious devotee will have to eventually concede that they’ve been put on the ecclesiastical equivalent of hold.

“I’m sorry but all our lines are currently engaged. You are being held in a queue, our next available deity will be with you as soon as possible. Your belief is important to us.”

What then, a sudden rush to their local branch – sorry, church? It’s possible I suppose, but even there they have little chance of any answer to their prayers.

And that’s the flaw with religion in general, and prayers specifically. It’s all very well for church representatives, in the comfort of their homes or offices, to say ‘God is listening’ – but what people actually want, and need, is someone to answer them. Listening has its place, but people need results.

“Thank you for your continued patience. In order to improve customer services we are attempting to keep callers informed as to how long they can expect to be waiting. You are currently placed 1,498,723 in the queue, estimated waiting time is infinite.”

If my bank can’t deal with my problems on the phone, and I have to visit my local branch, they can record it as a service failure (i.e. I’m dissatisfied with the service provided) and try to compensate me. If you pray to God (“Lines open 24/7”) and get no response, what compensation can you expect? Seems to me as though the church ought to be done for false advertising – although, let’s be fair, they haven’t actually promised any results, so perhaps we can get them for false representation of a product or service that can’t be proven to exist.

“I’m sorry, but we’re experiencing higher than usual call volumes and all of our deities are still busy. Please hang up and try again later.”

03/12/2004 ©

In shades of black and white

You know, it’s strange, but I’ve never really thought about what it means to have grown up in the time that I have. Being born in the early Eighties I’ve never known a world without, say, computers, mobile phones, or the internet. And having been raised in an ethnically diverse part of London, where white was a bit of a minority in my school, I find it hard to picture a world where colour doesn’t exist.

Racism is a mystery to me.

I live in a world where, on the whole, people live and work happily side-by-side, not caring about skin tone or ethnic background. Granted, there are still those who harbour racist thoughts and feelings, but it’s understood that it’s not acceptable to express them, and that it will, at the very least, be severely frowned upon.

Imagine my horror, therefore, when watching England play a friendly international, at hearing the crowd burst into monkey-chants whenever a black player went anywhere near the ball.

It’s sickening, incomprehensible, and bang out of order. It also saddens me greatly, because it’s not an isolated incident – black players at English clubs have been subjected to racist abuse when playing abroad in Europe for years. What’s worse is that, in this particular instance, the racist abuse was all but condoned, with the Spanish national coach getting away with making a racist comment only weeks previously, and refusing to condemn the abusive supporters. When I think of racism in modern day society, the first place that springs to mind is the deep south in the United States, where the Ku Klux Klan are still rearing their ugly heads – it’s frankly scary to think that such outright bigotry exists just down the road in other European countries.
You’d think that people would have more important things to worry about than the colour of a person’s skin. Sadly that doesn’t seem to be the case, and I find myself wondering if it will ever cease to be a problem. After all, racism isn’t infectious, it’s not a communicable disease, so why can’t it be stamped out?

We managed to eradicate smallpox – perhaps we should start looking into a vaccine against racism.

18/11/2004 ©

Shoes, sighs & disappointment

Isn’t it strange how life’s little disappointments can knock you sideways? Life’s so full of incident that we become blasé, barely pausing when a real tragedy occurs, but even then we can be caught unawares and be left breathless and gasping by a trivial set-back.

A case in point: I went out to buy some trainers today. Not a big deal at all but I was, as they say, ‘psyched’ as I’ve been in desperate need of new footwear for both work and otherwise. On Saturday, just three days ago, I saw a pair of fairly cute, yet very practical, trainers in a shop that was having a ‘buy one, get one free’ sale. Fantastic, thought I, as I’d previously bought shoes from the same shop at the same sale rate. The shop being packed to the gills though, I left it for the time being. Hence today’s little jaunt into town. So, I strolled in, grabbed the shoes I’d seen previously, and another equally nice pair. I tried them on, faffing about the sizes. I walked around plenty to ensure they fitted comfortably. Then I took them to the counter, only to discover that the sale had ended. Disappointed? That doesn’t seem a strong enough adjective for what I felt. I felt as though someone had knocked the legs out from under me. Two other emotions vied for my attention: anger and frustration. Anger at myself for not braving the crowds and buying the damn things on Saturday, and frustration because despite really needing new shoes, I can’t afford to spend that much money on just one pair. Living on a budget really sucks sometimes, but I just can’t bring myself to be one of those countless people who live beyond their means.

As I wended my way home, shoeless, slightly dazed and on the verge of tears, I wondered why I was taking it so hard. It wasn’t just the disappointment itself, I think; it was the fact that it’s the first stroke of bad luck, trivial or otherwise, that I’ve had for a long while.

We grow thick skins to deal with the sometimes hideous things life throws at us. We learn to shrug things off as though they’re nothing more than specks of dust. So what happened to me? Perhaps my emotional calluses have softened through lack of abuse, leaving me vulnerable to any little set-back. Perhaps it wasn’t disappointment, but instead a sense of impotence because I can’t actually afford to clothe myself at the moment. Or perhaps I just really wanted the damn shoes.

02/11/2004 ©

WTF?

Is it just me, or are abbreviations and pointless acronyms taking over the world?

IMHO it’s really quite unnecessary, ISTM that the overuse of abbreviations in a written conversation can leave a casual onlooker mystified. In short, it’s little more than glorified text talk.

Seriously, some acronyms do have their place. For instance, scientists have abbreviated ‘ribulose bisphosphate carboxylase/oxygenase’ to Rubisco – now that is understandable. However, when people shorten ‘it seems to me’ to ISTM, it really does appear to be laziness of the highest order.

AFAIC, it’s a simple case of GIGO, and does rather point to IIIO – with clear connections to ESO. IRL acronyms are JOOTT that you come across every now and then. Mind you, YNK when you might actually need to write AP in a hurry, or be in such a rush to CTC that you think tapping on the keyboard to produce a TLA will give you some kind of VFM then you’re not so much thinking OOTB, more with your HUYA…

So, next time you’re tempted to take shortcuts when typing, remember how irritating it was to read the above paragraph – and don’t inflict your pointless acronyms on others.

For a list of common internet acronyms and shorthand visit:

The grass is always greener…

…or is it? It’s an adage which is applied to many situations, but in this instance let’s take it as referring to love and passion.

What makes those who are comfortably ensconced in a relationship start to look elsewhere? What is it that overrides our love for our partner and causes us to lust after others? Is it just a simple matter of animal attraction, or is it a symptom of an underlying problem with the existing relationship? Or, just to really annoy everyone, is it both?

We see and meet attractive people all the time; we interact with them, we may even flirt with them – but what makes us all of a sudden sit up and take it seriously? Is there a single defining factor that makes us flirt casually with one person, but causes us to completely lose our composure with another? If you meet someone and experience butterflies in your stomach for the first time since you met your current partner, is it a sign that it’s time to move on?

What about when the temptation gets too much, and we’re close to succumbing to our desires and tasting the forbidden fruit – what then? If we don’t stray, does that mean that we’re strong of will, or that we’re simply afraid of what will happen next? If it’s fear, then what are we afraid of: the consequences of an affair, or the possibility that the object of our desire will reject our advances?

We look at those who are in long-term relationships with respect, and not a little awe – after all, not everyone can manage the long haul. But perhaps we should temper that with suspicion, perhaps the glue that binds those couples is actually fear and self-doubt. The grass may well be greener on the other side, but on this side there’s a water trough, a vet on call, and a comfy byre to hide from the wolves in.

17/10/2004 ©

Garden of the soul…

If your soul were a garden, what would one find? Would it pulse with the hot, glowing colours of kniphofia and crocosmia, vibrant and representative of a passionate heart? Would lush grasses give way to arid expanses of sand and stone, symbolic of your broken dreams? In the garden of your soul do sweet peas twine around canes, curling around to conceal your innocence with their fragrant blooms, or do the questing aerial roots of ivy seek to hide a darker secret altogether? Do bamboos and grasses rustle and sway with your discontented sighs?

In my soul there are swathes of lavender, its silvery foliage soothing my hurts with each fragrant breeze that blows. There are pathways of chamomile and thyme leading me safely past corners where my demons hide. The exquisite scent of honeysuckle on the warm evening air cossets and envelops me, drowning out the voices of doubt and confusion. There are hints of a darker side here too; away from the sunlit borders, amongst mossy stones beneath the trees, ferns uncurl their feathery fronds, the very act itself almost overtly licentious. Bindweed creeps and twines around everything in its path, establishing a choking grip from which release often comes too late.

What is the garden of your soul like? Barren or lush? Open for all to see, or a hortus conclusus surrounded by high walls which no-one may scale? Is it awash with colours and scents, or a midnight garden of muted tones?

If your soul were a garden, what would one find?...

09/09/2004 ©

Going postal?

My post came through the door at 8pm the other night. Yes, that would be eight o’clock in the evening. I’d be willing to bet money that it wasn’t an actual postman delivering it, more likely it was some kindly neighbour who’d come home to find it on their doormat.

Which begs the question: just how hard is it to put mail in the correct door?

This isn’t an isolated incident. In the past six months I’ve had things stolen from my post, things just not turning up, and more post for people in the next street than I can shake a stick at. I actually chased a postman down the street the other day, waving a handful of mail and yelling “it’s not mine!”

I got home, one day towards the end of July, to find a card stating that not one but four parcels were awaiting collection at my local delivery office. Three trips there over the space of a month and still no sign of these mystery parcels. I’ve complained to Royal Mail, and although they sent their deepest apologies my parcels are still a mystery, and look likely to remain so.

It really does make me angry. The fact that my post (when it arrives at all) doesn’t turn up until late afternoon (4.30pm, a fine time of day to receive your first post, honestly…) means that it’s difficult to chase up cheques or anything else that I’ve been expecting. I’m terrified of having anything sent to my home address lest I never see it again. I’m placed in the awkward situation of having to order gifts and other items and have them sent to my partner’s work address.

It’s a ridiculous state of affairs, not knowing when, or even if, your post will turn up. Not being able to pick your postman out of a line-up because ‘casual workers’ have been assigned to your street and are never there two days in a row. Why should I have to spend all my time making phone calls and writing letters to complain about such downright shoddy service?

It’s little wonder that e-mails are becoming ever more popular, at least one can verify whether it’s been sent, and resending any rogue ones is a simple matter. But it’s a shame because letter writing is becoming a lost art; and there’s nothing quite like receiving a parcel in the mail. Sadly, though, if the standard of the postal service in my area is anything to go by, it looks as though we’ll have to get used to this state of affairs.

A world where we have to collect all our bank books and cards from local branches, for fear of never otherwise seeing them. Where children no longer receive colourful cards containing money and vouchers on their birthdays, or where grandparents never receive clumsily wrapped presents from the grandchildren they rarely see.

Is that what we have to look forward to? If so then it’s a disgusting state of affairs. I think I’ll write a letter to complain…

24/09/2004 ©

What happened to the quiet life?

Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney
Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses’ necks
Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe
Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance;
God, for a man that solicits insurance!
[‘Bohemia’ by Dorothy Parker, published in ‘Sunset Gun’ 1928]

It seems increasingly difficult to find people who do ‘regular’ jobs. Gone are the days when the people you met were likely to have good, solid, jobs like builders, salesmen, bankers, accountants. These days all the people I meet have quite interesting occupations: musicians, authors, actors, or they’re doing praiseworthy things like working with orphans or children abroad.

I’m not complaining; it certainly makes conversations more interesting (“what did you do today?” “oh, nothing much, just taught a one-armed child to juggle”), but it makes me wonder if perhaps these people are setting standards that the rest of us are going to end up trying to live up to. Are we going to end up nursing enormous inferiority complexes?

A case in point: I met up with a friend a few days ago and we spent the day catching up. In the last eight months she’s been to Madrid, Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago. During that time she’s been, to name but a few things, snorkelling, up the Amazon, and has watched baby sea turtles hatch on a beach somewhere. Oh, and she’s managed to do all this because of her job. In the last eight months I’ve been to Brighton and the Midlands, and I’ve pruned a lot of plants and designed a couple of gardens.

It doesn’t really compare, does it?

It’s strange though, my friend’s adventures interest me – hey, I’d love to do some of the things she’s done – but in an oddly detached way. I think she’s incredibly lucky to have done the things she’s done, but I’m not burning with the desire to go off and emulate her. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m not jealous, and I don’t feel as though her exciting life belittles mine at all.

Maybe it’s because I’m comfortable with where I am in life, because I’m confident that, at some point, I will have time to go and do all the exciting things I want to. Or perhaps it’s because I love my friends that I don’t resent them their achievements – would I feel the same if it were a stranger telling me all about their travels? I think I would, because at the end of the day we’re all different, we’re all driven by different things – if we were all off gallivanting around the world, who would take care of the mundane tasks that make things run?

Perhaps there is hope for the quiet life after all.

20/09/2004 ©

Nil desperandum?

Despair is a very distinct emotion, and a diplomatic one too. Unlike some other feelings it doesn’t confine itself to those who deserve it. Love and happiness seem to visit only those who merit them – despair, on the other hand, can descend on anyone without cause or warning.

Which does seem a little unjust, but at least it’s even-handed.

So it’s a common enough emotion – but why? Short of bereavement or serious financial disaster, what reasons do people have to despair? It’s a common emotion and a highly abused one. People can despair over the simplest of things, which seems a shocking waste of time. There are few problems that can’t be overcome with a little work, and despair can be eradicated simply by looking at the positive side of things. I was sent a, for want of a better word, poem the other day and it really did make me think. I shan’t copy it out word for here, as it’s a little long, but these snippets will convey the general feel of it:

“I am thankful……For the taxes that I pay, because it means I have a job. …For the clothes that fit a little bit snug, because it means I have enough to eat. …For the lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning, and gutters that need fixing, because this means I have a home. …For all the complaining I hear about the government, because it means we have freedom of speech.…For weariness and an aching back at the end of the day, because it means I have been able to work hard.”

The next time you’re tearing your hair out because things have gone wrong, stop and look for the silver lining – you’ll find it’s closer than you think.

In the words of Eric Idle: always look on the bright side of life…

19/09/2004 ©

First impressions, or the curse of misinformation?

I was at a party recently when I was re-introduced to a man that I’ve met on several occasions. I remembered him immediately, and he peered at me with slight recognition and then exclaimed “I remember you – you’re the woman with loose sexual morals!”

Surprised? Damn right I was.

He caught up with me a bit later in the evening and proffered an explanation: “It’s because you’re an artist and live in Kilburn,” – when I opened my mouth to comment he added “It’s ok, I used to live in West Hampstead, I know what it’s like.”

I thought it was funny at the time, and I still see the humour, however it has made me think. The old adage “first impressions count” springs to mind – although I must say that I never thought it could apply so drastically. I suspect that when I first met the man I was still studying for my A-levels, art being one of them, and the friend who introduced may have said ‘Queens Park, near Kilburn’.

It’s amazing how a little misinterpretation of the facts can land you in trouble.

I’d love to throw that old adage out of the window – after all, you can regard people with distrust, suspicion, and even loathing, after just one meeting, but then find that you actually have a lot in common several encounters down the road. But what of the people you only ever meet once? How many people, for instance, are wandering around out there having been given the impression that I’m a woman of loose morals who lives in a rather dubious area of London? I dread to think, even though I might never meet any of them again. So what’s a girl to do, behave impeccably at every moment lest she be misinterpreted?

Of course not, we have to take our chances and believe that those who are meant to see the truth do; we have to believe that anyone who can’t see beyond their preconceptions aren’t worth our attention. Well, it’s that or hand out a CV and character reference to everyone we meet…

10/09/2004 ©

“Go placidly amid the noise and the haste…

…and remember what peace there may be in silence.” – Max Ehrmann, 1952.

Sound words of advice, or are they? To go through life unperturbed by the cacophony of crises and disasters that befall both others and ourselves seems an almost impossible task. Only if one were cocooned, enclosed in a bubble, would this seem feasible. I suppose it might possible to shut oneself off from the world, to remain untouched by the madding crowds.

It seems such a cold solution though, doesn’t it?

To cut oneself off from everything, to put up an impenetrable barrier against all the “noise and the haste.” Placing oneself, and ones soul, in isolation may aid in “remembering what peace there may be in silence” – but it must also be unutterably lonely. What is it like to pass through life as an impartial spectator, unaffected by all of the things life brings? It’s full of trials, yes; but there are also the joys. We learn from our mistakes, and those of others; we learn from the emotions we feel, the pain we endure, the delights we enjoy.

What would we be if these things did not touch us?

Cold, unapproachable, looking at the world through a glass, disdaining to let it close, refusing to become involved.

It’s all of life’s little knocks and bumps that help make up what we are: resilient, experienced, alive.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste…and remember they make us human.

16/09/2004 ©

Don’t give sympathy in exchange for apathy

You probably know the feeling very well. You’ve asked someone how they are, have listened to a litany of complaints, but when you’ve then enquired what they’ve done to remedy their problems the answer is “oh, nothing.”

I don’t know about you, but it drives me mad.

Excuses common to the apathetic include, but are not confined to, “I can’t be bothered”, “it just seems like so much effort”, “what’s the point?”, and the classic “I just don’t have time.”

Time is a limited resource for the majority of people these days, I’m perfectly willing to concede that. However, when someone is nursing a cold/cough/broken limb and claims they “don’t have time” to see their GP…well, if they aren’t prepared to find time to worry about themselves, why should you bother?

It really is infuriating – all the excuses that people find for not doing the simplest of things. Not to mention the time wasted complaining – surely they can find better things to spend ten minutes on other than complaining?

They are supposed to be ‘busy’ after all…

10/09/2004 ©

Beauty in the beastly?

Can there be beauty in violence? It’s a question which I’m sure has been addressed before, but I haven’t checked.

Violence is, well, violent. It can be horrific, it can leave people appalled – but it can also leave them fascinated. If you’ve ever witnessed an accident that involves a lot of blood then you’ll know what I mean; it can prompt a whole gamut of responses from revulsion to concern – but very often one just can’t look away.

We may not find violence, or its aftermath, appealing, but it’s difficult to deny that it holds a certain fascination. It’s something that’s emphasised by films; seeing someone decapitated on screen is thrilling, even if we do wince as we watch it. Seeing someone have their throat slit is chilling, and stunningly violent – but it’s also entrancing, the moment when the blade makes the cut, the expression on the person’s face – changing from fear to pain to utter blankness, slack-jawed and lifeless.

I’m not by any means advocating violence, let me be clear on that, but when something is put in front of you why shouldn’t you try to make the best of it? We are exposed to violence almost every day of our lives: assaults, car-crashes, war footage on the news. Violence surrounds us, and if all we do is weep and cover our eyes we won’t get very far. Don’t condone violence, but when confronted with it try and make sense of it. There are those who say that violence is senseless – perhaps they’re right, but isn’t it our right to at least try and find meaning where there is none?

The blood stains on the windscreen at a car accident…a strange symmetry to the pattern of the splatters, radiating out from a central point. A limb imprisoned by a fallen girder at a bomb site…the juncture between flesh and steel strangely hypnotic. Blood, a clear red as it pumps from a wounded body, transforming to a tarnished brown as it dries.

Is there beauty in these things? Can the violence that ensues from crimes of hate and senseless war evoke a sense of beauty? It must do, or others would not have already used phrases such as “breathtakingly violent.” Breathtaking, a phrase used often to describe vistas like those seen from cliffs and mountains, scenes which inspire awe, and even fear. Breathtaking scenery, breathtaking violence; both, in my opinion, with the potential to be beautiful.

But then it’s often said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?

10/09/2004 ©

Freedom to choose?

“I always want to know the things one shouldn’t do.”

“So as to do them?”

“So as to choose.”

Henry James wrote that in his novel ‘Portrait of a Lady’, and it sprang to mind today when I was pondering over a recent piece of news. These days it seems that there are more things one isn’t meant to do than you can shake a stick at.

A school has won a court battle to prevent a Muslim girl from wearing a jilbab (full length gown), apparently on the grounds that it’s a health and safety issue. Does that make sense to you? Well it certainly doesn’t to me. When I was at school I had to wear a uniform, but generally it seemed as though the teachers had a mental checklist when it came to skirts:- Is it the right colour?- Is it long enough to maintain a modicum of modesty?- Is the person wearing it actually in school and willing to learn?If the answers to all of the above were yes, then there wasn’t a problem. I occasionally wore long skirts, some of which were ankle length, none of which were seen to present a health and safety issue. So what’s the deal with this case? Is it a matter of discrimination? Some would argue that wearing the jilbab isn’t a requirement of her faith, but merely her personal choice due to her deepening interest in her religion.

Excuse me, but what’s wrong with choosing to wear a respectable item of clothing? Surely that’s better than some of the outfits that schoolgirls wear these days that make them look like jail bait? At the end of the day, to my mind, it doesn’t have anything to do with religion – it’s about suppression of the right to choose.

Yes, the girl in question seems a tad litigious. Yes, she probably ought to have prioritised her education rather than removing herself from school to contest the decision. However, was she wrong to question the school when they said no to her choice of outfit? No. As a nation we pride ourselves on strength of character, but how can we expect that to continue if those in power stifle every effort at self-expression? If this case is anything to go by then is it possible that what they really want is a nation of sheep, blindly obeying every edict?

Is there a moral to this tale? Don’t feel pressured into accepting things with which you’re not comfortable, feel free instead to question what’s put before you. Don’t, on the other hand, cut off your nose to spite your face by blowing things up out of proportion and leaving yourself with nowhere to go. Giving in gracefully isn’t a weakness, it’s common sense. Quiet protest followed by the semblance of conformity will often get you further than outright mutiny.

16/06/2004 ©

Open minded, or just too impressionable?

Being able, and willing, to take new ideas and concepts on board is admirable, but what happens when people take it too far?

These days there are courses and seminars galore that swear blind that they can help people to change their lives. Positive thinking, utilising of assets... common sense really. People continue to sign up for these things, hoping that it will help them to make a difference. Why do people do this? Have we become so brainwashed by modern media that we're becoming incapable of independent thought? Are we really so awash in a morass of apathy and confusion that we don't know what we want anymore? Have we really lost the ability to find our own way? It's certainly starting to look that way.

Ok, so a seminar that encourages people to find happiness and to discover their true self isn't necessarily a bad thing, but the trouble starts when people don't get the results they want. If someone you know has undergone a profound change after attending a course or seminar, it doesn't mean that you will. Everyone is different, everyone is unique. Don't make the mistake of thinking that the same formula will work for everyone, or you may well end up disappointed.

I can't imagine going to one of these things, but then I consider myself able to work out what needs changing, or left alone, all by myself. I neither want nor require someone to tell me what my assets are - and at the end of the day, isn't it better to figure it out for yourself? I'm not condemning those who do gain from such things, but I do advise caution. Don't get your hopes up, at the end of the day we're the ones who can help ourselves. Organisations may say that they're just opening the door for you, but you should be the only one holding a key.

So what are my words of wisdom? Don't expect too much, and don't believe implicitly in what they tell you. If your life-changing course doesn't work, don't immediately leap into another one.

Take a few steps back, take a look at yourself and see if you can be the one to change your life.

10/06/2004 ©

Motorway Madness.

What drives me mad on motorways? Is it other drivers, the idiots who treat changing lanes like a game of chance, the ones who show no consideration for others whatsoever? Well, yes, they are a factor, but they aren't the focus of my rant today.

Motorway signs, overhead, that declare the speed limit to be 40mph when the traffic is stationary. Forty miles per hour? I'd LOVE to be doing forty; what I'm actually doing is sitting here getting bored out of my tiny little skull and contemplating whether a horse-drawn carriage would have got me to my destination faster.

Honestly, the people who set the speed restrictions on those signs obviously know what's happening on the motorway - they've obviously heard about the crash/roadworks that has caused a problem, surely to goodness they must have heard that the traffic has stopped altogether.

Forty miles an hour - even FOUR would be an improvement!

A fairly pointless rant, but if you've ever had to drive on a UK motorway then you'll sympathise.

03/06/2004 ©

Work to live, or live to work?

What happened to the idea of having a vocation? Something that you did for a living not just because you needed to pay the bills, but because you enjoyed it? It's become a somewhat antiquated idea these days, which is actually a real shame.

How many times have you heard someone say 'I hate my job' - in fact, how many times have you said it yourself? I read an article a couple of months ago about employment in the UK, and the statistics were shocking. I can't quote it exactly, having thrown it away in disgust, but something like 70% of people are dissatisfied with their jobs and looking for new ones on their employers time - and 10% of people actually start looking for a new job the day that they start with a new employer.

It's quite tragic really.

We all work to live: we work because we have bills to pay, we work because we need to eat, and we work because we need to keep ourselves in the lifestyles to which we've become accustomed.
Although living to work is an outdated concept, is there anything really wrong with it?

Personally I don't see why we can't have jobs that we can look forward to. Having recently started working for myself, in my chosen field, I relish waking up in the morning knowing that I'm going to have a pleasant day doing something that I enjoy, and getting paid for it to boot. I'm still quite young, but already I've decided that I don't want to spend the next twenty or thirty years stuck working for other people and dreading going to work. I know others, older than myself, who dislike their jobs, who get that sinking feeling when they wake up in the morning - but these are intelligent people, can it really be that difficult to figure out what you want to do in order to be happy?

I think it's fear. People are afraid of being out of work, they're afraid of not having any money. They're worried that they won't make enough money to pay their rent - so why not take a cheaper apartment and get a job that makes you smile? We don't all have to love what we do, but we shouldn't hate it, and we certainly shouldn't allow it to make us miserable.

What point am I trying to get across? If you're unhappy, do something about it. Don't plod along and put up with all the grief and then turn around in twenty years and complain. If you truly hate your job then quit, find something you like doing, and adapt your life to cope with the adjusted income. If you're lucky you'll be able to succeed in your preferred field and money won't be an issue - but even if you have to watch the pennies, isn't it more important to start and end your day with a smile?

Happiness doesn't have a price.

03/06/2004 ©

Is ‘harm none’ just another way to harm ourselves?

Some people believe that in order to live their lives blame free they should stick to the rede of ‘harm none’ – but is it really possible to do that and still look out for ourselves? If we spend all our time worrying about whether an action we take is going to impact negatively on another, are we sacrificing our own self interest? Why should we make martyrs of ourselves in order to spare another person’s blushes? The answer is that we shouldn’t. The Darwinian principle of Natural Selection is well known, and it’s also dead accurate. Emphasis on the word ‘dead’. Those who can’t compete in life are pushed to the side and slowly phased out – if we spend all our time looking out for others, it’s just possible that we won’t see the oncoming truck and WHAM – no more us.

At what point does ‘harm none’ become impossible to adhere to?

In an ideal world perhaps we’d be able to do what we like with no fear of the consequences. In this world we have to wonder if what we do today is going to come back and bite us on the backside in six months time. Perhaps in an ideal society we’d be able to look out for people without thinking about it, perhaps kind deeds and words would become the norm and not just a fairy tale. Trouble is, we’re not in an ideal society by any stretch of the imagination.

If we try to conduct our lives whilst causing as little harm or stress to others as possible, then we end up causing more anxiety to ourselves. That can’t be right. Although it’s generally frowned upon to ‘look out for No. 1’ perhaps that’s just how it ought to be. In the wild animals work together for the good of their herd or pack, and that works even though the odd individual might suffer as a result. Humans are social animals too, and although we can work together admirably to achieve a goal, people will still suffer.

The truth is that, a handful of twisted individuals aside, most people wouldn’t dream of doing something that they know will cause another person to suffer – not when it counts, anyway. Yes, we push each other to the side, and competitiveness might lead to someone getting indirectly hurt along the way – but isn’t that the whole point of the race for survival?

25/02/2004 ©

The weaker sex?

Yep, men. What is it about men that makes them shrivel up at the first sign of a cold? Honestly, they get a runny nose and a bit of a cough and it’s as though they’re dying – I call it ‘man-flu’.

On the whole, a woman with similar symptoms would go on with her daily routine and ignore the pounding headache, sneezing and other symptoms as a matter of course. Men, on the other hand, will often take the day, or a few days, off work and then moan about how unwell they are.
Is it a general thing? Men often scoff at the idea of pain, but confront them with it and they turn into gibbering wrecks. A woman with backache, which for a lot of women is a monthly burden which accompanies their period, will swallow a few pain killers and carry on as normal. A man with backache? Don’t ask them to do anything at all, because they’ll only moan about it.

A short rant this time, but only because, like most women I know, I’ve got plenty of other things to be getting on with.

31/03/2004 ©

The power of suggestion, or just a sneaky legal tactic?

Whilst washing up the other day I noticed that the cheeseboard had a label on the back – presumably to provide cleaning instructions. I was close, what it actually had on it were ‘Care Suggestions’. Suggestions? It ‘suggested’ that the board be washed in warm soapy water and left to dry – excuse me, but what do they think I might like to do with it instead, put it in the washing machine and then give it a spin in the tumble dryer? Honestly, it appears that manufacturers no longer provide instructions; they only suggest what you might like to do to their merchandise.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, a packet of tortellini bought shortly afterward had ‘Cooking Suggestions’ on the packaging. I’ve heard of being cautious, but this is absolutely ridiculous. They suggest that you simmer them for two minutes in boiling water, but of course if you follow this suggestion and then end up with food poisoning because they’re undercooked then the company isn’t liable because they only ‘suggested’ a cooking time.

What’s next, raw joints of meat labelled with ‘we suggest you cook this product’? Are we going to reach a point where the little green man no longer tells us to cross the street, but merely advises us that it might be safe but that we cross at our own risk?

It’s a clever trick, it absolves the manufacturer of all responsibility – when you buy a product it’s now assumed that you know what you’re doing with it, so it’s up to you if you choose to follow the ‘suggestions’ on the back. What if the goods are faulty and you suffer as a result of that and not from following their suggestions (or not, as the case may be)? Will they get away with ‘suggesting’ that it was the consumer’s fault that something went wrong, rather than simply a dodgy pasta or sub-standard cheese board?

If my cheeseboard splits down the middle can I write back to the manufacturer and say that it’s their fault because making that product from wood was only the ‘suggestion’ of a designer?

Here’s a suggestion for all those smart marketing people out there, if you want me to spend my hard-earned money on your products then stop trying to cover your arses with cute little phrases and start providing real instructions again. I’m not asking you to carve them in stone, just put them on the labels so that those of us who approach cooking with trepidation and fear can prepare something to eat without undue stress.

Now where’s that pizza delivery leaflet?...

09/03/2004 ©

Txt tlk - a modern plague?

Pop into any internet chatroom or forum these days and you'll see it. It can surface anywhere, from a lazy chat about music to a serious discussion about freedom of religious expression - and no matter where it appears, it inevitably p*sses someone off.

Text talk, the bane of modern society.

When sending a message from a mobile phone it makes sense to abbreviate things - that way you get better value for money, squeezing more into each message, and it also doesn't take as long. However, when you have an entire keyboard at your disposal, it's just plain lazy to use text talk.

Not to mention the fact that it can, in large doses, render a sentence incredibly difficult to read. Many a reader has had to pause whilst skimming through a forum discussion to decipher what some lazy so-and-so has written. Honestly, is it so difficult to write out 'thanks' rather than 'thanx' or even 'thnx'? The word 'your' isn't exactly taxing, it's monosyllabic, yet still people insist on typing 'ur'. It's enough to drive a person insane.

Is it their fault entirely though? After all, at school we're all taught about the 'three R's' - reading, writing and arithmetic, so is it any wonder that some poor souls end up forever confused? Perhaps it can be blamed on schooling, although those who make full use of all the letters on their keyboard, and who know that punctuation helps to make things legible (rather than it being an optional extra) would surely disagree. Shall we blame the mobile telephone companies? No, people have been using abbreviations since time out of mind, although we should certainly bear in mind the effect that their advertising has on impressionable people.

Let's place the blame where it really belongs, on those who are just too damn lazy to type a few extra letters. It's not big, it's not clever, and if you have any brains whatsoever you'd give up the puerile affectation and spell like a mature adult.

Is tht clr enuff 4 u?

04/03/2004 ©

...a mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.

Sometimes I wonder if people have their brains removed without noticing – when you fill out forms you have to tick a little box to say that you either do or don’t want them to send you more information, perhaps there’s a little box somewhere asking for consent to remove the ol’ grey matter and people just tick it on auto…

Seriously though, I’ve lost count of the number of people that will stroll onto a forum and ask questions which they can easily answer for themselves. ‘Where can I buy such-and-such?’, ‘Do you have a section on blah?’ – if people actually used their brains they’d see useful buttons on websites such as ‘Search’ – and even internet browsers have a search button. Do people really not think to type their query into a search engine and see what comes up? Are they honestly that daft, or are they just lazy? I used to think it was sheer idleness, but now I’m not so sure.

How many times has someone used the last of the milk/tea/paracetamol and then, when asked why they didn’t mention it or buy more, said ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think’? Too many times to count, and I’m well aware that I also do it on occasion. The human brain was built to think – when we’re not thinking, then what on earth is it doing? You meet some people whose brains appear to be permanently switched off – you know the ones I mean, they have a slightly glazed expression and need verbal prodding during conversations to make any kind of contribution – if a brain isn’t used, does it start to atrophy?

It’s an interesting concept, and a very realistic one. If you spend six months studying in a library and doing precious little else then you’ll find that your conversational skills start to atrophy – it’s reasonable to assume, therefore, that if you cease using your brain then a similar thing will happen.

Is there a point to this little rant? Not really, although if you find it takes you more than thirty seconds to formulate a reply to ‘Hi, how are you?’ then you probably need to take heed and start exercising your brain a little.

03/03/2004 ©

Absence of occupation is not rest...

How many times have you had an afternoon to yourself, for relaxing and generally winding down, and ended up equally as exhausted as you would have been had you gone to work? We see a spare hour or two and we seek to fill it with something, it's almost an automatic reflex. There are always things that need to be done, whether it be the dusting that you've been putting off, or a sudden urge to look for something you haven't seen for a while but which involves turning out a huge cupboard to find it. It's as though we're unable to relax.

I call it 'pottering' - if I have the house to myself I potter around, doing the little bits and pieces that I've been putting off, and then wonder where on earth the time has gone. We can sit down to relax, but then we turn on the television and get distracted - so our bodies then get a chance to relax, but our minds are still being stimulated. Are we that incapable of sitting still and just letting ourselves go? Apparently so, which begs the question 'why?'

Perhaps it's fear, perhaps it's a control issue. If we sit down and really give ourselves the time off that we need, are we afraid that we won't be able to get back into our routines afterwards? We push ourselves harder than ever - we work hard and play hard, and we force our bodies to cope with poor diets and little sleep. It's a way of life, we cram more things into the day, we make the day as long as possible, and we carry on more by sheer weight of momentum than anything else.

Are we scared to step off the roundabout of life in case we can't jump back on again?

I think that's the answer. If you disturb your routine it's harder to get back into it - having a lie-in on the weekend makes it harder to get up on the Monday morning, and taking a day off to relax makes it infinitely harder to go back to work. Letting someone else take over the household chores is fine, but when you have to pick up the reins again there's a slight sense of resentment. Perhaps it's not so much a case of being unable to pick up the routine again - maybe we're just afraid that we won't WANT to.

Many people do jobs that they despise, have fallen into patterns that they don't like - but they carry on because it's expected of them, and because they've come to expect it of themselves. We take jobs because they offer great opportunities and fantastic salaries, and we revel in the benefits of that, but over time we start to resent them. Mature life brings responsibilities, and once you're accustomed to living in a certain way, it makes it that much harder to re-evaluate your life and contemplate changing it.

If life stresses you out, and your job depresses you, don't suffer needlessly. There will always be another job out there that will give you the same, if not better, benefits - you just need the courage to step off the roundabout and find it.

02/03/2004 ©

Like a red rag to a bull.

Once a month women all over the world suffer from the same problem. It's irritating, occasionally painful and sadly there's nothing we can do about it.

Yes, that's right, it's misunderstanding and misconception.

It's not their fault, men, it's just that they've been exposed to all sorts of media that gives them the wrong idea. To many men a period is still either a form of punctuation or a socially taboo topic to discuss. Sweeping generalisations are made, such as about PMT - men, as a whole, seem to assume that menstruation causes us to become snarling monsters who'll bite their head off for no reason. Ergo, when we're in a foul temper and get into an argument their response is quite often along the lines of 'is it that time of the month?'

No. It's just that time of the day when you've p*ssed me off again by being a moron.

It's not just a large proportion of the male population that are misguided, it's advertising companies too. They seem to think that advertisements featuring happy, smiling women roller-blading whilst wearing white clothes will appeal to those of us who have no choice but to shop for sanitary products. Excuse me, but I'm unlikely to go roller-blading at the best of times, never mind when I'm on my rag - and as for the white clothes? Don't even go there. They've mellowed a little recently though, with adverts about comfort instead of exercise - but one brand of sanitary towel has started putting 'helpful' little messages on their wrappers, which just drops the whole industry standard once again.

'Feel like kicking things? Try calming those frayed nerves by adding a few drops of lavender oil to your bath' No, when I feel like kicking something I'll put on a pair of pointy shoes and find the nearest man to use as target practice, THEN I'll find a bottle of vodka and pour three shots into a glass to help my frayed nerves.

What can we do? The world, as a whole, has it in for women on their periods. Some women like their periods (as an affirmation of womanhood or something like that, don't ask me, I don't fall into that group), some find them an inconvenience, and still others loathe them with a passion either because they're painful, because they're a reminder that we're still not seen as being on equal footing with men (despite years of 'equal opportunities' campaigns), or for any one of a plethora of reasons. There are probably almost as many reasons as there are women, and THAT is the crux of the matter. We're all different, we all view, and cope with, our bodies and bodily functions in different ways. Advertising companies should give up and realise that there's no way to make sanitary products sexy or appealing, and that we're going to buy the damn things anyway out of necessity - they should save themselves some money and throw away their lousy advertising campaigns (hmmm, save money on advertising and drop the price of the product instead, novel idea).

Men, treat us like individuals: we're living, breathing humans, not portable uteruses that occasionally have a hissy fit.

02/03/2004 ©

Question: When is a pavement not a pavement?

Answer: when you can't walk down it for fear of being run into by a cyclist. Honestly, I'm starting to think that the money and time spent by local boroughs creating cycle lanes and special routes is completely wasted. I can't remember the last time that I saw a cyclist using a cycle lane - scratch that, I can't remember the last time I saw a cyclist on the road. Last week I repeatedly saw cyclists coming towards me on the pavement, apparently unable to see the cycle lane that was on the road beside them - and when I continue walking instead of jumping out of their way, I get sworn at.

Surely I'm not the only one who finds that unreasonable, or am I? As far as I'm aware, it's not permissible to cycle on pavements unless one is seeking to directly gain access to a property - basically, people can cycle across the pavement to reach their front door. Not a problem, that makes sense, but it's the ones who go careering down a busy high street on their bicycles and then proceed to glare at any pedestrians that dare to get in their way - that really ticks me off. There are also many cyclists that believe that cycling the wrong way up a one-way street is acceptable if they're on the pavement... drivers reversing out of driveways check for pedestrians, and they check for cars which are coming the right way. These drivers have no way of checking if an idiot on a bike is pedalling at high speed the wrong way down the road, and so often only narrowly avoid hitting them.

I don't have anything against cyclists as a whole; I just can't abide those who give the rest a bad name. Cycling is an environmentally friendly, and often quicker, way to get from A to B, and it's a genuine shame that not more people do it.

Perhaps they should introduce a driving test for cyclists, after all if someone can't tell the difference between a pavement for pedestrians and a cycle lane then they're obviously not safe to be let out on their own...

01/03/2004 ©

Changing times, or just a lack of common courtesy?

Yes, courtesy - not curtsey. I'm not demanding that every little oik who passes me in the street should bow or curtsey before me (although that would be quite nice), but a simple 'Excuse me' or 'Sorry' as they shove past me wouldn't go amiss. People these days seem to have forgotten that saying 'please', 'thank you' or 'excuse me' doesn't cost anything except a couple of seconds of your time.

Gone are the days of politeness and consideration for others. These days you see women struggling to board a bus with half a dozen bags of groceries and a pushchair because most conductors wouldn't dream of saying 'Let me give you a hand with those' - has society really reached a point where the majority are so uncaring that kind deeds are no longer the norm and more of an aberration? People say that 'kids today have no manners' but it's not a problem that's confined to younger generations, mature adults seem to have equal problems in remembering that a simple 'thank you' can make people smile, and that saying 'excuse me' is far more effective than simply barging people out of the way.

Is there a solution to this wholesale rudeness? I honestly can't say. Leading by example and being a paragon of good manners probably won't get you very far, but at least it will make a few people smile and remember that not everyone is ignorant of social etiquette.

Failing that, carry a cattle prod and use it to good effect...

01/03/2004 ©

Bring me sunshine… but not too much, and make sure you pass the sunscreen.

Britons, as a nation, are an odd lot. We moan constantly about the weather – and not just as individuals, even large corporations (such as rail companies) will have the odd (or not so odd) whinge about, or place the blame on, the weather. When it rains all the time we complain that it’s too wet, yet when we get three or more days of sunshine together there are people that start to worry about drought. Apparently the summer we’ve just had was ‘too hot’ and ‘too dry’ and the winter was ‘too warm’.

Anyone stop to think that perhaps we’re just ‘too fussy’?

Gardeners across the country have written in to magazines or phoned up radio stations to complain that this plant or that plant has continued flowering too long, started flowering too early, or just not flowered at all. Ok, I’m no exception, the plants in my garden constantly surprise me with regards to their behaviour – but at the end of the day I’m just grateful they’re flowering at all! If they flower early they might throw your planting scheme out of whack, but at least you still get to enjoy their beauty. Flowering too early may well put them at risk of frost damage, but nature (on the whole) knows what it’s doing, and the simple fact of the matter is that natural selection will ensure that only the best plants remain in your garden. Climates are changing, we’ve resigned ourselves to that, and gardeners are trying to adapt their gardens to those changes. More ‘Mediterranean’ planting schemes are being suggested in order to make the most of the changing weather patterns – but if the plants in your garden already are trying to adapt then why not leave them to it, you might be pleasantly surprised.

Next time you listen to the weather in the morning and are told that it’s too hot/too cold don’t complain, adjust your outfit accordingly and go out and enjoy it. If it’s cold enough to make an Inuit pause in their steps then throw on your thermals and walk outside happy in the knowledge that at least you’re not having to worry about sunscreen. When the summer gets too hot or humid, sit out in a park or garden and relish the fact that you’re getting a tan without having to pay for a flight to somewhere exotic.

Take life as it comes, and don’t waste time complaining about it – just think how much worse it could be.

27/02/2004 ©

Is there a point when our thirst for knowledge starts to drown us?

These days you can’t move for people returning to education, taking courses or simply walking along a path of self-improvement. Working days are getting longer, jobs are becoming more demanding and we rush around to such an extent that you have to wonder how people do it.
Evening courses, correspondence courses, weekend or weeklong seminars and one-off lectures – the choice is endless. It seems as though, as humans, we have an in-built urge to better ourselves – but does giving in to that urge have a detrimental effect on our lives?

Regardless of the method of study we choose we have to sacrifice some of our free time, whether it be an evening (or two) a week, or a few hours a day. How does that affect the way we schedule our time, and how we prioritise things? Despite all the best intentions, if you have to give up time to study, then other things will start to suffer. It might be something as trivial as missing your favourite television program, or having to tape it and then not having the time to actually watch it. It could be sacrificing your afternoon or evening of leisure, or giving up your Friday nights out. In quite a few cases, though, it seems as though people dedicate time to their studies, but end up having no time to stay in touch with friends.

It’s a horrible thing to face, you have a spare hour to yourself and you have a list of things to do that’s as long as your arm. Do you sort out your laundry and food for the day, take care of the banking and correspondence that you’ve been putting off for too long, or try and get hold of a friend and see if they’re free for a chat? Sadly the latter gets chosen far too infrequently. People try to prioritise, putting their studies quite high on the list, and when it comes to staying in touch with friends people have a tendency to be great procrastinators. ‘I’ll call so-and-so tomorrow instead’ – tomorrow turns into the day after that, which turns into the following week, and before you know it you haven’t spoken to someone for a month or more! When you do shamefacedly get in touch and apologise the response will often be ‘I’ve been meaning to ring you too, but I’ve just been so busy…’

Are we rescheduling our lives away?

We pile so much onto ourselves that a collapse seems inevitable. We work, care for our families and partners, try to better ourselves – and amidst all that we still have to worry about mundane things such as the laundry, the bills, housework and much more. Are we simply trying to do too much? We keep piling more and more onto our plates, but are loath to complain because that would imply that we’re unable to cope. What we need to realise is that there’s no shame in admitting that things are getting to be too much, that we might need a hand to keep on top of things, or that we might simply need a break. Friends are understanding, rather than rescheduling them time after time, simply tell them that you’re having trouble finding enough hours in the day, but make sure that you set a definite date to catch up. If you live with family then ask them if they can take on more of your household responsibilities until you’ve caught up with yourself – but make sure that you don’t take advantage and remain ‘busy’ just to get out of doing the laundry! Most importantly, however busy you are you should try to make time, even ten minutes, each day to remind yourself how well you’re doing, and how proud your friends and family are that you are doing what you do.

When the tide of education washes over you, ensure people know that you’re waving, not drowning.

26/02/2004 ©

A difference of opinion, or a rose by any other name?

It’s a world where wars are fought over differences in belief, and wearing the wrong designer label can get you ostracised in the playground. Where speaking with a certain accent can cause people’s noses to turn up, and the wrong make of car can lose you a business deal.

With all our quirks and idiosyncrasies, can we ever really get along with others?

He likes espresso, you prefer a milky tea. He thinks that your CD collection is awful, yet he expects you to listen to his at ear-drum-shattering volume. He loves that you love football, but can’t stand your choice of team.

What draws us to another person, is it the similarities or the differences? Have you ever been introduced to a person and been mildly surprised, or even shocked, at their choice of partner? You’re not the only one, and perhaps that answers the first question. If we examine our lives closely we find that we thrive on differences, and that we actively seek out those who disagree with us, or just cause us to roll our eyes in disgust.

We love our friends, but that doesn’t mean that we all come from the same mould. Differences in opinion keep conversation, and relationships, from stagnating. Ever started arguing the merits of something with a friend and then wondered where the last four hours have gone? Conversely, ever been on a date with someone who agrees with your every word and then spent the duration of the evening glancing at your watch and wondering at what point you can decently excuse yourself and go home?

Differences give us the impetus to go on – if they weren’t there then we’d slowly go insane. Yet differences can still cause trouble – why do differences make individuals closer, but cause great rifts between nations?

If I could answer that question then I’d be up for the Pulitzer Peace Prize. As I’m just a humble columnist I’ll leave that to someone else. Any volunteers?
25/02/2004 ©