A shattered life

I know it's a cliché to say something symbolises what's wrong with Britain, but in this case I think it's true. It's the story of a 74 year old man called Vincent Adcock.

Vincent was a confident, independent soul who lived on his own in Manchester. He had several good friends and a devoted Alsatian, Prince.

Then his house was burgled. Not once but five times, relentlessly. After the fifth burglary, having lost cash, various valuables, an £800 watch, a coat and hundreds of CDs and DVDs, his confidence and well-being were shattered.

He had reported all the burglaries to the police but nothing came of it.

Vincent told his close friend Margaret Boswell, "I give up. I just can't take any more. I've not done any harm to anybody, so why are they doing that to me?"

He locked himself in his house, stopped eating and died a few days later from malnutrition and kidney failure. Prince was so distressed he had to be put down.

This story just says so much about the state of the country. Not just that he could be burgled five times, that he couldn't feel safe in his own home, that the police were no help to him.

Nobody else helped him either, or so it seems. Not the neighbours, not the social services, not victim support schemes, not the Samaritans, not pensioners' groups. This vulnerable man, battered and defeated by other people's cruelty and ruthlessness, could depend on nobody to come to his aid, punish those responsible and restore his well-being.

He was left to himself, as so many similar victims are, to pick up the pieces and carry on with the wreckage of his life.

But it was all too much for him and he decided he'd had enough. Our supposedly civilised, enlightened society had failed him miserably.

May you now rest in peace, Vincent Adcock.

Out of bounds

Diehard sexism is alive and well in the Irish Republic. A court has ruled that a Dublin golf club can continue to ban women because the club "caters only for men's needs".

Well, who can argue with that? Obviously golf is a necessity to hairy, beer-bellied, balding males in a way that doesn't apply to women.

Apart from the fact that women, as we know, don't possess arms or legs or a need for leisure pursuits or exercise, they clearly wouldn't know what to do with a little white ball a few yards away from a hole.

Seeing that it wasn't a piece of jewellery or a lipstick tube or a vacuum cleaner, they would be utterly baffled, throw it away, and get back to filing their nails.

This is all plain enough to the Irish Supreme Court, who decided by a 3-2 majority that the club's "principal purpose is to cater only for the needs of persons of a particular gender".

Those needs, they explained, included "social fraternisation". Fair enough. It's well known that women never socially fraternise, it's a conspicuous genetic failing.

Women everywhere keep themselves to themselves, shunning company and never answering the front door. They hate gossip or conversation of any kind and often retreat to caves on remote Himalayan peaks. The idea of playing golf would fill them with palpitating horror.

The Irish Supreme Court judges understood all that perfectly. Except for the dissenting judge Susan Denham who declared that golf was no more a need for men than for women. Good Lord, what an eye-wateringly peculiar statement. Is she mad?

Drugs furore

Should leisure drugs be legal or illegal? The debate is raging yet again after the sacking of David Nutt, a government adviser on drugs policy.

This journalist is urging complete legalisation of leisure drugs on the basis that adults should be free to consume whatever they want, at their own risk.

It's a tricky argument, mainly because nobody knows exactly what the effects of going legal would be. Would it make little difference, or would there be many more people taking drugs and possibly ruining their lives?

It seems to me that the prediction of lots more druggies and lots more social decline is probably half-baked scaremongering. Yes, we would replace the existing problems with some new ones, but the new ones would be much easier to manage and not so damaging.

All the harmful effects of illegality - contaminated drugs, unintentional overdoses, unhygienic consumption and gang warfare - would be drastically reduced. But it's also true that going legal might encourage more people to take leisure drugs, and health and social problems may increase.

Hang on, though. Yes, consumption might increase, but under much safer conditions, so the chance of coming to harm would be much less. It would be more like taking prescription drugs, with all the rigorous controls that apply to them.

And the argument that adults should be free to ingest whatever's on offer is a strong one. If we're free to eat junk food or slimming pills or herbal remedies, why shouldn't leisure drugs be on the menu?

Intelligent adults are capable of assessing the pros and cons of the drugs in question and deciding whether to accept the risks or not. Why should the state make the choices for us?

But leisure drugs won't be legalised any time soon. The government is terrified of what it might unleash. They prefer the status quo with all its stink of crime and trickery.

Attention avoider

Some people love to be the centre of attention, surrounded by a phalanx of admirers. I'm quite the opposite, I prefer to be somewhere in the background chatting to one or two people at the most.

If I do happen to be at the centre of things, I usually find it very embarrassing. Seeing so many people waiting on my every word is sure to stop me in my tracks and render me speechless. Whatever I have to say will never be witty and sparkling enough for all those expectant faces.

I don't understand why so many people want to be famous, relishing the prospect of their slightest move being followed by the media and the gawping millions, their every minor mistake flashed instantly around the world. How can anyone enjoy that sort of goldfish bowl existence?

I tend to think the attention-seekers just have huge egos that need to be constantly fed, but that's probably unfair. More likely they're just natural extroverts who enjoy sharing their vibrant personalities with as many people as possible. And I have to admit such gregarious souls are a necessary balance to hesitant shrinking violets like myself. If you want a party to go with a swing, a room full of ruminating introverts isn't going to help.

When extroverts encounter retiring corner-huggers like me, they always want to sort me out, to give me a taste for the limelight. You enjoy an audience really, they say, everyone does, and all these people are just dying to know more about you.

Maybe they are, I reply, but the thought of a dozen razor-sharp brains weighing up my every sentence and deducing heaven knows what makes me want to run for the hills. That level of scrutiny is way too scary.

I'll just keep hovering in the wings, if you don't mind.

Warped priorities

Somalia is a country in the grip of famine and administrative chaos. So what is the powerful Islamic al Shabaab movement concerned about? Whether women are wearing bras, naturally.

According to them, women shouldn't wear such heretical garments as they are instruments of fraud and deception. They are tricking men by altering the natural shape and mobility of their breasts. Anyone found in one is therefore severely punished.

So sorry, ladies, if you thought your underwear and visible contours were a matter of personal choice, then think again. Religious purity demands that such issues are vetted and approved by those who are privy to the divine vision.

Several bra-wearing women in Mogadishu were recently arrested and publicly whipped for their disobedience. Though how exactly their bras were discovered is not entirely clear.

Of course you might think, but hang on, at one time all those radical feminists in the West were throwing out their bras too, so what's the difference? The difference is that the feminists chose to chuck them out, and they did so as a protest against male ideas of attractiveness. There was no coercion involved and no divine intervention.

When Somalia is in a state of virtual anarchy, with almost half the population malnourished, the government in disarray and hundreds of thousands relying on international aid, you would think religious leaders would have higher priorities than confiscating bras. But you would think wrong.

PS: And do the bra suppliers also get flogged?

Not so bright

Intelligence takes many forms. It's not just a question of doing well in IQ tests or being good at reading, writing and arithmetic.

We all know people who have high IQs or brilliant Oxbridge degrees or glittering careers but are also total halfwits when it comes to socialising, making friends or helping someone who's emotionally distraught.

What use is a mastery of quadratic equations or existential philosophy if you offend and patronise everyone you meet, never listen to anyone properly or can't grasp a person's very different background or personality? You might as well still be a bawling infant.

What's called social or emotional intelligence is just as important as the sorts of intelligence the textbooks concentrate on.

I remember one woman I worked with whose husband had a dazzling academic record and a phenomenal IQ but she complained constantly that as a spouse he was sorely lacking.

He was incapable of comforting or supporting her when she was distressed over some work or family problem. He was embarrassed by showy displays of happiness, sadness or enthusiasm. He never commented on her achievements, only her failures.

He may have had an encyclopaedic knowledge of South American dictatorships, but she divorced him and moved in with a plumber who gave her the appreciation and emotional empathy she was desperate for.

That type of intelligence isn't taught in schools, it isn't recognised as a vital life skill. If you're lucky you pick it up from parents and friends. If not, you blunder through life alienating one person after another and wondering why.

Understanding algebra is good. But understanding the human heart is better.

Leftovers

When I'm in a restaurant, I never cease to be amazed at the amount of food some people leave on their plate. I see servers lifting dishes that are still almost full and barely nibbled at.

When I was young, I was conditioned to eat every morsel of food and not waste what starving African children would be glad of. It was almost a crime to leave the smallest particle of edible matter.

So I'm always mystified by those virtually untouched piles of food. Did the diner not like it? Did they not feel hungry? Could they not eat because they were upset about something? Did they not want to look greedy? Do they have anorexia?

I'm fascinated by why someone ordered what they thought was a tasty, mouth-watering meal and then when it arrived at the table they lost all interest and let it sit there congealing.

Does the chef puzzle about it too, wondering whether their cuisine was so disgusting the recipient simply couldn't force it through their lips? Or do they just shrug their shoulders and say for the umpteenth time: "Customers, eh? A total mystery, the lot of them."

If I'm especially hungry, or if my own meal has been seriously skimpy, I'm often tempted to sneak up to the other diner's table and start eating the neglected food myself. I cast longing glances at their loaded plates and have to restrain myself from acting on behalf of ravenous Ethiopians and malnourished Eritreans.

Without fail my own plate is scrupulously cleared of every last titbit. I'd probably lick off the remaining juice if it weren't for the social outrage I'd cause.

The truth of it is I'm just too greedy to leave anything. And anyway, a clean plate is only fair to the washer-upper.

PS: Around 30% of British food ends up being thrown away, one of the highest figures in the world.

Love's labours lost

If one thing has changed dramatically over the years, it's the freedom people now have in pursuing sexual relationships. When I was young, suffocating restrictions made it very hard to follow your natural desires.

It all sounds absurdly draconian now, but in those days parents monitored their children's behaviour very closely. You couldn't simply fancy someone and let things take their course. That was unheard of.

Parents would have very strong opinions on the person you fancied and would strenuously resist any "unsuitable" match. Sexual activity, or even what was called "heavy petting", was strictly prohibited until you were married.

You were expected to "go steady" for a suitable period, then get engaged for another year or so, after which you would get married (that is, if your parents still approved of the spouse-to-be).

The fiancé would of course have to ask the fianceé's father for her hand in marriage, while the alternative of cohabitation was still unthinkable.

Once married, sexual activity was strictly confined to the missionary position, and any kind of "kinky" or non-vaginal sex was considered abnormal. The only natural relationship was the heterosexual one, homosexuality being firmly in the closet and preferably never spoken of.

Nowadays, after the steady erosion of one quaint restriction after another, the situation has changed out of all recognition, with the young having almost complete freedom to form whatever relationships they like and let them follow their natural path.

Parents have been relegated to their proper position, interested bystanders who will only give advice if it's asked for and will always try to support their children's choice of partners.

Youngsters today are incredibly lucky to have such freedom, and not knowing what previous generations had to contend with, they mostly take it for granted. Which is not surprising.

Of course some of them take these new freedoms too far and make a mess of their lives. But better that than being bound hand and foot.

Out of control

I'm reminded all too frequently that I'm more of a control freak than I like to think I am. I'm nervous of things getting out of control, unpredictable, over the edge. So I'm always furtively trying to keep a grip, keep everything within safe limits.

Well, I think it's furtive, but no doubt everyone else can see what I'm doing all too clearly. I'm the only one who imagines my attempts to put boundaries on every bit of spontaneous, impulsive behaviour have somehow gone unnoticed.

I do it with money. Even though I've been solvent my entire life, with no outstanding debts to anyone, I still imagine that too much thoughtless spending will lead me rapidly to financial ruin. So I monitor my spending far too closely and don't often splash out on something wildly expensive.

When I socialise, I'm wary of being too uninhibited, of saying too much or revealing too many personal secrets. I stick to safe subjects, I avoid things that might be too embarrassing or puzzling or deep. I drink cautiously for fear of loosening my tongue too much (not that I like getting drunk anyway).

Even when I read, I rarely devour an entire book at one sitting. I read in bite-size chunks, definable one-hour or one-chapter sessions. I'm almost incapable of getting so engrossed in a book, so carried away by an imaginary reality, that I forget everything else and just let myself be swept along.

Personal appearance too. I've never had the urge for spiky orange hair, psychedelic shirts, tattoos or a foot-long beard*. I've done my share of cross-dressing, but strictly in private and many years ago. Like most men, my public facade is studiously dull - dark colours, sober styles, nothing too conspicuous.

Actually when it comes to clothing, most men are control freaks. They stick firmly to conventional attire, and the very thought of displaying themselves in anything too gawdy or dainty or "feminine" frightens the wits out of them.

And now I'd better stop before I get too carried away. Before the bite-sized chunks become vast platefuls of uncontrolled revelations....

* except once in my hippie incarnation.

The end is nigh

It's a funny old thing, this climate change. There's precious little sign of it in my everyday life. I carry on eating, drinking, sleeping, driving, socialising as if nothing unusual is happening.

Yet the scientists tell us all the time that the world's climate is drastically changing and if we don't take radical action our normal lifestyles will collapse.

Well, I have to believe that many scientists must be right. So I alter my habits wherever I can to do my bit to prevent armageddon. It remains to be seen if armageddon really is upon us.

The biggest problem, we are told, is that we all (in the West at least) consume far too much. We're forever rushing after the latest fashionable accessory or car or bit of furniture, and we never stop to think how many of the world's resources are being squandered and how much it's polluting the environment.

And all that's fed by the modern idea of shopping-as-leisure-activity which has somehow replaced shopping-for-what-you-need. Once upon a time if we needed something we went out and bought it. End of story.

Nowadays there are flashy shopping malls everywhere we go and we're encouraged to go shopping as a pastime in itself, something to do on a rainy day, somewhere to take the kids and have a meal while we're at it.

Of course while we're there we find ourselves picking up all sorts of bits and pieces, some of which we need and some we never even thought of until we saw them beckoning from a shop window.

So - more plundered resources, more pollution. And then when we have a periodic clearout, if the junked items can't be recycled they create yet more unwanted, festering landfill*.

But if you still believe in shopping-as-necessity, you're regarded as a bit of a crank who's still living in a bygone age.

So there's the question for climate scientists. How do we put a brake on the shop-till-you-drop culture? How do we take the shine off those tempting malls?

* The UK still dumps 54% of its waste in landfill. The German figure is 1%

This post is part of Blog Action Day which this year looks at climate change. Over 13,000 blogs in 155 countries took part, including Baino in Sydney.

Feeling the pinch

If you thought nobody would have the nerve to steal from a charity shop, you'd be wrong. In fact right now thefts are rocketing because crowded shops make it easy.

The recession has tempted more and more hard-up people into charity outlets, and it's hard for the staff (often elderly volunteers) to keep a close eye on what's going on.

Usually there's no security equipment and volunteers have no specialised security training. So things like clothes, DVDs and books are disappearing in droves.

Whether the thieves are taking things for their own use or to sell on to others isn't clear, but it's certainly making a big dent in charity income.

The British Heart Foundation estimates they're losing up to £2.5 million a year - money urgently needed for medical research and improved treatments. And that's just one charity.

Do the thieves believe their own needs are more important than those with heart disease? Or do they simply not care and just see charity shops as easy pickings?

If people really are desperate enough to steal, you'd think they would at least choose big commercial companies that can afford to lose some of their fat profits rather than organisations trying to help the sick and vulnerable. Have they absolutely no conscience? Or shame?

It might also deter people from donating to charity shops if they think their offerings will simply be ripped off for nothing. Donations are slowing as it is, with hard-pressed households hanging on to things rather than replacing them.

It's depressing to see how many people have the morals of a turnip.
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How about that? Scientists have discovered the world's first known vegetarian spider. Bagheera kiplingi, which was found in South America, lives almost exclusively on the leaf buds of wild acacia plants. All the other 40,000 species of spider are thought to be carnivorous. Let's hear it for those ground-breaking arachnids!

Size matters

Should a transsexual be entitled to breast enlargement on the NHS, just because it makes her feel better about herself? Couldn't you say the same of a £5000 dress or a facelift?

A transsexual known only as "C" has had her request for the operation turned down by West Berkshire Primary Care Trust and is now suing them in the High Court.

Among other things she is claiming her rights under the Sex Discrimination Act and the Human Rights Convention.

She says that as a transsexual, her flat-chestedness causes her psychiatric distress because she doesn't feel sufficiently like a woman. The operation would relieve this distress.

But surely natural women come in all shapes and sizes and bust dimensions and if you think flat-chestedness makes you less of a woman that's purely a subjective opinion. So why should the NHS cater for personal opinions?

If she feels so strongly about it, she should find the money and get the operation done privately - as thousands of women do every year. It isn't a medical need by any stretch of the imagination.

Of course transsexuals are coping with a unique psychological dilemma which is different from those of other men and women. I understand that. But there's nothing unique about wanting bigger breasts. If you want them, go out and buy them.

Belt tightening

The British government threw billions of pounds at the banks to keep them afloat. So how are they going to get the money back? Why, by clobbering the already hard-up citizens naturally.

Has a single politician pledged to get the cash back solely from the wealthy, from those in a position to fork out painlessly without it affecting their daily lives?

Er no, not to my knowledge. The political parties are now competing ruthlessly to announce the biggest and most punitive round of public spending cuts and tax increases, should they win the next general election.

And in the main they'll be hitting the poor and struggling, those who're already reeling from job losses, repossessions and huge debts.

Already the politicians are talking of freezing civil servants' pay, raising the state pension age, cutting welfare benefits, trimming health services and upping university fees.

I'm sure that's just for starters. Once one lot or the other has won the election, they'll be hacking away at every benefit and allowance in sight, be it for pensioners, children, the sick, the disabled, or deaf, dumb and blind paraplegics. No one will be sacred.

What was it the former Labour Party leader Neil Kinnock once said? "I warn you not to be ordinary, not to be young, not to fall ill, not to get old." He could have said the same today.

The senior Conservative politician George Osborne declares "We're all in this together." Really? Including the millions of people who had nothing whatever to do with the banking meltdown? Why should they have to pay?

Meanwhile the wealthiest in society - who are still worth billions despite the economic collapse - carry on jetting round the world and snapping up £50,000 trinkets as if nothing much has changed. They can rest assured the politicians won't be requiring them to tighten their belts any time soon.

PS: See this excellent article by Johann Hari in the London Independent on why huge cuts to public spending will only bring economic disaster, and why the high level of public debt is not a problem anyway.

Lethal lipstick

Oh dear, oh dear. It seems that women touching-up their make-up while driving cause up to half a million road accidents a year.

They just can't resist sorting out that smudged mascara or refreshing their lipstick as they cruise along the nation's roads. Sometimes with calamitous results.

Or so says a survey of 4000 women drivers by a car insurer, in which 3% admitted to having a collision while applying cosmetics. And 27% confessed they regularly put on make-up while on the move.

The biggest culprits were women aged 17 to 21, while the least guilty, not surprisingly, were women of 56 or older, who practically never crashed for that reason.

Well, that's awful. What are you thinking of, ladies, have you no sense of social responsibility, no concern about the lethal vehicle you're flinging along the tarmac? How many innocent people are you putting in danger?

Hold on, though. Why are women getting all the blame here, as if they're the only ones doing crazy things at the wheel and threatening carnage?

There're plenty of men out there fiddling with the radio, lighting fags, checking maps and sending texts. Not to mention doing their own form of preening by combing their hair, putting on ties, having a shave and dabbing on moisturiser. I wonder how many hundreds of thousands of crashes they've caused by indulging their fleeting impulses.

The fact is we're all prone to do a dozen other things while we're meant to be concentrating on the road and making sure we don't mow anyone down. It's hardly the failing of one particular sex. We're all fidgety and easily distracted (and want to look hot) and get bored by the endless flow of vehicles and asphalt. We do our best but hey, we're none of us perfect.

Something extra

A new law applies in England today, stopping employers from filching tips to pay their staff. From now on, the bosses can't touch them. Quite right too, but why do we need this demeaning practice at all?

In the 21st century, restaurant staff, hotel staff, cabbies, hairdressers and the like should be earning a decent wage and shouldn't have to fawn over customers for a few extra quid (or worse, just expect to get it anyway).

I always give tips, unless there's a very good reason not to, as I assume the person is probably shockingly underpaid and in urgent need of any additional cash I can put their way. But it's an unreliable income, as many people withhold tips for trivial reasons, or refuse to tip on principle.

And it's a bloody nuisance having to think ahead about possible tipping situations and make sure I have a supply of appropriate notes or coins. It's acutely embarrassing when a tip is expected but I simply don't have the readies.

Servers, chambermaids or whoever shouldn't have to be artificially polite and grovelling because they're desperate to pay the gas bill. They should be able to relax and just do the job as they see fit, knowing their pay packet will cover their needs.

Tipping always feels like some absurd colonial hangover, like giving beads to the natives or rice to refugees. It's not in any way an exchange between equals, it's always a patronising favour.

Oh, and if you still add the tip to the restaurant bill - don't! The server might never see a penny of it. Always leave it on the table or give it to the server directly.

Rude boy

The rudest person I've ever met was someone I used to work with in a London bookshop some twenty years ago. He believed in saying exactly what he thought, however offensive it might be.

P. regularly reduced his workmates to tears or had them huddled in corners bemoaning his upsetting remarks. But he couldn't be sacked because he was good at his job and was never rude to customers. So all we could do was put up with him and hope his withering comments wouldn't be aimed in our direction.

Like other obnoxious characters, he could sometimes be disarmingly sensitive and generous, which took the edge off people's desire to be rid of him. But mostly he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in goading and teasing, just to see the explosive reaction.

He had no qualms about telling people they had put on weight, or were wearing hideous clothes, or had peculiar tastes in food, or had a huge arse. He would tell you quite frankly what he thought was wrong with you, or laugh merrily at some unfortunate mistake you'd made.

He would do his best to catch you out over something, or criticise your friends or spouse. He would suggest your political opinions were naive and your leisure activities a waste of time.

We all fantasised about his coming to a sticky end through various grotesque and painful means. We were finally freed from his repellent behaviour when a bunch of us, including him, were made redundant and he found a new job. No doubt his new workmates soon learnt to avoid him and keep some tissues handy.

Not surprisingly he had no wife or steady girlfriend. No woman could have tolerated him for long, her self-esteem would have plummeted.

I just hope that somewhere along the line he met his match, someone so equally offensive he finally got a taste of his own medicine.

Bullying condoned

Another whistleblower who's being victimised. Carol Hill, a school dinner lady, told the parents of seven year old Chloe David that she had been tied up and whipped by a group of boys at playtime.

And her reward for revealing this shocking incident? She's been sacked for "breaching pupil confidentiality". In other words, if a pupil is being mistreated, the important thing is not to tell her parents but to cover it up and preserve the school's good image.

Mrs Hill has already spent over £4000 in legal fees defending herself, and is preparing further action against the school. Her conscientiousness has led to nothing but trouble.

I'm sure every parent in the land would take her side in wanting to know their child was being viciously bullied. But the school seems to be taking the bullies' side and making light of their behaviour.

Angry parents have demanded the resignation of Deborah Crabb, the headmistress of Great Tey Primary School in Essex, and the board of governors. Mr and Mrs David have withdrawn their two children from the school, and other parents are threatening to do the same.

The good image of an organisation now seems to be so sacrosanct that any employee who tarnishes it, even to expose the corruption, criminality or incompetence of other staff, is routinely pounced on, treated as the guilty party, and got rid of by fair means or foul.

Instead of being grateful that they've been alerted to something alarming, those in charge act as though they've been mugged and relieved of their valuables. All I can say is, it would make me think long and hard about blowing the whistle myself.

PS: Officials from the trade union Unison have promised her full support even though she isn't a union member. The BBC reports that an anonymous businessman who says the sacking is "ludicrous" has offered to pay all her legal costs. She has received many other offers of financial help.

Pic: Mr and Mrs David, Chloe and Carol Hill

Eating out

Jenny and I eat out at restaurants quite a lot, and I think I've finally worked out the essentials of an eating-out success - exceptional food and pampering.

The meal has to be special, a cut above home cooking with an extra indefinable something we can't create ourselves. And ideally with unique dishes we couldn't find anywhere else. Since Jenny's cooking already sets a high standard, that's asking a lot.

I also expect to be pampered - to be treated like a valued guest with friendliness, attentiveness, flexibility, a touch of style in the furnishings and decor - and generous portions. I don't want to feel like just another customer to be got rid of as quickly as possible.

Every niggle and annoyance about eating out really boils down to those two things, the basic yardsticks that divide the good, the bad and the ugly. And my, how swiftly good turns to bad when the staff don't follow those simple principles.

If those two qualities are lacking, what's the point of going to a fancy restaurant at all? If the food and service are unexceptional, why pay a premium? You might as well go down the road to the local takeaway and pick up some unexceptional pizza or curry.

Jenny and I have tried a wide range of restaurants in South and East Belfast and it's frustrating how often they disappoint. You would think it was easy enough to meet those basic requirements, but so often carelessness and brusqueness strike the wrong note.

Why run a restaurant at all if you're not prepared to put your heart and soul into it and give every diner an experience to remember, where every detail of the meal is a pleasure and a delight? Is that so hard?

And is it so hard to provide a few tasty vegetarian options? With hundreds of meatless ingredients to choose from, why am I offered such bland and predictable fare? Why such a lack of imagination?

PS: See Jenny's comments on three popular East Belfast restaurants

Halting the axe

I fear the public spending cuts following hard on the heels of the massive banks bail-out are going to hit the weak and vulnerable as much as the well-padded.

So a round of applause to one woman who's determined to stop that happening and is being witch-hunted by local council leaders out to save cash by closing care homes.

Yvonne Hossack, a 53 year old solicitor, has saved at least 80 care homes for the elderly and disabled. So thwarted local councils tried to get her struck off the solicitors' roll for unprofessional conduct such as misusing confidential information.

She was very anxious they might succeed and care home residents would no longer have a sympathetic lawyer to fight for their rights. Fortunately all the most serious charges were dismissed and Yvonne is free to continue her vital work.

Good for her, taking on these controversial cases that other solicitors would shy away from in favour of something more routine. She wanted to use her legal skills to defend those who were being mistreated and victimised, and was prepared to face the wrath of the axe-wielding councils.

It's yet another example of whistleblowers being hounded while the wrongdoers who've been caught out neglecting the vulnerable, committing fraud or otherwise abusing their positions so often just carry on regardless.

Too many politicians seem to lose whatever social conscience they had as soon they've got their hands on the levers of power, and some of them are actively competing with each other to slash public services to the bone.

If the recipients are too old and frail to make any effective protest, so much the better. Thank God there are more ethical souls like Yvonne to stop them in their tracks.

Pic: Yvonne Hossack. Her website is at http://www.hossackssolicitors.com/

Heel appeal

Many women are expected to wear high heels at work, despite the damage they do to the wearers' feet, knees and backs. Shouldn't women have the choice to wear something healthier and more comfortable?

The British Trades Union Congress says yes, of course they should. They've just passed overwhelmingly a motion that employers should carry out risk assessments on women wearing high heels.

They say high heels result in two million working days being lost every year through permanent physical damage, and women should be free to wear more sensible shoes that don't cause injury.

Yet shop workers, office staff, airline crew, hotel employees and others are required to wear high heels as part of their dress code. Ubiquitous health and safety regulations apparently don't apply to harmful footwear.

Not surprisingly the TUC motion hasn't been universally welcomed. Those women who're addicted to high heels can't see what all the fuss is about. As far as they're concerned, heels are glamorous and intimidating and get them more respect in the workplace, particularly from male colleagues*.

Union delegate Loraine Monk said women shouldn't be lectured to about what to wear. "This well-meant motion will see the union movement portrayed in the media as the killjoy fashion police."

Come again? If you point out the damage high heels can do you're being a killjoy? So if you point out that long hair can get caught in machinery, or bare flesh may lead to skin cancer, does that make you a killjoy too? If there's anything that kills joy, it's a bad back and painful feet.

I frequently see women clumping across offices or shopfloors in obviously uncomfortable shoes they must be dying to remove, yet traditional workplace dress codes say a woman doesn't look professional or authoritative unless she's wearing them. So how come men are instantly endorsed without having to teeter three inches off the ground?

Stilts belong in the circus, not in the office.

*See for example the outraged protest against the "shoe police" by Flic Everett in the Daily Mail
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Johann Hari of the London Independent has a superb article today about the relentless cult of the stick-thin female body and its destructive effects on ordinary women.