Devalued lives

I can't begin to understand how a person can place no value whatever on another human being's life. How other people become mere objects to be exploited.

Obviously I'm thinking of all the political leaders who're prepared to sacrifice thousands of lives in the name of some dubious cause or other - territory, power, religion, whatever. They show absolutely no sign of hesitation or conscience or shame but just carry on sending people to their death.

Of course it happens at every level of society, not just at the top. Husbands killing adulterous wives, gangsters murdering other gangsters, fanatics on shooting sprees, racist attacks, honour killings.

The devaluation of other humans implies also a belief in the potency of violence, and the idea that violence can solve problems, which it seldom does. Isn't it obvious that it just leads to more violence, and endless terror for whoever's on the receiving end?

The normal inhibitions that stop most of us resorting to violence are absent in these murderous individuals. Their inhibitions have somehow been suppressed, either by nature or nurture, and sooner or later they cause havoc.

Who do I trust?

One thing I don't like about life today is that I have to be a lot more suspicious and a lot less trusting than when I was younger.

There are so many more scams and fake identities and fake websites that I have to be very careful how I use the internet and I have to be suspicious of every website and every online person that isn't already well known to me.

Now there's the extra possibility that something I'm reading or looking at is actually an AI creation and not the genuine article.

I don't like having to be so distrustful, but if I took everything at face value I would soon be in big trouble from innocently responding to something that was totally bogus.

People have lost tens of thousands of pounds, or even their entire life savings, by being too gullible and believing a cleverly presented website that promises instant fortunes from some sure-fire investment.

Or someone claims their child has cancer and asks for donations for some life-saving surgery. No surprise when it turns out their child is completely healthy.

I don't like being so suspicious, it's a deadening emotion.

Children online

Parents are rethinking the desire to share images of their children online, given that those images could be misused in quite disturbing ways.

A few years back nobody thought twice about posting images of little Jason or little Julie. The mages were basically for the benefit of family and friends, and few people thought about the possible consequences of those images being freely available to complete strangers online.

Now there's a growing realisation that those images could be stolen and abused in all sorts of repugnant ways, and it may be difficult to get the unwanted images removed.

We're now aware of images that have been "nudified" i.e. children stripped of their clothes. We're aware of children and parents being unwillingly recognised in the street. We're aware of fake identities cloned from the original.

And then there's the children themselves, who may object to having their image posted online, who might feel their privacy has been violated. Or they might just object to how they have been portrayed.

So a lot of parents are rethinking their impulse to put their children online. They might do it more sparingly, or they might keep their children offline altogether.

A shame that once again there's reason to be suspicious and cautious and mistrustful.

PS: Luckily I've never had to wrestle with this problem as Jenny and I don't have any children.

The death of chivalry

Interesting how the idea of male chivalry has died a death. It used to be very common when I was young but now it's just laughable.

As a young lad, I was introduced to numerous ways in which men should be chivalrous to women i.e. assuming women weren't as capable or resilient as men and needed a helping hand in all sorts of situations. We were supposed to:

• Hold doors open for her
• Walk on the curbside in case of runaway cars
• Offer her a coat in cold weather
• Carry heavy bags for her
• Pay for meals
• Offer her a seat on public transport
• Pull out a chair for her to sit
• Have her go first
• Guide her along
• Stand up when she arrives

Nowadays all these things seem ridiculous and patronising and all that's required of a man in this more liberated era is to be considerate and thoughtful.

The only thing that still applies in this age of sexual harassment is to walk a woman safely home, though even that she might object to.

The idea of chivalry seems as old-fashioned as the idea of a gentleman.

Getting justice

Justice. Isn't that a vague word? It's flung around as if it means something quite specific, but far from it. Is it even attainable?

People talk about a demand for justice, but what exactly are they demanding? What do they mean by the word?

If my child was knocked down and killed by a drunk driver, what sort of justice could I ever achieve? Whatever the consequences - the driver jailed, or banned from driving, or more roadside alcohol tests for drivers - it wouldn't bring my child back to life, it wouldn't lessen the grief, it wouldn't stop the feelings of rage and helplessness and despair. So where is the justice?

Or what about the pregnant woman whose baby dies because of some fatal mistake by a nurse? The hospital can issue a profuse apology, training can be tightened, the nurse can be reprimanded, but that doesn't lessen the sense of misery and loss the woman is going through. What form of justice could possibly make up for this tragedy? Her baby is gone and nothing can change that.

Justice is more an anguished hope than a reality.

Tried that

I was never seriously attracted to leisure drugs (dope, cocaine etc). I always wanted to be my natural self without my mind being subject to artificial alterations.

When I was young, when other people were praising the joys of whatever drug they had just discovered, I would wonder why they were so desperate to escape their everyday reality for hours on end.

Yes, reality can be pretty grim, but I never had the wish to escape from it. I wanted to experience it and deal with it, however difficult it might be. Drugs seemed not so much an escape as running away.

I did try dope twice, and LSD twice, but they didn't do anything for me. As a result, I was put off drugs for good.

Apart from anything else, you don't know exactly what's being handed to you. The content of the drugs isn't verified and depending what's in them, they could be lethal. There are plenty of grieving parents out there wishing their dead daughter or dead son had never been tempted by someone's chance offering.

The only drugs I favour come over the pharmacy counter.

Identity crisis

Despite the unanimous decision of the English Supreme Court in April 2025 that a female means a biological female, hundreds of people are still defying the law and insisting that if a man declares himself to be a woman then that's what he is.

Those who maintain that declaring yourself a female is nonsense and there's no such thing as a sex change are roundly attacked as "transphobic" and subjected to vicious abuse and hatred.

Male prisoners are declaring themselves female and being transferred to female prisons where quite often they sexually abuse female prisoners.

It's extraordinary that in 2026 women have to protect themselves against men who declare they're female and insist on invading female spaces like women's refuges and women's sports events.

When I was young, transsexuals, as they were called then, never believed they were real women, and knew they were merely passing as women. And other people were willing to treat them as women as long as they kept a low profile. They didn't make the sort of bizarre demands they're making now and didn't encroach on women's facilities and activities.

I wonder how long this insistence on sex changes will go on before people finally come to their senses and revert to reality.

Skill shortage

I'm shocked that so many children now arrive at school lacking some of the basic skills they should already have acquired. Such as:

• How to have a conversation
• How to play with toys
• How to focus on a task for more than two minutes
• How to hold a pen or pencil
• How to throw or kick a ball
• How to use a paperback
• How to follow a story
• How to interact with other children

These failings are attributed to the Covid lockdowns, when children were stuck in the home; children glued to screens rather than engaging in physical activity or exploring the outside world; and parents who think children will develop these skills naturally and don't need parental instruction.

Teachers are having to teach these basic skills on top of their already heavy workload. They could do without it.

When I started school aged five I certainly had all the necessary basic skills, as did my classmates, and there was no question of our needing special instruction. The idea would have struck us as ludicrous.

Unfortunately, unless screen use suddenly declines, it looks as if this shameful situation can only get worse rather than better.

One of those things

I've remarked before on the widespread under-provision of women's toilets and the fact that women invariably have to queue while men don't (I was reminded of this by a male journalist who found himself having to queue for a pub toilet).

There are obvious reasons for increasing the number of women's toilets and they shouldn't need explaining. Women usually take a lot longer because of menstruation, fiddly underwear, checking make-up and not being able to use a urinal.

But most men couldn't care less. As long as they can slip in and out of the toilet in 60 seconds they're not bothered. Women having to queue is just "one of those things" and they simply have to suck it up.

Sadiq Khan, Mayor of London, pledged some time ago to increase provision of women's toilets in the city. Whether he's made any progress is unclear. I imagine he's had plenty of resistance from intransigent males.

Personally I think we need at least a 2 to 1 ratio of female toilets to male toilets. There should be enough female toilets to abolish queues altogether. Why should women have to wait while men can use the loo at top speed?

Window fad

In several countries it's routine to open your windows for ten minutes in the morning and another ten minutes in the evening, even in winter.

This is supposed to reduce condensation, drive out stale air, invigorate you, and generally improve your health.

Well, it may be the done thing in Scandinavia, Germany, and other European countries, but the British are having none of it.

I don't want to open my windows in mid-January and let in freezing cold air, thank you very much. Apart from the huge waste of central heating, I'm sceptical about the supposed health benefits.

I've never had a major illness in all the 17 years I've lived in this house. I've hardly ever had a cold or flu either. So I'm keeping my windows firmly closed in winter's plummeting temperatures.

Jenny agrees entirely, especially as she tends to feel the cold more than I do.

Interestingly, all those articles telling us how to improve our health never mention flinging the windows open twice a day. Even the health gurus aren't convinced it's a good idea.

Plimsolls reborn

To us oldies, it's intriguing how common-or-garden plimsolls were stealthily rebranded and suddenly became ultra-fashionable trainers.

When I was young, there were simply plimsolls, very casual soft shoes that were only worn in informal situations like the gym, indoor activities or casual meet-ups. Otherwise we wore smart leather shoes or boots.

Somewhere along the line plimsolls were reborn as trainers and became stylish must-have items. Instead of being cheap shoes that cost a few pounds, they became much more expensive and even became designer items costing hundreds of pounds.

Now they're routine daily wear, worn by everyone from shop assistants to chief executives.

How did this ludicrous change take place? How did something that was affordable and unremarkable turned into a hugely visible high-fashion item that people looked down if they didn't cost enough?

I tried trainers for a while but they weren't always waterproof. I went back to conventional leather shoes that are very definitely waterproof - surely one of the basic requirements of a shoe, especially in Northern Ireland weather.

Pushing up the daisies

We're still so coy about death, aren't we? People don't just die, they pass away or meet their maker or are no longer with us.

Why all the euphemisms? There are at least two dozen. What's wrong with the word dead? Dying is a fact of life, as it were, and doesn't need to be downplayed as if it's something shameful or disgusting.

I hope when I die, people will say I'm dead and not gone to my maker or bitten the dust or given up the ghost.

People are equally coy about the cause of death. Quite often no cause of death is given and it's anyone's guess what the person died of.

I can sort of understand why people don't name the cause of death as suicide or an overdose or anorexia, to avoid being blamed for not helping to keep the person alive, but again there's nothing shameful or disgusting about such disturbing causes of death, and with the best will in the world it's hard to stop someone being self-destructive.

Yes, sooner or later I'm going to kick the bucket and be pushing up the daisies. I might even die.

Not moving an inch

I hope I never have to move home again. It's such a complicated and exhausting business. I just want to stay put and enjoy the home I have right now.

I've lived in 13 different homes in my lifetime, and that's quite enough uprooting and re-settling, thank you very much.

Every so often Jenny and I ponder the possibility of downsizing, but we always conclude it's not worth the enormous upheaval unless there's some really urgent need.

Having lived in a fairly spacious house for 16 years, it would be very hard to adjust to somewhere much smaller. I'm sure we would feel cramped and restricted and it would take quite a while to attune to our reduced territory.

People who think those of us who live in "over-sized" houses should sell up immediately and move to somewhere smaller are missing the point. There are over 260,000 long term empty houses in the UK that should be brought into use rather than quietly rotting.

I'm staying right here until something drives me out. Hopefully it never will.

Scary fireworks

People are becoming more aware that pets can be very frightened by fireworks and loud noises, and they're doing what they can to calm their pets.

A woman whose dachshund Buddy ran away and was found dead after being frightened by fireworks has said tighter rules on their use could prevent other pet owners facing the same loss.

I was amazed to learn that dog disappearances can increase by over 80 per cent during firework seasons, and about 20 per cent of lost pets go missing after being scared by loud noises.

Buddy's owner, Joanne Sloan Allen. from Templepatrick in Northern Ireland, said fireworks also affect her horses.

She would like fireworks to be confined to organised public displays with set times, so she knows when to take measures to calm her dogs and horses.

We don't have any pets, but we can imagine how frightened they must be with fireworks exploding all round them, especially if they have no idea what the fireworks are all about, and especially as dogs and cats have much sharper hearing than we humans.

Out of our league

Jenny and I have finally faced reality and admitted we aren't up to the intricacies of chess games. We packed up our lovely glass chess set and it will go to a new owner with the necessary high-powered brain.

We've been in the habit of holding a chess tournament every Christmas to stretch our brains a little and have a bit of fun. But you need a brain that can consider several possible strategies at once and how all of them might develop.

We're just not up to the job. We were fumbling around making silly mistakes and letting our pieces be taken too easily. We were taking longer and longer to make our next move, while the other person got increasingly bored and impatient.

So we finally accepted that chess is too sophisticated for our puny brains. We've given up trying to master a game that's way out of our league and we've gone back to something more manageable - Scrabble.

We're both good with words, so Scrabble suits us much better. And we don't nod off waiting for the other person to move.

Playful fun

Since when did poking fun at someone, teasing them, become normal? The person being teased is expected to laugh along with the teasing, even if they find it upsetting or offensive.

If they object to being teased, they may be seen as a wet blanket, a party pooper, a tight-laced individual who doesn't want to have a bit of fun.

If you know the person who's doing the teasing, you might assume they're just being friendly and don't mean any harm, but if it's a stranger you might think they're having a dig at you out of malice.

Jenny teases me from time to time, and obviously I'm not offended because I know she's not being malicious. Usually she teases me about my odd quirks and habits, like getting the last tiny scrapings of peanut butter out of the jar.

Misogynists are especially prone to teasing, or rather pretending they're teasing, They'll make some unwanted remark about a woman's appearance or behaviour and claim it was just teasing, just banter. "Don't take everything so seriously, love".

But it can undermine a person's confidence if they're teased a lot, and however well-meant it inevitably seems like a judgment on their character.

Teasing isn't always the playful fun it seems to be.

Family friction

There's a general assumption that we spend Christmas with our families. But what if you don't get on with your family and bristle at many of their views?

There's no good reason we should spend time with our families if it's just going to mean hostility and bad feeling. We don't hear much about it, but a lot of people no longer feel obliged to visit their family and are much happier spending Christmas on their own or with friends.

Readers responding to a newspaper's agony column were unanimous: If you don't get on with your family, ditch them and make Christmas your own.

Readers shared stories of walking away from tense gatherings, spending the day alone, heading off on trips, or celebrating with friends - and loving it.

The overriding response was simple: protect your peace, reclaim Christmas, and make it a day you actually enjoy rather than an exercise in pleasing others.

I spent Christmas on my own for many years and relished it. That was partly because my father and I didn't get on. Also because my parents had political views very different from my own and it would have been too stressful keeping on the right side of them.

Now my parents are both gone, I don't miss them at Christmas. Jenny and I have a great time on our own and wouldn't have it any other way.
 

No hankering

In general I've never hankered after someone else's life or imagined they're having a better life than me. I've never thought the grass is greener on the other side.

Another person's life may look desirable from the outside, but if you knew anything about their private life no doubt you'd discover all sorts of problems and disappointments and disasters they're carefully hiding from the rest of us behind smiling faces.

They don't have some charmed and magical existence but face the same setbacks and tragedies as everyone else.

I don't understand those people (especially youngsters) who think their lives will be wonderful if they could just become a super-model or a movie star or a famous footballer. Or any kind of celebrity. Be careful what you wish for.

If you have personal experience of any of those supposedly glittering lifestyles, you'd know the reality is very different from the glamorous image. Models for example will soon tell you they don't just swan around the world looking gorgeous, they have to work in freezing cold and scorching heat and maintain an ultra-thin figure. Hardly a magical existence.

Keep it simple

Jenny and I like to have a simple, unpretentious Christmas.

Plenty of coffee (as we're teetotal), a gripping book, a game of Scrabble, a game of chess, an enthralling film or two, a box of chocolates, and a tasty home-made (vegetarian) meal.

Just the two of us, as we don't have any children, our parents are long-gone, and my sister is bedridden with MND.

But we're not supposed to want a simple, unpretentious Christmas. We're supposed to want a totally over-the-top Christmas, and in the four or five weeks run-up to the big day, we're urged to buy Christmassy stuff by the lorry load.

If you don't have a Santa hat or a Christmas jumper or a Christmas tree or a "Santa stop here" sign, or anything else that says "I'm celebrating Christmas big time, what about you?", you're clearly not pulling your weight.

It's not as if Christmas has any obvious purpose apart from boosting commercial profits and hosting family reunions.

I'd like to see Christmas disappear in favour of Thanksgiving, which the UK doesn't bother with. I like the tradition of giving thanks for all the good things in one's life, all the year's unexpected blessings.

That seems like a better idea than getting paralytically drunk and compulsively over-eating.

Forgetful

My poor memory is a constant embarrass-ment. Jenny remembers about four times as much as I do and is always reminding me of things I've completely forgotten.

Do you remember that woman we met in Sydney, who had serious sunburn and persistent hiccups, she asks me, and I have no recollection of her whatever.

Sometimes, when I don't remember a whole string of things, I'll pretend I remember some of them just to reduce the embarrassment.

It's sad that whole chunks of my life have vanished without trace. I can remember very little of my schooldays for example. I can remember the schools I went to and a lot of the teachers and pupils, but nothing much beyond that.

If someone asks me about the book I've just read, it's all I can do to recall the basic details of the plot and the main characters. Even while reading the book, any character who disappears for 50 pages and then resurfaces is an enigma. I struggle to remember who this person is and how she fits into the plot.

My poor memory does have a few advantages though. I forget bad experiences as if they never happened. So I don't nurse grudges and resentments.

Did I have a normal memory as a child? I don't remember.