So much for reason

When I was young I believed people were basically rational and the world was run on a rational basis.

As I got older I realised this wasn't so. A lot of the time reason didn't come into it at all and all sorts of irrational considerations came into play.

I optimistically thought poverty could be ended easily if governments took more money from the wealthy and gave it to the poor.

Eventually it dawned on me that it wasn't so simple. Politicians were reluctant to tax the wealthy (especially if they were wealthy themselves). Some thought the poor should find their own way out of poverty and shouldn't need government help. Others thought the supposed poor weren't really poor at all and had hidden sources of income. And so on.

Likewise building more homes or increasing people's salaries or dealing with greedy landlords. What seems like the obvious solution is stymied by irrational objections that prevent any real progress.

Nowadays I tend to be a bit cynical about any grand plans announced by politicians. Instantly I envisage a flood of half-baked protests likely to stall those grand plans for years on end.

And meanwhile, despite endless pledges to abolish poverty for good, it gets worse. And worse.

A search to remember

Jenny and I have had a few occasions when we couldn't quite remember where we had parked the car, but we've always found it after a few minutes of wandering around looking for it. The initial panic quickly gives way to relief.

But imagine what it's like for someone who has absolutely no idea where he/she parked the car and spends the next three weeks (yes, three weeks) searching for it, getting more and more frustrated and bewildered.

Kieran (last name not known) had been to a stag party in Cork and couldn't find his wine-coloured Skoda Superb. He hadn't noted the road it was parked in so he had little to go on.

All he knew was that he had parked on an estate. So he methodically visited 59 different estates in the Cork suburbs - but to no avail.

Then he offered a €200 (£171) reward to anyone who could locate his car. And finally, he was in luck. A woman had seen the car on her estate in Ballyphehane.

That's certainly a stag party he won't forget in a hurry. "But sure I met the best people and had great craic" he said. And even greater craic after the party!

If Jenny and I park in some unfamiliar location, we always note the road it's in, and maybe some landmark the locals could identify and direct us to.

It was a routine problem in London, where parking spaces are scarce and often we had to park well away from the venue we were attending. Luckily we always found our car afterwards. So not much craic to be found there.

Pic: not Kieran!

Skirts only

You would think that by the year 2025 schoolgirls would be allowed to wear trousers instead of skirts, but there are still quite a few schools that insist on skirts, including the three schools near our house.

Now two Northern Irish students are pushing for a change in uniform rules.

Astrid Knox and Rhea Flood from Enniskillen have launched a campaign calling for girls to be allowed to wear trousers at school.

"You can learn the same in trousers as in skirts" said Rhea.

I don't understand why schools still insist on girls wearing skirts, and not giving them the choice of skirts or trousers. Trousers are obviously more sensible and easier to move around in.

Skirts are sometimes justified on the basis that they're "traditional". Well, bikinis and high heels are traditional, but we don't expect to see them on schoolgirls.

There was no uniform to speak of at my two schools. A shirt, jacket and trousers were all I needed, though my prep school required the official school blazer with its blue and white stripes. It still does (and I noticed in passing that the girls are wearing skirts).

If schools insist on having a uniform (and there are arguments for and against) they might at least require one that's comfortable and practical.

NB: The photo is from an advert, so I assume she was happy for her photo to be circulated.

A spot of ginger

There is still a lot of prejudice against people with ginger hair. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason, simply blind prejudice.

Mainly it just involves teasing and poking fun, but sometimes it can get violent. Some years ago a 14-year-old boy in Lincoln had his right arm broken and his head stamped on by three men who attacked him "just because he had red hair". The three men were later jailed for a combined total of ten years and one month for the attack.

What is it about someone's hair colour that causes such negative reactions? It's not as if ginger-haired people turn out to be murderers or rapists. They just happen to have ginger hair.

There are odd beliefs about red heads. That they have fiery tempers and sharp tongues. That they're highly sexed. That they're Jewish.

In the Middle Ages red heads were thought to be vampires and witches, and it was believed that burning them and scattering the ashes would produce a good harvest.

But there have also been periods when ginger hair was prized. Queen Elizabeth the First was a red head and the hair colour became very fashionable during her reign. How come the fashion didn't last?

Personally I love ginger hair. It makes such a vivid impression compared with blonde and dark hair. Which makes me wonder if the prejudice is based on jealousy. Maybe the bullies would secretly like to have such dramatic hair.

(Thanks to Wikipedia)

So much clutter

Apparently despite all those TV programmes and media articles about decluttering, if anything the problem's getting worse.

Studies show that a third of the possessions in a typical UK home aren't used. Not only that but many people have forgotten they owned the items in the first place.

Garages are used more and more not for housing cars but storing all those items we can't fit into the house.

Jenny and I are pretty ruthless about getting rid of unwanted items, but even so there are still a few surplus items that could swiftly be disposed of. But it's easy to find bogus reasons for hanging onto things.

When I met Jenny I was living in a tiny bedsit, and I simply couldn't buy very much because there was absolutely no storage space. As we moved up the property ladder to bigger flats and then bigger houses, of course we acquired lots of bits and pieces to fill the extra room. So if we got rid of too much there would just be a lot of strange empty spaces.

Our biggest possession is books. We must have at least a thousand but we chuck our very few because we fully intend to re-read most of them. In reality most of them don't get re-read, they just sit there gathering dust or sometimes they're so old they simply fall to pieces.

Some of you will recall that my mother was a chronic hoarder. Luckily I haven't inherited that particular trait.

Hard to say

Social anxiety is a bit of a bugger, isn't it?

There I am at another routine social event, confronted by some total stranger, wondering what the hell to say to her or him. And my mind goes completely blank.

I search my mind for suitable topics. The strange turn in the weather? The political crisis? The price of olive oil? Electric cars?

For some reason no subject seems suitable.

They'll think I'm weird if I talk about something obscure.

But they'll also think I'm weird if I say nothing at all.

I'd love to be one of those natural chatterboxes who can not only effortlessly start a conversation but keep it going for a good half hour.

How do they do it?

My tongue-tied stance comes from my family. Almost every one of them is and was fiercely taciturn. Speaking is only permitted if there's something very important or urgent to say. Otherwise lips are sealed.

So I'm just very out of practice at this chattering lark.

I need one of those ear-phones TV presenters wear, so someone can feed me suitable comments and questions.

Or maybe I just need a badge that says "Ask me an awkward question".

How on earth....

One thing that's mystified me for many many years is how someone is able to kill another person - or even thousands of people - without any regret or remorse or guilt or shame or any of the normal emotions that would prevent most of us from doing something so appalling.

They might even brag about what they're doing as if it's something to be proud of - like Nicholas Prosper, who wanted to commit the biggest school massacre ever (and luckily was stopped in his tracks).

They just don't see their victims as human beings but as worthless objects to be "dealt with" in the name of some sort of personal grudge or grievance or festering hostility. Something has obviously gone horribly wrong in their upbringing.

I couldn't possibly injure another person, let alone kill them. I couldn't possibly do something with such horrendous consequences both for me and for the other person - no to mention for their family and friends. How could I possibly justify my action? Likewise I couldn't bring myself to commit suicide.

As for those individuals who're happy to start wars and kill thousands or even millions of people - I can't imagine how they manage to sleep at night, how they're able to continue with their duties as if nothing unusual is happening.

It just stupefies me. The mental state of someone who can do such things is so far removed from my own mental state that the gap is unbridgeable. I can't even begin to understand what's going through their mind. Can anyone?

One thing it makes very clear - you can never know what's going on in someone else's head. Maybe something wonderful. Or maybe something utterly hideous.