Unsung heroines (1)

Not many people in Britain know who Gareth Peirce is, but she is one of the most effective human rights lawyers in the country.

Most notably, she got the alleged IRA bombers, the Guildford Four and the Birmingham Six, freed after being in jail for 14 and 16 years respectively.

Her intervention led to Judith Ward, another supposed IRA bomber, getting her conviction quashed. And she won freedom for Frank Johnson after he served 26 years for murder.

She has defended terrorist suspects in the UK and Guantanamo Bay and represented the family of Jean Charles de Menezes, the alleged terrorist shot dead by police in London. In the 1980s she opposed the detention of striking miners.

Now in her sixties, she is a notoriously private person who consistently refuses interviews and publicity and works tirelessly to right miscarriages of justice. She treats those she represents as personal friends and not with the usual professional detachment.

It is said that it was her work as a journalist in the USA during the Civil Rights Movement that created her passion for human rights.

She is absolutely tenacious about her cases and refuses to give up however daunting the legal difficulties. If necessary she works 12 hour days to get at the truth.

Her extreme dedication is astonishing in a profession where lawyers are not always conscientious about their work and may turn up to court knowing little or nothing about their client's case. She finds such behaviour quite unforgivable. If only there were more like her, fewer innocent people would be languishing in jail.

Footnote: In the film about the Guildford Four, 'In the Name of the Father', Gareth Peirce was played by Emma Thompson.

Rape on the rise

The big rise in the number of reported rapes and attempted rapes in Northern Ireland suggests men increasingly think that rape is perfectly acceptable and that it's women's duty to satisfy their sexual impulses.

Either that or women are confident or angry enough to report rapes more frequently and try to bring the rapist to justice.

The number of reported attacks in 2006/7 was 457, a rise of almost 60% in five years. And no doubt this is only the tip of the iceberg, with many more sexual assaults never reported for fear of the shame or the repercussions.

North Belfast MP Nigel Dodds said the figures were "disturbing" and welcomed planned legal changes that would give the victims more faith in the police force and the courts.

The conviction rate of around 3% is still scandalously low and needs to be radically improved. Women are reluctant to press charges if the chance of a conviction is so low.

I have suggested before that one problem is the lack of convincing evidence that the victim resisted her attacker - often because the woman fears resistance will only make the situation worse.

Many women are still reluctant to report rapes in case the police are unsympathetic and gloating - or even refuse to believe the rape occurred. Unfortunately there have been a number of such false claims in the past.

But the ultimate deterrent can only be a fundamental change in male culture so men no longer believe in a god-given right to rape women in the name of casual sexual pleasure (or a show of power) and recognise that such vicious violation of a woman's body is never justified under any circumstances.

That's going to be a tough and uphill task, made harder by the fact that so few people are prepared to challenge men's entrenched sexual arrogance.

Yes, you've seen this photo before. And it still says it all. Resist!

Privacy buff

I like my privacy, I like to keep a few things to myself. I'm not one of those people happy to live in the public gaze and share every intimate detail with others.

There are plenty of things I just don't want to reveal to all and sundry - because they're too embarrassing or distasteful or weird or puzzling or upsetting. I don't want to share the ins and outs of my sex life, the stupid mistakes of my youth, my peculiar obsessions or unsuitable crushes.

If something's embarrassing or upsetting, I don't think it necessarily helps to tell every Tom, Dick and Harriet. It might make it easier to deal with, but it might make it worse and magnify it a hundred times.

But there are loads of people who have no problem baring their souls to the world, or even relish it. I'm always open-mouthed as celebrities, or just ordinary individuals, appear on TV answering the most personal and intrusive questions as if they were nothing unusual, spilling out shocking and painful facts as if they were passing on a recipe.

In a few seconds, the whole country knows they've had three abortions, or used to be a chronic shoplifter, or only enjoy sex if they're bound and gagged. I'm just amazed at the total lack of inhibition, the belief that anything at all is suitable for the public domain, that there is nothing that needs to be held back.

I think some people can only see their actions as normal if they've revealed them to everyone else. They feel it's wrong to keep something secret, as if that makes it somehow odd or shameful. Whether others approve or disapprove doesn't really matter as long as it's out in the open and common knowledge.

The idea of "airing your dirty washing in public" used to fill people with horror as something extremely vulgar and unhelpful, but now it's totally acceptable and even encouraged as healthy openness. But personally I still think some things are better left unsaid.

Irish contradictions

Since many of you are Irish or claim an Irish identity, I thought I should say something about my own view of the Irish.

I must say I find the Irish very contradictory. On the one hand they praise the Irish culture and the Irish way of life and say they wouldn't want to live anywhere else, but then ten seconds later they'll be running the place down and saying Ireland's going to the dogs.

They'll lay into the transport system, the health service, the roads, the cost of housing, materialism, TV programmes, the Catholic church, Dublin Airport. Nothing seems to be safe from a storm of frustrated invective.

The tourist industry gets it in the neck too - the shamrocks, Oirish pubs, the ubiquitous emerald green, silly hats, paddy wagons, leprechauns - it's all a travesty of the real Ireland that only mindless trippers would swallow.

There doesn't seem to be much left that the residents actually enjoy unreservedly. Though if they're pushed to defend their homeland, they'll spend a few minutes waxing lyrical about the music, the literature, the art, traditional values, the craic, the scenery, the sense of community, the friendliness.

But you get the feeling that sometimes that's more a sales pitch than genuine enthusiasm, put on for the benefit of those arrogant Brits who've dismissed their perfect country for so long.

As soon as you're out of earshot, they'll be on again about that waste of space Mary Harney and how she's f**king up the health service. Or that bastard Bertie and his dodgy piles of unexplained cash. I really don't understand the mixed messages. Will the real Ireland please stand up?

Sources: Irish Times, Irish Labour Party, Irish TV (Prime Time, Questions & Answers, The Panel), Irish blogs.
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Update: Re the British government's plan to ban paid sex, a BBC poll found that 52% of respondents thought it should be banned and 65% thought buying sex exploits women. Among 18 to 24 year olds, 65% thought paid sex should be banned.

Accidentally British

It doesn't surprise me in the least that a Facebook test on Britishness showed that the Polish are more British than we are.

Having always found the whole idea of national loyalty idiotic, I find it quite predictable that so many natives haven't a clue how often the Cabinet meets or how many people live in Wales. Who gives a toss anyway?

Apart from the fact that my Britishness is a complete accident, since I had no choice where I was born, surely the important question is not how British you are but how civilised you are - meaning how much you care about fairness, equality and democracy.

What's the point of knowing the Cabinet meets once a week if you're also a narrow-minded bigot who wants all immigrants to be deported and all homosexuals to be castrated? If that's being British, I'd rather not be thought of as British myself, thanks very much.

In fact I've never seen myself as British, there are far too many British traits I'm either indifferent to or hate intensely. At the same time there are many features of other countries that I admire hugely, like Italian cuisine and the Irish lack of a monarchy or honours system.

It makes no sense that I should be loyal to a particular country whose boundary is a mere historical quirk. If things had gone differently, we could just as well be part of France or Spain - or Russia.

And I find it most encouraging that Poles (and also the Finnish, Swedish, Germans and New Zealanders) know more about Britain than we do. It shows how many people are looking beyond the narrow confines of their own countries and seeking inspiration from the cultural diversity of the entire planet.

See also Jenny's post "Me a Nationalist?"

Footnote: I dedicate this 100th post to the one and only Medbh, who has just put up her 1000th post!

Oldie with attitude

Whoopee! I'm glad to see the first legal victory for us Northern Irish oldies under the new anti-ageist law brought in in 2006.

An employment tribunal has concluded that 59 year old Terence McCoy was illegally turned down for a job at a Belfast timber firm.

The advert for two sales jobs sought people with "youthful enthusiasm" and at the interview he was asked age-related questions.

The tribunal decided that but for his age Mr McCoy would "more probably than not" have been selected.

Mr McCoy felt he had been "flung on the scrapheap" despite having considerable experience and knowledge of the timber trade.

Good for him taking a stand against prejudice and not just shrugging it off as "one of those things". Now the company concerned and other companies will think twice before trying the same trick.

Even among the most enlightened people, I think there's still a sneaking suspicion that the over sixties are better off mowing the lawn than doing a paid job and that only twenty somethings have the oomph and drive to make a business successful.

The bleary-eyed young man who plods through the day with a crashing hangover or the miniskirted blonde who spends two hours discussing her boy friends are somehow seen as more employable and their personal failings are conveniently overlooked.

In the age of airbrushed supermodels and botoxed starlets, there's still a lingering belief that anyone with wrinkles and a double chin is past it and best put out to grass. Hopefully a lot more Terence McCoys will challenge this nonsense.

PS: John Lowe, 88, from Witchford in Cambridgeshire, is to star in Prokofiev's ballet The Stone Flower in Ely. He started ballet lessons when he was 79 and says "I think it's a wonderful thing to do and I don't understand why more men don't do it. There's nothing effeminate about it - you have to be incredibly fit to dance."

Bed and bored

Northern Irish couples are almost twice as likely to blame collapsing marriages on affairs as couples in the rest of the UK.

They're also twice as likely to blame boredom, though domestic violence and lack of sex are mentioned a lot less*.

Why so many affairs? Are there really that many or is it just that Northern Irish folk are more likely to know about them because it's such a tight-knit society?

People here are so closely connected through family, work and neighbourhood links that if your spouse is bedding someone else the chances are you'll find out pretty quickly through a mutual friend or workmate. Especially since Northern Irelanders are such avid gossips.

If you want to keep an affair under wraps, you'll have to do it in disguise or in a different country. And steer clear of that travel agent who just happens to be your plumber's cousin.

But what about boredom? Why do so many Northern Irish couples find each other so dull? Perhaps it's all those men whose idea of excitement is a day's fishing. Or all those women whose big thing is scouring the outlet centres for a flattering blouse.

Or maybe it's just that their minds have stopped functioning after another 10 hour working day to pay for the sky-high mortgage on their fashionable Malone apartment?

It's also interesting that although many Northern Irelanders are intensely religious, divine guidance doesn't necessarily stop hubby making out with Fiona from Accounts and upsetting the marital apple cart. Or maybe it was the missis yakking on about the benefits of the Good Book that drove him into Fiona's arms in the first place. God works in mysterious ways....

* A survey by InsideDivorce.com, reported by Relate Northern Ireland.

Why eat meat?

Several times over the Christmas period I was asked why I was a vegetarian, as if not eating meat is the oddity and meat-eating is as natural as breathing.

When I asked my questioners why they ate meat they were dumbfounded. They didn't think it needed any explanation, as if my query was crazy.

But it's a serious question, because actually meat-eating is contradictory in several ways.

Meat-eaters usually say they love animals - they may even have pet cats or dogs. Yet they happily eat animals which have been viciously slaughtered, and reared in the most appalling conditions.

They say they eat meat but in fact only eat 'acceptable' types of meat. They don't eat dogs, cats, horses, guinea pigs, ponies or donkeys. Why do some animals have exempted status?

They say they never eat vegetarian food because it's boring and fit only for namby-pamby wimps, yet they chomp their way through vegetarian staples like bread, cakes, biscuits, dips, peanut butter, cheese and eggs.

They say they're concerned about climate change and the environment, but eat animals which demand huge tracts of land and huge amounts of animal feed and produce huge quantities of greenhouse gases. Going vegetarian is one of the single most effective ways of cutting environmental damage.

Why am I a vegetarian? Because I don't believe in killing animals for food when there are plenty of food sources that don't involve severe pain and suffering for living creatures. What's so odd about that?

See also: On Being a Vegetarian

Ending paid sex

A British government minister wants to bring in a new law stopping men paying for sex. She thinks that's the best way to cut prostitution and sexual trafficking.

Harriet Harman, the Women's Minister, is to visit Sweden with other ministers to find out how a similar scheme works over there.

She says: "Unless you tackle the demand side of human trafficking which is fuelling this trade, we will not be able to protect women from it.

"Do we think it's right in the 21st century that women should be in a sex trade, or do we think it's exploitation and should be banned?"

It's estimated that up to 85% of the approximately 50,000 prostitutes in Britain are foreign, and large numbers of them are brought here illegally.

Many face appalling conditions, violently and brutally treated by the men who've smuggled them into the country and keep them in a state of virtual imprisonment.

I've written about prostitution before, putting the case for banning it and the case for legalising it. It's very difficult to decide which is the best course to follow.

Already Harriet Harman has her critics who don't think banning payment is the way to go. They say all that will do is push the business further underground, which in their opinion is what's happened in Sweden.

Some people favour the opposite approach of totally decriminalising buying and selling sex, as was done in New Zealand.

Others again say the legal position is beside the point, what prostitutes really need is practical help and support to give up prostitution and get into a more dignified and worthwhile occupation.

But it's encouraging that a government minister is concerned enough about the situation to look for new ways of dealing with it and ending the misery and degradation it so often involves.

PS: I'm off to London this afternoon to visit my 85-year-old mum. Back in a few days. I look forward to reading all your comments!

Too much hatred

I find it almost impossible to hate people, to be jealous of them, or to hold grudges. I think I've only actively hated two people in my life, and then only while they actually had something to do with me.

My father was a terrible grudge-holder. He would remember objectionable things I had done indefinitely, and never failed to bring them up when he wanted to get the better of me.

I've known people who could happily rage all day about the umpteen people and things they loathed with a vengeance. Everything seemed to arouse their teeming enmity - work colleagues, flatmates, relatives, overdue buses, stray dogs. I just don't know how they kept up the non-stop vitriol.

But I seldom nurse resentments against people. Partly because it's a terrible waste of emotional energy and partly because I give them the benefit of the doubt. If someone's done something nasty to me, I assume it's not personal but just due to a character quirk or some private difficulty that's upsetting them.

Some people think I'm too charitable and that unpleasantness shouldn't be excused so easily, but I don't like rushing into harsh judgments. I know I'm capable of being unintentionally rude or insensitive myself if I'm under stress or just not thinking properly. Those who live in glass houses....

As for those who conceive festering hatreds for people they've never even met, like celebrities or politicians or civil servants, where does this well of venom come from? Why this desperate need to mentally tear someone to pieces? All that sour, bitter emotion must taint their whole personality.

And I won't even start on all the burning religious hatreds that destroy whole communities and countries and are practically impossible to quench once they let rip. It's frightening how the smallest seed of hatred can rapidly grow into something monstrous and uncontrollable. I'm just glad I'm not prone to this tempting vice.

Random and weird things

The lovely Diane, aka Queen of the Quotes, has challenged me to this meme. I couldn't think of any devious way to refuse, so here goes.

Seven random or weird things about Nick

1. I have only 26 teeth. The other six were removed because my jaws were too small.
2. I once had the same dream as my girlfriend, that we had accidentally left a suitcase behind at a train station.
3. Once when I was a journalist at an official function, I ran into the Queen and her aides, looking for the toilet, and I gave her directions.
4. I'm afraid of the dark, cockroaches, hospitals and confined spaces.
5. As a child I took piano lessons but my piano teacher quit saying I was impossible to teach.
6. I can do a perfect Australian accent.
7. I think Grayson Perry's dresses are adorable. And his pottery is sheer genius.

Sorry, Diane, but I'm not going to pass on the meme. I don't want anyone out there to feel pressured....

Fruit picking hell

Once again the USA, which claims to be the most civilised nation on earth, is proved to be the exact opposite by the Florida fruit-pickers existing in conditions of near-slavery.

A group of them who were held captive and brutalised by their employer for almost a year have just escaped and told their story.

They were living in a lorry on a diet of rice and beans, and paying so much for rent, food and showers they were permanently in debt. They were paid so little for picking tomatoes (45 cents for a 32-pound bucket), they had to pick two and a half tons of them just to get the minimum wage.

If they said they were too sick to work, their employer would beat them and force them to work anyway. They often had to labour in blisteringly hot conditions seven days a week.

These conditions aren't new - they've been going on for decades. Many politicians and public figures have tried to improve the fruit-pickers' lot but they've been resolutely ignored by their employers.

Recently some of the big food chains like McDonalds, KFC and Pizza Hut agreed to pay the pickers more but Burger King is refusing and threatening the whole deal.

The fruit pickers aren't covered by employment law and aren't unionised. But they're now being represented by the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, and 100 church groups have joined the protests.

It seems all the overweight families who demand a constant supply of super-cheap fruit and tomatoes couldn't care less how they're produced, just as long as they get them.

And this is the nation that invades countries all round the world to bring them "civilised values". They should try civilising their own backlands first.

The obsession with Gina

It's easy to get obsessive about the person you love, or even the person you'd like to love but can't have. It's easy to get carried away despite yourself by longing and lust.

Fortunately I've never been obsessed to anti-social extremes. I've never harassed or stalked a woman, or sent unwanted letters or gifts. I've always kept the obsession to myself, and hopefully the women never knew I was so besotted.

But I remember one woman I just couldn't get out of my head - a short, pensive brunette I once worked with*. Everything about Gina mesmerised me - her movements, her speech, her laugh, her hair. I just couldn't ignore her, I was always aware of her, always thinking about her. And of course imagining a sexual relationship.

At least once a week I dreamt of her. Each time it was the same dream. She would be standing in front of a mirror, naked, endlessly brushing her hair, as I dropped ripe strawberries into her mouth. I always woke up as she swallowed the last strawberry.

Needless to say, Gina didn't fancy me in the slightest. To her, I was just another workmate she asked for help or swopped shifts with. She would have been amazed to know how fascinating I found her.

Naturally I would tell myself my obsession was irrational and baseless, that Gina was just an ordinary woman like a hundred others, that I was idealising and airbrushing her, but it made no difference. Still I wanted to drink in every little detail, every little gesture.

The obsession only ended when she left to work somewhere else and I never saw her again. But I've had other obsessions just as intense and unshakeable, for the most unlikely people.

What puzzles me is why one particular person arouses such passion while someone else leaves me indifferent. Is it an unconscious association, is it chemistry, is it some imagined flirtation? I've never got to the bottom of it, and probably never will.

* This was before I met Jenny. But she knows the person I'm referring to!

Photo: For a serious obsession, rose-tinted specs are essential.

Militant models

Many young girls aspire to be models, thinking they have luxurious, glamorous lives. The reality is so gruelling that a group of British models are joining a trade union to fight for better working conditions.

At the moment they're anonymous for fear of jeopardising their careers by speaking out openly. But they include some top household names who've had enough of being exploited.

They complain of long working hours without breaks, compulsory nude shoots, pressure to be ultra-thin, and much lower pay for male models.

They've been having talks with Equity, the union that usually represents actors and performers.

They get little sympathy from model agencies, who tell them if they don't do what's demanded of them, they won't get any more work and there are plenty more pretty bodies where they came from.

I think the idea of unionising models is long overdue. They often get badly treated because they're so keen to be famous faces they'll put up with extreme pressures rather than settle for a more humdrum job.

Some people sneer at them for wanting such an apparently vacuous existence in the first place, but what they do is no more vacuous than many other jobs. How about advertising, cosmetic surgery or car-valeting?

Anyone who works for a living is entitled to decent working conditions, and if they're not getting them that's exactly what trade unions are for - to confront employers and force them to treat their employees like human beings and not cash cows. Free the catwalks!

Update: The London Independent reports today (Dec 17) that trade unions are being deluged with applications from people in unusual jobs like members of the clergy, roadies, sex workers, reality TV stars and club doormen, and membership is rising steadily. Union membership worldwide has gone up by 20% in 20 years. Workers, particularly those not traditionally unionised, are getting increasingly intolerant of poor working conditions and are joining up.

When the cat's away

Well, now that Jenny's away in Canada for a few days, it's all systems go Chez Nick. The wild parties are in full swing, my red-hot mistress is installed in the spare bedroom and the drugs are in plentiful supply.

I'm already exhausted from the non-stop hedonism and self-indulgence. I just haven't done enough of this to build up the necessary stamina and uninhibited abandon. I haven't hung around with enough tearaway celebs lately (of course I'm invited to all their parties but I'm a bit shy so I've missed a few).

The neighbours are already complaining about the noise and disturbance, what with the stretch limos parked all the way up the road, all the glass from the broken windows and the lakes of vomit everywhere. But what the hell, it's only once every six months, why can't the tight-arsed little curtain-twitchers loosen up a little? Jesus, get a life.

The quality of the gossip is first-rate. You wouldn't believe how many secret babies, lovers, drug overdoses, tax dodges and shady business deals I've been privy to. If I got on to the papers, I'd be a rich man. But of course my lips are sealed or my name will be mud and I'll never get invited to Madonna's fiftieth.

If only the paparazzi would restrain themselves a bit, we could really let our hair down. It's a real drag having to rein ourselves in because some cash-hungry snapper is pointing his greasy lens through the front windows. I have to keep the bondage gear and torture equipment well out of sight.

I'm getting through quite a lot of money what with all the booze, the recreational substances and Mick Jagger's private gig. Have you any idea what these people charge? It's a f**king liberty. Isn't his state pension enough?

And the sheer quantity of sexy smalls Ms Bit-On-The-Side goes through is unbelievable. She demands at least half a dozen camisoles a DAY, and even had the cheek to bill me for the new implants. Does she think I'm made of money? I'm not sure how I'm going to explain the eye-popping credit card bill to my dear lady wife.

Still, it'll all have to stop in a few days, and not before time. By then I'll be in a state of total exhaustion, out cold on the shag pile. It's all too much for a sexagenarian, I tell you.

(Some people are spreading vicious rumours that all I'm really doing is cooking chili risottos, reading pretentious books and playing Annie Lennox non-stop. This couldn't be further from the truth. My lawyers have been consulted)

The greatest gesture of love

It must be terrible to see your partner in the throes of a terminal illness, but shooting them dead to end their suffering is astonishing.

That's what Vitangelo Bini did to his 82 year old wife Mara in a hospital ward in Prato, Italy. One newspaper called it "the greatest gesture of love" - il più grande gesto d'amore.

Mara had had Alzheimers for 12 years and Mr Bini had borne most of the burden of looking after her. She was no longer able to recognise her husband or anyone else, and had lost the power of speech.

Mr Bini, unable to see her suffering drag on, shot her three times in front of the other patients and medical staff, and then immediately gave himself up to police.

Over 900,000 Italians are afflicted with the disease, but the Catholic Church won't countenance mercy killing, however dreadful the circumstances.

It must be unbearable to watch your loved one wasting away from some corrosive illness, but not many of us would have the nerve for a mercy killing, never mind shooting.

I like to think that if it came to it, I would help someone die and put them out of their misery, but who knows if I could actually go through with it?

Would I risk other people's condemnation and hostility to have the courage of my convictions? It must be an excruciating decision to make.

But once the quality of life someone is accustomed to has all but drained away, and they've become little more than a helpless vegetable, how can it be right to let them linger on like that indefinitely?

Nudity

I've never had any problem with personal nudity. I've never been so embarrassed by my body that I'm desperate to conceal it.

It's not a particularly attractive body, just a common-or-garden male body with the usual bits and pieces. But when occasion has demanded, I've been quite willing to strip off and reveal all.

When I first joined the Boy Scouts, the other boys wanted to have a good look at me naked so I obliged. They were apparently satisfied enough with my accessories not to break into wild guffaws.

At boarding school the boys used to swim nude every morning and I always joined them without a qualm. Likewise after games I would happily undress to take a shower the same as the others. And no, despite all the stereotypes, there was no homosexuality whatever (I can't recall whether I was relieved or disappointed by that discovery).

I was never bothered about exposing my run-of-the-mill body to women. After all, how many women have a perfect body themselves? I always assumed that what we did was more important than whether I had the ideal physique.

Nor am I phased by nudists. What's the big deal about groups of people going naked? As long as it's discreet and within sensible limits, I don't see the problem. Though I've never been tempted to join in. The only two nudist beaches I've ever stumbled on, in Sydney and Vancouver, were both for gays, so I thought it advisable to keep my clothes on.

But really, why are people so hung-up about nudity? It's just the human body after all, just the packaging for what we are. Why be ashamed of it?

(Thinks: Perhaps I could interest a few other oldies in a male version of Calendar Girls??)

Angry young man

Some cheeky 26 year old* has written to the London Independent blaming us oldies for all the social backward steps that are now blighting young people's lives.

Like tuition fees at universities. Like the reduced value of pensions. Like cuts in welfare benefits. Like fewer rights for employees.

Well, excuse me, but I never agreed with any of the changes and I had nothing to do with their introduction. I'm not one of those people who enjoy my privileges and then pull up the drawbridge so the next generation don't get them.

So please don't tar us all with the same brush. A lot of spineless, selfish individuals lined up behind Mrs Thatcher and said nothing as she chipped away at the welfare benefits hard won by centuries of trade union and political militancy. But I wasn't one of them. Not in my name, as they say.

I think it's outrageous that young graduates are saddled with huge debts they'll spend years repaying. All education should be free as it's the essential tool to create a better society and a higher quality of life.

But I could ask what exactly these angry twenty somethings are doing to reverse the measures they object to? I don't see many of them marching on the streets or joining political parties or trade unions - as so many of us oldies did in our youth. Don't complain to me, complain to the government ministers who have the power to restore more enlightened policies.

And it's not just your pensions that are going down the Swanee, it's mine as well. Believe me, I feel your pain. So if you want to protest, I'm right behind you. Just name the day....

* Sebastian Crankshaw. With a name like that, he just has to be an upper-class twit....

Affair assumption

At my grand old age, people must assume I've had several affairs, that at some time or another I must have been carrying on behind Jenny's back. But I never have.

It's partly because I'm just not devious or cunning enough to keep an affair secret. It's partly because I never had the energy to keep two women on the go at once. And it's partly because I've never been besotted enough with another woman to want a serious fling. I'm obviously an engrained monogamist.

Well, it's difficult enough keeping one relationship going, if you're serious about making it work and giving the other person the tender loving care they expect.

How people manage to do that twice over I don't know. I suspect they don't, that one or the other partner always gets short shrift, marginalised and neglected and frustrated.

But I'm amazed how affairs can be kept secret for so long. You hear of affairs that lasted five or ten years without the husband or wife ever knowing. How can anyone really close to their partner not pick up on suspicious behaviour pretty early on?

I'm sure I couldn't have had an affair for more than a week without leaving Jenny some fatal clue - a mysterious phone message or an unfamiliar fragrance or a dubious-sounding 'engagement'. I expect my face alone would give me away, as I'm not good at hiding my emotions.

Some people actually relish the danger, the frisson of a clandestine mate their regular squeeze is unaware of. But I couldn't stand the stress and strain myself, it would destroy all the pleasure.

No, I'm as clean as a whistle in that respect. Boringly loyal and devoted and dependable. Even though I'm a hopeless rebel in so many other ways.

Junk male

We all have a tendency to hoard stuff we don't really need. But the story of Welshman John Jones is a caution to us all to keep the hoarding instinct under control.

Mr Jones had squirrelled away so much rubbish over 20 years he could only move around his Aberystwyth house through a series of specially built tunnels.

And after he was found dead under bags of rubbish, the coroner concluded he had probably died of asphyxiation, crushed by all the junk.

As it was impossible to remove the body through the solid mass of garbage, he had to be brought out through a window by firefighters.

The rubbish was piled high not just in the house but in the garden shed, the garden and several garages rented from the local council.

Let that be a lesson to all you knick-knack collectors out there. Start clearing it all out before you meet a grisly end.

Hoarding is one of the most common obsessive compulsive disorders, alongside hygiene mania and irrational double checking (like returning home to check the gas is off).

Many sufferers go to great lengths to hide their obsessions for fear of social ridicule and ostracism. Fortunately I've never been one of them, though I do tend to double check things like plane tickets and flight times rather too often.

Mind you, my mum's a bit of a hoarder. But I think she's safe - she hasn't had to build any tunnels yet.