Bullies ignored

Tom Daley, the 14 year old diver due to compete in the 2012 Olympics, has been bullied so badly at school that he may have to move to another school.

He has been relentlessly taunted by the other pupils, who have called him names, thrown things at him, made him look stupid, and threatened to break his legs.

The Principal of the Plymouth school has tried to end the bullying, but it seems she hasn't tried very hard. She says some pupils have been "sanctioned" but still the bullying has continued.

Apart from wondering why the other pupils are so jealous of his success and so mean-spirited, I have to ask yet again why schools are so hopeless at dealing with bullying problems.

Time after time pupils are severely bullied but school staff are unable or unwilling to stop it. All too often they seem to take the attitude that the victims should simply "stand up for themselves". So why is the victim being blamed and not the bullies?

There are regular instances of bullied pupils killing themselves but still those in authority take only half-hearted action, or none at all.

I was bullied myself for four years at boarding school and it was never stopped. Many people must have known what was happening but they simply turned a blind eye to it or thought "Ah well, boys will be boys".

Bullying is still regarded by many as just a routine part of our culture and social life, something so deep-rooted and "inevitable" that you can't do anything about it. I think that's a shockingly fatalistic and defeatist stance.

If someone is persistently bullied over a long period, the psychological consequences can be severely damaging and, if not properly dealt with, can last a lifetime. When are schools going to take their pupils' emotional well-being more seriously?

PS: Tom has been offered a full scholarship by the privately-run Plymouth College (former pupils: Dawn French and Michael Foot). His parents are discussing the offer.

Photo: Tom Daley

Men in suits

Why is it that men in positions of authority are always expected to wear suits? Do we really believe they're more knowledgeable and responsible if they're wearing a matching jacket and pants, usually rumpled and ill-fitting, usually from a cut-price chain store?

I'm forever bemused by those line-ups of politicians, every one of them in their obligatory suits, except for the more informally dressed women. The chance of their all being honest, principled and conscientious is practically zero, yet there they are in their mandatory uniforms, trying to convince us otherwise.

Like most people, I imagine, I judge others by what they say and do, not by whether they're wearing a suit or some kind of official dress. I would draw the line at visible unkemptness, but why should casual clothing make me suddenly doubt someone's ability to draw up a will or give me a bank account or sell me insurance?

Even male newsreaders wear suits, as if an earthquake will turn out to be a giant hoax if they give us the news wearing a T shirt and chinos. Even hotel receptionists wear suits, as if that will magically turn a scruffy flea-box into a de-luxe, penthouse suite. Who are they kidding?

I'm proud to say I've only possessed one suit in my entire life, strictly for the more pompous occasions when I was a local journalist. I just don't see the point. They obliterate your true identity and turn you into a featureless clone.

I envy women's freedom to dress more flexibly, in clothes that reflect their personality and are much more fun. The male suit is a curious anachronism that should be consigned to history.

Whistleblower's error

How tragic that a whistleblowing nurse who exposed the ill treatment of elderly patients has been struck off the nursing register for misconduct.

In a TV film, she showed patients at a Brighton hospital not getting help with eating, afraid to ask to go to the toilet, and screaming with agony without pain relief.

I say the outcome is tragic rather than outrageous because unfortunately the nurse, 58 year old Margaret Haywood, spoilt her case by not getting the patients' consent before she secretly filmed them.

That's why the Nursing and Midwifery Council decided, despite her shocking revelations about standards of care, to strike her off for misconduct.

Clearly if patients are going to be filmed they need to be asked for permission and told what the film will be about. They might well have eagerly consented, but she never asked.

What I would like to know however is, were the patients asked after the film was shown, whether they consented to appearing? If they did, then surely the NMC's decision is unnecessarily draconian and vindictive. The son of patient Hilda Burnham, who has now died, says he has no problem with the filming and has called for Ms Haywood's reinstatement.

The NMC also said she could have taken other actions to address the failings rather than making a TV film. But we all know what happens when you complain "through the usual channels". Often the complaint is ignored or trivialised and the organisation claims everything is just fine. In fact she did report the failings to hospital managers but nothing was done.

It's tragic indeed that someone who does care about how patients are treated is no longer able to nurse and will have to take a quite different job.

PS: I've now read several times that permission to use footage was given by either patients or relatives after filming and before the TV programme. In which case the NMC should reconsider their decision.

Margy was the subject of the Panorama TV programme on April 27 2009. Her absolute dedication to the best possible patient care was clear to see, but the NMC obviously took no account of that. She is now unemployed with big debts she can't pay off.

Photo: Margaret Haywood
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A woman in the West Midlands has been forced to put T shirts on her naked garden gnomes after a neighbour complained they were not fit for her young children to look at. The gnomes' owner says the three gnomes (one male, two female) have been there for 15 years without causing offence and her own grandchildren love them. Nowt so queer as folk.

Health bribes

Would you give up an unhealthy habit if you were paid to do so? That's what the NHS believes, and they're running some trials to see if the lure of cash will persuade people to give up smoking or lose weight.

In Kent fatties are being offered £425 to slim down by 50 pounds and keep it off for six months. Pregnant women in Essex can get £100 in food vouchers if they give up smoking for a year.

The idea is that a financial incentive will have more effect on people than merely telling them they're damaging their health - or their child's health. We're all tempted by a bit of filthy lucre.

I very much doubt if this is the case. Unhealthy habits are so deeply engrained, so much a part of your whole personality and even your social life, that I can't see money being persuasive for very long. For a month or two maybe but not permanently.

If I was a couch potato and I was offered some cash to take regular exercise, would I succumb? I might do for a while, but sooner or later the familiar mindset would take over and I'd think "God, this walking business is boring. Plodding around looking at grass and trees. I'd rather be watching a good movie." And that would be that.

In fact research has already shown that paying people not to smoke only works as long as the money's being paid. The same is true of weight loss. So I'm not sure why the NHS is pursuing what seems to be a failed idea.

It could be expensive too. If they paid every heavy drinker to cut down on alcohol, the bill would be ruinous. And suppose the boozers just spent the money on fags instead?

At the end of the day, the only thing that promotes good health is healthy role models. Perhaps some of those gluttonous, overweight politicians could show us the way?

Art denied

If a work of art is impressive, does it really matter that it was created by a child sex killer? Does a serious character defect invalidate everything else the person does?

London's Royal Festival Hall has been forced to stop exhibiting a sculpture by Colin Pitchfork, currently in jail for raping and killing two 15 year old girls.

The mother of one of the girls fears that such positive acknowledgement of his creative skills might lead to his 30 year sentence being reduced. But surely he will only be released early if he is considered no longer a danger to other people, and his artistic talents will be irrelevant?

I can't see how offenders can ever be rehabilitated if their offences mean they can never be given credit for anything they do, however mature or responsible or inspirational. They have no incentive to better themselves or atone for what they did.

Many brilliant works of art, including literature and music, would be lost to us if we rejected them because of the creator's personal vices. Anything by an alcoholic, drug addict, wife-beater, homophobe, racist or womaniser would have to be thrown out for a start.

Writing off a person's entire life with no attempt to distinguish between good and bad is absurd and blinkered. Even the most barbaric historic figures have had their virtues along with the horrors.

I read that many of the original entries for the Oxford English Dictionary were submitted by a murderer, Dr W C Minor. Should we remove all these entries because of his criminal record? The idea would be laughable.

Photo: "Bringing Music To Life" by Colin Pitchfork.

Alphabet soup: B

Number two in the award-winning, ground-breaking series "Nick As Alphabet". B amazed. B very amazed....

Backbiting: Not my thing. I seldom attack people behind their back, unless they've attacked me first.

Bibliophile: I've always been a keen (but slow) reader. Which is probably why I have such a wild imagination.

Boozer: Absolutely not. A few colossal hangovers in my early twenties were enough to make me a very light drinker.

Bruxism: Teeth-grinding. Never been prone to that. I used to chew my lower lip though.

Butcher: I never set foot in one, being a vegetarian. But as a kid, I was fascinated by the mincing machines.

Bon viveur: Sort of. I enjoy life and I appreciate quality and good taste. But I'm not a carefree, over-the-top partygoer.

Baby boomer: Yes, I'm one of the generation that's supposed to have screwed everything up for the young. Not me. I opposed all the backward steps. But what influence do I have?

Beard: In the sixties I had a luxuriant Lennon-type beard. But it didn't survive my androgynous inclinations.

Big-head: No way. I'm very modest about my (fairly limited) achievements and I have no conspicuous talents to shout about.

Bigot: I really dislike bigots and anyone who prefers brainless prejudice to seeing the world with an open mind and open heart.

Boarder: My five years at boarding school were pretty miserable. I was constantly bullied and there was a rigid daily routine.

Buddhism: Half religion, half philosophy, it stresses self-determination and non-material values and has no God. Fine by me.

Bleeding heart: Definitely not. I'm always sympathetic to the underdog but I'm no softie and I'm always wary of hard luck stories.

Brawn: Don't have any. I'm an effete intellectual with a feeble physique that intimidates nobody.

Blow-in: An immigrant. I blew into Belfast nine years ago but for the locals I'll always be a foreigner, so I will.

Gimmee chocolate

It's not all doom and gloom and businesses going to the wall. Like sex toys, luxury chocolates are enjoying a sales boom as people look for little treats and put that long-haul holiday on ice.

London's now said to be the chocolate capital of the world, full of famous names like Rococo, Prestat and William Curley. Everyone's snapping up their truffles, pralines and fondants as if there's no tomorrow.

There's even a wine-type vocabulary developing to enhance your taste experience. As William Curley puts it "Good chocolate always has length. If there's an immediate burst and then it dies on you, it isn't made with the best beans."

Always has length? Well, I must say I prefer six inches of chocolate to one inch. A richer sensation in every way. Size definitely matters, I say.

My usual comment of "Good stuff, that" is clearly hopelessly vulgar and proletarian. I should of course be remarking on the superior width and depth and overall dimensions of truffle flavour. While casually running my tape measure over it, naturally.

Not that I eat chocolate for pure hedonistic ecstasy, needless to say. I eat it solely for the health benefits of lower blood pressure, mood enhancement, reduced cholesterol and increased longevity. A large bar of Toblerone is obviously reducing the burden on the hard-pressed NHS.

And how lucky that we humans can enjoy a taste paradise animals can't. Apparently chocolate is toxic to animals because they find it hard to digest the substance theobromine. They could suffer seizures or even death. Cats and dogs included. So keep that king-size Mars Bar well away from Fido.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Thorntons for some essential medical supplies. Gift-wrapped of course.
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And now the journos are getting all excited about Michelle Obama wearing Dusty Springfield-style false eyelashes. How much more of this tripe?

Street smarting

I'm finding Google Street View incredibly useful for checking out a particular area we might move to. But some folk are complaining that it's invading their privacy and encouraging crime.

Angry residents of Broughton in Buckinghamshire formed a human chain to stop the Google camera-car driving through their village.

Paul Jacobs objected that his house was being photographed without his permission, and that pictures would help burglars to identify likely houses. The village had had three burglaries in the last six weeks, he said.

Oh, come now. What would be the harm in his house being publicly viewable? You couldn't see inside it, and you couldn't see the street as it is right now because it's a one-off image.

The likelihood of a burglar scanning his particular village, out of the countless thousands of villages across the country, is minute. In any case, a burglar could drive around the village and check it out that way.

All Mr Jacobs has achieved is precisely to publicise his village, which otherwise we would never have heard of.

I think Street View is fabulous. I can see if an area is smart or scruffy, leafy or built-up, quiet or busy. I can see if there are any local shops or services. That saves me all the trouble of physically visiting the neighbourhood and walking around it to get the same information. Surely that's a brilliant innovation?

Come on, Mr Jacobs, stop being so paranoid and let Google do their stuff. You know you want to really.

(Oh and before you ask - yes, our house IS on Street View. Fortunately I wasn't outside doing anything scandalous at the time)

Note to burglars: Broughton is just outside the town of Aylesbury, easily accessible from several major roads. What are you waiting for?
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Isn't it depressing that the media's only interest in Michelle Obama's British visit is the clothes she's wearing and whether they're more glamorous than Carla's? Excuse me, she was actually DOING a few things....

Nosy bosses

How much prying into your private life is an employer entitled to do in the name of protecting their reputation? How far can they go before you tell them to mind their own business?

Some employers routinely monitor their workers' drinking, smoking and drug use, check their criminal records, vet their emails and favoured websites, or ban controversial activities like political protests. Is all this personal surveillance really justified?

I suspect a lot of this nosiness is just a way of showing who's boss and has little to with the firm's reputation.

I shouldn't think their customers care a jot who has a cocaine habit or who wants to smash capitalism as long as they do their job properly.

But this very week a teacher in Cambridge was reprimanded by her Principal for posing in her underwear on a website. She had jeopardised the school's reputation, he said, and acted inappropriately. He ordered the immediate removal of the photos from the website and was consulting his superiors about further action.

Do the pupils or parents really think these risqué photos have affected her teaching? I doubt it. More likely, they were just intrigued and amused.

Of course some personal monitoring is necessary. Making sure that anyone working with children has no history of child abuse is important. Likewise ensuring that pilots aren't drunk in the cockpit. But beyond these basic safeguards, your private life should be your concern and nobody else's.

Objecting to employees who wear crosses, wear earrings, sport tattoos, or dye their hair a strange colour, is ridiculous. All those sartorially-correct bankers still managed to screw up the economy big-time. Maybe a few purple-haired, multi-pierced ones would have done a better job?

If you ask me, the people who really deserve close scrutiny are not ordinary employees but all those sneaky politicians busy lining their pockets at our expense. As far as they're concerned, the more prying the better.

Question: Would it be equally "inappropriate" if the teacher had posted her holiday snaps, lying on the beach in her bikini? Would it be inappropriate that a pupil might have seen her semi-naked on the sand? Someone's seriously over-reacting here.

Home truths

Why is moving house such a messy and frustrating business? We were all set to move to what looked like a lovely house a few streets away, until the surveyor pointed out rather too many faults and defects for our liking.

The owners offered to put right most of the defects at their own expense, but we still weren't happy about the general condition of the house and spent several weeks asking them awkward questions and wondering whether to pull out or not.

Today we went back to the house and took a really searching look at it, only to find even more flaws that the surveyor hadn't noticed. So we reluctantly gave up on buying it and we're house-hunting once again.

Moving is always a fraught business one way or another. When we moved to Belfast from London, the woman buying our flat (who was from Belfast, funnily enough) kept procrastinating for so long we wondered if she was really serious about buying. We practically had to force her to go ahead at gunpoint.

When we moved into that flat, having spent virtually our last penny on it, we immediately discovered that our neighbours downstairs were totally anti-social and held all-night parties several times a week. It took us nine months to get them out, Environmental Health having taken them to court.

The very first flat we bought in London turned out to be badly insulated and freezing cold because the heating system was inadequate. In the depths of winter we would get ice and rivers of condensation on the windows. We were mighty relieved to get into somewhere warmer.

So my advice is - don't move at all unless there's some really big benefit at the end of all that upheaval. The problems are enough to give you a few grey hairs and sleepless nights. If you like where you're living - just stay put and enjoy.

PS: We've had a furious email from one of the house's owners, berating us for pulling out. I hope I don't bump into him on the street, he might give me a kicking....

Male loyalty

I'm sometimes asked why I'm not more loyal to men, and why I so often defend the opposite sex when a man is under attack.

Well, I can only ask why I should defend a man simply because he's the same sex as me, even if he's behaving badly. I'll support a man if I think he's right, if I think he's being unfairly pilloried over something, but not otherwise. Why should I condone misconduct?

Nobody would expect me to defend people on the basis that they're also six foot, or in their sixties, or thin, or short-sighted, so why is being male any different? Why should we have anything in common apart from our reproductive organs?

So when I see a man being blatantly insulting to a woman, or getting some perk a woman isn't getting, I'm baffled when people expect me to root for the man and give the woman the brush-off. We blokes should stick together, I'm told. Mustn't let the side down. Says who?

It's exactly this kind of blind loyalty that perpetuates male mistreatment of women, that permits rape and domestic violence and stunted lives. Instead of speaking out, instead of demanding justice, men stay silent and let it all continue.

After all, women are always saying that there's not much loyalty between women, that unlike men they don't feel obliged to stick up for each other regardless. In fact women can bitch something rotten about other women on the flimsiest of grounds - a short skirt, too much cleavage, a grimy kitchen, a dented car. No feelings are spared. At least men are more forgiving about each other's petty failings.

But if I'm expected to forgive a drunken lout forcing himself on some unsuspecting women who invited him in for coffee, no way. Tarring and feathering would be more like it.

Thanks to Thriftcriminal (wherever he's got to) for the idea.

Cars and bras

Are women really shallower than men? A Welsh academic says yes - because they prefer a handsome man in a £70,000 Bentley to the same man in a clapped-out Ford Fiesta.

Dr Michael Dunn of the University of Wales Institute in Cardiff has done a survey of male and female reactions to the opposite sex and cars.

He found women generally opted for the man in the expensive car, whereas men were unimpressed by a flashy car and were only interested in the woman's looks.

According to Dr Dunn, this showed women were shallower than men because their heads were turned by a bit of high-powered machinery, while the men put the person first.

Well, excuse me, Dr Dunn, but I would turn that shallow argument inside out and say that makes men the superficial ones because they value mere physical appearance over what's inside the package. All they really care about is glossy hair and big tits.

Women on the other hand are more sensible because they look at a man's personal capabilities - including the ability to earn money and get on in life. Signs of self-confidence and success are more important than a firm jaw line and melting blue eyes.

Of course, speaking as a man who once owned an ageing Ford Fiesta, we do have a certain appeal to the more discerning female. There's a distinctive quality that money simply can't buy. Nevertheless, it's still true that a man's car might say more about him than the shape of his nose.

Dr Dunn also concludes that a man who owns an expensive car is seen as more likely to rear healthy offspring. Come again? How does that work exactly? Not the hoary old cliché about cars proving virility, surely? Dr Dunn, I have some advice for you. When you're in a hole - stop digging.
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I can't stop listening to: "Extraordinary Machine" by Fiona Apple

Burden of youth

I just don't know how today's youngsters manage to make their way in the world, with one burden after another being thrown at them.

Now British universities want to more than double tuition fees to £6,500 "to protect teaching standards". If they get their way, the average graduate debt could go up from £17,500 to £32,000.

As a result of acquiring skills that will benefit not just themselves but the whole society, they're stuck with a massive debt that could take years to pay off - if they can even find a job with a decent salary.

How lucky I was as an undergraduate to have all my expenses paid for me - not just tuition fees but subsistence costs and even travel costs from London to Buckinghamshire where I was studying. And I had no need to jeopardise my studies by taking a paid job.

Then if these debt-laden twenty somethings want to buy a flat or a house, they have to find further unbelievable sums of money, including the huge deposit that mortgage lenders now require.

If they also want children, more headaches. When I was young and relatives often lived close by, they helped with childcare and domestic chores and made life a lot easier for parents. Now new parents frequently have to fend for themselves and the extra burden takes its toll.

I look at youngsters grappling with all these modern pressures and I wonder how on earth they manage to survive without going under. Certainly bosses have little sympathy, and just expect their employees' difficult private lives not to affect their work.

I can only admire the resilience and determination that keeps young people going and set on getting what they want out of life, despite all the obstacles and boobytraps. I'm just glad I'm 62 and not 22 right now.

Veronica loses it

As usual, my dear friend Veronica, the supermodel, has flown in for my birthday*, bringing exotic gifts and scandalous gossip.

Once again her luggage went missing at Heathrow, and she was hopping mad. "My Manolo Blahniks are gone, and my divine Gucci handbag. Not to mention my Rampant Rabbit. They're probably in the hands of some Mumbai slum-dweller."

"But sweetie, you're always saying you want to help the poor. Now you have. I bet your Rampant Rabbit is giving someone enormous pleasure at this very moment."

"Huh" she snorted. "Why don't they just get off their bums and make another blockbuster like Slumdog Millionaire? They should stop wallowing in poverty."

Sometimes V is so politically incorrect, it's excruciating. I thought of showing her the door, but I was simply dying to hear all that celebrity gossip. She goes to the same gym as Madonna, so she knows absolutely everything.

"Well, happy six-two, you old rascal" she said, handing me a huge beribboned package. Inside was a giant carton of Viagra. She kissed me extravagantly and whispered in my ear "That should keep you going all night, lover boy."

"You're too good to me, sweetie I said. "You know just what an old man needs."

"Of course I do. I'll tell you what I need, a new chauffeur. Sam's taking too many liberties. He can't keep his hands on the steering wheel. And he's gabbing to the tabloids."

"Poor you. Just get rid of him."

"I can't. Then he'll tell the tabloids every f***ing thing. Including the business with Amy and Kylie."

"Oh God, that must never come out. How about a tragic accident?"

"Good idea. Talking of tragic accidents, don't you dare get me pregnant again."

"Shush, I'm meant to have heroically fought off your advances umpteen times."

"Of course you have, my darling."

Photo of Veronica Trinket courtesy of Trinket Offshore Investments

* March 20

Dummy run

Airline pilots train on simulators, one reason why flying is so safe. Surgeons hardly ever train on simulators, one reason why a hospital patient has a 1 in 300 chance of dying or being seriously harmed.

No wonder I'd have to be dragged kicking and screaming into a hospital if the need arose. That statistic is seriously scary. I'd probably have a higher chance of survival in crocodile creek.

Britain's Chief Medical Officer says that if all surgeons trained on simulators, or plastic dummies, there would be a big drop in the number of mistakes and mishaps, and surgical expertise would be greatly improved.

It would avoid cases like Elaine Bromley, who suffered irreversible brain damage during a minor operation because doctors weren't sure how to do a tracheotomy (an incision in the windpipe).

Airline pilots do regular simulator training to help them deal with emergencies. That's why a plane can be successfully landed on New York's Hudson River by an ice-cool pilot who knows exactly what he's doing.

Apparently Israel leads the world in training surgeons and health workers on simulators. They use sophisticated dummies that can bleed, breathe, be anaesthetised, be resuscitated, and show tell-tale medical signs.

If they're so beneficial and they could reduce the shocking toll of medical cock-ups, why on earth aren't Britain's surgeons making more use of them? Perhaps when people go into hospital, they should ask if their surgeon's been trained on a simulator. If not - find one who has.
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The abysmal standard of patient care at Stafford Hospital in England, which has caused up to 1200 unnecessary deaths, is quite shocking. It seems the hospital management was more interested in meeting performance targets than in looking after its patients. Thirsty patients were drinking out of flower vases and others were screaming in agony for lack of pain relief. Unbelievable.

Mother and son

Jenny and I have spent a lot of time discussing the Julie Myerson book and whether she was right to tell the world about her poor relationship with her son.

It makes me think of my own teenage relationship with my father - a very upsetting one - and how I would have felt if he had written a book about me. Without doubt I would have been incandescent.

I was angry enough with him as it was. Like Julie Myerson, he threw me out of the house because he could no longer cope with what he saw as my anti-social and inconsiderate behaviour.

As far as I was concerned, I was just a normal rebellious teenager, forming my own views, following my own interests, and no longer doing and saying what he expected, i.e. being a replica of him.

I would come home in the early hours and disturb him, I would invite round friends he considered disreputable and degenerate, I would engage him in long political arguments he saw as naive and absurd. He finally decided "enough was enough" and told me to leave. I was 22 at the time.

Yes, maybe I WAS inconsiderate and selfish, as he said. But I was furious that he was so unloving, so intolerant, so lacking in understanding, so ruthless, so high-handed. He was treating me not as his son but like some wayward lodger who had breached the tenancy agreement.

Our relationship continued to be stormy and distant for many years, right up to his death in 1988. It was bad enough that he wrote me hateful letters attacking everything about me and dismissing me as immature and irresponsible.

If he had actually put all his one-sided and heartless views into a book for thousands of complete strangers to read, I would have gone through the roof. I would have retaliated in any way I could to get my own back. I imagine Julie Myerson's son Jake must feel something similar.

She defends her book by saying bad relationships should be talked about and not hidden to preserve the image of a "happy family". So, talk about them to friends, relatives, therapists, vicars, whoever. But why is it necessary to vilify your son to the whole world?

Photo: Julie Myerson
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I can't stop listening to: "Keep 'Er Lit" by Cara Robinson

Alphabet soup: A

I'm not going to comment on the dissident republicans and their deranged shootings. Too much has been said already, to the point that tourists are starting to wonder if it's still safe to come here (well, of course it is). So I'm going to boil up some alphabet soup instead:

Abstract art: I love it, the more abstract the better. I adore Miro, Klee, Rothko, Howard Hodgkin, Bridget Riley and Fiona Rae.

Acupuncture: Lots of people swear by it but I've never tried it. Maybe because I've never been in such pain that I'll try anything.

Affair: I've never had one, and that's the honest truth. No woman has ever been tempting enough for me to betray my partner.

Aerobics: I take a brisk walk most days. I mow the lawn and trim the hedges. I climb the Mourne Mountains in the summer. But I would be bored stiff at a gym or exercise class.

Akasha: A supposed etheric field in which past events are imprinted. I don't believe in it. I don't believe I'll be reincarnated as a beetle, either.

Ale: Can't stand the stuff. I like cider though. But a couple of glasses is enough, alcohol and I don't really see eye to eye.

Also-ran: The story of my life. Can't say I've ever been exceptional at anything, except smart-ass remarks on subjects I know nothing about.

Ambulance: Hope I never need one. I dread having to go into hospital, with all the medical cock-ups and infections I'd probably come out in a box.

Anorexia: I'm asked occasionally if I've ever suffered from it. Hey, I'm thin but not that thin. There's plenty of flesh on these here bones.

Apotropaic: Having the power to avert evil or bad luck. Perhaps I am, I haven't had too many disasters in my life, in fact I sometimes feel like an innocent abroad, never truly tested.

Autodidact: That's me all right, on a whole range of subjects. My formal education never got further than undergraduacy.

Coming soon: the letter after A. If you all behave yourselves and pay attention....
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Wednesday lunchtime: Jenny and I have just come back from the pro-peace rally outside Belfast City Hall. There were thousands of people there and it was extremely moving. I felt a lot of sadness around me, I guess there must have been many with painful personal memories of the Troubles, thankful that they were now over.

The cruellest cut

If there's one thing that needs to be exposed on International Women's Day (March 8), it's the appalling global toll of female genital mutilation.

It's thought that 2 million girls a year, mainly in Africa, are forced into this degrading and agonising procedure, and have to live with the distressing results for the rest of their lives.

They may be prone to painful intercourse, menstrual problems, infertility and birth complications. Their essential womanhood has been routinely attacked and damaged in what is seen as a totally acceptable cultural practice.

It's not just women who suffer the consequences, it's men too. FGM doubles the risk of a woman dying in childbirth and makes it three to four times more likely she will have a stillborn child.

There are no valid reasons for it whatever, except cultural tradition. It isn't justified on any medical, hygienic, aesthetic or sexual basis. It's driven by pure sadism, cruelty and men's desire to dominate women and keep them under control.

There are many organisations working to stamp out the practice and persuade families and communities that it's a senseless and barbaric custom, but the huge weight of historic observance is hard to shift. Much more pressure is needed from governments and community leaders.

Here in Ireland, Pamela Izevbekhai is still battling to avoid being deported to Nigeria, where her first daughter Elizabeth died after genital mutilation and her other two daughters would be at similar risk. I sincerely hope she's allowed to stay here.
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April 6 2009: The truth of Pamela's story has been challenged. Elizabeth's death certificate is said to be a forgery and some journalists are questioning whether the child even existed. Her original lawyers have withdrawn from her case and replacement lawyers are being sought.

Unsuitable images

How embarrassing it is when some unorthodox image of somebody pops into my mind and I then have to meet them face to face and try not to be distracted by it.

For men of course the obvious example is some inappropriate sexual scenario that imposes itself. Instead of the prim, po-faced work colleague in her sober suit, I find myself imagining a semi-naked siren luring me into her bed.

I try desperately to keep a straight face as the woman in question asks me about income statistics, performance targets or brand awareness. I attempt to push the scurrilous image to the back of my mind and focus instead on office furniture and stationery supplies. Sometimes it works, sometimes it's like trying not to think of ice cream.

Then there's the 'grisly end' fantasy. I'm picturing that noisy neighbour falling under a ten-tonne truck or perishing in a plane crash, and there he is walking down the street towards me. We exchange polite remarks as ever more gruesome finales flood into my mind.

I'm sure my lurid imaginings must be written all over my face, but he shows no sign of it. Unfortunately there's no sign of any ten-tonne truck either.

Sometimes I can't help envisaging someone in their twilight years, stooping and wrinkled, trudging along hesitantly with their zimmer frame. Why I should suddenly conjure up such an unflattering image of someone still in the full flush of youth, I don't know. Certainly they would be horrified if they knew how I was secretly painting them. If they did have a zimmer, they'd clout me with it.

What's really intriguing is that other people must sometimes be hiding equally inappropriate images of me. Somewhere out there some unlikely, innocent-faced person is privately hoping I get stabbed to death in a dark alley. Though at my age, I can't see many people picturing me in a semi-naked bedroom romp.

PS: I fantasise about all sorts of things, but I also find it easy to accept reality. An unusual combination, it seems.

Political disbelief

There are two schools of thought about politicians. One is that they genuinely care about us, they're doing their best for us, they're basically upright, decent people who put in long hours on a gruelling job.

The other view is that, with a few notable exceptions, they're devious, dishonest rogues who're only interested in winning votes, feathering their own nests and clawing their way to high office.

I tend towards the second view, as I've said before. Jenny tends towards the first view (particularly as she spent four years as a local councillor in London and I have to say was an extremely conscientious and hard-working one).

But having lived through umpteen governments from Clement Attlee onwards, and having been constantly disappointed by broken promises, the yawning chasm between rich and poor, shoddy public services, and inability to confront vested interests, it's hard to give any politician the benefit of the doubt.

What makes it worse is that when challenged on their failures, they usually refuse to admit them and maintain everything is going fine, spouting a load of carefully-chosen statistics to prove it. Oh for a few Obama-style politicians with the courage to say honestly and frankly "Yes, I screwed up."

This trail of incompetence and slipperiness is exemplified by the furore over banker Sir Fred Goodwin's £700,000 a year pension at the age of 50. The pension was signed off by government minister Lord Myners, who apparently hadn't consulted any of his colleagues.

Now the whole country wants the pension cancelled, but it's a contractual agreement that can't be touched. And this deal was okayed not by a bunch of elitist Tories but by a minister in a supposedly egalitarian Labour government. It makes me want to weep and beat my chest with utter disbelief.