Reluctant adult

A lot of children want desperately to be adults. They find childhood totally frustrating - always being told what to do, prevented from doing things, treated like idiots, not understanding what the grown-ups are talking about.

They passionately want to be adults so they can do what they want, make their own decisions, understand life a bit better, not be constantly watched.

Not me. I can't remember ever yearning to be an adult or chafing under all the parental restrictions. I think I wanted to be a child forever, always looked after and never having any adult worries.

Even though my childhood was far from ideal, with a bad-tempered father and a dreadful boarding school,  I must have concluded that all things considered perpetual childhood would be the ideal state.

Maybe it was because so many of the adults I came across seemed to have numerous worries and burdens and didn't seem very contented with their lot in life. My parents themselves had been on the verge of divorce at one point and other adults had to cope with huge mortgages, nasty bosses, serious illnesses and endless bills. I could stay a child and avoid all those frightening problems.

I didn't see adulthood as a land of opportunity, more as a land of increasing encumbrances and obstacles. The drawbacks seemed to greatly outweigh the benefits. How often did I hear an adult saying how much they enjoyed being an adult? Not often enough for my liking.

Of course now I've been an adult for so long I can better appreciate the benefits and make light of the encumbrances. But I guess there's still a small part of me that thinks childhood was really rather idyllic and why couldn't I have been a self-indulgent, irresponsible teenager a little longer?

High risk

I always wonder what it's like to live with someone in a high risk occupation, or who enjoys high-risk pastimes. Does it terrify them or do they just take it in their stride?

I imagine they must be always scared stiff that their partner will sooner or later have a serious accident and end up either dead or disabled. It would be hard to take it in your stride when there's a very real risk that today might be their last day ever. And if you have children then the possibility of their losing their father is an added worry.

I had a friend once whose husband was a police officer, and I don't think she ever lost her terror of his dying on the job. He worked in a city where acts of violence were common and many police officers had been injured or killed.

The number of high-risk occupations is large. Police, fire fighters, the military, construction, bomb disposal officers, jobs involving hazardous materials, working in a covid ward. Plus the high-risk pastimes like sky-diving, rock-climbing, bungee-jumping and potholing. So there must be many anxious partners out there, trying to suppress their fears and just carry on with their daily life.

Do they try to persuade their partners to do something less risky or do they accept that they love what they do so much they couldn't possibly give it up?

Luckily neither Jenny or I have had high-risk jobs or pastimes. I wonder how I would have coped if Jenny had been a police officer, say. I suspect the answer is not very well. I would have had feverish imaginings of her being caught in some melee involving guns and knives and ruthless criminals. Carrying on with my daily life would have been quite a struggle.

Pic: Israeli police woman

Fleeting glamour

I've changed a lot over the years as I've become more worldly-wise and learnt more about the reality of other people's lives. One thing I realised as I got older is that all those jobs I thought were so glamorous as a kid aren't that glamorous at all. Behind the beguiling facade there's always a lot of hard work and stress and self-doubt.

When I was a kid I used to hanker after seemingly glamorous jobs - brain surgeon, airline pilot, journalist, author, artist, film director, rock musician. They all seemed so exciting, so prestigious, so exotic. Gradually it sank in that the reality was rather different from my imaginings.

Jobs that involve relentless global travel and dreary hotel rooms. Jobs that mean working all hours to finish something. Jobs where the customer is never satisfied. Jobs that attract abuse and hate mail. Jobs requiring scrupulous attention to detail for hours on end. Jobs where you're bullied, patronised or sexually harassed.

Yes, I was a journalist for a few years, but there was little glamour involved. I had to write up such mundane events as golden weddings, church fetes, court hearings or the induction of a new mayor. I had to get quotes from politicians who wanted to keep something under wraps. I had to wait in pouring rain for someone important to emerge from a meeting. Hardly an enviable existence.

There are regular reports of someone in some supposedly glamorous occupation being unable to withstand the pressures - succumbing to drug or alcohol addiction, developing mental disorders or even committing suicide. The glamour can wear off very quickly.

The jobs I did after journalism - bookselling, admin worker - were pretty humdrum. Sometimes I thought, maybe I should be doing something more glamorous? Until I realised all the glamour was an illusion.

Set in our ways?

It's a common complaint among younger folk that we oldies are set in our ways, incapable of being flexible or "keeping up with the times". Being set in your ways is seen as something very negative, something to be avoided at all costs.

Well, suppose we look at it another way. Suppose we say the problem's not being set in your ways but what ways you're set in.

If the ways you're set in happen to be positive and sensible - progressive politics, open-mindedness, generosity, kindness, respect for others, supporting the vulnerable - what's wrong with that? Let's have more of it.

But if the ways you're set in aren't so positive - drunkenness, misogyny, narcissism, bullying - then yes, that's not so attractive and you need to change.

If being set in your ways means having firm principles that are of benefit to yourself and others, surely that can only be welcomed. If the alternative is not having any firm principles but simply following the latest trend or doing and saying anything that's convenient, what good is that?

In any case, whatever our age, the reality is we're all set in our ways. We're just set in different ways. Oldies may believe in good manners and thriftiness, but the young may be equally fixated on their own little habits - clubbing, recreational drugs, alcohol, smart phones. They just don't see it as being set in their ways.

I don't mind admitting I'm very intransigent when it comes to treating other people decently and making our society more egalitarian. I don't see any problem with that. I'm not going to chuck all my entrenched beliefs out of the window just because they're not fashionable right now. I'm set in my ways and happily so.

Just suppose

Now here's an interesting mental exercise. Can you imagine a world without celebrities? Without fame? A world where we're all ordinary, anonymous people and nobody is idolised or given special attention? It's almost impossible because the celebrity syndrome is so pervasive.

Just suppose actors and artists and musicians and sportspeople were simply appreciated and their talents recognised, without their being mobbed and obsessed over, without their being accosted and stared at wherever they went, without screaming media headlines when they got divorced or had a baby or wore a risqué dress.

Just suppose nobody cared where Lady Gaga lived or who she lived with or how wealthy she was or what she was wearing or what was her big break or whether she has fibromyalgia or if she gets stage fright or what is her favourite food or what she finds embarrassing. Just suppose people loved her music but had zero interest in her personal life.

Difficult, isn't it? We're so used to this huge stratum of society called celebrities, who get endless attention and adulation simply because they're talented, who're constantly in the media, whose every trivial utterance is treated as if it's the holy grail, that it's almost impossible to imagine their sudden absence. It's easier to imagine the death of the planet than the absence of celebs.

A celeb-free world is a bit easier to imagine here in Northern Ireland where public figures aren't idolised to the same extent as they are in England. In general they're treated as ordinary folk and if they start acting as if they're someone special they're quickly told that they're "losing the run of themselves".

But just suppose there were no celebs. The paparazzi would be out of a job. And the media would have to find some genuine news stories.

Marriage wreckers

I was revisiting a long-ago post on why marriages collapse. It can happen very easily. All it takes is a total difference of opinion about some pattern of behaviour. What seems quite normal to one of you is baffling and infuriating to the other. Is it about sex? Money? Housework? Politics? Violence? Weirdness?

With Jenny and I, I think the one thing that would absolutely drive us apart is sexism. Jenny has always been a passionate feminist who expects me to do my fair share of the household tasks and treat her with respect and consideration.

If I suddenly became the stereotype bloke, sprawled on the sofa watching Match of the Day and clutching a bottle of beer, while she scuttled round the house with the hoover and changed the bed linen, she wouldn't put up with that for long. I'd be packing my bags and moving out.

Of course there are some strong runners-up as marriage wreckers. Like politics. Jenny and I are both ardent socialists, but if one of us suddenly became a rabid right-winger, banging on about dangerous vaccines and imaginary viruses, that would be pretty terminal.

Like domestic order. We're both minor neat-freaks, wanting everything in its place and a place for everything. If one of us was always messy, never clearing anything up and leaving a trail of clothing and chocolate wrappers and dirty mugs everywhere they went, the other would be driven totally mad.

Like weirdness. We both have our peculiar habits and opinions, but they're all pretty benign - nothing disturbing enough to horrify the other. Nothing to justify a sudden moonlight flit.

And there's the very obvious contender - one of us having an affair. As it happens, neither of us has bowed to temptation, though we may have toyed with the idea on occasion, when someone utterly delicious caught our eye. But apart from anything else, deceit and subterfuge aren't in my nature.

Anyway, Jenny needn't worry too much about an outbreak of sexism.

Match of the Day? I'd rather pluck out my eyeballs.

Assisted dying

I strongly support voluntary euthanasia, or assisted dying. So I was interested to hear that politicians on the island of Jersey have approved the principle of assisted dying. Details of the procedures and safeguards will now be worked up, for a draft law in 2023.

I've read so often of people with terrible terminal illnesses, illnesses that cause constant pain, destroy their quality of life, and impose a huge burden on their partners and family, wanting to die but being unable to do so. The stories are quite heart-breaking.

Those who oppose assisted dying always raise the spectre of unscrupulous relatives wanting to get rid of someone and claim their inheritance, but in other countries where it's legal I gather there's scant evidence of such behaviour.

People can be so desperate to die that they arrange it discreetly with their doctor and family, who cover it up by presenting the death as due to natural causes. Or they travel to the Dignitas centre in Switzerland, which enables assisted dying for members of the organisation.

I would hate to be suffering from some appalling terminal illness but be unable to end the misery. I would want to finish with my suffering at the earliest opportunity. I don't see anything commendable about enduring such hardship until the bitter end - which could be decades away.

I wouldn't want Jenny to have to put the rest of her life on hold in order to care for me, with all the messy and distasteful tasks that would involve. Why should she have to make such a sacrifice?

(Assisted dying may in fact be legalised in the rest of the UK. The Assisted Dying bill is currently progressing through parliament, but I've no idea when it would become law. The bill is modelled on legislation that has been in place in Oregon, USA, for 23 years, since adopted by nine other American states plus the District of Columbia, five Australian states and New Zealand)

Gender dissenters

I hate gender roles. They put so many arbitrary limits on what you can and can't do. Women should be this and this. Men should be this and this. And if you do something that doesn't fit your allotted gender role, you can get a very frosty reception.

Which is why I really admire those people who deliberately flout their designated role and are prepared to put up with all the negative responses, however upsetting and infuriating.

Like the artist Grayson Perry, who revels in his alter ego Claire, with her flamboyant dresses and bizarre hairdos. Of course he can get away with it because he's a phenomenally successful artist, but even so.

Like Samira Ahmed, who took the BBC to an employment tribunal in a dispute over equal pay, and won.

Like the Pakistani girl Malala Yousafzai, who from the age of 11 campaigned for the right of girls to go to school.

Like Sally Ride, who in 1983 became the first American woman in space when she rode the space shuttle Challenger.

Like women who sport cropped hair, a suit and tie, and chunky footwear. They know the ignorant will assume they're lesbian or "wasting their femininity" but that doesn't put them off.

Like all the women who're determined to pursue careers traditionally reserved for men, and all the men who're happy to be house-husbands.

But these unabashed gender benders are still thin on the ground. The reality is that gender roles are very strictly enforced and you need a thick skin and a lot of bravery to ignore them.

It would be fun if I could wear a dress occasionally, but I don't think east Belfast is quite ready for such wayward behaviour. I'll have to leave it to the celebs and the unrepentant social mavericks.

Worldly wise

One big thing that's changed as I get older is that my passionate youthful idealism has given way to a more realistic view of the world and the realisation that things are a lot more complicated and a lot harder to change than the teenage me naively assumed.

How difficult could it be, I thought, to end poverty or homelessness or sexism or warmongering? Surely if enough people wanted to banish these things, it could be done? Surely if enough people were sufficiently horrified and sickened by what other people were forced to endure, then things would change?

I was forever going to rallies, going to sit-ins, signing petitions, lobbying politicians, and being the stereotype frenzied activist, espousing every worthy cause and predicting a better tomorrow.

I gradually realised as I grew older and more worldly-wise that these problems were much too deeply rooted to be eradicated overnight. They were so embedded in our collective way of life, so taken-for-granted as "just one of those things" ("the poor are always with us") that it would take the most colossal effort to make even the smallest inroads into these long-standing horrors.

I could agitate to the point of exhaustion with little to show for it because so many people were content to live with these problems rather than solving them. Or even worse, they stood to gain from them. The weapons manufacturers. The loan sharks. The privileged males. The landlords charging exorbitant, unaffordable rents.

So now I desist from most political activity and let others summon up their enthusiasm and optimism on my behalf. I still sign petitions and email my MP but that's about it. I anticipate that by the time I've shuffled off my mortal coil the poor will unhappily still be with us.

Sure to survive

It suddenly strikes me that one of the assumptions I make as a relatively privileged person is that I'll survive. And not just that, but survive until a ripe old age. There are millions of people around the world who can't make that assumption.

People caught in a civil war. Refugees trekking across multiple countries. Women trapped in domestic violence. People with severe mental disorders. People caught in famines. And even people living in high-rise flats that turn out to be a major fire risk.

Centuries ago very few people could assume they would survive. Health care and living conditions were so poor that people were lucky to reach their thirties. Many children died at a tender age.

Now living conditions are so improved that the average British lifespan is 81 and there are many centenarians. So I've always taken for granted that I'll survive and very little can jeopardise it.

But many people can't assume that. They have to live from day to day, not knowing if they'll still be alive by tomorrow. Not knowing if a serious health condition will take a turn for the worse. Not knowing if their spouse might attack them. Not knowing if they'll be hit by a bomb. Not knowing if they'll be overcome by suicidal urges.

I have a sense of safety and security and a bright future that many others don't have. Instead of having to concentrate first and foremost on keeping myself alive, I can take my survival as read, sit back and enjoy my comfortable lifestyle.

It's a huge privilege that it's easy to overlook.

Pic - February 2013: a woman in Aleppo, Syria, in the ruins of her house, destroyed by government warplanes, killing 11 members of her family.

Going private

Many people outside Britain still think of the NHS as the envy of the world, but it hasn't been anything of the sort for several years now. The NHS is seriously underfunded and understaffed and many of its employees are so overwhelmed and so exhausted they're thinking of quitting for less stressful jobs - or they already have.

I've always been a loyal supporter of the NHS and a critic of private medicine, which provides swift treatment if you've got the money, but leaves those who can't afford it at the mercy of a declining public health service.

I'm very conscious that with rapidly lengthening waiting times for both consultations and surgery, there might come a day when I face a choice between waiting indefinitely for the NHS to attend to me or going private and getting the sort of care that should be standard practice.

I don't mean waits of a few weeks or months. I mean years. Some people in Northern Ireland are waiting up to seven years for a medical procedure. Some are waiting over three years for pain management appointments. There were long waits before Covid, but now they're totally off the scale.

So suppose I needed a hip replacement, a knee replacement, cataract surgery or some other operation, and I was told I'd have to wait years? And suppose things would get worse in the meantime? And suppose a private clinic could treat me tomorrow? I would seriously consider going private, despite my socialist principles.

I had to wait 18 months for a routine prostate operation under the NHS. I could have gone private but it wasn't urgent and I wasn't in pain so I was prepared to put up with the long wait.

But I can see myself being forced into some agonising decisions.

Begone, damn tie

As you know, every so often I like to have a good rant about ties and how pointless they are. I've always avoided wearing them whenever possible, and luckily most of the time I've had jobs where ties weren't required.

In the late sixties I was a local newspaper reporter and I was expected to wear a suit and tie, but since then I've worn a tie so infrequently that when I did so I had to resort to youtube to remind me how to knot it.

I've never understood why wearing a tie for work is supposed to make a man more professional, more trustworthy, and more competent. Women apparently have all these qualities without the need for tie-wearing.

What's more, there are several health and safety reasons for not wearing ties. It seems that a tightly-knotted tie can not only reduce your cerebral blood flow but affect your eyes and aggravate eye problems. They're also said to spread infections in hospitals as ties aren't washed very often. Some British hospitals have banned tie-wearing by their staff altogether. Dangling ties can also get caught in machinery.

Yet I still see men walking into their offices in suits and ties, looking uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed rather than professional. A crumpled suit that probably hasn't been cleaned for a while looks rather less than professional.

There are still elderly gents who feel undressed without a tie. On the hottest days they'll still be in their tie and resist all hints that they might be more comfortable without it. My maternal grandpa was a splendid example.

The longer my tie stays in the drawer, the happier I am.

Christmas ruin

Apparently a lot of people are getting their knickers in a twist about Christmas. They're afraid Christmas will be ruined by a possible shortage of the traditional festive items, due to Brexit, Covid, supply chain hold-ups, and other problems.

They might have trouble getting turkeys, mince pies, children's toys and Christmas trees.

Well, who says Christmas has to include all these things anyway? Christmas is just a holiday, and you can celebrate it any way you want. Will Christmas really be ruined if you can't chomp a mince pie, or guzzle some turkey?

There are plenty of tasty foods you could have instead. And plenty of alternative toys. And will the world come to an end if you have no Christmas tree?

Surely the only important thing is to be enjoying yourself, and enjoying the company of your family or friends. People who're going nuts because they can't have all the traditional trimmings are being ridiculous.

When I was young, Christmas was a much simpler affair, and not the massive consumption-frenzy it is today. I don't recall having turkey or mince pies, though I may just not remember them. We had a few token decorations like paper chains. We did have a Christmas tree. But we didn't have all the fashionable and wildly expensive children's toys that are now deemed essential or little Rebecca might throw a tantrum.

One thing we didn't have when I was a kid, but which is now a crucial part of my Christmas, is a daily tipple of white wine. If there was a severe wine shortage, then I might very well throw a serious tantrum. A cup of tea would not be a passable substitute.

But it's tradition

It's common for someone to justify their beliefs or actions by saying "Well, it's traditional". It's a handy explanation because few people are going to challenge the idea of "tradition", implying as it does something that thousands of people have been doing or saying for centuries.

Why do so many people have turkey at Christmas? Because it's traditional. There are plenty of alternatives, but no, it has to be turkey because turkey's traditional.

Why do brides invariably wear white? Because it's traditional. You could wear something green or blue or red but that wouldn't be traditional.

Why are so many boys circumcised? Because it's traditional. You can produce good reasons for not doing it, but you'll probably be ignored because tradition wins out.

If falling back on "tradition" really means that you're too timid to make your own choices and so you just follow the herd, then that's rather sad. But if you really love turkey, and you really love white bridal dresses, and you really think circumcision is beneficial, fair enough, go ahead.

Of course many traditions are to be applauded - like democracy and free health care and public transport and politeness and donating to charities and teetotallers. Something that goes back centuries can be pointless and irrational and toxic, but it may also be a valuable contribution to our daily lives.

Some traditions are so absurdly over the top I can only look on in disbelief as they take place. Like the state opening of parliament, with the Queen trundling along in her golden coach and all the uniformed flunkeys who preside over the various opening rituals. The state opening costs around £214,000.

PS: I was circumcised, but I never found out why. My parents weren't Jewish. It's something I could have asked my father, if we hadn't been estranged for 20 years.

Hidden messages

Some people habitually read things into what others say. They never take a remark at face value, they always speculate on what the person is actually saying. Is it really a put-down, or a cry for help, or a sign of indifference? What are the hidden messages?

I hardly ever read things into other people's remarks. Maybe I'm stupid or insensitive or unimaginative, but I do tend to take what others are saying at face value. I don't assume there's some subtle meaning I have to tease out.

I remember a woman I knew telling me she always read too much into what others were saying. This had led to a few heated arguments with her boyfriend when he insisted that what she was imagining was nonsense.

Journalists are front-runners in interpreting people's remarks in a hundred different ways. Could that politician's chance remark mean they're considering resigning? Or they're getting dementia? Or they're angling for promotion? Or they're panicking over some imminent scandal? Of course most of it turns out to be claptrap.

Actually I'm fibbing slightly when I say I don't read anything into people's remarks. I like to be liked and I do try to figure out from what someone's saying whether they like me or not. Did I detect a certain frostiness there? Did I detect a note of warmth? Did they agree with what I just said? Did they look disapproving? I can't quite go along with the "just be yourself and don't worry about the reaction" brigade.

Mostly I confine my speculation to novels and the fate of fictional characters therein. Whether I guess right or guess wrong, it's of no consequence.

Sibling rivalry

Apparently sibling rivalry isn't just one of those dubious cliches, it's real. There are plenty of siblings who really do compete frantically with each other and can't bear it when their brother or sister seems to be doing much better than them.

A quarter of people polled on the subject admitted to sibling rivalry. They confessed to competing over just about everything - their careers, their homes, their cars, their holidays, their education, their cooking skills and, naturally, who their parents like best.

Well, I'm relieved to say my sister and I have never been prone to sibling rivalry. Our relationship has always been amicable, reasonable and non-competitive. We've both lived our lives as we wanted and we haven't spent a second comparing our different "score cards". We've never been jealous of the other's achievements, or gloating at their failures.

We were never bothered about who our parents liked best. Clearly my father, and possibly my mother, preferred my sister, but so what? It didn't stop me getting on with my life.

What motivates siblings to compete with each other anyway? Why are they desperate to be top dog and always one step ahead of the other? I really don't know, but I suppose if parents are the competitive type, that can get passed on to their children. Luckily our parents weren't in the least competitive.

But if your relationship with your sibling is the longest relationship you'll ever have, then constantly competing with each other will spoil your life in a big way.

And there's no easy fix, because siblings are bound to each other for life. You can't divorce them, you can't simply dump them. Somehow you have to find a modus operandi.

Just try to stop quibbling with your sibling.

Call my bluff

At the age of 74 I still don't feel like an adult, only an overgrown child. There are so many things I can barely cope with, and only with a lot of effort.    There are so many things I stealthily keep away from, quite sure I'd instantly mess them up.

I may have all the physical trappings of adulthood. I've had three mortgages, I own a house, I've owned several cars, I was the executor of my mum's will, I've had paid jobs on and off for 53 years, I've travelled all over the world.

Yet I still don't feel like an adult. When people treat me like an adult and expect me to behave like an adult, I'm straight into impostor syndrome. I do my best to live up to what's required, but it's mostly a feverish pretence, a frantic pursuit of this ever-elusive quality known as adulthood.

People expect me to make intelligent, informed decisions on a whole range of subjects, when I'm all too aware that actually on most subjects I have a hazy, anecdotal knowledge at best. I rack my brain for relevant wisdom, find the cupboard is bare and cobble together some supposedly authoritative opinion that might get me convincingly through the next five minutes.

I'm looking around desperately for a real adult, someone who actually has adult-like capabilities and can rescue me from this scary demand for responsibility and guidance. I want to be like the newsreaders who just pass on the stream of information fed into their earpieces.

I might look like a mature adult, but it's all an illusion. In reality I'm still a confused child hoping I'm doing and saying the right thing but always suspecting I'm totally goofing up. Sooner or later someone's going to call my bluff.

PS: A post on Facebook - "My personality is basically a mix between a needy five year old child who can't control her emotions, a teenage rebel who makes poor life decisions, and an eighty year old woman who's tired and needs a nap."

Tactical error

One of the big debates among political protesters is what sort of protest to engage in - what is most likely to get the result they want and what is most likely to get the public on their side. Choose the wrong thing and you simply alienate everyone.

The recently formed campaign "Insulate Britain", which is seeking a much bigger government programme to remedy badly insulated homes, is attracting a lot of opposition over its recent activities.

Day after day they've been blocking major roads in southern England, causing huge disruption, and those people who have been stuck in the resulting traffic jams have been angry and upset.

Carers, nurses and other key workers have been unable to get to work. People have been unable to get to hospital appointments or get to dying relatives. Furious motorists have been physically dragging protesters off the roads.

I don't see how this bloody-minded obstruction of people's daily lives can possibly be justified, or how it's going to have any more influence on the government than some other sort of protest that is dramatic without being so disruptive.

The police have arrested dozens of protesters, and the government has threatened them with jail sentences, but the protests continue regardless.

I would also be furious if protesters had stopped me from getting to work or getting to a medical appointment. Luckily I'm retired and luckily also there's no offshoot of Insulate Britain in Northern Ireland (as yet).

So far the government is unmoved, and the protesters are just pissing off the general public.

I'll sleep on it

A long time ago I made a list of all my sleep-related quirks and habits. I thought my more recent followers might like to see it.

1. I seldom sleep in, I seldom nap.
2. I'm invariably asleep within ten minutes
3. I'm usually up and about by 7 30 am
4. I almost always have bad dreams
5. I sleep on my left side or my right side, hardly ever on my back or front
6. I find it easy to get out of bed in the morning
7. I prefer a nightshirt to pyjamas
8. I sleep naked if it's warm enough
9. I read books in bed but never newspapers
10. My bedside cabinet contains my watch, my alarm clock, my glasses, a box of tissues and a book
11. I find it hard to sleep on planes
12. I slept for 13 hours straight after arriving in Vancouver Island, Canada
13. I never take sleeping pills - they don't work and just make me feel weird
14. There are no teddy bears in our bed
15. Our hotel room in San Francisco had the creakiest bed of all time
16. We slept on a futon for several years
17. We have single duvets, which avoids duvet hogging
18. We have breakfast in bed every Sunday morning - toast and marmalade and a cup of tea
19. We change the bed linen every....so often
20. I can have a completely coherent conversation while I'm asleep, and not remember a word of it the next day
21. My sex life....is none of your business

In a nutshell

Slang is always contro-versial. Is it a valid part of the language or is it something to be avoided? Does it add colour and vividness or is it just sloppy?

Lucy Frame, the principal at a London secondary school, has decided slang should be avoided, though only in lessons and not in the playground. She has declared that if pupils are using slang they aren't expressing themselves clearly and accurately.

I think she's being ridiculous. Everybody uses slang, and why not? Unless it's a term that's offensive or mystifying, what's the problem?

One academic who was asked to comment pointed out that Shakespeare is full of slang and teachers don't see any difficulty with that. He accused the school of "cultural and linguistic snobbery".

All slang really refers to is unfamiliar words that haven't yet become commonplace. But if the unfamiliar word conveys something useful, isn't that what language is all about?

And who decides if a word is slang or just an ordinary, routine word? Who decides for example whether "getting hitched" or "tying the knot" are slang terms or unremarkable bits of English?

If slang just means an unusual and ingenious way of expressing something, I'm all for it. It livens up the language and gets people's attention.

So that's my opinion "in a nutshell". Which might or might not be slang.

PS: The full list of slang banned by the school is:

• He cut his eyes at me (shot me a withering glance)
• Oh my days (my goodness)
• Oh my god
• That's a neck (you need a slap for that)
• Wow
• That's long (boring, tough or tedious)
• Bare (very, extremely)
• Cuss (swear or abuse)