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A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 11:12:48 +0000

The whole ethos of text messaging is to break Priscian�s head, and has become the nemesis of spoken eloquence, lucid composition, and expressive thought. As Professor Henry Higgins once so zealously voiced to Eliza, �Think what you're dealing with . . . the majesty and grandeur of the English language, it's the greatest possession we have!� And so, to quote a phrase more commonly heard on radio phone-ins, �to everyone that knows me�, this year, please don�t text me �Happy Christmas�, �Happy New Year� or anything remotely similar that encourages participation in a sequence of pointless text distributions to ten of my best friends and thus guaranteeing me good fortune, because with deliberation, a riposte will not be forthcoming. Contrary to what some of you may suspect, I am intensely compassionate by nature and I realise of course that behind every soulless text message, lays good intent. But so to does junk mail addressed �To the Occupier�. More favourably, to those of you that care, why not use your phone to speak to me personally or even better - write me a card! How otherwise, am I expected to hang a seasonal text message above my fireplace other than by nailing my wretched phone to the wall? Here�s an idea! Why don�t those of you who read this letter and to whom I refer, go out and buy ten copies of this newspaper, cut this letter out, and send it to ten of your best friends and I promise, you will become wealthy in 2009. Perhaps then, when you find yourself this time next year living on baked beans and stale crusts, as I do, you will stop sending me any more bizarre and preposterous text messages promising me great prosperity.

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 01:20:00 +0000

Lately, I�ve found myself wondering, what if. . . .What if, archaeologists one day discover the remains of a fourth Wiseman who didn�t quite make it to Bethlehem? What if, perhaps having consumed too much wine, and, having found himself separated from the rest of his group, he followed the wrong star east and the donkey on which he was riding, stumbled over a cliff? Or what if, global recession forces Santa to close his factories at the north pole and shift production to China adding thousands of unemployed Elf migrants to our already over-stretched social housing lists. Mr Rumplestiltskin, with his ability to weave straw into gold would no doubt be inundated with job offers in today�s economic climate, but who would employ an Elf that can only build toys? Unsure whether I can enjoy Christmas anymore, these are the genre of ��and finally�� news reports I would enjoy listening to, rather than the more familiar �how many more shopping days left� news reports we will soon start hearing. Because, as usual, even before I've even consumed a mince pie or strung a silver bauble from my tree, the January sales will have already started with TV commercials seducing the masses into parting from their cash faster than a pick-pocket extracts cash from a victim in London�s Oxford Street. During the next few weeks we will give liberty to consumption and greed as consumerism reaches new levels of depravity and children write �must have� wish lists totalling more than I paid for my first car, despatching them no doubt by email. Is it any wonder then, that our inordinate appetite to satiate Christmas expectations leave so many of us in debt and utterly miserable. Children, become slaves to trepidation at the thought of saving enough pocket money in order to buy pleasing gifts while grown-ups implement creative accounting strategies to stockpile enough food and beer to sustain an average family for six months in a nuclear bunker. What if then, if we could teach ourselves and our children to understand a little more about some of the traditions surrounding this midwinter festival, and less about consumerism, we may all then learn to be content in the absence of procurement and be thankful for what we already have. The magic of Christmas that I grew up with has long since past. The traditional twelve days of Christmas, in better days - a duration of modest celebration, has been replaced by a chip and pin extravaganza while seasons greetings are now delivered to me by text message leaving my mantelpiece bare. We may well muse that when Pope Julius Ist declared in the fourth century that Christ's official birthday would be held on the 25th of December, he didn't envisaged the festivities being whitewashed by commerce with such wrath, sixteen hundred years later. I remember my joy as a child one Christmas morning unwrapping a magic set, a Slinky and a chocolate selection box. Nowadays, failed lazy broods stomp their feet and demand overpriced brain deprivation technology of any nature, just so long as it plugs into the back of a television set. Never shall I spawn a child so repellent, preferring to tutor healthy activities far removed from the mire of a plasma screen. I admire other world cultures and their ability to embrace contentment through modest expectation, unlike this wretched country where people are judged according to what gadgetry they possess and where contentment is a commodity to be purchased. What if then, Santa, whos iconic image is more prevailing than Che Guevara�s and symbolic of modern consumerism and greed, is killed off in an arranged freak accident. Christmas could then be re-invented in a traditional vein with children in their formative years including my first, due next March, being raised on minimum expectations and with the ability to be content in the absence of overpriced, brain dumbing and pointless consumer goods. Express & Echo & Herald Express READERS REPLIES: We are living in age of technology RE 'Christmas has been replaced by chip and pin extravaganza' (Your Views Extra, November 15). The only 'what if' I could enjoy would be Lazz Hewings flying round in ever diminishing circles with the inevitable result. For heaven's sake stop whining and denigrating a lifestyle to which you obviously do not have the ability to adapt to. Parents DO NOT consider it wrong to give their offspring the electronic means by which they can develop their brains in co-ordination skills and quick thinking by almost subliminally doing so with the added pleasure of doing it through games. If they learn quicker what is wrong with that? We no longer live in a lock-pulling; elders and betters; children should-be-seen-and-not-heard age. This is the age of technology whether you like it or not, go forward, or go under, it is as simple as that, and by what right would you deprive any child of this advancement? If you wish to stultify the brain capacity of your forthcoming infant by giving him or her what you consider to be a 'life of healthy activities', so be it, but don't grumble if, when in a few years time, he is the butt of ridicule at school with a brain incapable of anything more than an 'anyone for tennis?' attitude. As a solution, may I suggest 'what if' Lazz takes his family to one of the African countries where he'd get all the minimum expectations and life of healthy activities which he requires, plus of course, a few unexpected nasty African diseases, biharzia, narcolepsy, beri-beri, hideous worms and other unspeakable conditions, and leave us to enjoy a modern, physically healthy life, filled with bright minds, moving ever onwards and upwards. Go there, and you won't have to worry about 'not being sure' if you can enjoy Christmas any more. Rest assured we will! WAYLAND VAN HILDYCK-SMITH Forde Park Newton Abbot Lazz Hewings letter did it for me, I guess it all depends if one's glass is half full or empty. Keep 'em coming Lazz! Peter Carroll, [paignton Mmmm......... May I suggest a return to the true solstice celebration 'stolen' by Christmas. I blame the 3 wise men. Pagan, Cullompton I opened this letter thinking it was going to be another bag humbug christmas letter and found myself agreeing with every word. I am only in my mid twenties and was raised that christmas was about spending a day with your family and friends not about how many presents you get. We are all guilty of going overboard and buying too many gifts for the peopler we love. We as a family are definately cutting back this year after last year when my young nephew opened three sackfuls of presents and then asked where the rest are. This year he will be getting a far smaller load and be taught the true meaning of why we are celebrating this time of year. And Anon below if you cannot make an intellectual comment on the article then please refrain from insulting other users particularly if you cannot have the decency to provide your own name. Mr Davies makes an extremely valid point in the context of the discussion. Kelly, Exeter Just a couple of threads away.... Quote Mr Ian Davies " I choose free range products wherever possible and like to buy locally sourced products from farms that are known to me (in fact, a lot of the eggs I eat are from free range chickens kept by neighbours of mine)." Things sound really tough for you Mr Davies that you should be preaching to the poor how they should spend their money. Anon, Exeter What a refreshing letter, and a good response by Pat too. I think it's a disgrace that people can actually complain about the amount of food they "have" to buy, or the toys they "have" to get their kids, or the work they "have" to put in to get their houses ready for the family who "have" to come & visit. Let's get this into focus shall we - none of us "have" to do any of this and we should consider ourselves extremely privilaged to have the resources to enjoy the holiday period in whatever way we please. Christmas should be a time of relaxation, where families, friends & aquaintances take some time out to remember one another & also think about those less fortunate than themselves. Whatever you end up doing, just do what you want to do & remember those who may not be as lucky. The world's not perfect but with a little thought towards others, we can all make it a heck of a lot better. Ian Davies, *censored*wood Good letter Lazz! Enjoyed reading it and agree. I saw a short clip on the "Christmas shoebox appeal" where children receive a box full of toys and other things for Christmas. What joy on their faces as they opened up the boxes. These children often live in war-torn or deprived places and these christmas shoeboxes are such a blessing to these children. True - we have been overtaken by greed, coveteousness and a hankering after more in this country - but Hey! maybe this shoebox appeal shows us something of what Christmas used to be before rampant comsumerism got a grip of us all. www.operationchristmaschild.org.uk

TOUGH MAN MYTH-CHASERS

Sun, 19 Oct 2008 13:22:00 +0100

Reputation by association is a philosophical trait I prefer not to subscribe to. I simply don�t need to, like some people I know. A pilot fish wouldn�t frighten me just because it hangs around with a shark all day and neither does a man who plagiarises anecdotes from the Godfather. I admit, when I was young I thought it was cool to hang around with the smokers and hard nuts behind the gym, but then, I hadn�t started shaving yet and thought Dom P�rignon was a mafia boss. Has popular culture in our society altered that much that men are becoming so timid of their own presence that they need other people around them to see them as somebody they are not, by wearing a style of clothes, using body language or speaking in such a manner so far removed from their own psyche, in order to secure the attention of a woman or to perhaps emulate another mans demeanour they secretly hold in awe but don�t like to admit? Why do so many men who feel they have reached the glass ceiling in their lives, believe a sexual omnipotence can only be attained by applying the sartorial or linguistic ethos of a fictional character they have watched on the big screen? As a licenced doorman and with over 15 years running pubs all over the south of England and still a personal licence holder, I�ve lost count of the exact number of men I�ve had to listen to in my pubs who just happened to had been an ex military sniper or perhaps attached to the special forces on special missions. They always speak so softly when they tell me this while glancing over their shoulder. No doubt, to create ambiance. But once I fire a few questions back at them about the magnetic variation principles of map reading or judging distance techniques, essential for a sniper, then the topic is dubiously and swiftly changed to football or their attention is distracted by a fruit machine calling out to them from the corner of the bar. Incidentally, even if they did pass the rigorous six week pre-sniper selection course, It takes months to train and qualify as a sniper and costs tens of thousands of pounds. So those fools who just managed to serve three years in the Army before getting kicked out and now spend most of their time getting drunk and skinning up on the back of pub dogs, have a long way to go before convincing me they how they won the Falklands conflict, all alone, with nineteen confirmed kills as a sniper. The military won't consider putting a man forward for sniper or special forces training unless he is a long time serving soldier and furthermore, those with the intelligence and stamina required to serve in an elite unit, won't let a few beers down the pub prevail over reticence. I would find it easier to believe that Marks and Spencer had launched a new mature cheese named MILF, than the fabricated tough-man bullshit that spews out of the jaws of these fish pond fantasists. Then there are the shaven headed types who having never had the yearning to join the armed forces, visit paintball parks instead, watch Ross Kemp documentaries, believe in the mythology surrounding dogs of war and talk unceremoniously of one day joining the private security sector despite the fact they have never actually fired a real weapon in their entire lives and think by mentioning on their CV that they�ve watched The Wild Geese more than ten times, they will be given a fully loaded M16 and paid two grand a week to act as bodyguards and protect western contractors from insurgents in Iraq. Less ambitious in their pursuit for macho approbation, are those who aspire to, and are content with being known as a hard bastard within their own little pond. Those who like to associate themselves, and to be seen with, individuals who already have a reputation, albeit good or bad, and probably cultivated in infancy by the same prot�g�/mentor principles of association that usually starts in the playground. Sometimes, those indolent in the pursuit of a prot�g� will adopt a personality trait stolen from an iconic figure straight out of a dumb audience movie filled with computer generated graphics. Big screen comic books. This, they hope, will aid in the process of manufacturing their own hard-man reputation, without actually ever getting their hands dirty. These are the same who like to talk tough in their own safe and familiar small town environments, but plunge them in the middle of a south London estate and they tremble like a sandbagged puppy pulled from a canal. This is why some men end up living their entire lives, in the same small town, too frightened to make a wrong move on life�s chess board in case they get taken by Mr Knight, Mr Rook or Mr Pawn. Perhaps in the same vein that we British don�t like to complain about a steak that�s too bloody, we are also hesitant in bringing a liar down to earth on his head with a big bang. But maybe more of us should do so. For is it not a huge insult to us, that those who concoct these impressive lies actually believe we�re so stupid that we�re going to believe every word they�ve said? Or perhaps more men and women do believe these stories than I had hoped, and doesn�t this then say so much about them as well? So . . . why are we surrounded by so many narcissistic and impressionable fools. Grown men, who refer to their mates as their crew, instead of saying friends, because they heard it on a De Niro gangster DVD. Then, drunk in their own delusions, forge fabricated lifestyles accompanied by tales containing somewhat sceptical and embellished content relating to dodgy dealings with guns, bloody beatings and close shaves . . . blah blah blah . . . . leaving me, the listener, to fake a credible and interested facial expression, before legging it to the gents holding my stomach before I start levitating off the floor in fits of laughter like the chimney sweep did in Mary Poppins Personally, I have nothing to prove to anyone. I will even cut designer labels off clothes because they represent a super philosophy I choose not to implement. I prefer Lenkiewicz over gangster canvas art and I certainly wouldn�t use prose from an Andy McNab novel as a chat up line or as an accompaniment to foreplay. Perhaps pub operators will consider installing coin operated canned laughter machines in pubs so the next time you walk into you local for a pint, everyone will be floating around the ceiling rose in hysterics while back down on earth, Mr White cuts the rug around the bar while playing Steelers Wheel�s Stuck in the Middle With You on the jukebox.

SHOPPING RAGE

Thu, 02 Oct 2008 09:47:32 +0100

This morning, I awoke unsure whether to admire supermarket dodgers for their guile or despise them for their weakness. And I got to thinking if assault with a shopping trolley would one day set a legal precedent with lawyers touting outside store entrances next to ribbon merchants who trade in conspicuous compassion. The entire experience of shopping for groceries in superstores requires the astuteness and foresight of a snatch-squad cop in a soccer riot added perhaps with the rebellion and responsibility of a drive-by paintballer. Before entering a superstore, I am already riled by the hopeless and spineless looking men who choose to wait in their cars reading newspapers, believing the adage that shopping and cooking is a woman�s obligation. Stepford Wives, like Ben and Jerry�s ice-cream, can today be found in every British supermarket. When entering, I check either side before proceeding forwards and my vigilance is normally rewarded by a reassuring nod from the security guard. Then, just moments later, I incur my first bruise as I plot a course around the dithering rabble gathered around the newspaper stand glancing through the sport pages or scrutinising the evenings television schedule. Sometimes, unable to break through and reach a paper, I relent, stopping at a newsagent on the way home instead. By the time I�ve reached the fresh vegetables, first blood has been spilt by a woman whose trolley proficiency probably equals that of her driving, and rams hard into my shin. And when I arrive at the bakery section I am pushed, shoved to the floor and heckled by a gaggle of Stepford Wives in an abhorrent demonstration of shopping rage eager to grab the warmest and freshest loafs for themselves. No aisle is safe, with shelf stackers, gossip merchants and vociferous children testing my assiduousness and diligence to that of a combat soldier on a routine fighting patrol. Finally it�s checkout time and the length of the queue normally dictates whether I run the gauntlet, pay for my goods and go home, or dump my basket and scuttle, returning hungry the following day for second attempt. Either way, as I leave the store, I am rewarded again by the security guard but this time with a knowing smile. And I smile back, satisfied and warmed as if only he understands what I have been through. But before I climb back into my car I look around once more but this time with a little envy, at the sad little men still locked safely inside their cars reading their newspapers that were probably delivered by a friendly and likeable paper boy. Express & Echo

BNP DELIVERS SOME CREDIBLE IDEAS

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 11:38:39 +0100

As usual, it is the na�ve and the misinformed. Those who read toilet tabloids and remain un-practiced in using the Internet, in this, the 21st century. It is they, the apathetic, who scream and shout without getting off their behinds because the BNP, a legitimate party who even hold a seat on the London assembly, held a rally in Broadclyst, Exeter. No doubt these same deluded fools will already presume to know my political aspirations and will be ranting, as a result of my being bothered to make this correspondence. But they will be wrong. Just for interest, I have looked at the BNP�s website and although I don�t agree with their entire manifesto. They make some creditable statements worth discussion, as do most political parties. And there comes a time when you have to start intellectually questioning just exactly why the BNP is as successful as it is. Unfortunately, the masses of whom I speak, will always remain sheep, plagiarising all their thoughts and ideas from red-top tabloids and television soaps, and will never have any original and motivating ideas of their own worthy of debate. For them, their whole world exists on a television screen. I am reminded of the words of Peter Hitchens, author of the bestselling book, The Abolition of Britain, who wrote in 2006; "It will always be the eccentrics, the lonely and the driven who are first to notice a new climate of oppression because such people insist on thinking, and are not restrained by fashion and good manners from saying what they really believe. Most normal people spend most of the time trying not to think too hard, and keep in step with the crowd" Express & Echo

SHUN WEDDING LISTS

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 11:36:15 +0100

I have always interpreted wedding gift lists as the ne plus ultra of chutzpah, and the liquidation of online wedding gift service Wrapit only highlights the expectations and effrontery of 21st century newlyweds today. The attendance of guests should give sufficient gratification, and fulfilment should not be judged on material remuneration. At a friend�s recent wedding, 50 toasters were welded together in the form of a giant toaster man and concreted into their back garden. The jollity for all concerned was worth more than costly household items supplied on demand for the bride and groom. Consider budgeting less for the actual wedding, leaving yourselves adequate money to purchase the luxuries you desire without making stipulations on your guests. The Times (Aug 8th 2008) Sir, wedding gifts ( Lazz Hewings '"Shun wedding lists", 8 Aug) are very much like university degrees: so carefully planned and chosen in advance of the occasion, and at the expense of one's relatives; stored away and rarely used once one starts on the journey thereafter. D. Naylor, B.A. (Hons) David Naylor, Preston, Lancs

TAX THE FAT

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 13:07:00 +0100

�There is no love sincerer, than the love of food�, wrote George Bernard Shaw. And he wasn�t kidding. My girlfriend treated me to a Sunday roast at a popular food pub just outside Honiton and it became evident to me, that some peoples interest in what they put in their stomachs seems excessive, to the point of pure madness. In an age where obesity has become the new herpes. The ne plus ultra of social exclusion. Is it any wonder, that the creed and zeal of the gourmet has vanquished protocol and etiquette away from our dining tables? In a demonstration of absolute gluttony and access to excess, I looked on horrified as a vilely obese couple, probably only in their twenties, queued at the carvery and proceeded to pile so much food on their plates,in a manner characteristic of the carnal hedonist and with no regard for those queuing behind. Then I watched as they walked back to their table, slowly, and with unfailing sangfroid, two steps forward one step back, as their high structures of yorkshire puddings, sausages and stuffing balls, teetered but remained vertical. By the time they made it back to their table, the entire staff and remaining diners were looking on, silent and with mouths open, like an audience watching a balancing act at the Chinese State Circus. I swear, even the dishwasher had come out for a look as pints over-poured in the drip trays as bar staff froze, in a catatonic like state. Perhaps pub restaurants could introduce a two tier system for Sunday carverys? With normal people eating between the hours of 12 and 3pm and fat people thereafter. Or maybe fat people could be issued with smaller plates, with security men stood at the front of the queue with tape measures carrying out random searches for smuggled larger plates? For, having seen active service, it is only now, since witnessing this dreadful exhibition, that I fully understand the etiology of post traumatic stress disorder and fully concur with food critic Giles Corenn of the Times, who suggests all fat people should be taxed to subsidise the national health. Express & Echo, Exeter Herald Express, Torquay WRONG ASSUMPTION ABOUT FAT PEOPLE IT can be difficult enough for fat people to go out for a meal without people writing letters making suggestions such as having separate sittings for fat people and slim people, Carvery gluttons in pub horrified me, Points of view, July 23. I have never heard anything like it. Just because you are fat it doesn't mean you eat a lot. Some people are big because they have health problems. I've seen slim people eat more than I do. When you go for a carvery, you are invited to eat what you like. Some people can't afford to do this often so perhaps they want their money's worth. Can you blame them with the way this world is run? How dare Lazz Hewings insinuate that all big people are gluttons. People need to change their views on fat people, as it's reckoned we are all going to be like this. Do we judge slim people on their eating habits? No. Click here! Dawn Ingham Exeter (by email) WE SPEND SO MUCH ON RUBBISH FOOD I THOUGHT Lazz Hewings' letter Carvery gluttons in pub horrified me, Points of view, July 23, was highly amusing and just goes to show that we are still paying too little for our food. My apologies to people who genuinely are short of cash but every time I go to the supermarket I gaze at the contents of the average shopping trolley and think: where have we gone wrong in this country. I am amazed that we spend so much money on 'rubbish' food which is doing us no good whatsoever. We take the food grown by the farmers, throw it in a machine, add loads of chemicals and churn out all manner of products that bear little resemblance to what they originally were. My father always said if you can't tell what you are eating then you shouldn't be eating it. Click here! Mind you, there are those helpful labels on the back of sauce jars which tell you how to copy the makers of these sauces simply by buying the raw ingredients and making your own. Branded tomato-based pasta sauces are a perfect example, often sold as a buy-one-get-one-free. Have a look � tomatoes, onions, spices, salt, oil, etc. Real cost about 25p � on the shelf 99p. Preparation time about 15 minutes. See what I mean? Alan Jones Mayflower Avenue, Exeter LAZZ RIGHT ABOUT CARVERY GLUTTONS WELL done to Lazz Hewings Carvery gluttons in pub horrified me, Points of view, July 23, for being honest about what many people think but will not say. As for Dawn Ingham's response Wrong assumption about fat people, Points of view, July 25, it seems that she believes people have a problem with obesity for cosmetic reasons. In fact, it is a huge drain on the NHS and other public services. Perhaps if these larger people took some time to eat healthily and do some exercise, they would not have so many health problems. I work full time and am out of the house for 12 hours a day, yet I manage to stay slim. Click here! Some people are just lazy. Gregory White Gandy Street, Exeter (by post) DON'T JUDGE PEOPLE ON THE WAY THEY LOOK �DO not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same,� wrote George Bernard Shaw. I read without interest Lazz Hewings' letter, Carvery gluttons in pub horrified me, Points of view, July 23, regarding fat people and their eating habits and love his suggestion of a two-tier system. However, I'd rather the Echo editor applied it to Points of View, with the notion that this page is saved for people actually with something worth listening to and whose views don't promote social intolerance. Mr Hewings and Mr Coren, with the honourable occupation of food critic, both offer the solution of taxing fat people to subsidise the NHS. Why stop there? Let's have more money from alcoholics and smokers too. Click here! In fact, why don't we stone anyone who has done anything that could remotely be linked to their health problems? God forbid we should look at the bigger picture and see that it's people with their intolerance and antiquated nefarious opinions that have shattered and fragmented our culture until we think anyone who isn't fat is normal. Don't you need to have empathy and sympathy for all mankind to be normal? If indeed so, then Mr Hewings would have to eat either in the early morning or evening or perhaps he'd just like to stay home. I admire anyone who has seen active service, especially those whom afterwards actually then try to think for themselves and, without doubt, this is an area Mr Hewings is trying to overcome with some difficulty. I could offer some advice: he should run away from fat people fast because if they see the chips on his shoulders who knows what would happen! Oh, by the way, in case you're wondering, I'm not even remotely fat. I just don't like the fact that people are being allowed to judge others and be this rude and insensitive about the way people look, whether they have chosen this or not. There is no excuse for this behaviour and, in my humble opinion, it is discrimination akin to a person's colour, religion or sexual orientation and just as vile. We should have more intolerance and dislike towards people carrying knives, not people with knives and forks, although I agree we all need to be educated and exercise � some more than others. And Mr Hewings, although exercising his right to an opinion, needs to be educated towards who and what is really ugly in society today. David Flynn Beare, near Cullompton (by email)

WOMEN DRIVERS

Wed, 21 May 2008 10:06:15 +0100

In as much as I abhor the way soap thespians exaggeratedly suck their fingertips after eating toast, and get infuriated by people who peel oranges on public transport, I am equally incensed when driving down a narrow country lane and I encounter a woman driver coming the other way. After skidding and braking abruptly, inevitably, she will go into a state of shock, almost catatonic. And there she will remain, frozen in her seat like a wild rabbit caught in a hunter�s flashlight, and then a stand off staring contest begins. Even if there was a widening of the road just twenty yards behind her car, it remains for me as usual, to reverse the one mile backwards to the village I have just left in order for her to pass. And as she does, she offers no wave of thanks, no smile of appreciation or mouthing of thankyou. Just the same dormant �look ahead� expression that I acknowledge every time I hold a door open for a woman carrying shopping. By the time I arrive at the supermarket only three miles away, I am red faced, pumping, and spitting profanities like Sir Ben Kingsley in Sexy Beast because my journey has been prolonged by an extra two miles driving backwards. Escape and evasion driving techniques once learned prior to deployment to Belfast, have at least proved more useful to me today living in the countryside than they did in the Falls Road in 1981. But at least then, the Provo�s always acknowledged me with a stiff finger. The point of me writing this, other than to declare my frustration, is to solicit all driving instructors to consider educating women that a reverse gear on any vehicle has another application other than manoeuvring into a parking space. And conceivably on their final driving test they could be asked to turn down a narrow lane where unknown to them, one mile further on, the test examiner is thundering the opposite way, in a battle tank. Consequently, I have decided to sell my car and buy a pair of roller skates. I have calculated the money saved in fuel together with the time conserved, I will be far happier, more affluent and probably add an extra ten years to my life.

EASTENDERS . . . WOT? TOP SOAP?

Sun, 04 May 2008 15:23:49 +0100

Not that I care, or that I even watch television. But nobody has ever asked me to vote for the best programme on TV. Television is after all, a medium that dictates and structures culture and society through clever marketing and shrewd sleight-of-mind. I heard on the radio this morning that Eastenders has won best soap. This isn�t too surprising and is a reflection of proletarian national statistics. Just as cheap journalism in red top tabloids show the highest circulation and high street burger joints continue to feed the obese, so to is Eastenders the common entertainment of the masses. It is chewing gum for the eyes for those deficient of realism On this subject, I usually sit alone on the fence. Cunningly and with unfailing sangfroid, the government conducts its dissertations through television and in particular, the soaps. You are the weak and I am the strong. And I would rather stand naked in a damp basement in the stress position for 24 hours listening to white noise, than sit through a single episode of Eastenders. Perhaps though, some time after my hundredth birthday when I become dormant, useless and unable to write to newspapers, I could opt to sit through an episode as a mode of euthanasia.

TRAGIC LIFE YADA YADA YADA

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 10:34:00 +0100

Literary reading trends have evidently altered from kiss and tell to abuse and sell. Six months ago, you would come across maybe six such titles on bookstore�s shelves. Today in my local high street newsagent (W.H.Smiths) there is an entire four shelf section entitled Tragic Life Stories with titles such as �Please daddy, no!� flaunting book covers clearly depicting ill-treated young children. Whom, I muse, are these publications pandering to? Paediatricians and students of criminal psychology? Or the same class who entertain a gratification from hearing the explicit details of a personal tragedy on shows such as Jeremy Kyle�s. Firstly we had trash TV to entertain the masses who couldn�t read, now we have wordsmiths to entertain those who have learned. I wake up some days and feel like moving to Alabama where recreational activities include spitting, line dancing and eating pie. Life just seems so much simpler over there. Express & Echo, Exeter