Before waking up coughing in the middle of the night became our default setting, we heard something about a strange cure for night time coughing. It involved rubbing Vick's Vapor Rub into the soles of your feet and putting on a pair of socks before retiring to bed. Somehow, the healing qualities of the Vapor Rub would permeate from the soles of the feet to the chest or lungs or wherever the cough generator is situated and prevent the coughing from occurring. Maybe it's in some way connected to alternative medicine, pressure points on the feet, acupuncture and all that sort of thing. Who knows?
Our son said that they had tried it on their eleven month old daughter. To no avail. It didn't work on her. She continued to cough herself, and them, awake at night. Our daughter, on the other hand, tried it on her eleven year old daughter the other night and it worked like a dream. Maybe it only works on people whose age is measured in years instead of months. Maybe you need to be old enough to be aware of what's going on and thus give it the help of your faith in the methodology. Another mystery!
However, as Phil continues to cough the night away, we plan to try it tonight and see if he manages to stay asleep.
He got as far as trying to make an appointment with the doctor today. Nothing until the week after next! If he phones first thing on Monday morning they just might have a cancellation slot to offer him. This is perhaps one of the reasons why hospital A & E departments are currently experiencing such chaos!
Here's another medical anomaly. On a radio programme we came across a new word: obesogenic - an adjective meaning pertaining to or tending to cause obesity. A recent medical term for factors tending to make people fat. Example: we live in an obesogenic environment. I googled it and found some common sense stuff and some totally weird stuff.
First of all the common sense stuff. An obesogenic environment is, in simple terms, an environment that encourages people to eat unhealthily and do too little exercise. So shops where the lifts and escalators are easy to find but the stairs are hidden away behind door at the back of the store fit into that category. As do large out of town shopping areas (I hesitate to call them shopping malls or shopping centres) which are really huge barn-like stores in an immense car park with no pedestrian-friendly way of getting from one store to another.
Then there is the average high street that is full of places to buy food. To begin with there are cafes and restaurants. That's OK. You do your shopping and pop in for a sit down, even for a meal, making your shopping trip into a social occasion. Next come the fast food outlets like MacDonald's and Burger King, a poor excuse for a restaurant, truth to tell. Then you have bread and cake shops, places like Gregg's, which call themselves a bakery but where you would not go to buy a loaf of bread as a rule. No, you go to buy sandwiches, packs of sausage rolls, pasties and pies - snack stuff to eat instead of, or as well a chocolate bar. Some people purchase their lunch there and head back to the office to eat it; others just pick up something to eat as they walk along the road. And you see an awful out of walking-along-the-road eating these days. Contributing to that are the far too numerous hotdog stands, baked potato stands, and assorted-greasy-food stands!
And don't let me get started on so-called book shops that sell sweets, chocolate and fizzy drinks right next to the till!
Here's a little nugget: a chap from the UK's National Institute for Health and Care Excellence tells us, "... Research shows that the number of takeaways in an area has an impact on obesity". Really? You needed research to tell you that? My astoundment knows no bounds!
What is a person with absolutely no self control to do? Just eat and eat and eat!
Of course you could try just walking past these food outlets without buying anything. Or is that too sensible?
Now for some of the weird stuff about things that make you fat. Because it turns out that it's not just the obvious - eating a lot of sugary stuff. There's all sorts of science involved.
First of all there is something called Bisphenol A (BPA). " Studies in the lab find that BPA has the ability to accelerate fat-cell differentiation, disrupt pancreatic functioning, and cause insulin resistance, leading to obesity problems. In addition, other studies have linked BPA exposure to neurological development problems and sexual reproductive problems, including male infertility in humans."
It sounds like dangerous stuff and apparently it is found everywhere, yes, everywhere, and in high volumes. And in some odd places. My source recommended handling cash-register receipts as little as possible because some have a high BPA content. So why are all cashiers in supermarkets not really, really fat? Enormously fat? They must handle till receipts all day long! My source suggests telling cashiers you don't need a receipt. Let them keep their nasty, toxic bits of paper.
You should also choose fresh or frozen food rather than stuff in tins. Glass jars are ok, it seems, but metal cans contain BPA. Clear all canned good from your kitchen cupboards at once! (Not quite so weird that one!)
Next I came across Phthalates. I can't even say that! They are "hormone-disrupting chemicals tied to obesity, and they are ubiquitous in the personal-care product industry, particularly due to the chemicals' use in synthetically fragranced products". So there it is: get rid of air fresheners, scented candles (I can't abide them), cleansing products with added fragrance - probably shampoo and deodorant as well! Not to mention shower gel, body lotion and a whole mass of creams and potions! Aaargh!!!!
The unpronounceable Phthalates are also found in vinyl, I am told. Does that mean that we need to get rid of our old vinyl record collection? Avoid vinyl. Avoid Teflon and other non-stick products. You should even avoid grease-proof paper. It's getting silly!
OK, let's face it. You should just avoid everything. Undoubtedly, everything you look at, touch, go within two yards of will make you fat. Go and live in a bubble somewhere!
And of course, remember that it's not your fault if you put weight on. It's all down to that obesogenic environment we all live in!!!
Friday, 9 January 2015
Thursday, 8 January 2015
The world has become a smaller and more dangerous place.
There was a time when bullying amounted to calling someone names, chanting rude rhymes across the playground to those being picked on and some coordinated physical nastiness.
Our modern age has graduated to cyber bullying, much harder to avoid than the old kind.
Bullies want the world to be run their way.
And increasingly we have bullying on a major scale in the form of terrorism. In France they have been having a minute's silence today for the journalists killed in yesterday's attack on Charlie Hebdo.
None of us has the right to impose our way of life on others. We may object to the way things work but we cannot march in and change things wholesale. Similarly, no one has the right to impose their laws and their punishments on another country. You do not prove a criticism or satire erroneous by killing those who carried it out.
We tell our children to ignore name callers; rise above it we say, ignore it or prove that the name callers are wrong. Lashing out only puts you in the wrong.
The world appears united in its condemnation of the attack and yet no one seems to know how to prevent something similar happening elsewhere.
When we were young the world was a wide open place, full of potential for change. We saw campaigns against apartheid and prejudice. Tolerance appeared to be becoming the norm, for most of us anyway. Maybe we were too naive and innocent, believing such things were possible.
The world has become a smaller and more dangerous place.
Our modern age has graduated to cyber bullying, much harder to avoid than the old kind.
Bullies want the world to be run their way.
And increasingly we have bullying on a major scale in the form of terrorism. In France they have been having a minute's silence today for the journalists killed in yesterday's attack on Charlie Hebdo.
None of us has the right to impose our way of life on others. We may object to the way things work but we cannot march in and change things wholesale. Similarly, no one has the right to impose their laws and their punishments on another country. You do not prove a criticism or satire erroneous by killing those who carried it out.
We tell our children to ignore name callers; rise above it we say, ignore it or prove that the name callers are wrong. Lashing out only puts you in the wrong.
The world appears united in its condemnation of the attack and yet no one seems to know how to prevent something similar happening elsewhere.
When we were young the world was a wide open place, full of potential for change. We saw campaigns against apartheid and prejudice. Tolerance appeared to be becoming the norm, for most of us anyway. Maybe we were too naive and innocent, believing such things were possible.
The world has become a smaller and more dangerous place.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
Tree stories.
After we took all the baubles and lights and what have you off the Christmas tree on Monday, the tree itself remained in the corner of the living room, patiently waiting for someone to carry it outside into the garden. Now this is patently not my job. It is not in my job description. Carrying big and bulky stuff is not one of the things I do.
Unfortunately, the person who recognises quite willingly that carrying big and bulky stuff is part of his job description, together with changing light bulbs, making coffee in the morning and getting things down from high shelves I cannot reach, has been largely confined to bed. His version of the dreaded lurgy which brought us both low over the New Year period has been much more virulent than mine. The mean feminist in me would perhaps say that, being a man, he has simply given in to it more than I did. But that would be the mean feminist speaking, not the rational feminist. The fact is that the lurgy truly has knocked him for six.
Consequently, the tree, unadorned and looking almost as sorry for itself as a sufferer from New Year's lurgy, remained in the corner, gradually dropping needles and generally getting in the way. So this morning I took the problem in hand. Quite literally. The tree is not quite as tall as I am but considerably stouter but, having cleared furniture out of the way, I grasped the thing by its main stem, about half way down, and lugged it out of the front door and deposited it in the garden. En route, the tree and I managed to knock the telephone off its cradle, causing a siren-like wail to ensue some minutes later, to send a pile of advertising fliers waiting to be disposed of flying (they are fliers, after all) all over the floor, and to scatter even more pine needles around the place.
However, the telephone has been restored to its rightful position, the advertising fliers have been added to the waste paper collection and the pine needles have all been vacuumed up. All that remains of Christmas is a pile of Christmas cards, waiting to be sorted in case there are messages that need a response, a couple of boxes of chocolates which we have resisted opening and a photo of my Spanish niece's small son looking very bemused at being dressed up in a Father Christmas suit. In last year's photo, in a similar pose, he looked considerably more cheerful. Perhaps he was not quite old enough last year to realise the indignity of being dressed up in this silly fashion.
Anyway, the tree is now outdoors, where it will either proceed to wither and drop ALL its needles or actually thrive and perhaps serve another Christmas indoors next December. We like to buy a rooted tree in the hopes that we can keep it alive for more than one season. Most successful was the very first tree we bought, some thirty six years ago. This was our son's first Christmas tree. It was barely two feet tall, small but perfectly formed, rather as in our new-parent idealism we saw our small son. The greengrocer who sold it to me declared, "it'll grow with t'littl'un". And grow it did. It came in and out of the house for a good few years, moving house with us and being repotted along the way. At some point we decided it was too big to come in and out any longer and our no-longer-quite-so-small son and I dug a hole and planted it in the garden. Where it continued to grow until, much to our granddaughter's chagrin, we had to have it chopped down as its roots were getting everywhere. By then it was almost as tall as the house! Ok, I exaggerate but not by much.
No other tree has been quite as successful as that one. We did consider re-using the 2013 tree, which is still in its pot at the bottom of the garden. Unfortunately, although it stayed alive, before growing new shoots it went through a period of shedding which left the central core rather scraggy and bare. As a garden tree it's fine, from a distance it looks splendid but up close it's a different story. You couldn't for shame stand it up in the living room. The 2012 tree is also there, a sorry thing, brown at the bottom but sprouting new green at the top. quite bizarre!
I do not hold out great hopes for the latest addition to my Christmas tree retirement home garden but I shall wait and see.
Final postscript: the rational feminist would like to add that I am quite able to change light bulbs, make coffee and even get things down off high shelves, with the aid of a trusty stool! Just saying, as I am told people say all the time about comments on Facebook!
Unfortunately, the person who recognises quite willingly that carrying big and bulky stuff is part of his job description, together with changing light bulbs, making coffee in the morning and getting things down from high shelves I cannot reach, has been largely confined to bed. His version of the dreaded lurgy which brought us both low over the New Year period has been much more virulent than mine. The mean feminist in me would perhaps say that, being a man, he has simply given in to it more than I did. But that would be the mean feminist speaking, not the rational feminist. The fact is that the lurgy truly has knocked him for six.
Consequently, the tree, unadorned and looking almost as sorry for itself as a sufferer from New Year's lurgy, remained in the corner, gradually dropping needles and generally getting in the way. So this morning I took the problem in hand. Quite literally. The tree is not quite as tall as I am but considerably stouter but, having cleared furniture out of the way, I grasped the thing by its main stem, about half way down, and lugged it out of the front door and deposited it in the garden. En route, the tree and I managed to knock the telephone off its cradle, causing a siren-like wail to ensue some minutes later, to send a pile of advertising fliers waiting to be disposed of flying (they are fliers, after all) all over the floor, and to scatter even more pine needles around the place.
However, the telephone has been restored to its rightful position, the advertising fliers have been added to the waste paper collection and the pine needles have all been vacuumed up. All that remains of Christmas is a pile of Christmas cards, waiting to be sorted in case there are messages that need a response, a couple of boxes of chocolates which we have resisted opening and a photo of my Spanish niece's small son looking very bemused at being dressed up in a Father Christmas suit. In last year's photo, in a similar pose, he looked considerably more cheerful. Perhaps he was not quite old enough last year to realise the indignity of being dressed up in this silly fashion.
Anyway, the tree is now outdoors, where it will either proceed to wither and drop ALL its needles or actually thrive and perhaps serve another Christmas indoors next December. We like to buy a rooted tree in the hopes that we can keep it alive for more than one season. Most successful was the very first tree we bought, some thirty six years ago. This was our son's first Christmas tree. It was barely two feet tall, small but perfectly formed, rather as in our new-parent idealism we saw our small son. The greengrocer who sold it to me declared, "it'll grow with t'littl'un". And grow it did. It came in and out of the house for a good few years, moving house with us and being repotted along the way. At some point we decided it was too big to come in and out any longer and our no-longer-quite-so-small son and I dug a hole and planted it in the garden. Where it continued to grow until, much to our granddaughter's chagrin, we had to have it chopped down as its roots were getting everywhere. By then it was almost as tall as the house! Ok, I exaggerate but not by much.
No other tree has been quite as successful as that one. We did consider re-using the 2013 tree, which is still in its pot at the bottom of the garden. Unfortunately, although it stayed alive, before growing new shoots it went through a period of shedding which left the central core rather scraggy and bare. As a garden tree it's fine, from a distance it looks splendid but up close it's a different story. You couldn't for shame stand it up in the living room. The 2012 tree is also there, a sorry thing, brown at the bottom but sprouting new green at the top. quite bizarre!
I do not hold out great hopes for the latest addition to my Christmas tree retirement home garden but I shall wait and see.
Final postscript: the rational feminist would like to add that I am quite able to change light bulbs, make coffee and even get things down off high shelves, with the aid of a trusty stool! Just saying, as I am told people say all the time about comments on Facebook!
Monday, 5 January 2015
Taking the tree down.
Most people have returned to work today after an extended Christmas and New Year break. I remember that feeling, having to remember to set the alarm early, dragging yourself off to work again. In fact, for teachers it's usually a mixture. It's good to see the students again but oh, how you miss those late get-ups! Can't say I miss the return to work thing!
Our daughter has returned to work but one of her offspring does not return to school until tomorrow. Consequently, she has been spending the day with us, making herself useful by helping to dismantle the Christmas tree. Now we are simply waiting for Phil to feel fit enough to take the tree out into the garden. and we have a carpet strewn with baubles!
The granddaughter has spent a good deal of time watching "shows" on her iPad. These are, for the most part, episodes of a series about vampires and vampire-hunters, all done in Japanese style manga cartoon. All the characters have much bigger eyes than are humanly possible, wildly unkempt hair and strangely formal clothing. What happened to adventure stories about young people going off in boats and such like?
At one point I overheard a line of dialogue that went something like this: "So all of the software company employees are vampires?" It almost makes a sort of sense. To understand how a lot of IT works you need to be initiated into the cult, or bitten in the neck in this case. How weird! It explains a lot about IT nerds.
It seems that today, the first working Monday of the New Year, is known as divorce day, one of the busiest days of the year for family lawyers. All the Christmas niggles must build up over the New Year holiday and lead to action being taken as soon as three tree goes down. If you're married than there is a one in five chance at you are contemplating splitting up by now. The article where I read it suggested that if the reader wasn't thinking of separation, then maybe his/her partner was and it might be useful to sneak a look at your partner's phone. Well, if divorce wasn't on the cards before, by the time you've shown yourself to be an untrusting meddler, maybe you will be.
My life shows signs of returning to normal. Tomorrow, Italian conversation classes begin again, as well as the first poetry group meeting of the year. Or maybe it's the last one of last year which had to be postponed because of he Christmas festivities.
Still coughing, however!
Our daughter has returned to work but one of her offspring does not return to school until tomorrow. Consequently, she has been spending the day with us, making herself useful by helping to dismantle the Christmas tree. Now we are simply waiting for Phil to feel fit enough to take the tree out into the garden. and we have a carpet strewn with baubles! The granddaughter has spent a good deal of time watching "shows" on her iPad. These are, for the most part, episodes of a series about vampires and vampire-hunters, all done in Japanese style manga cartoon. All the characters have much bigger eyes than are humanly possible, wildly unkempt hair and strangely formal clothing. What happened to adventure stories about young people going off in boats and such like?
At one point I overheard a line of dialogue that went something like this: "So all of the software company employees are vampires?" It almost makes a sort of sense. To understand how a lot of IT works you need to be initiated into the cult, or bitten in the neck in this case. How weird! It explains a lot about IT nerds.
It seems that today, the first working Monday of the New Year, is known as divorce day, one of the busiest days of the year for family lawyers. All the Christmas niggles must build up over the New Year holiday and lead to action being taken as soon as three tree goes down. If you're married than there is a one in five chance at you are contemplating splitting up by now. The article where I read it suggested that if the reader wasn't thinking of separation, then maybe his/her partner was and it might be useful to sneak a look at your partner's phone. Well, if divorce wasn't on the cards before, by the time you've shown yourself to be an untrusting meddler, maybe you will be.
My life shows signs of returning to normal. Tomorrow, Italian conversation classes begin again, as well as the first poetry group meeting of the year. Or maybe it's the last one of last year which had to be postponed because of he Christmas festivities.
Still coughing, however!
Sunday, 4 January 2015
Trying to resume normal service.
The frost hung around until at least mid-afternoon so it's probably just as well we stayed in and ventured nowhere.
Hopefully, something like normal service will be resumed tomorrow. In the meantime, here are a few more observations on what I am reading and hearing. I heard Nigel Farage on the radio, or maybe one of his spokesmen, saying he could not see UKIP forming a coalition with any party. Really? Are there people anywhere who envisage one of our political parties wishing to form a collation with UKIP? Would anyone INVITE that party to work with them? My mind is totally boggled at the prospect! Am I living in a nightmare where a group of cranks who seemed like an extremely bad joke can suddenly seem like a viable proposition for government?
Reading about women and alcohol, I came across this statement: "women born after the Second World War are twice as likely to binge drink and develop alcohol disorders than their older counterparts". Well, that's a rather weeping generalisation, in my opinion. Since the Second World War ended in 1945, this grouping includes all women aged about 68 and under. There are an awful lot of women who fall into that group. I'd like to see some proper statistics for I feel that maybe you should bring down the age at which binge drinking is most likely to be common.
Then there's the attitude to ageing; on the radio they were talking about this. Ladies of my sort of age commented on the fact that previously "ladies" of our age did not dye their hair, dress fashionably - smartly yes, but with a certain age-related decorum - or run around doing half the things we do now. And there were a whole lot of much older people talking about what they do to counter the stereotypes of old dears.
One chap in his mid eighties said that his reaction to being classified as "too old" is to go out on a five mile run. Hurray!
Saturday, 3 January 2015
Some early January thoughts!
It was only a matter of time, I suppose, before a member of the royal family was named in an underage sex scandal. It doesn't seem to be on the same lines as the Jimmy Saville awfulness but still it must be very worrying for them. Royal denials are taking place. Even though we may grow weary of hearing all the stories and accusations, it's a sign of a more open time that the stories are rising to the surface. No longer weighted down by the conventions that "boys will be boys" and that there will always be "that kind of girl", back they come to haunt respectable figures in their older age. Modern life!
A new high in people smuggling has been reported twice this week. Not only do these pirates take huge amounts of money from people wanting to escape the terror of their lives in war zones but they then set the steering on the vessels the people are travelling in towards the shore, lock it down in a collision course and abandon them to their fate. Just when you thought it could get no worse.
Just before Christmas, police counted 42 people sleeping rough in Madrid's Barajas airport. It's a regular thing, apparently, although that was a high. Unless they cause trouble, the police have opted to turn a blind eye to these airport residents. They beg, push people's luggage trolleys, for a small fee, watch luggage, again for a small fee and somehow manage to get by. Some of them go out to soup kitchens during the day but return to the airport to sleep as it's secure, the toilet facilities stay open all night, and sleeping there, even if it's still on the floor is better than on the street. Modern life!
An article in the newspaper about being healthier and wealthier suggests exchanging your shop bought latte for homemade black coffee. A "regular"(i.e. far bigger than anyone from a proper coffee drinking culture would consume in one go) Starbucks latte costs £2.25, which amounts to £11.25 if you have one every day over five days. And it's not even nice coffee. Well, that's my opinion anyway. If I am I dragged kicking and screaming into Starbucks I have to choose something else to drink. Another little statistic I gleaned from the article is that the average family spend £2,650 a year on takeaways and ready meals. Modern life!
So here we are, early January - time for some New Year Resolutions, I guess.
A new high in people smuggling has been reported twice this week. Not only do these pirates take huge amounts of money from people wanting to escape the terror of their lives in war zones but they then set the steering on the vessels the people are travelling in towards the shore, lock it down in a collision course and abandon them to their fate. Just when you thought it could get no worse.
Just before Christmas, police counted 42 people sleeping rough in Madrid's Barajas airport. It's a regular thing, apparently, although that was a high. Unless they cause trouble, the police have opted to turn a blind eye to these airport residents. They beg, push people's luggage trolleys, for a small fee, watch luggage, again for a small fee and somehow manage to get by. Some of them go out to soup kitchens during the day but return to the airport to sleep as it's secure, the toilet facilities stay open all night, and sleeping there, even if it's still on the floor is better than on the street. Modern life!
An article in the newspaper about being healthier and wealthier suggests exchanging your shop bought latte for homemade black coffee. A "regular"(i.e. far bigger than anyone from a proper coffee drinking culture would consume in one go) Starbucks latte costs £2.25, which amounts to £11.25 if you have one every day over five days. And it's not even nice coffee. Well, that's my opinion anyway. If I am I dragged kicking and screaming into Starbucks I have to choose something else to drink. Another little statistic I gleaned from the article is that the average family spend £2,650 a year on takeaways and ready meals. Modern life!
So here we are, early January - time for some New Year Resolutions, I guess.
Friday, 2 January 2015
Beginning 2015!
Well, the first day of my 2015 was spent ill in bed. I would like to claim that it was a monster hangover from New Year's Eve celebrations but, as we saw in the New Year with cold cures rather than champagne, that is definitely not the case. No, I got up feeling grotty, sat down to a little breakfast and had some kind of temperature spike that left me feeling woozy and landed me back in bed shivering round a hot water bottle. Major league fuss! Husband running about looking after me! Daughter round with medication for me! If I had not felt so awful I might have quite enjoyed it.
This morning, still not 100% restored, but considerably better than yesterday, I am up and about, feeling rather as if someone has stolen a day out of my life. I do object to being ill! But today it is Phil's turn to shiver in bed with the hot water bottle. We are really quite organised, even taking it in turns to be ill so that we can look after each other!
What I want to know is which member of the family gave us the dreaded lurgy. Almost all of them have been sharing germs with us. This is a Christmas present we didn't need. However, all of that is so last year! Let's put it behind us and get on with the new.
New Year's honours have been awarded. The poet Carol Ann Duffy has been made a Dame, which is lovely, a well deserved honour and given after she has proved herself over years. I have always objected to people receiving honours for gaining medals at the Olympics or winning the Tour de France. Surely you need to show that you are consistently good over time before they award you with national honours. Am I growing old and grumpy? Possibly not. Over in France, economist Thomas Picketty, writer of a bestselling book on economics, has turned down his nomination for the Légion d'Honneur, on the grounds that the state cannot decide who is honourable!!!
He is in illustrious company in doing so. Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir all rejected it in the past. It must take a special kind of self confidence, though, to stand up and say you don't want their awards! Or maybe you just need your own conception of honour and then stick to it.
Over here in the UK, Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg and his Spanish lawyer wife, Miriam González Durántez have been giving a joint interview. Apparently she is rated more highly than he is and he has been denying wanting to use her popularity to enhance his party's electoral fortunes. Now, she sounds like a very sensible lady, refusing to trail along during lengthy electoral campaigns. She has her own busy professional and family life and although declaring herself "willing to help" during past campaigns has said that that she could not just take weeks off to stand next to him while he makes speeches.
Good for her. Personally I am more interested in what the politician has to say, not whether his/her partner is on the campaign trail. I am going to be voting for a political, not his family, after all.
Years ago our politicians' partners did not figure in their political lives to anything like the extent they do now. Does the Chancellor of the Exchequer need his/her wife/husband standing alongside him/her when he/she does the budget speech? Does the Prime Minister need his/her partner alongside for every statement? Good grief, doctors don't ask their partners to be there when they explain medical stuff. My husband didn't accompany me to teaching job interviews! I really dislike this presidential style of top-politician. Even the French, who used to keep their politician's family life a big secret, are into it now. And look what kind of scandals have erupted for them as a result.
In the final analysis, being a politician is just a job. Okay, it's an important job and no doubt it's easier to do if your partner is on your side but that doesn't mean they need to be BY your side every time you appear in public.
I suppose it's another aspect of the current obsession with the "personality". In an age when you can be famous for being famous and when every element of the lives of the famous is examined in minute detail, then I expect it's inevitable.
But it doesn't mean I have to like it!
This morning, still not 100% restored, but considerably better than yesterday, I am up and about, feeling rather as if someone has stolen a day out of my life. I do object to being ill! But today it is Phil's turn to shiver in bed with the hot water bottle. We are really quite organised, even taking it in turns to be ill so that we can look after each other!
What I want to know is which member of the family gave us the dreaded lurgy. Almost all of them have been sharing germs with us. This is a Christmas present we didn't need. However, all of that is so last year! Let's put it behind us and get on with the new.
New Year's honours have been awarded. The poet Carol Ann Duffy has been made a Dame, which is lovely, a well deserved honour and given after she has proved herself over years. I have always objected to people receiving honours for gaining medals at the Olympics or winning the Tour de France. Surely you need to show that you are consistently good over time before they award you with national honours. Am I growing old and grumpy? Possibly not. Over in France, economist Thomas Picketty, writer of a bestselling book on economics, has turned down his nomination for the Légion d'Honneur, on the grounds that the state cannot decide who is honourable!!!
He is in illustrious company in doing so. Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir all rejected it in the past. It must take a special kind of self confidence, though, to stand up and say you don't want their awards! Or maybe you just need your own conception of honour and then stick to it.
Over here in the UK, Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg and his Spanish lawyer wife, Miriam González Durántez have been giving a joint interview. Apparently she is rated more highly than he is and he has been denying wanting to use her popularity to enhance his party's electoral fortunes. Now, she sounds like a very sensible lady, refusing to trail along during lengthy electoral campaigns. She has her own busy professional and family life and although declaring herself "willing to help" during past campaigns has said that that she could not just take weeks off to stand next to him while he makes speeches.
Good for her. Personally I am more interested in what the politician has to say, not whether his/her partner is on the campaign trail. I am going to be voting for a political, not his family, after all.
Years ago our politicians' partners did not figure in their political lives to anything like the extent they do now. Does the Chancellor of the Exchequer need his/her wife/husband standing alongside him/her when he/she does the budget speech? Does the Prime Minister need his/her partner alongside for every statement? Good grief, doctors don't ask their partners to be there when they explain medical stuff. My husband didn't accompany me to teaching job interviews! I really dislike this presidential style of top-politician. Even the French, who used to keep their politician's family life a big secret, are into it now. And look what kind of scandals have erupted for them as a result.
In the final analysis, being a politician is just a job. Okay, it's an important job and no doubt it's easier to do if your partner is on your side but that doesn't mean they need to be BY your side every time you appear in public.
I suppose it's another aspect of the current obsession with the "personality". In an age when you can be famous for being famous and when every element of the lives of the famous is examined in minute detail, then I expect it's inevitable.
But it doesn't mean I have to like it!
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