Euthanasia - where do you stand?

I see that Tony Nicklinson, the right to die campaigner and sufferer of 'locked in syndrome', has passed away this week.

Mr Nicklinson has been in the news recently for trying to get parliament and the courts to give him permission to end his life, which he felt was degrading and useless after a debilitating and severe stroke he had five years ago left him paralysed from the neck down. Whilst fully conscious and able to hear and see, he could not talk, communicating via a computer using blinks of his eyes, and was unable to move or perform bodily functions without assistance.

I guess where you stand on this will to some degree be determined by your religious beliefs, partly by your compassion and I suppose that your views may alter depending who you were talking about. For instance, if I was talking about a complete stranger I ought to be able to look at the situation totally objectively and without emotion, if it was one of my nearest and dearest then it might be completely different.

Except it isn’t that simple; most human beings have a strong compassionate instinct, and an inbuilt abhorrence of taking the life of another living creature (unless it’s a wasp, of course!) and themselves have a fear of dying. When we are talking about another human being, that instinct becomes even stronger and very few of us can envisage what it must be like to want to welcome death with open arms. There seems to be, in most of us at least, an unspoken urge to prolong life by any means at our disposal and not extinguish it.

But surely the person best placed to determine whether their life is worth living in this sort of situation is the sufferer themselves? Particularly when they are able to communicate their wishes in a rational and considered way, which is what Mr Nicklinson has been doing, or at least trying to do, through a proper legal process. To have been an active, sporty and healthy adult as he was, successful in his job and with a growing family and then be cut down in your prime and not able to do anything which gives you pleasure or motivates you for the remainder of your days and then be told that you have to live like that is like the modern day equivalent of putting someone into purgatory, and could be seen as incredibly cruel.

What would I want if it was me? I think the same as Mr Nicklinson, to be able to live reasonably self sufficiently with self respect and a degree of independence, and to die in a humane way with dignity. So if I was in Mr Nicklinson’s situation, I would probably want to end my own life too, probably with the added thought that it would free up my loved ones to also have a life again themselves. It is interesting that his wife, who clearly adored him, also felt it would be best for him to die, as mentally he was deeply unhappy and it was tearing her apart to see it. She has aged twenty years in the last five, if her photos are anything to go by.

If it was my loved ones, well I don’t know. I am compassionate and I am very emotional (I cry easily) but I hate to see suffering and wouldn’t want anyone (or any creature) that I loved to suffer the indignities of total dependency or have no quality of life at all. You would have to weigh up medical advice and risk, and let your head rule your heart, not always easily done.

Euthanasia always divides people, but on one thing I am totally clear. It is not for anyone else to tell me how to live my life or, in certain situations, whether I should have to live my life at all. Whilst I have always believed that suicide because you have squandered your money, or can't cope with someone leaving you or for other depressing reasons is the ultimate selfish act, the ability to end your life if it has become unbearable for medical reasons should be available under strict guidelines and conditions.

I just hope that I am never in a situation where my beliefs are put to the test. And if I am, I hope I am not found wanting.

Still boistrous!

Second puppy class last night, and Coco was as boisterous as ever.

The slightly older Labrador that was there last week has now finished her classes, so she is now one of the larger dogs there and by far the most confident.

Almost the minute she arrived, she mugged a gorgeous fluffy golden retriever puppy that looked like it had come straight out of the tumble dryer and is about 10 weeks old (so slightly younger than her) causing it to pee on the floor with nerves, then set about a lovely little cocker spaniel puppy called Norman (great name!) batting him around the head with her paws as she has experienced our cats do to her. Norman didn’t like it, but fortunately his owner was very understanding!

On the plus side, I think we’ve pretty much got the hang of ‘sit’ and ‘down’ now and are well on the way to ‘stay’ and ‘leave’. In fact I’d venture to say that Coco was probably the fastest to learn ‘leave’ of all the puppies there (God, don’t I sound like a proud parent). But we are way behind with ‘heel’ and ‘come’, and it is clear that she is too free spirited to think they apply to her!

‘Heel’ and ‘come’ are two exercises the puppies have to learn off the lead, which I knew from the minute the trainer said “Now take off their leads” would be a recipe for disaster. On the lead Coco was fine with the ‘heel’ thing, but the minute I took it off she was racing around like a dervish distracting all the other puppies and trying to nick the treats from the hands of the other owners whose dogs were doing what they were told.

“Hold her in the calm position” suggested the trainer. The calm position is when you hold your puppy on your lap with its back to you and your arms firmly round its tummy, with the idea that if they feel close to you, their pack leader, and therefore secure they will calm down and behave. It works for about five seconds, then Coco gets restless, wriggles, squirms and tried to turn round and either bite your ear or lick your face. She also gets very hot in your arms and starts panting at an alarming rate, trying to get away and reach the water bowl in the middle of the floor (which in her boisterousness she overturned three times last evening) so she can gulp down gallons of water and cool down (then have a full bladder and pee on the floor or in the car if you are unlucky).

Despite all this, she is a sweetie and we are so glad we took the plunge and got her. She’ll learn, and part of the trouble with the classes is there are too many distractions and at 6.30pm it is right in the middle of her ‘frantic time’ when she has loads of energy that she wants to burn off because we have been busy or working all day. But there isn’t much choice if you work, as you have to do these things in the evening, so we’ll persevere.

So, this week’s homework is ‘stay’, ‘leave’ and ‘heel’. She clearly isn’t ready for ‘come’, which is when you let them go quite a distance away and then get them to return to you. Knowing my luck, she’d wander off to Godstone and be lost forever! We’ll work on all that over the next fortnight until the next class (nothing next week because of the bank holiday).

Then we’ll come home with a gold star! I hope!

Hungry - why do we sometimes get the munchies?

I had the serious munchies yesterday.

I had them all day, and it played hell with my will power and my ability to stick to my diet.

I have done very well over the past few weeks, and have lost around a stone in weight. I have roughly another stone to go, and I am feeling relatively confident that I can make it. Munchies aside of course.

What is it about some days that you simply feel starving all day regardless of the amount you eat? I blame my hormones (well I am the right age and I might as well, they have such a bad reputation any way) but surely other people feel like this and they can’t all be hormonal?

My chosen diet at the moment does as much as it can to help by providing a daily snack which you are supposed to save up for your ‘weak’ time of day and by permitting you two daily fruit snacks as well. Yesterday, I had my breakfast, my morning fruit, my lunch with permitted soup plus an allowed bread roll and a yoghurt, my afternoon fruit and my savoury snack and by late afternoon I was still starving! It was ages until dinner, and I am was in serious danger of buckling under the smell of the fast food as I entered Victoria station tonight. I almost had to go home with a peg on the end of my nose!

I am using a diet from a company called Diet Chef, which is essentially a fully catered diet using old fashioned calorie counting as its basis. And it works. You get an allowance of 1200 calories a day of which they provide approximately 800 in a pre prepared breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack. You make up the remainder by plenty of fruit and vegetables and a small amount of carbohydrate. There is plenty of choice (you get to pick your month’s meal selection yourself from a set of drop down choices) and without exception everything I have eaten so far has been tasty. The portions are smaller than you would cook yourself, but reasonably filling. You can have the odd night off (for instance if you are out with friends for dinner) as long as you don’t do it too regularly. All in all, I am quite impressed. It’s just as well, because I had to sign up for four months and it was expensive.

I have tried numerous other ways over the years from Atkins (which did make me lose weight but I got terrible wind, constipation and bad breath) to detoxing (which is just weird) through very odd pills which 'cleanse' your colon and stop you absorbing fat to Weight Watchers (where I was hungry ALL the time and which, judging from the lardy women that attend their meetings week after week, doesn’t work long term). None of them were terribly successful and all of them, in their own way, were unpleasant. I didn’t stick at anything longer than a month.

I have been doing this for almost seven weeks now, so my weight loss is averaging just over 2lb a week, which is the recommended amount if you want to keep the weight off long term. I have another two and a bit months to go (I can’t afford to do it for any longer) to get down to a goal weight I haven’t seen for about 15 years. If I can do it, I am promised a pair of Armani jeans by The Hubby.

Now that we have the dog of course, and now that she is old enough to go out for walks, I hope to accelerate the rate of loss by taking her out daily and for at least one long walk at the weekend. She is still a baby and can’t walk for hours, but an hour’s play in the field will be an hour longer than I would have done before. It should help me lose weight, tone up my thighs and calves, tighten up my belly muscles and improve my heart. A lot is riding on this, so it better bloody work!

Sit !!

On Monday evening (ie yesterday), we went to our first puppy training class.

I was prepared for an hour of humiliation, and it must be said that apart from another Labrador puppy that was slightly older than Coco she was the most confident and boisterous dog there, but actually it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought and I ended up thoroughly enjoying myself.

There were ten puppies there of varying ages between eight weeks and four months, so Coco was about middling. She was also middling size-wise, somewhere between the spaniels and one enormous Weimeramer (not sure if that is how you spell it, but anyway some bloody enormous Scandi hunting dog) that was only ten weeks old but already the size of a small pony.

There were three spaniels (two Cocker Spaniels and one King Charles), a Beagle, two Terriers, a Dalmatian, two Labs, this enormous thing and a few dogs which were either cross breed or something so pedigree I’d never heard of it, including one that looked like a teddy bear.

We learned ‘sit’, ‘down’ and had an attempt at ‘heel’. By and large, Coco didn’t do too badly although did get bored after a few attempts and when she discovered that once she got the hang of it all she was expected to do it without any meaty treats lost all interest and just rushed round the floor hoovering up the dropped bits of chicken breast that the other puppies had discarded.

The Hubby came along too, and if anything was a bit slower than the dog at learning, constantly forgetting all the verbal commands and being inconsistent with hand signals (he’s a bit like that when he’s driving the car, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised!). I think it was all a bit of a culture shock for him; after years of not having any animals at all and then in the last few acquiring a few cats through association with me, he suddenly has an energetic and strong minded, intelligent dog to deal with and has discovered a whole new world of things to do and buy.

All in all though, things went OK and at least Coco didn’t disgrace herself by peeing on the floor like a couple of the other, considerably more nervous puppies did. Considering she had never met another dog apart from her brothers and sisters (whom she has probably forgotten by now anyway) she was pretty well behaved and didn’t try to bite any other animal or person.

The lady running these classes has been recommended by the vets, and she is apparently an animal behaviourist as well as a puppy trainer. When she demonstrated the techniques on these infants, it all looked so easy but of course once the whole doggy class gets up and has a go there are so many distractions it makes it very difficult for the puppy to concentrate. So, we have homework! The exercises have to be repeated several times daily, firstly with treats then without. We have to take her out to meet other animals and get used to their presence so she is less easily distracted.

So there will be lots more trips out, which means, unfortunately for her, lots more trips in the car. Coco already dislikes the car and hates being shut behind her dog guard in the back and not able to join in with her human companions. It’s amazing how piercing a dog’s whine can be when you are enclosed with her inside four cubic metres of metal, but she has to get used to it because the car is a necessary evil of life today and what’s more, can take you to lots of good doggie places like the park. So somehow, she will have to at least learn to tolerate it, if not to like it.

We have plans to take her to the big agricultural show held locally over the August bank holiday weekend, so hopefully she will have learned to be in the car and to obey some basic commands by then. Otherwise it will be an interesting couple of days!

Wasn't it all rather a let down?

I only saw half the Olympics closing ceremony last night, until about 10.15pm, and then I’m afraid I got bored and went to bed. I have recorded the rest, really just so I can see the Spice Girls (which is rather sad) but perhaps it was inevitable after the wonderful opening ceremony and the drama of the last fortnight that last night fell rather short of my expectations.

I’m sure if you were there on the night, as 80,000 spectators were, that it was easy to get swept up in it all and enjoy the atmosphere, and I must say that the lighting effects were spectacular. The firework pictures in the newspapers this morning also looked rather good, but fancy lights and sparklers alone do not, for me, make a good night out.

If anything, I thought that the content of the ‘show’ lacked imagination. Yet again Madness were wheeled out (literally in this case) as was Annie Lennox plus a number of other famous musical faces and others not so famous (who on earth was that Emilie girl who opened the whole thing with that dreary song?).

What about celebrating other things British – not just focusing on London and music but broadening the horizon and looking at other famous landmarks and other artistic and athletic endeavours? Anyone watching around the world would

a)    Have trouble making out what it was all about what with taxis covered in newspaper and low loaders and

b)    Have come to the conclusion that London was all there is about Britain

I am conscious that this is all sounding rather churlish, particularly as I couldn’t be arsed to sit up until almost midnight to see it through, because it has been such a fabulous fortnight with not one duff note. The organisation has been superb, the sport has been spectacular (and that is coming from someone who doesn’t really like sport and never reads the back pages of the newspaper), the venues are world beating and the conduct and camaraderie of the competitors without fault.

Just imagine if this had been a fortnight festival of football – we would have had drunken louts ‘singing’ in the street, fights, bad sportsmanship on the pitch and obscene amounts of money being thrown at players just to turn up. We’ve had none of that, and even the most arrogant and hyped of competitors such as Usain Bolt have behaved impeccably (talking of 100 metre runners – don’t those guys have attitude?!)

Perhaps it is slightly unkind to moan, because artistic success is very much a subjective thing. I bet there are lots of you out there that loved last night’s ceremony, so maybe I just have to accept that it wasn’t my thing but agree that actually it was professionally staged and very well done, especially considering that services were either given for free or provided by volunteers.

And now we have to gear up for the Paralympics, which has been cheapened already by the fact it is on Channel Four, the home of Big Brother and Ice Road Truckers, and not the BBC.  Somehow, annoying as Claire Balding was fawning over the swimmers last week, C4 just won’t have the same amount of class. And it will be most annoying to have the viewing broken up by oversized opera singers trying to persuade me to ‘Go compare ‘ or by those f*****g meerkats (I used to quite like meerkats, now I feel like exterminating every last one of them!). But we’ll have to see.

I can tell by friends’ posts on Facebook that most of them have been tremendously excited by the Olympic extravaganza but personally, despite the success of Team GB and the heroic performances we have seen from some over the past fortnight, I can’t wait for it all to be over.

So roll on 9^th September, when the Paralympics finish, and let’s all get life back to normal.

Bored, bored, bored!

I am staggeringly bored.

I am working at home today and tomorrow, and I have a range of different things with me to do. I have made some progress this morning, but for the last two to three hours my brain has ground to a halt and I simply have got nothing done whatsoever.

The trouble is, what I have to do is mind numbingly dull and really doesn’t interest me at all. I am writing a Project Initiation Document for a project to refresh our web pages, rewriting a job description and pulling together a gannt chart for another project. I do quite like project management work, which appeals to my tidy ordered mind, but the subject matter bores me rigid.

I mean, IT, come on for goodness sake! I am a strategic, broad brush manager and I have staff to do things like that for me! The trouble is none of them could write a Project Brief or a PID if their lives depended on it and it would be twice the work and require numerous edits if I asked them to have a go. So it just seems simpler to do it myself.

It doesn’t help that the sun is shining today and it is pleasantly warm. The cats are basking on the lawn in a tight circle formation so that at least one of them can watch the puppy at all times, and she is running around them like a dervish with my old slippers and an old small squishy football, desperate for them to play with her. Very soon, one of them is going to reach out and lazily scratch her on the nose, I can see it coming.

There is a gentle buzzing of bees and garden strimmers (clearly not a lot of my neighbours are at work – I’ve never seen so much gardening activity in the middle of the day in the week) interspersed by the odd blaring car radio as one of the local Herberts drives up the road too fast, windows wide open and radio blasting out, in his customised Renault Clio that has speakers almost as large as the car itself. But apart from that, it’s a pretty peaceful summer’s day and a nice day to be sitting here looking up the garden.

This may come as no surprise to you, but I really don’t like my job. Oh, I can get on with it and when I’m in the office most of my colleagues are pleasant enough, but the work isn’t my cup of tea (I’ve sort of inherited quite a lot of it through various restructures etc and it was either that or be out of a job myself) and I’m really not sure what sort of difference it makes. Honestly, does it really matter that a load of super rich people in Kensington get their basement extension approved in eight weeks and a load of nimbys have access to a super duper web site so they can spy on and complain about their neighbours? I don’t think so!

I will have to get on in a minute, but I think after another half an hour or so I will pack it in for the day (I have been working since 8am, so that’s not too much of a skive) and come back to it hopefully refreshed and in a more IT type mood tomorrow.

But before I do, I’ll just see what Olympic sports are on the telly…..

It's like having another baby!

The new puppy is running us ragged. Already, after two weeks of her being in our home, she has wormed her way into our affections and become part of the family. It’s just like having a baby again.

She is settling into our routine well, and we only had the night time crying for two nights. For the first two weeks someone was almost always there during the day with her as well, and it is only this week that she has had to manage for one or two days on her own. The first day she cried pitifully when we went to work (so my daughter tells me, as she was trying to sleep upstairs after a heavy night). The second day she cried only a little, and this morning she didn’t at all.

She is getting used to it all, even the cats who she is desperate to play with. Needless to say, the enthusiasm is not for the moment being returned. However we haven’t actually had any rough weather as yet so the cats are able to live in the greenhouse and sneak in at night for food and water. All three have reacted with varying degrees of mistrust towards Coco, and one of them will now sleep in the lounge during the day as long as puppy leaves her alone. Another will come in quietly for a nibble of food and then leave, but the last one won’t come near unless she knows puppy is shut away. It will take some cold weather and lots of rain, when they want to be warm and dry inside, to force the issue but we’ll get there.

Toilet training is more problematic, as we aren’t there all the time. By and large the number twos are done on newspaper by the door, but she does have a tendency to stop and have a wee wherever she happens to be, which is a tad inconvenient especially when you step in it! There is going to be one very smelly dirty rug going to the tip when she is eventually trained, I suspect some time next spring when she is eight or nine months old.

Despite being a cutie, she is also a nipper and any unshod feet are treated as fair game. Boy, it hurts! We are trying to use the dog manual’s recommended solution of yelling loudly then turning our back,and she is starting to get the message that biting is not acceptable. But I think her teeth are hurting her, poor little soul (again, just like a baby) so we are doing our best to find teething toys to play with.

We have bought a very nice kennel which she will eventually live in outside (and no, it isn’t cruel – she is a working dog and already loves being outside) where she will have much more freedom when we are out at work, will be able to keep warm and dry  and where it won’t matter too much if she makes a mess. We have secured the garden with yards of wire fencing so she cannot escape. Like everything else it will take getting used to and some adjustment, but she is a fast little learner. She’ll be fine.

It is incredible and very touching how much she likes people, and when you are there with her she is never far from your side. I sit at the dining table and work, and she sleeps under my chair. I sit and watch the TV, and she is at my feet (usually trying to bite them – see above). I am cooking in the kitchen, and she is around me all the time. I am jobbing in the garden, and she is mooching round my feet. She’s always there, like a little shadow. Maybe that’s what we should have called her – shadow!

But Coco is a perfect name for her. Apart from it’s play on the word cocoa, which is exactly the colour she is, she is a very stylish little dog with a pale blue leather collar that is covered in diamante (yes, I have blinged her up) and is very pretty. Coco Chanel herself couldn’t have wished for a better pet, but seeing as she was French she would probably have gone for a stupid little handbag dog instead.  

But already we love her, and we wouldn’t be without her. And our lives have changed immeasurably for ever!

Gold, gold, gold. Keep 'em coming!

Well it just goes to show that you can be proud to be British, whilst still not liking that many things about the UK.

I’m talking, of course, about the wonderful collection of medals accumulated by Team GB this weekend. From tennis to various track and field events to those in wetter environments, we have done ourselves proud and even I found myself shouting encouragement at the TV despite not really being a sports fan. It’s so nice to see enthralling sport on the telly that isn’t football!

Even Andy Murray came up trumps and paraded round Centre Court wearing a Union Jack (I wouldn’t have put it past him to drape himself in the Saltire). Wimbledon lost its stuffiness and was a better place for it, and the Olympic stadium went wild with emotion; how Jessica Ennis kept calm in the face of such frenzied support I will never know. You could sense the atmosphere even through the TV screen and it must have been awe inspiring to be there during that hour when we bagged long jump, women’s heptathlon and 10,000 metre golds.

So it makes you proud to be British. I might even get out my own union flag and drape it across the front of my house and I am looking with greedy eyes at a very nice union Jack T-shirt in the local posh dress shop.

The French, of course, are carping and throwing around sour grapes like they’re going out of fashion, after having been shown up following their gloating last week when Francois Hollande stated that “wasn’t it good of us to put on a great show just to allow his French athletes to win medals”. Well who’s third in the medal table now then, garlic munchers? Oh, that would be good old GB! And if you pro rata the number of medals we’ve won against our population, and compare it to the same pro rata’d figure for the US and China who are above us in the table and have a vastly larger populace, I bet we’d come out top.

All this patriotic flag waving doesn’t mean, however, that I particularly like Great Britain or want to live here. Yes, there are lots of good things about the UK but there’s a hell of a lot wrong with it too, and no amount of sporting triumph can take them away. Where should I start – Ed Miliband seems a good place, although Jessie J, work shy and unworthy dole scroungers (yes, controversial statement I know, but there are some out there) , Eastenders and John Terry are also good starting points for a list of ‘Things That Are Bad About Britain’. And it could go on for ever, this list, but then that would be boring and we’d all have a different opinion.

Of course wherever you live in the world has it’s faults and I have no illusion that where I want to go is paradise (well, we all know it isn’t because I want to go to Crete, and the Greeks are further up shit creek than we are and they’ve lost their paddle to boot!). But you have to find the place where your soul feels at home, and for me that simply isn’t the UK.

But for now, let’s bask in the reflected glory of not only our superb athletes but what is, so far, an impeccably organised games as far as the sport and facilities go (we’ll not talk about Locog or the ticketing fiasco, or the greedy unions who from my experience last week are doing no more work than normal for their extortionate Olympic bonuses and in fact for much of the time are probably carrying less people than usual as lots of Londoners are working at home). Seb Coe and his team should be congratulated and I hope that the media, who led the carping club beforehand, have the grace to eat their words and say how well we’ve done.

As to legacy, well who knows? We now have some brand new, wonderful facilities and perhaps private sector companies will step in and make sure they continue to be maintained and run efficiently because God knows there isn’t the money in the public sector.

Rule Brittania!

It's going well!

It seems like after a rather shaky start, Team GB is doing rather well in the medal tables. At the time of writing, we are fourth overall with six golds, six silvers and six bronze. One ahead of France, who only have five silvers. Ha! Take that, garlic munchers!

It must be hoped that this medal count will increase further. The sports in the first week of competition have not really favoured us and they aren't generally speaking things we excel in. Tom Daley and Rebecca Adlington aside, we haven't had a decent swimmer in decades, cycling has only recently come to the fore and as for gymnastics, well the bronze medal the other night is the first in that discipline for 100 years. Badminton, table tennis etc? The odd success but nothing consistent. Not really our sort of thing. We got our first gold medal this time in shooting, which to me is more of a country pursuit that involves killing innocent animals for fun or food, rather than a sport. A sport is something that makes you hot and sweaty isn't it, usually involving something roughly spherical or a pair of trainers? As far as I can see, shooting does neither of those things. Need I say more?

Today, of course, sees the start of the track and field athletics and the water sports, in particular sailing, are only just coming to their final stages where we are in with a good shout. We must stand a good chance of several medals in athletics across a whole range of disciplines. Whilst we probably don't have a cat in hell's chance of beating the Yanks, who have such a massive population base with such broad ethnicity that they have runners, weight lifters, gymnasts and the lot, we ought to be able to catch up the Chinese who have walked it in week one but never do well in all the second week stuff and we definitely ought to be able to beat the French. Our lives won't be worth living if we don't, and they'll never let us forget it.

Not being a sporty sort, I haven't really been that interested in the Olympics in the run up and got heartily sick of it being rammed down my throat by the media, but now it's here and there is more of an atmosphere I am enjoying watching the odd hour or two. Last night I sat in front of it and designed my pantomime set! I couldn't sit and watch it all day, but a short burst now and then to keep in touch with what is happening is OK. And you don't actually need to watch it all day - there are such long gaps between heats and events that the Beeb have time to replay and revisit ad infinitum. With 24 channels of Olympic sport, there is a lot of filler being given airtime.

This week might, I suppose, be quite exciting and I have never been averse to a bit of patriotic flag waving. Just a bloody shame our national anthem isn't a little more stirring. Rule Brittania or Land of Hope and Glory would be much more satisfying to sing along to, don't you think?

Did you get any of the late allocation?

The fiasco that is Olympic ticketing continues. And for once, it is no fault of Locog, who have simply been abiding by an agreement signed seven years ago that a certain proportion of tickets had ot be set aside for the 'Olympic Family' which basically means the professional bodies across the world which support and foster sports.

The same thing apparently happened in Beijing, but with China still being the closed country that it is we knew very little about it. It is an absolute outrage that these organisations get such a large allocation and then waste it when there are so many ordinary people that want to support the games and spend their hard earned money in doing so.

The late release of tickets for some high profile and prestige events such as the athletics has, of course, made many Londoners and locals very pleased; they have been able to buy access to key events which they desperately wanted to see and for which they had been previously unsuccessful.

And of course it is better for athletes of all countries to have full stadia watching and cheering them on. It is immeasurably better for the Olympic Authority to promote the venues and gain the desired levels of income to bolster the economy. In addition, full stadia mean more people spending money in shops, restaurants, bars and on public transport.

I was not myself interested in going to anything, I just don't like sport enough, but I know many people who were and are now delighted. Good luck to them, and i hope it didn't cost them an arm and a leg.

The IOC really needs to address this issue before the next games in 2016. A far smaller proportion of tickets should be set aside and if the Olympic Family organisations want more then they should have to bid for them like anyone else. That way lies fairness, transparency and good PR. Let's hope that the lessons of the ticketing problems here (including use of Visa only even on the Olympic site, venues that are too large for the expected crowds, unfair allocations to large organisations and sponsors etc) are learned for 2016 and rectified.

Sadly, I suspect money will talk and the situation will not be a great deal better. At least it won't be our economy and image that suffers, and probably it won't affect us hugely in terms of the number of people that can attend since South America is so far away. But nevertheless, it is just plain wrong, and totally not in the spirit of the Olympics and their wider aim of making sport more accessible to the masses.

Are you listening Mr Chairman of the IOC Jacques Rogge or whatever your name is? I doubt it.

Ring, ring, jingle, jingle.

I see from the newspaper that as from this coming weekend, Virgin Airlines are to allow passengers to use their mobile phones on board, once airborne. Where Virgin goes, others will follow.

Noooooo! On a plane is one of the few places you can get away from the incessant ring and irritating tunes of the ubiquitous mobile these days, one of the few places where you can be guaranteed a relative degree of peace and quiet.

The news has had a mixed reception. Those that are overwhelmingly positive seem to be what in the eighties would have been called yuppies, and seem to be predominantly media types who are welded to their mobiles just in case someone important wants to get hold of them because, as we all know, they are indispensible. The less overjoyed are on the whole older, wiser and family types for whom going on a plane means a welcome break from the tedium and constant contactability of life today.

Personally, I can't wait to get away from the 'phone, the telly and the newspapers. I find the media unrelentingly depressing these days, full of complaining and bad news. And the telephone is the most intrusive instrument ever devised by man and for all its benefits, has some significant downsides.

I don't understand those who feel they must answer their phone at all costs and that the world will end if they don't. If someone walked in while you were having a conversation with a third party or having your dinner with friends and interrupted you and demanded that you respond to them immediately, you would think them terribly rude. But you will still answer a ringing phone in such a situation; why? What's the difference? If you are out of contact for a few hours because you are travelling there is very little that is so urgent it cannot wait; as recently as 20 years ago it would have had to, since it is within that relatively short length of time that mobiles have become prevalent.

So far as I can see, allowing people to use their phones on board a plane is totally unnecessary and in terms of customer satisfaction a backward step. It will disrupt other passengers that wish to be quiet or to sleep, will remove the pleasure of travelling and will increase yet again the amount of time that the world can intrude and further pressurise us. Unless they are thinking of segregating the plane and having a 'quiet zone' and possibly only allowing outgoing calls and not incoming, it will make me think twice about flying with Virgin again. Which would be a shame, because on the one time I have done so, it was a very pleasant experience.

Coco has arrived!

Well, the puppy has arrived. After having been an exclusively feline household for many years, we have a chocolate labrador retriever. Called Coco.

This little brown bundle of feet and belly has come into the house and totally taken over. We have had to create a 'den' by fencing off part of the lounge, acquire masses of equipment I simply had no idea about and enrolled her in the local vet's puppy club for her vaccinations, microchipping and eventually, to be speyed.

I had no idea that puppies poo'd so much! At just shy of eight weeks old, she isn't yet house trained. She has a designated place within her den where she is supposed to do anything she needs to do, and sometimes she does. We try and take her out into the garden when she has eaten, had a sleep, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She has treats when she performs appropriately, but so far she is having trouble getting the hang of it (particularly with where she should have a wee) and it is very difficult to identify the  signs that she needs to go. Apparently puppies do go frequently and when they are very small, as she is, they don't have any bladder control at all and when they need to go, they need to go NOW. So you don't get much warning to clip on the lead and take her out back. We have had several accidents, and I haven't cleared up so much poo in years.

It really is just like having a new baby and having to teach it the basics. I always hated potty training then, too. I suspect it will be several weeks before she really gets her head round it and by then, I will be questioning my decision to get her.

Sunday night was her first night away from her mum and siblings (there were seven in the litter) and she cried all night. We gave her a hot water bottle and a towel which we had rubbed all over her mum's back so she had a familiar smell close to her, and a ticking clock which sounded like a heart beat, but it didn't make any difference. She really does have a very piercing whine, punctuated by little high pitched barks. I sleep wearing ear plugs, so I wasn't too bothered, but The Hubby tells me she started at about 11.30pm and continued until he got up in the morning, starting up again when he went out for work. I bet the neighbours loved that, but at least it gets them back for all the times they have woken us up by yelling at each other all the time or when their own dog used to cry outside the house all day while they were out at work and had locked him in the garden.

The vet has suggested that we leave the radio on low as sometimes that can soothe a lonely puppy, so we'll try that tonight. I wonder if she is a Radio Four or Radio Two girl? But what I will not do is bring her upstairs with me; she has to learn that she is not the leader of the pack and cannot go where she wants just because she makes a fuss. Of course I don't want her to be distressed, but rules have to be established from the beginning. Similarly, she will not be allowed on the chairs.

Today, she has been to the vet and had her first vaccinations, been microchipped and had a worming tablet. I have flea treatments to give her in the next few days, and she has to go back in two weeks time for her second jabs. It's all go!

I have a feeling that my life will be significantly different from now on. Coco will dictate our timetable and lifestyle if we let her, although while she is a baby it is very difficult to do anything which doesn't allow us to meet her needs. She will help get us fitter by having to be walked, and most likely, once we get over the first few weeks, bring us an amazing amount of joy.

I'll let you know.

Did you see her Madjesty?

I saw a picture in the freebie Metro newspaper the other day of Madonna at her Hyde Park gig, which took place last week.

She was dressed in tight leather trousers, a biker jacket, sported garish makeup and was brandishing a silver revolver. Madge is 54; she looked ridiculous.

I suppose at least she was decently covered up, which is more than can be said about some of her costumes over the years, but there is something terribly sad about her desperation to prove that she is still ‘cool’ and ‘hip’ and her desire to shock.

I have been a Madonna fan in the past. Some of her music was edgy and different but in many cases it was good old fashioned pop. You could dance to it, remember the tune of quite a lot of it and it doesn’t have that awful thumping bass of so much music these days, which quite simply gives me a headache. But there is a time to call it a day, and for her I suspect it may be fast approaching.

Of course there are lots of aging pop stars and rockers still going strong, most of them male. The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, Paul McCartney and Elton John all spring to mind without even thinking too hard, and they are all growing old with varying degrees of success in trying to stay at the top of their game.

The dangers of going on too long were glaringly highlighted by the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee concert, which featured quite a lot of these ol’ timers. Whilst some of it worked well, much of it was plainly embarrassing. I have always been a big Elton fan, and I think he can still put on a good show and get his crowd rocking and Tom Jones can still pull it off, too. But I thought Stevie Wonder, Annie Lennox, Grace Jones and worst of all Paul McCartney were frankly past it and ought to give up while they are ahead. Their voices were cracked and strained, they looked tired and there was no sparkle.

The trouble with Madge is she refuses to grow old gracefully. She has always liked to shock, and her songs and stage sets over the years have offended almost every religious group on the planet. She dresses like her daughter, Lourdes, but unfortunately no amount of time spent in the gym, no odd macrobiotic diets, the steeliest determination  and not even the most wonderful stylist (as if she would listen to one) can disguise the fact that you simply aren’t eighteen any more. I’m sure she is still a wonderful performer (she has that special something called ‘presence’) and if she didn’t try to do new material she would probably go completely crazy, but really, is there any need to pretend so hard that you are young, on the edge and out there? The answer, most definitely, is no.  

Most of those that attended Hyde Park and reduced it to a sea of mud won’t much care about any of this because they will have been royally entertained by someone who loves the limelight and knows how to put on a show. They will have drunk expensive lager or nasty lukewarm white wine and got near food poisoning from the less than average quality scrotum-burgers on sale from the numerous catering vans trying to make the best of a bad summer. They will have disrupted the neighbours and crowded onto the late night trains in good humoured but boisterous moods to go home. And had a good time.

But that doesn’t take away the fact that most of these oldies now ought to look at hanging up their guitar and their microphone. When your talent won’t see you through, or you have to resort to shock tactics, nudity or something equally distasteful, or your voice or your body lets you down, it’s time to go. Before it’s too late.

Woof, woof!

For the first time ever, we are about to become dog owners.

A cute little puppy dog called Coco will be joining us on Sunday 22^nd July. She is a chocolate Labrador Retriever, and is part of the de-stressing and keep fit plan to ensure I reach my retirement years.

I’m not sure what the cats will think of her, having always lived in a canine free environment. Fortunately, Coco will not be phased by the cats as there are a few where she was born, which is a sort of stables cum farm cum shack in Hurst Green. But the moggies have had ten or more years of exclusively feline pampering and attention, and their noses may well and truly be put out of joint. I’m sure they’ll get over it, especially when the weather turns nasty and they want to be indoors next to the radiator.  

It has taken weeks of debate and heart searching before making the decision to get a puppy. Can we afford it? Are we at home enough? Will we walk it enough to stop it getting fat? Will we manage to teach it to be well behaved? Should we get a small dog which could fit in and out of a large cat flap and so have a bit of freedom during the day? All these questions and more have been debated ad nauseam and in the end we just decided to go for it (well, I did, and took the option of just going to see the litter and then telling The Hubby what was happening – it’s OK, he’s used to it!).

I must confess to being slightly apprehensive about it all. I have always been a bit of a couch potato and whilst The Hubby will take his turn at the walks (especially, I hope, at 6.30 in the morning) by and large it will be me doing quite a lot of it due to the number of hours he works. But in a way that’s a good thing, as it will force me to walk instead of slouch in front of the telly; there’s no way I want a barrel shaped dog and I need to get a bit fitter and lose more weight.

Coco is a cute little thing, and although I know she won’t stay a small, fluffy wriggling bundle of feet and belly for long she will still be a very pretty dog. And Labradors are such good family pets I’m sure she will fit in with the cats, grandchildren and our fairly hectic lifestyle. She will come to rehearsals, come shopping and go out with us at the weekends.

I am, of course, going into retail mode for said new pooch, and purchases have so far included a pale blue soft leather and diamante collar and a glittery puppy harness. She will look like a right woos walking down the street in them, but as she won’t know anything about that I don’t care – I like them! It is incredible how much stuff you can buy for puppies and dogs, some of it stuff I never dreamed I’d want or knew existed. Beds, fancy leads, vitamins, grooming tools and treats are just the tip of the ice berg. And the multitude of choice for food is quite overwhelming.

Coco joins us on 22^nd, and I can’t wait. She will be spoiled rotten by all of us, although the toilet training may tax our patience for a while and I’m sure she will cry at night. All the best puppy books tell you to ignore the crying, but if you see me with shadows under my eyes and a haggard look for a few weeks you will know why!

Aches and pains!

Aches and pains!

We all get them, and as we get old they seem to get more severe and more frequent.

Regular readers will know that I have suffered from a prolapsed disk in my lumbar spine for about three years now. I have no idea what caused it, and I suspect it is linked to an old injury I got in my twenties starting a pull start lawn mower. I have had three lots of steroid injections directly into the disk and the spinal column to try and treat it, to no avail. Back in February I had laser treatment, which basically kills the trapped nerve endings where the disk has collapsed and therefore kills the pain. It has been pretty effective, but whether it lasts long term is anyone’s guess.

I have also, in the past year, had an arthroscopy on both my knees, where the cartilage was shot to pieces. It has obviously been deteriorating for some time, exacerbated by a fall two years ago catching a stray dog in the garden. They both still ache when it rains or it is cold, and I am stiff as a board when I get out of bed in the morning, which takes about ten minutes to wear off.

You will also know that I have bizarrely developed tennis elbow in my right arm, no doubt due to all the computer work and typing I do. With an ambition to do freelance writing, that isn’t going to get better any time soon. All these problems with joints and cartilage are now worrying me that I will develop arthritis when I get even more decrepit than I am at the moment.

The latest thing, as I blogged the other day, is my blood pressure which is now sky high as are my cholesterol levels. Honestly, if I make retirement at all it will be a miracle.

The Hubby is now complaining about back pain, which he first experienced when we were on holiday. A small, easy movement one day turned him into a cripple with pain shooting up his spine into his neck. I gave him a couple of my Tramadol and some Ibuprofen which he took and which helped, and after a day or so the pain wore off, but it has returned and he now needs to go and see the doc.

I blame my hormones for most of my daily aches, but I don’t know what his excuse is. Men do have a menopause, don’t they? No doubt weight and fitness could improve and that would help us overcome some of it, but not all.

We will just have to focus on ourselves for a change, and not spend all our time running around after other people. How many time shave we said that we need to diet, get fit and try to have a healthier lifestyle with more relaxed weekends and down time?  More than I can count, and so far we haven’t achieved it. Having both a last found a partner that we do want to spend the rest of our lives with, it would be nice if that life was long and healthy.

Oh, hello Doctor Williams……

Isn’t it hard not to spend money?

Due to the general economic situation (ie no pay rise for three years and continually increasing bills) we are trying to have an economy drive. With varying degrees of success for a whole variety of reasons.

The Hubby is struggling due to the simple fact that he has two teenage boys both of whom have cars and that is expensive. Not only contributing towards the cost of the vehicle itself and its upkeep, but the insurance for teenage boys is astronomic. Even the most competitive quote for the youngest, who is just about to take his test, was just over £2,000 for a year and that was for an 04 reg Renault Clio and under the condition he has a special box of electronic tricks fitted to his engine to monitor his driving. Many of his friends are paying much more.

Like everyone, we are also paying more into our pensions to try and ensure a decent standard of living in our old age. They say that more and more people are opting out of pension schemes as they become more costly and the returns less attractive, which is surely just storing up problems for the future.

But by and large, it’s just the general household bills which are racking up at an alarming rate. I went supermarket shopping the other day and admittedly bought for a dinner party (which therefore included wine and various items which wouldn’t usually be in my trolley) as well as the usual weekly shop, and it was one of those weeks where toiletries and detergents etc had all run out at once, but the bill came to almost £200. I nearly fell over at the checkout! I have long given up being surprised at the cost of filling up the car, and as for going out anywhere – well it has to be strictly limited and even then it’s a Wetherspoon’s curry instead of the nice Italian restaurant just down the road.

And we are both in employment and relatively well paid (yes, you do have outgoings to match your salary and between us three divorces and several house moves haven’t helped, but you know what I mean). God knows how those on low incomes or out of work are managing (although a lot of them are still in Wetherspoon’s, I notice, either drinking all evening or fagging it outside).

We are busy people, and we try to do something each weekend where we can spend some time together that isn’t doing chores. Often that is going to Café Nero for coffee, or sometimes a walk round a National Trust property, a trip to Brighton or a Craft Fair. But everything, yes everything, is so expensive. A couple of coffees and cakes in Nero’s can cost over a tenner, tea at a NT café can be £5 or £6, parking alone in Brighton costs about £12 for the day and entrance fees to a craft fair are about £5 each even without a spot of lunch or a drink.  It’s no wonder people are staying at home, but I believe that if you work hard you cannot totally do without any social relaxation or you will go mad.

One side benefit of doing a totally catered for diet is that I am no longer spending any money during the week. I now avoid buying take-out coffee as on the shop counter are the temptations of bacon butties, brownies or croissants. When in WH Smith I walk straight past the crisps and chocolate (oh, how I am missing chocolate) to buy my magazine or Radio Times. I don’t need to go into the supermarket for sandwiches or salads and in so doing pick up Greek yoghurt or cake. I don’t impulse buy my dinner on the way home just because I don’t fancy what is in the fridge or freezer. So hopefully not only am I losing copious amounts of weight through this abstinence, but I am saving my money too.

I am determined that by the time I am 55, I will be debt free (apart from my mortgage) and be able to take up the option to stop work. It’ll be hard, and I won’t enjoy it. And the more the bills go up the harder it will be. The pipe dreams of the lottery or becoming a well paid author are just that, pipe dreams, so I’ll have to knuckle down and get on with it. Regardless of the economy. For my sanity, I must!

Anyone for tennis!

Poor old Andy Murray!

With the weight of the nation's expectations on his shoulders, he just couldn't do it. Maybe next time.

It was a valiant effort, of course, against a seasoned professional out for a record win who had nothing to lose. Federer is professionalism personified, from the follicles on his head down to his toenails, and in the end it was he who held his nerve under pressure and triumphed.

But it is Andy's touching conduct when interviewed courtside by Sue Barker for the BBC  just after his defeat which will endear him to the British public far more than his conduct on the court no matter how successful he is. For the first time, we saw the man underneath the mask and he is a much nicer chap than any of us could have guessed. He has always been a rather unsympathetic character in front of the media, appearing stilted, uncommunicative and unfriendly. Yesterday, we saw a softer side which is much more attractive.

Us Brits do love a valiant loser - look at Dunkirk and the numerous military defeats which we celebrate as though they were victories. Perhaps that's why we don't appear to have that killer instinct to take us to the top in so many sports and circumstances; we think there is no shame in not winning as long as you have done your best. Foreigners don't understand that; they think the only place to be is the top spot and if you don't achieve it, you should go away and lick your wounds ready to try another day. And to a certain extent I agree.

But there is nothing like adopting an underdog to cheer on, and Andy certainly was the underdog yesterday. God knows we need something to cheer about at the moment. The fact that he took the first set gave us vicarious hope that for once this might be our year, what with it being Diamond Jubilee and all that, but it wasn't to be. Even Kate shipped up to watch for the second time, freeloading sister alongside. Never mind, there's always 2013 which is the real diamond jubilee, since old Liz wasn't actually crowned Queen until summer 1953.

Andy Murray should be proud of what he achieved yesterday and take a lesson from his emotions afterwards that what will make the public love him more is to appear, well, just more human. No one loves a robot or an automaton; they are cold emotionless things which give nothing but take everything. If he gives a little more to the crowds that turn out to support him and whom he obviously appreciates, then they will give even more back to him.

TomKat! Who would have thought it?

So TomKat (for those of you that don’t read Hello! or OK, that is Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes) are to divorce. For Tom it’s his third failure, for her only the first!

It has been, of course, only a matter of time, because Mr Cruise is a peculiar chap to say the least. From his marriage to his first fairly unknown wife Mimi Rogers through the time with Nicole Kidman when they were famously unable to have children and very publicly adopted two (they have both had children since, apparently naturally and without any intervention, which seems a bit of an omen, don’t you think?) to his baptism into the Church of Scientology and the jumping up and down on Oprah’s sofa, Tom has been strange for quite a while. Nevertheless, he is the highest paid actor in Hollywood. Unbelievable, but there you are.

Ms Holmes is not a lot better by some accounts, but at least she doesn’t appear to have been converted to the batty ‘religion’ her hubby follows. And if the rumour mill is to be believed, it was Tom’s wish to send their small daughter, Suri, on a cruise with a load of other Scientologists to indoctrinate her in the beliefs that has forced Katie’s hand. I don’t know a great deal about Scientology, but I gather that Scientologist parents send their children as young as five on these cruises, alone and without any of the sort of the pastoral care with which they are familiar, to drum into their malleable and accepting brains the very odd beliefs they follow. That, in my view, is almost child abuse. Most definitely it is mental manipulation of vulnerable minors, and should not be allowed.

If the rumours are true and it all goes terribly wrong for him, this could be the end of Tom Cruise as a major megastar, which he undoubtedly is at the moment. Certainly it will fuel the gossip columns for months. If the rumours about the more malign aspects of the Scientology influences are proven, he will be dropped by Hollywood quicker than you can say Mission Impossible. Offences with drink, drugs or even unfortunate sexual encounters can be quickly forgotten and forgiven in Tinseltown, but peculiar religious beliefs, racism and mistreatment of children remain big taboos, and rightly so.

Katie, on the other hand, could well see her star in the ascendant, being painted at the moment as the caring mother and wounded party. She is still young, pretty, admittedly with only moderate talent but is extremely shrewd and Daddy is a divorce lawyer. There is no information in the gossip columns about whether she signed a pre-nup, with differing gossip being propounded as fact, but whatever she did six years ago when they married she will now do well out of this. If nothing else she could sell her and Suri’s clothing hordes, the value of which runs into millions.

Katie once was quoted as saying that as a child, she had a poster of Cruise on her bedroom wall and vowed one day that she would marry him. That is the sort of girlish infatuation that many teenagers have (I had a poster of David Cassidy on my wall, and was determined for a while to be Mrs Cassidy) but most of us grow out of it and realise that really that is rather silly ambition and actually, all things considered, John next door is a better bet. The fact that she followed through on her girlish aims and realised her prize shows a steely determination and possibly a slightly immature view of the world which could be a deadly combination when it comes to haggling over a multi million pound divorce settlement and child custody. Apparently Tom paid Nicole Kidman, who hadn’t signed a pre-nup with him, $340 million and he will no doubt be anxious not to have to write out a similar cheque this time. And Katie has moved to New York where she thinks she will get a better deal.

It is always sad when a marriage ends, particularly when there are children, but sometimes it is for the best and it would appear that this may be one of those occasions. Only time will tell of course, and it may be that Ms Holmes is a clever media manipulator and that she is the bad cop all the time, but I doubt it is that simple. Most probably, there are faults on either side; after all Katie knew about her husband’s beliefs when she married him so why, you might ask, start carping now?

Whatever happens, I will be as curious as anyone. There is something very satisfying about being a voyeur into the lives of the rich and famous, particularly when it is all going tits up, which somehow makes us feel better about our own mundane existence and we know that under all the glitz, they are just like us. Just with more money and the time to indulge in slightly odder habits. Watch this space!

Life stinks.....

Definitely the post holiday blues are well and truly bedded in.

Quite frankly, work seems pretty pointless at the moment. I am spending all my days writing Project Briefs and reports which even I think are dull and no matter how I try, it is impossible to liven them up, the subject matter is so dusty and dry. Honestly, who on earth cares if the richest council in the country misses out on a few more millions because some new charging regime is a few months late starting (well, our Councillors would care of course but no one else would), and who cares if the planning department has an effective project management system or not – certainly not the planning officers who wouldn’t recognise a system if it slapped them in the gonads.

Not only that, but the weather has been crappy ever since we got back. We left Heraklion in 36 degrees of dry heat and landed back at Gatwick in 11 degrees of chilly dampness, and it hasn’t warmed or dried up much since. Yesterday it was so cold and damp I almost put the heating back on again, but instead, mindful of the bills, wore a thick jumper and put an extra blanket on the bed. I hate being cold and wet, and I have been nothing but that for the last ten days. Honestly, it’s ridiculous, this is meant to be the height of summer and we have just come out of so called ‘flaming June’ into ‘blooming July’. Bloody soggy July, more like! Mind you it is Wimbledon fortnight, so I suppose it is to be expected.

I am also skint, which is contributing to my very bad mood. It’s always the same after holiday and it isn’t because I don’t budget, because I do. It’s just that when you are away (or amidst the temptations of Gatwick Airport duty free) you spend on things which you then forget about (ie Jo Malone perfume), and so don’t take account of it when working out how much money you have left. Then when you come to check the bank account you get a nasty surprise.

Penultimately, I have put back on a considerable amount of the weight I lost a few months ago which means my clothes don’t fit nicely (again) and I feel frumpy and lumpy (again). Drastic measures are called for! I have signed up for one of those diet programmes where they deliver your food for you and all you have to add is fresh fruit and vegetables and the occasional yoghurt or bread roll. I am hopeful that this will do the trick, as one of the things I always fall down on is having to think about my food, measure out portions and eat differently to the rest of the family. It costs a fortune (another reason I am skint because you pay up front, although some of which is offset against normal food spending) and a full month’s worth of breakfasts, lunches, dinners and daily snack treats have been delivered in plain brown cardboard boxes and are sitting in the kitchen. It’s a good month to start as we have no dinner dates on the calendar, but I suspect I am going to be very hungry quite a lot of the time.

Finally, and to top it all off nicely, I have been told off by the doctor because my blood pressure is too high and my cholesterol is through the roof, and unless I can reduce it over the next month or three by removing various stressors from my life, weight loss and improving my general fitness, I will have to have it treated and that is treatment pretty much for life, not just a month. (Sounds like that advert for pets doesn’t it – “A dog is for life, not just for Christmas”!) So I need to give some serious thought as to how I do that, and that will involve difficult decisions.

So basically at the moment, life pretty much stinks as far as I am concerned. Nothing is going in the right direction or as I want it to. And it is going to be hard work turning it around. No doubt I will pour out my frustrations on this blog, Facebook and to anyone else that will listen. You might get bored, but it might make me feel better. After all, a problem shared and all that …..

Here's Johnny !

So, the totally and utterly gorgeous Mr Depp is available again and on the market! This, after months of him and Vanessa Paradis denying rumours of a split and presenting a united front playing happy families.

Of course the fact that he is available doesn’t mean I can have him, even though he doesn’t know what he is missing out on. For one thing, The Hubby might have something to say about it. And for another thing, I did read somewhere that despite having cheekbones to die for and come to bed eyes, he isn’t actually that nice to be close to because

a)    He smokes and so his breath smells like an old ash tray and

b)    He doesn’t believe in using deodorant and thinks a man’s natural smells are best.

Well to be honest if that’s what Vanessa has put up with for the past decade I’m not surprised that finally she has had enough and they have gone their separate ways. Even the French have these days discovered that you don’t stop stinking just by chucking scent into your arm pits and actually other people have pretty decent olfactory glands and prefer you to be a little more fragrant.

There is no escaping the fact that the lovely Johnny is a little odd and always has been (anyone who makes that many films with Tim Burton must go a bit strange, after all). Everything from his style of dress to his manner of speaking shrieks ‘individual’ and presumably anyone who doesn’t give a flying f**k what people think about the obvious eccentricities also doesn’t care about other more personal and potentially more offensive conventions of communal living. Not that Vanessa herself was normal, with a history of eating disorders and a deliberately vague ‘am I on something’ approach to life.

There will be a queue of women waiting for Johnny to notice them because he is undeniably (to a casual, long distance observer at least) charming, handsome and bohemian. And he is rich, something which is never a disadvantage when husband/boyfriend/casual shag hunting. Not only is he rich, he is obscenely, filthy rich. The trouble is he doesn’t really like spending it, preferring the simple life in the countryside. Well bugger that! If you’ve got all those millions you might as well enjoy them instead of tramping round looking like you dressed in the dark in someone else’s cast offs which ought to have been given to Oxfam. And it would be nice to live somewhere civilised with decent plumbing (ie not France).

At least now we know where we are and the gossip magazines can have a field day papping any unfortunate female that happens to be seen anywhere with him. And why do these celebs put the public through this ridiculous charade of unity when it is obvious for all to see that things aren’t good and they would be much happier calling it a day. Sometimes, of course, it’s because they have children (Johnny and Vanessa have two, called Lily Rose and Jack, I believe) and they don’t want their kids to see their warring parents splashed all over the tabloids, but surely it would just be better to split quietly and if possible amicably, sort out your arrangements and move on without fuelling the speculation by denying it.

At any rate, his newly single status will make the lusting in front of the movie all the more enticing because he is available, and there’s nothing like an available heart throb to make the pulse race a little faster because you never know, there is an infinitesimal chance.

Never say never, that’s what I say!