Trouble? How Can I Help?

Tom Bickerby in The Times is getting his head around having a Downs Syndrome son called Alex. He loves him to bits. He finds other people a trial sometimes. Know the feeling. Made me think of what those other people could do instead of talking.

Having had a bit of bother I'd like to suggest a few things . They could: make a cup of tea instead of waiting for one, buy a load of nappies - the right size - take brothers and sisters out for three hours without fuss and bring them back properly fed, pick up from school, babysit for two hours at ta moment's notice and take the dog for a long walk.

Offer to take the car for its MOT, hoover the stairs, clean the bathroom, all without need of thanks or permission. They could tell a child a story, bake a cake or a stack of scones and make sure mum and dad get some. They could also talk about something else, anything else, and be amusing with it, because sometimes all you really need, when life is tough, is a good laugh.

Murderer Mladic gets Compassion

Evil isn't the word. It's so horrific you forget to breathe. The details shut you down. Finally there's a long intake of oxygen, and the thought "Jesus!" Or Allah. The murder of so many by General Mladic defies comprehension.

He stroked the face of a terrified teenage boy. The photographer was there to record it. Then he had him shot, along with 8,000 unarmed Muslim men and boys. He ordered snipers to shoot toddlers in the street as they queued with their mothers for bread.

Yet he lived as a hero among friends who protected him from justice for 16 years. Yesterday his court hearing was cut short because he seemed too ill to continue. Some people believe he will pay after death. A vengeful God will see him suffer agonies for eternity. I wish it were so. Instead he seems destined to spend years in a cushy prison in the Hague, while legal proceedings drag on. He can learn a language, ceramics are said to be popular there.

We shot Osama, we hanged Saddam. If we ever get close to Gadaffi we should dispatch him in the same manner. Mladic gets kindness and the kid glove.

Michelle's Hot, David's Not

Near misses. Do they count? Yes, if it's a Boeing skimming the tail-fin. You'd want that on record. Otherwise debatable. One David Aaronovitch has an odd take on it. He says 'I live in North London and was nearly educated at Oxford." How nearly? Bombed the A Levels, booted out of the interview? Got a train there once?

How poncey is that? Are we all supposed to think: "Crikey, how could they turn him down!" Cambridge turned me down. Got over it. As any drunk will happily state: "I've been chucked out of better places than this!"

And don't you love Michelle! She's brilliant isn't she? Telling British girls to choose a bloke who loves his mother. No matter that suggests something entirely different here. Kind and cute - that's what counts, according to Mrs Obama. She's no slouch at spotting what's hot. She also reckons elite education isn't a must in a man. Are you listening David?

Horror That Lurks

Reeling! The horror lurking where least expected. Lord knows courage is required on a daily basis here, not least the day after after the dogs have gorged themselves on windblown apples. Steely resolve, backbone, grit, call it what you will but there is usually an early indication that foulness is afoot. Unless suffering from a bad cold.

But today retch without warning! Brace yourself - because it's lurking in your home too. I'm not talking skanky cutlery drawer here - though that too can creep up on your blind side, or stinky dishwasher that smells like tummy trouble. Not even beg bugs, happily enjoying a population explosion.

This is your sweet friend in the corner, who takes every load without complaint. The washer. Go carefully here. Take a tranquilliser. Open the dispenser drawer, slowly. See anything? You will! Haul it out. Gods Above - what is that stuff? Thick, back, slimy, creeping gunk looking like something BP chucked up. It's vile - and it goes straight into the pipe that feeds water to the washing. Staggered? Knew you would be.

Apparently it's a sort of mould that creeps up when you wash at low temperatures, like we are all supposed to do. To save the planet. Got to get up to 60 degrees to kill it. Well, a whole roll of kitchen towel later and no idea how my whites will turn out I'm going back to boil. And a long lie down.

Queen Joins the Little People

Didn't she do a great job? The Queen I mean. Grovelled a bit, granted, but given what we got up to, necessary. She even wore emerald green, to make sure Irish eyes were smiling. Loved the hat, gave her the look of a leprechaun. Truly a stroke of genius, though she rightly passed on the Guinness. Can you imagine what the ad men would have made of that, the old baked bean with a creamy tache? Would have circled the world faster than the shuttle that one.

So all in all, well done Maam. Which rhymes with spam, not smarm. Just so you know. There's always the nasty nit-picker at the back, ready to poop the party. That would be Morrissey, saying: "For a broad historical view of what the Queen is and how she rules examine Gadaffi or Mubarak and see if you can spot any difference." That would be the same Gadaffi whose soldiers were ordered to rape every woman in Misrata then? She may be head of the British Armed Forces but Her Maj has never endorsed such an order to my knowledge. We are not cowering in the streets under her rule.

So Morrissey maybe you need to brush up a bit on your dictators?

Pushy Mums Getting Nowhere Fast

Mumsnet in melt-down! Spitting blood surely! New research shows that all the Kumon maths, violin practice, ballet and Mandarin won't make a blind bit of difference in the end. Your kids will turn out just like you.

So if you are a low earner, chances are your children will be too. You can influence them when they are tiny and for a little while afterwards, but after that the genes will out. The only way to get the kids you want is to choose a partner with those qualities. Forget the sexy wild guy, his kids will only bring you grief.

All this is the result of research on identical twins raised by adoptive parents. They turn out the same, whether they have been brought up by lecturers or losers. What a killer! All that cash spent on extra tuition. Should have had that holiday.

Critics will argue the case of Tiger mum Amy Chua, whose daughters are talented concert musicians after hours of forced practice. She believes in moulding the young. The new research says different. " Her girls are the daughters of two Yale Law School professors and people are amazed that they succeed?" asks American academic Bryan Caplan.

He says just enjoy your kids, they are what they are and no amount of hothousing will turn a daisy into an orchid.

Slut, Slag, No Thanks

Must set free my inner slut. Support the sisterhood. Girls are walking the streets after all, just so I can release the tart within. How kind! So, it's on with the corset and thong - Oh God, such torture - and out we go. Must show the boys we can dress any way we like. It's still "Hands Off!"

Just so I know. Wouldn't like to get the wrong idea. Last time I took out the fishnets it was for a party - the kind where you go as a prossie or a priest. Didn't fancy the cassock, though the dog-collar could be fun. Anyway, on went the big coat for the trip there and back, because, well, didn't want to parade for every perv in town did I?

Got that wrong. It seems I should have been doing just that, because it's my right as a woman to look like I'm selling it when I'm not. Men should just know I'm not up for it, though the bare boobs might suggest I am. Got to fight for the right to look like I'm giving it away, say the wimmin - 3,000 of them turned out in their skimpies to demonstrate in Toronto. Our slags are gearing up for Slutwalk on June 11. Except of course they aren't slags, just women who want the right to look like slags. And not be. So that's alright then.

Forgive me if I can't be bothered to fight this one. I might just stay in and make myself a nice cup of tea. Oh, and bin that thong.

Super injunctions Such Fun

Super injunctions - what a hoot! Who would have put Jeremy Clarkson and Jemima Khan together? Not me. No offence Jeremy, you're rich and sometimes funny. but she's out of your league mate! Made me think how many unlikely couplings may be going on out there. What about Robert Pattinson and Princess Eugene? Or Adele and Louis Walsh? Camilla and Simon Cowell? The list is endless. And why not? Stranger things have happened.

Just no one is allowed to talk about it - not even to say; "It isn't me!" Frankly I couldn't care less. Do who you like, as long as you don't make rules for the rest of us. Politicians should keep it tucked away. If a guy wants to be an MP and a fun boy either the job or the girl must go. He can't have both. Likewise sporting heroes who play to their clean image. Grubby's fine, just don't take sponsorship. Unless it's Durex putting up the cash and then clearly anything goes. Anyway, heard the one about me and George Clooney...

Chuck Out not Chuck Up

Booze messes with your mind. Girls look prettier. Drinks taste better. Stop when your face sticks to the carpet and not before. That's the rule these days.

Time was when a beefy barman would haul you out on your ear long before then with the words: " Go home mate, you've had enough!" There are laws against serving alcohol to someone already drunk, but the rivers of sick in our streets on a Friday night show that bars ignore them. They fill the tills instead.

Now two Irish barmen are facing charges of unlawful killing, after 26-year-old dad Graham Parish died at his birthday bash. He'd been drinking Guinness for three hours before downing ten spirits in a glass, helpfully provided by his so-called mates. The barman checked with his manager before serving, then Graham downed it in one go.

Bad move - he was found dead the next morning with a face covered in vomit. Sad though it is, he really should've known better. Except few of us do, after an afternoon on the lash. That's when the sober voice of the bar staff should be heard. Nobody wants a nanny, but giving a final shove to someone on the edge of a cliff has to be stopped somehow.

Upper Class Bitch or Mongrel Middleton

Who is still spitting then? Jemima Khan for one - and I suspect Camilla for another. Jemima wasn't invited to the wedding and Camilla had her: "It should've been me!" face on, clearly thinking back to Diana's day. At least she kept quiet about it.

Harpy Jemima claims that Kate hasn't got "heir bearing hips." Typical fixation of the upper classes, let's just wait and see shall we? They may be rich, but they don't always behave well.

Way back I was a guest of Lord Brockett. Also at the table was a woman called Camilla, who looked a bit depressed " What's up Camilla - or should I say, who's up Camilla! " was the delightful riposte of Lord B. The woman was mortified. She might have been less so, had we all been in on the joke, but nobody except the posh set knew of Charles' squeeze then. That was before con-man Brockett spent time as a guest of Her Majesty for fraud.

Some of these high-born types like to look down on Kate and her family, smirking that: "the last time she went down the aisle she was pushing a trolley," when Carole Middleton's past as an air hostess comes up. Could be biased, being of mongrel stock myself, but I think the Middleton's may have more class than a truckload of toffs.