Planet or a Punnet - No Contest!

Smack my bottom I'm eating strawberries in December! Juicy red ones, big as satsumas and they taste ... food for the gods.

So naughty! See those fingers wagging! What about the planet? All those air miles! Really, do you need out of season fruit? We've got lots of wormy English apples after all. I could be feasting on a Cox's pippin and feeling all self-righteous.

Lord, but there's much of that about! The holy souls. They want us to have a conscience about EVERYTHING, but especially global warming. Think of the poor polar bears. I like polar bears. David Attenborough has my vote. If he films them in the Arctic or Antwerp, it's all the same to me. Be a loss if they went, big time.

But you know what? Those strawberries - and they really were totally delicious - came from Egypt. Poor farmers there are having a rotten time. The tourists stay away, but the camels and the kids still need feeding. Tesco was selling those punnets at £4 for two, cheaper than I paid in June. I'll be back buying for as long as they have them, hoping that someone, somewhere along the Nile, is better for it. The planet will be here long after they are.

What Kind of God?

A little girl is spat on for dressing as a child. Deeply religious men think she is immodest. They believe their god will smile on them if they demonstrate in a particularly filthy and disgusting way.

I've been spat on and nothing makes you feel more despised. What could an eight-year-old girl possibly have done to deserve this? Ultra othodox jews called her a whore and now Naama Margolese is afraid to go to school. Perhaps that was the whole idea, since education and reason had nothing to do with this.

What thoughts go through a grown man's mind when he sees sexuality in one so young? Normal men can only be appalled.

Now finally, at last, the moderate majority has said "enough!" and organised a mass rally to protest against the extremists in Israel. Could we wish for the same action in other parts of the world? We can but hope.

From Her Majesty and Me

Things you can't wait to do. Get rid of the tree. Ditto cards. Hoover the floor. Empty the bin and eat fresh fruit. Things you never want to see again. Mince pies, shonky turkey, pine needles, sweet dessert wine, the mother-in-law.

Things you still quite like. Candles, fairy lights, cosy evenings, good books and the smell of pine needles. Ditto clementines. Chocolates.

Things you can definitely do without. Traffic and the M25. Carols. Holly and even worse mistletoe. The Queen's speech - how is the old Duke? Rubbish on the telly.

Things that made our Christmas. Family, friends, good weather, empty roads, a fantastic surgeon and excellent staff at St Mark's Hospital in London. Ditto Papworth. Many, many thanks from the Queen and me. Roll on 2012. Happy New Year one and all.

Seasonal Stress - ask an Expert!

That's it then. Training done, just got to feed up now. Not another fartlek till November. Aiming for a PB this year. China, London, what are they, compared with what I'm up to? Frankly the calories aren't out there. I keep telling him, fill it up man, fill it up, but will he listen? Nah!

The wife says;" shush Rolfie, else he'll get dogs!" Dogs! What use are they? The old boy'll be off the back somewhere between Tobago and Tahiti and they won't notice! Set dogs off across snow and they don't stop till they're back in base and the bones are out. That's dogs for you.

They'll be pissing against chimneys and raising a racket to wake Dickens himself, never mind the kids. We might be big and lumbering but at least we keep it quiet. And we know the way, always a bonus when he's been on the brandy. There could be fog. That's why I'm out front, so I need to keep in shape. Looking pretty good too, though I say it myself. Sack could be lighter this year, something to do with less to go around.

Stuff that! Bring it on! Rudolf can handle it! Just watch, I'll be hitting the hay by breakfast time next Sunday and still fit for the girls come Boxing Day. That's training you see. Dogs!

Call me Hugh, Call Me!

Love Hugh Laurie, I really do, but who's tiddler is he pulling in those skin ads? He's all over the telly and the papers saying we too can look like him if we slap on a bit of moisturiser. Er, how to say this Hugh but ...you've got more wrinkles than my nan's custard.

Hangdog. Creased like the tin foil off the turkey. Or as Wooster might say you have the look of one who has. "drunk from the bottle of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom."

I'm not complaining. There's no one I'd rather have dinner with. Your Bertie was the best and House is legend. Shove in the piano playing and I'm yours. I'll get the bill.
It's just that you need to find your place pal and selling a young look isn't it. That boat left a long time ago. Only crusty barnacles left. It's not like you need the money. Is it a way of telling us you're worth it? Call me Sweetheart, just call me! I'll even put a salad on the side. Can't say fairer than that.

A Hero Dies, Murder Goes On

Nobody wants to create a martyr, especially not the Syrians. Killing a hero hurts the cause of the murderers. In Syria a lot of murdering is going on and we seem happy to sit back and ignore it. Why?

We see the courage of those on the streets, unarmed against a merciless regime that is determined to mow them down in their thousands. Still they keep coming. Now a saviour is dead. Dr Ibrahim Othman, 26, set up secret clinics to help the wounded. They had to be secret, because troops would invade hospitals to kill protesters in their beds.

Ibrahim knew he was a wanted man, so he tried to flee to Turkey and was shot on the border. How they will have celebrated! Did president Bashar al Assad raise a glass of champagne, or is he still insisting that the government forces are nothing to do with him? As he said, "only a crazy person would kill his own people." Condemned by his own words. Can he be put down like a rabid dog for his crimes against the Syrian people? Probably not.

Yet a brave medic can be executed for his compassion. Friends say:"This hero devoted his life to the oath he took. He saved lives, then left us with a wound that won't heal." It's time for the rest of us to say, enough. Too many are dying for a cause that is just.

Funniest Ever

This is the funniest thing I have read in ages, so I am sharing it in full, with credits at the end. It is entitled: The Least Successful Attempt To Go To The Lavatory and this is it."On a flight from Florida to Hanover Johann Grzeganek, a German tourist, was desperate to relieve himself shortly after takeoff.

"He could wait no longer, despite the insistence of the cabin crew that he stay seated while the seatbelt sign was on. It was far too late for this, so Grzeganek jumped up from his seat and giving a top drawer performance shouted in German, 'I have to go urgently to the lavatory, otherwise I will go through the roof, I am exploding!"

"Hearing the words 'Ich explodiere," the cabin crew, who spoke no German, assumed he was a suicide bomber and alerted the pilot, who dumped all his fuel and did an emergency landing at Fort Lauderdale.

"There Grzeganek was arrested and imprisoned for 10 months to await trial. When his case eventually came to court the judge dismissed it and apologised to him. Even then his ordeal wasn't over. Rearrested outside the prison because his tourist visa had run out, he was sent back to prison in Miami to await deportation.

"In the hands of a real artist even the simplest, everyday event can be transformed into a surreal drama of many acts." Huge thanks to Stephen Pile writing this in the Sunday Times news review section today. Buy the paper, there's loads more where that came from.

Price of a Pint of Blood - Free Booze

Free booze for blood - sounds good to me. Students in Leeds thought so too and were well up for it until a party pooper pulled the plug. Why? Perhaps they thought the guys would be rollicking out of the door after rolling up their sleeves, but these are seasoned drinkers and a pint of shandy is hardly going to send them over the edge.

They were not out to party. The blood bank can't compete with the student bar, even if one pint is free. They lack atmosphere. You get the odd moment of drama, when a bruiser crashes to the floor at the sight of a needle. It's always the big ones who go down hardest, claiming they've had nothing to eat all day.

Still, they are there, getting no more out of it than cold tea and a warm glow. You used to get a badge if you went often enough. You're O neg? Brilliant, let's have you up next before you change your mind. Just B pos? That'll do, there's bound to be one of your lot in bother before long. Get them young and keep them coming, whatever it takes, so that, come the car crash, there's enough of the precious stuff to do the job. Price of a pint of shandy seems cheap to me.

Turner for Brainy Only

Not turned on by the Turner winner? It's because you are dim. Now we know. Only people who have studied art can really appreciate the winner of this year's prize. The references are all there for those, " in the know."

The rest of us cannot possibly be expected to appreciate it. Rachel Campbell-Johnson writing in today's Times says Martin Boyce makes pieces for the, " visual anorak. Boyce is not an artist for the aesthetically illiterate. He is steeped in the language of art and he expects his spectators also to speak it - and fluently."

So if you don't understand it you should pretend and " disguise your baffled ignorance," so you don't seem thick. I'll come clean - it looks like a fancy picnic table to me, though I like the aluminium leaves. Is it worth £25,000? Not of my money, but it's nice enough in its way.

That's it really. I like art to move me, to enhance my everyday humdrum existence, reveal to me a mind that sees something more, something unique and truly special, beyond the experience of the world as we know it. That's asking a lot. I can wait.

Gambling in Schools Odds On Loser

Teach our kids how to gamble. Show them how to work a fruit machine, play cards, throw dice. Are they mad? GamCare, a gambling helpline, is behind this. Maybe give it a go then, since they know the score.

They say kids need to learn responsible gambling, to be aware of the odds stacked against them. They should also discuss in class the "more positive " aspects of gambling.

Woah, stop right there. Ever seen a kid hooked on the tombola? I have. They throw money at it, chucking every last penny of their pocket money away. The light goes on in the eyes, they grin like maniacs and no amount of encouragement to go visit the toy stall will put them off. Every loss looks to them like one step closer to winning. It's awesome to watch and incredibly scary too.

Gambling wastes lives and families. There are fathers who will spend their last few pence on a horse, rather than a loaf of bread. My dad was one of them. When he asked me which he should choose I said the horse. What difference? Every other penny had gone that way anyway. Former Schools Inspector Chris Woodhead talks sense. He said: "The best thing schools can do is teach children that the world has more exciting things in it than a flutter on the horses." Spot on.

Sins of the Dallying Dad

Unlikely to be feeling the pinch are prossies. In the financial sense. Now the French want to see an end to the good times, banning prostitution in Paris. Oh how we laughed! How likely is that, really? They plan to fine naughty boys two grand and shove them in prison for six months. Can they afford it? The fine won't pay the food bill.

A dad collapsed in shock when the prossie he hired turns out to be his 20-year-old daughter. Titus Ncube is in deep trouble. His daughter scarpered and wife Rosemary said: "If not for my children I could have divorced him long ago."

Tough times, but the girls won't hang up their fishnets any time soon. Could even be a few more of them out there. Pickings might be slim, but there will always be business. The French know this better than most. They had state brothels 800 years ago. We sniffy types pretend it's not happening. Titus knew it was and brought it all the way home. What a clever boy!