Chinese Can't Legislate For Love

Weird bunch, the Chinese. Take the latest law - you must visit your parents. Whether they like you or not. That's a harsh one. Can you see it working? Who is keeping a log? How long do they have to spend together? Is five minutes enough or must it be half a day?
The Chinese like regulation. They must do or how else would one child per family have worked? That child has a lot on its plate now, tramping back and forth to see the aged ones. It's all because the authorities can't manage their pensioner population so pass the burden on to the kids instead.
One mum found herself living in a pig sty as a result. There's no legislating for love is there, you've either earned it or you haven't. Lots of us feel duty bound to include parents. Can be a bit of a tough call, when all they want to do is roll around drunk and leave burn marks on the carpet. Yell at the telly and kick the dog. People still put up with them. Not sure legalising it would help at all. Good luck to the Chinese, looks like they will need it.

Sales And Silliness

Skint or off to the sales? That is the question. Nothing noble in the mind about it though. People are queuing from 1am. How daft is that? It's hosing down, and there they are, desperate to spend their dosh.
Bonkers! So are the prices. In the Times today are some of the bargains to be fought over. Fancy a pair of bog-standard ankle boots? Yours for £259, down from £370. Or there's a boring stripey jumper for £179, thats £80 cheaper than it was. No surprise why they couldn't sell it.
We are all into leather leggings apparently. The paper's fashionistas say so, and these ones at £479 are called a "no-brainer." I know who the no brainer is and so do you. What is the matter with you people? Thinking the end of the worl is nigh so better spend it now?
My thinking is that the people prepared to lash out this sort of cash are foreigners. Only just getting used to a bit of wealth and they want our stuff. You have to hope so.

Children In The Firing Line

Children everywhere are paying the price. In America, in Pakistan and in Syria thery are the ones who die. Of shootings, of  bombings and polio. Always the little ones. Used as weapons by a youth with a grudge, by terrorists for their twisted cause and by governments as pawns to kill their enemies.
Did anyone in America think through the inevitable consequence of getting to Bin Laden through his children? Did they imagine what would happen when it was discovered that a vaccinating doctor had passed on vital information?
Now teenagers trying to eradicate a terrible disease are gunned down for their trouble. Here's a novel idea. How about the politicians start protecting. Stop pandering to the gun lobby in America. They are wrong.
How can anyone support Assad? His friends must desert him and his army turn against him. As for the Taleban - do they want to run a country rife with polio? If they win this battle of theirs? Sometimes it is very, very easy to see what is right. Just put the children first.

Baggsie Bargain Hunt

Hooked on Bargain Hunt! There I've said it, big secret out in the open, slap bang in the spotlight for all to see. Pretended I was just waiting for the news. Now though, I settle down happily to watch Tim Wonnacott, cute Carlos Hanson and sniffy David Barbie strut their stuff.
You learn what's hot and what's not. Like the ladies' muff brush. Sweet little item, in silver. Every lady had one. To keep her muff tidy. Who'd have thought it.
Tat turns out to be Chinese carving, worth thousands. Satsumi doesn't mean an orange, it's collectable Japanese porcelain. Clarice Cliff is way too expensive, but Moorcroft is hanging in there. And anything silver, especially muff brushes. Well fancied, they are. Tim swooned over a bog-standard butter dish, said it could be worth hundreds. He's usually right.
Hideous pots go for bundles. The contestants almost come to blows. It's addictive, trust me.

Aussie DJs Wrong But Hospital Worse

Aussie prank callers are getting a hard time right now. Poor Jacintha was taken in by their phoney accents and passed their call on. For that she has paid with her life.

The radio station and its DJs are taking the flak, as they should. The King Edward V11 Hospital expressed deep sympathy and said they had been supporting their staff. That's good of them.

This is a hospital that regularly sees Royal patients, Prince Philip for one. Nobody invaded his privacy and asked about his wee infection. If they had, would they have been given all the  details?
Something suggests that they would. Poor Jacintha did not usually manage the switchboard, but was helping out in the early hours.

Given how many VIPs use this place there should be a big notice on the wall, telling staff exactly where to direct calls. In big letters, so that there is no doubt.
The pranksters never expected to be out through. That was obvious at the amazement  when they were. They were intrusive and unprincipled but not criminal, though they are now being treated as such. The sanctimonious stance of the hospital is much harder to stomach.

Black Santa's Helper Right On

Who do you think would buy a better present this Christmas? A savvy young black guy or a doddery old bloke who's been around forever and struggles with a weight problem? Ask any kid and they'd go for the cool dude any day.
In Holland they've always had a black Santa's helper. "They are an integral part of traditional Dutch custom, " said the leading newspaper De Telegraaf. Good on the Dutch. When did we ever include black people in anything important? Sidelined the lot of them, we did.
In today's Times there's a picture of Black Pete and Santa visiting a hospital in Utrecht. This is where the objectors may have a point. No young guy of any race should be shoved into a blue frock and a curly wig.There's even a suggestion of lipstick. No way, not ever! Let Santa keep his kinky boots and fur trim but his helper? Sort it, the guy's got to go to work this morning!

Break The Rules And Smile

Rules for the middle-aged - a woman from the Times wants to tell us what they are. No dancing. No modern hairstyles. No top to toe leather and most important of all, no spontaneous expressions of joy.
Thanks for that, lady. The world is surely a better place. Me, I think differently. When I was 15 I was deeply fixated with what other people thought. At 25, not much better, but by 35, with one child and another on the way, I saw the light.
By 45 I was fixed. Couldn't give a spit in the dark about what anyone else thinks. If I want to dance, I do. Fancy a haircut that's blonde fading to dark? A no-no for the rule-maker, but I say go girl!  Bunches? Not my style, but if it's yours, that's fine by me. If it hurts no one and you like it - why the hell not?
Too many people are telling the rest of us what we can and can't do. Nobody will get me in a plastic mini-dress but neither will I be seen in a burkha. So I say don't buy her book and feel great about yourself. Or do - the choice is yours.

A Staffie, His Balls And A Battle

You always reckon your dog is a genius. Brightest of the bunch. Sometimes they want to be boss too and that's when the battles start. Take today. Freezing, frosty morning, out on the fields with a whanger and three balls. Two to fill a Staffie gob and another to throw.

He likes to feel something squidgy between his teeth. Hey ho. So, round we go, him looking like a  cancer victim with two large tumours in his face and me humouring the daft beast. Till we get to the end. Two balls back in the bag, one to go. Made the mistake of asking for it.

He would have carried it all the way back, huffing heavily up the hill as it blocked his airway, but he would have made it. Foolishly though, I ask for it. So now I have to have it.
Otherwise he wins. Nobody wants a Staffie, however wonderful, to win with his teeth. So I grab the ball. There's space in there, he can, after all  easily accommodate two tennis balls, and I hold on. Did you get that?  I have my fingers between his jaws. And he's rumbling! But I can't let go.

We spend ten minutes in the frosty wood locked in combat. Until he finally sees reason, because I wasn't going to. He tugs a lot, gets nowhere, and finally loosens off. Victory was very sweet! He got a stack of praise for that. What a good dog! Until the next time.

Boris Banging It For Britain

Boom Boom Boris ! The blond bombadier has dropped one on Paris while banging the drum for London. The lad just gets better and better!
Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, is touring India. When told that the French wanted rid of  a Mumbai company, Boris  boomed: "Venes a Londres!" He told Indian steel tycoon  Lakshmi Mittal. " Come to the business centre of the world where  73 Indian firms are listed  on the London Stock Exchange."
Hitting hard where it hurts, he called the French industry minister eccentric and claimed France was in the grip of left-wing loonies. All because the French thought  ArcelorMittal, the worlds's biggest steelmaker, wasn't respectful enough.
Boris knows respect is fine, but investment is better, particularly when recession is biting your backside. Good on you Boris, bang on as usual!

Swap the lovely Staffie for a Snappy Spaniel

I'm aggressive and intolerant. It's official.  A survey of dog types says so. Should have got a spaniel. Then everyone would like me because I would be kind and loving. Great, now I know.
This survey wasn't out when I went to the Blue Cross rescue centre. I just asked for a dog with a great temperament. Wasn't bothered about the breed, though I wanted something a bit younger than our last one, a German Shepherd. He was perfect, but  nearly nine when we got him.
So now we have the Staffie. Fat, grunty, snoring Staffie. We call him piglet and Dumper truck. Shovel head and Tonka toy. He takes it in good part. Like he does everything else. He ignores other dogs, runs away from trouble and adores kids. He stays off the sofa and prefers to poo in the woods. The perfect dog.
Most people adore him. Some cross the road. Oddly, they are usually Spaniel owners. The ones who don't go in for rescue dogs. Kind-hearted to a fault.

Death of a Good Dog

Our lovely German Shepherd died last week. Snoring at my feet today is a fat Staffie. "Blimey that was quick," I hear you say, "not much love lost there then!" Of course there was, lots of love lost, because he was the best dog known to man.
We got him when he was eight from the Oldies web site. He was scraggy, emaciated and had sad cloudy eyes. The day before he died, last Monday, he was trotting in the woods, meeting mates and having fun. A neighbour remarked on his lovely coat. He was at least 12 and had to take pills to help with his achey joints. On Tuesday I came downstairs to find him dead on the kitchen floor.
Later that day we set off for our local Blue Cross and met the Staffie. He needs a home too. Whlle we are fighting tears over our lovely lad, other dogs are desperate for a good home. So now we have something entirely different. It's better that way. Another   German would have  a hard act to follow.
A Staffie is new to us, but already he is proving to be an affectionate, and very comical friend. Such dogs have a hard time in kennels. They need to be with people. We need them, so really there is no time to lose, is there?

Libby is the Best for New Parents

Long Live Libby Purves! For common sense, concise argument, compassion, and fun that sees you belly laugh through your day, she is your woman. Just remembering a few words of hers had me giggling like a loony Tescos.

Not having slept for eons may have had something to do with it. That and a new baby. Libby's guide on parenting was a godsend, laying down no rules but piling on the confidence. Everything I was doing was right. Libby convinced me.

Today in The Times she stresses: " A crying infant wants comfort and food so to hell with the book." In the befuddled world of new parenthood, that says it all. You need no more. Except a sense of humour and Libby shovels that on too. Piles it high, brilliantly.

Read her column. And her books. She is a gem and a brainbox, with a first from Oxford. One of the best in the writing business, she knows what she is talking about. If that sounds over the top, I make no apology, just read her and see if you don't feel the same.

Sam Cameron Outshone by Michelle Obama

Sorry Sam Cam, Michelle Obama left you in her dust! She ran right over you! It was the frightful frock. One winner, one loser. Shame as both women seem to get on well, laughing naturally together as they share jokes, probably at the men's expense.

But at the state dinner at the White House Sam was so much the non-starter. Michelle looked stunning in a midnight blue number, showing off her lovely shoulders. Samantha Cameron, also in blue but this time more curtain than corset, went for high neck and total coverage.

She looked frumpy - quite difficult to manage in her case. Michelle was dazzlingly gorgeous, though tight underpinnings must have made the meal a challenge. Was this deliberate on Sam's part? She can do glam when she wants to, but would it have been good politics to outshine the President's wife? Perhaps not, though Michelle could probably take it. Just would rather see Sam wear something to show herself off, not a dress Maggie Thatcher would be seen in.

Downs Won't Let You Disappear

Tom Bickerby is wondering if his son Alex will ever blend into the crowd. I can tell him now that he won't. Alex has Downs syndrome. Everyone is telling Tom that people with Downs are "the life and soul of the party," always laughing, always jolly, not a care in the world.

Tom is right to believe this cannot be true. Life with Downs Syndrome can be very miserable. My friend Carole had Downs. I met her when I was 17 and she was 22, though she behaved like an eight-year-old. Mostly she was happy as we cleared tables together, me to pay for driving lessons, her because her parents wanted to get her out into the world and a proper job.

Carole was an object of fun from the start in a cafe filled with teenagers. She laughed along with their jokes, most of them harmless but some sexual and cruel. She had Downs but she was not stupid, and when she finally understood she was hurt. In that she was the same as everyone else.

Where she differed was in being the most genuine human being I have ever known. She had absolutely no pretence. When she liked you, she liked you, when you hurt her it showed. The jokes stopped. People formed a real affection for Carole. Sadly her parents could not bear what had gone before and she left the job. We missed her. Of all the people I knew at that time, Carole is the one I remember best, not for being the life and soul but for her purity of spirit.

Dumping Dreary Jenny For The Stig

Started off so well, did Call the Midwife. Swerved Top Gear for it, so that says it all. Going to give it a miss after last night. It should have been a corker, mad nun in the dock, silly tart having triplets and a wedding.

Chummy married her policeman, after turning up at the cop shop wearing only her mac. She'd wrapped her dress around a baby boy. Why not the huge slip instead? Pete the plod looked bug-eyed as she leaned over the counter and tittered, " I'm practically naked!" Romantic swine must have slipped it to her in a nearby cell, because snobby Mater was shocked to learn her gal couldn't wear white crimplene after all! Shame.

It was the "What ho Mater!" that got me.The woman is supposed ot be posh, but why the Wooster? Dreary Jenny is still weeping over her married lover. More miserable than a moggie left out in the rain. There is no cheer. Makes you want to finish the bottle and slit your throat.

Jeremy and crew might be as far removed from real life as the cars they drive but at least they have a laugh. I'll swap babies for bangers any day. What ho Stig!

Spooked by Shy Spiders

There's such a thing as a brown reclusive spider. Shy little beastie but not shy enough. A bite makes your arm drop off. There are black widows, rattlesnakes and wild dogs, just a small selection of the critturs our friends in the US come across.

They gave us a bit of advice when we fancied a visit. " Kill every spider you come across. Back away from rattlers, but the coyotes are cute with their huge ears." So that's alright then. Rattlers don't warn, that shake means," You're in my cross-hairs pal!"

It's the spiders that are spooking me. Black widows, get a bite and you know about it. Excruciating. Seems you have about four hours to see help. You can tell it's a black widow if you turn them over and look at their tummies. As if.

Reclusive browns don't hurt so much, but the evil goes on under the skin and they rot from the inside, bit like the scone left in the microwave too long. Looks OK but there's a horrible, brown, yucky bit in the middle. Worst case you lose a limb, or end up with a nasty wound the size of a dinnerplate. Nice to know they are reclusive. Fine by me. Not about to seek their society any time soon.

It's the Baftas - Bring On The Bling!

Baffled by the Baftas. A silent, black and white walking away with the lot? Mental. Puzzled even more by the shock frock awards. How does Tilda Swinton do it? She wore a shroud and the fashion set fell back in a dead faint, overcome by admiration.

Tilda always looks drab to me but she gets the best seats by the catwalks so clearly she has clout. Weird. But Jessica Chastain, in shimmery metallic, fabulous.The TV men thought so too, she was all over the news and looked amazing. Every woman watching wanted to look that good.

Livia Firth, wife of Colin, wanted to outshine him in the suit department. She wore a Tux. Very black, very boring. Been done soooo many times before. Yet again, the papers loved it. Back home we all thought; " It's the Baftas, stars tripping over each other, for God's sake bring on the bling and BLIND US!

Chinese Parents Should Be in Court

Shocking! The sight of a tiny, almost naked child shivering in the snow freezes the soul. It is horrific. This four-year-old boy, wearing only pants and trainers, is barely old enough to go to school. He cries and pleads as his mother sniggers. It is unbelievably cruel.

Yet his father is proud. He is proud both of his parenting and the pictures. So much so that he loaded the lot onto You Tube. He was trying to toughen up his son. I admit I haven't seen the footage. I could not bear to watch. I will not give screen room to anyone who promotes such suffering.

Had I been in New York and seen this filmed in temperatures that fell to -13C I would have rushed to give this child my coat and called the police. The boy, He Yide is Chinese. His family was on holiday.

People in his home country are divided. Some say the parents' actions are perverted. Others claim families have different ways and should be left alone. No, what's wrong is wrong. This was criminal in anybody's culture.

Cabbage Patch Speaks Out

" Get this Charlie, we're on page !6 of The Times. Right under Prince Charles! Yeh, really, not my best side exactly, looking a bit yellow round the edges, but it's me alright. Wish I'd known! Would have sung a song, might have made Veg Factor. Or told that great joke of mine, only the one, but still, could have been on Mock the Leek.

"Nobody said they were coming, those scientists. Chance missed, I'd say. Been waiting for this all my life. Just look at me, big and round and beautiful! It's the gas they noticed, apparently. Yes, well,you noticed it too. I'm a cabbage, what can you say!.

"Exactly, quite a lot. Chatty bunch in our bed. Can't shut us up. They chopped a bit off Vera. Her again! She just needs to look at caterpillar and she's off screaming blue murder, but this time, THIS time, they spotted the gas. Our gas, which gets a bit, well whiffier, when we get upset. Sends the word round. Seems they can see it now, got a light sensitive side so they can spot us talking. Bit of a breakthrough, for them.

I'm quite chuffed too. For a cruciform. Maybe now they'll see us in a new light. Won't bet on it though, they'll still be calling folk cabbages. They know nowt do they? Things I could tell them..."

Girls Against Religious Bigotry

Go girls! Saudi women are demanding the right to drive despite the religious bigots who want to keep them off the road. It's not the law that says women can't drive in Saudi Arabia. It's conservative Islam.

So it's great to see the girls fighting back, demanding their government challenges the strict rules that force women to get permission from a man to work, study, marry and even have some forms of surgery.

Our own religious leaders will no doubt be backing them, writing long letters of support in their luxurious palaces, then sitting back to enjoy a good lunch.Things are different over here, they would claim.

Really? Then why do they say that women bishops need a male co-bishop, just to keep everyone happy in areas where the Christians are anti-women. How hypocritical is that? Rev Rose Hudson-Wilkin said: "As a Church we either have women bishops or we do not. No woman in their right mind will accept being a bishop under these conditions. They are starting from the premise that women are a problem. We are not a problem." Absolutely Amen to that.

Jokers for Junior Doctors

Watch Junior Doctors and despair. Get angry, because that sort of stuff goes on all the time. Can no one put a cannula in? As a charge nurse said: "Try twice then get someone else to do it. They should ask for help because no one wants to see patients turned into pin cushions."

Tell that to Andy, or Priya, who last night bullied a woman into letting her have another go - and failed again. Afterwards the angry patient refused to let arrogant Priya anywhere near her. Our medic said: "I realise it wasn't personal." Yes it was! You were terrible!
True everyone has to learn, but just look at the faces of the other medical staff when one of this bunch is let loose with a needle. There are exceptions. Lucy is a star, with plenty of compassion to spare.

But even Ben's relatives told him he had a God complex. He traumatised a little boy, again over a cannula, and then discovered it could be put in while the child was asleep for surgery. All totally avoidable.

Priya said: " We should have a notice on our foreheads saying we are doing this in your best interests." NO, you are not. You are causing unnecessary suffering. It is time these medics started practicing on themselves. Try putting a cannula into one of your colleagues and get them to put one in you.

Keep at it until you get it right. Then maybe you will understands how it feels to be a patient, seriously ill in a hospital bed, having someone just out of medical school prod you uselessly with a needle, again and again and again.

Down the Dole in My JimJams

Down at the dole they don't like you turning up in your jim-jams. They don't like it at all. It smacks of a poke in the eye to everyone else out there trying to earn a living wage. The hard-pressed souls who brush up, tie straight, shoes polished, only to view the bleary-eyed ragamuffin hoards heading for free hand-outs in their nightwear.

Tends to upset people. Who wants to face the daily grind when others are taking a short break from bed to pick up their payments? Many are meant to be available for work. Yea, right.

Onesies are popular, the adult baby-gro jobs that are so comfy for slouching around all day. Just the job for the workshy. Now the dole offices are insisting that people turn up properly dressed. For appearances sake. Most are no more likely to set off hot-foot after the nearest paid employment, but at least they don't look like they are showing the finger to the rest of us.

A government spokesman said: "The people doing it saw no problem with it. It came from an extended feeling of home. " The Job Centre, home from home for most of them. Bless!

Monty Dog Does a Lassie, Mutt in a Million

"What's that Monty? There's a man in the river - call an ambulance?" Forget Lassie, Monty the labradoodle is just as good. He saved his owner from a watery grave, despite being 77 in doggy years.

Owner Maurice Holder, 73, was out walking by the river in Cornwall when the ground shifted and he fell 40 feet. He came around to find Monty in the water with him. The pair struggled up the steep bank together then the dog dashed off, barking the old: " Follow me, I need help!" message we found so thrilling in the films. What a hero!

And what a one-off. Love our dog to bits, but he can barely get out of bed at 11 years old. Labradoodles are scatty, gallumping, big bags of nonsense that don't know where their own feet are. They eat everything, including plastic plates, and never run out of energy or good humour. Mr Holder says: " He's loyal and that's what matters." Spot on , well done that dog.

Miranda"s Marvelous Job

Miranda may have something going for her after all. I think she's brilliant in Call the Midwife. She seemed almost saintly at times on telly last night. Having read the book - sucker for all things gory, especially medical, I though Miranda had old Chummy sorted. Top marks!

Before this I've never really got her. Everyone seems to think she is wildly funny. Awards and everything. Not me. Couldn't see it. Then she made such a wuss of herself with Bear Grylls. Twice his size, she could have picked him up and carried him down the mountain. Instead she just sat there and refused point blank to do the rope slide. And all the while he's telling her how well she's doing.

Delivering babies, that's what Miranda does best. And being posh. She was even looking good on a bike at the end, having made a cracking job of doing it badly. Totally convincing - did she learn on the set? Anyway she stole the entire show and can't wait for more next week.

Norway No Thanks

Britain is bust - how about Norway? They seem to have it all, including the most beautiful women. Apparently Norwegian women are snapped up by the dating site Beautifulpeople.com. Three quarters of applications are accepted.

Seems Norway's got a lot going for it. Water and wind provide all of their electricity and they are the third largest exporter of oil on earth. Stayed out of the EEC so sitting pretty, thanks.

Makes you want to spit. Here we are, shoving on another jumper because the bills break us out in a cold sweat, totally fed up with the cuts and facing strikes by everyone from the bin men to doctors. Not much dancing in the streets.

Hang on though. Beer costs a fortune out there, it's dark, they spawned that bloke who went about shooting 69 teenagers for fun and their best-known artist painted The Scream. He wasn't happy was he? As for the women, a quarter were still consigned to the dog house. Norway no way.

Skiing not for Wusses

Broken legs, bruised bonces - par for the piste! Go skiing, have the best time of your life, but nobody said it was safe. Now the resorts are likely to send costs soaring after payouts claimed by accident victims.

One person died after sliding under a safety net and hitting a pillar. Another was left paralysed after falling on ice that nobody told her about. These are tragedies and no one is underestimating the pain they caused.

But warnings about ice when skiing? A lawyer for the resorts said: " Do we need to put a mattress around every tree?" While another added: " We could reduce the slopes and put nets everywhere but where would be the pleasure for skiers? We can't turn ski resorts into kindergartens."

Skiing is dangerous. That's the thrill, along with speeding along in crisp mountain air with the wind in your hair. Except that you will have to wear a helmet.

One guy in our party took out a beginner on the nursery slope when she swerved into his path. He had a bump, she was stretchered off. Totally his fault, but she knew the risk she was taking when she clipped herself in. Take out your own insurance, weigh up the odds and go anyway. Or stay at home and forever wonder what you missed.

Outraged Taliban and Olaf Schmid

Been thinking about the Marines peeing on the dead Taliban. They will be found, Hilary will send the dogs in to flush them out. Got to be done, but the truth is, I haven't forgotten Olaf Schmid either. Remember him? Like so many others he got blown up trying to defuse bombs in Afghanistan.

He died in a vain attempt to make the place safe. Every time he bent over a bomb, the Taliban would take pot shots at him. Their snipers are excellent. They know if they leave a few IEDs about, someone will be along shortly to shift them.

So they hide and wait for Olaf's mates. The guys go out anyway to do what they can, knowing that the bombs will be back tomorrow. One day recently they watched as a mini-bus full of women and children decided to leave the safe road and take a detour. There was a soft pouf and that was that. We saw it all on the 6pm news.The Taliban must have their reasons for doing what they do. Peeing on their dead bodies is not acceptable, but a part of me understands that a whole lot better than their bombs.

Filly Folly in the Front Room

Pets, they have their place - but my front room isn't it. Not for a horse anyway. A lady up in Lewis thinks differently. Her pony is now grazing the carpet after a row with the field owner. Stephanie Noble says she had no choice.

She calls that a choice? Has she any idea how much poo one horse can produce? Well she must have, because poo picking is the job du jour of any equine type. There's about two wheelbarrows from the average paddock. Daily. Sometimes more.

And the wee! Get that on your boots and the soles fall off. Stinks worse than a cess pit in high summer. Doubtless the three-year-old dappled grey is a very pretty creature. I can picture her now. So can you. She's probably thrilled with her centrally heated, comfy stable. No wind whistling through the rattling door.

Horse lovers say they love the smell. Can't see what the fuss is about. Not sure where Lewis is? Never mind, you'll soon be able to pinpoint the stink.

Kelvin Could Cut The Crap

How about we cut the crap and the cost of the Leveson inquiry? Here's how. Tell the press, "hack a phone and go straight to jail." Posties have faced prison for opening mail, reporters should be treated in the same way. Should put a stop to it.

That's it. End of. There is no point in calling Cameron to explain why he signed his letters to Rebekah Brooks " Love, David." He schmoozed the papers - get over it! They all do. Everyone wants nice things to be written about them. Good press is the life blood of politicians, they can't survive without it.

Cameron has better things to do with his time, some of which should have been done yesterday. Nobody gives a toss about the Leveson inquiry, now that everyone who matters has settled their differences with hard cash. This thing is costing millions. We can't afford it.

Final note - nice one Kelvin. You were a cracking editor when I worked for you and you are still entertaining now. Keep it coming.

Holy Cow What Next!

All men are equal in the airport security queue. Frisk all. Sadly, that's the fear we live with. All that is, except the holy men. Those with very strong, fundamentalist, beliefs should not be touched and deserve to be driven to the plane itself. To avoid the rest of us.

That's a good one. Here's another. Security staff must not open a sealed box because it contains deities. The guru holding it must take a bath before unlocking it. Let's have it aboard then, chop chop!

All of this is going on in India, a people not exactly renowned for their peaceable tendencies. They have a long list of VIPs who can get on a plane without troubling the security staff at all. They include army chiefs, politicians as well as religious nutters. Did anyone tell the other passengers? Might be nice if they knew the risk they run.

They might choose not to fly. Better still, why not ban the 22 categories of VIP allowed to skip the checks. Let them stay at home instead. The queues will not be shorter, but they may feel a whole lot safer.

Cheque this Trick Out!

Back to the shops then? Kept the receipt - Goodo! Some pressies defy logic. Like the mug Santa fetched to one of us in hospital. All the patients got one. Useful item, better than a chocolate teapot, but this one has a jumper. Red, with a button.

It's quite cute but totally useless. The jumper can't keep the cup warm, it gets dribbled on and has to be taken off for washing. Then put back on again. We've kept the mug, no idea why. On reflection I'd rather have the teapot.

The other useless gift is £20. Fantastic, what's wrong with that! Wait though, this twenty quid is a cheque. Made out to my daughter, who is too young to have her own bank account. We can't pay it into ours, it's got her name on.

So we divvy up the £20 and forget it. The alternative is to send the thing back, ask the generous rellies to send another one, with our name on it, and then pay it in that way. Too much grief and it manages to look ungrateful. Which we really, really are! Because this happens every year, we used to get three of the things and on top of everything else we spent, it began to seem expensive. And annoying. And a bit thoughtless. Handy for the sender though in these hard-up times. Bah, humbug to one and all and a Happy New Year!