Friday 28 November 2014

Time To Shut Up About The Scots?


Not getting the Scots. They seem to want to have their haggis and eat it. There was a vote, they took the right decision by a large, ten per cent majority. All hunky dory. Promised more powers to decide Scots business,  they can now raise income tax and pay their own bills.
Sounds good to me. If it also means that Scottish MPs have no say on matters that are strictly English, that's as it should be too, particularly since down here we have no say over stuff North of the border.
But all this doing the right thing is upsetting the Scottish MPs. They like to shout and bang on about Scottish rights, but when they get some they're not happy, maybe because they think they might soon be out of a job. It's all a bit bonkers to me. Shall we just shut up about the whole lot of them for a bit?

Sunday 23 November 2014

Calpol Cruelty Family Not Alone


Nipping out to the chemist to get Calpol almost cost a Dad his kids. His two-year-old was in the car outside the chemist when the police pounced. She was probably the one with the ear-ache, but no matter, she was put on the child protection register and the family went through a year of hell.
Sounds unlikely doesn't it? I left a baby in the car outside a nursery while I dropped off my three year old and came back seconds later to be confronted by two constables.
I told them I could see the car from the nursery. The baby was asleep. They still said they would call in the social workers if I dared to defend myself further. Cue grovelling on a grand scale.
I've seen kids left in cars outside shops. I would certainly call the police if they were left for too long, or if the day was hot and the windows shut. It happens, as I discovered in July.
But those cases are rare. Meanwhile a toddler is abused and dies in this country every week. We just don't hear about them. Time to get our priorities right and our police  and social workers getting tough on the real abusers.

Saturday 22 November 2014

Put A Bond In Their Stocking


Christmas has got weird, really weird and that's official. Want the proof? Parents should get their kids investments, not pressies, say the money gurus
Something in gilts not glits that will mature in time for a university education or a deposit on a house. Well that will go down well. Top marks for whoever thought of that, Jessie Hewitson in the Times.
They've calculated that between buying a gift and giving it the value drops by  20% - add on the inevitable breakage by Boxing Day and it's money down the drain. Put it in shares instead, that's the way to keep it safe. Or Premium Bonds. Maybe an ISA will float little Izzy's boat.
Hand over the envelope on Christmas morning with a bright smile and trill," Look what I got you !" No tat, no plastic, no remote controls or stuff without batteries, just a safety net for the future.
Well thanks mum, I can hear them say. Great. No. Christmas is for fun. get them the ISAs, bonds, everything else if you can afford it, but not at Christmas, because that's all about joy, family fun and giving rubbish just for the sake of it. Forget that and you might as well give up on Cristmas altogether. 

Monday 17 November 2014

Worst Doctor Ever


Ever met a doctor who knows it all? No, me neither but yesterday I met the one convinced she does.
I expect to see her up before the General Medical Council any day soon. It won't be my son she's hurt, but someone else at the sharp end. My lad refused her care yesterday, even though he was two days out of a major op and she was the only doctor on duty. That bad.
He'd been told to expect  a tough time and needed more morphine. She decided to tap hard on his wound to see if he really had pain. Percussive techniques have their place, but on new stitches holding a drain? Does that sound sensible to you? Anyway, he definitely had pain.
So did the guy in the next bed, the one with new staples she wanted to remove to see if he had pus. He said no. The guy  opposite wasn't so fortunate. She messed with his wound, determined to get rid of apparent infection until he made it very clear he wantetd no part of it.
We have nothing but the highest regard for everyone else in that hospital which is a centre of excellence. This woman, who calls herself "Bubby" is a menance and it really is only a matter of time. The whistle has been blown.

Thursday 13 November 2014

Space Age Bake Off


All those millions of miles away from home and little Philae is planning a bit of cooking. There's a sample to be collected and baked in her onboard oven, to see what gases come off a comet.
How homely is that? This amazing machine the size of a fridge is settling in nicely. We hope. We'd like her to stay put, but by the time we realise she's off to party among the stars instead it will be half an hour after it happens and we can do nothing about it.
But - what a wow moment that was! How brilliant are we to send something into space and after ten long years link up with a comet travelling at 34,000 miles an hour?  Awesome ! Those nerdy scientists lost it when the moment arrived. Academics were wetting themselves with excitement and really who could blame them? 
Pity the poor soul who built the harpoons though. They didn't work. While everyone else was dancing and celebrating, chances are he slipped off early for a silent weep under the duvet. His stuff may yet all come good and Philae will still get her gases done to a turn. If not, it was a hell of a ride!

Saturday 8 November 2014

London Earning, London Earning !


There are binmen living in London. Hospital porters, cleaners, nurses and teachers. How? How do they afford it? People living on £15,000 a year - how do they find a place to sleep?
This genuinely puzzles me. Do we all make up their wages so that they can afford a bed, a room somewhere? My son is a student in London. He's looking at £600 a month for a room in a crummy, converted, council flat. If he can get it. Rooms this cheap are snapped up within hours.
I used to have a bedsit in Knightsbridge. It was one room in Beaufort Gardens and it cost me £45 a week. I bought my loo rolls in Harrods. Long time ago. These days Knightsbridge is dark at night, streets of expensive properties stand cold and silent, earning money for their owners abroad. Empty shells.
Nobody lives there, they just accumulate wealth for investors. I want people to invest in Britain. We need their cash. Do we really have to sell them our cities, our souls, just to keep the coffers full? Can we keep some of this for us, so we can look our kids in the eye and say, yes, if you work hard, you too could have some of this.
Not now they can't.

Wednesday 5 November 2014

Crappy Way To Go


On fireworks night a few years ago a young guy thought it might be fun to stick a rocket in his anus and light it. He paid a heavy price. He's probably still paying it. 
Frankly trouble with the pipework is no joke. We should all be massively grateful when it all works like clockwork. When it all goes too fast or too slow we don't laugh much. 
Lovely Linda Bellingham died of colon cancer last month. She was brave and smiling to the end, cheering up the friends who found it hard to hold back their tears.
 Why, when it is a universal part of the human condition, do we still find our waste so embarrassing? So much so that we ignore signs that things are not well and refuse the tests that could save our lives?
Sticking a piece of cardboard into a poo and smearing it on a card to be scanned for cancer is a step too far for many of us. That's what all over 60s are asked to do. Almost half refuse.
Bonfire night turned into a tragedy for one young man. He was probably drunk. Too many of us don't have that excuse.