Thursday, 27 July 2017

Top Of The Pops and The Generation Game - re-booted

I read recently that too much nostalgia is bad for you - not sure why, perhaps it's considered bad to look back fondly rather than stay laser-focused on the future or something?

But if that is the case, perhaps somebody should have a word with the TV production companies who've just announced the return of two of the best shows from my 1970s/80s childhood.

Yes, much to my excitement, I've read that the company behind James Corden's Carpool Karaoke is planning a re-boot of Top Of The Pops. 

Essential viewing, TOTP was on Thursday evenings, and then moved to Fridays if I remember correctly, and was the highlight of my TV week.

Admittedly in parts cheesy, some of the dancing left very much to be desired by both the audience and professionals - anyone else remember life before music videos when Legs & Co or Pan's People just 'interpreted' the songs?

There was the rundown of the top forty, the climbers, the non-movers and finally the much coveted No1, plus live performances in the studio of varying quality.  I keenly await the updated version, although I fear I won't know many of the artistes these days, unless they're played on Radio 2!

Next regeneration - appropriately enough The Generation Game.  Arguably Brucie's finest hour, if you can overlook the Anthea Redfern/Isla St Clair 'ornamental' roles. 

Those times were very different, and fortunately we're now more enlightened as to the parts women play on TV - even if the BBC salary department has yet to catch up entirely to the idea of equality.

Perhaps then fittingly, Mel and Sue find a new home here after GBBO and replace Mr Forsyth as presenters.

I'm looking forward to seeing it and hope they keep the prize conveyor belt at the end, which was always my favourite part.  I imagine the prizes will be slightly different tough - I can't see anyone wanting fondue sets, heated curlers and sandwich toasters these days, but I'd still have the teasmade and the cuddly toy, of course.



Tuesday, 18 July 2017

Save Corby's Urgent Care Centre

Some things should be above party politics, and saving Corby's Urgent Care Centre is one of them.

We can argue until we're blue in the face about whose fault it is that yet again we're facing its threatened closure, but that's not going to solve anything.  We need action, we need unity, and we need it NOW.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - this is a VITAL service to the people of Corby and its villages.

Yes, I can remember life before it, and it wasn't good.  Up in this corner of Northamptonshire, if you were ill after 5pm during the week or at any time at the weekend and you needed medical attention urgently, you had to get to Kettering General somehow.

Now, that was perhaps ok if somebody in the family had a car, or if you could ask a friend or neighbour to take you, because as we all know, public transport was (and still is) a bit 'hit and miss', especially if you're in the villages or countryside.

Speaking for myself and my family and friends, the Corby Urgent Care Centre is literally a life-saver.  Without going into detail, I dread to think what could have happened to people I know had it not been there.

The staff are brilliant.  They are caring, hard-working, professional and kind.

We know from previously issued statistics that the centre is coping with double the amount of patients than was originally planned.

The population of Corby, and indeed Northamptonshire, is growing at a tremendous rate.

Facilities at Kettering General are overstretched. 

Taking these facts into account, put simply, I believe that closing Corby Urgent Care Centre would potentially put lives in this area at risk.  This is unacceptable, I'm sure you'll agree. 


Tom Pursglove, MP for Corby and East Northants, is working with Corby Borough Council and other stakeholders to try and sort this out.  He wants to hear from people about their thoughts on Corby Urgent Care Centre - please e-mail him pursglovet@parliament.uk asap.  Thank you.

Tuesday, 11 July 2017

School sports day

It's that time of year - school sports days are happening up and down the country.  It's not a day I remember with relish, either as a participant or as a watching parent either, if I'm perfectly honest.

My family, it's safe to say, is missing the athletics gene.  Walking is more our pace, but sadly competitive walking isn't included in any sports day of which I'm aware.

Having said that, my daughter did win the egg and spoon race at primary school one year, which was a first for both sides of the family.

The best I ever managed was second, also in the egg and spoon race as it happens.  Perhaps if that was an Olympic discipline we may have triumphed and been able to represent Team GB.

Fortunately the school my daughter attended didn't make a big deal of the parents' race.  However, I did once take part in a parents' race for my younger cousin, who was still at primary school while I was at Uni.

I remember lining up, taking a look at the competition and thinking to myself that despite my asthma and distinct lack of athleticism I had a good chance of winning as I was at least ten years younger than the other participants.  The only Dad racing was about five stone overweight to boot.

So imagine my surprise when he flew past me like an oversized rocket and won, while I just about scraped into a still respectable second place.  Another perfect example of why we should never judge by appearances.

I did read that some schools were banning parents' races because some Mums and Dads were just too competitive and couldn't handle losing.  I imagine their reactions and language weren't setting the best example for the watching children either.


But if you are attending sports day, be on the lookout for parents arriving wearing Lycra and carrying running spikes.  I've heard that Des O'Connor once lined up to run at his son's school only to spot a man thus attired - and he turned out to be Linford Christie!

Thursday, 6 July 2017

Voluntary workers - putting the 'great' into Great Britain

I briefly mentioned this in last week's column, but I firmly believe that voluntary workers are the backbone of this country, and put the 'great' into Great Britain.

I can think of so many organisations and events - numerous charities, village Parish Councils, groups of people working in their communities, fetes and fun days, flower festivals, music festivals, youth groups and sporting clubs etc - which just wouldn't exist without utilising hundreds of hours of unpaid labour from an army of volunteers.

Most of these unpaid workers seek nothing in return for all their hard work other than a little bit of gratitude, courtesy and respect - sadly, however, that is not always forthcoming.

It's all too easy for people to take for granted their contributions; their 'going the extra mile' becomes the expected norm; and people keep pushing for more and more when actually they should be thankful for the work that's being done at no cost to them.

Or when things go wrong, as they sometimes do when a busy volunteer simply forgets a task they normally complete, and then people just moan about what's not been done without realising that they're not actually contributing anything useful and positive themselves.

Before people take to social media, or mutter and grumble in the pub etc about things that they think should be done, they need to stop and ask themselves are they willing to undertake said task themselves?

Are they, for example, willing to attend hour after hour of meetings, read thousands of pages of documents, litter pick, fundraise, organise events, publicise them, clean up afterwards, sort out all necessary paperwork and insurances, all while doing full-time or part-time jobs, looking after children and/or elderly parents?

Because if the answer is no, then they have absolutely no right to criticise those that do give up what little free time they have to make their communities better places.

If the answer is yes, then please go ahead and volunteer and make a useful contribution to society - more volunteers are always needed everywhere.



Tuesday, 27 June 2017

Classic cars and flower festivals

A couple of times this summer I've thought to myself 'is there anything more English than this?' - and I do appreciate the irony of me thinking this as only one of my grandparents was actually from this country!

The first occasion was at the start of June when I enjoyed my first Pimm's of the season sitting outside The Exeter Arms in Barrowden, overlooking the duck pond and a collection of classic cars and their owners who had gathered for a meeting on the village green.

It was around 6pm, the sun was still shining and the cars were gleaming - E-type Jaguars, Mark II Jaguars, Morris Minors, old Minis and the like.  It was a perfect summer's evening.

Then on the last weekend in June, I headed to Gretton Flower Festival at St James' Church.

The theme, quite unusually for these type of events, was Disney films, but it worked really well and there were some great interpretations of various movies including Sleeping Beauty, Mulan, Brave, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, The Chronicles of Narnia, Tangled, not forgetting the ubiquitous Frozen (let it go, Elsa!)

It was an ideal way to engage with the younger members of the community and the children really enjoyed guessing the film titles and informing their parents and grandparents.

My moment of extreme Englishness occurred though as I sat drinking my tea out of a china cup, complete with saucer, eating a slice of wonderful peach cake - it had fruit in it, it counted towards my five-a-day - while gazing at the magnificent architecture of the old church building through vintage floral bunting.

And I also thought to myself that while we're still having classic car shows and flower festivals, and drinking Pimm's and tea out of china cups (not at the same time, obviously), that the world can't actually be that bad a place and civilisation will prevail.

Many thanks to all the wonderful volunteers who give up their time to arrange such events - you put the 'great' into Great Britain.




Thursday, 22 June 2017

'We have more in common than that which divides us'

'We have more in common than that which divides us' - the words of the late Jo Cox MP have special resonance in these troubled times for our country.

The time has come for us all to set aside our differences - be they political, religious or whatever.

Because the simple truth is we can't carry on as we are.  We can't be forever fearful of listening to or watching the news each day, bracing ourselves for the latest tragedy to beset our nation.

I was actually going to write a very different article to this, where I discussed the recent election, Theresa May's mis-timed gamble, and the coalition of chaos (as yet to be agreed with the DUP at the time of writing) - a grave cause of concern for many because of their less-than-liberal viewpoint.

However, I feel that enough has been said about Mrs May and her shortcomings.  She seems a decent enough person, doing a difficult job at a very tough time, and I feel that 'Theresa-bashing' as a national past-time should be consigned to the past, along with 'Corbyn-bashing' and 'Farron-bashing'.  It's just not helpful.

Lest we forget, we elect our MPs to work for us, a job they hopefully fulfil to the best of their abilities.

They are only human though, and sometimes they make mistakes; but the only people who never make mistakes are those who do nothing in the first place.  The key is to learn from them and to not repeat them.

With everything this country is currently facing - the on-going terrorist threat, North Korea, Trump, Brexit - we need to be working together, not pulling further apart.

We don't necessarily have to completely agree with everybody's viewpoint, but we do need to listen, be tolerant, compromise where necessary and find some common ground in order to move forward.

We owe it to future generations, our children and our grandchildren, to sort this mess out and to make things better for everyone.  There really is no alternative.



Thursday, 15 June 2017

Online shopping isn't always cheaper - or better...

About three years ago I stopped shopping online completely.  This was a fairly big decision on my part, spurred on by discovering that not all online retailers were paying their fair share of corporation tax in the UK. 

I ceased my very occasional visits to coffee chain behemoths for the same reason - I now have a policy to just visit independents wherever possible.

I appreciate that my one-woman protest hasn't even put the slightest dent in any of these large corporations' profits, and it has on occasion made life a little awkward as when you can't buy things in high street shops the assistants sometimes cheerfully suggest I try online.

However, I have a very recent example of how I actually saved money by shopping on the high street instead.

My stove-top enamel kettle retired after nearly twenty years' loyal service.  Seeking a replacement, husband checked online and informed me that several retailers offered new versions.

I refused to consider this, telling him we should go to a local hardware shop.  Our original kettle had been purchased at Burton's in Kettering, and we were given a handwritten receipt and a paper bag to bring it home in.

We headed to Market Harborough and Frank Gilbert Housewares, a veritable cornucopia of all things domestic which makes the Lakeland catalogue look meagre in comparison.

Here the knowledgeable assistant helped us choose the right kettle for our needs, unboxing several so I could test the weight and husband could check the workmanship, spending time and checking in his storeroom to see what alternative colours he could offer.

We made our choice, paid the asking price and returned home.  Job done, no messing or waiting for delivery and receiving a annoying card saying you were out for the nanosecond that the driver knocked on the door.

Out of interest, I then checked the online retailers' websites - and in each case, we had paid significantly less than the prices online.


Just goes to show, online isn't always cheaper, and it can't ever compete with good old-fashioned customer service.

Thursday, 8 June 2017

Helen's Heron

A few years ago I invested my hard earned cash in a plastic heron.  A strange choice of garden ornament you may be thinking, and indeed you'd be right.

Truthfully, I'm not really a garden ornament type of person, although I do have a small ivy-clad gargoyle as a nod to some kind of al fresco decoration.

But I have a pond, complete with fish, whose numbers were severely depleted by our local heron who liked to come and dine, turning our pets into his finest sushi snack.

I had read somewhere that herons are territorial, and if you put an imitation heron near your pond it fools the real one into thinking that particular dining table is already taken and thus he moves on.

So approximately twenty quid or so lighter, and husband moaning that I must be out of my mind to think that this would work, the artificial heron was purchased from the garden centre and installed to guard over my precious fish.

This did seem to work initially, although husband did point out I ought to move it round a bit otherwise the real heron would realise that it was a fake - a suggestion which I, perhaps foolishly, disregarded.

One day as I stood drying the dishes in the kitchen, I looked out of the window and thought to myself that husband must have bought me another mock heron, for there, next to my pond sat two herons, perfectly still.

It was at this point I realised that one wasn't plastic, but was in fact the real deal and was trying to befriend the inanimate one that was supposed to scare him away - trust me to lure the real one with a decoy!

Following on from this, I hadn't seen my fish for a long while and thought it was time to recycle my dummy bird as he had obviously woefully failed in his task.

But then I spotted my last two fish - Admiral Bubbles and Ziva, since you ask - lurking under some pond foliage, so my mock heron has earned a reprieve and stays for a little bit longer!


Thursday, 1 June 2017

The 'joy' of clothes shopping

What clothing size are you?  You don't need to answer that, but if you're like me it varies - sometimes vastly - depending on which shop you're in.

When you think about it, that's utterly ridiculous isn't it?  There's a standard size for shoes, so if you're a size seven you know that a size seven shoe will fit you no matter which shop you're in (give or take adjustments for width) - so why can't we have the same for clothes?

I'm not a fan of clothes shopping, I'll be perfectly honest with you, and I think one of the main reasons is the variation in sizes which means you have to try things on in shops.

Now, I hate changing rooms - I hate them with a passion.  They are always too small, badly lit, there's never enough hooks onto which to hang your handbag, other shopping, the clothes which you need to take off in order to try the new stuff on because you don't want to put them on the floor, etc.

Then if they've only got a curtain, not a proper door, there's always the dread that someone will fling it open mid-change, or you'll catch it with your arm when wrestling with a garment, and you'll accidentally 'flash' the entire shop.

Plus, with all the tags and security devices attached to most items these days I have never managed to try anything on without being scratched with cardboard and/or plastic.  I emerge from the changing room looking like I've gone ten rounds with Nicola Adams, let alone just tried on a fancy frock or a 'going out out' top!

But what does make me really cross is when clothing's just labelled 'small, medium or large', so you have to establish what that roughly equates to in the usual nonsensical sizing stakes.

Believe me, there is nothing guaranteed to depress me, and I'm guessing half the nation, more than to be told that 'large' is a size ten!  No quicker way to lose sales either, I imagine.



Acts of kindness

It's all too easy to feel anxious, depressed and overwhelmed about the state of the world.

It feels like we're living in dangerous times, and that danger is getting worse and can happen to us any time, any where.

The recent atrocity in Manchester is one such example.  Young people, some of them going to their first live music concert, were targeted by a very misguided young man not much older than them.

But in the depths of our despair about the slaughter of the innocents, we need to keep reminding ourselves something.

The world is still full of good people, doing good things, day in, day out.

I saw a drawing on social media by artist Twisteddoodles of the world fracturing under the strain of everything it's facing, but being held together, and here's the caption that went with the artwork:

"A big event can make it feel like the world is falling apart.  But there are millions of tiny acts of kindness still holding it together."

We saw that in action in the aftermath of the Manchester bombing - from the speedy response of the emergency services, to the taxi drivers who drove people home free of charge; from ordinary people throwing open their doors and welcoming traumatised strangers into their homes, to caterers offering food and drink to anybody who needed it; the homeless man who helped an injured girl and then cradled a dying woman in his arms, the list goes on.

This is so important to remember, and to talk to your children and grandchildren about.  Yes, sometimes bad things happen, and sadly there are evil people who want to destroy our way of life.

But there's also a lot of good people, of all nationalities, religions or none at all, who make a difference by doing acts of kindness and help to keep our shattered world together.


Instead of thinking of the one man who did this evil act, let's try and remember the thousands of people who helped those in need, and who will continue to offer support to the injured and bereaved.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

Let sleeping cats lie...

There are certain expressions which must have come about for a reason.

Take 'let sleeping dogs lie' for example.  This was perhaps wise advice passed down the generations by the first person who surprised a snoozing canine and had their leg savaged.

I think this expression should be extended - 'let sleeping people lie' is also good advice.  Unless of course you think they might be dead, and then it's quite acceptable to get a small mirror and hold it under their nose to see if it mists up.  Be warned though, should they suddenly awaken they'll wonder why they can see up their own nostrils and may of course die of fright.  Please don't blame me if this occurs.

I'd like to add 'let sleeping cats lie' as something to pass on, or at least my husband would.

Let me explain - a little while ago my daughter found a pretty cat on our compost heap, sleeping in the sun.  My husband - aka Dr Doolittle - decided he would go over to talk to it and stroke it.

It purred gently, butted its head against his hand requiring more fuss, and then when husband removed his hand to walk away, the cat leapt up, sunk its teeth into said hand and badly scratched both of his arms.

I remained blissfully unaware until husband appeared in the kitchen with blood dripping from both arms like an extra from a horror film, closely followed by daughter who looked shocked as she'd witnessed the cat attack.

After a quick call to 111 - I'd read you should seek medical advice after an animal bite - we headed to Corby's Urgent Care Centre where he was given a week's course of antibiotics (thanks for the great care he received, it's a fantastic facility and long may it continue).

While we appreciate that not all cats will behave like this, please take our advice and let sleeping cats, dogs and people lie!


NB - the cat was unaffected by this incident and still visits us; on the last occasion it strutted past the kitchen window with a pigeon in its mouth.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

The school run

Ah, the journey to and from school.  That haven of peace and quiet in an otherwise hectic life, when parent and child stroll hand in hand, happily discussing the day, chatting to other parents and children and listening to the birds singing.

In a parallel universe maybe - in this real world the school run is more like Armageddon on a daily basis, a battle for survival dodging the unswerving SUVs and MPVs as they hurtle down the road searching for the closest place to park outside the school gates.

Yes, I too read the list of the biggest bugbears of the school run, and unsurprisingly top was inconsiderate parking around schools.

Now I will confess it's been several years since I consulted my copy of the Highway Code - I'm thinking it was before my driving test, and as I passed that before the A14 was even fully opened, that will give you some idea of how long it's been.

But I can remember quite clearly what the yellow zig-zag lines outside schools are for - nobody should park there, because that's where children and their parents cross.  To park there would severely restrict visibility and could cause a serious accident.

Sadly, however, there are some selfish people which think it means 'If I'm running late or if it's raining it doesn't matter if I park here because those rules don't apply to me.'

A recent example I spotted - not only were there zig-zag lines clearly painted outside a primary school, the staff had come out and put Police 'no parking' yellow cones, to highlight the fact there should be no parking.

Imagine my surprise then to see a parent pull up - just after 9am - and park on the zig-zag lines, right next to a no parking traffic cone, to unload their children. 


Before anyone leaps to a stereotype and assumes it was a woman driving a 4x4, it wasn't - it was a man driving a high-performance sports car.  I'll make no further comment!

Wednesday, 3 May 2017

The end of Car Share

It's almost a relief that I can talk about it now - I'd watched the whole second series of Car Share on the iPlayer, but couldn't discuss it as I didn't want to spoil it for people who were watching weekly.

That's a good point actually - if you haven't seen it yet stop reading now as the following piece contains spoilers.

What an ending!  Talk about going out on a high.  Or low, depending on your viewpoint, because the ending really was very sad, the Marillion track especially poignant.

I think the daydream sequence where John climbs over the cars was a nod to the Everybody Hurts video by REM, but I haven't had this confirmed.

Car Share has been a delight from start to finish.  My favourite episode was the one at the safari park where John and Kayleigh accidentally stole a monkey - or rather the monkey hitch-hiked on the roof of the little red Fiat 500L - and they then returned it, having sat it in the back of the car wearing its seatbelt.

I think it's already earned its place as one of the best comedies of all time.  Yes, you read that right.  I'd rank it alongside Fawlty Towers, Father Ted and Only Fools And Horses, before Del and Rodney became wealthy.

While I was initially disappointed that the second series of Car Share was also going to be the last - disappointed is an understatement, I was utterly bereft - now I given it some thought, it's totally the right decision.

There's nothing worse than your favourite show 'jumping the shark' (see Fonzie in Happy Days).  Only Fools should have stopped once Del and Rodney became the millionaires they'd always promised themselves they would be; it was never the same after.

Peter Kay left us wanting more with Phoenix Nights after just two series, although he is teasing us that there is another season of that written and ready to go - I just hope he unleashes it on us soon!



Local elections - Thursday 4th May

'Oh no, not another one!' - I think Brenda from Bristol spoke for most of us with her reaction to the announcement of the snap General Election.

Yes, it's time for 'one more car, any more riders?' and jumping back on the rollercoaster that we've been riding pretty much on and off since 2015, what with the General Election, then the Referendum, and now another General Election.

My 'theme park face' is firmly in place - you may recall from a previous column me talking about the rictus grin I've been wearing for what seems like an eternity now, but you can still see the terror in my eyes.

Mr Trump's White House and the North Korea situation is doing nothing to ease my anxiety and relax my jaw either.

But by the time you read this, you'll hopefully all be heading to vote in the local county council elections, or will have already submitted a postal vote.

I say hopefully, because I appreciate that we're all a little bit fatigued with politics.

But, as my Grandmother used to say, if you don't vote you can't complain about what you get, so please do find the time to go and do it.

This is especially important for younger people - please do engage and put your 'X' in a box as these people make decisions which affect your future.

Also, a personal plea to women of all ages - suffragettes died for you to have the right to vote, please let their sacrifice mean something and remember that there are some places where women don't have this opportunity.  It's important we have our say in the democratic process.

Parents, please take your children with you and let them see what goes on in the Polling Station so going to vote becomes as natural a process for them as going to the shops, Doctor or Dentist etc.


It's important that we all have our say - Polling Stations are open until 10pm, so go and exercise your democratic rights.

Thursday, 20 April 2017

Overheard in North Norfolk

Where do you stand on listening in to other people's conversations?

I don't mean a glass against a wall, or tapping into somebody's phone or voicemail - that's a whole heap of wrongness.

I mean just casually tuning in to what other people are saying when you're in a café, pub or shop?

I have to be honest, this is something I tend to do, as it's often where you hear the most interesting things.

Some recent examples, from my annual pilgrimage to the seaside, which I will call 'Overheard in North Norfolk' - I was in a bookshop, browsing the latest titles whilst also bagging a bargain in their closing down sale (due to retirement, not the relentless onslaught of online retailers, or so they said).

One assistant said to the other "Gold shouldn't rust should it?", to which the other replied "No, I don't think so."  The first lady then said "Well I don't think these earrings are gold then, as they've gone rusty and made my ears go funny" - it was honestly like being an extra in a Victoria Wood sketch.

Then in a hostelry in Holt, I happened upon a conversation about Engelbert Humperdinck, as you do.

A couple were discussing the crooner, and talking about a man who looked like him only to discover it actually was him as he lives somewhere near Leicester.

They had a discussion about his songs, except they couldn't remember what he sang apart from 'Release Me', and then they were asking each other what his real name was.

I'm afraid to say it was at this point I joined in and helped them out - and told them it was Gerry Dorsey and he also sang 'The Last Waltz'.  I'd had a glass of wine at the time, and I did tell them I wasn't entirely sure that was correct so not to quote me.


I've subsequently discovered his birth name was Arnold George Dorsey but he did sing as Gerry Dorsey, so I'd just like to give the couple from Oakham the correct information!

Thursday, 6 April 2017

'Hazardous' clothing

"Your clothes are hazardous!" screamed the headline on the news report I was reading, or at least words to that effect.

As I looked down at my ensemble and checked the evidence, I thought this a little harsh assessment of my hoodie and joggers combo which I wear for housework/exercise (OK, housework is my exercise). 

I read on - it listed clothing apparently hazardous to our health, including skinny jeans, parka coats and high heels.

Now I can't comment on skinny jeans as I've never worn them - I'm more of a flare or a boot-cut person myself, adhering to the rules of fashion gurus such as Trinny and Susannah and more latterly Gok Wan.

Parkas likewise don't form part of my repertoire - but I do remember my brother having one in the 70s, complete with faux-fur trimmed hood.  This could indeed have been a hazard - with the hood zip done right up it formed a 'snorkel' and meant when you turned your head while crossing the road, for example, you just looked inside your own hood instead of at potential dangers.

Which leads me to my nemesis - high heels.  Thank goodness for 'grunge' in the early 90s which meant I could happily live in ten-hole Doc Martens for about five years.

But I can report that high heels can indeed be dangerous - I remember my primary school friend telling me about an accident which befell her older sister.  She used to don a particularly fetching pair of platform espadrilles, with ribbons lacing up her legs - don't judge her too harshly, this was the 1970s.

She used to repeatedly fall off them, and in the end she sprained her ankle quite badly.


This was the final straw for her father, who was fed up of the injuries inflicted on his teenage daughter by the evil espadrilles of doom, and he promptly seized them and threw them into the Rayburn, where they smouldered for three days - at least that's the story we were told, our version of an urban myth, perhaps a rural rumour?!

Wednesday, 5 April 2017

The Apostrophiser - a new kind of superhero...

As a general rule I'm not an advocate of vigilantism.  However, when it comes to the grammar vigilante roaming the streets of Bristol - The Apostrophiser - I think he's got a point, but maybe not the best superhero name or power.

In case you're unfamiliar with the story, this chap alters signs on shops etc and corrects crimes against grammar and punctuation.

One particular example - Amys Nail's - I thought was beyond redemption.  But no, he took his trusty apostrophe-altering gadget and added in the correct one whilst removing the rogue item, thus transforming it into the far more appealing Amy's Nails.

With admirable attention to detail, he even colour matches the patches used to mask the unwanted punctuation marks, so it's not really criminal damage either is it?

He's been labelled the Banksy of grammar, mainly because his identity remains a secret to all but close members of his family.  I think he probably had to tell them what was going on, as I'd have been a bit suspicious too if my husband kept disappearing during the night carrying a large wooden pole and a trestle table.

When you think about it, as I have at length, it's a form of art - he's taking an ugly, grammatically incorrect eyesore which causes people like him and me physical pain, and makes it all better, literally by sticking a band-aid on it.

Yes, time to come clean - I too suffer from this affliction, and have the urge to correct crimes against the English language wherever I see them.  I draw the line at roaming the streets at night, however; I'm obviously not that committed.

It does make walking around a traditional market virtually impossible though, as I just can't stand all the signs reading 'tomato's, potato's' and the like.  Similarly, some of the English I see on websites also makes me cringe - does nobody proof-read anything anymore?

I just hope that The Apostrophiser isn't on social media - some of the misuses of grammar and punctuation on there are beyond even his superpowers!



Friday, 31 March 2017

The 'Legs-it' debacle

Imagine, if you will for a moment, a picture of two male politicians.  For the sake of argument, let's picture Phillip Hammond and Jeremy Corbyn.

They're sitting, posing for press photos before having a meeting to discuss important things, like Brexit, a possible second Scottish independence referendum, the recent terrorist atrocity in Westminster, etc.  Very serious stuff.

Now, what if the newspaper headlines you read about this meeting talked about their hair, their clothes, or their shoes - wouldn't you consider this to be a little bit vacuous and inappropriate?

Wouldn't your response - like mine - quite rightly be 'I don't care what they're wearing!  I care what they're talking about!'

And yet, time and again, when important female politicians are pictured together their meeting is reduced to a discussion about their appearance and their outfits, or at least it is by certain portions of the media.

The latest absurd round of this happened with the so-called 'Legs-it' debacle, where a meeting between Theresa May and Nicola Sturgeon was reduced to a discussion about who had the 'better' legs.  As they both have legs, they are fortunate to have two each, they use them for walking, it's really nothing new and worthy of comment.

Now here's the thing, and here's a good rule for us all to follow just in case there's any doubt and there are questions about what you can and can't say - if you wouldn't say it about a man, how about you don't say it about a woman either?

Nobody is talking about Hammond's hair or Corbyn's calves, and where their suits are from and who made their shoes, so why do it to May and Sturgeon?

It seems completely incongruous and inappropriate to try and reduce a meeting between two of the most powerful women in the UK to a discussion about calves, ankles, shoes and hosiery.

This is not only an insult to their intelligence, but ours too!





Thursday, 23 March 2017

Corby Urgent Care Centre

The problem with writing a weekly column is that often the main story I've written about has moved on since I filed the copy.  This is a bit of a nuisance, because it makes me look like I'm way behind the times.

However, on this occasion I sincerely hope that the problem I'm going to discuss is resolved by the time you read this.

I'll be honest, when I saw the headline 'Corby Urgent Care Centre to close' on Facebook, I thought to myself that this fake news thing has gone too far.

So I turned to Twitter, and sure enough there was more about it on there, with people simply asking 'How?  Why?  This can't be true!'

Corby Urgent Care Centre is a wonderful facility, and one that every member of my family has needed to use over the years.

Now, as you know, I'm not a politician, an NHS bigwig, or an accountant - I don't 'do Maths' if I can help it.

But I do know this - Corby and its villages desperately need this facility.  The fact that it's been treating double the number of patients than was originally thought or planned for surely is a good indicator to somebody, somewhere how necessary this is?

Over 76,000 patients a year go through its doors.  If it does close, as is being said on news reports, on Friday 31st March, these people are going to have to head up the A6003 to Kettering General's A&E department - already overstretched - to be treated.

Never mind building a new two-storey car park, they'll need to create a park and ride near the Harvester/new Police station.

With more and more houses being built and this area's population rapidly expanding, the demand for NHS services is in turn increasing.

It would be complete and utter madness if this well-used, vital centre closed due to lack of sufficient funding.  Somebody, somewhere find the money to sort this out please.


And if it's already sorted, thanks - and please don't ever scare us like that again.

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

The 'benefits' of being self employed

I wonder how many MPs have felt 'The Fear'.  I appreciate that fear comes in many hideous guises, but this particular one is felt by the self-employed, the army of people who, for one reason or another, decide that the best thing for them and their families is to set-up on their own.

I can speak with some experience on this issue - not only am I currently self-employed, my husband has been and my father was too.

In case you're in any doubt, there's not much to recommend it.

Paid holiday?  Forget it.  Paid sick leave - what's that?  Most self-employed people can't afford to be ill, they just have to carry on regardless unless hospitalisation is required.

The constant worry about what work you'll have from one week to the next; pitching for new business, chasing leads; invoicing, then chasing payments; making sure your tax return is always in on time because otherwise it's a £100 fine you just can't afford.  Working strange hours, seven days a week, because that's when the work comes in.

So when it comes to the perceived inequalities that Mr Hammond thinks he's rectifying with the latest Budget, and the idea that somehow the self-employed are better off than those employed by companies but aren't contributing as much, can I just ask exactly how are we better off?

I can only assume that Mr Hammond & co have never been self-employed, or married to somebody who is, otherwise they'd know all about 'The Fear', the pressures and the worries that self-employed people always have, and carry around with them like an unwanted overcoat on a scorching hot summer's day.

Being self-employed is often the only option we have to continue doing the work we enjoy or are trained to do.  We certainly don't do it for an easy life.

When we get 25 days' paid holiday a year, paid sick leave, maternity and paternity leave, perhaps then you can talk to us about the benefits of being your own boss and the inequality of being an employee!




Tuesday, 7 March 2017

The Travers Foundation Showcase, 2017

Break-dancing and I have a bit of a mixed history, I think it's safe to say.

I'm still slightly mentally-scarred from an incident that happened in the 1980s - my cousin was demonstrating his 'swan-dive' I think it was, and somehow he managed to smash my Auntie's coffee table, resulting in us all being told off.

As a result, I have never become an urban dancer myself - that, and of course at my age it could result in some sort of hip injury and the NHS is under enough strain.

However, I am relieved to report that there were no such injuries or damage to furniture when I saw the Bodyrox Dance Company perform at The Travers Foundation showcase recently.

They were an enthusiastic bunch of young people who gave a brilliant performance to 'Happy House' by Siouxsie and The Banshees.

We had all gathered together at The Core at Corby Cube to see some excellent performances from beneficiaries of the charity and to raise some money to fund future stars in sports, the creative and performing arts.

Composer Lizzie Turney gave the premiere performance of her specially composed theme 'My Dream Is Still Alive' which she'd written for the charity.

Soloist Kara Hamer managed to give me goosebumps yet again with her superb cover of Snow Patrol's 'Run', and her version of Cilla's 'You Are My World' was another crowd-pleaser.

Young ballroom dancing couple Emily Brown & Scott Wilson would surely have got a 'ten from Len' for their tango, and the Liberty Drum Corps ended the evening on a high note complete with drums, brass instruments and flags.

I even did a bit of 'star spotting' too - golfer Ryan Evans was there, as were athletes William Sharman and Lucy Hatton.  I think my daughter was cross I didn't ask them for autographs, but it didn't seem appropriate!


All in all it was a fantastic evening of entertainment and fundraising for The Travers Foundation, a local charity helping local young people achieve their dreams.  Well done to all concerned.

Tuesday, 28 February 2017

My 'award-winning' column

I'm sitting at the award ceremony in my fancy black frock and my high-heeled shoes that always make my feet hurt but I have to wear them because they look nice. 

I'm listening intently to the categories, and am shocked to hear my name read out in the Columnist Of The Year category.  I look at my husband for confirmation, and he beams at me, squeezes my hand and motions me towards the stage.

I stand up, smiling, making sure my skirt isn't tucked into my knickers as I walk as confidently as I can towards the stage, secretly repeating the mantra 'don't fall over' to myself as I go.

Stephen Mangan, the host, greets me warmly, and I walk towards Stephen Fry who is brandishing my prize - a £50 book token.

I shake his hand, take a deep breath and take my place at the podium for my acceptance speech.

I thank my Mum and Dad - my Dad when I ask what he thinks of my latest column either says 'very good' or 'it must be hard to come up with something to write each week'.

My husband and daughter, who proof-read for me and say supportive things like 'please don't mention me anymore - I absolutely forbid you talking about me in your column'.

My friends, who have been a source of strength, provide inspiration, caffeine and alcohol on occasions when required, sometimes simultaneously.

It's all going swimmingly, and then I see a Stephen waving at me, and to my horror both Stephens rush towards me going 'Stop, there's been a terrible mistake!  You're not columnist of the year at all.  We've got the wrong card.  Sorry about that.  The proper winner is of course Caitlin Moran.'

So I hand the book token back, and shuffle off the stage feeling mortifyingly embarrassed that I went up there in the first place.


And then my alarm goes off and it's 6am on a Monday morning.  Of course, that's just a classic anxiety dream isn't it?  Nothing like that would ever happen in real life!

Prue Leith and Bake Off

Daughter, reading the paper one Saturday morning, asks me "Mum, what's an orghee?" (rhymes with corgi); confused I asked her to spell it, and she duly did, "o-r-g-y."

"Why do you ask pet?" I managed to reply, thinking to myself how am I going to answer this truthfully, yet in an age appropriate manner.  She is only 13, after all.

"There's an article in here about Bake Off," she continued.  Now, I know Channel Four's a little, shall we say, edgy, but what on earth is the link I thought.

"Well, according to this Prue Leith's been to an orgy."

Ah, I see.  So I explained as best I could that an orgy is a kind of wild party, and that it was perhaps quite a long time ago - although truthfully I have no idea, it could have been last week, and in this era of fake news, it might not even be true.  It's not something I want to type into Google to try and confirm, believe me.

She considered this momentarily, and then said solemnly "Mary Berry wouldn't have done that."

And that's the problem that Channel Four's Bake Off will have.  The new line up (yet to be confirmed but rumoured to include Prue) will always be compared to the old, measured and found wanting.

In much the same way, I saw a whole heap of Mary's and Prue's recipes compared and contrasted, and in fairness to Ms Leith, some of her recipes did quite well.

But do you know which one failed miserably?  The Victoria Sponge cake, in my mind the standard by which all other cakes are measured.  Mary's was a million times better.  Prue's didn't rise.  Mary's was light and fluffy and Prue's resembled something I would bake, similar to pancakes.

OK, until they're both standing in my kitchen with a cake that each of them has personally baked by hand, themselves, wanting my approval, I can't accurately judge. 


And I loved Prue on Great British Menu, I really did.  But when it comes to Bake Off, she's just not Mary.  But then again, nobody is.

Thursday, 16 February 2017

February half-term, the cinema and The Lego Batman Movie

The February half-term started cold and foggy so we grabbed the opportunity to go to the cinema.

I remember not so long ago that if you wanted to see the latest films it meant a trek to Milton Keynes or Northampton.  My friends and I made pilgrimages just to see movies like Housesitter (Goldie Hawn, Steve Martin) which truthfully weren't worth a two-hour round trip plus viewing time.

We did have small, two-screen cinemas closer to home.  The Ohio in Kettering and the Forum I think it was called in Corby, next to the Library, where I was also a frequent visitor.

These were, I think it's fair to say, cheap and cheerful establishments, and tickets cost a very reasonable £2 I seem to recall, although I may be wrong.

The opening of the Odeon in Kettering and then the Savoy in Corby therefore caused much excitement - well, it did for me anyway.  Their arrival heralded a choice of more than two films, at various times during the day too.

Even now I think it's fantastic to be able to pop along, just a few miles from home, without planning a huge journey, filling a tank of petrol and programming a sat nav.

With our Broadband speed remaining woefully slow at under 2Mbps, I won't be subscribing to Netflix or similar anytime soon either, so long live our cinemas!

Back to our half-term excursion - we watched The Lego Batman Movie.  This divided the Bach household - daughter and I liked it, husband hated it.  In hindsight, the Lego Movie a few years ago also caused such division, so perhaps this wasn't entirely unexpected.

OK, it hasn't much of a storyline, but sometimes I like not having to over-think things and just be entertained.  In its defence, it does have morals, themes and metaphors - no man is an island being one - and the characters unite to fight and overcome a common enemy and save themselves from certain destruction.


Perhaps in this current age of uncertainty there's an underlying message for us all in there?

Thursday, 9 February 2017

There's only one Kylie

There are some celebs so famous that they are instantly recognisable and known by one name alone.

For example, exhibit A, from the world of music - Madonna, Cher, Beyonce, Rihanna, Gaga and Prince.  Exhibit B, the celeb cooks - Delia, Nigella and Jamie.

It doesn't quite work for some people though - when it comes to Cheryl I'm afraid I'm left asking 'Cheryl who?', and I assure you no disrespect is intended.  It's just that I've always known her as Tweedy or Cole or Flipflop Versace or whatever it was; as just Cheryl alone it doesn't quite work.

And then there's Kylie.  In my mind, there's only one Kylie, and that's the diminutive diva from Down Under, whom we all adore.

Whether as Charlene, the tomboy motor mechanic in 1980s Neighbours, or the gold hot-pant-clad musical minx from her Spinning Around days, there's only one person worthy of being known as just Kylie.

Which leads me to the news that there's a pretender to the pocket-sized pop princess's single moniker throne in the guise of one of the Kardashians, a certain Miss Kylie Jenner.

Now, I can't say I've ever watched an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and I don't know much about them except a picture of one of their posteriors 'broke' the internet (and yes, my husband did comment that the only way my rear would break the internet was if I sat on it; oh how I laughed, hollowly).

Kylie Jenner has tried to trademark her first name so that she can use it for merchandise etc in the USA.  This is patently ridiculous (pardon the pun), and the original Kylie lodged a complaint as she already uses it for marketing purposes.  It appears the two Kylies may have now reached some sort of settlement, as yet undisclosed.

It's similar though to Victoria Beckham trying to stop Peterborough United trademarking the 'Posh' nickname they've been known as for many years.  Perhaps these people should stop and ask themselves 'who was known as this first?' before trying to prevent somebody using their own name.


Thursday, 2 February 2017

The eye test

With the wonders of modern medicine, it seems incongruous that the eye test hasn't changed much over the years.  Ever since I've been going to the opticians, it's remained pretty much the same. 

For me, it involves flinching and then laughing as the puff of air is put into both my eyes to test the pressure in order to detect glaucoma.

I have to repeatedly apologise to the person who tries to administer this, because once the first puff of air goes in, my body just reflexes every time and it's virtually impossible for them to get an accurate reading.

Not sure why I laugh - I think it's a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment as I wait for them to get cross and tell me to sit still.  In fairness, this hasn't yet occurred, but it's only a matter of time.

Then it's on to the 80s space invader game - put your head into a machine while wearing a fetching Pirate-style eye patch, and then blast away on the trigger as the little lights flash all around you.

From here, I'm winking, blinking and watery-eyed as I stagger to the optician's version of the Mastermind chair.

Once in situ, it's on with the glasses, and then the 'which looks clearer?' questions as lenses are popped in and out and I can't remember which is which, so it's round and round we go until I just pick one, hoping it's the right answer.  Going on Mastermind and facing John Humphrys would be far less stressful!

'Read the smallest line of print you can without holding it at arm's length' is the next test.  Then there's the bit where the optician gets up close and personal staring into my eyes checking their general health, while I try not to breathe but still think to myself I'm glad I didn't have garlic for dinner last night.


But, as we all know, it's one of those essential tests to get done regularly.  Perhaps one day it'll all be done by lasers or something.

Tuesday, 31 January 2017

The great work wear debate

There's been a lot going on in the past week or so, and I could talk about President Trump's inauguration and what's happened next, the ongoing Brexit Article 50 debacle (why wasn't all this established pre-Referendum?), the shock news that toast, crisps and chips are potential carcinogens, and the 6' 7" bloke who was fined for driving a Ford Ka convertible with his head poking above the windscreen.

But instead, I'm going to discuss the debate about what people should wear for work.  Now this doesn't affect me much - being self-employed and working from home most of the time I could pretty much wear my PJs all day and the only people it would bother would be the delivery drivers bringing me other people's parcels!

However, I always get dressed because it's about personal pride - in much the same way as I would never dream of going to the supermarket in my nightwear, and won't even fetch the bin in wearing my slippers (see previous column), I like to ensure that even though few people see me I still look respectable.

Admittedly, I don't wear a full face of make up or high heels, but that's my choice; and that's precisely my point - people should have a choice, within reason, about what they wear for work.

Women, for example, should not be told they have to wear make-up and high heels - if you wouldn't ask a man to do it, you shouldn't ask a woman either.

Back in the mists of time (early 1990s) I started work for a high street bank.  I was told then that women weren't allowed to wear trousers.  Skirt length wasn't dictated, thankfully.


I was therefore considered something of a trailblazer when I wore culottes to work - seems ridiculous now doesn't it? - and it caused much consternation with the male office manager because they weren't a skirt, but they weren't trousers either.  However, I was allowed to wear them, and eventually trousers were allowed too.  I like to think I started a revolution, albeit a minor one!

Thursday, 26 January 2017

TV adverts - the good, the bad and the most complained about 2016

Television adverts - which ones do you remember best?

For me, it's the good - the Guinness surfer ad, the Scotch videotape skeleton singing a version of The Rolling Stones' Not Fade Away, the Cadbury's drumming gorilla, for example.

Then there's the cheesy selection - step forward Shake 'n' Vac with its irresistibly catch song the words of which I can recall to this day, or Maureen Lipman's Beattie ads for BT ('You got an ology!').

Then the downright annoying - 'washing machines live longer with Calgon' immediately springs to mind.

And of course the scary - I can still remember the falling tombstones from the Government AIDS Don't Die Of Ignorance advert of the 1980s.  It was designed to shock and it certainly did.

Which leads me to the most complained about to the Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) in 2016 - perhaps surprisingly, topping the list are the Moneysupermarket adverts featuring Gary the dancing bodyguard, Dave the twerking businessman and Colin the dancing builder.

But even though they received the most complaints, the ASA has ruled that none of them crossed the line from bad taste to offence.  What a fine line that is, and a subjective one at that! 

In all honesty, they don't really bother me that much but aren't they just a bit passĂ© now?  Dave was quite amusing when he first appeared, but now with the rival gangs doing a dance off, I can't really see the relevance to the products that they're trying to sell.

But maybe that's not the point - if people are talking about them, and complaining about them, then the company's perhaps happy with the 'there's no such thing as bad publicity' angle.


Don't you just long for the days of the clever advert though, the ones that made you think, or amused you, rather than annoyed you and make you wish you could fast-forward through them.  No wonder many people now watch TV on catch-up or on other services which allow them to skip the advertising.