Winter Olympics 2018

It's happened again - I've gone from being an Olympics avoider to a keen viewer within the space of a week.

This time of course it's the Winter Olympics.  It did amuse me when the presenters, competitors etc were talking about how cold it was in Pyeongchang - I did feel like mentioning to them 'The clue's in the name, it's not called the Springtime in Paris Olympics!', but refrained, because I'd probably have moaned about how very cold it was there too.

'Super Saturday' lived up to its hype, thankfully.  I watched the Women's Skeleton with my heart in my mouth.  For the uninitiated - me until last week - the skeleton is the one where they lay on a tea tray and career down an icy slope, head first, like you do, using just your body to steer and your feet to brake.

Utter, utter madness, but so proud of Lizzy Yarnold and Laura Deas who were much braver than the rest of us and won Gold and Bronze for Team GB.

It did make me wonder though, how do you decide this is the discipline in which you want to specialise?  I don't recall this ever being on the options list for my school's PE lessons.  Even if it had been, I would have point-blank refused.  The very patient Mrs Merchant had enough of a task to get me to climb the apparatus and perform forward rolls - even at that tender age I was painfully aware of my athletic limitations!

Back to South Korea though, and I'm with Mr T (not a phrase I ever thought I'd utter) - I also pity the fool that doesn't like curling! #curlingiscoolfool

What's not to like?  It's gentle, a bit like bowling on ice, and it's something which we think we could all have a go at.  Now that's my kind of Winter Olympic activity - just fetch me a pair of stout brogues and a Vileda supermop and I'm there!  

The swimsuit challenge

I blame myself really.  I should have made it much, much clearer.  When I asked the shop assistants in various Leicester clothing emporiums (or should that be emporia?) for swimsuits, I should have stated that I'm not a contestant on 'Survival of the Fittest' or 'Ibiza Weekender'.

Honestly - I've seen more material on a hamster's jock strap!  Three tiny triangles of lycra-infused polyester and metal hoops does not constitute any swimming costume that will, or even could at maximum stretch, clad this nearly middle-aged bod.

Perhaps I should have been flattered that underneath my coat, scarf and jumper combo, worn to see off the harshest February winter weather, they considered the possibility that there was hidden a physique suitable for this minimalistic ensemble.

But, then again, as that was all they had in stock, perhaps no compliment was intended at all.

I thought to myself maybe it's the wrong time of year, although naively I assumed that some people these days holiday in exotic climes all year round, therefore swimsuits of some description would be freely available.

It may have been my choice of shop - I didn't want to spend a fortune on something I wear briefly a couple of times a year at most, so budgetary considerations came into play and I selected the High Street's, or in this instance Highcross's, finest womenswear stores.

Whichever of the above scenarios was the explanation, I still think I can't be the only person that would prefer a more encompassing, fuller bodied brief and top that flatters rather than exposes too much flesh can I?

Thankfully, my local supermarket back home came up trumps.  Whilst doing the weekly shop I spied just the job - a pretty swimsuit that covered all the right places and even had a little skirt to camouflage the only thing I will ever have in common with Kim Kardashian.

Not for the first time did I give thanks for George Davies and the clothing lines he created. 

Don't die of embarrassment

Have you ever met somebody, said 'Hello, how are you?' in a friendly way, only to be greeted by a blank stare, absolutely no recognition, just a look of slight puzzlement?

This happened to me quite recently.  I'd gone out for a meal with a group of friends, went to the bar to get a drink and on my way back to our table met a lady I thought I knew and greeted her in the above manner.

Now, I pride myself on my memory for faces - I just can't always remember from where I know said person, hence this incident.

As I sat drinking my G&T waiting for the food to arrive, I mused quietly on how I knew this woman.

I then remembered quite clearly - she was the nurse from my Doctor's surgery who'd done my smear test.  In a way, I suppose it's reassuring and a relief for all concerned that she didn't remember me.

The reason I'm sharing this story with you now is that I recently read that the number of younger women going for their smear tests has fallen dramatically, one of the reasons they gave is because they are too embarrassed.

But as this story from the Helen book of personal experiences illustrates, the nurse performing your test won't remember you.  It's just part of her job, she's literally seen everything before, and there's no need to be embarrassed.

Having had a friend die of a gynaecological cancer in her thirties, I cannot emphasise how important it is to go to the Doctor's and get your check-ups done.

Please go and have your smear test, or if this isn't relevant to you, encourage your wives, partners, daughters, friends etc to have theirs done.

During the 80s, the slogan used for the AIDS campaign was don't die of ignorance.  I think we need to adapt this and say to women please don't die of embarrassment.