The Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth

 My mother told me, with absolute conviction, that you should always tell the truth. My mother along with hundreds of thousands of other mothers, delivered that message to their offspring, fully convinced that they were doing the rock solid Right Thing by their offspring.

But, would you give that advice to your children now? Well, maybe most parents would, when children are very young but later, when the offspring are in their teens, surely it would be better to warn your offspring that, quite frequently, to lie is the best course of action, especially where people’s feelings are involved.

The Truth is a subjective concept. This notion struck me when, as a teenager, and in the sixth form, a friend began to describe a night out she and I had had. As she talked I listened in disbelief, wondering if I had actually lost my mind and had not, after all, been there with her. As she continued, employing superlatives every other word, she looked at me as if to say, why are you not joining in my report? I smiled, pathetically and realized that she was in fact, being sincere. So, out of some sort of loyalty for our friendship, I gradually became more animated and joined in, adding phrases such as, ‘Yes, it was great, really good,’ and ‘Can’t wait to go there again.’

The truth, at least, my truth, was that the night was OK, but nothing much more. It was not even pretty good - it was just OK. My friend had either never experienced the joy of a good night out, or her expectations were set very low. Another possibility could be that I was a profoundly unsatisfied person, nothing was ever good enough for me and I should be more appreciative of the social opportunities that came my way.

The concept of truth is a very important one; one upon which the principles of law depend. The jury, all twelve who are signed in, are instructed that they must find the truth.  The prosecution and the defence must do likewise. A mistake can lead to a wrongful conviction; or a guilty person walking free. 

 In my twenties I had a friend who was one of the most generous people I have ever known. She told me of her family background, her wealthy parents, the boarding school she attended until the age of sixteen and the horses she had owned and loved.

Later, I discovered, by means of a mutual friend, that this life that she had constructed for herself was pure fiction. She lived in council house in Stockport with her mum and disabled sister. She was a persistent credit card fraudster and a shoplifter, which might have explained her generosity. The thing is though, that without her horses and general ‘romancing’ a euphemism for lying, I would have liked her just as much, if not more, because I would have felt empathy for her real situation whereas I was rather in awe of the horses and the boarding school. It saddens me to think that she felt she had to invent and embellish in this way, for us to like her.

Truthfulness is of great importance but there seems to be, quite often, instances where the truth is amorphous and often hard to pin down. That said, we know, each of us does, what the truth really is. Apart from necessary white lies, such as telling a friend who has spent a fortune on a dress, that she looks lovely, when really we do not believe that that is the case, we all know when we are telling the truth and when we are distorting the truth and producing a version of the truth which better suits us. And who has never done that?

Death and dying - my friend has six months.

At the weekend, I found out that my friend, of many many years is dying of lung and liver cancer. We met at a cafe and the first thing she said was that she was so pleased that she and her husband, who split up five years ago, were back together. 'We were both stupid, proud and trying go make a point.'

She said that now, with just six months left on this earth, she realised it didn't matter who did the ironing and who cleaned the toilet. All that mattered, she asserted, was that you looked after each other, had mutual respect and told each other how you were feeling. For example, if you have had a bad day at work, or performed badly in an interview, don't just sulk, leaving the other one to wonder what he/she had done wrong and feeling unjustly treated and  resentful - speak and explain. She advised too that you don't blab to your friends all the ins and outs of your relationship. Sometimes your confidantes can come back to bite you. Intriguing...

I was intrigued and as she talked I was overwhelmed by the calm way she talked and smiled even - and laughed! I even began to wonder if she was not dying, if she had been cured. I gathered myself and asked her how she was. 'I'm ok. I've had almost two years to get used to this. There is no doubt it changes you, makes you think differently and though I am afraid of how I might die, I am not afraid of being dead. It'll happen to all of us.'

'How is your mum taking it?' I dare to ask.

''It's awful for her - just awful. She tries so hard not to cry but she cries all the time. She wishes it was her and not me. This is one of those times, when I wish I had a sibling.'

'Do you think that would make any difference to your mum?' I asked.

'She would have someone to comfort her, someone to live for. All she has now, or will have in a few months, is a dead daughter.' She looked very troubled for a few seconds, then pulled herself back into the moment.  

What was so troubling and paralysing in our conversation was the realisation that I could not ask any questions about the future, or talk about my future, and was very aware to try not to mention it. So many of our conversations are to do with our future plans, including holidays, Christmas, hoping for a better job, moving house or considering a new pet. Everything about our lives presumes a future.

She had to go, she was going to the hospital for a 'procedure' - some small operation which would make her more comfortable. We hugged and I cried. She smiled. 'Remember me smiling - please. And healthy looking not this skeleton I have become. Oh, and at the funeral, please wear something brightly coloured.' And she left.

I was at work the next day, when my mobile rang. It was lunch time. My friend's husband told me that she had died, her body wasn't strong enough to withstand the small operation. Her death was very peaceful.'

At the funeral, which was very well-attended, I wore a bright blue dress. No one was in black. She would have loved it.

We share the planet with animals - not ours to abuse

On Twitter, many organisations and individuals are involved in preventing animal cruelty. On Facebook too, there are many contributors concerned with preventing cruelty to animals as well as gaining convictions for those who somehow think they have the rightt to inflict cruelty on a sentient, living being Consequently, I see photographs and videos that people post online to show the world the true horror and scale of animal cruelty.

I will not describe the pictures to you here - I will spare you that horror, but I will say that the cruelty depicted of all sorts of animals suffering, and suffering so badly, stays with you. Once seen, you cannot unsee. Strangely though, I am glad that I have seen them. Those images stay with you and spur you on to do what you can to prevent animal cruelty. Shocking, chilling and even frightening though the images are,  and such a damning indictment on humanity, nevertheless, knowing what is happening creates groups of people who are determined to do all they can to prevent cruelty to one more animal.

Some people seem to labour under the delusion that animals are there for human use entirely, for those who so wish to abuse them because they are 'only animals.' Animals are sentient, feeling and often intelligent beings. If you have ever owned a dog and looked into its eye you will immediately understand that that dog has a soul and can be loyal, protective and tuned into your moods.

Such horrors happen to animals that we should all be ashamed of. How will history judge us? Bull fighting? Really? Did they allow that? Barbarians!

As Mahatma Ghandi said - 'The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way it treats it animals.' Just so.

Roxy, the boxer dog from Bristol who was starved to death

You might have read about this case - a case of deplorable animal cruelty by a Bristol trainee solicitor.

This woman, left her own house to go and live with her mother. She packed her stuff up and moved in. Naturally, her mother asked about the dog. Katy Gammon lied and said that her ex-boyfriend had the dog, Roxy.

Neighbours began to complain about the smell coming from the house she had left, along with the huge number of flies, and phoned the police. The RSPCA were then contacted and made a tragic heartbreaking discovery. Roxy was dead. She had been shut in the kitchen with no food and no water. She had been there for ten weeks.  She had been starved and dehydrated to death.

Disturbingly, this woman had had two offers from people to take the dog in and look after her, but she had turned then down.

 The most chilling aspect of this case is that this woman had piled dog food and dog treats just outside the kitchen Roxy was shut in. She had rigged up a length of rope between the kitchen door and some hooks in the hallway, to ensure the kitchen door was kept closed. Why leave the food just out of reach?

Katy Gammon was sentenced to just eighteen weeks in prison. I hope there are some animal lovers there...

Norris and Mary - characters or caricatures?

To begin with, Norris - is he is a true character or just a caricature? Well, some of his reactions are what might be called and understood as 'typical' Norris, including his busy-bodying and his lust for gossip. These aspects of Norris and are so predictable that he is at these times presented as a caricature. To be a character a person needs some depth and in his dealings with Rita, Norris is clearly a character.

His attachment to Rita has been quite a torment for him and indeed for us too. Does he love Rita as a friend? Is he in love with her? They must know each other inside out having worked alongside each other at The Kabin for decades - seeing each other at their best and at their worst - tired, angry, frustrated - they will have seen it all from each other.

Rita and Norris have their roles - Rita - the one in charge, the wise one, the tolerator of Norris. Norris is the tolerated one the nuisance, the one who sees the worst in everyone and telling them about it, and let's not forget, the tormentor and love object of Mary.

Mary's name is always accompanied by words such as weird, odd, strange and creepy.  It's a shame though because she is undeniably different, even unique and she does offer such huge comedy potential. Her uniqueness is genius. Whoever created the character of Mary deserves many congratulations. So is she a character or a caricature? Certainly there is a predictability about how she behaves and she does live in a motor home. She has great cooking skills too, but what makes her a real character is how tenderly she cared for Dev's children and how sensitively she handled her responsibilities to make things as easy as possible for Dev as he dealt with his own grief and tried to manage the children's grief.

Mary's attachment to Norris is baffling - to all but her. That said, she is not totally blind to his faults and has been known to berate him and to point out his idiocies. Yes she did try to seduce Roy, but soon realised what a pointless task that was. Devoted to Hayley as we knew he was, we never feared for a moment that Mary would take him from her.

Now though, in an attempt to take Roy's mind off Hayley and provide distraction ad mental stimulus, she  plays chess with Roy - with no designs on him.

 Whatever they are, Norris and Mary are invaluable to our favourite Street.

Friends

Friend is a word we all use quite loosely to describe someone we know and their relationship to us. We may only have spoken to them a couple of times, but they quickly gain the status of a friend, because to say that someone is a woman/man I have known for a while, we're not close, but we pass the time of day and we both support Sheffield United, is a little too long-winded to explain who they are, so friend fits the bill.

My brother and his wife don't really have friends. They know a lot of people but my brother and his wife are with each other all the time.  They do not seek time away from each other - ever. In fact, they do whatever they can to spend every minute of the day together. I have often thought that if they each walked their (very lazy) dog separately, that the dog would benefit from two walks, rather than the inadequate one that it has currently.

My mother pointed out to me, from a young age, that I was very lucky because I had a lot of friends and was gregarious. She's right. To this day I have been lucky to have such great friends. Along the way you lose some as your circumstances change and you are very busy with work and looking after children. Or sometimes, we just grow out of each other, no harsh feelings, it's just how it is.

This weekend I met up with the 'girls' I was at school with from age 11. I had been in touch with them  on and off since leaving school, for big birthdays ending in a 0, weddings and so on. But never had the four of us met, not at a birthday or wedding, but just because we wanted to. We met in a cafe and stayed there for 5 and a half hours. During that time we had several drinks and lunch and filled each other in about the ups and downs of our lives.

It was great. I felt very at ease -as at ease as I did with these 3 when we were at school together, decades ago.  Next year, it's a long weekend away.  Can't wait!

 

Ebay - it drives you mad!

Have you ever bought or sold anything on eBay? Was it a smooth transaction? For your sake, I really hope so.

Last summer, I bought several pairs of sandals at half price or less, admittedly having become a little carried away over the tempting bargains. This summer, I see that several pairs are not suitable. So I am going to put them on eBay and take my chances. But, I am doing this with some trepidation. Past experience tells me that I may not receive the money for them. It is worth knowing though, that  this may not be eBay's fault, or the Royal Mail's fault, but the buyer's fault. The buyer can simply say that they did not receive the parcel. They may actually have received the goods but will say that they haven't.  Hard to fathom why someone would do that other than to get something, by cheating, for free.

If someone says that they have not received an item, after a reasonable length of time, they are encouraged to be patient a little longer, and then to 'open a case'.

I have been an eBay user, on and off, for over ten years. I have had a case opened against me twice. One in 2008 and one today.

The one today somehow doesn't surprise me, which may sound odd. I decided that I would only sell in the UK, thinking that there was a much greater chance of something getting lost, the further it travelled. When a person from Poland contacted me to ask if I  would send the necklace she wanted to Poland, I agreed. I shouldn't have done. First of all, she took ages to pay. The vast majority of people pay within twenty-four hours. This buyer took a month, telling me that she had various bills to pay, but not to worry she would pay. I was really regretting this.

Today, my suspicions were confirmed. She complained once that she had not yet received the necklace. I sensed where this was going. She asked if when I posted it I would send it signed for. I did. It cost £8.70. She only gave me £5, despite my request for more. I just wanted to get it over with so sent it anyway. And what do you know?
 
Today, she opened a case. She hadn't received the necklace. GRRRRRRRRR!
 

A monkey in a cage in a house.

The way in which a society treats its animals is a reliable way to judge just how humane and compassionate that society is. We are, as most people have known since childhood, supposed to be a nation of animal lovers.

Recently, I have seen and read much that suggests otherwise. One horror which has come to my notice is the puppy farm. Here, in many cases, the dogs are kept in disgusting conditions - insufficient food and water, no feeling of affection for the dogs and the over -breeding of the bitches until they literally die of exhaustion caused by this over-breeding.Those breeder-bitches are a sorry sight - litter after litter, sometimes of as many as ten puppies, each time they give birth. Their teats after feeding so many puppies, almost reach the ground.

In the paper today was a story about a woman who kept a monkey in a cage for ten whole years in her flat in Hampstead, North London . I know - madness. This woman brought Joey, a capuchin monkey from South America. Incredibly, it is legal to do so. She quarantined him for six months and obtained a Dangerous Wild Animals licence from the local council.

This woman was a fraudster who conned people out of vast sums of money on the pretext of being able to heal their terminal illnesses. Cruel, yes, but these people had a choice - Joey the monkey did not.

When Joey arrived in Hampstead he was a baby and in good health. Then Joey began to suffer from brittle bone disease and became progressively deformed. There he was in a cage in a house in Hampstead. Is it any wonder? And what of the mental torture, the trauma of a monkey being away from other monkeys and his natural habitat? Such an act of self -indulgence, for a con-woman in a wealthy area of London, absolutely defies reason, belief and any semblance of humanity.

Eventually, Joey was rescued. He was the most traumatised monkey the sanctuary who rescued him  had ever seen. He also had poor bone density, curved bones and a fused spine. It was thought he would never make it but Joey had a fighting spirit which he put to good use to save his life.

Joey now socialises with other primates and helps rehabilitate other distressed monkeys at the sanctuary.

Joey is just one animal and he has had a rare happy ending after much suffering. It is our duty as the most intelligent animals on earth to look after the animals with whom we share the planet and never ever to inflict unnecessary cruelty.

A clear preference for Winter.

British people, on the whole, become very excited about the advent of summer- looking forward to hot sunny days, holidays and barbecues in the garden.  A hint of sun and warmth is sufficient for the British to begin flinging their clothes off, sunbathing and turning the music up loud.  Got to make the most of it while it lasts, is the philosophy and hope, for its continuation seems to be almost universal.

There are though some of us who, when people tell us how beautiful it is, have to agree, but do not have their heart in what they say. If someone comments on the hot weather favourably as the vast majority do, it is expected that you will agree. If you express instead your real view, that you do not like hot weather, it rings a discordant note, and it causes confusion and a little embarrassment, just as if you are trying to be clever or be deliberately difficult, so it is a damned sight easier to simply agree.

Though it makes you come across as strange, in some people's eyes, I nevertheless will, unabashedly state that I do not like the summer. I do not like being hot and feeling sluggish, the way heat makes me feel. Barbecues are never very successful and it will take a while to forget the ice and the pink in the middle of a supposedly cooked sausage. Standing to eat is not something I relish and it is what happens at most barbecues.

Airports - the very word fills me with horror. Hoards of people flying off to hotter climes, the waiting,  the squabbling, the tiredness, the disgusting food at insane prices, the security check, the little plastic bag to put cosmetics in, the removing of the shoes, the jacket, the scrabble to reclaim your goods from the grey plastic tray and the putting back on of the shoes.

And if that's not enough, the seemingly eternal wait at the the gate, the trips to the toilet to save you from having to queue on the plane. Then there is the boarding. The false smiles of the flight crew, having to push past people who are putting luggage in the overhead storage, the tuts of disapproval and then the finding of the seat. The poor steward who performs the safety routine and then finally a tray of barely edible food. You eat it though as it passes the time.

On arrival at the resort, there is often an all day buffet which people eat too much of because it's an all-in deal and you want to get value for money. Cake, bread, eggs, beans, bacon, sausages - no limit - eat it all.

Families flung together all day every day - there's bound to be tensions with no escape to work, school or any other distraction. Parents then often argue over child discipline, ice creams and treats generally.  All told it is an achievement that any marriage  survives.

It's not just the holidays of summer which make it unpopular for me. There is  always a drowning, often of a child and a parent/adult who tries to save the child. Often too a child is abducted. Coming out of nightclubs in summer can be a flashpoint for a fight. People don't seem to mind hanging around post 3am in the warmth of a summer night. The blood is hot and a brawl begins.

Sweating, not being able to sleep, the dawn chorus at an unearthly hour and the pressure on women to pass themselves off as never having had any hair anywhere other than on their head - all difficulties.

As the clocks go back towards the end of October, I relish not only the extra hour, but also the knowing that we are heading towards Winter. I still love Christmas despite its excesses, and sitting by the fire on winter nights watching television or reading (or blogging).  Big jumpers, boots, gloves - fabulous.        

To adopt a child...

Rigorous assessments are in place for anyone who wishes to adopt a child and rightly so. Every single aspect of a person's life is under investigation, including the relationship they have with their partner, who will be the other adopter. Questions of an intensely personal nature are asked and used in
a bid to discover whether or not a person is suitable to adopt a child.

In addition every member of the extended family has to be assessed too. Clearly, this has to be done because the likelihood is that close relatives will be asked to babysit and will probably have contact with the child at Christmas and other family occasions.

All this is right and necessary. I never thought I would feel like this but my brother, who is a foster father, has had involvement with children who have had truly dreadful beginnings. It seems undeniable  that children are scarred by this pitifully poor start in life. Some, incredibly, do thrive despite their early experiences, though in later years, neglect, abuse and an absence of love can and sometimes will, turn to anger, which may result in violence.

Many of these children, when they are born are not looked after properly, are sometimes not really wanted and almost always do not get what should be every child'd right, the all encompassing love of a mother or a father, preferably both, or the love of a same sex couple - it really doesn't matter -  as long as the child is loved.

Anyone, anyone at all can have a child as long as they are not in prison. Anyone can produce a child and neglect him/her or abuse the child. This strikes me as outrageous. But what can we do? Is it possible or even desirable to limit people or prevent them from having children. Part of me screams yes, we must! But another part says that would be entirely wrong. Forced contraception? How would that work? No checks, no family investigation, anyone can have a child.

Whatever the moral arguments are, the fact remains that some children are born, mistreated and have to go to foster homes or are adopted. The adopted ones, if it works out, are the lucky ones. The worst result is that the ones who are fostered are passed around from one home to another and never arrive at a permanent loving home.  It is tragic, truly tragic.                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Motherless children

When my children were growing up my greatest fear was that I would die. I wasn't afraid of dying in itself (or per se, as some might say) but the fear which haunted me was because if I died, then who would look after my children? No, that's not exactly the right question.  It was a question though, and I decided that the person/s I would like to look after my children would be my brother and his wife. I asked them if they would do that and they said yes. A relief, undoubtedly, but it didn't satisfy satisfy me.

My brother and his wife have four children between them and three foster children, all of whom they look after very well. I didn't doubt that my children would have love directed their way, but, and this is the real insurmountable difficulty, they would not have a mother's love.

There is nothing unusual about my sense that if I died, nobody, not anybody, including their father and their grand-parents, would love them like I do. And, arrogant though this thought may be, it's true.

Though I have no statistics, I believe that mother are hard-wired to love their children more than anyone else, a claim which contains two meanings. First  - mothers love their children more than they      love any other person and second, that mothers love their children more than anyone else would love their children.

These two claims are not universal, just as any other generalisation about human behaviour and feelings are not universal. I have a friend who would have sold her children to the slave trade if the man she was in love with would have asked her to live with him. Some mothers find life too difficult and put drugs and alcohol, for all sorts of reasons, before their children, often resulting in those children going into foster care.

My fear of dying before my children grew up was to do with the intensity a mother feels regarding her children. Mothers know their children, usually, more than anyone else knows them. Children deserve to know that there will be, always, someone who will love them no matter what. This does not mean that a child should not be reprimanded for wrongdoing - of course they should. Most children know when they have done wrong and take the punishment. To love a child no matter what means that hey will not be let down at important times, or indeed any time, any time at all, important or trivial.

When my youngest child reached the age of twenty-one, a huge weight fell off my shoulders. Much as it was far from what I wanted, if I did die, at least my children were old enough to see their way through life and to remember that they were very much loved - very much.

 

Do we ever really change?

'That was then,' people say, 'but I'm different now, I've changed.'  But do we ever really change?
Our life continues , we get older, we meet different people, we do different jobs, or the same job for a long time, hopefully getting better at it. Many of us become parents, thereby taking on responsibilities for the lives of others. Mortgages, cars, in-laws - the outward signs of  having grown up.
Though we do undoubtedly take on these indicators of a life maturing, our basic character remains unchanged. Often this is most obvious in situations which are unfamiliar to us. For instance, on our own in a strange place, at a job interview, at a party where we know no one, the fear that you might have felt as a small child when you couldn't spot your parents for a short while, returns, and the distress you experience and the fear you feel is, more or less, the same.

So what about our personalities and our own specific characteristics? My eldest son used to play football on a Sunday morning for several years. In my son's team was a boy whose father I knew - we had been at primary school together. On the touch line, in some god forsaken place, on a freezing cold Sunday morning, with a mountain of work waiting for me at home, I saw, acted out in front of me the same madly competitive behaviour of my old school friend, who was now about forty, as I had seen over thirty years earlier at any sporting event or PE lesson in which he was involved.  

Roars came from him, sometimes of praise, but mainly of disapproval, along the lines of, 'E's nowt! He's a rate pansy. What have you let 'im get the better of you for, you dickhead?' These comments directed to his own son.  There were more similar statements, some directed at the referee, a hapless bloke who had come out to referee the match for the princely sum of five pounds. The referee is a sitting duck for the wrath of parents who imagine their children being scouted by Manchester United and a place in the champions League. My 'friend' was right there, in the very thick of it.

Infuriated by one incident when his son didn't get the benefit of the doubt in a tackle, a free kick being awarded to the opposition, I thought my ersatz classmate might have a heart attack, right there on the pitch on which he was remonstrating. Mouth wide open and yelling, face bright red, arms wheeling round, he reminded me of the day his relay team came second at sports day, aged eleven. One child in his team had fallen down, and had slowed them down. The child bravely carried on, but was not fast enough.With knees ripped to shreds,tears pouring down his face, my classmate shouted his head of at him until a teacher puled him away. That day at the football match, it felt as if that relay race, three decades ago, could have been yesterday and the intervening thirty years were as a blink of an eye.

This is, of course, only one instance, but it seems to me that our basic character is formed at an early age, whether that is through nature or nurture, remains a mystery.  Once formed, it stays with us; maybe hidden at times, but it's there and it will emerge.  

You must come round for a meal...

'You must come round for a meal - I'll text or email and all being well, we'll find a date to suit.'
That's it - it's out- you've said it and you can't take it back.

Why do we do it? Maybe to convince people that we're normal, sociable people, more than happy to prepare a restaurant style meal for the friends we are so fond of. It is definitely not the case that we want to stay at home, flop on the sofa and watch something crap on the television. Oh, no, that's not the case at all.

So the email is sent, the tone is jolly along the lines of, 'Oh, amazing! Didn't think it would be so easy for us to find a date, we're all so busy, but great, we've done it so what about 7 for 7.30 on Saturday the 5th?'
Then the reality - the decision as to what to make, consideration of the personal preferences of  the guests. You've decided to invite 12 people, get them all done at once, as you owe them all.
Then comes acceptance. Get out the cookbooks or trawl the internet, dither, finally make a decision then go and buy the food. Is there enough? You don't want to appear mean. Or there's far too much, you don't want to over-face people.

It's good if you can make something before hand, cut down the anxiety and the rush, rush, rush of it all. Then the day of the meal arrives. It's calm then increasingly less calm until you're in a panic and whirling around the kitchen, shouting at your husband/wife and wishing for the life of  you that you hadn't actually voiced that you-must-come-round invitation.

Things become calmer and a que sera mood replaces the panic and irritation with your husband /wife and anyway you've got to shower and get changed.

It's time. The doorbell goes, several times and eventually everyone is seated in your living room. They have brought, wine, some have brought flowers too and some present you with chocolates. Lovely - how thoughtful.

You usher them to the table, they make appreciative comments about the food, the conversation is interesting and you are actually enjoying yourself. Someone stands up, he/she has to go, got some work to do tomorrow, so lovely, thanks great evening, we must do it again and so on. The others leave and you're really pleased with how it went. In fact, you enjoyed it very much.

Right, and now for the clearing up ...

Political Correctness - has it really gone mad?

How many times have you heard it? 'It's political correctness gone mad! Many times, I would imagine. What I would like to ask is whether those people denouncing political correctness know what it really means? In addition, how aware are the critics of political correctness of the good that it has undoubtedly done?

Political correctness - PC - took off in the late 1960s in America and its aim was to put a stop to the marginalisation of various excluded groups - excluded from the mainstream of 'successful' society. These 'excluded' groups included disabled people, people from ethnic minorities, gay people, old people and women. Political correctness has significantly improved the lives of these groups of people by shunning certain language to describe these groups, which has derogatory and pejorative connotations, and encouraging the use of words which convey  positive connotations.

Who can argue that Senior Citizen does not sound dramatically superior to old age pensioner? Senior suggests wisdom, experience and capability. Citizen conveys pride, a certain standing and being part of something. Old age pensioner places the emphasis on being old and dependent on the state, someone who is not useful or active.

Shocking though it is, people who were born with Down's syndrome were often referred to as mongols. People with disabilities were often called spastics or cripples.  The term spastic is sometimes used by children as a term of abuse; often shortening the word to 'spaz' for extra insult power. Clearly the word spastic had to go and so the Spastic Society changed their name to Scope, suggestive of possibility and broader horizons. Now we are encouraged to say people with disabilities rather than disabled people. People with disabilities emphasises the 'people' first, not the disability.

There are so many words for women which political correctness has tried to make us more aware of, which have connotations, all conveying either sexual promiscuity, a certain kind of brainless decorativeness, simple stupidity or plain nastiness. Slag, bitch, whore, eye candy, piece of skirt, bint, prozzy, dollybird, cow, nag, being just a few of the almost endless list.

It is unthinkable nowadays to use the 'n' word to describe a black person. Interestingly, black people have reclaimed the 'n' word as their own, just as gay people have reclaimed the word 'queer'.  Surely all these changes to language are for the good.

Political correctness is not censorship. It is a way of being kinder, more thoughtful, less exclusive, therefore more inclusive. Who can object to that?      

Money is no object - according to David Cameron

So, money is no object to a government in such debt that austerity is set to continue for years. What happened then? Where did that money come from? Was David Cameron rummaging around in his back pockets and there he found a few million? 'Hey, Sam, look what I've just found! We'll be able to buy those ponies, yachts and Mulberry bags you had set your heart on. Oh, hang on; there's all this damned flooding going on just outside London, in Datchet and the majority of those people vote for me.Their homes on average cost over half a million, so we had better keep them sweet. And anyway, even though George Gideon keeps saying we're all in this together, we know damn well we're not, so let's get the ponies, yachts and Mulberry bags anyway.'

'Phew!OK Dave - you had me worried there; I thought I might have to wait more than five minutes to get something I want. After all, my needs must exceed everyone else's, and no doubt you'll want me to play the adoring wife come September at conference season again, won't you? And don't forget, that's the last conference speech you'll make to show them what a good guy you are, before the election in 2015.'

'Yes Sam, OK, I know. Do you want me to phone Harrods now for a private shopping session, so at least you can get the bags? It'll be better than having to wait until tomorrow.'

'Ooh yes, thank you Davey darling. Won't be long!'  

The floods will go, the money will be spent, the houses will be dry again, but there will still be no money for the poor. They will languish, as ever, on hardly any money, even those working sixty hours a week, because as yet, the living wage has not been introduced. A spare room? Move out! I wonder how many spare rooms the queen has and her extended family.

The poor are vilified for their weak educational performance, their wholly irresponsible production of children, their unhealthy eating habits, their swearing, their smoking, their drug taking, their drinking their lack of hygiene and their general fecklessness. What hope for them?    

Are We Responsible for the Happiness of Others?

If your best friend is unhappy because of a broken relationship, a problem at work or a bereavement, how far should you feel duty bound to help your friend feel better? Or do you think that you have no responsibility at all?

 What if it's your wife/husband/partner? What about if one of your siblings, or one of your parents is miserable, would you drop everything to help? Worst of all, what if one of your children is unhappy, deeply unhappy? If your child is young, then there are a variety of ways in which you can help. They are with you most of the time if they are very young  and even teenagers are with you for a fair proportion of their time.

When 'children' grow up and something awful happens, that is the time when a parent's ability to help is much more limited, unless it's just a question of money. That said, you might not have any money to spare and anyway, the lack of money in your offspring might be symptomatic of something else, a bigger problem, a gambling habit,drug, shoe or alcohol problem.

Not having money to spare is different from not having any money. Should you go as far as to sell your car, your house, put your expensive jewellery on eBay or take on an additional job? Or should you do none of these things, believing that whoever it is in difficulty, should sort themselves out and that by depending on others, it is merely delaying the moment when the individual addresses the problem head-on and sets in motion what needs to be done to make better the difficulty, no matter what it is.

If a friend is utterly heartbroken, inconsolable about the break up of a relationship, how far does it behove you as a friend to be available for late night phone calls, visits, even spending Christmas with your friend, along with your relatives - after all it's just one more plate setting.

Many will say they couldn't possibly do that, but what if your distraught friend has no one else to go to, and has asked you to let them be with you for Christmas, maybe stay until a couple of days after Boxing Day because they regard you as a true friend. Oh and yes of course there's New Year so might it be a good idea to stick around until New Year and in return for your hospitality, they promise to help with domestic chores.

Is it then the case that you like them but just not that much or are you making excuses of the kind that your children now in their twenties, who have been abroad for some time and have actually come home to spend time with you, not, with someone who, in their view, is nothing more than a morose-looking, random stranger.

So, assuming you want to, how should you go about being a friend in general and helping a friend in need, in particular? Is it the case that we only want to be around our friends when they are amusing, interesting and not wallowing in the slough of despond?

And what about family? Is helping someone, whether that is financially or by giving your time, counter-productive? Should people not stand on  their own two feet? They may be your children, but haven't you done enough? Isn't it your time now, not their time again? When, if ever, does the parental role end? When should it end? Perhaps it should never end. We can only hope that they will have their own children to experience what it's like.

As for friends - well I don't have the answer - though I wish I did.

Interviews - fit for purpose?

A good friend of mine has just recently been interviewed for a job in the National Health Service. The interview was on a Thursday and she heard on the Friday morning that she had not got the job. She really wanted it and thought she had a good chance of getting it, as her particular skill-set matched exactly the person specification for the job. Needless to say she is very disappointed. She now knows who got the job - a person who has no experience of working in the NHS but had been head hunted for his ability to reduce the work force at his previous post.

My friend's disappointment started me thinking about interviews generally and their suitability as a way of finding the best people for jobs. On reflection, I don't know many people who perform well in interviews and it is a fact that I don't do well in them either.

 Another friend tells me that in his days as a union rep, he sat in on interviews to make sure that everything was carried out fairly. Nevertheless strange outcomes often occurred. Though the procedures were adhered to strictly during the interviews and marks made on paper to register what the interviewee has replied to each of the questions, he was frequently astonished when the results of the interview were known. He even went so far as to say that the candidate who seemed not to get many 'marks on paper' was often offered the post.

Naturally, this information shook my sense of trust in the interview system, momentarily, then it opened my eyes wide and I realised that of course this is what happens. Why had I been so trusting?  And SO foolish. If, as they say, the job is awarded to he/she who performed the best on the day, then why bother with looking at a person's experience and past work record? What nonsense! Were that the case, why  bother with an application form. It's my belief that the decision is made prior to the interview and not always because that particular person is the best one for the job. A host of other matters are at play. Will the person take orders or challenge them? Are they of a certain disposition which will be amenable, calm, or even carry out those duties which their superiors want to fob off onto them?

Interviews then are not always fair, but I'm really struggling to suggest a better way. Short of very time-consuming observations, which would prove very expensive too, I really am stuck. Back in the fifties and sixties, people would be promoted into higher positions as older people retired or were themselves promoted. Of course there are problems with this method. Just because someone has been in a job for a long time does not necessarily mean that they are good at it - I'm sure readers will be thinking of such individuals in their own work place. There seems to be, in all workplaces, everywhere, a ubiquitous manager who really should not be in the job, and we all know it.

 So, to return to such a system would no longer work and besides, people are much more mobile now and don't stay anywhere long enough for the waiting for others to  move up or retire to take place.

  If anyone would like to suggest a way, which would as near as possible, select the best person for the job, in a fair and transparent way, I would be more than happy to listen.