nickhereandnow

Distorted self

2009-12-16T13:23:00.005Z

Our self-image is alarmingly unreliable. The way we see ourselves can be very different from how we actually are, and very different from how others see us.

What do you mean I'm beautiful? I'm just a dumpy housewife who's let herself go. A good organiser, me? I leave everything to the last minute and then trust to luck.

How illuminating it would be if we could step outside our own skins for a day and see ourselves as others see us. We might be in for a surprise or two. A lot of self-delusion and a lot of false modesty might be stripped away.

I think most of us tend either to over-estimate or under-estimate ourselves. We all know the two types - the vain, pompous individuals who're convinced they know it all and the shy, apologetic ones who imagine all they ever do is make mistakes.

I'd say I'm one of the under-estimators. I constantly play down my intelligence, my practical skills, my likeability, my financial resources, my emotional resilience and my enjoyment of life.

People are always contradicting my unassuming descriptions of myself, telling me I'm more capable than I make out. But whenever I compare myself with others, I invariably conclude that they tick all the boxes while I'm obviously lacking.

It doesn't seem possible to have a completely accurate picture of one's identity, everything gets slightly distorted by some preconceived notion of what we'd like to be, or what we feel comfortable with, or what excites us.

The most bizarre example must be the woman who's adamant she's revoltingly fat when in reality her size is completely normal. Or on the other hand, the man who thinks he's Adonis despite his beer belly, hairy nostrils and combover.

In fact our capacity for self-delusion is virtually infinite. You only have to look at some of those strutting politicians and talentless celebs. How our minds do merrily mislead us.

Windswept

2009-12-13T18:33:00.004Z

I'm all in favour of wind farms, if they help prevent global warming. But it seems they're so noisy that people living close to them are going through hell.

The constant swishing and beating of the turbines is not only disturbing and distracting but prevents people sleeping. They're said to be as loud as helicopters, planes or express trains - and all day every day.

Jane Davis and her husband Julian have had to move out of their Lincolnshire home because of the racket. "On a bad night it's like three or four helicopters circling round" said Jane. She was getting only three hours sleep a night.

Ron Williams in Cumbria has to take sleeping pills and describes the turbine noise as "like a Chinese torture." Lynn Hancock in Cambridgeshire says it's like "a seven-ton lorry left running on the drive all night."

The government seems blithely unconcerned about the turbines' effect on people's health and well-being. They just want to get as many running as possible to increase their green credentials.

According to one report, they actually ignored a recommendation that the maximum decibel limit should be 33 and allowed a higher limit of 43.

How many MPs live near wind turbines and have first-hand experience of what they're like? I suspect none of them, which is why they're so indifferent. Perhaps some of them should visit the affected homes and see why the residents are so angry.

People living near airports already have to put up with worsening noise disturbance as the airports expand to allow more and more flights. Belfast City Airport is a case in point.

If people living close to wind turbines are now expected to put up with the same sort of daily background din, this is complacent officialdom at its worst. Either the noise-battered residents should be helped to relocate or the turbines themselves should be quietened down. Otherwise the whole idea of wind farms will take another hammering.

Pic: Jane and Julian Davis

Doctor M's breakthrough

2009-12-11T13:20:00.009Z

After over a year of intensive therapy with the venerated Dr Melissa Flinch (Shrink of the Year 2007, Mind Mender Award 2008), it seemed we were getting nowhere. I was the same tangled, confused Nick as the day I started.

I lay gloomily on the couch, gazing at the faded portrait of Sigmund Freud. Melissa sat gloomily on her cane chair, examining a chipped fingernail. Suddenly her eyes lit up.

"Of course, of course" she exclaimed. "How stupid of me, it's all so obvious, it's been staring me in the face all this time."

"What has?"

"There's nothing wrong with you at all. All these neuroses and phobias and obsessions you claim to have. All these crippling hang-ups and complexes. They don't exist. They never did."

"Come again?"

"You're actually completely sane, your psyche is 100% healthy. But you pretend to have all these afflictions because you think it makes you more interesting. You think lots of gorgeous women will see your tortured soul as an exciting challenge."

"No no, you're way off track there."

"Well, I've got news for you, Mr Screwball. Nobody enjoys a loonie. They run a mile. People want normal, conventional, reliable. They don't want some Psycho Simon with a hatchet in his pants. So why don't you just drop the act and show me your real self?"

I thought now wasn't the time to reveal the sharpened hatchet in my Armani man-bag. I played for time.

"You're barking up the wrong tree, Melissa. I really am thoroughly dysfunctional. I hardly know if I'm coming or going. I could flip at any time. I need help desperately."

"Okay, Nick, your time's up. See you next week. You don't have any nail restorer, do you?"

"Sorry. I've got some rather splendid magenta nail polish though."

"That'll do nicely."

Non-British citizen

2009-12-09T08:05:00.008Z

I have no national loyalty whatever. It makes little difference to me whether I'm British, Swedish, Namibian or Nepalese, as long as my life's going well. So I'm rather pleased I failed the Practice UK Citizenship Test by getting a mere 50%.

Hardly surprising since the questions are so obscure and so irrelevant to what you might think Britishness is actually all about - democracy, equality, fairness, decency etc.

I mean, what is one to make of esoteric questions such as:

Name two places where the European Parliament meets
Give the number of children and young people under 19
Give the percentage of people who are Muslims
Give the number of MPs' constituencies

These aren't questions about Britishness, they're questions about Europe, age groups, religion and parliament. They're questions about official statistics. They have virtually nothing to do with the everyday life of the ordinary citizen.

Of course the alternative questions, the ones actually to do with such concepts as democracy, would be far too embarrassing to ask. For example:

Why do the police stop people taking photographs on the grounds of terrorism?
Why are there so many CCTV cameras?
Why are so many black people in prison?
Why do so many old people die of hypothermia?

Now that type of question would sort the desirable British citizen from the undesirable, deferential forelock-tugger we could do without. Toadies go home, I say.

PS: I'm jolly partial to tea, marmalade, boiled eggs and chips. Dash it, how can I not be British?

Smell check

2009-12-06T18:57:00.004Z

Public libraries have always had their quota of malodorous visitors, shuffling in to scour the papers. Now a library has actually banned someone with a particularly pungent aroma.

Apparently Stuart Penman of Wigston near Leicester had such a noxious niff that when he entered the library other users would leave. So he's been barred from the library for six months.

After numerous complaints, the staff had talked to him about his personal hygiene. Did he wash, did he use deodorant, did he change his clothes regularly?

Stuart maintains he has a bath every day and is perfectly clean. But the staff continued to get complaints so they issued the ban.

A tricky situation to deal with. People's personal hygiene is generally a taboo subject, to be carefully ignored even if the person's body odour is enough to kill a herd of elephants.

The member of staff chosen to bring the subject up must have been pretty embarrassed. I certainly would be if I had to ask someone if they were actually acquainted with soap and water.

But there's only so much other library users can overlook. Trying to select your reading matter for the next week as an unsavoury reek assails your nostrils must be somewhat challenging. It's bad enough dealing with the mutterers, sniffers, fidgeters and other random eccentrics who frequent such places.

Oh and before you ask, yes, Stuart has a girlfriend. And yes, she admits "he does have a bit of a problem sometimes." That's one way of putting it....

PS: I thought about not using Stuart's name, to save him some embarrassment, but hell, his name is all over the media anyway.

Pic: Stuart Penman outside the library

Selfish cad

2009-12-04T13:25:00.003Z

I didn't treat some of my early girlfriends very well. At that time I was a typical hard, selfish male with little insight into other people's inner lives. It took me quite a while to wise up.

It didn't help that I'd been to all-male schools where I never met any girls and was utterly perplexed when my first job brought me into close contact with the opposite sex.

I treated one particular woman very shoddily. She was a warm, generous person, what in the sixties we would have called a flower child - she wore floaty, wispy clothes, put flowers in her hair, read Lord of the Rings and listened to Donovan.

She fancied me enough to abandon a university course in Birmingham, move in with me in London and then take up a hideously mind-numbing job to pay the rent when my existing job suddenly ended.

I liberated her a few months later when I found another job, but by then our relationship was going downhill, or so I believed. Sex was a flop, culturally we had very different tastes, our bedsit was crummy, and I couldn't cope with her extrovert personality and messiness.

But in those days I simply didn't know how to express my thoughts and feelings. So instead of voicing my frustrations and talking them through with her, I bottled them up and said nothing. And decided that I would simply end the relationship and move on.

Which is what I did, with no explanation and no discussion. I told her it wasn't working out, that we had to split up, and that was that. Of course she was hurt, baffled, crushed, but she agreed to break up and move out.

I saw her a short while later, now going out with a lovely, gentle, thoughtful guy who seemed very good for her. So hopefully the sad experience of our own relationship was soon put behind her.

But ever since, I've pondered over how incredibly immature and insensitive I was then, and how things might have gone if I'd been more open and more aware. A lot of unnecessary heartache could have been avoided.

Identity crisis

2009-12-02T08:04:00.004Z

It was sad to read about the awful tragedy of Los Angeles sportswriter Mike Penner, who started living as a woman, then regretted it and went back to being a man, and finally killed himself (or so it seems).

He was found dead at the age of 52, but left no note or warning of his intentions. Why he committed suicide is a mystery that will probably never be solved.

About 5% of transsexuals regret changing their gender and change back (as far as they're able to after genital surgery). The rest say they are happy to have made the change.

Mike lived as a woman for around 18 months, but it seems that he had not yet had any surgery.

Regrets can set in for a number of reasons. Aspiring women are daunted by the time and effort required to maintain a perfect female appearance. Or they get disheartened by constant discrimination and harassment. Or they never quite feel like a real woman even if they're accepted as one.

It's known that Mike went through a "very painful" divorce from his wife, and he may have wondered whether it was worth that trauma to become Christine. He may have decided he could never really shed almost 50 years of masculine history. Who knows?

But it's tragic when someone who has taken the dramatic step of changing his gender and all that goes with it then decides he has made a big mistake and wants to turn the clock back. And even when he tries to do that, he's still unhappy and confused.

Certainly the process of turning yourself into a convincing and confident woman without the intensive conditioning that girls normally go through must be incredibly difficult.

It seems that Mike found it impossible and from then on he could no longer make sense of his life. So he ended it.

Pic: Mike's female self, Christine Daniels

Women on the march

2009-11-30T08:04:00.005Z

For years it's been fashionable for women to deny they're feminists and say they don't need that sort of militancy any more, they're getting on fine without it.

I always wondered how they could be so blasé about the obvious fact that women are still second-class citizens in so many different ways.

Now it seems feminists are coming out of the woodwork again and women are no longer making light of the numerous burdens and disadvantages they have to labour under.

They are joining women's groups, going on marches, visiting feminist blogs, and are generally less willing to stay silent and pretend everything's okay.

Membership of the Fawcett Society has risen by 25% in a year, over 2000 women took part in a Reclaim the Night march in London, and the website The F-Word is getting over 110,000 hits a month. University women's groups are thriving again and half those declaring themselves feminists are under 25.

Apart from the widespread frustration that men still get the upper hand in so many areas, women are said to be increasingly sickened by the growing sexualisation of everyday life and by women's bodies once again becoming more important than their skills and abilities.

If you ask me, not before time. The only result of women scoffing at feminism has been rising complacency and arrogance among many men, who conclude that they can still happily put the little woman in her place and grab all the goodies for themselves. If they're about to be seriously challenged again by seething females, I for one can't wait.

Pic courtesy of the Fawcett Society

The complainer

2009-11-27T13:39:00.007Z

It puzzles me when someone complains constantly about their partner but never seriously tackles the problems - or ends the relationship

I had a workmate once who moaned at every opportunity about her husband's intolerable behaviour. He did things without consulting her, he was always coming home drunk, he spent too much time working, he bottled up his emotions, and on and on.

The rest of us would listen patiently and sympathise, and then ask her what she was doing to resolve the drunkenness, overwork or whatever. Invariably she would say it was pointless to confront him because he wouldn't listen or that was just the way he was or he had his faults but he had his virtues too.

We would hear her out politely, then give her advice on how to change his behaviour. Tell him what he's doing is seriously distressing her, tell him he's immature and inconsiderate, or even tell him to shape up or ship out.

But no matter what we said to her, she took no notice and simply let him carry on as before, upsetting her again and again and prompting more complaints whenever she had an available ear to express them to.

Why was she so passive? I could never work it out. Maybe she had a masochistic streak and liked being badly treated. Or she was too timid to stand up to him effectively. Or she couldn't stand the aggression of a serious row. Or she was afraid of his violent retaliation. Or maybe she just liked playing the aggrieved victim and getting everyone's sympathy.

Whatever the cause, she let this flawed relationship drift on month after month and left the rest of us feeling exasperated and bemused by her feebleness. We wanted to wade in on her behalf and tell her useless husband exactly what we thought of him.

Whether she ever did end the relationship I don't know as I changed jobs and never saw her again. But I hope she eventually found the courage to break this sterile cycle.

Voluptua's thin skin

2009-11-25T13:14:00.006Z

My dear friend Voluptua, the ravishing supermodel, is in hot water with the media again. They say she's encouraging teenage girls to become anorexic.

Jenny's strutting her stuff at some alleged conference in London, so Vol's keeping me company as usual. She managed to get into the house only after telling the paparazzi the Prime Minister had been caught in his Soho love nest.

"For f***'s sake" she fumed as she reclined teasingly on the chaise longue. "All I said was that skinny is the biggest high. So frigging what? I can't help it if thousands of warped schoolgirls take that as a green light to eat two lettuce leaves a day and jog themselves to death. It's a free country. Predatory tabloid bastards. They're just jealous because they're all fat as f*** and their wives puke at the sight of them."

"Just chill, Vol sweetie", I said, casually caressing her left thigh. "They're not worth the aggravation. It'll all blow over in a few days when they find someone else to persecute. Just how skinny are you, anyway? I hope you're eating properly, I know what you models are like. Living on fags and adrenalin. I bet you haven't had a meal for days."

"Of course I'm eating properly, mind your own business, you" she replied, guiding my hand further up her delicious flesh. "And I suppose you expect the usual reward for putting me up in your grubby establishment?"

"That's entirely up to you, my darling" I murmured. "I'm a new man, I have no hidden agenda."

"Like f*** you haven't" she snorted. "I hope the bed linen's clean, you old slob. Are you sure Jenny's still in the dark about us? She really doesn't suspect anything?"

"Not a thing. She's totally convinced I'm deep in meditation and tantric chanting at the Sacred Order of Divine Bliss."

"What a trusting soul. So shall we meditate?"

"Ready when you are."

Pic: Voluptua in playful mood. © Trinket Enterprises 2009

Previous naughtiness: go Search for Voluptua.

One of those things

2009-11-22T09:58:00.008Z

Yet again thousands of people are having their lives wrecked by flooding, and yet again nothing much is being done to stop more flooding misery in the future.

The Lake District and Cumbria have had the heaviest rainfall in living memory, with several towns and huge swathes of farmland under water. Houses and businesses have been swamped, families evacuated, and services like gas, electricity and water cut off.

It's a similar story across County Fermanagh in Northern Ireland, where the level of Lough Erne is the highest on record, and across the Republic. Cork was under water for the first time in over 50 years.

Each time an area is flooded, everyone wrings their hands in despair, expensive repairs are needed, and insurance companies pay out millions of pounds (or euro). Sooner or later there'll be serious flooding again, but little thought is given to how it can be prevented or how householders can be protected.

There are plenty of possible solutions. People in houses could move to the upper floors. Houses could be built on stilts. River beds could be deepened. Vulnerable areas near rivers could be permanently evacuated.

But few people seem to be addressing the problem with any urgency. There's a sort of deep-rooted fatalism and stoicism, as if flooding is just one of those things, just a bit of bad luck, and all we can do is pick up the pieces and hope it doesn't happen again.

The authorities invariably say that the rainfall was exceptionally heavy, it couldn't have been predicted, the infrastructure simply couldn't cope etc. Which is all true, but it does nothing to prevent lives being regularly shattered by these calamities.

People don't pay heavy taxes just to be told that the rainfall was extraordinary, they can see that for themselves. They want some concrete help and a sense of security about the future. In short, less stiff upper lip, more elbow grease.

PS: There's an account of the aftermath in Cockermouth here. Some families have been flooded 3 times in 4 years and can no longer get insurance.

One sex or two?

2009-11-18T19:01:00.007Z

Now and again for a bit of fun I suggest to people that life would be a hell of a lot simpler with one sex instead of two. All those endless tensions and aggravations and misunderstandings would disappear and it would be so much easier to get on with each other.

But it's surprising how many people don't like the idea at all and are very keen to keep the two sexes just as they are. Despite all the negatives, they enjoy the frisson and the enigma of this unfamiliar Other who plays by different rules and is always hard to understand.

They also enjoy acting out their particular gender role and seeing it appreciated by the other lot, be it flouncing around in dresses and high heels or fixing a dodgy carburettor. They just love to be told "God, you're beautiful" or "I could never have fixed that myself."

Seriously though, are all those rather superficial thrills and benefits really enough compensation for the never-ending battle of the sexes as we keep squabbling over the perennial bugbears - sharing the household chores, sharing the childcare, workaholic males, shopaholic females, football mania, dieting mania, sex obsession, beer bellies.

For most people, the astonishing answer is yes, we're prepared to put up with all that for the excitement of jumping into bed with the opposite sex, watching our bloke build a garden shed or watching our wife breastfeeding. The idea of us all being the same sex fills people with horror and incredulity. Wouldn't it take all the fun out of life? Wouldn't we all be drearily similar?

Well, of course we wouldn't, we'd still have very different personalities, tastes and habits. There just wouldn't be this massive gender gap blocking communication the whole time. There'd be a lot more common ground and shared assumptions. Or so it seems to me.

And no prizes for guessing which sex I'd like to preserve. I adore those flawless double-X chromosomes. Who needs those second-rate XYs? There'd just be the small problem of perfecting virgin birth....

Surgical free-for-all

2009-11-16T15:05:00.007Z

Once again there's a call for better regulation of plastic surgery* to prevent tragic botch-ups and stop inexperienced medics from doing risky procedures.

Demand for cosmetic surgery jumped again last year, but there are no controls on it apart from a voluntary code of practice that's easily ignored.

In France all advertising of cosmetic procedures is banned, and only registered specialists can do them. Quite right too when most of the operations are medically unnecessary and can ruin people's lives if they go wrong.

The London Independent mentions Jill Saward, ex lead singer of Shakatak, who almost died during a facelift after complications caused by high blood pressure. "I was an idiot, I should have thought much more carefully about it" she says.

One solution would be to ban cosmetic surgery altogether, but I think people should be able to make up their own minds about it, as long as they are made fully aware of the serious risks involved.

An estimated 100,000 procedures are done in Britain every year, many by doctors with no specialist training. Things like Botox injections and laser peels are often done by staff with no medical qualifications at all. How can this be allowed?

If only women (and a growing number of men) could accept the way they look as perfectly okay, without comparing themselves with digitally enhanced models and finding a long list of imaginary defects. Then plastic surgery wouldn't be such a boom industry and the sacrifice of innocent flesh to finance someone's millionaire lifestyle might lose its attraction.

But if misguided souls will insist on putting themselves under the knife, at least the surgeon's competence should be properly vouched for.

* Surgery done privately that is. There are of course very strict controls on cosmetic surgery done by the NHS.

Picking a fight

2009-11-13T13:23:00.007Z

Everyone knows it's not always sweetness and light even in the most compatible families. Now the time we spend arguing with each other has been pinned down - around 91 hours a year.

A survey by Uinvue, the family website, says the most common arguments are over household chores, children "treating the house like a hotel", couples taking each other for granted, choice of TV viewing, and children's excessive phone bills.

Well, since I don't have children, I've been spared that particular source of friction, but there are plenty of others I could name - like what we spend our money on (or not wanting to spend anything), those irritating personal habits like noisy eating, and arranging that outstanding repair job.

Mothers supposedly start most of the disagreements while fathers and children are less volatile. Does this mean mothers have higher standards (of politeness, cleanliness, tidiness, kindness) and are more likely to complain if those standards aren't met?

In my own family it was my father who started most of the arguments, my mother being more conciliatory and easygoing, so I'm surprised at that finding. Maybe women are more willing to admit they argue?

Of course the 91 hours only applies to the immediate family. If in laws were included, that figure would shoot up dramatically. Getting on with relatives we've only acquired through trails of confetti can sometimes be an uphill struggle.

In fact the tensions can be so bad that one in ten family members aren't even on speaking terms with another member. I can easily believe that. My father and I hardly spoke to each other for the best part of 20 years. We were chalk and cheese the moment I hit adolescence, and that never changed.

Secret fears

2009-11-10T18:57:00.005Z

People don't usually talk about their phobias. They're too embarrassing and peculiar. They're kept firmly under personal lock and key.

I don't think I have any phobias, or not in the sense of things that physically and emotionally I simply can't deal with. There are plenty of things that disturb me and scare me, like cockroaches, confined spaces, darkness, dreams*, maggots and cellars, but I can handle them. I would just rather not experience them.

But no wonder people don't want to admit their phobias when they're unhinged by such seemingly ordinary objects as cuddly toys, buttons, cupcakes and taps. How can you explain such an odd aversion? How can you prevent the inevitable raised eyebrows and stifled giggles?

A fear of flying or injections is normal enough, but a fear of cuddly toys? How can something so innocent become frightening and weird?

I do admire those people with phobias over very common everyday situations - a fear of lifts, socialising, making speeches or eating in public - who find ways to overcome those phobias and stop them limiting their lives. We don't know what hell they go through simply trying to calm themselves and act normally, struggling against the panic and horror that threatens to overwhelm them.

Many a public figure who seems effortlessly confident and poised is secretly fighting inner demons that dog them at the most crucial moments.

Come to think of it, I suppose my aversion to too much attention is a kind of phobia, though I don't know if there's a word for it (spectophobia?). Presumably there's a corresponding fear of invisibility, or not being noticed at all.

Which might explain all those desperate fame-seekers.

* Practically all my dreams are nightmares. What goes on in this tangled brain?

A shattered life

2009-11-08T13:22:00.005Z

I know it's a cliché to say something symbolises what's wrong with Britain, but in this case I think it's true. It's the story of a 74 year old man called Vincent Adcock.

Vincent was a confident, independent soul who lived on his own in Manchester. He had several good friends and a devoted Alsatian, Prince.

Then his house was burgled. Not once but five times, relentlessly. After the fifth burglary, having lost cash, various valuables, an £800 watch, a coat and hundreds of CDs and DVDs, his confidence and well-being were shattered.

He had reported all the burglaries to the police but nothing came of it.

Vincent told his close friend Margaret Boswell, "I give up. I just can't take any more. I've not done any harm to anybody, so why are they doing that to me?"

He locked himself in his house, stopped eating and died a few days later from malnutrition and kidney failure. Prince was so distressed he had to be put down.

This story just says so much about the state of the country. Not just that he could be burgled five times, that he couldn't feel safe in his own home, that the police were no help to him.

Nobody else helped him either, or so it seems. Not the neighbours, not the social services, not victim support schemes, not the Samaritans, not pensioners' groups. This vulnerable man, battered and defeated by other people's cruelty and ruthlessness, could depend on nobody to come to his aid, punish those responsible and restore his well-being.

He was left to himself, as so many similar victims are, to pick up the pieces and carry on with the wreckage of his life.

But it was all too much for him and he decided he'd had enough. Our supposedly civilised, enlightened society had failed him miserably.

May you now rest in peace, Vincent Adcock.

Out of bounds

2009-11-05T13:18:00.006Z

Diehard sexism is alive and well in the Irish Republic. A court has ruled that a Dublin golf club can continue to ban women because the club "caters only for men's needs".

Well, who can argue with that? Obviously golf is a necessity to hairy, beer-bellied, balding males in a way that doesn't apply to women.

Apart from the fact that women, as we know, don't possess arms or legs or a need for leisure pursuits or exercise, they clearly wouldn't know what to do with a little white ball a few yards away from a hole.

Seeing that it wasn't a piece of jewellery or a lipstick tube or a vacuum cleaner, they would be utterly baffled, throw it away, and get back to filing their nails.

This is all plain enough to the Irish Supreme Court, who decided by a 3-2 majority that the club's "principal purpose is to cater only for the needs of persons of a particular gender".

Those needs, they explained, included "social fraternisation". Fair enough. It's well known that women never socially fraternise, it's a conspicuous genetic failing.

Women everywhere keep themselves to themselves, shunning company and never answering the front door. They hate gossip or conversation of any kind and often retreat to caves on remote Himalayan peaks. The idea of playing golf would fill them with palpitating horror.

The Irish Supreme Court judges understood all that perfectly. Except for the dissenting judge Susan Denham who declared that golf was no more a need for men than for women. Good Lord, what an eye-wateringly peculiar statement. Is she mad?

Drugs furore

2009-11-03T18:45:00.005Z

Should leisure drugs be legal or illegal? The debate is raging yet again after the sacking of David Nutt, a government adviser on drugs policy.

This journalist is urging complete legalisation of leisure drugs on the basis that adults should be free to consume whatever they want, at their own risk.

It's a tricky argument, mainly because nobody knows exactly what the effects of going legal would be. Would it make little difference, or would there be many more people taking drugs and possibly ruining their lives?

It seems to me that the prediction of lots more druggies and lots more social decline is probably half-baked scaremongering. Yes, we would replace the existing problems with some new ones, but the new ones would be much easier to manage and not so damaging.

All the harmful effects of illegality - contaminated drugs, unintentional overdoses, unhygienic consumption and gang warfare - would be drastically reduced. But it's also true that going legal might encourage more people to take leisure drugs, and health and social problems may increase.

Hang on, though. Yes, consumption might increase, but under much safer conditions, so the chance of coming to harm would be much less. It would be more like taking prescription drugs, with all the rigorous controls that apply to them.

And the argument that adults should be free to ingest whatever's on offer is a strong one. If we're free to eat junk food or slimming pills or herbal remedies, why shouldn't leisure drugs be on the menu?

Intelligent adults are capable of assessing the pros and cons of the drugs in question and deciding whether to accept the risks or not. Why should the state make the choices for us?

But leisure drugs won't be legalised any time soon. The government is terrified of what it might unleash. They prefer the status quo with all its stink of crime and trickery.

Attention avoider

2009-11-01T19:24:00.009Z

Some people love to be the centre of attention, surrounded by a phalanx of admirers. I'm quite the opposite, I prefer to be somewhere in the background chatting to one or two people at the most.

If I do happen to be at the centre of things, I usually find it very embarrassing. Seeing so many people waiting on my every word is sure to stop me in my tracks and render me speechless. Whatever I have to say will never be witty and sparkling enough for all those expectant faces.

I don't understand why so many people want to be famous, relishing the prospect of their slightest move being followed by the media and the gawping millions, their every minor mistake flashed instantly around the world. How can anyone enjoy that sort of goldfish bowl existence?

I tend to think the attention-seekers just have huge egos that need to be constantly fed, but that's probably unfair. More likely they're just natural extroverts who enjoy sharing their vibrant personalities with as many people as possible. And I have to admit such gregarious souls are a necessary balance to hesitant shrinking violets like myself. If you want a party to go with a swing, a room full of ruminating introverts isn't going to help.

When extroverts encounter retiring corner-huggers like me, they always want to sort me out, to give me a taste for the limelight. You enjoy an audience really, they say, everyone does, and all these people are just dying to know more about you.

Maybe they are, I reply, but the thought of a dozen razor-sharp brains weighing up my every sentence and deducing heaven knows what makes me want to run for the hills. That level of scrutiny is way too scary.

I'll just keep hovering in the wings, if you don't mind.

Warped priorities

2009-10-29T08:48:00.006Z

Somalia is a country in the grip of famine and administrative chaos. So what is the powerful Islamic al Shabaab movement concerned about? Whether women are wearing bras, naturally.

According to them, women shouldn't wear such heretical garments as they are instruments of fraud and deception. They are tricking men by altering the natural shape and mobility of their breasts. Anyone found in one is therefore severely punished.

So sorry, ladies, if you thought your underwear and visible contours were a matter of personal choice, then think again. Religious purity demands that such issues are vetted and approved by those who are privy to the divine vision.

Several bra-wearing women in Mogadishu were recently arrested and publicly whipped for their disobedience. Though how exactly their bras were discovered is not entirely clear.

Of course you might think, but hang on, at one time all those radical feminists in the West were throwing out their bras too, so what's the difference? The difference is that the feminists chose to chuck them out, and they did so as a protest against male ideas of attractiveness. There was no coercion involved and no divine intervention.

When Somalia is in a state of virtual anarchy, with almost half the population malnourished, the government in disarray and hundreds of thousands relying on international aid, you would think religious leaders would have higher priorities than confiscating bras. But you would think wrong.

PS: And do the bra suppliers also get flogged?

Not so bright

2009-10-27T08:34:00.005Z

Intelligence takes many forms. It's not just a question of doing well in IQ tests or being good at reading, writing and arithmetic.

We all know people who have high IQs or brilliant Oxbridge degrees or glittering careers but are also total halfwits when it comes to socialising, making friends or helping someone who's emotionally distraught.

What use is a mastery of quadratic equations or existential philosophy if you offend and patronise everyone you meet, never listen to anyone properly or can't grasp a person's very different background or personality? You might as well still be a bawling infant.

What's called social or emotional intelligence is just as important as the sorts of intelligence the textbooks concentrate on.

I remember one woman I worked with whose husband had a dazzling academic record and a phenomenal IQ but she complained constantly that as a spouse he was sorely lacking.

He was incapable of comforting or supporting her when she was distressed over some work or family problem. He was embarrassed by showy displays of happiness, sadness or enthusiasm. He never commented on her achievements, only her failures.

He may have had an encyclopaedic knowledge of South American dictatorships, but she divorced him and moved in with a plumber who gave her the appreciation and emotional empathy she was desperate for.

That type of intelligence isn't taught in schools, it isn't recognised as a vital life skill. If you're lucky you pick it up from parents and friends. If not, you blunder through life alienating one person after another and wondering why.

Understanding algebra is good. But understanding the human heart is better.

Leftovers

2009-10-24T07:55:00.007+01:00

When I'm in a restaurant, I never cease to be amazed at the amount of food some people leave on their plate. I see servers lifting dishes that are still almost full and barely nibbled at.

When I was young, I was conditioned to eat every morsel of food and not waste what starving African children would be glad of. It was almost a crime to leave the smallest particle of edible matter.

So I'm always mystified by those virtually untouched piles of food. Did the diner not like it? Did they not feel hungry? Could they not eat because they were upset about something? Did they not want to look greedy? Do they have anorexia?

I'm fascinated by why someone ordered what they thought was a tasty, mouth-watering meal and then when it arrived at the table they lost all interest and let it sit there congealing.

Does the chef puzzle about it too, wondering whether their cuisine was so disgusting the recipient simply couldn't force it through their lips? Or do they just shrug their shoulders and say for the umpteenth time: "Customers, eh? A total mystery, the lot of them."

If I'm especially hungry, or if my own meal has been seriously skimpy, I'm often tempted to sneak up to the other diner's table and start eating the neglected food myself. I cast longing glances at their loaded plates and have to restrain myself from acting on behalf of ravenous Ethiopians and malnourished Eritreans.

Without fail my own plate is scrupulously cleared of every last titbit. I'd probably lick off the remaining juice if it weren't for the social outrage I'd cause.

The truth of it is I'm just too greedy to leave anything. And anyway, a clean plate is only fair to the washer-upper.

PS: Around 30% of British food ends up being thrown away, one of the highest figures in the world.

Love's labours lost

2009-10-21T18:25:00.004+01:00

If one thing has changed dramatically over the years, it's the freedom people now have in pursuing sexual relationships. When I was young, suffocating restrictions made it very hard to follow your natural desires.

It all sounds absurdly draconian now, but in those days parents monitored their children's behaviour very closely. You couldn't simply fancy someone and let things take their course. That was unheard of.

Parents would have very strong opinions on the person you fancied and would strenuously resist any "unsuitable" match. Sexual activity, or even what was called "heavy petting", was strictly prohibited until you were married.

You were expected to "go steady" for a suitable period, then get engaged for another year or so, after which you would get married (that is, if your parents still approved of the spouse-to-be).

The fiancé would of course have to ask the fianceé's father for her hand in marriage, while the alternative of cohabitation was still unthinkable.

Once married, sexual activity was strictly confined to the missionary position, and any kind of "kinky" or non-vaginal sex was considered abnormal. The only natural relationship was the heterosexual one, homosexuality being firmly in the closet and preferably never spoken of.

Nowadays, after the steady erosion of one quaint restriction after another, the situation has changed out of all recognition, with the young having almost complete freedom to form whatever relationships they like and let them follow their natural path.

Parents have been relegated to their proper position, interested bystanders who will only give advice if it's asked for and will always try to support their children's choice of partners.

Youngsters today are incredibly lucky to have such freedom, and not knowing what previous generations had to contend with, they mostly take it for granted. Which is not surprising.

Of course some of them take these new freedoms too far and make a mess of their lives. But better that than being bound hand and foot.

Out of control

2009-10-18T13:18:00.005+01:00

I'm reminded all too frequently that I'm more of a control freak than I like to think I am. I'm nervous of things getting out of control, unpredictable, over the edge. So I'm always furtively trying to keep a grip, keep everything within safe limits.

Well, I think it's furtive, but no doubt everyone else can see what I'm doing all too clearly. I'm the only one who imagines my attempts to put boundaries on every bit of spontaneous, impulsive behaviour have somehow gone unnoticed.

I do it with money. Even though I've been solvent my entire life, with no outstanding debts to anyone, I still imagine that too much thoughtless spending will lead me rapidly to financial ruin. So I monitor my spending far too closely and don't often splash out on something wildly expensive.

When I socialise, I'm wary of being too uninhibited, of saying too much or revealing too many personal secrets. I stick to safe subjects, I avoid things that might be too embarrassing or puzzling or deep. I drink cautiously for fear of loosening my tongue too much (not that I like getting drunk anyway).

Even when I read, I rarely devour an entire book at one sitting. I read in bite-size chunks, definable one-hour or one-chapter sessions. I'm almost incapable of getting so engrossed in a book, so carried away by an imaginary reality, that I forget everything else and just let myself be swept along.

Personal appearance too. I've never had the urge for spiky orange hair, psychedelic shirts, tattoos or a foot-long beard*. I've done my share of cross-dressing, but strictly in private and many years ago. Like most men, my public facade is studiously dull - dark colours, sober styles, nothing too conspicuous.

Actually when it comes to clothing, most men are control freaks. They stick firmly to conventional attire, and the very thought of displaying themselves in anything too gawdy or dainty or "feminine" frightens the wits out of them.

And now I'd better stop before I get too carried away. Before the bite-sized chunks become vast platefuls of uncontrolled revelations....

* except once in my hippie incarnation.

The end is nigh

2009-10-15T08:23:00.012+01:00

It's a funny old thing, this climate change. There's precious little sign of it in my everyday life. I carry on eating, drinking, sleeping, driving, socialising as if nothing unusual is happening.

Yet the scientists tell us all the time that the world's climate is drastically changing and if we don't take radical action our normal lifestyles will collapse.

Well, I have to believe that many scientists must be right. So I alter my habits wherever I can to do my bit to prevent armageddon. It remains to be seen if armageddon really is upon us.

The biggest problem, we are told, is that we all (in the West at least) consume far too much. We're forever rushing after the latest fashionable accessory or car or bit of furniture, and we never stop to think how many of the world's resources are being squandered and how much it's polluting the environment.

And all that's fed by the modern idea of shopping-as-leisure-activity which has somehow replaced shopping-for-what-you-need. Once upon a time if we needed something we went out and bought it. End of story.

Nowadays there are flashy shopping malls everywhere we go and we're encouraged to go shopping as a pastime in itself, something to do on a rainy day, somewhere to take the kids and have a meal while we're at it.

Of course while we're there we find ourselves picking up all sorts of bits and pieces, some of which we need and some we never even thought of until we saw them beckoning from a shop window.

So - more plundered resources, more pollution. And then when we have a periodic clearout, if the junked items can't be recycled they create yet more unwanted, festering landfill*.

But if you still believe in shopping-as-necessity, you're regarded as a bit of a crank who's still living in a bygone age.

So there's the question for climate scientists. How do we put a brake on the shop-till-you-drop culture? How do we take the shine off those tempting malls?

* The UK still dumps 54% of its waste in landfill. The German figure is 1%

This post is part of Blog Action Day which this year looks at climate change. Over 13,000 blogs in 155 countries took part, including Baino in Sydney.