Lucinda Let Go

The Apprentice, week 11
It was no surprise when loopy Lucinda bowed out last night, described as "too zany for me" by S'ralan.
I've no doubt that risk manager Lucinda is a solid performer (she is paid the most) but she's a loner. She was only effective when she was managing the task, and couldn't handle direction from any others. That explains why she contracts out her services rather than working permanently anywhere.
In a surprise move, S'ralan then chose to make the four others finalists rather than getting rid of another two. He said they were all strong candidates and it was difficult to choose between them. Personally speaking I would have got rid of Alex and Helene. Alex may seem like a youngster who can be moulded, but he's trucculent, arrogant and defensive. Give him any criticism and he is instantly on the attack, unable to accept it. Helene is another one who doesn't function well in a team. Maybe in the macho corporate environment she describes, but not with women. What I disliked about Helene most though was her contempt for the other candidates - the "gobshites" as she so charmingly put it. And Helene of course is the personification of intelligence and wit, so is entitled to look down on the rest with such disdain. Who's to say that Helene wouldn't look with contempt at those in S'alan's organisation?
In the show earlier this week where the finalists' backgrounds were discussed, Helene referred to her plush office and having cups of tea brought to her. I don't know which US corporate outfit she works for: certainly at mine we do not have plush offices or cups of tea brought to us! I doubt if she will enjoy any of these little comforts at S'alan's box shifters.
Claire performed well in the interviews; I think S'alan is concerned that she may have been pretending to change her ways, but all along she's still very mouthy. I think she'd drive him potty, so my choice would be Lee. He is desperate to win and for him it's his last chance. Claire will do well without the win: she'll probably start appearing on TV just like "The Badger" and Saira Khan without the need to win the title. Lee, who is so desperate to be successful because his father was a milkman, has no qualifications to fall back on and he fits the bill admirably for what S'alan wants. He's a good salesman. I don't think he's particularly entreprenuerial, but I didn't see that either with Tim, the winner of the first series.
I'm a bit disappointed that we will have four finalists because putting them in pairs is just asking for trouble. Each pair will have to win, first of all, but then they'll also have to outdo each other to become The Apprentice. Makes for good TV but I would have preferred a classic head-to-head showdown.

A misogynist fest of weighty matters

The Daily Mail quite often renders me apoplectic with indignation at the way it villifies women (yet conversely claims to be a women friendly newspaper). But today The Sunday Times has got me going.

In their report about the "I'd Do Anything" TV show a male writer tells us that "the competition was won by Jodie Prenger, a size 14....."

And this follows last week's assertion by impresario Cameron Macintosh that Jodie was too large for the role of Nancy in Oliver. Listen Cameron: size 16 is the average in the UK: a size 14 is not fat. Real life is not about size zero women, even if you think it makes it easier for you to sell tickets.

Last night he and the panel were studiously avoiding any mention of weight but were trying to steer the public in the direction of pretty but raw and gawky Jessie from Ireland.

I was a bit of a Jessie fan myself, but in the end I'm glad the public stayed true to their principles. Jodie had never been in the bottom two; the public clearly thought SHE personified their idea of Nancy, not an 18 year old with tumbling curls and an Irish lilt. Or the frightfully bland Sam from the Isle of Man.

But to get back to the size matter: Jodie has lost 8 stone, and hasn't made a big deal about it on the show. Even during the programme's eight weeks you could see she was still losing weight. I seethe when male writers brazenly write about someone's size in the opening paragraph of a story. Do they ever write a man's neck or waist size in stories? No they don't. I don't recall when Paul Potts won "Britain's Got Talent" that the papers introduced the concept of him being fat in the opening paragraph.

I wish we could see an end to the way writers of both sexes perpetuate the warped view that women have to occupy the narrow range of a size 8 to 12 and if they're at the opposite ends of that scale they're too skinny, skeletal etc or too fat, obese, lardy. Even Allison Pearson, who writes in the Daily Mail and has a daughter, thought it was sensible to take a pop at Princess Beatrice, who is not fat but has a curvy figure. The ridiculous Amanda Platell also wrote one of her "analytical" pieces about pear shaped women, and all I can say about that is "pots and kettles."

Allison I hope when your daughter is 19, and wearing a bikini, she hasn't got a pair of bitchy middle aged women spitting venom about her being pear shaped in a national paper.

Michael's out - at last

The Apprentice, week 10

Michael Sophocles finally got the boot last night, and I am still pondering on the whereabouts of the flashes of brilliance that Sir Alan seemed to see. I didn't see any, and was so indignant that he wasn't booted out last week that I didn't write my usual critique.

The trouble is, I am growing increasingly weary about this once stellar program. It's fallen into the usual trap engendered by success. The formula is exploited, and I'm sure Sir Alan is being told by the producers to keep certain candidates in because they're good TV. I didn't think Sophocles was even good TV, such was my distaste for the odious little sneak.

Anyway, to summarise last night's task in one sentence: they had to rent out posh cars. Michael had no interest in either the cars or the task, and it showed. Lucinda also reverted to her tearful "I can't do this" mode which we hadn't seen since early on when she couldn't use a PC. Pathetic. Helene, as always, did nothing but gave such a stout defence of her traumatic life at an American company, where they are always making people redundant (I know what she's saying) that Sir Alan kept her on for another week.

Alex had a good week; he managed to sell some car hours. Lee also scraped by with one sale. I don't like Alex. He still bites his lip and his surname is just too irritatingly northern to be taken seriously. "Wotherspoon" indeed. Claire is looking a bit of a dead cert at the moment.

Brilliant bank holiday

What a great bank holiday Monday! And no, I don't mean that in the ironic sense. We haven't had a wet bank holiday for a while, and what a treat it was to have to stay indoors, away from the tedious chores of the garden or the threat of a bike ride or walk, to read or watch TV. And how thoughtful of the BBC to have provided quintessential bank holiday afternoon viewing, The Sound of Music.

I spent a happy couple of hours scrapbooking, although it was a little too cold to stay in the lean-to any longer. I then went back to the snigger fest that is my latest book, "A nice cup of tea and a sitdown."

This book is laugh out loud funny, but only in the British way. If you're not British, forget it. Firstly, you wouldn't get our obsession with tea, and the way it has to be made; and secondly, you wouldn't appreciate the chapters about different types of biscuit and their dunking capabilities.

I was thrilled to see my own personal favourite the jammie dodger had a suitably "A list" mention. When the Rover Selection was proudly brought out in the office for an agency visit, there was only ever one jammie dodger in the tin which I was primed to grab before someone else did.

I was pleased to see that the Tunnock's Wafer also had a splendid showing. I never really liked them but Grandma always had them in her house, along with Schloer and Woodpecker Cider. Sadly the Bandit did not get a mention. Does anyone remember them? A chocolate biscuit similar to a Club. (And yes, I sympathise with the writer of ANCOTAASD who bemoaned the changes that have blighted the Club).

I would imgaine if you were at a pop festival, a 10k race or in a tent, today's weather in the south would have been a little trying.

But if you were snug in your house with a fine cup of tea (no biscuit) and the promise of sausages for dinner, than a finer bank holiday could not be had.

Change Eurovision or walk out

I'm afraid I succumbed last night to the lure of velcro, the whirling of numerous dervishes and the howling of banshees.

Yes, I decided to watch the Eurovision Song Contest. The only reason was because Sweden were declared favourites, and I perked up thinking that if a Western European country was a favourite, maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

In the event, Sweden didn't do very well (and I wasn't that bothered because the Scandinavian countries role modelled the art of voting for each other, long before Eastern Europe joined the party).

I could see that some of us were trying very hard. France even sang in English, for the first time ever, and had someone who's apparently quite cool. I liked their song. Germany were Germany. Spain tried to go for novelty and cheese with something about "cheeky" which really should have been a nul points.

As for the rest, well, I lost the will to live at quite an early stage in the contest and started reading, so they all merged into one. So many turkeys! (And Ireland wasn't among them). I did notice some old geezer, some head bangers (Finland again) and of course the dire Latvian pirates. A few years ago they may have won it, but Eurovision voters tend now to go for overblown big production jobs, and this year's winner, Russia, fitted that bill perfectly with some muscle hewn singer called Bilan and a male ice skater pirouetting in the background.

Terry Wogan sounded crushed and at the end said it was no longer a song contest and western Europe should think carefully about what we do next. He hinted he may not be there next year. I won't be either, unless there's a radical change. Seeing as we, Germany, France and Spain fund it, I believe we should now put our mouths where our money is. I'd like to see the senior bigwig from the BBC who runs this event defending it.

It used to be a bit of fun but now it's painful. It's not about songs but about allies and close countries. Sadly for us, only two countries deigned to vote for us (San Marino and Ireland) so it's a giant snub from western Europe. Yesterday's Times showed a table of all the winners over the years, and a few years ago we were always in the top 10. In fact, coming seventh was considered a flop. Now we are always at the bottom. It's not that the songs are dreadful. Scooch last year was pretty dire, but there are always worse. This year our song was like a Lennon McCartney compared to some of them.

So how to change?

First idea: get rid of the public vote. Go back to the voting panels. And don't allow a country to vote for those on its borders.

Second idea: create two Eurovisions, funded by the countries taking part. One for western Europe, the other for eastern Europe.

Making my mind up to give up Eurovision

This is very sad, very momentous. But after goodness knows how many years, I am giving up the Eurovision Song Contest.

I knew the rot had set in when I didn't bother to watch the two semi-finals this week. Then I heard that the UK entry is 100 to 1 and considered by the bookies to be our worst ever entry. Seeing as we've finished in the bottom three for the last three years, that doesn't bode well. The song is actually OK - not a novelty song - and Andy Abrahams is OK. But unless you're from the FSU or your country ends with "ia" you might as well go home.

It used to be fun, even the political voting. But it's just got worse and worse over recent years and now it's too much of a choker to contemplate, seeing buffoons in pirate costumes or people who should only be singing at karaoke bars, and then seeing the countries that fund the wretched thing ending up at the bottom.

So tonight I will be watching a film and a long standing tradition dies.

Make time to smell the roses

This is the time of year when gardens and hedgerows look their best. Even along the M25 I marvelled at the lushness of the elderflower and the profusion of white frothy flowers on the cow parsley.
In my beloved rose garden, the roses have burst into flower. I have two types, both pink and both David Austin English roses: Gertrude Jekhyll (pictured), a deep pink that's both hardy and highly scented, and Sceptered Isle, paler pink cup shaped blooms. Both are inclined to be climbers so they get a bit leggy as summer progresses. At this time of year, they're in fine form with no pesky diseases. Although I must say this year I am eschewing sprays which are friendly to ladybirds etc in favour of chemical warfare, to try to prevent a recurrence of last year's black fly.

My love of roses came from my dad, Stamps. I was only about seven when, in driving rain, he painstakingly cut out a circular flower bed in the front lawn. For many years it was filled with roses. I remember going by in a coach on a Sunday school outing and Mrs Newnham remarking on the garden with the roses. I told her proudly it was mine.
Stamps loved Ena Harkness, a deep red, highly scented, which is quite disease prone and has a bad habit, so it's not a rose many plant nowadays. That one sprawled over the back fence. It wasn't a very profuse bloomer: literally one magnificent flush and that was that, whereas my Austin roses start in April or May and happily perform until October. He also loved Wendy Cussons, a pink. I remember the arrival of Superstar, a new genre of highly coloured, highly perfumed hybrid tea roses. Shockingly vermillion, my mum thought it was a bit loud. Meanwhile she and Stamps both had an irrational dislike for Iceberg, which I thought was a shame so I used to put my egg shells around it.
My grandma loved Peace and not surprisingly this was the rose that we insisted on at the garden of remembrance, although it never really flourished.

Shrill Sara gets the boot

The Apprentice, Week Eight

Apart from her beauty it was hard to see what Sara Dhada had in the way of skills to contribute to Sir Alan's empire. Her voice was her worst feature: sometimes shrill, generally monotonous. She always seemed to be on the defensive, and when she did try to sell, she came across as hard and aggressive.

So in last night's bridal challenge, Sara was the evictee, although it was difficult to choose between her, leader Helene and the oily Michael. Notice how Sir Alan shrewedly put all the weakest contestants in one team? Alex was there too, and I don't think he's impressing Sir Alan. He's been on the losing side far too often and always seems more interested in covering his own back than anything else. He clearly lacks confidence with all the facial gurning and lip biting that he does.

Helene's team lost the challenge, to sell bridal dresses and a range of accessories at the NEC bridal fayre, by selling mid-priced dresses that looked somewhat downmarket. Ditto the wedding cakes. They sold five dresses but no cakes. Alex did most of the selling and to give him his due, he is a grafter. Helene did nothing apart from flounce around in one or two of the wedding dresses, like Boudica inspecting her flotilla.

Sara and Michael tried to sell the cakes and got increasingly desperate as the day went on.

Meanwhile over at the other booth, Lee was putting his charm to good use by selling "fongs", bikinis and sandalls, and delighting the women of Birmingham by under-guessing their true size; Claire was doing a great job giving nervous brides the right messages about the expensive Ian Stewart bridal gowns, and Lucinda was a beacon of calm, becoming stronger by the task. Only Raef seemed a little out of his comfort zone. But in the boardroom, he readily admitted to having pushed for the top of the range bridal gowns, even though they only sold three and all these at the end of the afternoon. Had the team lost, he would have taken the rap.

Three candidates are now looking very strong to me: Raef, who is a true gentleman with strong ethics and principles; Lee, who combines an outgoing nature and charm with the ability to understand when to challenge and when to follow, and Lucinda, who instinctively knows how to get the best out of people. Claire seems a little more average to me: a good operator but probably limited in her potential.

Gird your loins - it's nearly here!!

The Eurovision Song Contest, live from Belgrade, Serbia, May 24

There's no middle ground as far as the Eurovision is concerned. You either love it or you hate it. Those who hate it look at you as if you're mad. Lighten up, I cry: it's a bit of a laugh! It's irony incarnate. It's kitsch. It's the only thing that unites everyone in Europe (and a few others like Israel).

So what's in store on May 24? And before that, in the two semi-finals? (April 20 and 22).

Well, UK doesn't have to compete in the semi-finals. Thank goodness! Because we'd never make it to the final. Along with Germany, France and Spain we fund it so we get a wild card or a free bus pass or whatever you like to call it.

What I don't understand is why we (the UK) are not allowed to vote in the first semi-final. I had already promised Kurt I would cast a solitary vote for Belgium, and then what happens? Belgium are in the first semi. I can't believe it's because Ireland are in the first semi. I mean, come on!! They never give us all their points and we only give them a few. It's not like the Swedes giving the Danes 12 every time, or Georgia giving Russia 12, or Croatia giving Serbia (need I go on about the nuances of the voting system?). We and the Irish have a bit of dignity and pride!

Anyway, down to the matter of form. This year it's all about the novelty act. There are several! Ireland has Dustin the turkey, a puppet singing "Irelande douze pointe". Clearly the Irish invested a lot in the lyrics. We're talking Lennon McCartney in their prime:
Hello Abba, hello Bono, hello Helsinki,
Hola Prague, hello sailor, c’est la vie,
Auf wiedersehen, mamma mia and God save the Queen
G’day Austria, bonjour Serbia, you know what I mean

Other novelty acts include Latvia with Pirates of the Sea singing Wolves of the Sea (I think there may be a theme going on here), and Croatia, fielding an elderly gentleman doing some rapping.

As for "Royaume Uni" (that's us), we have no chance whatsoever. We never do these days, with the Baltic bloc vote, but the trouble is this year we have a fairly decent song and a fairly decent singer, but it's all a bit...well, fairly decent and average. Not a nil pointe but it won't be giving Terry Wogan palpitations either.

The official Eurovision site, by the way, is worth checking out...not only can you see each participant and hear their song, you can see the lyrics too!

Stay tooned to this blog - there's more to come I'm afraid.

A most condescending article

Most journalism is fairly run of the mill. Now and then, an article strikes a chord and becomes memorable to me, either because of the subject matter or because of the way it was written.

Yesterday's Sunday Times had an article by Lesley White about John Prescott and his wife Pauline which was memorable because of the latter. It was extremely patronisng and condescending.

White clearly went to the interview with preconceived notions about the couple. She was snooty and sniffy about their house and its location, and some of their interests and habits: Pauline's love of champagne and handbags and her tidiness. You would think she had been confronted with Hyacinth Bouquet herself. Maybe Lesley White comes from "old money" where tidiness and cleanliness (and children) have a very low priority compared to dogs and muddy boots; a world where working class people know their place and don't attempt to better themselves. There wss a touch of ire about her tone that suggested she was aggrieved the Prescotts had done so well considering he failed his 11 plus. I am amazed people still talk about such things.

By the end of the interview, White had grudgingly grown to respect Pauline who seems a towering figure of strength. But her description of bone china cups, highly polished photo frames and cucumber sandwiches will live on in my memory.

I still carry with me the disbelief I felt, many years ago, when I read an interview between Jilly Cooper and Robert Redford. To me at that age, Cooper was ordinary with a desperately old-fashioned hairstyle (which she still has) and gappy teeth. I couldn't believe my eyes when she angled the whole article around the fact that Redford had not found her attractive, and he hadn't done much for her either. I remember saying to my mum, "does she seriously think he would fancy her?"

I also remember an article in She magazine at the time when the film Shirley Valentine was getting the sort of attention that Sex and the City gets now. The writer was excited about meeting Pauline Collins, who played Shirley Valentine, and hoping she would be similar in character. Instead, I remember the writer saying how bitterly disappointed she was when Collins was snippy and rude, quick to brush aside any suggestion that she was like Shirley.

The power of the written word is one reason why printed publications will never go away, in my view.

Selfish Profiteering

It's summer and the snakes in the grass are out in force. Three of them: Cherie Blair, John Prescott and Lord Levy.

They've all published their tedious autobiographies which have one thing in common: let's have a go at the prime minister, Gordon Brown.

I can't think what good is served by the odious trio and their selfish profiteering. Cherie must be the only PM's wife to ever write her account of "what happened". Presumably her motives are twofold: pay for the monstrosity of a house they have just bought, and try to restore Tony's reputation so that history doesn't only remember him as one of two idiots who took us to an unnecessary war.

It's less clear to me what the motives of Prescott the bulimic and Lord Levy are. As they glory in their cheques from the newspaper serialisations, perhaps they should muse over their cornflakes on the opinion polls and the recent savaging in the local government elections, and wonder how much of a negative impact their books are having on their own party. So much for loyalty, eh?

The Jennys are out

The Apprentice UK, week 7

Two departures from The Apprentice this week, which added an extra bit of zing to the Moroccan flavour.

The two Jennys, "Europe's best salesperson," Jennifer Maguire and redhead Jenny Celerier were sent on their way by Sir Alan. Not a minute too soon either. I had had quite enough of Jenny C's relentlessly clashing colours. Pink with red hair simply does not go, dear! And I felt she should have gone last week after the eco card disaster.

Last night though Jenny C really showed herself in her true colours (not just pink), and she more or less admitted in the subsequent Adrian Chiles' programme that she did change her story as dynamics changed in the boardroom.

She emerged as manipulative and keen to win at any cost, no matter how much it cost in terms of integrity or respect. Jennifer, on the other hand, simply lost the task because she lost the plot, not because of any Machiavellian tactics or inherent evil.

The two teams were sent to Morocco and given a very specific list of items to buy. Jennifer's mistake was rushing off to the soukh without any planning; probably not realising the size of the thing and how it's structured. She didn't pay any attention to detail, and failed to utilise pushy Claire, who seems strong in this regard.

Lee's team did do some planning - they knew where the Jewish quarter was for buying the kosher chicken, which was key to the whole thing - and it was good to see victimised Sara and Lucinda performing well, even though Lee kept them under a tight leash.

It was a chicken and a tagine that cost Jennifer's team dear. Jenny and the dreadful Michael ("good Jewish boy," who doesn't know what kosher means) bought their chicken from a Muslim butcher with some ridiculous nonsense about the butcher blessing it. Meanwhile Alex, whose constant gurning is driving me nuts, bought any old tagine instead of the branded one Sir Alan had specified. The team had to rush around looking for a green mosque alarm clock after Jennifer bought a white one by mistake.

In the boardroom Jenny C tried to stitch everyone up to save her skin but Sir Alan is shrewd enough to see through this in an instant. She will never forget her 35th birthday!

Jennifer's departure was then a foregone conclusion because she spent the whole task running around like a headless chicken. She looked very scary in the boardroom with her acid yellow top and bright red lipstick. Somehow she and Jenny played the whole series like a throwback to the 80s where it was assumed that women had to act aggressively to get on: to cheat, sneak, plot and boast.


I'm confident enough now to make a prediction for the final three: Lee, Claire (she got a "love" from Sir Alan yesterday) and Raef. What do you think?

Matt Lucas Lookalike bows out of The Apprentice

Feisty little bank manager Kevin Shaw was given the boot this week after telling Clinton Cards' buyer that he was as bad as George Bush if he didn't embrace his team's flawed concept of environmental greetings cards.

The teams had to devise a card opportunity and pitch it to three card companies. Both came up with a fairly lame solution: the dreadful Michael was pushing a Singles' Day card, and Matt Lucas lookalike Kevin the green card.

I actually think a Singles' Day card would be a neat idea, but not on Feb 13th when all the card retailers are rubbing their hands in glee and preparing to fleece us for Valentine's Day.

Kevin and team got rail roaded into the environmental idea by the pushy and charmless Jenny, even though, as she told a card buyer in one of the pitches, she has cut down on the number of cards she buys "for environmental reasons."
It was very strange that Jenny didn't end up in the boardroom, seeing as it was her daft idea that lost them the task anyway. Somehow they all turned on the quiet member of the team, Sara, although I distinctly remember her suggesting an Ide card, and that would have been a far better idea. I have looked for Diwhali cards, for example, and there are very few. Eastern European opportunities for cards must be significant.

Sara managed to survive but her days look numbered, particularly as the boys seem to be ganging up on her. I was warming towards Lee, a straight talker who was showing some promise, (and has played a blinder in so far being invisible in all the tasks) but then he started bullying Sara at the end of the programme. I even warmed towards Raef who defended her. What a gentleman.

Michael did not impress me in the least. There were two incidents that made me dislike him intensely. In the boardroom, he became very petulant, like a spoilt child, when chastised by Sir Alan. It was almost as if he was back in the nursery and had forgotten who was talking to him. Then, when he heard his team had won, he started yelping aggressively like a football hooligan. Most inappropriate. Margaret's face was a picture.

I think Sir Alan has warmed to Claire, who has improved leaps and bounds since her dressing down a fortnight ago. Having been leader for two tasks, she must be in a strong position now unless she messes up.

Street dentistry

It seems the latest craze of reality TV, in which the hapless public is the star, is programmes like Embarrassing Illnesses and Street Doctors. Having switched off Embarrassing Illnesses after about 5 minutes, when I realised that people who weren't going to their GP were instead being goaded into stripping off in front of millions of viewers, I was channel hopping today when I was gobsmacked to see another version on BBC1, Street Doctors.

We'll obviously see lots more in this genre so here's a suggestion for the programme-makers. Street Dentists. With the chronic shortage of NHS dentists, I imagine they would be queuing round the block for free dentistry, and what a spectacle it might make. Back to medieval times with crowds milling to watch extractions (thrillingly done without anaesthetic!).

If this turns up on Five in the next few months, I'll direct them here so I can claim my royalties.

Who cares about the Rich List?

The Sunday Times posted its much publicised Rich List again today. Goodness it comes round fast. Bits of info had been leaking for weeks. Sir Paul McCartney is really worth £100 million more than the court was told. Outrageous! (Not). Personally I am very sceptical about these so-called rich lists because part of the secret of success of...er...the rich...is that they squirrel their money away offshore and in investments, and I doubt if even Philip Beresford can get to the true bottom, so to speak, of Sir Paul's fortune.

Does anyone find this old tosh interesting? They somehow concocted a story for the main paper along the lines of "the rich get richer under Labour." Your point is? It does seem odd perhaps but the Labour Party of today bears no relation to the Labour Party of 20 years ago.

It would be far more relevant, and jolting, to see the Poor List. Shock the complacent Sunday Times readers to the core by showing how a lot of people are forced to live on a pittance.

Primitive marketing drives me round the bend

They say an Englishman's home in his castle, and I couldn't agree more. I would be more than happy to have a drawbridge and moat so that I could stop people leafleting the house at all hours of the day.

I had a real Victor Meldew moment today as I surveyed the detritus that makes up most of the post. I'd just spent a good half an hour de-cluttering the house. Considering there are only two of us, there is a lot to de-clutter! John's running gear and associated apparatus (water bottles, heart rate monitor, sheets of paper with stretching exercises, safety pins) seem to find their way all over the house. My hobby - scrapbooking and painting - also extends beyond the lean-to and you find buttons and glitter dust in the most unlikely places.

Anyway, I digress. Having done the de-cluttering, the post then arrived. For those who work at home, a pleasant milestone in the day. (Particularly if accompanied by the doorbell ringing, which means a nice parcel to open). Well, I had a subscription magazine; good, but it came in a plastic bag with several of those wretched inserts. A Lakeland catalogue. A Boden catalogue. More plastic, a whole sheaf of inserts from Lakeland, order forms, vouchers. Sheesh, why do these people still send me catalogues when they should KNOW they I only order online? Why are companies' marketing methods still so primitive? And both of them are always sending out new catalogues, as do Toast, whose "tastefully" lit catalogue is so gloomy the clothes look foul.

Then there was a letter from the bank. Apparently I have been chosen (along with millions of others) to be upgraded to some new type of account, which, reading between the lines, is just them promoting their call centre (which I already use) and having people interrogate me every time I enter the branch about why I haven't yet spoken to my "personal banking manager." Not to mention someone from the call centre ringing me and trying to talk me into loans, ISAs or whatever else they're trying to flog.

I noticed the letter gave a number to call if you didn't want to take advantage of this new service so I rang it. It took me to the call centre. Ideally, I should have been able to signal my "NO THANKS" by either entering some numbers into the phone, on my online bank account, or by ringing a number which was automatically answered by the "no thanks" person. Even better, I should have been offered the chance to opt in or opt out. But again, it's just poor marketing.

And while I'm ranting, I'll tell you another thing that makes me mad. MORI amd Gallup, the poll people, keep sending people round with clipboards to do surveys. They have called twice now about getting us to do a survey on buying new cars. It's quite hard to get rid of them, as if it's our duty to speak to them. One of them very indignantly said "we do pay you know,". I don't care what they're paying: I'm not divulging lots of private information which then goes God knows where.

Lucinda gets a stay of execution

The Apprentice
Ever since we first saw Lucinda, looking as if she was going to a wedding in a pink coat and hat, I knew she would not be progressing. As the challenges unfolded, poor Lucinda seemed completely miscast, unable to do sales, unable to use a PC. Was there anything she could do?

Well, last night we learnt that Lucinda can manage. And God knows,it's a rare enough skill among the rest of the candidates. She was calm, organised and managed to motivate her team. She made sure that she had a #2, allegedly with sales expertise, who was Lindi. Lindi went off with Raef and Jennifer to pre-qualify leads and attend the sales meetings.

It was clear as the programme progressed that Lindi and Jennifer were being set up for ultimate disgrace and failure. They were constantly crowing about what a great team they were and how they were on a roll. So it was quite amusing to find that they'd lost, and that three of their meetings were with firms who had their own ice-cream maker (the challenge was to supply a new range of ice creams to London).

Claire, she of the meaty arms, was very lucky to win the challenge, given that she and her sub-team were utter flakes when it came to pre-qualifying leads and setting up sales meetings.

With Claire's victorious team out of the way, it was easy enough to see that risk assessor Lucinda was actually at no risk of being fired. Cruel, chilly Jennifer and dozy, naive Lindi were definitely in the firing line. Jennifer remained because she (allegedly) has sales expertise, although that it debatable given her predilection to give exclusivity deals on a whim.

Of the rest of the candidates, Raef showed remarkable restraint and was lucky to emerge unscathed after being tethered to Lindi and Jennifer. Lee is beginning to show some class. "Hoorah" I thought, as he spoke up for Lucinda. Most unlike treacherous sneak Alex, who had views about Claire's mananagement style but was too cowardly to air them.

The other candidate who stands out for the wrong reasons is Helene, a fierce, rude woman who quite obviously lies. I have to believe Lucinda, and not Helene, when she said that Helene had called Jennifer a snake in the grass. I bet she did!

Some more of the old random

Went to Swindon yesterday (and another visit tomorrow, Holy God!) and the random thoughts were whirling round my head like those of Julie Christie's character in Away From Her (quite good BTW but a very rose tinted view of Altzheimer's).
Firstly there was the excitement of seeing a Norbert Dentressangle lorry, even if it did cut me up in a piece of thoughtless driving on the M25 (would not have happened with Bailey's equine horse feeds, I fancy). Pictured is the very gent himself, Monsieur Dentressangle. Doesn't he look twinkly? Not your usual old haulier, methinks.

Seems to be a landmark week for wimmin's rights. Just when I was thinking there were no more rights to be won, I hear that an MP is tabling a Commons motion to get the constitution changed so that the monarch's first born becomes the heir, regardless of sex. When you think about it, it is absolutely preposterous that a woman would have to stand aside, as first born, in this day and age!

Then I heard that some stuffy old "Real Tennis" club has finally agreed to accept women after a long battle, on the grounds that the wretched sport will die out unless they can encourage younger players - which includes women. Amazing.

I was thinking about the London Marathon too. For several years I have stood in wind, rain and boiling sunshine watching J run his many international marathons (and some less glamorous, like the Grunty Fen half marathon). Well, on an impulse, I have entered the ballot for next year's marathon. Another Holy God is called for here. I am not a natural runner; I have a strange gait (I somehow tiptoe), but after watching the marathon last weekend, I noticed that even some of the fast runners have a strange gait. Plus, I want to get fit; losing weight becomes harder as you get older and I want to live to a ripe old age, whizzing around with no need of a zimmer. So this week alone, I have hauled my weary carcass out three times and have nearly reached the 5k milestone.

The Apprentice tonight. Yippee. It's still hard at this stage to separate the field, although I do know that the despicable Claire, upon whose hefty arms a family of four could easily be fed for a week, for a week, needs to go, as does the treacherous Alex. Alex with a chip on his shoulder about nowt being posh, who thinks he's playing such a clever game by refusing to be no 2 last week, lest he end up getting the blame if the task was lost. Tsk, so transparent. The only two who seem to have any ounce of business sense about them are regrettably Rafe, although he's surely too posh and smooth for Sir Alan, and the bloke with the stubble and piercing blue eyes who took the photos last week for the winning team.

And then finally there was my dream. Ken Livingstone called at our house, canvassing! Well Ken, you'd be on a hiding to nothing where I live (as Boris friendly a place as you could get), though you can count on my vote because in my view Boris is Bonkers. Anyway, in my dream, being the true scrapbooker that I am, I called for J to take a photo of me and Ken together so that I could scrap the momentous moment!

Bluebell Field

I haven't seen a field of bluebells since I was a child. But, thanks to an article in Homes & Gardens, which mentioned how you can locate a bluebell field courtesy of the Woodland Trust, I was determined not to miss out this year.

As luck would have it, John actually saw a bluebell field on his run in the forest this morning. As we turned the corner, and it came into view, it was a breathtaking sight, a deserted and hidden glen of blue stretching as far as the eye could see. And the wonderful thing was there was no-one else there, except for an elderly couple who visit the bluebell wood every year and have done since the old boy was a child.

Heart warming achievements

Well done to everyone who took part in the London Marathon, from the supreme elite athletes at the front to the fun runners/walkers at the back. John did well, finishing within his four hour window, and his "posse," a group of ladies from the Orion Harriers he has been coaching, all did extremely well, one of them steaming past him in the final mile. The posse were kind enough to give me a bunch of flowers later, but it was them who did all the hard work. I've had a lot of fun hearing about the training from John and some of the exchanges:
- "Can we start at 8.30am instead of 8 and can we do 14 miles instead of 18?"
- "Who's going to tell John?"
During the downpour, as I anxiously scanned the thousands of runners to spot John, a mile from Tower Bridge, I expatiated on the nature of running. Running creates special people. We all know the health benefits; we read about it everyday as the fat idle journalists lambast Britain for obese teenagers, transfats, drinking wine in pregnancy, large measures of wine and type 2 diabetes. But what I have discovered is that once running gets into the pysche, people not only become fitter but they become more well rounded; more advanced as people.
I got talking to a 75 year old veteran member of the Orion Harriers, Ken, who has run all 27 London Marathons. I asked him if he would be having a rest period now (even J does) but he laughed and said no, he would be doing a swimming marathon for charity later this week.
And then you consider Buster, the 101 year old, running a marathon at his age. Amazing when most teenagers could not even contemplate it.
I suddenly started to feel guilty, that I've always been half hearted when I've tried running, and decided that I should try again. With that in mind, I'm now signed up for the Adidas women's challenge 5k in September. Three miles is hardly anything, and I could probably do it now, albeit very slowly, but I hope the race experience will spur me on to better things. It would be very cool to run London next year and have John enduring the misery of being a spectator for once!

The Apprentice: who let the dunces out?

I found this week's episode of The Apprentice a bit boring. They had to do a lunch and dinner service at a pub. I was so gobsmacked at the inept performance of the boys' team that it took the shine off the whole programme for me. Surely they have watched previous series? They didn't have one iota of business acumen. They were printing flyers before they had even properly costed their menu, and not just how much they would charge for each item but their costing on profits v overheads. They then went scurrying off to Tesco several times, instead of going to a wholesaler or negotiating a deal with a local shop.
The guy that got voted off was so dull and bland I can't even remember his name.

Terminal 5 a pleasant experience

I wrote disparagingly about Terminal 5 at Heathrow Airport recently, following the baggage handling debacle. I thought it was a pity that this had overshadowed the new terminal and the fact it opened on schedule and on budget.
Well, having now passed through T5 on the way to San Francisco, I'm pleased to report it was a very pleasant experience.
I flew out on Sunday when there was quite a heavy (for London) snowfall, and this in itself presents difficulties. As the pilot put it, "the UK doesn't do snow very well." So we did get delayed on the runway for some time while they did the de-icing, but I have been delayed at Munich for the same reason in the past and they are good at snow.
I took hand luggage to avoid any baggage delays, but Anonymous did check in luggage and it was despatched on the carousel 10 minutes after we landed.
As far as the building itself is concerned, very light, airy and spacious. There is a policy of only making announcements for the final call, so it's surprisingly tranquil. It's quite similar to Munich's new(ish) Lufthansa terminal, and better in some respects (there are several shops at the gate!) but the money spent on the finish - for example Munich's marbled floors - is obviously nowhere near as much.
It's not a place to be if you don't like escalators. We had to go down several on arrival back from the US, and my brain is still trying to figure that out.
One very positive thing is the friendliness of the staff, both BA's and those in the airside shops. I bought some headphones in Dixon's and they offered to charge the battery while I waited for my flight. I observed that BA's staff, while under huge pressure (a lot of short haul flights had been cancelled because of the snow) were unfailingly courteous and friendly even though a lot of people were shouting and frowning. There is even someone on board the minibus from the long term car park to help with your bags.
And of course the best thing of all is that there are none of the lurid, psychedelic carpets that the rest of Heathrow inflicts on us!

The boys get the girls in a spin

The Apprentice UK - episode two

In last night's Apprentice we were treated to a new task - running a laundry - and the girls were unceremoniously taken to the cleaners by the boys.

In a complete turnaround from the first programme, the girls' team, led by the dogmatic and bossy Jenny, came across as inept, blundering and divided. They didn't do the most basic of research - like ringing a laundry to get an idea of prices - and consequently demanded just under five thousand pounds for a job which would normally cost around two hundred. They didn't even learn from that but then grossly under-charged for doing the contents of someone's entire wardrobe for a tenner.

Shazia, who was fired,(pictured top right)came across as quite organised and efficient at the start of the show, devising a process for identifying the laundry. Essential for the girls, who were getting their custom mostly from individuals. Unfortunately for Shazia, her suggestion to leave early to secure the irons back at the house was agreed by Jenny (they should have sent someone else), and the process promptly fell apart so that several items of clothing got mixed up.

It came as a surprise to Shazia, and those in the audience of the "You're Fired" programme that she went; however, as Michelle Mone pointed out, it's all down to boardroom survival, and she was pathetic in the boardroom. Jenny was very steely and determined to talk over Shazia and the inconsequential Lucinda.

As for the boys, they really shone this week. They immediately got an idea of laundry charges; they beat the girls in winning a hotel order and they managed to overcome their class divide, largely down to Raef's charisma as leader and Simon's tenacity in rolling up his sleeves and getting the job done.

It's still early days and some of the would-be Apprentices have hardly opened their mouths, but I have high hopes for Simon, Alex (the leader from last week), and Jennifer, the Irish marketing consultant.

Jennifer Maguire
She stayed very quiet in last night's show, in the manner of Christina from last year, and I could see why. As the girls started bickering in the boardroom, she had a think bubble that said "I am not part of this. I am too good for them." Marketing people don't always fare well on The Apprentice so let's hope she doesn't revert to blue sky visions, story boards, brainstorms and strategies when it's her turn to lead a task. Sir Alan doesn't rate any of that.

The two that stand out as likely to be next in the firing line are Lucinda - does Sir Alan really need a beret-wearing aromatherapist in risk management? - and Michael. I can't say why Michael exactly, but he is very annoying and childish.

Today's Road Rap

London to Swindon, just under two hours. Left earlier than usual at 5.45am and was rewarded by being in the office before eight.

Today's collection of random thoughts and nonsense:

1) I am wearing my new Edna Everage style brown glasses with diamante. Now normally I wear contact lenses, but lately I'm finding that "middle aged / old" thing of having to hold books and newspapers at a distance because my normally perfect up- close vision is compromised by my blind-as-a-bat distance vision. Anyway, I now have a new pair of specs and plan to wear them all the time, except when we go out in the evening when I will revert to lenses (vanity, readers). Well, I haven't worn them before for driving and it is a slightly bizarre experience. These are varifocals, which I took to right away with no problems. But in the car, I found you have to keep your head in the same position, very steady. If you lift up your head, you go out of vision. Eeek. Now I must drive with my nose in the air (probably to disguise a double chin) because this kept happening. I will be worn out at this rate.

2) Boris v Ken. Yes, I have received my electoral registration card. So yah boo to those of you who cruelly say I live in Essex and not London. Anyway, Boris was finally seen on TV last night starting his campaign after seemingly being kept out of sight by Tory HQ. Now he is very winsome, and was good on Have I Got News For You?but does he really have the stature and gravitas to run Britain's largest city? I'm afraid leopards and spots comes to mind, as Mr Paddick so helpfully pointed out. So it's looking like the newt fancier for me.

3) No sightings of the triumvirate (Baileys, Dentressangle, Wilkinson). This is getting boring.

4) Do you remember Sunny Smiles? I don't know why it crossed my mind, but it did. When I was a kid and down at the Meths (the Methodist church) I used to get given little booklets of children's photos and you had to "sell" the photos. Inevitably the, er, less attractive children would be left in the booklet. I wonder what happened to the kids and if this is mentioned in any detail on the web, as it would now be perceived as hideously non PC.

Britiush Airways: get your act together - NOW

Three words to British Airways. Sort. It. Out.
I refer to the debacle at Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, which should have been a triumph. Completed ahead of schedule, on budget, and catapulting Europe's busiest airport into the ranks of "decent airports" rather than Third World.
But no, the world stood by and laughed as every day since its opening has degenerated into chaos. And the sad thing is, none of it is new. I wrote about wretched BA several months ago when they had another baggage handling scandal. I suspect the issues are the same. They still do not have enough baggage handlers, all in an attempt to save money.
Strange to note that 400 BA staff "volunteered" to come in to sort the back log. Volunteered?! BA should have called in dozens of extra staff and paid them overtime, the moment the issue arose, to sort the back log!
But it's typical of this arrogant, lazy company - whose management is described as old school braying hooray henry idiots - that they have put their heads in the sand and tried to blame everyone else.
BAA, and Heathrow management, have finally said that their baggage management system is working 100%. So it is firmly BA's fault that over 50 flights have again been cancelled today.
Words fail me. Surely the buffoons could have done the simple maths around number of flights, passengers and bags?
When the route to Rhodes, Greece, for our summer holiday was transferred to Easyjet from BA a few weeks ago I was actually pleased. At least with Easyjet most of the flights run on time and you don't need to worry about your baggage being on a different flight (or being sat at Gatwick for weeks).
Mind you, BAA and Heathrow need to take some responsibility for only one escalator or lift working yesterday out of 18. Duh?
This sort of incompetence makes me so mad because it shows the rest of the world that we can't get our act together. This would never have happened in France or Germany.
Someone at BA should be sacked NOW!

The Apprentice: new series looks promising

The new series of The Apprentice kicked off last night and promises to be another good 'un.

The reason it's so compelling is that we're introduced to a bunch of highly unlikeable arrogant and opinionated young people who think that, armed with their MBAs and their two or three years in sales, they're "the best salesperson in Europe" or whatever. Yet they fall apart, completing lacking any common sense, with the simple tasks they're asked to perform.

And, more tellingly, it degenerates into playground factions and name calling, as it appears some of them lack the basic communications skills needed in business.

In last night's episode, Nicholas the barrister (and why would a newly qualified barrister want to work for Sir Alan's box shifting outfit?!) looked down on everybody else in the boardroom and sneered that the others were uneducated salespeople who talked about football, whereas he was into culture. The naivety of the man. As if those are qualities that will appear to Sir Alan (no degree, salesperson, ardent football fan).

Meanwhile Alex, the boys' leader for this task, had obviously learned from previous episodes as he kept reeling off the failures of Nicholas, during the task, to make sure the camera team were aware who was to blame.

The boys team, for the second year running, immediately emerged as very weak and childish, going into an argument in the boardroom about how there were already two factions with one saying "I thought you were my friend," as if they were five year olds, not the finest entrepreneurs of today who met a few hours previously.

It seems that men can't cross the social divide. Every year there are essentially two types of people: a) braying public school educated hooray Henrys, and b) "innit" ordinary boys educated at former polytechnics (but it's a degree isn't it?) who talk about women's chests and football. Women are more able to deal with this, although it seems there are fewer "toffs" on the women's team anyway.

You don't even need Sir Alan and his side-kicks when you have these posturing young buffoons digging their own graves, but the way he assassinates their failings, in such a succinct way, is always a treat to watch.

Roll on the next few episodes!!

The BBC Effect

We have been enjoying "An Island Parish" on BBC2, a gentle little programme about life on the Isles of Scilly.

Following the episode about the launch of the island's radio station, I was amused to tune into Radio Scilly via the web to find that the live stream is constantly busy because of demand caused by the programme.

It made me muse on "the BBC Effect" and the change it has brought about on the islands. I can't honestly believe that so many changes and life transformations would have happened had it not been for the presence of Nigel Farrell and his film crew. Would the school have got the necessary millions for a rebuild, after countless refusals? Would the Seven Stones pub, and the new artists' workshops, been renovated and reopened so quickly?

Nonetheless it was a great insight into island life and a glimpse into a life that is all but forgotten "on the mainland". Everyone knows each other, entertainment is the pub or amateur dramatics, and in winter the islands are remote as the storms rage and the helicopter flights are cancelled.

It was also apparent that the unity that binds all the islands can also ruthlessly exclude those who don't fit in.


Father Guy, left, the new Anglican priest, was unfortunately a case in point. Ostensibly the whole series was pinned on him and how he left Mullion because he had a calling to go to the Scillies. But somehow he hasn't gelled with the community and recent programmes have hardly focused on him at all. His sermons and whole manner of delivery seems laboured and awkward; he seems quite a shy and introverted person and doesn't go to the pub or take part in the pantomime in the manner of the Methodist minister, Rev David, who in recent programmes has become more prominent.

We thought that Guy might actually leave the islands in the last series but he appears to be gritting his teeth for another year. Time will tell.....

Post Easter flotsam and miscellaneous ramblings

An unusual development today: daylight as I left London for Swindon at 5.55am. Last time I went to Swindon, two weeks ago, it was still dark. And we haven't even done the daylight savings nonsense yet. (I still haven't changed the clock in my car from last time).

Today's miscellaneous thoughts:
1) No sightings of Baileys equine horse feeds ("horse nutritionn in the bag"), Wilkinson's or Norbert Dentressangle. In fact, I said to Anonymous this morning that I'm beginning to think they're avoiding me.
2) What shall I do about the back garden? How easy is it to find a gardener who can remove trees and shrubs? What happens if the one who tuns up is too old? I wonder how dahlias would fare. I used to think they were very vulgar but they seem to be back in fashion and I'm quite attracted by the idea. Maybe some fuschias too. I do love those. The Widow Twankey would look wonderful next to the Bishop of Canterbury (pictured).
3) What to do about the decorating? Since we had new radiators installed, the wallpaper is looking very torn and shabby in places. I am desperate to have the stairs, hallway, landing and main bedroom redecorated. J shows very little enthusiasm and has still not done the necessary measuring. Shall I ring Colin from down the road who did the exterior last year (but fell out with J in the process?).
4) The Jackie hits of the 70s album (which I was playing). Really very good: quite a few tracks you had completely forgotten, and I could do without "Billy don't be a hero," but at least they are all bona fide hits. Usually you buy a compilation, you get a few songs that defy the trades descriptions act.
5) Are there two bank holidays in August? I'm sure there were last year but J insists there are not.
6) Am I getting excited about the new series of The Apprentice? Possibly, although I have a few sore misgivings too. The formula is becoming quite tired. Why bother with all the MBAs and marketing experts in the first place, when Sir Alan only wants a tactical sales person / box shifter?

The new voting strategy for Eurovision

Two UK winners - Bucks Fizz and Brotherhood of Man
Those of you who are regular readers will know I am a bit of a fan of Eurovision. It's such a kitsch festival of irony, how could you not be? Well, this week I went to Frankfurt for a team meeting. We're probably unique as a team in that we're based in several countries, so we only get to see each other face-to-face once a quarter. With so many countries in one team - UK, Germany,France, Belgium, Poland, Spain, Georgia, Croatia and Italy, Eurovision is always a good bonding topic over dinner. And the rise of the PDA has led to a whole new game that wouldn't have been possible a few years ago. "Who won in 1993?" we asked. Well, Taj (on the iPhone) and Kurt (on the unspecified PDA) instantly went to check, and it was Ireland. (The iPhone won by the way). You can add a little frisson to this by having a wager on the winner before finding out the answer.
The other outcome from the dinner was that we agreed a strategy for trying to give a better chance to the songs of western Europe. The Georgian voter didn't go along with this, of course. What we will do is: Belgium will vote for UK and vice versa. Belgium have a fun song this year (Kurt even had a CD with all the Belgian entries for this year - and they had a better selection than poor old UK). Spread the same game among your friends, folks! Don't let the Baltic bloc vote trample on our great Eurovision tradition. Don't forget those iconic songs like Ding-a-Dong (Netherlands), Boom Bang A Bang (UK) and Hard Rock Hallejuhah (Finland).

Finally, here's a fun website my brother found which lets you look at the record/CD covers for all the entrants, in all the countries. Look at those groovy hairstyles.

It's Thick and Yellow

I have spent the last 10 years on a gastronomic quest. No, this is not my tireless campaign to visit the best restaurants in London, although that's ongoing. My quest has been to find the perfect blend of the thick yellow stuff. Piccalilli. 

You may think piccalilli is downmarket. I began to suspect the same after Nana Royle asked for a cheese and piccalilli sandwich in the Royle Family. But I can't help it. I'm like Nigella with her pickles obsession. I adore piccalilli, and particularly in a cheese sandwich. 

The problem is, Epicure, my favourite purveyors of the pickle,  stopped making piccalilli about 10 years ago or longer, I've been trying to find one that ticks all the boxes and I've failed miserably. 

It's not through want of trying. I've tried all the mainstream ones from supermarkets: own brands, including M&S (one of the worst), Garners, Haywards, Heinz (yuk!), Bartons. I've also experimented with specialist pickles bought at farmer's markets and delis. Until now, my piccalilli of choice was from Fortnum & Mason, but it was nowhere near the towering achievement that was Epicure's historic brand.

Now though, I have a new number one. In Tavistock recently I went into Creber's, one of those delightful old-fashioned deli / grocer's that sells everything by Epicure (except, ironically, the piccalilli).  Anyway, I scoured the pickle shelves and decided to try a jar of piccalilli which was marked "gold medal winner." It is a piccalilli to die for: not too dayglo a yellow, not too acid or bitter, and not too sweet. It has the perfect balance of silverskin onions and cauliflower. It hasn't got preservatives or anything nasty (once open, you have to keep it in the fridge). And the best news is, you can buy it online direct from the makers in Wiltshire. The company is called Tracklements and Delia mentions their chilli jam in her new book. They also have many other products including chutneys, pickles, ketchups, jellies and, oh bliss, hampers!

Update:  news just in - November 2020:

Epicure Piccalilli is back.  I've been contacted by the new owners, who have quite an extensive range at their website. I'll be giving my verdict on my current blog, Is This Mutton, on Nov 13 2020.

Happy Days

Drove to Swindon today (2 hours 15, M25 was a stinker between junctions 19 and 17) and mulled over large quantities of good news:
- Banana Republic opening first store in Europe in Regent Street on March 20th;
- lovely pink skies this morning over London (which in ye olde lore, means "shepherd's warning," but let's not concern ourselves too much with shepherds);
- Prince Albert of Monaco to get married in September. Fabulous! A Monagasque wedding. I can't wait to see Caroline (no doubt wearing Chanel) and Stephanie sitting as far apart as they can manage, plus whether or not Caroline's daughter will upstage them both.
And I hope we send the A team this time, Charles & Camilla. When Prince Rainier snuffed it, we only sent Prince Edward. It will be a visual feast! Of course Prince Albert, who is 50 tomorrow, can procrastinate no longer. Unless he produces an heir, an official heir, he will lose the crown under their rules & regs. That can't be a very appealing prospect for his South African girlfriend, knowing that he is marrying her under duress, but as an ex-swimmer her shoulders are certainly broad enough to shrug it off;
- my colleague Matthew is back from the US and has two magazines for me including the one I absolutely love, Somerset Memories.
Not all good news today. Didn't have a single sighting of Bailey's Horse Feeds, Wilkinson or Norbert Dentressangle lorries. I wonder what all the nags are going to do without their nose bags. As Norbert would say, "quelle horreur."

And I haven't bothered myself with Mr Darling's budget because let's face it, it's never going to be good news is it? I am a bit cross about the price of beer going up, not because I'm a beer drinker but because it may put pubs and breweries out of business. The price of hops is already escalating this year. I quite like the Conservatives' idea of putting a heavy tax on alcopops and strong cheap lagers, those bought mainly from supermarkets by kids. Bur I'm not sure they could enforce it.

Sadness over Concorde

Buried away in the news today was the story that a French prosecutor is calling for Continental Airlines to go on trial over allegations that a piece of debris on the runway from a Continental plane caused the Concorde accident in Paris that resulted in 113 deaths.

The accident, back in 2000, resulted in all the Concordes being grounded for safety tests, And shortly afterwards, the British Airways Concordes were unexpectedly retired in 2003.

It was always one of my biggest regrets that I never flew on Concorde. It was such an amazing -and moving - sight in the sky, even if it was apparently quite cramped on board. I'll never forget the sight of Concorde leading the Red Arrows in the fly past for the Queen's golden jubilee in 2002.

It seems so sad to me that Britain, France and other European countries collaborated on this wonderful aviation breakthrough (and showed what can be achieved in Europe when we all work together), the era of supersonic air travel was born, but then it dies and there is nothing to replace it. Those lummocky great planes that hold hundreds of people hold little appeal for me. They just mean more room for the people who turn left, and more shoehorning-in of the unfortunates who turn right.

It's a tragic epitaph to Concorde that its demise was effectively caused by a piece of debris from another aircraft. Nothing to do with the safety of the plane, which was widely discussed at the time and has probably left his reputation tarnished.

Maybe oneday I will get to see Concorde - albeit grounded - at the special museum hangar created in Manchester.

Thank heavens for Delia

It's five years since Delia Smith had a TV show or new cookery book out. Now she's back with her "How to Cheat at Cooking" and apparently the chattering classes are in a furore. Not only has she included tips on using pre-made items like M&S casserole mixes (the horror!) but on Radio 4 she said she wasn't part of the organic lobby and believed that cheap chicken provides a good source of protein for poor families.

Hear hear!

It's all very well for Jamie Oliver and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall to get tearful over chickens, and I do agree that the chattering classes (myself included) should spend more on free-range organic birds. But only if you can afford it. The problem with free-range organic birds is that they are tiny. I often spend around £10 at Sainsburys on a bird which scarcely feeds three for lunch, let alone provide anything for meals afterwards. So I'm not surprised that people still buy the battery chickens. OK, they're fattened up with water and we know what terrible lives they lead, but people on very low incomes still need to eat.

It's a misnomer that it costs a lot to eat well. If you ate a lot of pulses and vegetables you could eat fairly cheaply and nutritiously. But most people haven't got a clue, and the TV chefs are partly to blame. When did a TV chef consciously give us cheap, nourishing and healthy meals to make? They're either exhorting us to cook above our skill level (tuille baskets / spun sugar / reductions) or they're using upmarket ingredients like venison, wild boar and so on. Fine for the chattering classes and their bijoux dinner parties, but not so good for Kerry Katona and her gang who stuff themselves with pre-packaged E numbers from Iceland.

At least Delia Smith is recognising this and encouraging busy people to cook from scratch while cutting a few corners. Hurrah for her. I wish her recipes were a little healthier, but maybe that's step two.

Nigella of course had her "Express" book and show which sold much the same premise, but Nigella's short cuts are all about buying niceties from the Italian deli. A lot of her shortcuts can be bought at the gourmet aisle in Sainsburys and some can't (Italian deli). Delia's short cuts seem to be mainly from Marks & Spencer but at least the store is accessible (if maybe over priced for many).

The Way We Were

It's been a long time since I used a VCR. J is such a technology evangelist that my trusty Panasonic machine was despatched to Plymouth some time ago to spend the rest of its useful life with Gizzard (my mum). However, when I was there at the weekend I found it was still under a cloth so I brought it back and duly fired it into life yesterday.

I had two old videos I was dying to see. My family were not from the "Super 8" generation so we didn't have an old cine camera that came out at the drop of the hat. It wasn't until 1990 that I first became acquainted with a camcorder, a huge great thing that sat on your shoulder. The first video, from December 1990, shows a family get together at Giz's house.

It was quite poignant because of the seven people and one cat in the frames, only three remain in the family (and no cat). Dear old Grandma was there; she died the following summer. Mark, my ex-husband, is the cameraman (we split up the following year), and Susan, my younger brother's ex-wife, is also there, as is my dad Stamps, who died four years ago. Mitzi the cat died a long time ago.

Anyway, the action starts with Giz making a pizza; we are then seen eating the pizza and sitting around in armchairs looking like the Royle Family. Robert and Susan arrive, and we play Trivial Pursuit. It's quite amusing - Grandma is in good form, recounting how she was an extra in a film, and Giz admonishes her for taking another glass of Bailey's - "you'll only get bad."

Giz won't watch the film because she says she would find it too sad, but I found it very uplifting. (I was quite pleased too because in 1990 I had horribly short hair and was a bit podgy, so I was chuffed to think I look better now than I did then!).

The other video was from 1993 when I was in my resignation period at a PR agency in London (how I hated it there!) and took part in a day's presentation skills training with a company called Perfect Pitch. I remember this very well. The tutor, a Scottish lady called Caroline Sami, wanted us to "perform" our own presentation of about five minutes and she lined us up in a particular order. She wanted the quiet timid ones at the start, building up to a crescendo of the better presenters.

Well, she put me second, which made me smile inwardly because I love it when people underestimate me. So when I gave my performance, which was an amusing appeal on why Plymouth should be the next venue for the Olympic Games, I really hammed it up and got a lot of laughter and applause. Ms Sami looked as if she was sucking a lemon and said "Now you've messed up the running order. The next person has too hard an act to follow." I smirked inwardly again and thought that next time maybe she wouldn't be so quick to underestimate people.

Amazon rules OK

I was gratified to discover that since installing the "My Favourites" widget from Amazon I have helped them shift five products! And earned myself £1.17.

Well, I won't be giving up the day job just yet, but this is a whole £1.17 better than I ever earned from Google Ad Sense, so given that I've now refreshed My Favourites and will keep it updated, I might reach a Bobby Moore by the end of the year.

I have to say that when Amazon started branching out a few years ago and selling things other than books, plus secondhand books, I had SMs. (Sore misgivings, as quoth by Mrs Fussey in Carry On Camping). But no, they can't be knocked, and I've even become a Marketplace seller myself. I stopped selling on Ebay because it's such a faff, having to take pictures of your merchandise. Even the payment system is inferior. With Amazon, they just pop the money into my account where it's helping to subsidise my outrageous spends on stash (cardmaking and scrapbooking supplies).

Reverse Flotsam

More flotsam, today on a different journey: Plymouth to Swindon, having stayed with the old girl this weekend and taken Monday off. (For those of you who like traffic data: it took 2 hrs 45, no major incidents to report).

I didn't see any Baileys Horse Feeds lorries or indeed Wilkinson lorries, which I will now look out for. I like to spy Norbert Dentressangle too because I think it's just a superb name, like Perkins Lascelles in Plymouth. I thought that this opticians' business was run by a Mr Perkins Lascelles but it turns out to be two gentlemen. I collect great names: I am liking Benedict Cumberbatch too.

Anyway - to the matter in hand - Eurovision. I could not believe it when the foolish, feckless public voted for Wogan's wild card. I have sore misgivings, that's all I can say.

I can't even remember what he's called, but it's some bloke who was in The X Factor and he looks like someone's dad. I was convinced Michelle Gayle would win with her fine rendition of something that looked like The Goodies' Funky Chicken and had lyrics along the lines of "you make me oooh." Perfect Eurovision fodder. Now we've got someone's dad singing a proper song with a decent voice, and we have NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER, unless Eastern Europe decides that it's fed up with novelty numbers, singing turkies and so on, and wants a sensible ballad sung by someone's dad.

The spectre of "Nil Points" beckons.

While I'm here, I thought I would mention our superb Mother's Day lunch at the Corbyn Head Hotel in Torquay. It was top notch: perfect succulent rare beef for me (well done for the old girl), preceded by chicken liver pate and followed by a substantial bread and butter pudding. And Giz got a bunch of flowers on top of a free glass of sparkling white, so she was In Clover.

The daily flotsam

Men! Have you ever wondered what's going through your little lady's mind?

Well wonder no more, because I've decided to share with you my thoughts as I drove to Swindon this morning. This drive along the M25 and M4 ranges takes an average of 2.5 hours, depending on how many accidents there have been. Last Friday the return leg reached a new low of 3.5 hours owing to about three accidents on the M4. Sheesh, people are so careless. I see them in their cars fiddling with their Tom Toms and their phones. I could scream!

So here are the random thoughts:
- where is the Bailey's equine feeds lorry? Didn't see it last week either. "Horse nutrition in the bag."
- I wonder how much I would get if I took the voluntary separation package. Would it be enough to build a new conservatory? No, don't think about it, don't want to leave.
- what should I wear on Sunday (taking mum out for lunch). Perhaps I could take a pair of flat shoes so that we can walk round Cockington afterwards and see the daffodils. I can't lurch around on high heels all day.
- where has the muse gone? I haven't had the urge to be creative for several days now. Can you reach saturation point with scrapbooking where you don't want to see another brad, button or bloom as long as you live?
- won't bother reading the papers today if they're all obsessed with Prince Harry. He is sooooo boring. He joined the army so why are we surprised he's on the front line? What were the UK press and paps doing to miss the story (it was apparently broken by international press). Didn't they notice that Harry wasn't in London and falling out of nightclubs - for five weeks?! (Well actually they did but unusually for the UK press they were adhering to a blackout on the Harry news).
- our Eurovision chances look very bleak. The BBC seems to have handed the whole thing to an intern if you ask me.
- glad James won the Masterchef final. I tipped him to win from the very first time we saw him! But Emily will go far too.
- How about this as a great programme idea? "Masterchef meets The Restaurant." I'm convinced the finalists in Masterchef reached a much higher standard than those in The Restaurant (the male winner of The Restaurant was clueless about seasonality - so was hardly a food expert). It would make a good Christmas special. Have Raymond Blanc and the other judges blind tasting (so they aren't biased) and have James and Emily and The Restaurant winners competing against each other.
- hope I don't put on too much weight after this weekend....eating out twice today...going to my mum's....aaarghhh.

So there you have it. Illuminating, no?

Give the gong to Bruce!

I've joined a group on Facebook called "Give Bruce Forsyth a Knighthood." Membership now stands at 10,000. It's a movement that has been gaining momentum since Derek Draper (husband of Kate Garraway) started a campaign when Strictly Come Dancing was on.

The whole matter of why hasn't Bruce been given a knighthood, at the age of 80, throws into question the honours system.

It smacks of the old boys' network with Gordon and his chums, and prior to that, Tony and his chums, giving out awards like sweets to the rockstars and footballers they admire. The Queen has very little say. Having watched last night's Monarchy programme on BBC HD, it revealed there is one award that is her bequest alone, the Order of Victoria. Meanwhile Steven Gerrard was seen getting an MBE, with his ghastly wife chomping away on gum, and you have to think: why?

Bruce has been a traditional entertainer as long as much of us can remember. Sometimes underrated, he has superb comedy timing and is multi-talented. I saw him in his one man show many years ago and he was a wonderful dancer, could sing, and even played instruments. Even on SCD, where some have cruelly criticised him for being past it, his professionalism comes to the fore when there is a manufactured spat between the judges or an incident like the one where the microphone got caught up in Karen Hardy's dress.

I am appalled that Mick Jagger has been knighted and Bruce hasn't. It's hard to fathom why Mick Jagger was knighted. Longevity, perhaps? You could say he is a fornicating adulterer, and if he does good deeds for charity he is silent about it. It smacks to me of some sort of hero worship from Tony Blair.

The honours system gives recognition to many ordinary men and women who toil tirelessly for charity or enrich the community in other ways. Meeting the Queen gives them a very special day. I'm all in favour of that. I'm less in favour of the personal bestowing of knighthoods on n'er do wells like Mick Jagger who don't deserve it. George Harrison died only an MBE, same as Steven Gerrard, although he left us a heritage of wonderful songs like Something and Here Comes the Sun. Criminal.

There is a rumour on Facebook that Brucie will be knighted in the Queen's Birthday Honours in June. Let's bloomin' well hope so. It would be nice to see, to see it nice.

Dustin the Turkey is in

They did it...the Irish voted for a turkey puppet to represent them in Eurovision. A bad precedent methinks! As if the contest doesn't have enough problems with the perception that all the songs are turkeys.

Mind, I'm not expecting great things from the array of goodies that the BBC will put before the voting public in March.

Apparently one of the entrants is Michelle Gayle (ex EastEnders), someone from Hear Say (how many people were in that group? It seems there is always "someone from Hear Say turning up in reality shows) and a couple of the failures from the Joseph and Maria shows. Holy God! I am already pessimistic without hearing the songs.

Morrissey, where are you when we need you?
Not that he would win, but at least it would be more interesting.