Spare us from The Voice

I'm not surprised that The Voice UK is mentioned in despatches on Tripe Advisor. It is quite toe curlingly awful.

The first week or two it seemed a novelty to have the judges turning round in their chairs when an act tickled their fancy.

Now we're into the screech-offs, where two of the stables compete against each other each week in order to be "saved" by the public.

My mum has got the right idea, hitting the mute button as soon as the screeching starts.

Two of the judges appear to have the right credentials, gravitas and name dropping : Tom Jones and will.i.am. The other two are there to appeal to the BBC's holy grail, the yoof audience. Jessie J and what's-his-name from Ireland.

The Sunday night results show, which it transpires is recorded immediately after the Saturday show, is a real waste of time. Endless repetition from the Saturday show and nuggets like this: Jessie J, supposedly offering an insight into her fellow judge, the Irish one - "he's a singer and song writer."  You don't say!

Holly Willoughby has a really irritating way of grabbing the contestants  (has she been watching Big Fat Gipsy Weddings?) and hurling them off the stage. One of her cringeworthy moments was grabbing an Irish girl who had just been eliminated by posey old will.i.am and saying "Will really needs a hug."

I'm sure the poor girl, whose dreams of escaping a backwater and finding fame were now in the dust, really needed the hug more.

Every week the judges weep and wail about how difficult their task is, choosing one contestant over another. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done," they despair. I wish one of them would man up and say "well tonight your voice let you down so I'm going to choose xxx." Quite a few of the contestants would look more at home singing along to pub karaoke or screeching on a cruise ship than going for gold on national TV.

Then there's Wardrobe. As soon as they're confronted with what Grazia likes to call "a curvy girl," they immediately reach for the wrap dress and Spanx. These poor women immediately look staid, boring and interchangeable. Where's the imagination? A size 16 girl doesn't have to wear a wrap dress.

The only good thing about it is that it's knocked the even-more-deplorable Britain's Got Talent off the top ratings slot. Good to see a dent in the massive ego of emotionally dysfunctional Simon Cowell.

Blogging: is it over?

I've had my suspicions for a while. Traffic to my two blogs, both direct visits and search engine visits, has been dwindling. Comments are fewer. I've noticed it on some other blogs I follow.

Now my colleague Ekaterina Walter, social media strategist, has confirmed that blogging is dying. A 2011 study by a US university showed that use of blogging had dropped to 37% from 50% the year before.

People are moving to more visual sites like Pinterest.

Walter says that blogging still works for companies and can play a big role in their content strategy and credibility-building.

For those of us who toil away with personal blogs, it sometimes feels like we're shouting into an abyss and no-one is listening.

When I first started blogging in 2006, I had high hopes I was going to start the next Huffington Post. I felt sure I would draw thousands of readers through my wit and repartee. Well, I soon realised this wasn't going to be the case. When your own family and friends rarely visit your blogs, you have to swallow a reality pill.

Utilising search engine marketing brings a few visitors every day looking for some of the offbeat topics  I have written about.

But my biggest learning, and the one I will share with  you if you're a prospective blogger, is that you need to focus your blog on one content area.

Blogs which meander and cover the minutae of our lives, like mine, don't find an audience. But blogs which talk about fashion / beauty / football or other specific topics find a ready audience.

The thing I miss most is comments. Comments make it worthwhile. Someone is reading the blog and has a view to share. On my other blog, the craft blog, it used to be easy to get lots of comments, simply because it was a reciprocal thing. You would leave a comment on someone else's site and they would hop over to yours and do the same. That seems to have gone out of the window, sadly. I think it's partly due to Blogger's word verification and "prove you're not a robot", although I've now turned it off. But it's also a sign of the times. We're all too busy (or maybe we're less courteous).

I truly hope we are not heading for a world where the written word becomes a rarity; where nobody spells properly because they use text speak, or phonics; or where only photos, plagiarised endlessly from sites like Pinterest, dominate.

Marathon Eve

Tomorrow sees the London Marathon and J will be running. It's his 24th marathon or something like that. He is excited by the weather forecast: mild with showers. I am less excited, remembering a marathon three or four years ago when it poured and the green dye from my raincoat soaked through to my skin. Umbrellas are too hazardous in such dense crowds.

I will be perched on my shooting stick in the elite runners' drinks station at 35k, opposite St Paul's Church at Shadwell church. It's a great spot because I get to see the runners twice, on both sides of the road. I'll be trying to spot the members of the Orion Harriers, John's running club, to take pictures as they whizz by.

I was reminded of an amusing story that I heard when I was working at BT International a few years ago. It was at a time when mobile phones were new, rare, and the size of bricks. Their battery life was about an hour. BT Cellnet, as they were called then, decided to give every London Marathon runner the opportunity to make a call to a loved one after finishing the race.

The problem was, they built a bank of kiosks housing the mobile phones which involved climbing some steps. Unfortunately most of the runners were too exhausted to make  it, and gave up before scaling all the steps.

It's a far cry from nowadays when many of the runners are speaking on their phone as they rush by, or taking pictures of the crowd.

Breakfast in America

I was at a big conference last year that I'd helped organise. Colleagues from all over Europe, Middle East & Africa were attending. It was fascinating to see everyone's breakfast choices. The lines of "multiculturality" (to quote the wonderful TV comedy Twenty Twelve) are not drawn with the breakfast buffet.

The French stick to their croissants and large hot chocolate or cafe;  (and never cafe au lait: only we Brits say that); the Germans pile up with cold meats and semmel rolls  (if they're Bavarian - the others don't eat semmels), and the Brits either go for cereal or, if someone else is paying, a fry up.

My scrapbook layout celebrating Eggs Benedict!

Last week an article in Marketing Week explored how various manufacturers are trying to introduce other cultures to different foodstuffs for breakfast. In Africa, the concept of cereal with milk is completely alien. To be honest, I can't say I approve of the drive by Weetabix to force their product into markets like Nigeria. It seems patronising and a bit authoritarian.

When Krispy Kreme launched in the UK, they debated trying to convince us to eat doughnuts for breakfast. But they realised this would not work. So instead they presented doughnuts as a sharing experience, to take a box to work, and introduced "office heroes" with a gift card.

This is a much more sympathetic approach.

When I go abroad, I try not to stick to the British breakfast. It's a real black mark for me if a hotel or restaurant offers a British breakfast. I love to gorge on Greek yoghurt, honey and fresh fruit. Cheese and meats in Germany is also perfectly acceptable. And breakfast in America is Eggs Benedict (as a treat) or what they call oatmeal with a side of scrambled egg. What's your favourite breakfast?

Cheeky Squirrel



Photo: John Hanlon

The bird feeders sustain a whole ecosystem in our garden: the birds (obviously), including a pigeon that hovers below waiting for dropped seeds; mice, who dash up the arbour in full view of the cat, and a squirrel. The squirrel destroyed our last feeder by managing to unscrew the lid and then dragging it away so that we didn't find it for ages. What a superbrain! Here he is on his latest mission.

A Visual Feast!

Stepping into the spacious galleries of the Royal Academy my breath was taken away. I was so overcome with the sheer vivacity and scale of what I saw that I had to blink away tears.

I'm talking about the exhibition David Hockney "A Bigger Picture," which ends today. J and I went on Saturday, our slot at 9am (very good slot to have ---- it gets progressively busier as more people linger and more arrive).

In the paintbrushes and ipad of Hockney, East Yorkshire becomes as colourful as Van Gogh's recollections of Arles.

We start with four massive paintings showing the same group of trees, each painting showing a different season.

This is the theme of the exhibition. Hockney is fascinated by the changes that the seasons make. It's clear from the output that he was a man possessed, waking early if weather conditions were right to take his easel into the countryside.

His virtuosity is in no doubt. Turning a corner into another gallery, we are confronted with a wall of 36 watercolours. There are exquisite charcoal sketches. And vast, vast canvases made of pictures stitched together by trickery with an ipad. He may be in his mid 70s but Hockney has consistently been an early adopter of technology, experimenting to create art.

J was very taken with a 20 minute video that showed the output of nine cameras that had been set up to record the same stretches of woodland throughout the year.

I loved the gallery devoted to the Arrival of Spring in East Yorkshire in 2011, including the explosion of hawthorn blossom for just a week in early May. Hockney calls it his "Action Week" when the blossom springs forth. "If this were Japan at a time like that, there would be thousands of cars driving around to take it all in: here we are lucky, we have it to ourselves," he says.

It's very special when art has an emotional connection with you. I felt this very deeply and how I wish I could afford some of these wonderful pictures!

Easter is far nicer than Christmas

In my view anyway.

As someone said on Twitter this week, at Easter you get a relaxing holiday, chocolate and a faint air of melancholy.

Christmas has that awful "rolling thunder" that starts in September; the pressure to socialise; high expectations - "this year it will be perfect" - and the threat of bad weather as people set off on impossibly long journeys with cars stuffed full of.....nonsense.

The country grinds to a halt for far too long. Grizzly over-indulged children cry because they can't choose which present to play with.

And then there's the enemy lurking in the brined bath in the garden: the turkey. Waiting to trip up the average cook with its insatiable demand for accompaniments and its tendency to go dry.

As our US friends would say, "enough already!"

Easter on the other hand has chocolate eggs and hot cross buns; a harmless looking bunny, Easter bonnets and the first lamb of spring for lunch. And two days' holiday. For those of us who know/and or care about the religious festival, (a dwindling number) it's a more uplifting celebration, albeit more mystical and challenging than Christmas.

Here's to Easter Day - the shops are shut and it's raining, what could be better?

Spot the Difference

We're determined to improve the back garden this year, now that we look out on it from the new conservatory. A number of improvements has been made already. Compare the before with the current "after" :

Before: April 2011. The border was cleared of Leylandii trees

After: March 2012. New fence; border dug and 2 fruit trees planted; edging replaced with sleepers. Patio extended. Garage repainted. Grass replaced with artificial lawn

On the right hand side of the garden we have also had a new fence put up and it has given us quite a lot more border to play with. John did the back breaking digging this weekend. Normally I put pots here but I'm going to get rid of a lot of them and in future plant the bulbs in the borders instead. In the summer I will plant annuals in the right border.

We're very pleased with the artificial grass, laid by Steve at Highfield Landscapes. It's come on a long way since "Astro Turf." You look at samples as if you're buying a carpet. The one we chose is called "Stately Manor." It will last for at least 10 years, and will still look green and lush after a few months of the hosepipe ban. My argument is that I am offsetting the ecological downside of artificial grass with a planting scheme aimed at encouraging butterflies and bees. I've ordered my plants and I'm now eagerly waiting their arrival. The garden is north facing so I have to be realistic about what's achievable. I'm getting some ferns, hostas and ornamental grasses and will grow some of my favourites, penstemons, campanulas, dahlias, Japanese anemones and plenty of cosmos and nicotiana. More photos to follow in a few months! 

March 2012: the "new" border 

Couch Critic: Kevin You Contagious Tinker!

Well dear reader, it's already been a month since my last film reviews! Since then we haven't seen too many new films owing to a falling out with Lovefilm (too many new films "unavailable for rental"). My mum, who's 80 in June, has probably seen more because she avails herself of Orange cut price tickets at the cinema on Wednesdays.

But I will give you my verdict on: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Contagion and We Need To Talk about Kevin.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

I'm a big fan of Gary Oldman (left). I've seen all his films, including some we'd rather forget about. He is a sublime actor but in recent years I was exasperated with some of his role choices. Finally the "big one" came along - Tinker Tailor - and he was Oscar nominated. But while I admired his restrained performance in Tinker Tailor, I couldn't help thinking the film is a bit of an Emperor's New Clothes. I suspect that some of those who say how wonderful it is are just trying to stand apart from the rest of us. I knew what to expect - a complex story and none of the usual sledgehammer clues and shooting you get in most modern spy thrillers. Nonetheless, I found it baffling and incomprehensible. I didn't know what was going on for the first hour, and although with spy thrillers like this you have to wait for the story to unfold, the clues were released with agonising slowness. I'm told it's better the second time but I don't think J and I will be rushing to replay it.

 
Contagion
Disaster films like this used to be all the rage --- Jaws, Towering Inferno, Earthquake, etc. Contagion shows what would happen in the case of a killer virus going global.  Of course this did happen back in the 1920s when Spanish flu, or sleeping sickness, killed 1% of the world's population.  Contagion follows the usual formula - a clutch of famous people and how their lives intersect. There are a couple of surprises in terms of who croaks early on. I loved the music, very atmospheric. Overall though the plot  (and music) promised a bit more tension than was actually delivered. It was all quite pedestrian. Next time I fly though I will feel like wearing a Michael Jackson style mask.

We Need to Talk About Kevin
It's probably a bad thing to say that I loved the book by Lionel Shriver because the subject matter is so grim. But it's a book you can never forget because it handles, very skilfully, two taboo subjects: what happens when a mother doesn't love her child? Is her lack of love and empathy the reason for the atrocities committed by Kevin? Or is it simply the action of someone who sociopathic and unlovable?

The film doesn't quite live up to the novel. Tilda Swinton is quite marvellous as Kevin's mother, managing with her facial expressions to say what most actors struggle to say with their voices. But the film tries to be too arts-housey. The three most powerful incidents in the book are completely underplayed, as if to avoid upsetting us, which dilutes the outcome. Disapppointing.  (Wouldn't it be great though to see a taut drama starring Tilda Swinton and Gary Oldman?).

Hyacinths to feed the soul

Hyacinths in our garden
Photo by John Hanlon

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

MOSLIH EDDIN (MUSLIH-UN-DIN) SAADI (SADI)

Engelbert: it's brilliant

When I first heard that elderly singer Engelbert Humperdinck was going to be our Eurovision entry this year, my reaction was shock and dismay.

I thought the BBC had really thrown in the towel.

But now I've come round to the idea. I have to agree with DJ Paul Gambaccini: it's so bonkers it's brilliant. Why not have an old geezer? This could be the novelty that wins it for Royaumes Unis after a 15 year drought. Winsome boy bands and girls in sequins and little else is so last year! Let's bring a bit of dignity back to proceedings.

A few years ago, when a documentary asked why the UK never gets any votes, it transpired that other countries resented the fact we used unknowns. As if the contest was unimportant  (perish the thought!). Well, they can't accuse us of that this time. Engelbert tells us he has sold 150m records, and has the world's biggest fan club with members all round the world. He has homes in LA, and...er..Leicester.

We have yet to see a current photo of the singer. He has disappeared off the face of the earth. I'm hoping he looks dapper and age appropriate: ie, not sporting black hair and weird hamster cheeks. He is 75, after all.

From Engelbert's point of view, it's a master stroke. Steve Wright played two of his records back-to-back yesterday, and he certainly has an admirable back catalogue. If he were to win, sales would go through the roof.  As we speak, he is hastily recording a new album and his management is apologising that he is cancelling his tour dates this month. But it's a rocky road ahead and his competition includes Jedward for Ireland. It's their second time, so there's a country that's clearly given up on Eurovision.

"Titanic" - the ship is not the only thing that's sinking

A new dramatisation of Titanic starts next month on ITV. Brought to us by no less than Julian Fellowes (Downton Abbey).

Reader, my heart sinks.

We already know the ending. So all Fellowes can do is mine a seam that has already been ruthlessly exploited before. He will create relationships and intrigue on the doomed vessel.

I can just imagine some of the treats in store. An inseparable pair of brothers in steerage, setting off to earn their fortunes in America. The twist? One of them is disabled in some way. Thus setting up a nice scene for the glug-glug-glug bit at the end.

A beautiful, sensitive young debutante whose mother has just died. Her cold, ruthless father is demanding she marry some rich old cove. On the ship she meets xxxx, no doubt charming, Irish and in steerage, where they will have many a knees-up.

There will be snooty old dowagers; a cad who's spent all his family's wealth; a bigamist doing a runner. And of course: the iceberg. Let's hope it's a lot more convincing than the computer generated creation in the Winslet film. I couldn't stand that film. Everything about it was wrong: the over-acting of Billy Zane, racing round craze-eyed; the tinny squeaks of Winslet  - "Jack come back!" - and the sight of her and Jack as ship's figureheads in the film's most copied scene.

Where are you on the Titanic saga?

Plans for the Garden

One of my favourite pastimes is listening to a podcast of Gardeners' Question Time while I make my regular journey from London to Swindon. My imagination goes into overdrive, mentally planting my new border. Yesterday the Parkers' catalogue came and I started making notes of the shrubs and perennials I would be buying.

The border (left) was cleared a few months ago, sleepers put round the edge and a couple of fruit trees planted. My plan is for a pink, white and purple colour scheme. I want to try to have all-year-round interest so there will be some shrubs, ornamental cream hostas, Japanese anemones and a honeysuckle on the fence. I'm going to plant a lot of my favourites: penstemons, salvias, cosmos (my mum sent me some seed from hers), dianthus and dahlias.

I'll soon be filling my "Monty Don" compost box and using my dream shed for all my potting up. I wish I had a "before" shot but these are the "afters". The shed now has a new roof, a cute half-timbered appearance and new shelves and staging. John put in strip lighting and hooks for all the tools.

Meanwhile spring is pushing winter out of the way. The bulbs in the front garden - hyacinths, tete-a-tete, tulips - are all out. The thorny old hedge has started to get its yellow mantle. And helleborus niger is having a bit of a moment (below).

Gym bunnies: Prepare to Splutter

When I was on a plane recently an advert in a US airline magazine caught my eye. It was for a piece of exercise equipment, priced at $14,000. The advert said that you only needed to use it for a few minutes a week. They offered a trial period and said they confident buyers would find it more effective than slogging away in the gym for hours.

I pondered on this and then parked it.

And then last night, Horizon "The Truth About Exercise" on BBC TV showed some new research and theory on exercise. It was mind boggling stuff.

For a start, 20% of the population will never benefit from exercise. It's their genetic bad luck. The journalist in the programme, Michael Mosley, (left) turned out to be just such a person. He is slim but has high levels of visceral fat, the "invisible" fat around our internal organs which can lead to conditions like diabetes. He was anxious to avoid the diabetes his father had, but like most of us, not too keen to exercise.

After eating a huge Scottish fried breakfast, the levels of fat in his blood shot up. But by walking for 90 minutes, briskly, the researchers showed that when he ate the same breakfast the next day, the walking activated an enzyme which reduced the amount of fat that he metabolized.

But 90 minutes of brisk walking is still tough if it's to be done daily. So the intepid Mosley had a go on a piece of equipment probably like the one I read about. He was told to cycle flat-out for three bursts of 20 seconds. And that was all that's needed, in a week. His glucose levels improved over time, although his cardio vascular levels didn't because his genetic make-up means he won't ever benefit from exercise.

Meanwhile the Mayo Clinic got him to wear some weird pants with electrodes that measured his normal activity during the day. As he was mostly sitting down at a desk, the result was not good. The next day he moved about more. Walked more often in the office. Used the stairs instead of the lift. And burnt an extra 500 calories without doing anything very strenuous.

Fascinating stuff. The main learning was that the blanket message of "start running or get in the gym" won't work for everyone. Exercise and diet needs to be very tailored. The gym industry obviously has a vested interest in making us want to exercise and buy shoes, equipment and gym memberships. We will hear a lot more about this new science. It's very exciting!

Gail's rest home for starving celebrities

Reading about the angst of poor Demi Moore, apparently wasting away from despair at the end of her marriage; dancing on tables in bars, much to the horror of daughter Rumer, and rumoured to be on the sauce, I wish I could invite her over for a few weeks of respite.

I had the same thought when Britney Spears was combusting a couple of years ago.

Get them out of La La Land and catapult them into reality.

My prescription would be: bracing walks in Epping Forest, with nothing more than a couple of ibruprofen and some embrocation afterwards; a good feast in the local Indian restaurant E4 (when did Demi last have real carbs?) and a good girly gossip session over a glass of sherry or cup of tea, where we can laugh over Ashton Kutcher's acting and find her some new beaus who would be more suitable. We could see a few of the sights in London, allowing Demi to see what normal women look like so she might feel better about herself. And more importantly, we could refocus Demi on her career and finding her a good meaty role. How about it Demi?

All the Fun of the Fair

An excellent documentary on BBC 4, "All the fun of the fair," reminded me how much I used to love going to the fair when I was a teen.

I was thrilled to find websites for both the fairs I remembered  - Anderton & Rowland's, and Whitelegg's. These were the famous fairs in Plymouth where I grew up. Anderton and Rowland's has been in business since 1854, and Whitelegg's since the 1920s.

Once or twice a year part of these fairs would visit what we called the cattle market, a tarmac'd area next to a playing field in Plympton. Word would sweep round school like wildfire, and we would all head to the fair in the evening. It usually had 2 rides - the dodgems and the octopus, (pictured), and a few refreshment and "win a soft toy" type sideshows. In those days we didn't have the big theme parks so a ride like the octopus was considered quite daring. I loved the screeching sound that signalled the start of a ride.

Meanwhile on the dodgems, you could go round any way you pleased and crash into people head-on, which you can't do now. The "fairground barkers" as my mum called them would thrillingly leap from car to car, taking money during the ride.

The fair in its entirety would also visit Plymouth Hoe in the summer. I loved what we called "the switchbacks"  and the waltzers, particularly if you had some big strong boys giving them an extra spin.

The only ride I couldn't bear was the big wheel. I went on it once and couldn't bear it. Even now, I found the London Eye too spooky and sat in the middle of the pod, afraid to get too near to the edge.

I've since been on rollercoasters and other rides at places like Disneyland and Chessington, but for all the terror and excitement, nothing comes close to the simple pleasure of the last ride of the evening on the octopus, or risking your teeth on a maggotty toffee apple.

Further reading

National Fairground Archive

Couch Critic

Welcome to the first of my monthly posts about films. We are keen film buffs and like to get our hands on the newest titles to watch at home. Finding films we can both watch is a challenge. I don't like shoot-em-ups, most costume dramas, anything with swords / round tables / Jedi / Bruce Willis and J doesn't like sub-titles, real-life dramas/ anything upsetting/ zombies or anything by Lars Von Trier.

Here's this month's top picks.

The Iron Lady
Meryl Streep is normally a bit hit and miss as far as I'm concerned but she hits the spot in this film about Margaret Thatcher, and her BAFTA was well deserved. The film however is a little less successful. I loathed Mrs T and everything she stood for, and in my opinion history will not be kind to her. There was a huge emphasis in the film on her frailty and wandering mind. Maybe it was supposed to counterbalance her ambition and aggression when she was PM, but even I felt it was a bit sad and unnecessary. With the exception of Sir Geoffrey Howe (Anthony Head) it was impossible to tell who any of the cabinet were. I kept wanting them to refer to each other by name. Jim Broadbent didn't make a very realistic Dennis either. He was.....Jim Broadbent. Score: Gail's Gherkins - 5 out of 10.

One Day
J and I watched this at the weekend and were left unimpressed. Based on the David Nicholls' book about a doomed "romance," the film-makers made the mistake of casting an American (to garner the big bucks in the US) as Em. Now when I read the book, Em struck me as being feisty, independent and eccentric in her dress. In the film, Ann Hathaway is first shown with big glasses - the usual device to make an actress look "plain" - and then occasionally in clumpy shoes. But she soon morphs as expected into Ann Hathaway, glossy and limpid eyed.  And her accent! Sometimes she had a go at a northern accent but mostly she sounded like a US actress putting on a posh British accent. At the point the film ended, I was astonished the two characters had even had the time of day for each other. I imagine the director thought the same, because we then had a succession of gooey scenes showing them laughing together and so on, as if to convince us they did have chemistry.
Gail's Gherkins: 4 out of 10.

The Big Year
I hadn't heard of this one or seen anything about it, but it's great fun. Three bird watchers (Owen Wilson, Steve Martin and Jack Black) compete with each other to get the highest number of bird sightings on their "big year." There's nothing new or striking about this film - it's just amiable and warm hearted. Gail's Gherkins: 8 out of 10

I Don't Know How She Does It
Sarah Jessica Parker is the successful career woman and hapless mum in this film based on the novel by Allison Pearson. It starts off with one of the best scenes from the book, Helen "distressing" a bought pie so she can pass it off as home-made at her daughter's school's cake sale. Unfortunately it was one of the highlights of the film. Pierce Brosnan seems uncomfortable in his role as would-be seducer, and I'm sure the film tones down the nature of the flirtation between him and Helen. It's all one-sided in the film, although in the novel I'm sure Helen was flirting back. Christina Hendricks is given a strange role in the film as an occasional narrator. Tepid. Gail's Gherkins: 5 out of 10

After the Waterfall
Air New Zealand offered an eclectric selection of films and I watched this film from New Zealand. It told of the break up of a family after a couple's daughter was abducted near a waterfall. Very bleak but beautifully observed. A pity we don't get to see more films from New Zealand. Gail's Gherkins: 8 out of 10

Friends with Benefits

We enjoyed this - a modern, realistic and contemporary portrayal of a young couple's attempt to be "friends with benefits." There was one snag for me, Justin Timberlake - I just don't find him believable as an actor, but the gorgeous Mila Kunis (left) outweighed that. There are a couple of laugh out loud moments. Gail's Gherkins: 7 out of 10

Treats in store for Queen's Diamond Jubilee

2012 is a great year to be a Londoner. So far all the hoopla has been around the Olympics, but I'm thinking the Queen's Diamond Jubilee celebrations are going to steal a march on that event.

Yet most people don't have a clue what's lined up, or even realise we have two consecutive Bank Holidays (June 4 and 5). It'll be like the royal wedding weekend but this time with a massive flotilla of boats, lasers and the world's biggest cupcake.

On June 3 a flotilla of 1,000 boats carrying 30,000 flag waving members of the public will take to the Thames, with the Queen and Prince Philip in a stately barge. I'm proposing we go to Greenwich for a good view. Should be amazing!

The following day there's a concert outside Buckingham Palace which ends with the Queen raising a football sized "diamond" on a cushion which aims a laser beam down the Mall to light a national beacon of celebrations. There will be 60 at Hadrian's Wall alone. We have until March to enter the ballot to win a pair of tickets for the event (5,000 up for grabs.) The official website for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee is here.

I'm thinking languid summer days, picnic baskets and Champagne. Let's hope the weather plays ball. The way I look at it, two poor summers must mean we are entitled to a good one???

I'm Baaaack!

My reader (Fran) noticed that I haven't been blogging for a while. I've been a bit busy with a new role, it's true, but the main reason was, I had lost my mojo.

Couldn't think of anything to blog about.

While I was away, I was on my US concert tour (see photo) as support act to the Irish superstar Colin MacHale. Or rather, here we are, howling away at karaoke last week in Disneyland, Anaheim, CA. We were there for our annual sales & marketing conference.

It wasn't all Mickey Mouse and eggs Benedict, I can tell you. Breakfast at 6.30am and then in the arena for 7.30, with the finish around 9pm  (or 5am, depending on your demographic and liking for partying).

But a fantastic time was had by all, and we're all very excited about our company's future.

I'm writing a few posts while I'm on a roll, so pop by tomorrow for the low down on the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.

Celebrities and dirty laundry on Twitter: why?

My mum asked a question that stumped me. I was telling her about the spat that Christine Bleakley had with her footballer fiance's ex fiancee, and she said: "why do celebrities divulge so much in public on Twitter?"

Why indeed?

It may only have been a half-hearted argument, but Bleakley's response spoke volumes about how she and smug Frank Lampard regard Elen Rivas, the mother of his two daughters.

Apparently Elen had tweeted about her frustration when, on holiday in India over Christmas, she rang the Lampard abode to speak to her daughters, Frank and Christine having custody of them for the holiday period.

When she couldn't speak to them she then vented her frustration on Twitter, saying she would have expected "the girlfriend" to be a bit more understanding.

"The girlfriend" - former golden girl TV presenter Bleakley, who was recently sacked from Daybreak, responded with the ultimate in sanctimonious tweets - something about not debating in public "where children are involved."

But she then preceded to retweet several supportive and aghast messages from her friends. One of them said "is she up to her old tricks?" which suggested that Elen's behaviour has been a topic for discussion for Bleakley and her pals.

It the transpired, from the Bleakley camp, that Elen had rung in the middle of the night UK-time. The inference was she was too stupid to realise. Well, we can't all be members of Mensa  (smug Frank, the oxymoron "brainy footballer").

I personally felt myself sympathising for Elen. Not only did she have a lonely Christmas without her kids., she had to put up with retweets from the Bleakley Supporters' Club when a bit of dignity (or silence) might have been better.

Another grieving ex on holiday alone over Christmas was Demi Moore. Her marriage, and its demise, was lived on Twitter. The end of the Russell Brand / Katy Perry marriage was also played out on Twitter for our delectation.

I do wonder why. Aren't the paraparazzi and the hacked phones enough to keep a celebrity in the public eye, without having to wash their own dirty linen?

All I expect from a celebrity on Twitter are slices of wit or insight. Not boring tweets about the mundanities of life  (we do that ourselves) and not undignified rants or fallings out.

A Few Wee Predictions for 2012: A Baker's Dozen

It's as predictable as the papers and broadcasters running reviews of the year. Or magazines publishing detox diets on Jan 1 and bikini diets in May.  Yes, it's papers and broadcasters running their predictions for the New Year.

Here are mine:

1) The Olympics will take place in London (what? You didn't know?)

2) There will be a kerfuffle about: tickets / someone missing their race because of public transport /  the Danny Boyle opening ceremony divides the nation / why didn't we win more medals on home turf / did Boris make a fool of himself, and, last but not least, phew! A big success!

3) The Vulcan bomber returns to the flypast for the Queen's diamond jubilee  (Concorde would be even better)
4) Everyone gets fed up with reading / watching Charles Dickens
5) Jennifer Aniston splits up with Louis Theroux  (oops, wrong Theroux)
6) Kate and William announce baby news near the end of the year
7) Kate Moss parts company with latest husband
8) Spurs win the Premiership (COYS!)
9) UK bounces back with economic growth of a full 1% !!
10) John Galliano pops up somewhere with a high profile new job (well if Gerald Ronson can get a New year's Honour......)
And in the vein of (8), wild optimism outweighing likely reality:
11) UK wins the EUROVISION SONG CONTEST!!
12) David Bowie makes triumphant comeback  (yay!)
13) More baby news, this time for Mr and Mrs Panda of Edinburgh Zoo

David Bowie gift wrapped for you this Christmas

Apart from the scourge of Christmas songs we don't want to hear ("Stop the Cavalry" and "Mistletoe & Wine" in my case) this is a fantastic time of the year. The long holiday always feels well deserved after a hard year. So put your feet up, put a paper hat on your head and enjoy a big scooner of sherry.

My Christmas gift to you all is the remarkable footage found by a BBC cameraman of David Bowie and the Spiders from Mars in 1973 on Top of the Pops.

The BBC wiped all their tapes routinely, to save money. So much of the TOTPs archive was lost. Miraculously, a cameraman recorded this footage for himself, and recently found it in his attic. Marvel at how wonderful the band is. Playing live, with no backing tracks. Amazing. No wonder I lost my heart to Mr Bowie when I was just 11 after seeing his mesmerising performance of Starman on TOTPs.

Christmas Traditions: Part Two

Yesterday we looked at the origins of some of our Christmas traditions. Today we look at how our European neighbours celebrate. Christmas Eve is often the big day.

In Finland, Christmas Eve is the traditional time to set up the Christmas tree and it's also traditional to visit the sauna and for families to listen to a broadcast of the national 'Peace of Christmas' on the radio. Christmas Dinner generally consists of a main dish of boiled codfish that is snowy and fluffy in appearance, served with cream sauce and boiled potatoes.

Christmas in France is called Noel, from the phrase 'les bonnes nouvelles,' or 'the good news,' which refers to the gospel. On Christmas Eve, cathedrals and churches are beautifully lit and filled with the sounds of Christmas carols, ringing church bells and carillons. The tradition among children is to put their shoes by the fireplace for Pere Noel or le petit Jesus to fill them with gifts. In northern France, as I mentioned yesterday, St Nicholas brings presents on December 6.

Most French homes will have a Nativity scene on display during the season. In Southern France, some people will burn a log in their home from Christmas Eve until New Years Day, which comes out of a farming tradition of using the log for good luck in the coming harvest.

The French also make a traditional cake called the buche de Noel, or Christmas Log, shaped like a Yule log. It is part of a late supper called le reveillon held after Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.

In Germany everything gets going on December 6. It's often the day when spiced cakes and cookies are baked - "Lebkuchen", and gifts and decorations made. Little dolls of fruit are traditional Christmas toys. Germans also make beautiful gingerbread houses.

December 6 is Nikolaustag, St. Claus day. A shoe or boot is left outside the door on Dec.5 and the next morning you find presents (if you were a good) or a rod (if you were bad). (Does anyone ever get given a rod?!).

The Christmas Eve dinner menu in Germany traditionally comprises of dishes such as suckling pig, white sausage, macaroni salad, "reisbrei" (a sweet cinnamon) and many regional dishes. Some people will feast on carp. The Christmas Eve is popularly called here as "Dickbauch" (meaning "fat stomach") because of the myth that those who do not eat well on Christmas Eve will be haunted by demons during the night. So everyone tries to stuff their belly to the fullest on this day.

The feasting continues on Christmas Day with a banquet being held on this day. Traditional Christmas dishes consist of plump roast goose, "Christstollen" (long bread loaves stuffed with nuts, raisins, citron and dried fruit), "Lebkuchen" (spice bars), marzipan, and "Dresden Stollen" ( a moist, heavy bread filled with fruit). And, strange but true: it's a German tradition to watch a short subtitled British film called "Dinner for Two." It's hardly known over here. But the Germans find it hilarious.



Here in the UK, it's traditional to go to church at midnight on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day, presents are opened around the tree either in the morning, or, if you're the royal family, at supper time. Lunch is roast turkey with all the trimmings followed by Christmas pudding with rum butter or clotted cream. Family games are played in the afternoon, or maybe a bracing walk taken. A few hours later the feasting resumes with cold turkey sandwiches, cheeses, pork pie, mince pies and trifle.

Christmas Traditions: Part One

Since I started this blog in 2006, I've written quite a few posts about Christmas. There was the one about my own family's traditions, the First World War Christmas Day football match, quite a few about Christmas TV and politicians' messages, but nothing, I noted, about the origins of Christmas. Why do we have Boxing Day? Why do we set fire to a Christmas pudding? Without further ado, here is the first in a two-part posting, the Curious round-up of why we do some of the things we do.

Setting fire to the Christmas pudding

Before Christianity and when we were all pagans, there were winter festivals around this time and the Festival of Fire was common. Our tradition of igniting the Christmas pudding hark back to those times.

Christmas stockings

According to legend, a kindly nobleman grew despondent over the death of his beloved wife and foolishly squandered his fortune. This left his three young daughters without dowries and thus facing a life of spinsterhood.

The generous St. Nicholas, hearing of the girls' plight, set forth to help. Wishing to remain anonymous, he rode his white horse by the nobleman's house and threw three small pouches of gold coins down the chimney where they were fortuitously captured by the stockings the young women had hung by the fireplace to dry. 
 
St Nicholas in the 4th century was the original "Santa Claus". Our image of the jovial white bearded gentleman in red is courtesy of Coca Cola and their ads in the 1930s. But the origin of Santa Claus began with Saint Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, an area in present day Turkey. By all accounts St. Nicholas was a generous man, particularly devoted to children. When I was in Poland recently, staff were being given gifts on December 6. In many European countries this is the day when St Nicholas delivers sweets and toys.

Christmas Cards

Sir Henry Cole is credited with creating the first real Christmas card. The first director of London's Victoria and Albert Museum, Sir Henry found himself too busy in the Christmas season of 1843 to compose individual Christmas greetings for his friends.

He commissioned artist John Calcott Horsley for the illustration. The card featured three panels, with the centre panel depicting a family enjoying Christmas festivities and the card was inscribed with the message "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You."

Christmas Tree

The idea of a decorated tree in the home was started by the Romans many centuries ago for the festival of Saturnalia. Sometimes they put 12 candles on the tree, one for each month. Gradually the practise of decorating a tree with ornaments and lighted candles spread across Northern Europe and into Scandinavia. Austria is said to have had its first tree in 1816 when Princess Henrietta set one up in Vienna. In 1840 Princess Helena of Meckleburg brought the idea to Paris. In England it has always been a custom to decorate an evergreen garland called a ‘kissing bush’, but in 1841 Prince Albert, Consort to Queen Victoria, introduced a tree decorated with candles, tinsel, and ornaments as part of the Christmas celebrations at Windsor Castle. After that, the Christmas tree soon became an English tradition.

Boxing Day

This is a uniquely British one and we get a 2nd day off! Boxing Day takes its name from the ancient practice of opening boxes that contained money given to those who had given their service during the year. It was also the day when alms boxes, placed in churches on Christmas Day, were opened. The money was then given to the priest or used to help the poor and needy. Another name for Boxing Day used to be Offering Day.

The King or Queen's Message

The first Christmas Broadcast was delivered by George V in 1932 and since then has evolved into an important part of the Christmas Day celebrations for many in Britain and around the world.

Tomorrow: Learn about how our neighbours in Europe spend Christmas

Items of Desire #1: Monty Don's shed

It may seem a strange thing to lust after, but I am very covetous of TV gardener Monty Don's shed.
Looking at some of the gardening community sites, I'm not the only one  (although Monty himself usually comes into the lust equation there).

His shed is large and spacious, with his tools neatly hanging on hooks. He's got lighting and, the thing I most envy, a four sided box from which he scoops his compost mix for potting up (you can just see it, in the corner of his worktop, below).

A shed like that seemed a distant dream.

Our shed is a a weird structure that I called "the haunted house" because the door was so rotten a huge hole had developed and any passing fox (or worst) could kip down among the tools, paint cans, old coffee tables, bike and other mildewy items.  Unlike a normal shed, the previous owners built it on a concrete base and it's made of bricks with a flat corrugated plastic roof.

The roof began to bow under the weight of leaves from next door's leylandii. The shed was taking in more water than the Titanic.

But now the shed has had a face lift. We have had a new roof and the window frames and door replaced. It looks quite cute! Phase 2 will see a power supply (J has already installed a consumer unit in the garage) and the construction of a worktop and compost mixing box, just like Monty's. I've got an envelope full of seeds sent by my mum, and this spring I fully expect to be out there potting up. Happy times!

Who needs the BAFTAS or the Emmys? These are the awards to win.....

Ahead of the nationals and gossip mags with their "reviews of the year," here is my Yuletide celebration of the naff and the triumphant. Brace yourself for this year's Curious Girl awards!

The "enough already" award for over exposure
Pippa Middleton. Am I the only one who's fed up with hearing about the saintly bottom? And massive advances for her book about party tips. I blame the Middletons for spoiling children's parties by making parents feel guilty about not having the latest table decorations and the showiest party bags.

Most cynical use of media
I'm not sure who Kim Kardashian is: I believe she's a reality "star" in the US and her family all have names beginning with K. Predictably she married someone whose name began with K, got lots of wonga in the downmarket gossip mags and then split up with him. We haven't seen such a cynical use of the media since Jordan married Alex Reid.

Top Chap
Gareth Malone. What he does with dispirited communities and disenfranchised military wives has to be seen to be believed. He is a tonic for the nation! Let's all sing a song in his honour. I'd like Mr Malone to tackle care homes next. I heard about a women's choir in the north who go round care homes teaching the staff how to sing without embarrassment to the residents. Those with dementia often still remember songs long after they have lost all other memory.

Top Bird
Kate Middleton. I admit I wasn't won over until the wedding. I thought of her as "Waity Katie." But she has conducted herself immaculately since the wedding. Ignore the occasional carping about your eyeliner and "too long" hair. The harridans are just jealous!

Biggest disappointment of the year
Mary Portas at House of Fraser. She may have wanted to offer the over 50's better service and a better choice of fashion, but the clothes fell short of the mark. Some nasty fabrics and shapeless sacks. Mary's mistake was imaging that her peers are all willowy and tall like her. Gok Wan may be naff, but he understands how to flatter a woman's shape.

"It'll Never Last" award for the relationship doomed to failure
1) Elizabeth Hurley and Shane Warne
2) Jason Orange and Catherine Tate

"Time to keep Schtum" award, given to those who talk too much
1) Liz Jones, the sad, pitiable Daily Mail writer who cheerfully chronicles how she can't get on with anyone.
2) Esther Rantzen, who constantly writes about her loneliness. OK, she might be lonely, but she enjoys good health, she has family and she isn't short of a bob or two. "Count your blessings" springs to mind.

Slimeball of the Year Award
This one is always fiercely competitive. So many men to choose from! The loathsome misogynists Jeremy Clarkson or Rod Liddle. The slippery and self righteous Julian Assange.The shameful way that Ashton Kutcher humiliated Demi Moore. The low life John Terry, whose crime is that he doesn't even realise how awful his behaviour is. Quite a few senior clerics in the Catholic Church, frankly deserve this award for not dealing with child abuse which STILL happens. But this year it goes to Dominique Strauss Kahn, who thinks it's OK now to lament his fall from grace in terms which suggest we over exaggerated the vile predatory nature of the man. 

"Consign to the dustbin" award
The X Factor.  In its early stages the show cynically humiliates people  - those with learning difficulties, the obese, the tone deaf - chosen by the producers to "amuse" us, like a Victorian bear baiting tournament.  Then judges who are ill equipped to make any serious judgments on musical talent (except Louis Walsh) parade their outfits and ruin the dreams of many.

Rocket. This revolting leaf finds its way into salads the world over, ruining everything. An end to it!

The It Took Us Years To Get Bruce Forsyth Knighted, Now Let's Do It For.....
Robin Gibb. Now. The man deserves it!

Now dear reader, what about your awards? Who have I missed?

I am indebted to......

My old mucker Maddie Grigg has kindly given me a Lovely Blog award. Many thanks!
There are four rules associated with the award:
1) To thank the giver and link back to his or her site.

2. Provide five random facts that folks may not know about you.

3. Pass this award on to five other lovely blog sites and let them know you're awarding them.
4. Copy the award logo and paste it onto your own site.

Here are the random facts:

• I once had a letter from Iggy Pop. Yes seriously - the grandfather of punk told me all about his cat (!)
• I once did the Royal Marines Endurance Course at Lympstone. I was going to say "ran" but that would be stretching the truth. However, I did manage to finish it within the 30 minute time limit and my dad (a former Royal Marine) was very proud
• I only like one type of white wine, very oaky New World Chardonnay. Out of fashion, but there you go
• I am passionate about piccalilli (and wrote about it in a previous post)
• My specialist subjects, should I go on Mastermind, include the ballet dancer Nijinsky, the toe toed sloth, Imperial topaz and the books of Thomas Hardy

Now to share the love I am going to nominate Maggie May at Nuts in May, Lucy at Thoughts and Worries from the Wrong Side of the Hill,  Robyn at Joyful Follies, What's Happening at My House and Anne at The Frump Factor.

Coming soon at this blog: my celebrity awards of the year. Roll out the virtual red carpet as we celebrate the most boring couples, the year's worst slimeballs, the most uplifting achievements and the overall Best Chap and Top Bird.

The Power of Singing

It seems like a no-brainer.

Singing in groups, or choirs, is proven to have a magical effect on everyone.
Care homes have found that even quite badly affected sufferers of Alzheimer's and dementia still remember favourite songs from their youth. The Alzheimer's Society offers a service called "Singing for the brain." New research this week showed that Parkinson's Disease patients also benefited from song. Singing can help stroke victims regain the power of speech. It can help people overcome depression, and lose weight.
And of course, the inspirational Gareth Malone and the latest "The Choir" TV programme, where he brought together military wives to form a choir, is a great example of how singing brought together a lonely and isolated group of people. The spectacular results were seen when the Military Wives' Choir performed at the Royal British Legion's Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall.

So if it's such a no-brainer that singing really helps, why is it marginalised in schools, disappearing from university courses and largely disregarded by the NHS?
Further reading
What is singing for the brain? By the Alzheimer's Society
How singing may help stroke victims
Music healing for depression
Health choirs: let's have singing on prescription, from The Daily Telegraph
In praise of Gareth Malone: from The Guardian

Remembrance Sunday parade in Chingford

Remembering those who gave their Today for our Tomorrow

This year's Festival of Remembrance has added poignancy for me. I have been researching my late father's family tree and discovered that his dad, Charles Edward Tyler, was a driver in the RFA who saw action on the Somme and two other battlefields. He received three medals and was badly gassed. I will remember this brave little man - he was only 5'5 - whom I never met - when the poppies fall softly, so quietly, from the ceiling of the Royal Albert Hall on Saturday.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

In memory of She magazine

Regular readers will know I buy a lot of magazines. For the last few weeks I've been looking for one of my regulars, She magazine. Having realised I hadn't seen it for a long time, I Googled it and found it has been closed down.

This always makes me very sad, particularly when a magazine has been around for a long time (in She's case, 56 years). Invariably a new publisher takes over and decides to shut down a title. That's it, there is usually no last edition or requiem.

I first started reading She when I was very young and my mum occasionally bought it. In those days it was very different - the masthead looked a bit like Punch and it had quirky content, far removed from the usual women's magazines with their articles about preparing for summer/ Christmas and how to look younger. I bought a few copies from the 70s on ebay - here's an example (left). It was quite risque at the time, as you can see from some of the headlines. Notice how the model is slim but healthy looking.

The adverts were fascinating. Outdoor Girl cosmetics; Innoxa Solution 41 for spots; "Get More Out of Nursing" and "Nice girls don't drink Guinness." In one of my copies there is an advert for a new magazine launching soon - Cosmopolitan.

I imagine the reader then was a fairly bohemian woman with her own opinions who had probably stayed on a kibbutz and was an  early adopter of women's lib.

It wasn't long before a new editor was apppointed and the brief was "revolutionise" She and bring it up-to-date. So it became a lot more like any other women's magazine. The problem She always had was that it was unclear of its target reader and how to differentiate itself.

There were various attempts over the years. When Linda Kelsey (formerly of Cosmopolitan) became editor, she turned it into my least favourite version, the magazine for 'women who juggle their lives' aimed at young mothers.

Briefly there was a period when a male editor was apppointed and the magazine suddenly became sterile and soulless with "how to" articles and glossy cookery cards. How to have the perfect dinner party. How to remove stains. There was no emotional content whatsoever.

In its last gasp years, She had established a solid position where it occupied that glossy, aspirational but not too aspirational ground along with Red and Eve magazines (Eve was unfortunately closed a few years ago).

It had celebrity cover models, some with greater celebrity than others: Myleene Klass, Tess Daley...oh and Jennifer Lopez. The target reader was probably a youngish mother who also had a career, unlike the stay-at-home mother that it had targeted a few years earlier. The magazines had realised readers wanted some escapism, with articles about shopping, beauty and holidays, rather than choosing the best school or disposable nappies road tested.

Let's hope all the staff were given jobs on other titles, and let's raise a glass to a magazine that represented very well the different evolution of women in its 56 years.

Finally it's ready

A few weeks ago I showed you some of the different stages of building work after the old lean-to was demolished and replaced with a new conservatory.

After what seems like months it is now finished. We are using it as a home office. It is very modern and minimal looking. We're going to add a couple of comfy (modern) chairs and the barren garden you see through the door is soon to be transformed.

Here's John sitting in his new home office, his pride and joy.

From butlers to Football League glory

Butlers to football sponsorship.....it's in all in a day of unsolicited emails from agencies and publishers desperate to win the business of my company.

I decided to keep a tally of how many emails I received in one day: Friday, 21 Oct. The number was 14, which was fairly average. It's never less than 10 a day and sometimes more than 25. Plus there are numerous cold calls a day to my office number, which, unsurprisingly, I don't return.

The first approach on Friday was a sweet one, coming from sweetsandcandy.co.uk, and offering tasty promotional treats for corporate hospitality.

A recruitment agency, Consumer Recruitment,  then contacted me saying they've recently had great success in placing butlers and clubbers. Well, could always be useful.....

There was a biggie before lunch, an offer of "The Intel Cup" if we decided to sponsor the Football League. I didn't like to highlight our very small scale sponsorship of struggling local team Swindon Town FC.

Now behind the daily deluge is the sad story of agencies going to the wall because of the recession, and desperate people trying to win new business. And I know what it's like being set targets for getting credentials meetings because there was a brief time when I had to do this, and it was torture.

A few tips to agencies on how to get breakthrough. Organising lunches with compelling speakers and networking opportunities is always a good way to get interest. But not giving 2 days' notice because, yep, we know why you've done that and it doesn't make us feel good, so we'll always say we're busy.

Basic research helps. A more personal approach, based on a quick Google search of what Intel has been up to in the UK, is bound to win my attention. I won't be impressed if you emailed my predecessor  (who left the role three years ago) because if your database is out of date, I'm sure the rest of your marketing will be too.

Boasting about you have "turned round" other companies doesn't do it for me. An agency recently sent me a lurid case study about how Nokia is in dire straits and they plan to relaunch the company. Ouch.

I don't like the hard nosed,  "assumptive close" practiced by US companies. I seem to be on a database in the US and the favoured approach there is to send me a meeting invitation "on behalf" of someone senior who can only offer me 30 minutes. As if they're doing me a favour!

Here's one I had on Friday: "I'd like to get on your calendar - please let me know a DATE and a TIME that works for you" - a vice president of Saving the Day Mobilezapp Apps (in the US). Whoa, stop shouting!

Spelling and punctuation mistakes will never endear any agency that is offering to approach consumers on our behalf. I automatically delete any emails where the humble apostrophe has been abused.

My top tip for agencies would be:- you're in it for the long haul. If a company is happy with its agencies, that might change in a couple of years. So keep a friendly dialogue going. Don't keep sending me PDFs to read. Remember some small personal details. Don't get peevish about me not returning your calls. If I'm not shopping for an agency, with the best will in the world I'm not going to call you back just because you want to pitch your business.

One of the best approaches I had recently was from OgilvyOne. The UK chief executive had read my entry in the Little Black Book of Marketing and referred to it. This established a bond, and I have kept their details on file.....which is not something I do very often.

Here come the girls

Had a fabulous catch-up in Tavistock with four former colleagues (left). It may have been more years than we care to remember since we first met in a portakabin in Plymouth, but we look darned good!  Back then, we were embarking on our journalists' training, and on Saturday night as we reminisced, we realised how fortunate we were to do  it and what a marvellous training it was.

One of the questions we asked at the weekend was "who still has their cuttings book?"  I still have mine, and the stories are typical of a small local paper of record. The South Devon Times cost twelve pence in 1980 and carried stories about local organisations, weddings, dog shows, the WI. We were sent on "prowls" of our particular patch, which I hated with a vengeance. In these pre-Google days, journalists were expected to go and find news.

One of my biggest stories was about a railwaymen's social club which forgot to renew its alcohol licence and was "dry" for a month. This story was picked up by the sister paper, the Daily Mirror.

Another of my most memorable stories was about the Yealm harbourmaster coming under fire at a local council meeting. I was sitting at the back of the room, unnoticed by the councillors, and came away with a story about "what had he been doing on the night two boats sank?!"

When the story was published there was a local outcry, and the next story was "Harbourmaster defended." The story ran for weeks and was even discussed at a public inquiry which I covered. I was persona non grata in the village of Noss Mayo, populated by a good many surgeon rear admirals and people with double barrelled names.

I was lucky enough to have my own column in the paper every week, where, as a 19 year old, I expatiated in pompous vein on a range of topics including cats, men's socks, and - right - defending parents from smug and silly teenagers.

Autumn viewing

As we look forward to the bitterly cold winter that we are promised,
the autumn TV viewing schedules are now in full swing.

Strictly Come Dancing as always launched with the predictable "best ever line-up." It's as predictable as the message "cooking doesn't get much tougher than this" over at Celebrity Masterchef.

The problem I see with SCD is that there's already one performer who is literally streets ahead of everyone else. Cheesy old Jason Donovan, who is determined to win. I can already see him in the final.

Holly Valance should probably also be there, but to my mind she comes across as lacking in energy. She doesn't fizz like the effervescent Chelsee Healey  (yes, I also asked "who?").

The most elegant dancer among the mature ladies is Anita Dobson, who is not only lithe and graceful but seems genuinely sweet. Lulu of course thought her experience and dynamism would make up for not knowing the steps in week 1 and was soundly punished. Nancy Dell 'Ollio, well, where do we start? She is apparently having regular hissy fits backstage, the latest being that she wanted to sue judge Bruno for saying it looked as if she had drunk a vat of champagne before her performance on Saturday.  (It did).

The thing with Nancy is that most of us think that when she says how fascinating and beautiful she is, she doesn't really mean it. But she actually does! The woman is completely delusional. J couldn't understand why she didn't get booted out right away, "because she's not a nice person." But that's exactly why she'll probably stay in for a while.

As for the others: well, Edina Currie severely over-egged the cougar bit and it became embarrassing, so that's why she went. I am worried about Russell Grant: I worry for his health and sanity. I love Robbie Savage. Beneath that brash extrerior, all teeth and hair and "I wuz a bad boy" he is quite vulnerable and couldn't believe the positive vibes his improved performance garnered. There's a couple of boring ones (to my mind) - Alex Jones and Dan Lobb from Daybreak. Oh and the drummer from McFly. But all in all, a compelling line-up!

Then there is Downton Abbey. Now I came late to this, having caught up with it when ITV repeated the first series a few months ago. Unfortunately, the new series is nowhere near as good. A lot of it makes me laugh outloud because it looks so much like the Comic Relief spoof. All those side glances.
The plot advances too quickly, like we're in a race. Lady Edith somehow managed to have a fling with a married man in the first episode which was history by the time the credits rolled.  After the acrimony in the first series created by upstart heir Matthew, we're suddenly led to believe that everyone adores him in the second series. And I'm fed up with the "will they won't they" business with him and Lady Mary. That's one bit of the plot that could advance.

A couple of other gems I am watching.  "The Department Store" is a fascinating little documentary on BBC 4. It's a gentle, wry look at three old-fashioned family-run department stores. The narrator says he is finding out if they will survive, but it's more about finding out about the people who run the stores. The first programme featured a store called Milner's and wondered if David Milner was serious about retiring at 65. Mr Milner is exactly the sort of mature employee who gives the over 60s a bad name. He was dogmatic, entirely resistant to change and unwilling to hand over the store to his daughter - exactly as his own father had refused to do with him. Even during his own retirement party, he slipped out to go back to work.

I really don't remember much about the pop group Steps so I was amazed to hear in Steps Reunion how they considered themselves to be about as big as the Beatles with numerous number one hits. They broke up amid acrimony over 10 years ago when Claire "serial dieter" Richards and the absurdly named "H" suddenly announced they were leaving, an hour before the last show.

As none of them has done much since then, "Steps Reunion" is a series that gives us the chance to witness them bitching and fighting about the break-up, with Lee even going so far as to magically produce H's resignation letter; and then presumably they kiss and make-up, because I see a tour has now been announced.  The series has been strangely compelling, though I feel a bit guilty for watching what J calls "proper rubbish."

Ditch the cougar talk

Three fabulous ladies were in the news this week - and not for the right reasons.

The bitchy female columnists were whipping themselves up into a frenzy over the news that Demi Moore's husband appears to have cheated on her. They seemed to be of one mind: Demi could now stop making herself look young and glamorous; put on an old dressing gown, have a cup of tea and find an old codger.

Frankly Demi, you're way too good for him. He might look cute but his films are rubbish and his behaviour, if it's true, is childish and arrogant.

Meanwhile Elizabeth Hurley, 48, is thrilled to be engaged to Aussie Shane Warne. But the newspapers decided to run the views of "friends" who seem to think that Hurley is rushing into things and it will all end in tears.

And finally the redoubtable Anne Robinson, 67, was under fire for wearing fabulous clothes. A (gasp!) tote bag costing over fifteen hundred pounds. A beautifully flattering Michael Kors dress. And (shock!) high heels.

Yes ladies, feminism is well and truly dead when it's the female writers who can't wait to get their claws into three ladies whose only crime is discipline and focus on looking good.

Anyone could put on a dressing gown and let it all hang out over 40. But Demi, Elizabeth and Anne have imposed rigorous discipline on their lives to look good. And they'll be fitter and more athletic than all their blobby counterparts. Who cares if they've had help along the way? All three are a great advert for the best in cosmetic surgery, fillers or whatever they're using.

I can't understand this obsession with criticising women who spend money on the odd handbag. Do we castigate Jeremy Clarkson and his ilk for buying flash cars? Yet if you're saying that Anne Robinson et al should buy some old tote from Dorothy Perkins, then Clarkson and his gang could equally drive a Clio or Smart car.

If the ladies have earned their money, let them enjoy it!