If You Can't Stand The Heat .... Summer's Here Again

I'm not a fan of summer.  There. I've said it.  I hate sweltering heat and the confusion over what to wear. I have a fear of sudden climatic change inherited from my parents so I am unable to travel more than five miles without a cardigan and thus insist my poor offspring are always overdressed 'just in case'. We Brits really don't do heat well. A trip on the local bone-shaker train to Cardiff is spent with acres of untamed and strangely coloured, podgy flesh. You could create your own pantone chart of fake tan before you've travelled two stops. It ranges from light Cadbury's Caramac to full on Cuprinol.  Children are grumpy and their parents even more so.  Air conditioning is non-existent.

Staying cool in the pool

Shops are full of slightly wilted salad vegetables and forced fruit shipped from Europe, despite the fact that our own local farmers would love to sell their produce to those on their doorstep. Magazines are emblazoned with 'flat tum' diets and exercise plans endorsed by celebrities who have nothing better to do with their time than take endless photographs of themselves. I suspect Kim Kardashian would wither and die like Ursula Andress in the film 'She' if someone took her camera off her. Were this to happen, however, I fear the editorial team at The Daily Mail would be in a complete quandry and would have to go back to reporting news.

August in the world of journalism is known as 'silly season', although with the raft of terrible aviation tragedies and reports from the war torn quarters of the planet there is clearly no excuse at this time of year to focus on solely writing endless verbiage on the latest celeb tattoo or whether Cheryl Versini Biscuit Barrel (or whatever the new, double barrelled and doubtless temporary surname is) had her marriage 'accidentally' revealed to the press. Or then there's the latest sad chapter in Katie Price's life as she accuses various friends of having no morals, or Lily Allen's continued quest for mediocrity by wearing different outfits and singing a bit. 

I'm looking forward to autumn. Crisp evenings, falling leaves and general, twinkly cosiness.  I don't want my sausages barbecued.  I want them cooked with caramalised onions and chunky apple. In an oven. I love Halloween, Bonfire Night and Christmas - times when emotions are heightened and joyous family memories are created.  All that darkness and gloom, punctuated by fairy lights and mulled wine.  Lovely.

It's no coincidence, I think, that there are no great summer celebrations, bar possibly Summer Solstice. Perhaps our ancestors spent summer languishing in their caves, fanning themselves with branches and drawing pictures of themselves on the cave walls.  If so, nothing's changed that much, has it?

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French Blogger Fined £2000 For Negative Restaurant Review

Ah blog reviews. The life blood of content for many a blogger, happily typing their reviews in return for a freebie and possible promotion on a brand's website. Sometimes hard to spot (no, I don't think putting a tiny asterisk alongside the name of a product really counts as disclosure) and often disappointingly incomplete in their assessment, nevertheless, personally I love to read them.

Source: www.point2.com

I'm not sure, though, that I would adapt my buying behaviour as a result of reading a blog review. I find it hard to get excited about the endless swatching on beauty blogs (stripes of product on a blogger's wrist for the uninitiated) and the discussion about tone, texture and packaging when running the gauntlet of Superdrug or Boots on a Saturday afternoon makes it depressingly clear there is little that can be truly classed as new and innovative in the field of cosmetics. It's been a long time since many of us had the time for "NOTD" (nails of the day, I kid you not) or to plan a week's worth of outfits fully accessorized with shoes and bags. (Where did those days go?!).

However, when it comes to restaurant and hotel reviews, I do take notice. And this certainly created problems for French blogger Caroline Doudet who wrote a negative review last August of a restaurant in Aquitaine in South West France. She titled her post with the name of the restaurant and "The Place To Avoid in Cap-Ferret'. Because her blog attracted over 3000 followers the judge ruled that this exacerbated the damage and ordered that the blog post title should be changed so as to be less prominent in Google's search results. Miss Doudet was ordered to pay £1200 in damages plus £800 costs.

According to today's Daily Mail (19/7/2014), the blogger said that "this creates a crime of being too highly ranked on a search engine, or of having too great an influence".  The restaurant owner said: "Maybe there were errors in the service, but this article showed in the Google search results and did my business more and more harm".

This is believed to be the first time that an unpaid blogger has had to pay damages for a negative review but, I am sure, it will not be the last.  Without seeing the post in question, it is hard to know exactly how fair (or otherwise) Miss Doudet's review was but surely any blogger worth their salt (or search engine results!) knows that reviews should be balanced and fair. I think some bloggers feel they are offering a public service by offering a scathing assessment of their meal or visit - and in some cases, this may be entirely true - however in future we may all need to do a risk assessment on the posts we publish so as to avoid putting anything potentially libelous into the public domain.

Many years in the field of Law (albeit as a marketeer) lead me to believe that it is only a matter of time before negative reviews attract judicial - and financial consequences which will surely outweigh the short lived joy of seeing follower numbers increase on blog platforms such as Bloglovin'.

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Bullying & Why We Fear The Next Academic Year

The cold wind of change blows right through the homes of many parents when they consider the next academic year. 

We contemplate the impact of rejigging classes on our offspring  - the breaking of allegiances, the smashing of carefully forged bonds all in the name of "character building". 

Will classes be kept together?, we wonder. Will they be split? Which teacher will become the hero or heroine of our kids' life next year?

It should be a time of some excitement but unfortunately I suspect in some instances, classes will be rejigged not with the academic development of the pupils in mind but rather to avoid dealing with troublemakers and bullies. 

The idea, I am assuming, is that by mixing pupils up, you defuse the bullying behaviour by breaking up cliques and gangs. In my experience, this is totally ineffective as the bully will simply regroup and find new victims.

No, it seems that, for all the verbiage given to avoiding bullying and zero tolerance policies, it seems that in some quarters, the answer is to play academic chess with kids' education rather than address head on bratty behaviour with the parents concerned. 

Don't bother playing "name that bully" because you can't. Staff seem to close ranks to protect the miscreants often on the basis that these are troubled children themselves. Whilst this may be true, it is a bitter pill to swallow for those of us whose children are being picked on.

Even at the age of 6 and 7, the mean girls are starting to emerge and whilst the adult thing to do is to have sympathy because I believe most behaviour is learned (and by that I mean learned at home at this age), it is really unsettling knowing that your child will be exposed to this and will have to learn to stand on their own two feet. 


It's no wonder Tae Kwon-Do is so popular. We have a black belt or two in the family and I feel a lot more confident that Ieuan can stand up for himself now that he has taken this up. We are encouraging Caitlin to do the same.

source:  www.principlespage.com

The husband says that when he was in school, all aggression was taken out on the rugby pitch between the lads, but girls are something else entirely when it comes to bullying behaviour. We start fighting against each other at an early age when we should be learning to work together. Sisterhood? Pah! 

And sadly, I think many boys are missing a strong male authority figure in their life to give them a lead in what makes a man really strong. Clue: it ain't hot-wiring a car, scaring old ladies and frightening anyone shorter than you. How do we deal with this?

All we can do, I guess, is encourage our children to talk to us openly and without fear of judgement. We need to teach them the communication skills to defuse potentially volatile situations and to develop their self esteem so that they know what is and is not acceptable. 

More than this, we need to find a way to work with schools so that anti-bullying policies become living, breathing entities and not something written on a piece of A4 and locked in a filing cabinet.

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When Your Child Isn't Invited To The Party

In the general ghastliness that can be relationships between parents at the school gates, there are key moments which lead you to question what exactly goes on at school when you can't see and what is reported back when the kids go home.  

I'm referring to incidents where your child comes home telling you that they are the only one who has not received an invitation to a party.

Now, my initial, and I think pretty measured reaction to this is that when you hold a party for your kids, it's impossible (and darned expensive) to invite everybody and, now that they are getting older, it's less about inviting the whole class but selecting close and special friends.

So far, so reasonable.  But then the doubts start.  

The worry about whether your child is 'popular' or perhaps has some horrible habits you don't know about that are destined to exclude them from polite company for all time.  

I can't think what such a habit might be - the worst I can think of might be uttering profanities (oh my bum-bum being the current worst one here) or eating with your mouth open.

And then, with an unhealthy degree of displacement, what parent has not gone on to think - oh hang on, is this actually about me.  (Cue much muttering from the husband about "it's not all about you"). 

There are definite cliques at our school gate but in general, the mums, dads and child-minders are a friendly bunch. 

We are not cursed with the terrible stereotypes identified by acerbic Katie Hopkins - e.g. chip eating, monosyllabic Citroen Picasso drivers, power working mums who regard us lowly stay at home mothers as a major drain on the economy and entire clans dressed in Adidas Three Stripe.

It's tricky isn't it, because the urge to protect your offspring wells up like a tidal wave when you think they are being excluded, disrespected or, the worst of all, not fitting in.  

The Husband, as ever, is pragmatic.  In the absence of any tangible proof, he prefers to take the view that 'it's all good' and there's nothing to worry about. He's usually right.

I remember how awkward I found school and am just hoping they have a more positive and enjoyable experience than I did. Even to this day, I'd rather dig out my own liver with a spoon than attend a school reunion.

So in this instance, quite possibly the Husband is wrong...... and it IS all about me.

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Would you make your 7 year old daughter wear deodorant?

Today's lunacy from the Mail on Sunday is a story about a woman who makes her 7 year old daughter wear deodorant to school because she is very active and gets a bit sweaty [here].

source: www.ehow.com

Despite the reason for this vigilence to her daughter's personal hygiene being to prevent the poor child being bullied, her mother has chosen to share her daughter's perspiration problems with the Media, thus ensuring that all anonymity is forfeit and, in my view, vastly increasing the likelihood that the girl will be subject to negative comments.

I always assumed that perspiration problems didn't really begin until puberty but no, the loyal commentators on Daily Mail.co.uk are adamant that children can get a bit whiffy prior to anything hormonal happening. Presumably they live in areas where soap is as rare as hen's teeth and giving a child a nightly bath is an infringement of their human rights.

Caitlin will be 7 in November and aside from encouraging her to wash, the thought of introducing products like deodorant haven't even crossed my mind. Using deodorant whilst innocuous enough in itself (assuming you use a paraben free one) is the potential tip of an iceberg of personal grooming which, apart from being expensive raises a number of feminist questions. Why should we wax?  Why should we have to look like a plucked chicken with skin smoother than a basted Christmas bird? It's a matter of personal choice of course and I think what rankles most about this story is the fact that the little girl is having her personal choice taken away and is being pushed down a route which is likely to encompass more grooming that a Made in Chelsea v TOWIE showdown.

For heaven's sake let kids be kids.  They'll hit puberty soon enough and, in all likelihood earlier than in my generation. Plenty of time to start giving them complexes about sweating and looking like Chewbacca (although that may just be me) when Mother Nature actually arrives. Yet another case, I'm thinking, of a mother projecting her issues onto her child. But I do have sympathy with the mother in question because at the nub of this story is the very real fear we all carry each day of our child being bullied and how best to prevent it.

If there's one thing I have learned, smothering yourself in organic deodorant isn't going to prevent it.

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Big Brother IS a Popularity Contest Toya!

Big Brother is a guilty pleasure of mine, along with Candy Crush Saga, Sprite (the Chinese have declared it to be the definitive hang-over cure - the drink that is, not the mythical pixie like creatures), Kendal Mint Cake (although the teeth can't take it any more) and peanut butter. That's the good thing about being an old bird. You can be as irrational with your foibles as you like and not even worry about defending them. Were such a thing required, in my defence I will say that keeping up with the kids is very important when your kids are nearly 7 and nearly 5. Sort of.

Big Brother's "raging" Toya Washington.  Source:  Channel5.com

In deference to the husband's loathing of all reality based TV I am dutifully sitting through the World Cup and actually quite enjoying it. It may be because I don't understand the game but it seems really slooooooow compared to rugby. All that hair gel and hamming. Those coloured trainers - my eyes! Anyway, I digress as usual.

Last night I sat somewhat stunned as Toya, 50% of this week's "Big Brother Power Couple" and missing some 75% of her mental faculties turned into a screaming banshee of the highest premenstrual order when called a very rude word by Ash - a man who would probably check his appearance in a mirror for five minutes before leaving a burning building. Actually the 'boy band' gang of Ash, Marlon and Winston (bull dog by name and brain size) are rather unpleasant. The first two have bemoaned the fact that there are no 'sluts' in this year's house and express viewpoints about women better suited to the 1970s. But boy did Toya go on. And on. And on.

It is undoubtedly unfair but in my experience a woman who 'loses it' will always be judged more harshly than a man - irrespective of whether or not she has right on her side. And the speed with which a personal (and professional) reputation can be shattered is scary. I can't understand why Toya did not think "hang on, these people may be muppets but they all have the power to evict me at some point". Or, "I could possibly have a short lived media career out of this if I play my cards right" but no, she screamed, she pouted, she stropped. And then, most bizarrely, whilst crying in the Diary Room, she opined that Big Brother wasn't a 'popularity contest'.

Now I struggle to see how anyone couldn't understand that this is EXACTLY what the show is - although it shares a lot with gladiatorial fights in Roman amphi-theatres and the British tradition of pantomime where we all love a villain or villainess. (I suspect Harriet Harman would frown on feminising the word villain but I'll live with it).

In fact, success in many areas in life revolves around maintaining a high level of popularity. I remember reading a study about the causes of failure of bright, high achieving workers in the corporate arena and the number one reason was having an abrasive personality. To paraphrase the late Helen Gurley Brown (who created Cosmopolitan magazine), you can't be a selfish, snippy little turtle-bitch and succeed. Losing it in any arena is a luxury - today more than ever.

I fear Toya has signed her own exit visa after last night's melt-down but she does not seem to have much self awareness. Seriously where do the Big Brother contestants get their almighty egos. Tamara has been sounding off about 'showergate' claiming ownership after one kiss which sounded like a sink plunger being prized off a bunged sink. She clearly has her eye on becoming the next Luisa - she of Apprentice fame who has moved from the bakery arena to constantly displaying her wares in a bikini.  

I think I remember reading once about something called feminism. Still, even Gloria Steinem was once a playboy bunny.  And it's probably not worth losing my temper over......

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Silent Sunday - 22/06/2014

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The Misery of Tinnitus - Ring Any Bells?

I am currently constantly accompanied by a high pitched buzzing in both ears - tinnitus. I've managed to discover by frantic Googling (never advisable), that the frequency of this buzzing is 4000 hz, should you wish to share the pleasure of my auditory visitor.

Tinnitus makes many lives a misery.  Source:  news.bbc.co.uk

Apparently, 20% of the population have tinnitus - but not all of them visit their GP. (Good luck with that in any case because my local practice has only just reluctantly retired its collection of leeches). A trawl through the many tinnitus forums throws up post after post by those who cannot fathom how they are going to cope with the mad cacophony of sounds - bells, whistles, whooshes and even the sound of jet engines which are so disruptive that sleep is a nightmare, concentration impossible and the thought of enjoying a day (let alone the sound of silence), about as likely as winning the lottery.

A common emotion seems to be self reproach and guilt where the sufferer has done something they believe has brought on tinnitus - for example shooting an air rifle without wearing ear defenders, or going to a rock concert without ear protection. I cringe every time we are passed on the walk to school by a car pounding with deafening music (and it's usually a hatchback) because I now know how easy it is to do irreparable damage to your hearing - let alone the dangers of constant iPod use. How often do we get a hot ear from using a mobile for a relatively short time? What is that doing to our hearing, I wonder.  

Many alternative therapies are cited. One statistic I read was that 40-50% of tinnitus sufferers who have acupuncture experience a reduction in their tinnitus. Then there are the supplements, alpha lipoic acid, vinpocetine, pycnogenol, zinc, gingko and on and on, all carrying claims of miracle cures. I am about to try vinpocetine having read several enthusiastic testimonies about its effectiveness and I may try acupuncture again as I am convinced it helped with the conception of our daughter.

Other tinnitus suspects in the frame are, variously, caffeine, alcohol, candida, aspirin, antibiotics and electromagnetic sensitivity (i.e. being affected by living close to a mobile phone mast or feeling ill when you use a microwave). It's amazing that, given how many people are reported to suffer from this annoying condition, more has not been done to come up with a cure.  

There is Tinnitus Retraining Therapy and also Cognitive Behavioural Therapy which aim to help us adapt our behaviour and focus on coping strategies. Currently there aren't really 'cures' as such, rather ways of learning to live with the noise in your head so that it eventually fades into the background and you cease to notice it at all.

Mine has started up since I had my two new hearing aids and probably as a result of my dreadful habit of wearing earplugs at night. I was never an avid clubber but I can remember leaving discos (remember them) and concerts in the 80's with my ears still ringing the next morning and I am guilty of having the car radio on loud and singing at full blast (on my own you'll be relieved to hear - or perhaps not). Then there were the days of the Sony Walkman and the inevitable playing of tapes (how very retro) too loud - again, not heavy rock but girly stuff such as Whitney and, to the husband's horror, Wham. If I think back, there were plenty of occasions when I did not protect my hearing.  But as for the initial trigger?  Who knows.

That's the frustration with subjective tinnitus - unless you've had surgery on your ears or are taking a medication which is known to exacerbate the problem, discovering your triggers is well nigh impossible. Hearing loss is often implicated, but then so are ageing and even wax build up. Then there's the mystery of tinnitus 'spikes' i.e. times when the noise gets louder for no apparent reason. Stress is said to be the main culprit because the more you focus on the sound, the louder it gets.

There is a modicum of hope though. Reading the self help boards, there are many who have lived with tinnitus for years and who have simply become so used to their sounds that they cease to notice them. I hope this latest buzzing is just a factor of adjusting to my hearing aids. I hadn't worn my hearing aid for so long (I just had one initially for the right ear), that it was a surprise to hear my own voice, and that of the kids, clearly again! The husband was happy that we spent a whole day in Cardiff without him having to shout, repeat himself or explain.  

I just hope it's not going to be a toss up between hearing clearly and putting up with constant buzzing.

Do you suffer from tinnitus?  What do you do to cope with it?  Please let me know!  

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TV's On The Blink; Too Much Time To Think

The TV is on the blink.  Yes.  In this multi-channel, digital age where we expect our TVs to do everything bar uncork the vino, ours has stuck two digital fingers up at us and declared it has a weak signal.  On every channel.  Having been scared witless about aerial villains by BBC's Rogue Traders and not having a cupboard tidy enough to secrete Matt Allwright in, the husband is muttering darkly about "buying a book".

Source:  www.businesssearchltd.co.uk

The children are watching "Tommy Zoom" on constant repeat or a solitary episode of "Spongebob Squarepants" on Amazon Prime which seizes the TV every time. It's either that or the first Addams Family film (curiously reminiscent of the Hobbis household). Worse, tonight is the launch of Big Brother. Yes I know. Call me shallow but I've watched it since Series 2 and it's become a signal that summer is here. It's not quite the same without Davina's endless procession of black outfits and her jaunty blokish manner. Nor can I get away with telling the hubby that it's a "telling psychological experiment" without him snorting and proclaiming my mental faculties to be on the brink of melting away. (A two word rejoinder is all that is needed to put him straight - Top Gear).

Source:  www.bbc.co.uk

I should read a book.  I should broaden my mind and brush up on my very rusty French and German. I could finally learn to play Handel's "The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba" on the piano or bake a cake. I could repair the holes in Ieuan's trousers. My father once tried to encourage my sister and I to take up darning. I think he envisaged a Jane Austen type future for us both involving much stitching of samplers and a bit of French country dancing. whilst marrying a curate and mastering the art of damson jam production. He was a little wide of the mark.

One of the main reasons we had a civil wedding ceremony is that the hubby fears spontaneous combustion should he stand in front of an altar as a rank unbeliever. He has managed numerous carol concerts since without singeing so either he's right about the absurd nature of the universe (how very Sartre) or God is more forgiving than I previously suspected.

Anyhoo..... I am left trying to get the blessed TV's "Smart Hub" programmed to play BBC iPlayer and Channel 4OD.  No.  It won't do ITV or Channel 5 so it really isn't as smart as it thinks it is.  And while the hubby is reading "aerial adjustment for dummies" I think I'd better have a look on Yell.Com - and make sure we've got Rogue Traders' number.

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Review: Disney Princess Colour Magic Brush Rapunzel From ToysRus

We were lucky enough to receive a Disney Princess Colour Magic Brush Rapunzel Doll from ToysRus for Caitlin to cast her expert eye over (when she isn't being a dalmation).

The doll is well made with beautiful silky hair (cue much muttering from mummy along the lines of "well, see now, Rapunzel obviously BRUSHES HER HAIR" since it is a constant battle to keep Caitlin's locks under control). 

And Rapunzel comes with a clever hair brush gizmo which, when full of crushed ice (or, more simply, filled with water and stuck in the freeze compartment of the fridge for half an hour), creates pink and purple colour streaks in the lighter blonde segments of the doll's hair or leaves star shapes when the end of the brush is used.

I have to stress that, tempting as it is to ignore the multi-lingual instructions, unless the water in the brush is ice cold, you won't get much (or indeed any) colour change in the doll's hair which could lead you to think that it doesn't work.  

So be prepared to endure thirty minutes or so of "well is the brush ready yet?"

It's also worth noting that the colour changes may not last that long. 

Once the hair reaches room temperature again, it is likely to return to its original hue, however, we found that the pink and purple stripes lasted long enough to garner interest.  

The stars on the other hand, although clear in shape, faded very quickly.

Using the brush to create pink and purple streaks in the lighter blonde sections of Rapunzel's hair.

Blink and you'll miss 'em - pink stars

Like all toys with a 'gimick', there's a risk that it'll be a two minute wonder but the Rapunzel doll is attractive and well-made enough to outlive the thrill of turning hair pink and purple.

The Disney Princess Colour Magic Brush Rapunzel Doll is available from ToysRus at £19.99. Delivery is from £4.95 or click and collect is free.

Caitlin is already very attached to Rapunzel and hopefully I've found a source of inspiration to make the daily battle of the hairbrush weighted ever so slightly more towards my side.

And I'm making the most of this 'girlie' phase because Ieuan currently wants to be one of Despicable Me's evil purple minions.

*We were sent a Disney Princess Colour Magic Brush Rapunzel from ToysRus for the purposes of this review.

**This is our application to be a Rainbow Toy Awards Toy Tester

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Silent Sunday - 18/05/2014

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Come on Beauty Bloggers - Show Us Your Empties!

I am fascinated by beauty blogs. To me, beauty bloggers are the unsung heroes of the cosmetics industry, tirelessly reviewing (often out of their own pocket), the newest, sparkliest and maddest products that are thrown onto the shelves. If you consider how many new mascaras alone hit the shelves in a year, you can see that the costs mount up.  

www.nytimes.com

These gals love make-up and, although they may have some help from PR companies and some free products to review, in general I would take their opinion any day over the endless advertorials that populate the tabloids and the glossies.

I used to love those articles in magazines where the contents of handbags were unearthed and listed. If you are nosy, like I am, this offers endless fascination. The contents of my own bag have been scrutinized on several wine-fuelled evenings at our local, being a source of endless amusement. Why three tonnes of old tissues, a pile of Fruit Shoot plastic caps, broken crayons and multiple lipsticks all in approximately the same shade (a red which makes me look like Vampyra) should be funny, I'm not sure.  

www.idealmagazine.com

But when it comes to beauty blogs, I have two frustrations. Firstly, there don't seem to be many beauty blogs which write for my age group (50 in two weeks, if you must know) and secondly, of the vast array of products reviewed, it's often difficult to know whether those products raved about are actually used much thereafter and are truly the wonder products they often appeared to be considered.

I honestly don't know how beauty bloggers cope with the amount of products they review. What do they do with them all? I have a drawer of lipsticks and eyeshadows I've had for years. With kids, it's difficult to find the time to apply a full face of make-up in the morning. I am always last in the queue for the bathroom and usually get in there just as the kids are putting their coats on. I am more likely to throw a product away because I have become totally bored with it than I am to throw it because it's been used.

This is hardly cost-effective. I wonder how many thousands of pounds are wasted on beauty products each year - I bet it's staggering. I have seen a couple of bloggers do posts about their 'empties' - i.e. products used to the very last drop and to me, that is a far greater accolade than posts which just swatch new colours.

So I am on the hunt for bloggers who write for my age group and those who will share what they actually use and love to death.

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Halal - No News Is Not Good News

The kids love to go to Pizza Express as a treat so it was with not inconsiderable disappointment to learn that all their chicken is Halal. Readers of the great tome of outrage (The Daily Mail) have been regaled all week by various infographics showing who sells Halal meat (not forgetting of course similarities with Kosher food requirements), together with helpful information about whether the animals are stunned first.

For those unfamiliar with the traditional Halal method of food preparation, the slaughter of the animal should be performed by a Muslim who must invoke the name of Allah. The animal should then be slaughtered by cutting the throat without severing the spinal cord and the blood from the veins must be drained [source: Wikipedia].

Leaving aside any religious issues, this method of slaughter is pretty revolting although, as Janet Street Porter remarked today on ITV's uncomfortably lightweight lunchtime current issues show "Loose Women", if you eat meat it is your responsibility to understand where it comes from and how it is slaughtered. I have heard many stories about the equally terrible treatment of cattle in abatoirs.

What is really galling, though, is the fact that our Food Industry considers it quite alright to keep its consumers in the dark or, on the part of some of our restaurant chains, to court the business of a particular segment of the UK on the basis of its religious preference. You can bet that Christians would not be shown the same consideration.

Actually, I think, for all the puffery and outraged quacking of the Daily Mail commentators, this is not a religious issue.  It's about trust. We trust our Food and Catering Industries to treat its customers with respect and honesty. Poor old Jamie Oliver is regularly pilloried for pointing out the disgusting content of chicken nuggets but he really had a point.  

As parents, some of us (and I am guilty of this) just coast along trying to avoid those products we know are bad for our kids (e.g. any trans-fat / sugar combo, fizzy drinks, high sugar juices), but we fail to ask the really important questions - where does our food come from and, in the case of meat, what conditions and slaughter methods are used. 

I really hope this does not become an issue which results in a lack of respect being shown to any religious faith but rather acts as an enormous wake-up call for parents to start asking difficult questions and, in the case of some fast food establishments, voting with their feet.

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Countdown To My 50th Birthday - Where's My Bucket?

Three weeks to go.  In all honesty I don't know how I got here. One minute I was rolly-pollying down the grassy slopes in the grounds of Sudeley Castle with my little sister, the next sat in a lecture theatre listening to endless lectures on the Romantic Poets in Swansea University.  There I go arranging place cards and menus in a large marquee for cricket hospitality and there I'm lecturing legal interns on marketing.  I remember acting in a French play on the stage at the Sherman Theatre and numerous ballet exams spent worrying if the bun my mum had precariously assembled on the back of my head would hold (it always did).

Me with my two menaces, Caitlin & Ieuan

My memories seem to be a collection of tableaux, variously happy and sad - mostly happy, it has to be said.I remember being an au pair for a French diplomat in Paris when I was 19 and the exhiliration of standing alone on the Champs Elysee thinking that no-one in the World knew where I was at that moment (apart from my employer, of course!). I remember a very grim post break-up holiday in Amalfi where even the splendour of that dramatic stretch of coastline and the scent of plump lemons hanging brazenly from the numerous lemon trees did nothing to dispel my gloom. I remember sweeping into the room at St. David's Hotel on my wedding day and seeing the happy look on hubby's face.  Of course I remember the two births (caesarian) of Caitlin and Ieuan and the wonder of achieving something so incredible ever so slightly late.

The kids are intrigued at the moment by their family tree and ask questions constantly about their great grandparents.  They are also struggling to grasp the concept of death.  I tell them "everyone goes up to Mr God".  Ieuan is adamant that he wants to come back and can't believe we only get one go - depending on whether you believe in Karma, of course - and actually I think I do.

If there's just one go on the merry-go-round, I suppose I should finally get round to some sort of bucket list. Every time I do this, though, it looks like a rather dull shopping list. Some of the things have been on it for so long, I no longer really want them, or at least I won't spend the money, preferring to save it for the kids. The truth is that, the older you get, the more you realise that it's the experiences in life that matter, rather than things.

I watched Lily Allen on Loose Women today and whilst finding her nonchalence and "I do what I like" attitude deeply irritating (newsflash, if you don't approve of Miley Cyrus' antics, don't take your kids - well, thanks for that insight Lil), part of me still admires someone so firmly lost in her own 'cult of the self'. Get pizza on your face and a brand new Balenciaga frock?  Heck, why not, says Lily. "That's what I do". There's a fine line though, between indulging your own passions because you want to and the kind of desperate and rather sad attention seeking that Cyrus seems to have been reduced to.  A one-way ticket to Lindsey Lohan-ville.

None of which is getting me anywhere to deciding what I would like as a 50th birthday present or, more importantly setting some sensible mid-life goals.  If anyone would like to share their bucket-lists, I'd be very grateful.  One year, I asked my mother what she would like for her birthday and her response was "a pack of tooth picks and some new rubber gloves".  She wasn't even 40 at the time.  I think I'm missing the "present gene".

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Jo Frost's Family Matters Talk Show (ITV1 - April 28th 2014) - Do We Have a Game Plan?

Supernanny Jo Frost has a new daytime talk show on ITV which aired for the first time yesterday (April 28th).  It's called Family Matters and is a mix of chat and video clips showing problem families at large.  I like Jo Frost's no-nonsense approach and only manage her level of capable brusqueness after a large glass of vino so I dutifully (cough) tuned in to see what snippets of parenting nous I could glean.

Supernanny Jo Frost on her daytime talk show, "Family Matters" on ITV1

The show featured two case studies of children who were clearly strangers to the word 'no' and for whom the naughty step was still under construction.  Case number one featured three year old Kyle who lived in a house where dust was the enemy and Kelly Hoppen the only welcome guest. Poor Kyle and his eleven year old sister who was kept hidden in a bedroom upstairs, was prone to tantrums due to being unable to complete with a range of ornaments and exhibited all the emotional control of Damien from the Omen.  His parents were more concerned with channelling their inner fabulousness than doing anything as messy as colouring -although I'm surprised Kyle wasn't able to recite the full range of Pantone colours.  His aunt was wheeled in to sniff into a tissue and to hint that perhaps the parents might be better off, you know, doing some parenting rather than interior decoration and cushion plumping.

Case two featured four boys, two of whom were twins and again, none of whom were familiar with being told no - although they were apparently fully IT literate and had an iPhone.  Dad worked seven days a week and came home to hide.  Mum shouted.  All day.  Mother-in-law was wheeled on to purse her lips, fold her arms and utter useful mother-in-law type phrases such as "I think your children are really spoiled" and to wear the facial expression of a woman whose immediate response to any kind of challenge would be to suggest an arm-wrestle.

Jo, remarkably, took quite a back seat in all this, taking the role of mediator and prompter.  "What do you think you could do better"  she asked, along with other questions such as "how did that make you feel"  and the show's catch phrase - "Do we have a game plan"?

Like most daytime TV shows, however, the format relies on creating a judgemental atmosphere and, although at the moment, far less confrontational than Jeremy Kyle, I'd say the potential for running round corridors and storming off is there.  I think it will be extremely popular with parents who can at least watch and say "see, I'm not that bad a parent really" which, let's be honest, is really why we watch - we want to benchmark our own performance (which those less confident of us consider as fair to dismal) and see how we compare.    There might be a set of 'rules' for romance and sexual relationships but I'm not sure anyone's written the 'rules' for parenting yet. (And no, I don't count the military manoeuvres of Gina Ford et al as sensible parenting rules).

I think the show needs a lot more talk from Jo Frost because if anyone can give us a set of rules, she can and this was the element that I thought was sorely missing from the "Family Matters" format.

So, in the meantime, "do we have a game plan"?  Um - over to you Jo.

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It's All Go Here At Master Chuff - Ladies & Gentlemen, Let's Cook - Tomorrow

Having watched Masterchef for what seems like eons, I now feel qualified to throw together a sea bass on a bed of 'foam', cobble together cranachen and do something improbable with venison and blackberries. 

Unfortunately I have discovered a law of the universe so baffling that even Rhonda Byrne would have trouble hiking an enormous camera crew and numerous American Law of Attraction experts across Bondi Beach to explain it in one of those waffly self-help type films - the number of cookery books you own is inversely proportional to the amount of cooking you actually do - and worse, the level of skill you will attain.

Gregg & John would be traumatised by a visit to Hobbis Towers

I suspect this can be quickly validated by looking at the success of food blogger, anti-poverty campaigner and meal-on-a-budget expert Jack Monroe. Her cooking pizzazz is borne of necessity and uses minimum equipment and no fancy ingredients. I have a kitchen cupboard stuffed full of the most random and hotch potch collection of ingredients which appear whenever I have a new cookery book and kid myself that I will finally try to whip up something to tempt hubby's tastebuds.The mere suggestion of this is enough to make him hide in the cupboard under the stairs until what he considers to be one of my latest hormonal onslaughts has passed.

I think lots of us equate food with love. Us mums are supposed to be legendary cooks, aren't we? Aren't we supposed to arm wrestle each other for supremacy of our Yorkshire pudding or roastie production skills? Our apple crumbles are supposed to be bottomless, our rice puddings skinless and our lasagne worthy of praise from Gino. I'm afraid my culinary CV would simply state "burns pans and creates smells".

Still, whilst Ieuan is still vegetable averse and, as we tell him daily, never likely to grow higher than four feet, nor develop the motor skills to even put a Spiderman suit on, we are still in the "fishfinger years".  The kids seem to be doing fine, despite having a fear of gravy and the husband, well, hands up, he tends to do most of the cooking.

Perhaps I'll enter him for Masterchef.

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Silent Sunday - 20 April 2014

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Review: The Clarisonic Aria from CurrentBody.com - Music To My Skin

I remember, in the 1970's having a facial scrub brush which was a simple battery operated device that would cheerfully exfoliate the skin. 

It got abandoned in due course because a heavy duty scrub, like Apri (an apricot shell scrub) would do the job just as well. 

And, having young, healthy skin didn't require much more than a light buffing.

Fast forward to today, just seven weeks short of my 50^th birthday and my, how things have changed.

Two young kids (aged 6 and 4) both born in my mid forties have created, understandably, a massive shift in my beauty routine. 

What used to be a regular cleanse, tone, moisturise routine has now been generally reduced to a quick spruce up with a facial cleansing wash, removed with a flannel twice a day. 

I've always been quite careful to avoid the sun so I don't think I am too wrinkly but the healthy glow I used to have has vanished in favour of making sure the kids do their teeth and getting them either out of the door or into bed on time.

The opportunity to test the Clarisonic Aria from www.currentbody.com came just at the right time.

And it is a seriously sophisticated piece of kit. 

Fully rechargable, portable and programmable, the Clarisonic cleanses up to 6 times more effectively than washing your face by hand. 

It has three speeds and comes with its own drying stand which also becomes a charging unit by addition of a magnetic USB charger.

I love to read beauty blogs but am often deeply suspicious at 'rave reviews'; by the time you get to 50, you have used a lot of products and generally feel that there is little new under the sun(screen)! 

But, cynic that I am, I have to say I noticed an immediate improvement in the tone and colour of my skin. 

I haven't worn foundation for ages so friends and family are used to my slightly less than fresh pallor but my hubby remarked (without prompting) that the Aria had given my skin a healthier tone.

My skin looks better than it has in ages.

The brush is very easy to use and has timer settings to guide you. 

You hold the brush against your face and move it in gentle circles for 20 second on your forehead, 20 seconds on your nose and chin and 10 seconds on each cheek. 

That's it. 

One minute! 

In your kit there is also a sample size of refreshing cleansing gel which has lovely fresh smell and lathers up with just the smallest amount.

It is recommended that the brush head (which is detachable) should be changed once every three months or so.

I agreed to test the Clarisonic Aria for a period of 5 weeks after which the brush would either be returned or purchased at a discounted price. 

This seems to me an entirely sensible approach to testing a product like this because it is easier to be truly objective when you are considering investing in your beauty routine.

The Aria retails around the £155 mark, however, being a fan of spa treatments, it was easy to compare against the price of a good facial which, here in Cardiff is around the £70 mark. 

Frankly, the results given by the Aria after just a couple of uses are better – and I just used it once a day, whereas it can be used morning and night.

I quickly got used to cleansing with the Aria each morning and would now be loathe to part with it, such is the difference it has made to my skin. 

I also think that proper cleansing has made my moisturiser work better and the discipline of having a routine again, albeit one that finally fits in with the kids, has made me want to take better care of my complexion. 

Another knock on effect is that my improved skin has made me more enthusiastic about using make-up again – a light BB cream and blusher – because a heavy foundation is simply not needed.

If you have become lost in the mire of new cleansers and the latest high tech ingredient, my advice would be to try the sonic power of the Clarisonic Aria because you may find it's not the cleanser that makes the difference, it's the cleansing technique. 

And, for the price of a couple of salon facials (and far less than some of the top of the range moisturisers and cleansers), the Clarisonic Aria is an incredibly cost effective way to get great skin.

*I was given the opportunity to test the Clarisonic Aria on a return free of charge or purchase at a slightly discounted price basis from CurrentBody.com.  All the views expressed herein are my own.  And yes, I will definitely be purchasing it!

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Nearly 50 - You Can't See Me - Right?

In the acreage of unmitigated cobblers that passes for journalism in the "wimmin's section" of the tabloids, the latest neurosis du jour for us 'middle youthers' is that, come 51, a Harry Potter cloak of invisibility will shroud the menopausal, rendering them henceforth spectral and condemned to a ever decreasing lifespan of calcium yoghurt and Tena Lady.

Can anyone see Joan Collins?  Completely invisible at 81

We have been regaled by numerous sad tales of women who "walk into a room and are not noticed". Coming from a family who struggle very hard to actually recognise each other when out and about (my father has to be under a foot away before it dawns on him that I am one of his offspring), I honestly don't think this has anything whatsoever to do with age.

There are appear to be two schools of thought. Either you revel in your new invisibility to dress like a frazzled Miss Marple after too many gins or you go a bit 'cougar' and Bet Lynch yourself up in leopard print, download Tinder (not, as I thought something to do with matches) and get yourself a large 'young male totty net'. You can then do all the things you probably never did in your adolescence such as double date and worry about STIs.

Yes, you could make it a sexist issue, or an ageist issue. You could get all steamed up about the fact that men, in all likelihood are pre-programmed to seek out the youngest, most fertile member of the opposite sex to bed and subsequently ignore while they go out to play golf. But what is the truth?

Dare I say it - it's not all about you. Those people in the room may well be engrossed in conversation. Unless you're Joan Collins, the party is unlikely to grind to an awe-struck halt. On the other hand, your body language and personal presentation may be putting people off from approaching you. Shuffling Igor like with a manifest lack of confidence and wearing a sack dress that would give Carol Vorderman nightmares is not going to get you any attention.  I would also suggest avoiding all clothing which claims to be 'eau de nil', or any dress cut shorter than Ant and Dec.  And as for anoraks. Repeat after me:  "I am not an eskimo". Unless you are, of course, in which case, the broadband in your igloo is a whole heap more impressive than mine.

Can we please use a modicom of common sense here and recognise that i) we are bloody lucky to have lived so long and ii) it is up to us to make ourselves interesting - read, learn, develop, grow, get involved in the World. I forget who said it but there's truth in the saying that as we get older, even if we are no longer in the first flush of beauty, we can still be gorgeous.  Is it really all about attracting a partner? Was it ever?

Anyway, I think we can all cheer up because next week there will no doubt be an onslaught of verbiage about "sexy older women".  In which case, I hope the weather warms up because it's way too cold to take my thermals off. I'm off for a gin.

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