The Weighty Issue: Part Two. Goal Weight nearly reached

I hesitated before posting this. It all seems a bit narcissistic (but then again, this is a Blog, what do you expect?) But it’s all a bit

“Look at me, look at me! - I’ve lost weight!!”

(But, honestly; have you seen me? I have lost weight! ;)).

I’m not skinny now and I don’t have this toned, buff body but I am now comfortably within the ‘healthy’ range of the BMI charts, which was my goal. If you want facts and figures then I’ve lost nearly two stone since January.

Why am I writing about it? Is it that important in the great scheme of things? Probably not, particularly as I detest body fascism (or fascism of any kind, for that matter). I really don’t like the way in which your worth, especially if you are female, is tied up with how much space you take up or how much flesh oozes over the top of your jeans. But weight isn’t just about aesthetics, is it, it is also about health. According to NICE In 2007, the direct cost of obesity to the NHS was £2.3 billion and the direct cost of being overweight, but not obese, was £1.9 billion (Foresight tackling obesities: Future choices).

A more recent estimate of the direct cost to the NHS in 2006/07 of people being overweight and obese was £5.1 billion.

So I thought I would share how I reduced my weight, and a couple of the positive side effects of being more active, just in case anyone else was interested in doing the same thing.

People are a bit brutal about the whole weight thing aren’t they? They say; it’s just calories in vs calories out, as if any of us who are overweight are just plain stupid. Move a bit more, eat a bit less, they say, but again, it is getting the motivation to do this and doing it in such a way that doesn’t feel as if you are going to be living the rest of life as some kind of ascetic; wearing hair shirts, drinking tepid water and eating nothing but raw kale. In the past I have just given up on the whole attempting to reduce my weight thing, citing the ‘you only live once and I want to enjoy my life’ ethos as an excuse for abandoning the diet. (A quick word about the word diet here, I hate it and avoid it at all costs. I do believe that traditional ‘dieting’ makes you fat and as soon as you tell yourself that you are on a diet, you will unconsciously try to sabotage yourself as an act of rebellion...Or, is that just me?)

You may think that I’m being disingenuous here and that there is no way to lose weight without being on a ‘diet’. And, yes, I have lost weight partly through eating less, but I don’t consider what I did and am still doing to be a diet, not in the traditional sense. I ate/still eat the same food, just less of it. I do try and stick to a daily calorie limit and I do eat relatively healthily but I also have the odd bit of chocolate and glass or two of wine (two of my favourite things in the world), just probably less than I used to. And if I eat toast, I’ll have one slice instead of two (but I do have butter on it - meticulously weighed out). So that whole - ‘eat a bit less, move a bit more thing’ can be ever so slightly expanded upon in my case in that:

1. I did and still do lots and lots of walking
2. I did and still do Calorie counting

Firstly, the walking:

Walking is brilliant: it’s free, you don’t get (terribly) sweaty and you don’t need any fancy equipment. It’s good if you can monitor how much you are doing. I got myself a Fitbit tracker* and aim to do 10,000 steps a day. I usually meet my goal; even if it means stomping around our tiny living room for half an hour, avoiding perilously placed toys and children’s hands as I go. Whether you are hiking around the lakes, walking along a dual carriageway or moving from living room to kitchen and back again in an endless loop (like a caged polar bear) you are still moving and it still counts (despite the fact that my husband says it’s cheating). You know those patronising magazine articles, where they tell you that perhaps you should try and make small changes and get off a bus stop earlier to build more exercise in your life, I think that it would be more realistic if they told you to get off four stops earlier, or skip a bus journey all together.

*other fitness trackers are available.

The calorie counting:

I used and still use an online calorie counting ap (I’m sure you know the one I mean but I won’t do their advertising for them). The great thing about the fitness tracker is that it syncs in with the calorie diary thingy and tells you how many calories you’ve earned through exercise. So you know exactly how many calories you can eat. This panders to the anally retentive part of me that loves to be in control and know exactly what I’m dealing with, it’s far more accurate than thinking - oh yeah, I walked to the shops, how long did it take? Was it fast or slow pace? And trying to add it manually to the food diary. You might think that this calorie counting spoils your enjoyment of food but I have found that, for the most part, it is helpful to know that you can happily dig into that jacket potato with gay abandon and know that you still have enough calories left for your dinner later on in the day. I’m not saying that I never feel hungry but then being hungry isn’t so scary and helps enhance your enjoyment of your next meal. (I’m fully aware that I sound rather sanctimonious here, so sorry, but our society is geared towards us eating and consuming constantly and never experiencing hunger which is very unhealthy!)

So anyway, this combination worked for me; try it, don’t try it, it’s up to you. We all know that exercise is good for us. My other half wears the fitness tracker too and his blood pressure has gone down since he’s been using it. I find that I sleep better and find it easier to destress. So, just as weight is not just about appearance, exercise isn’t just about losing weight. (Again, apologies for the sanctimony, bit hard to write about weight loss without it.)

Now that I’ve lost weight, can I now bear seeing photographs of me and do I now feel happier and more confident in my own skin? No! Now my insecurities have found myriad other channels, but that’s another issue, right, just focus on the partner’s lowered blood pressure and my better sleep!

NOTE: I am very well aware though that this weight loss is only significant if I can maintain it, so come back and see me this time next year, where, hopefully I won’t be looking like the librarian from the Blade films.‘bye…

Amy

I saw Amy - Asif Kapadia’s documentary about Amy Winehouse, last week and I can’t stop thinking about it. Her songs have also been playing in a constant loop in my head ever since

The film is a fascinating portrait of a young woman with an enormous musical gift who gradually spiralled into self destruction.  It was horrifying to watch the transition of this outrageously talented, bright-eyed person into a tiny, haunted little husk.

When they announced the death of Winehouse in 2011, I remember remarking, rather callously, along with most people, that it wasn’t a great surprise. By then she had become a notorious, cartoonish figure of excess. Her relationship with Blake Fielder-Civil was highly publicised; as was his imprisonment for drug possession. Footage of her, seemingly doped out of her head on drugs and drink was everywhere and she had become a figure of ridicule and censure. We all thought we knew her; knew all about her and the public exposure had reached saturation point.

What the film did, for me, though was to redraw the lines and show the human being behind the headlines, trite as that sounds. The film humanised Amy Winehouse.

The documentary has been both vilified and lauded by the critics, some saying that it is as bad as all the paparazzi coverage, rolled into one, others declaring it a masterpiece. Mitch Winehouse, Amy’s father, has disowned the film.

I didn’t feel that the film was voyeuristic. Rather; it actually reminded us of just how talented Amy was; what a unique singing voice she had and how intelligent she was (this last point definitely didn’t come across in later interviews - due in part to the fact that she was so self-effacing, quite aside from any chemical intervention).

There is no voice-over in the film, the filmmaker, Asif Kapadia, has already displayed his unique documentary making style in the award-winning film, Senna. It is largely made up of home video footage, off-screen interviews with friends and family and snippets of chat show appearances and live performances. It begins with a home video of fourteen-year old Amy at a friend’s birthday; all of them licking lollipops, fresh faced and mischievous. All is standard teenage fare, until they sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to their friend and Amy swiftly overshadows the others with her enormously rich, deep voice. Cue her friend going cross-eyed with a comedy ‘Oh god, look at her; showing off again!’ expression.

And, boom! This is the first glimpse of Amy, the ‘normal’ human being with an abnormal talent.

Early on someone asks her how she feels about the prospect of being famous, you get a chill down your spine as she replies;

“Oh God, I’d hate it; I think I’d go crazy!”

Young Amy explains how all the music when she was growing up was bland and derivative, all about people singing songs that someone else had written for them, so that’s when she started listening to the jazz greats. Bizarrely, I had forgotten, in amongst all the tabloid circus, that Amy played the guitar and wrote her own songs.

Amy Winehouse had such a distinctive sound and look that it would be all too easy to assume that she’d be styled by some Svengali figure in the background but here you are reminded of someone who made their own clothes and created their own, distinctive ‘look’. She seemed so strong and definite - so sure of what music she wanted to make, so how did she get annihilated? For me, this is the great paradox about Amy Winehouse; how could someone so intelligent and unique, spiral into a state of oblivion? Just fade away? I don’t know how much I personally pay into the trope of the tortured artist - too talented, too unique to live in this world. Here was somebody who seemed to be totally uncompromising, in her music and appearance, but who was dwindling away to nothing, literally, with her bulimia she was shrinking before our eyes. At the beginning of the documentary she looks relatively healthy (although, from what her mother says, her eating disorder had already kicked in by then) and by the end she is this tiny little husk of a woman. What her mother is heard saying in the documentary is; “Amy came to me and said - ‘Mum; I’ve discovered this great diet - I just eat whatever I want, then I make myself sick afterwards.”! Towards the end of the documentary, Amy’s doctor tells us that the Bulimia had weakened Any’s heart and it was this, in addition to alcohol poisoning, that had killed her. Many still assume that Amy Winehouse died of a drug overdose. Early on in the film, Amy’s mother says that Amy used to say to her; “Mum - you’re too soft, you should be more strict with us.” And you very much get the feeling that this is someone who has grown up without any boundaries in her life. Her mother said she assumed that the bulimia was a phase that would pass and, to be fair to her, I’m sure their are plenty of parents who intervene more in their children’s lives, who are unable to cure them of their eating disorders, but it did feel like one more thing that had gone on unchecked.

When Blake Fielder-Civil came into the frame, I felt the same, self-righteous flames of indignation I had felt, years ago, when learning about Sid and Nancy and Kurt and Courtney. The nasty villain comes onto the scene, introduces the talented genius to drugs and ruins their lives. Amy seemed to have been completely obsessed with the man and he comes across as a free-loading arse. But, if it hadn’t been him (who had introduced her to crack-cocaine and heroin) would it have just been someone else? Was she a person with a sense of emptiness who was always seeking something to fill the void? Someone who would have sought out and been attracted to other ‘tortured souls’?

It is understandable that Amy’s father has disowned the film; he certainly comes across as the villain of the piece - the man who stopped her going into rehab when her friends and former manager, Nick Shymansky, were desperate for her to go. An interviewee tells us that Mitch Winehouse said that she couldn’t go into rehab at that time as she had to go on tour. Those same self-righteous flames flare up again at this point.

A friend of mine met and spent some time with Amy Winehouse and said that she came across as a child who needed someone to say ‘no’ to her. Indeed, her song rehab; the song that propelled her into superstardom, provided her own gloomy epitaph.

At least the films reminds us that Amy was so much more than the drugs and the promiscuity and the husband in prison; it shows us the young woman with the huge, bright intelligent eyes; playful and charismatic; playing her guitar and listening to jazz. The woman with the incredible voice.

Taking the Heat

Here we are in Summer! Not just any old Summer but a proper, sun-filled Summer where there is gleeful talk of heat waves (or ominous warnings; depending which news reports you listen to) and you can’t move for painted toenails and hairy knees (not usually on the same person).  So, I thought that I’d add to the general slew of comparison lists by adding my own.  A list of PROs and CONs.

When I was a child, the Summer holidays seemed to billow out before me like a vast, circus marquee; bulging with the promise of possible delights and adventure (perhaps I read too much Enid Blyton). Nowadays, at the first hint of yellow, my first instinct is panic; mainly consisting of ‘What the f**k am I going to wear?’ ‘How on earth am I going to keep myself and the kids cool?’ ‘Will I ever find a deodorant that I have full confidence in?’

First World concerns, and this is very much a First World concerns kinda list, so apologies in advance.

If you are the sort of person who sees only the positive in Summer - a flip-flop wearing sun-worshipper, then stop reading now. If, for you, (like me) Summer carries any kind of ambiguity, then read on.

PROS	CONS
Ice-cream The biggest and the best Pro - do I even need to qualify it? The appeal of ice-cream doesn’t pall with age; if anything, it increases. What day is not made infinitely better by the addition of one of these cold little lovelies?	BBQs Yeah - I’m a miserable killjoy for saying this, right? But honestly - burnt meat, eaten in scorching heat. Or, in my case, some begrudgingly purchased veggie burgers - lodged betwixt a flabby white roll; a roll so bland that you might as well be eating a balled up, worn sports sock. Socks lead me neatly on to my next PRO:
2) Fewer socks, clogging up the washing machine due to heightened sandal/flip-flop wearing.	Blisters - caused by said sandals until you develop a hard layer of Hobbit skin on your feet.
3) After work drinks! These usually start earlier if you have an understanding boss.	*Every f**ker in the beer garden unrepentantly blows their smoke all over you. ‘This is OUR domain!’ Their defiant stares say. *As an ex smoker, I reserve the right to be a sanctimonious clot.
4) Open carriage rides?? Actually, I’m messing with you here - I’ve never done this but I like the IDEA of it. 5) ICE Every drink is improved by the addition of ice, and I mean EVERY: Pimms, wine, cider, mixers, soft drinks, milkshakes, water, beer (yeah, I said beer!), coffee. The list goes on and on. And ice makes a beautiful, clinking, shattery sound as it melts. So, lets end this (very short) list on a positive - Cheers!	Public transport: The smell of B.O which is pumped out of the air vents by TFL does nothing to enhance the experience, I’d like to propose a more refreshing smell; something citrusy perhaps.

Comedy, politics and Immigration

I watched one of those list programmes the other night; Britain's Funniest Comedy Characters. The show was a repeat and I’d definitely seen it before, but something that was said struck a chord. They were talking about the character of ALF GARNETT from Till Death do us Part. The actor who played Garnett, Warren Mitchell, said that the show’s writer, Johnny Speight, based the character of Garnett on his own grandfather: an apparently impoverished, working class man who revered the Royal family and persisted in voting Tory all his life. Warren Mitchell related an incident that showed that many people simply didn’t get the joke (of Till Death do us Part) but saw Garnett as the mouthpiece for their own racist views (much as people seem to do with Al Murray’s Pub Landlord character these days). Someone went up to Mitchell at a football match and said “I love it when you have a go at the c**ns”. To which Mitchell replied; “we’re not, we’re having a go at idiots like you!”

This brought home to me two things; one, the old conundrum of why working class people continue to vote against their own interests. Secondly it illuminated the problem with satirical comedy characters; sometimes people identify with them, rather than laugh at them. To me, Alf Garnett’s rants against ethnic minorities reinforced the cynical morality of the politicians, exploiting racial tensions or sectarian divides, for their own ends. I was reminded of the conservatives, telling the Protestants in Ireland that ‘Home Rule would mean Rome Rule’ at the turn of the 20th century. Also the outrageous slogan of the Tories in 1960s Birmingham - ‘If you want a n***er for a neighbour, vote Labour’! And of course, all of this brings us very neatly onto UKIP. Now, I’m not claiming that society rolls along on a great big wave of love and harmony until the evil politician starts to stir things up. But I am saying that some of them will highlight and exploit any nascent discord to serve their own ends. What this seems to boil down to is diverting attention away from big business and banker’s bonuses and onto the person next door who doesn’t look the same as them or who talks funny or whose cooking smells strange. Like drama, comedy often reflects society (unless we’re talking about The Mighty Boosh)  - we laugh at the familiar. Alf Garnett would have been (and arguably still is) a very familiar character.

As a child I watched one of the many reruns of Steptoe and Son. I have a lot of respect for this programme; I enjoyed watching Harold’s tragi-comic attempts at refinery and his father’s determined acts of sabotage. The acting was impeccable and the writing pithy. One of the jokes in one particular episode, though, made me uncomfortable;

“They’re saying It’s an Indian Summer.” Harold said, mopping his brow.

“Well, there’s enough of them over here!” His father recounted. Cue big laugh from the studio audience.

This wasn’t subtlety and the audience were laughing along with Steptoe senior, rather than with the joke of his wilful misunderstanding of the meaning of ‘Indian Summer’. (I didn’t get it either, I was only twelve). All I knew was that it played into that squeezing intolerance that was part of daily life at the time. This was confirmed when one of the boys at school repeated the ‘joke’ to his friend as if was the height of hilarity. And really, it is difficult to argue with that kind of bigotry - the ‘go back to where you came from’ kind of thinking. It’s kind of galling to get a curveball of it from a comedy show, though (remember this wasn’t Till death do us Part) and hear it approved of by the multitude.

Bringing it back to politics, why did ALF GARNETT’s forerunner, Johnny Speight’s grandfather, vote for the party which (arguably) least represented his interests? A party which represented the views and interests of the people who had a lot more money than him? Why do people still do that now? When I was growing up (in a predominantly white, working class neighbourhood) why did the parents of my school friends vote Tory? Did they ever really think that they would one day earn enough money to make the (implied) threat of taxation under a Labour government hit them where it hurted? Does it all boil down to whether you own your own business (or the means of production) or is it because the Left are perceived to be the more inclusive, racially tolerant party (that some people don’t want)? Perhaps this oversimplifies the problem - probably because I’m not well informed enough when it comes to politics. Let’s bring things back to comedy.

What of the other comedy characters - who did they vote for?

Harry Enfield’s Loadsamoney - definitely Tory

DELBOY and RODNEY from Only Fools and Horses - hmmmm...Well the former saw himself as an entrepreneur so maybe he voted blue but Rodders had a bit of social conscience, didn’t he? So maybe Labour for him.

The posh folk from To the Manor Born  - Tory, obvs.

Citizen Smith - did he vote or was he an anarchist?

Alan Partridge - hmm...Maybe New Labour in the ‘Cool Britannia’ era of the ‘90s before moving on to his natural home of the Tories. Would he be UKIP now? Scary thought, but he does bear more than a passing resemblance to Mike Read...Perhaps I’ll have to contact Steve Coogan about this one and see what he says; I’m sure he’d be happy to answer such an important question.

PATSY and EDDIE from Ab Fab - see Alan Partridge re Cool Britannia. Now? Apathy?

I’m getting a bit bored with this list now; feel free to add to it or compile your own one.

But I’m talking about ancient comedies, aren’t I? From the 1970s and before. What of today’s clowns - do they hold a mirror to society or do they reflect the somewhat questionable views of their creators? And of course the tricky thing with criticising anything in comedy, which seems a bit dubious, is that you can be accused of simply not getting the joke, or, even worse, not having a sense of humour.

Little Britain has come under fire for perpetuating stereotypes; with its cast of caricatures and grotesques. I never found it offensive, personally (although of course this is highly subjective) and I certainly don’t feel that any of their characters could be used as a champion for someone else’s bigotry. Would anyone have wanted to identify with the dreadful W.I woman who vomited on anyone who didn’t conform to her very view of acceptable society? Of course, Little Britain is a sketch show rather than a sitcom.

Citizen Khan has received criticism for perpetuating stereotypes and for being like a 1970’s comedy (hopefully they mean in its broadness, rather than racial stereotypes. (I can’t really comment as I’ve only ever seen about ten minutes of it. The difference of course is that the show is written by (the younger) members of the community it represents and thus purports to be gently mocking rather than derisive.

In conclusion? Gosh, it’s taken me so long to write this and it still feels like a messy, sprawling stream of consciousness! O.K. In conclusion, I feel that it is lazy writing to play into the hands of the politicians and wheel out a loud of ill-informed stereotypes that other people can latch onto as either mouthpieces or scapegoats. (Owen Jones accuses comedy of doing this with working class stereotypes, in his book Chavs, in the case of Harry Enfield’s WAYNE and WAYNETTA SLOB and the Little Britain character, VICKY POLLARD. But that is another subject and if I get into that as well this post will be even longer than it is!)

If you have persevered with this to the end, then thank you very much!

Books for the girls (that aren't about Princesses)

International Women's day just happens to coincide with me trying to think about books for young children with strong female role models. My list is quite patchy as, to my shame, there are some seminal children's books that I've never got around to reading, but these are the first five that came to mind. Feel free to add, to disagree or wade in with your comments:

1) Lightning Lucy - Jeremy Strong

I got this book out of the school library when I was a child of around 8 or 9 and read it again and again. I remember it as being funny and having a really cool central character.

Lucy makes doorstep sandwiches, has special powers and she saves people. I loved her and wanted to be her.

2) Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle - Diana Wynne Jones

The character of Sophie is not fearless, more the reluctant hero, insecure but brave, triumphing over adversity (along with the rather vain Howl of the title). It’s also my favourite Studio Ghilbli film - definitely worth a watch. It’s quite a bizarre story really and that’s what I like about it - you can’t second guess what’s going to happen next.

3) The Paper Bag Princess - by Robert Munsch and Michael Martchenko

Thanks for telling me about this one,TH (if, by rare chance, you happen to be reading this) this features a Princess, admittedly, but she is a strong, brave and intelligent one who outwits the dragon and, *spoiler alert*, rescues the Prince. He is profoundly ungrateful and undeserving of her efforts. The last line of the book is priceless.

4) Emily Brown and the Thing by Cressida Cowell and Neal Layton

One for very young children. The eponymous heroine goes on nocturnal adventures with her friend Stanley (a toy rabbit). The 'thing' in the title of this book is a monster who keeps Emily Brown and Stanley awake with his constant crying. I like this one because Emily Brown has short hair, is fairly grumpy and outspoken and seems very brave.

5) George from the Famous Five series by Enid Blyton.

I was wary of including this one for obvious reasons (the dubious racial and class stereotypes that abound in her books for a start). But George is feisty, fearless and a counterpoint to the milksop, Ann. Ann likes making house and George wishes she was a boy. Rather outrageous polar opposites but if I was going to identify with anyone , as a child, it would be bad-tempered, sulky tomboy George, rather than bland, pathetic Ann. When I read a hatchet job biography of Blyton, I discovered that she identified with George too.

Of course there are many, many ones of missed and this is an entirely arbitrary list but it’s one that is a work in progress really because I want to find lots more inspirational girls for my girls to read about.

Note - I didn’t include Jo from Little Women because I find the whole tone of that book rather sanctimonious.

The Perks of being a Wallflower

Have you seen this film? It's incredible. Not flawless but pretty amazing nonetheless.

I wish that this film (or book) had been around when I was a teenager. If it had, then perhaps that painful period of intense isolation may have been alleviated somewhat by the knowledge that there were many others going through the crusher at the same time (And there I was thinking I was unique!)

It features lonely and sensitive CHARLIE (Logan [Percy Jackson] Lerman), who is dealing with the fallout from the suicide of his best friend, last year, along with other personal demons. In the first few frames of the film, it is agonising to watch his experience of alienation and isolation as he starts high school. He has no friends, he seems to be surrounded by a bunch of insensitive, boorish sociopaths (but, hey, it is school!) and his family don't understand him. He deals with his feelings by writing letters to an imaginary friend. Things look up when he befriends a couple of quirky high school Seniors - charismatic, articulate PATRICK (Ezra Miller) and his step-sister, SAM (Emma Watson), who Charlie, instantly falls in love with. The pair introduce Charlie to their friends (other sensitive, quirky types). They open up his social life to parties and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, where many of the gang take the 'live' sing-along parts.

One of the things that makes this film exceptional are the exquisite performances - Ezra Miller fizzes onto the screen and mesmerises from the outset. It didn't surprise me at all to learn that he had played the title role in We need to talk about Kevin, if anyone could pull that off, he could. Logan Lerman is also excellent. He is totally convincing as the sensitive, troubled teen; writing down the answers to the questions in his English class rather than raising his hand, as he is too shy to speak up (I heavily identified with Charlie). His performance is quietly understated as opposed to Miller's Catherine Wheel turn but they both shine in their own ways. I also loved Mae Whitman as MARY ELIZABETH. I could empathise far more with her as the angry, chubby-faced girl who was passed over in favour of her fragile, beautiful friend, Sam. I confess that I do (usually) find Emma Watson a teeny bit irritating, with her vibrating, expressive eyebrow and tremor-in-the-voice acting, but she pulled off a creditable performance too.

It's been a long time since I was a teenager so why did this film speak to me so much?. Perhaps it was because it struck so many chords. The feeling of being an outsider until you finally meet a group of like-minded weirdos who become your social tribe. The main character's love of books. The memory of not really having anyone to talk to and dealing with difficult feelings. Weltschmertz. Then there is the really cool music, although it was slightly frustrating that none of them knew that the song 'Heroes' was by David Bowie.

The film occasionally seems a bit sentimental and slightly clichéd but overall I stand with my first statement - it's incredible. It has been compared to Dead Poet's Society and The Breakfast Club and there is a touch of both films about it, but to my mind, this one is far better and encompasses the teenage experience (or perhaps that's just my own experience) far better.

The Mitford Sisters

I love the books of Nancy Mitford and, like many people, I am intrigued by the Mitford family, so I was very happy to receive the biography  - The Mitfords by Mary S. Lovell, for my birthday last year.

The biography details the lives of the eccentrically diverse, aristocratic family, tracing them from the late Nineteenth Century to the end of the Twentieth. With it’s eccentric father David - Lord Redesdale, - Mitford (the basis for Uncle Matthew in Nancy’s Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate, the six sisters with their polarised political affiliations and early life of the only brother, Tom, you can certainly see the rich source material that Nancy drew on for her books.

It is no mean feat to write about such a large and vastly different cast of characters and it does make for a captivating read. However, I felt moved to write about this biography (which was published in 2001, so it’s hardly a current publication) because many of the issues illuminated in the book are still very pertinent today. I found myself having an almost visceral reaction (of disgust) to some of the things I read and I wanted to explore this reaction by writing about it.

Despite loving Nancy Mitford’s fiction, I only knew a little about the Mitford sisters, with a vague idea that they counted a fascist, a communist and a devotee of Hitler, amongst them.

The author of the biography states at the beginning that she won’t be making any judgement on the sisters’ political affiliations. But I feel that, given the subject matter, this is slightly irresponsible of her, not to say disingenuous. One of the reasons I felt moved to write about this book is because in places, Mary S. Lovell comes across as an apologist for fascism. She also makes frequent comments, excusing certain ‘character’s behaviour or condemning others, which give the distinct impression that she is not nearly as unbiased as she purports to be.

Of course, any writer is going to bring their own prejudices, preconceptions and political ideology to the table; it’s impossible not to, just as it is impossible for me as a reader, not to apply my own feeling, thoughts and experiences to the table, as I read it.  I felt deeply uncomfortable when I read about Diana Mitford’s fascination with and subsequent marriage to Oswald Mosley, as well as her frequent visits to and friendship with Hitler, in the lead up to the Second World War. I then felt physically sick while reading of Unity Mitford’s idolisation of Hitler and her close links to various members of the Nazi party. Unity’s fascination with Hitler took her to Germany, where she studied German and she orchestrated meetings with him. She was in love with him, she trembled violently whenever he entered a room and he eventually noticed her and befriended her, she used to take tea with him. (It all sounds so ridiculously domestic and mundane. She wrote letters to German newspapers praising Hitler and the Nazi regime and professing a wish that England would adopt similar methods and do something about the ‘Jewish problem’ in England. Lovell writes that Diana and Unity, with their blonde hair and blue eyes, embodied the Aryan ideal, and she states this without a hint of self-consciousness.

Moving on to Diana Mosley, nee Guinness, nee Mitford. The author makes much of her looks; indeed the way in which the author rhapsodises over Diana’s beauty throughout the book is nothing short of nauseating. A photograph of Diana, aged twenty nine is captioned ‘Diana, at the height of her beauty’.  Much is also made of how in love Diana and Mosley were (despite his many affairs!). Their posture in one of their later photographs is taken to illustrate how well suited and fond of each other they were. As if we were reading about any old society couple - look at those fond old dears! She also reproduces Mosely’s party line that he was not anti-semitic but was merely responding to the aggression his party met with when they marched through the East End. I have just read an article in the serial, ‘History Today’, which repudiates Mosley’s claim that he wasn’t anti-semitic. Unfortunately I can’t provide a link to the magazine as it’s a subscription only publication. But I’m sure that very few people these days would be convinced by claims that Mosley had nothing against Jews. He certainly seemed to be a racist. When he tried to relaunch his political career in the ‘60s, he campaigned against ‘non white’ immigration. It seems rather distasteful to harp on about a person’s physical attractiveness and their supposed great love affair when their whole belief system was so discriminatory and punitive.

I also feel rather frustrated by the author’s seeming lack of psychological insight. For instance, many of the sisters said that their mother never showed them any affection. Nancy in particular is quoted as saying that her mother never picked her up, cuddled her or kissed her. Lovell brushes this aside by saying that Sydney (the girls’ mother) was typical of someone of her class and at that time in history. That may be true, but I feel that a more searching/excavating writer would have made the link between this lack of affection and the way that the children of the family latched on obsessively to certain people and movements and why Nancy had an unhappy and unfulfilled love life. Perhaps this wasn’t the only thing forcing them to extremes. The sisters, Nancy and Jessica in particular, felt resentful that they were denied the right to the proper education, enjoyed by their brother, Tom. Here, Lovell makes the point that had the girls had access to a formal education, perhaps they wouldn’t have achieved as much as they did or been so independent and ambitious as they seemed to be. Perhaps this is true, there’s no way of knowing but I did find myself sympathising with these desperately intelligent young woman who wanted to learn and go on to University.

As I said, I brought my own views and belief system to this book. I mentally applauded as I read of Decca (Jessica) Mitford’s raising social consciousness, her life of political campaigning, and her participation in the Black Civil Rights movement in the States. I had the sense that Lovell is more critical of Decca than she is of Diana (or Unity for that matter!). Why is this? Is it because of Lovell’s own political leanings or was it because in 2001, when the biography was published, Diana, along with Deborah (Debo) was one of the only two Mitford sisters still alive?

We don’t really get a clear picture of Pamela Mitford from the book; she seemed destined to be the one relegated to being the most domestic and least ambitious sister (her nickname was ‘Woman’). Nancy comes across as brilliant, acerbic and capricious. Debo as faithful and level-headed, Unity as insane (literally). Decca is portrayed as someone who is quarrelsome and mischievous but also compassionate, dynamic and in possession of integrity. That they were all clever, witty, articulate, charismatic and (sorry) beautiful is re enforced. That their mother Sydney was rather unfairly represented by some of them is explored. That the family were irrevocably changed and damaged by the Second World War (as were all families who lived through that period) is stated. We learn a lot about what the family did, dates and times and are shown some fabulous photographs. What we don’t get, unfortunately, is a thorough exploration into the motivation of the people featured. But perhaps this is difficult to achieve when writing about such a large ‘cast of characters’, spanning such a large space of time

I did quite enjoy the book (although this may sound hypocritical after all my carping) and I don’t want to sound ungrateful to the friend who bought it for me (thanks, Michelle). But I expected a book which featured photographs of women sitting next to Hitler with rapturous looks on their faces to come accompanied with a little more censure or at the very least, exploration.

The Weighty Issue

There was a brief period in my early twenties when I tortured my body into a slim, (relatively) healthy machine. I achieved this by basically eliminating all fat from my diet. I ate my toast dry and there were certain foods that never crossed my lips; butter, cheese (with the exception of cottage cheese), nuts, avocados, cream, mayonnaise, and any kind of oil. I don’t eat meat anyway so there was no question of lean vs fatty cuts, but I do eat fish and if I had tinned tuna, it had to be in brine. One memorably dismal lunch at a supermarket cafe consisted of a limp salad without dressing, accompanied by a dry wholemeal roll and glass of water. I was nothing if not dedicated. Food had to be functional rather than enjoyable. I did eat  sugar and I ate carbs - the current bad guys of the dietary scene, but because, in not eating fat, I cut one food group completely from my diet, I lost a lot of weight.

The medics approved of me -  according to the charts, I was the perfect weight for my height. This state of being required constant vigilance (as Mad Eye Moody would say).  I was forever scanning food labels to see their fat content and I even took my low fat, low calorie meals round other people’s houses so I wouldn’t be tempted to share the takeaway they were having. (convivial, eh??) In many ways this fat-free diet seemed perfect as you didn’t need to restrict the volume of what you ate and as a consequence, (in theory) you never felt hungry.

When I lost weight I was totally intoxicated by the approval of others; “Haven’t you done well?” They’d say. “Well done you! You look amazing, you’ve lost so much weight.”

I loved hearing it, felt morally superior to my former, ‘fatter’ self. How weird and schizophrenic we become when we enter the world of dieting - I blame those ‘Before and After’ pictures you get in magazines; you’re encouraged to jeer at the former fatso with the comically large, clown trousers and you begin to look at your former self as this disgusting, idiot twin. It’s not the real you, the ‘real’ you has broken free of the fat chrysalis and flown out as a beautifully svelte butterfly.  I felt that I’d cracked the code. I’d finally learnt how to be thin and being thin was the way to be.

Then gradually, from my mid-twenties onwards (after I got my first, ‘proper’, full-time job), something began to go wrong, I started to put on weight. Without me making a conscious decision to do so, I started to introduce fat into my diet again; a bit of cheese here, some marg on my toast there, a Danish pastry for breakfast. I also ate too much, I ate very large lunches, reasoning that I would burn it all off at work. My weight crept up - only a little at first, but eventually to the point where I could grab handfuls of flesh (Like Alan Partridge, I had a ‘fat back’) and where I had to move into a larger size, then a larger one again!  So, I’d gained almost all the weight that I’d lost - why did I not just go back to the fat-free eating again?

This is a difficult question for me to answer.  Was it because I was sick of eating dry toast? Or was it because I didn’t want to be on a diet for the rest of my life? Or was it because of the theory put forward by Susie Orbach in her book Fat is a Feminist Issue, that, on some deeply unconscious level, I wanted to be fat? Did I want that protective layer of fat to act as a barrier - a protective wall, between me and the rest of the world? At first I baulked at the idea - who, in their right mind, would want to be fat? But then I looked back at the times when I put on weight and patterns seemed to emerge. I did seem to put on weight when I felt that there were a lot of external demands on me. The weight gain was gradual - it wasn’t that I went to bed one night a slim 25 year old and woke up fat, the day I turned 26. So perhaps I thought, in the beginning - so I’ve put on a few pounds - does it really matter? Maybe this is just the weight my body settles at.

I’ve always been a comfort eater - ‘’You’ve had a hard day - you deserve this.’ I’d tell myself, as I ate something with little nutritional value but a high calorie content. Invariably something sweet.

I never let it go too far; I was never morbidly obese. Whenever I went over 12 stone I would pull back, cut out sweets and cakes and biscuits (all the sweet stuff) and try to exercise more. I lost weight when I was a bridesmaid, twice, and for my own wedding but I never seemed to be able to get down to my ‘goal weight’. Whenever my weight got down and neared those magical and mythical goal posts, it had an abrupt turn started to creep up again, seemingly of its own accord. Was/Is my conscious desire to be slim and fit, in conflict with a deeply unconscious desire to be fat?

I do think that how you are exposed to food as a child is pivotal in whether you become overweight or not. I don’t really place much importance in a ‘fat’ gene (but hey, what do I know), rather, I believe that if, when you were unhappy or upset as a child, you were offered food rather than a hug/chance to talk, then you will associate food with comfort and this will become ingrained into your way of operating. I remember being offered chocolate, even as I vomited into the sink, after reacting badly to an anaesthetic as a child.

It’s not our parents fault - that’s how they were brought up themselves. And society itself is geared towards smothering problems rather than dealing with them. (For god’s sake don’t talk about your feelings; have a biscuit. You’ve broken your arm? Never mind, have a biscuit. You’ve been a good girl, have a biscuit. You feel like ending it all? Have a tablet!)

If your parents were part of the post-war, rationing generation or they come from a country where food is scarce (and mine tick both boxes, respectively) then you would have been encouraged to clear your plate - another fat-inducing habit.  Habits are very hard to break, especially when they are associated with something essential to our survival. I don’t have any answers, if I did then maybe I would be thin...

Now, for the first time in my life I am only too aware of the need to ‘manage my weight’ for my health, rather than for aesthetic reasons. And do more exercise. Best get myself away from this computer. Happy New Year!