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!

A Christmas Story

Crackers

Lee wrote ‘Happy Christmas’ in the condensation on the window.  She forgot to write it backwards so it would read properly to people outside and Arun did a mongi face at her.

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” Mrs Jakes had asked in that high-pitched, slightly girlish voice of hers, head to one side, eyes leaching understanding.

“Yeah.” Lee had said, and Mrs Jakes gave her a card for her Mum and Dad. It was one of those cheap ones that didn’t stand up properly. She wondered what her teacher would have done with the card if she’d said that they didn’t celebrate Christmas, but when her mum opened the card they saw that it wasn’t actually addressed to anyone, simply signed;

‘Best wishes, Caroline Jakes’.

The teacher had seemed very grateful for the present that Lee gave her.

“I shall put it under my tree.” She'd said.

Dad had wanted to get her a bottle of gin but mum said it wasn’t appropriate as they didn’t know whether she drank or not, so they’d given her a bottle of bubble bath instead.

Dad and Arun met Uncle Ray and Auntie Priya at the station. Lee liked Auntie Priya, she was pretty, she smiled all the time and she never asked them about their homework like the other grown-ups.

Uncle Ray clapped Lee on the back, looked around and told Dad that they really should move to a bigger place but Auntie Priya just said;

“Oh, the tree looks so pretty - did you decorate it, Leora?” (Auntie Priya was the only person Lee didn’t mind using her full name).

Lee nodded proudly and stuck her tongue out at Arun - he had said that pink, green and blue tinsel didn’t go.

Because Auntie Priya was pregnant she was going to sleep in Lee’s bed and Uncle Ray would sleep on his own on the sofa-bed in the lounge. Lee was to sleep on a lilo on the floor next to Priya and she was excited about that.

“We can be like sisters.” She said.

“Yes, I always wanted a sister.” Priya, smiled.

In the morning she did Lee’s hair in a French plait.

“Shame you have to spoil the effect by wearing your exercise kit.” Dad said, looking at Lee’s A-Team tracksuit.

“It’s not an exercise kit; it’s a tracksuit!” Lee said, scathingly.

“Don’t be rude, Lee.” Her mum said warningly while Auntie Priya busied herself with the kettle.

Uncle Ray was watching Star Wars with Arun.

“I love this film!” Uncle Ray shouted. Lee wondered why he always had to shout.

“Peter Yates is getting a computer for Christmas.” Arun said, to no one in particular.

“Good for Peter Yates.” Mum said, pouring the tea.

“And he got a BMX for his birthday.”

“His mum must have robbed a bank.”

“Hardly!” Arun snorted. “She goes to Church.”

“Are you going to Church tonight, Cee-Cee? Midnight Mass?” Priya asked Mum.

“Oh no, I gave all that up-” She looked towards Dad who had taken the back off their old radio and had the bits all over the kitchen table. “I gave that up ages ago.”

“And what do you want for Christmas, Leora?” Priya asked.

“I’ve asked for a ‘Mr. Frosty’ and a ‘Magna-Doodle’.” Lee said, meaningfully.

Mum raised her eyebrows.

The Grown-ups went to visit their Uncle Raj and Lee went downstairs to play with Louise.

Louise’s Mum, Pat was pouring candied peel into a bowl while Lee watched in fascination.

“I suppose your mum makes the pudding weeks in advance, like you’re meant to, does she?”

Pat asked Lee.

“No, she buys it from the Co-op.” Lee replied and Pat smiled.

Lee went into Louise’s room and they played with her ‘Speak and Spell’ but the batteries were running low and the voice sounded even weirder than normal.

Louise lay back on her bed.

“Do you remember when you were little and your dad used to dress up as Father Christmas?”

“My dad never did that.” Lee said. “He always told us that Father Christmas wasn’t real.”

“He didn’t!”

“Yeah. Maybe he didn’t want us to believe in anything…”

“Are you really going to have curry for Christmas dinner?”

“No! I never said that.”

“Your mum told my mum.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know...”

“I wish we could have curry, I hate Turkey; it’s so boring!”

“Yes, I think we are having curry, actually.”

“Can I come round and have some?”

“Yeah, O.K.”

“Really? Your mum won’t mind?”

“Erm, no. She won’t mind.”

“Can Debs come too? She loves curry.  She likes your mum’s curry, anyway, she doesn’t like it from the Taj; she doesn’t like all those seedy bits they put in the rice.”

“O.K.” Lee was starting to worry now.

“She’s allergic to nuts so your mum will have to make sure that there’s no nuts in anything and that no nuts have touched anything; otherwise her neck swells up like a balloon.”

“Oh. O.K.” Lee said, thinking about the oval dish filled with Brazil nuts that her Dad loved.

On her way back upstairs, Lee stressed about the next day. Her parents always offered her friends food whenever they came round but how would they feel about Debs and Louise joining them for Christmas dinner? They didn’t even have enough chairs for everyone; not with Uncle Ray and Auntie Priya there.

When she got back to her flat there was a line of fizzy, yellow drinks on the sideboard.

“Your father has been making snowballs!” Uncle Ray boomed.

“Can I have one?” She picked up a drink.

“Yes, why not?” Ray said.

“They have got alcohol on them.” Mum said, doubtfully.

“Only a little bit; let the kid have a taste, it is Christmas!”

Lee had already put it to her lips.

“It tastes like ice-cream, it’s yummy.” She said, gulping down half the drink.

“What is Advocaat, anyway?” Auntie Priya asked, holding up a neon yellow bottle. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Ad-voh-car; it’s like eggnog, it’s made from eggs and brandy.” Mum said.

“Brandy! I’d better not have any more.” Priya said, patting her tummy.

“I’ve got some ‘Five Alive’ in the fridge; it’s alright if you mix it with soda.” Mum went to get some fruit juice for Priya and one for Lee and Arun too. Arun gulped down his ‘Snowball’ before Mum could take it away but Lee didn’t catch on in time and Mum wrestled her glass away from her.

They were curled up on the sofa watching The Sound of Music, with the big blanket over their legs when the doorbell rang.  Mum, thinking it was carol singers, got her purse from the table.

“Lee - it’s Louise.” Mum called.

Lee felt like she’d been hit - she’d forgotten to tell her Mum about the extra ‘guests’.

Louise looked rueful.

“I can’t come to your house for Christmas dinner.” She said. “Mum says me and Debs have to eat with the family.”

“Oh...Shame!” Said Lee, hoping that her mother was too engrossed in the film to hear what Louise was saying.

“Tell your mum and dad to pop up for a sherry tomorrow.” Mum called out from the sofa.

“O.K. Auntie Cee-Cee.” Louise called.

“I’ll save you a bit of biryani too, if you like.” Mum said, passing Lee a long look.

“Oh, thanks!”

Louise went away happy and Lee went back to Julie Andrews, light of heart.