Anne's View
With Anne deBondt (Jan 2nd)

I was asked a brilliant question the other day - although my other half has a different opinion about the "brilliance" of the query. We were on our way to the car and he has rules about what subjects we discuss while confined in such close quarters. This quickly became another banned topic - right before the mother-in-law and just after the kids!

Anyway, I was asked what 10 things annoy me most and how I would change them. After careful consideration and a lot of eye rolling and uncooperative silence from the husband, I came up with my list.

1. I would like all newsagents to position a bin at the newsstand so that I may empty my newspapers, magazines and periodicals of the annoying bumph stuffed in between their pages before I take them home. Furthermore the unread bumph could be recycled. Although it would probably just end up being reproduced into more unread bumph....
2. I would like to stop shopkeepers from putting the price tag on the bottom of a breakable item, thus forcing the customer to needlessly handle the merchandise. Really, how irrational is that? I'm especially annoyed with this practise when sitting on the shelf alongside the item is a sign that reads, "All breakages must be paid for." Just to be ornery I place that sign under the thing at risk from us "touchers". Well, two can play at that game!
3. I would like just once to get into a queue where the person at the front isn't choosing the moment their goods are tallied to fish out their method of payment. I mean, come on, it's not as though the person ahead of them didn't do exactly the same thing giving us all ample time to choose how we're going to pay.
4. I would like people with umbrellas to either walk on stilts or crawl along the pavement. I've lost count of the times I've been pierced in the head by a thoughtless pedestrian with a rainfall attack weapon. Or better yet, wear a hat!
5. I would like the individuals who continue to leave brochures and catalogues at my front door, despite my repeatedly asking them not to, to see complaint number 1 as to my instructions for annoying bumph. These things most definitely qualify as annoying bumph.
6. I would like our elected government to remember who hired them in the first place. I would like them to keep a list of their election promises handy and refer to it from time to time just so that they're reminded of what they are supposed to be doing. And remember whose money they're spending.
7. I would like to see our schools given the same priority and advantages as asylum seeker's residences.
8. I would like to see asylum seekers residences given the priority of asylum seeker's residences.
9. I would like to see the elderly of this country given the respect and consideration they deserve by the nation they made sacrifices for and by the government they voted into office.
10. I would like our police officers, paramedics and fire-fighters to earn a salary that reflects the exceptional work they do. After all, they perform a task that we "civilians" hope to god we never have to. I for one wouldn't even begin to know how to pull a body out of the flames, police a risky situation or provide medical treatment to the critically injured. Life is invaluable and they save ours every day. What price should the government put on this?

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt (New Year's article Dec. 26th)

First, let me begin my New Year's article by thanking Charlie of Co. Durham for the lovely 2003 calendar he sent to me and the interesting newspaper clippings that accompanied it. And I would also like to take this opportunity to relay to Charlie that the grand total of full cups of coffee noted on last year's calendar was an impressive 113. I actually circled the dates I was served a full-up cuppa as Charlie suggested. Unfortunately I omitted to make note of the less than full cups so that I had a truer study. Rest assured I will be doing both throughout this year.
Lastly, may I add that the calendar makes me want to visit Co. Durham. The pictures and scenes are beautiful. Thank you again Charlie.

The concept of making a New Year's resolution has always baffled me. I can never understand giving up something that you obviously want to do or you wouldn't be doing it in the first place. And really, we are allowed the occasional digression. It's one of the perks of being an adult.
Gone are the days where we are told to eat our greens, stand up straight, say please and thank you or behave in a certain way when in certain company. Hell, why move out of our parent's home if we're just going to implement the same restrictions as they did?
I know a woman who's gone on a diet every January 1st for the past five years. And by each June she's still no lighter and making the same excuses for her failure as she did the year before.
Why? I keep telling her that if she's so hell bent on making a resolution that she'd be better off to begin doing something fun rather than trying (unsuccessfully) to stop doing something grudgingly! I advise her: resolve to spend every Friday night out with her friends. By June she'd be a screaming success.
And the number of people I know who try to quit smoking after Christmas is uncountable. Here's my theory ... if cancer doesn't scare you in May, chances are it's not going to scare you anymore come January! You should quit because it will kill you. Period!
Honestly, no matter how long I thought about it, I couldn't come up with anything that I am willing to sacrifice or able to deny myself. If I smoked, over drank or gambled it would be easy. But as it is, I don't. And I am quite happy with my ever-expanding girth and the fact that I still haven't bungee-jumped off the Forth Bridge.
Furthermore, I can say with unbridled certainty that I also won't be hang-gliding, running the London marathon or climbing some lofty, ice-capped mountain as a New Year's resolution, simply because of my advancing years or the fact that those activities are now Zimmer-frame friendly!
At my age I am entitled to and happily embrace my limitations. And if I was going to give up anything it would be to stop caring so much whether the house is dust free or the carpets and floors look as though we share our residence with cattle! You see, guaranteed success. What a great way to start the New Year.
And a very Happy New Year to all.

 

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt (Christmas article Dec.19th)

It's that time of year again. The time of year where I defrost an assortment of Saint Sarah Lee's deserts and pop the store-bought mince pies out of their cosy little containers and into the oven for a hasty warming. Incidentally, you'd be surprised at how many people ask if I've made them myself due to the appetising aroma wafting about the house when I do this. It always produces a hysterical laughing fit from any member of the household who happens to be within earshot of the question too.

To them it'd be like asking if I painted the Van Gough print hanging over the fireplace!

And I am overcoming a past distress and decanting a mixture of fancy chocolates into a bowl intended for visitors this year. I had stopped doing this when I was tempted to eat them all and never manage to have any left when we did entertain guests. This tradition came to an abrupt end a few years ago when my other half dared to enquire where all the recently purchased chocolates had gone (in front of the guests, I might add). We haven't had chocolates since.

As for the festive feast, that's all under control too as the deBondt clan will once again be partaking of it at a well known local restaurant where staff not only serve the food, they thoughtfully wash the dishes afterwards - all included. Needless to say, I have keenly investigated the full cup of coffee situation and am happy to report that I have been guaranteed satisfaction.

It has become somewhat of a family tradition now since the kids are old enough to lodge complaints about my cooking that we eat out instead of at home. When they were tiny tots they quite appreciated my failings in the kitchen area ... unsavoury food and burnt offerings meant they could get down from the table sooner and play with their Christmas bounty. They cared not a jot about what should have been turkey and trimmings and pies and tarts.

But somewhere along the way they began insisting things look and taste as they saw evidence of on television ads or in friend's homes. That's when we relented and began booking instead of cooking.
I was bought a new-fangled microwave last year to try and improve my culinary situation (the family pooled their resources and this is what they came up with as a ¿birthday present, I repaid their selfless benevolence by buying each of them a battery operated toothbrush. They got the hint, this year I received jewellery!)

But I still haven't come to grips with the blessed contraption. Although to be fair, my lack of aptitude here is more due to the fact that the digital display screen has a mind of its own and refuses to cooperate. I get more caution and warning alarms while I'm trying to programme a setting than NASA does when it's trying to land the space shuttle! My family think my protests are just a ploy to avoid cooking yet again - I can't imagine why they'd think that when I've never had the least problem admitting that I don't want to use the cooker despite it also being relatively new and showing no signs of a defect.

Evidently, according to HRH the mother-in-law, I have the Rolls Royce of cookers which would produce fabulous foods and magnificent meals - she only just stops short of pointing out that I would know this if I ever used it for anything other than the clock!

A very Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Before I have even popped a store-bought mince pie into my mouth I am being advised as to how to lose my unsightly weight leading up to the Christmas merriment so that I can fit into my festive frock. And in the same breath, how to shed the inevitable pounds I will gain afterwards so that I can fit into my not so festive usual attire.

Not that I ever heed this sort of guidance - I can't remember the last time I purchased a party dress or wore one, for that matter - but there's something distasteful about being treated as though your waistline is just another purchase item on the commercial Christmas list!

---

For days (it seems more like weeks) we've been barraged by media coverage of the Miss Universe contestants. The fact that they can walk and chew gum seems to merit page after page of reporting. The fact that they perform such fetes while wearing stiletto heals and a smile is evidently remarkable!

All I can say is t hat it's worth having the 91 contest here just to have it over with. God forbid the organisers are forced to schlep their camera-hungry models off to yet another destination, delaying the closing moments of the pageant even further!

Now, it's only right that I acknowledge I have never even come close to taking part in such a competition, and nor would I want to such is my aversion to this sort of thing. So, although my opinions are rather harsh, they aren't just a load of sour grapes.

In the year 2002 - closer to 2003 - can we really still be entertained by single women parading up and down the catwalk in tune to music with their bodies stuffed into itsy bitsy, teeny weenie bikinis, spouting chapter and verse about good causes? I mean, are we really still fooled by their pretending to be concerned about environmental or humanitarian issues when they use all that silicone and botox to look the way they do? Hell, if they want to make a positive impact on the ecosystem or the depletion of the ozone layer, forget rhetoric and cheesy smiles, just cut back on the hair spray!

I'm convinced that the only people still stubbornly enthusiastic about the degrading pageantry are family members of the pretty young things and the pretty young things themselves. Ok, maybe a few judges too.

And what's it all for anyway? What does the winner actually get? A crown she has to return, a sash she can't wear anywhere else and a bunch of flowers that last just about as long as the botox injections. Oh yes ... and then there's the useless title, the privilege of opening grocery stores and her body measurements broadcast around the world!

And in case there are a few readers who think I'm just being bitchy and insensitive for the sake of it... can you recall the name and nationality of last year's winner..?
No, neither can I or anyone else I asked.

---

And just when you thought I wasn't going to mention the fire-fighter's strike...

It's odd that President Blair warns us of having to cough up an extra £1,500 a year to cover the fire-fighters wages should he cave in and give them what they are asking for.

But that threat poses an interesting question ...

I wonder what it cost taxpayers when MP's awarded themselves a 40 percent pay hike last year! Or, if it cost us nothing, how'd he manage it then but not now? I'm just asking....

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Just a word about the fire-fighter's strike ... it's ironic that our elected government who get a personal expense account worth more than most people earn (fire-fighters included) on top of their generous salary, have the audacity to state that they won't be blackmailed into wage negotiations! All right for some, eh?

---

Let me set the scene for you ...
... there I was casually watching the incessant news coverage of Paul Burrell and his version of the "Diana Years" - incidentally, for a man who was going to take his story with him to the grave out of respect for his beloved boss, he sure pieced a doozy together quick enough once his trial was over.

I mean, I may write for a living but I'm pretty certain I couldn't have chronicled several years of love, devotion, intrigue, back-stabbing and disappointment into a book in that amount of time! Makes me think it might have already been written and just waiting for the right opportunity.
Anyway, I digress...

So, there I was watching yet another bulletin concerning the Royal household and its shenanigans when my daughter inadvertently switched the channel. I instantly began to protest her insolence when something caught my eye and made me cease my objections mid moan.

It was a satellite music station she had chosen and on the screen was the grungiest, most sluttish looking woman I have ever seen in my life, dressed in nothing more than a thong, riding chaffs and a bikini top. And as though a thong, riding chaffs and a bikini top weren't an absurd enough combination - something tells me this lass hasn't spent much time on a horse - her hair (more like her hair extensions) were braided in a million stringy ropes and long enough to sit on - which again, makes the choice of a thong and riding chaffs rather illogical.

Furthermore, the female songstress was gyrating her barely covered wobbly bits to music in a way that made me blush! It crossed my mind what her parents must think of their little girl and her pseudo-sexual carrying on. Although no matter how proud they pretend to be, I'm sure it's a video that won't be shown to faint hearted family members.

Presumably the song is about fighting dirty because there were muddy mud wrestlers in the background, two she devils sparring in a boxing ring and a bandanna clad rapper throwing his arms about menacingly. "Dirrty" posted at the end of the non-Disney melody is the title. And no, that isn't a typing error. I mean, in that get up it wasn't going to be "Twinkle twinkle little star"!

As disgusted as I was by the performance I couldn't turn away from it. I followed the entire number with my mouth open. I suspect that that's what today's music is all about, not so much talent as shock value. And youths don't so much listen to music these days as survive it.
If that's entertainment no wonder Burrell's book is selling!

---

Is it just a coincidence that in the same week we are informed of an effort to have eateries divulge the calorie content of their food items, McDonalds has to close up a few shops?

Is it too much to hope that Cambridge is chosen as one of the towns to lose its McDonalds? Or perhaps it's just good timing on the part of the fast-food chain as soon it is bound to be law that patrons are to be informed if what they are eating is in fact food at all!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I have an American disposition. And despite that I have lived in England for more years than I did in the USA, I will always be a Yank through and through.

But, that said, each time I return home for a family gathering (as I have just done) I am made more and more aware of a transformation taking place from the homeland I left behind to the one I frequently visit.
And each time I arrive back here I feel more and more obligated to explain that we haven't always been high-fiving, back-slapping, good ole' boys.

For instance, I don't ever recall hearing as a child such undeserved, over enthusiastic support as I did last weekend at a local sports event. And I know I'm not alone in my confusion because the child being congratulated by the crowd for his less than meagre performance as though he had just won the World Series single handed looked just as baffled as I did. There seems to be this belief in the USA that if you constantly praise your child for their achievements - whether they've earned the praise or not - the children will feel good about themselves and become great successes in later life. Personally, I think it just makes them lazy. I mean, why try hard when you know a mediocre effort will produce a gushing applause from mom and dad?

Also, I was asked recently why the Americans refer to their baseball season's climax as the "World" Series when it's just the Americans playing the Americans, no worldly association at all. I always reply that it's because most Americans don't know they aren't the "World"!

Anyway, it would be even easier to believe that we all sing when we talk and that all females wave as though our four fingers are glued together and we can only make minute little movements so that it's barely obvious we are waving at all - this gesture is most effective when the hand is placed at the cheek accompanied by a cheesy grin.

Or a person could be forgiven for thinking we've always had round-the-clock shopping, dining and car repairs. Do you know that you can actually get your oil changed at four o'clock in the morning? I couldn't even find the car at four in the morning let alone decide it needs fresh oil.

And I absolutely don't recall ever having a waitress bug me five times during a meal when I dined out in my youth! During this last visit we all decided to go out to dinner and before we had even sorted the seating arrangements we were being bombarded by a waitress tagged Debbee (don't get me started on the name spelling thing), asking more questions than an interrogation team. I had less conversation with the people at the table. I ordered a simple salad and then practically had to fill out a sworn statement before she'd bring it to me. In the end I was tempted to tell Debbee to just throw some lettuce in a bowl and I'd slice up the tomatoes myself!

The America I came from was much less in your face. It was far more demure and nothing like the fast paced, multi-choiced, well meaning Mecca you see on TV programmes today. It's an absurd situation to be in where you don't fit in with your own people. I have nothing in common with them except an ability to complain.

I suppose in future I will be forced to describe myself as the nationality formally known as American.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I had hardly recovered from the image of John Major and the reprehensible Edwina Currie in a love tryst thanks to her hideously over hyped book (did it never occur to the dim-witted woman that the public didn't need her to set the record straight? That a large majority of us were quite happy with that particular record sitting askew!)

But then Bill Clinton and his ego show up at the Labour Party Conference to do an inadequate imitation of a concerned civilian - I especially enjoyed his common man eats at McDonald's performance - and I reinstated my boycott on all news programmes until the nonsense blew over.

Tony Blair employing former president Bill Clinton to bolster his party's enthusiasm smacks of desperation. The day a philandering louse is an asset to your organisation, it's time to throw in the towel.

And far from Ms. Currie seeming the scorned yet respectable mistress for her revelations, she has quite contrarily revealed herself as nothing more than a sad, middle aged woman whose purpose is in doubt and who must now rely on her disrespect instead of talent to earn her a living.

Is it me or is there an unmistakable connection between the soulless tart and the tactless Ms. Currie?

---

There's something condescending about household cleaning products that have been impregnated with aromatic health ingredients. You know, washing up liquid with tea tree and peppermint in the mixture, lemon zest in toilet bowl cleansers or calming fragrances in laundry detergents.

It's bad enough that I have to perform the chores in the first place. But to think that a whiff of perfume is somehow meant to speed up the process is just adding insult to injury.

I mean, the brains behind this advertisement strategy completely missed the boat. Wouldn't it be better if toilet bowls were self-cleaning, not just lemony? Or disposable clothes more readily available, not merely sweet-smelling. I don't need the water to be perfumed and medicated in order to feel good about washing the dishes, I need the water to be clever enough to wash the dishes unaided!

Only a person who wouldn't know the difference between a toilet brush and a j-cloth would think that by improving the smell of the job, the job was more enjoyable!

As well as getting myself in a lather over my domestic situation, I am in an even bigger frenzy due to my highly talented, ever accessible and much venerated hairdresser announcing that she is expecting a baby!

Not that I'm not ecstatic for Liz of Clipso's in Ely. Or that I don't wish her the absolute best for herself, her husband and their newborn child.

But let's be fair ... who's' going to crimp my coiffure while she's away on maternity leave?
I tolerated not being told where my favourite stylist honeymooned a few years ago lest I became frustrated with a fringe crisis and invaded her privacy. But is it asking too much that I be told where the little un' is to be born just in case there's time in between contractions for her to give me a quick trim, if needed?

Failing that, you'd think the least Liz could do is name the child Anne in honour of the sacrifice I am being forced to make!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

It has long been established that I am the queen of complaint. What's more, I believe I fully deserve the title...

For instance, last weekend I was trapped in yet another unnecessarily long queue and was beside myself with frustration and irritation at the slow and incompetent pace of the cashier - complicated by the fact that a few customers were also behaving as though they had porridge for brains.

It was bad enough that the gal behind the till knew the customer and chose that moment to discuss her recent holiday at length while the rest of us were quickly losing the will to live. But worse, the customer realised at the end of the transaction that she'd forgotten another item and unbelievably held up the queue again while she went in search of it.

That's when it dawned on me that the answer to all my prayers was quite simple and had been staring me in the face all the time...

What retail premises, restaurants and such like need is a queue organiser.

I'll explain:

An overseer or controller at the front of the line could methodically conduct the customers, cashiers and anyone else holding things up. They could instruct the approaching punter when it's time to have their method of payment ready or at least dug out from the bowels of their handbag - this is another delay that drives me to insanity. I mean, it's as if it comes as a surprise to these ditherers that their goods have to be paid for. I want to scream from wherever I am in the line, "What were you going to pay with, a smile?"

And an overseer would be responsible for spotting an impending difficulty, thus enabling him or her to quickly rectify it before things ground to a halt. You know, he or she'd say something like ... ok, you've dragged the stupid thing past the scanner six times, punch in the damn numbers, would ya!
Or they would have the authority to halt the time-consuming gabbing between customer and cashier if it began to interfere with the flow!

The queue controller would have to be quick-thinking, rude if the situation required it and a first class trouble shooter. But I truly believe these people are out there...
Hell, I've been doing it for years, for free!

...and while we're on the subject of complaints, I heard a doozey while in an Ely florist last week that threatened to snatch my title.

From what I could gather, the customer's grievance was that an assortment of anniversary flowers she'd taken delivery of didn't match her lounge furnishings!

Apparently her hapless husband had ordered them without ensuring that they'd harmonize with the household!

Now, I'm no one to throw stones, but even I had to choke on that one. How this woman expected the florists to know the colour scheme of her lounge - or, in fact, that she'd even be putting the flowers in the lounge, I still can't fathom.

Even though I had already made my purchase, I stayed to hear the outcome of the tête-à-tête because I wanted to relate the happenings to my other half.

He often says I invent things to whinge about. That if I don't have a reason to bellyache I'll create one....
Yeah, that may be, but at least he isn't married to someone who expects him to colour coordinate my birthday bouquet with the couch! It's proof that there are worse things in life than being married to me!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Of all the so called free, get-rich-quick schemes I get delivered through my door - the chance at winning a stupendous sum of money, winning lottery numbers, offers to pay my entire mortgage - the one that really insults my intelligence is when I'm offered the chance of a two week stay in a luxury house or cottage as a prize!

How can that be appealing to anyone? I mean, I can barley stand to visit a stately home or castle for an afternoon without holding a grudge, a fortnight in one would just be dangerous.

Without wishing to offend, let's be honest, anyone desperate enough to take the gamble isn't already living in a palace. So it's a safe assumption that a two week stopover anywhere affluent-like would be a step up the accommodation ladder. But therein lies the problem.

How do you go back to your meagre existence without a hint of disappointment?
Forget two weeks, two hours of having staff and finery around me and then having to trundle off back to my humble abode and I'd be impossible to live with for the rest of my husband's life!

We live in a world of contradictions. Speed limits are legally enforced on the roads despite that cars are manufactured to go twice, and in some cases three, times faster.

Minors are made to wait until they reach a certain age before partaking of harmful alcohol or cigarettes yet they can witness realistic murder and mass destruction as entertainment, either in a computer game or in movies, a year before they are considered legally sensible enough to inflict cancer or alcoholism on themselves.

Adults are not permitted to purchase more than two packs of aspirin at a time or alcohol before noon on Sundays. Clearly it's the third pack that's a danger and somewhere in the country morning drinking was getting out of control therefore we've lost the right to manage such choices ourselves.
Furthermore, we are instructed when it's safe to cross a busy road and when not to cross -the fact that you can see whether or not a car is coming is insufficient grounds to walk or don't walk!

These are just a few examples of compulsory rules and regulations that are forced on us because the powers that be feel we need idiot-laws when it comes to immoderation, the risk of ill health, welfare or safety.

But where's this nannying intervention when it comes to enacting a law that prevents a shameful rallying of support for a terrorist leader? How can we not be trusted to cross the road without government supervision yet the same government feels no supervision is necessary when it comes to a public meeting inciting agitation, national hatred and treason?

Drinkers are made to drink to an absurd schedule to avoid becoming alcoholics in the morning. Aspirin takers are treated like junkies supposedly for their own good and children can watch someone die a horrid, violent death, they just can't drink or smoke while they're watching it.

Yet in spite of the apparent significance placed on human life, Gunther von Hagen's sickening display of deceased individuals infused with plastic and in an assortment of animated poses shouldn't worry us too much because he's allowed to call his disrespectful use of the dead art!

In short, the government has powers to stop us harming ourselves ... they just don't seem to care much if we offend, endanger or inflict our stupidity on our fellow man!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

What is the world coming to when a parent has to shield their young from furniture advertising for fear of exposing them to illicit material?

Not that my offspring are of an age where I need to worry about this sort of thing but I know of a few households that would have been (and probably were) flabbergasted by a sofa catalogue delivered to them without the least concern that their children might see the salacious booklet first.

I'm talking about the unsolicited "Sexy Sofa" brochure dropped through my door last week where a set of red painted puckered lips imitated the o in the word sofa across the front page.
The suggestiveness was to get worse. Page one pictured a little leather number surrounded by hundreds of lit candles and subdued lighting. Page two revealed an odd shaped red couch with a painting in the background of a woman's face obviously in the throes of passion … and so on and so on.

But the last page took the cake. It was titled For Play and depicted another leather sofa (evidently leather is the Brad Pitt of couches) with a fluffy pink boa swathed across a table in the foreground and a pair of similarly fluffy pink handcuffs draped on the seat of the sofa.

Maybe it's because my grandmother always covered her beloved furniture with plastic in case her grandchildren stained it with fizzy drinks or bits of biscuits. We never knew if she lived with the slippery coverings all year round or just put them on for our visits.

Or perhaps my bewilderment is due to the fact that there were five of us children in our household and the lounge was off limits to us because we'd just as likely jump on the furniture as sit on it.
But whatever the reason I can not for the life of me see how a couch can inspire a sexy atmosphere as implied by this latest advertising nonsense.

Although, if the advertisers are hinting at what I think they are, my grandmother was ahead of her time with the plastic protection!

It's a well documented fact that I am not an energetic person. I complain bitterly if I have to walk more than half a mile in any direction, no matter what the purpose of the outing is.

So I am aware that my subsequent comments might seem a tad inexpert...

But some sportspeople are arrogant. It's as if they think their chosen physical activity takes precedence over everything else all because they have a goal to achieve!

Last Sunday while motoring our way into Cambridge we came upon a multitude of marathon runners causing quite a tailback of traffic on the small and already inadequate lanes around my neck of the woods.

Some runners were on the wrong side of the road, some were more strolling than running and others who were overtaking the foot-draggers were causing cars to swerve wide in order to avoid a collision. A marathon monitor positioned along the route even had the temerity to ask us to slow down for a few stragglers that had created a long traffic jam in the opposite direction and were threatening to do the same behind us.

I mean, we were already crawling along at less than three miles per hour ... any slower and we'd have been in reverse!

Considering the high price motorists have to pay to use the roads these days, wouldn't it have been wiser - if not more considerate - to organise the fun-run around the abundant sports fields in our area?

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I'm not one for anniversaries or special commemorations. Other than celebrating my children's birthdays, I can honestly say that I am content to allow a particular date to pass with nary a notice. An idiosyncrasy that has caused a few hurt feelings in the past, I can tell you.

Since my children are all young adults now and we don't attend church services, Christmas has been demoted to nothing more than the one day in the year where I actually use my cooker for something other than the kitchen clock.

And Mother's Day barely rates a mention since I am more inclined to want my brood to honour and respect me throughout the year … not just for one day of it!

Also, I genuinely have trouble recalling how old I am. Well really, what's the point in knowing your age when you are no longer required to show proof of it in order to obtain certain restricted items? It's enough that I am sufficiently wrinkled and haggard looking to qualify for all sorts of irresponsible behaviour without verification.

And the number of years I have been married is a mystery to me. Not that the fact that my other half has endured another year with me isn't worth some sort of reward but I figure that by letting him off the hook and not insisting he sit through a candle lit dinner where I complain about poor service and the inevitable half cup of coffee is a monumental gift in itself, there's no need to keep track of the numbers.
And should I be asked to relate the ages of my three children without sufficient warning I am forced to use the finger counting method and round up to the nearest ten!

My lack of attention to all things celebratory has nothing to do with not wanting to admit my age or a disinterest in my family. It's because I've always been too delighted that we're all still here with all our faculties in tact, how long we've been doing it seems irrelevant.

But Wednesday September 11th 2002 was a date that made me reconsider my apathy to anniversaries.

For the first time ever I deliberately recalled where I was and with whom on a day one year previous - a day that affected not just my family and me but also the entire world.

Quite by chance I was stuck in America amidst the horror. I had unwittingly flown on the targeted airlines headed towards the eventual destination exactly one week to the day prior to the events that could have seen me become a statistic. And on a more personal level, coincidently while all hell was breaking lose over here on home ground.

Wednesday I changed a habit of a lifetime and took a moment to appreciate what I have and how long it's been since I was given it all back.

Above all others this day will continue to merit my attention and respect. I will honour the day with quiet reflection and sadness for those less fortunate than myself indefinitely. Not because the encounter scared me into a self-interested gratefulness … more because my close shave obligates me to the many victims who can't.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I never knew I needed so much help or assistance when out shopping...
Yet a recent announcement gives me cause for doubt. Just to keep my facts straight I'll quote from the statement:

'Marks & Spencer is reportedly staking its reputation on technology that will tell customers when their clothes clash and invest heavily in microchips that will warn shoppers when food passes its sell-by date.
Once at home, the chip would inform the customer if the garment were accidentally put on the wrong washing machine cycle.
It is also hoped that the chips will warn customers when food has past its sell-by date.'

Now, the report doesn't make it clear as to whether these warnings will be verbal, illuminating or just discreet symbols but there are so many problems with the idea of having a micro-monitor in my clothes and food packaging that I don't even know where to begin!

Firstly, what if you intend for your garments to clash? Are the warning lights going to flash all day long, revealing to everyone else that you've miss-matched your outfit despite that it was intentional?
Secondly, what if you bought a skirt in an up to the minute, vogue and trendy colour and the chip is in last year's blouse? Can you appeal to the voice of doom or are you forced to defend yourself throughout the day?

Also, this wash cycle idea … like I need more criticism regarding my housework abilities! And what good would it do to tell you afterwards? The fact that the item of clothing used to be a bright yellow and is now dusky denim blue is proof enough. The last thing you need is the garment making fun of you. A memory chip that can separate the clothes into appropriate wash piles would be a better idea.

On the other hand, if the food expiry warnings come in the way of an illumination I'll save a bundle on light bulbs. My refrigerator will light up like a Christmas tree whenever the door is opened!

It was bad enough when some bright spark decided it would be a good idea for automobiles to come equipped with vocalised warnings about the lights being left on, the keys left in the ignition or seatbelts needing to be fastened. I rue the day. I've lost more arguments with dashboards than I have with my other half!

No, if Marks & Spencer's wants my business they'd do better to imbed a chip into their clothing that compliments me, no matter how diabolical my choice is. Something that remarks on the slimness of my hips - ignoring that the material is stretched beyond capacity - wouldn't go a miss either!
Or M&S might want to think about concocting a meal that instantly begins to cook once it's removed from the fridge and beeps when it's ready to serve. Now that's impressive.

Furthermore, this is a waste of technological intelligence. Most women already have a uncompromising domestic overseer. If she wants disparaging comments made about the state of her refrigerator or the colour coordination of her clothes she only has to invite the mother-in-law over for an afternoon.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Here we go again … no sooner are the GCSE results out, the criticizing begins. It's as inevitable as night following day.

Every year at this time a multitude of cynical old fogies attempts to ruin what should otherwise be a joyous moment by suggesting that today's students have gotten off light, that they only received such high grades and pass rates because the exams were so much easier than in previous years.
Please!

Of course the exams seem easier to those of you who've been working since before decimalisation. Incidentally, a driving test would also be a whole lot easier if the DVLA would allow you take it after being on the road for a few decades!

But the GCSE exams aren't intended to test the experienced, they're meant to assess the young school leavers just starting out in the world, the yet to be experienced. What test wouldn't be a breeze once you knew the answers?

Spiteful remarks about the exams only serve one purpose as far as I can tell - they allow the moaners one last opportunity to feel superior before they're replaced by the younger, fresher generation.
Congratulations to all the hard working, dedicated young adults who sat the exams and passed. Don't lose heart, there are just as many of us old fogies out here who recognize what you've achieved and praise your efforts.

---

And while on the subject of grades …
supposedly boys are not faring so well when it comes to exam results. Girls are said to be doing much better due to an anti-learning, laddish culture.

Apparently the fact that young men don't have creditable role models today is a major factor.
Now this accusation I'll allow without question.

You only have to look at the recent trial of a certain football trio to understand where it's all going wrong. I say recent but you could choose any day of any week and happen upon a similar story.
How many times do we read where a ludicrously overpaid sportsman has been given less than a slap on the wrist for his public outbursts or anti-social behaviour? When the likes of us less salaried, less worldly lot would surely have been dealt with much more forcefully.

How many times do we see serious personal fouls, punch-ups and verbal abuse within a seemingly innocent game of soccer? These offences are committed by players earning millions of pounds for little more than kicking a ball about a field.

How often do we hear of mega-rich rock stars and their tantrums when they don't get their own way?
Is it any wonder that there's no incentive for our boys to do better in school? Where's the motivation to hone anything other than their punching or shouting skills when all they see is proof that it isn't education that counts, it's arrogance and a complete disregard for respectability?

If we want future generations of young men to succeed, go forth with pride and prosper, perhaps we should stop treating violent, loudmouthed, thugs as though they were the second coming.

Maybe if an example were set whereby disreputable sportsman and entertainers lost all professional and financial backing for their insubordination, lads of today wouldn't be so eager to emulate them and might even be persuaded to pull up their socks.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Ok, this may be the only time I allow someone else the floor so make the most of it. But I just couldn't pass this up...

There is a dippy broad by the name of Karyn who considerably over-spent on her credit card to the tune of $20,000. Now it seems she's having trouble repaying the debt. Go figure! Perhaps she thought Father Christmas still delivered.

Anyway, she got it into her empty head that she could appeal to the kind hearted public for donations to help her out of the scrap. And there are actually folk doing it - to date she's received over $2,000!
But what's really prompted me to feature such nonsense in my article this week is an opposing website poking fun at her stupidity.

First go to www.savekaryn.com - on the condition that you absolutely do not contribute and read the shameful begging!

Then go to www.dontsavekaryn.com and laugh your backsides off!

For a minute there I thought Bob and Ben were stage names for Michael and Lee! If they aren't, these guys ought to be writing for the Ely and Newmarket websites!

---

In spite of the frightening thought that there are actually people in this world as unhinged as this, I still loved the news article that an obese American filed a multi-million dollar suit against fast food establishments such as McDonald's, Burger king and the likes for gratuitously encouraging him to stuff his face with their unhealthy grub, thus causing his much-expanded girth.

His complaint was that they unsympathetically enticed him without advance warning that their hamburgers, french fries and milk shakes wouldn't supply him with the nutritional value of a salad. You know, like he looked at the dripping beef patty and saw a carrot!

Unfortunately, I believe the case has been thrown out. I say unfortunately because I looked forward to reading further evidence of this guy's refusal to take personal responsibility.

Not that I don't sympathise with his dilemma. I mean, eating well versus eating fun has got to be a toughie - especially when you are surrounded by such temptation! Although one questions how he wasn't just as enticed by the equally available health food stores on his way to fry-heaven!

However I also know that this sort of nonsense promotes similar cases and I eagerly awaited the freak show! I suppose I'll just have to wait. But in the meantime, let me share a couple of my previous favourites:

A Nevada inmate sued when he ordered two jars of chunky peanut butter at the Nevada State Prison canteen and received one chunky and one creamy.

A lady was bowling and got a piece of popcorn caught in her shoe and during her approach, she lipped and fell. She sued for $50,000, claiming the alley was negligent for not putting up warnings about popcorn on the floor.

~

Despite my frequent complaints and protests concerning retail facilities in our area, I am still, nevertheless, hell bent on supporting local enterprises.
In a determined way, I even manage to convince myself that my recommendations will improve things… you know, tough love and all that …

But HRH (the mother-in-law) and I found a new shop in Exning that would test even my ability to find fault. It's a unique little place called Classic Design Interiors, located on Oxford Street that offers the most superb selection of quality fabrics, ornaments and fine furnishings in all shapes and sizes.

I spent a leisurely afternoon browsing through their range of stock, chatting with Madje and Lesley (we were on a first name basis after two Bucks Fizz and a bowl of complimentary nibbles.) and genuinely enjoying each and every item on display.

The reason I mention this new establishment isn't so that I might receive special treatment or discounts from the gals upon my return, although they couldn't have been more helpful or accommodating during my initial visit.

No, I recommend them because I genuinely believe that if we support services within our area - providing they supply professional assistance, value for money and can offer adequate parking or access, our loyalty will encourage other quality concerns to set up shop in our neck of the woods - hopefully replacing the glut of penny bucket stores and never-ending charity shops.

So, here's to Madje Tabbron and Lesley Gillam, I hope you have a long and successful run. And thank you for a most enjoyable shopping experience.

Incidentally, should my recommendation inspire a reader to investigate this place, be sure to tell them Anne sent you - they're bound to remember the American who requested a peek at every sample book on their shelves on the hottest day of the year!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Whatever happened to 'loose lips sink ships'? Whatever happened to media blackouts during conflict or war? Whatever happened to national security?

Because if anyone beside myself, the other half and a few militants were listening to a recent news bulletin, they'll also know that the UK is ever so slightly unprepared for battle!

To be precise, a hard-hitting parliamentary report finds that: THE UK has failed to overhaul internal security since September 11 and is poorly equipped to deal with a similar attack.

Now, I don't plan on making the same mistake so I won't go into to any detail, I'll just say it was bad enough that the damning report didn't just inform all and sundry of our predicament, it went on to specify just how and where our military weaknesses lie - in minute detail, mind you!

Did it never occur to the blabbers that anyone with a third grade education will be able to deduce from the much-publicised findings that we are terrifyingly lacking in the combat department? Did it never occur to anyone that the enemy might find this information a tad encouraging? Or that it might be more prudent to keep this report quiet since it practically invites an attack?

Hell, forget high-tech software, expensive hardware or military intelligence. The extremists only have to walk into British newsagents and plot their next attack from the front page of a tabloid!

---

Not that this summer has provided us with much of an opportunity, but how can folk still sunbathe with all the information available to them concerning skin cancer, premature aging and sun strokes?

What else has to be made known before people stop frying themselves to death - either in this country or when travelling abroad?

I watched in astonishment as a never-ending queue of holidaymakers disembarked at the airport with what can only be described as over cooked complexions! Evidently not one of them had thought to take the factor 15 along on their hols. They all looked as though they had been dipped in brown paint.

I appreciate that the objective was to get as dark as possible before returning home, but how can they overlook the grave health risks just so that they can show off?

Proof that the ego-factor motivates them into mindless sun tanning is that, anyone who's lived in this country for more than two summers, knows that a bikini top and shorts is never going to be warm enough even in the middle of July. Yet at least three quarters of the gals - and some of the men, tiptoe past me wearing scanty attire as though they live in Barbados! Incidentally, I've always thought a coat salesman in the arrivals lounge would do a bomb in trade…

Sun worshipers must have an astounding ability to overlook the high price of their ignorance. Because the sunshine may well be free of charge, but it costs a fortune to repair.

---

It's been a while since I've complained about the service in this country, so I'm due…

Is it too much to ask that when there are more than ten people waiting in a queue, the store manager open another till?

It has to be the epitome of frustration to watch five employees stocking shelves while only one sits behind the register - ineptly.

Just recently I became so fed up with the idleness of one line that I approached a shelf stocker (who was also talented enough to be chatting to a friend at the same time) and handed him my goods. I suggested he might like to shelve them too!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I've never been fooled by the television adverts that depict women with flawless complexions, silky smooth hair or rake thin bodies professing that some wonder-product gave them the kit.

In other words, I've always known that a striking model was chosen to promote a certain skin care cream due to her already perfect skin tone. She didn't use the absurdly priced rejuvenating ointment and then become gorgeous, she was born that way.

Similarly I am aware that the lass tiptoeing about the beach in a skimpy bikini already had the ideal figure - the healthy cereal she's recommending, at best, just gives her an edge (if, in fact, she even eats it - or keeps it down). However, what does get up my nose about that particular ad is that this paragon of physique is usually cavorting about with a child or two as if not even gaining three stones in weight through pregnancy, per child would be a problem if one should partake of the cereal.
Yeah, right! Only if one of the ingredients is a laxative.

Furthermore the flaxen haired beauty that feels compelled to wash her hair in public was selected from thousands of equally well-tressed candidates because the makers of the cleansing product wanted her magnificent hair to characterize the merchandise, not the other way around!

But I allow the illusory advertisements to go unchallenged. Really, what harm can it do since most of us already know that the likes of Heather Locklear, Elizabeth Hurley or Kate Moss wouldn't know a bad hair day if it bit them on the bum - if they had one!

But I absolutely draw the line at being forced to encounter one of these impossibly attractive individuals in person.

Just recently I was at a department store in Newmarket in search of a face cream that eliminates wrinkles, smoothes out rugged complexions, moistens old skin and turns the clock back a decade or so without actually having those words written on the packaging, when I was approached by a stunning lass (who I'm convinced was no more than 12 years old) asking if I needed any assistance.

Now, it's bad enough that I have to use a magnifying mirror to apply my cosmetics these days. I mean, the magic potion is supposed to minimise my flaws only to have the mirror enlarge them, how cruel is that? Or that I'm at an age where I have to spend more money repairing the damage sleeping inflicts on my eyes than I did on schooling for the children, but to have to confess all this to a preschooler is just barefaced cheek - actually, I think her cheeks were bare...

Anyway, I tersely declined her offer of help. What could someone with perfect skin, beautiful hair and no more than a mere babe know about the ravages of time? What advise could she possibly give? Unscrewing the lid on the minute jar is about where she and I part company. Incidentally, is it me or are the containers getting smaller whilst the cost increases?

I want someone who's suffered. I want a woman capable of empathy not pity selling me the stuff. If I'm going to make the effort to look more appealing despite my advancing years, I want a middle-aged married woman, mother of five to counsel me. Someone with experience. A twenty something Barbie doll who thinks crows feet is a lucky charm is just insult to injury!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt


I'd like to take exception to the recent remarks made in the press about Ely. I'd like to set the record straight and say that I think it's a well thought out, futuristic accomplishment.

I'd like to point out that a lot of time and energy has gone into making Ely a city to be proud of. I'd like to say that non-charitable proprietors from far and wide are fighting to acquire one of the many available shops.
I'd like to draw attention to the many facilities and amenities in the city of Ely that leave neighbouring towns in the dark.

I'd like to say all these things…. But I can't.

I will however add something to the recent press review of Ely and its lack of soul:

Ely is the Cinderella of East Anglia. It only seems to get what didn't work, wasn't wanted or of no use to anywhere else.

Your turn Council!

---

You might recall my earlier comments concerning the amount of household waste my family and I produce each week. And how we almost have more refuse bags stacked at the end of our drive than is collected from the entire street!

We look as though we are continuously having a spring clear out.
One passer-by was even prompted to ask if I minded the refuse collectors stacking everyone's garbage on our property so that the lorry only has to make one stop, such was the height of one particular black mountain…

For a split second I contemplated owning up to the accumulation but just as instantly decided against it…instead I magnanimously offered that I didn't mind, that I'm only too happy to do my bit for the community - thank god personalised garbage bags never caught on in this country.
Anyway, I mention this because, if true, a report in this morning's news means my mega-garbage situation is about to get a whole lot worse.

A proposition is to be considered this autumn that would mean households are to be charged £1.00 per bag over a certain number!

I tried not to panic. I took a deep breath and focused on the fact that no one mentioned anything about whether or not a homeowner would have the right of appeal. Nothing was said about dispensations being granted for exceptional circumstances. Like allowing for the fact that if manufacturers didn't package everything twelve times - for freshness, of course - we wouldn't have so many bags. Or that absolutely every product under the sun these days comes with at least one sheet of cardboard inserted into the goods, regardless if it's food, fabric or feathers.

But really, can you see the problem here? I'll be forced to make a midnight flit across the neighbourhood every Tuesday night to distribute my excessive bags, just to keep the bin-bill below a mortgage payment (again let me say how happy I am personalised garbage bags never caught on over here). Or haggle once a week with the dustmen, insisting that some unscrupulous, thoughtless neighbour deposited their overload of bags on my property (I think it's obvious the personalised garbage bag is a no-go).

And how will I pay, by credit card, personal cheque, Tescos club card points? Am I to be fined on the spot or billed each month along with the other utilities? Whichever method, it won't be cheap, I can tell you.

Forget saving for a holiday each year, if this comes to fruition, the other half and I will be forced to open a savings account just to afford being able to use our own driveway!

Anne's View

I often fly on long-haul journeys and can't think of a time when I wasn't seated next to someone who took up their own entire seat and at least a quarter of mine. Complaining to the stewardess about my discomfort makes no difference. I am always told that the plane is full. In short, I have to put up with it.

So you can imagine how elated I was when I read that an American airline was to start charging overweight people double the airfare should their measurements require them to occupy twice the amount of seating. I excitedly envisioned flights where I would be able to use both arm rests, drop my tray all the way down and go to the toilet without having to climb Mount Vesuvius to get there.

But as elated as I am about the long overdue ruling, I also braced myself for the inevitable lawsuit claiming that, by charging for extra ass space, fatties are being discriminated against. I mean, they give away extra legroom, don't they!

And I didn't have to wait long.

By the next day a large woman attempted to board her plane and was told at the ticket desk that she was obliged to pay twice as much due to her size. She immediately lodged a complaint and then tearfully faced the television cameras - which were coincidentally only a stone's throw away, just waiting for a chubby to turn up.

Amazing how this victim of unfairness overcame her humiliation enough to be interviewed on TV. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be penalised for being fat in front of only a few folk standing behind me in a queue - the worst they'll do is relate the story to their mildly interested friends…than to a large number of people watching the tube. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts the television audience was far less sympathetic than she had hoped.

And I'm equally as braced for the next chapter when, after booking via email or telephone, a sizeable person arrives at the check-in desk only to be told that they exceed the weight limit for a single seat price. Again, legal proceedings are definitely on the cards. As though the agent making the telecommunicated booking should have known by the voice or font that the customer was overweight!

But why do these people feel they are entitled to special treatment? Why should the likes of us smaller, less invasive citizens be forced to accommodate overeaters?

I'm not allowed to be disturbing or pushy, that would be considered antisocial behaviour. If I were to lay my head on the lap of a neighbouring passenger, so that I may travel more comfortably, regardless of how uncomfortable I made them, I dare say I would be instructed to remove myself
at once - while simultaneously being shoved to the floor! If I decided that I was entitled to sit with my legs draped across the adjacent passenger's lap, so as to avoid deep vein thrombosis, a life-threatening ailment, I doubt I would be sitting next to anyone for much longer… I'd probably find myself restrained at the back of the plane with duct tape until the pilot could make a safe U-turn!

However someone's derrière is supposed to be less offensive? I am expected to tolerate only getting half the seat I paid for while they get two for the price of one?

Sadly it's to be expected that the ruling won't stick. There's bound to be such a hostile response from the big brigade that the airline will be forced to rescind its decision or face disruptive action.
But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the short-lived victory this gives the little people. And perhaps book a flight with the airline concerned just to experience what it's like to fly without losing the feeling down one side of my body.

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

What on earth could pop idol Will Young have achieved in his few short years to warrant an autobiography? He hasn't even had a life yet forget merits writing about one!
Moreover, yeah, anything is possible when you're still living at home, barely out of short trousers and you don't even know how to spell the word mortgage, let alone have one.

Since I'll never read it, I'm forced to ask, what he filled the pages with, his nursery school drawings and a few teacher comments? Hell, my weekly grocery list would contain more suspense!
He was born, he went to school, he had acne, and he sang for a made-for-TV competition and questionably won.

I say questionably because everyone who ever appeared on the programme has now released an album or single, been offered lucrative recording and advertisement deals and travelled the country spreading their ability to cover archaic, long-forgotten songs - I fail to see the distinction in being the winner.

And, really, can there be an English speaking person left in the country who hasn't already read about everything from how he combs his hair to his sexual preferences or how he has his cornflakes of a morning?

Please! It's bad enough he pretends to sing… need he pretend to be interesting as well?

Unthinkably the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit in California ruled 2 to 1 to abolish the Pledge of Allegiance in schools in the United States due to the words "In God We Trust".
For those of you unfamiliar with what the Pledge of Allegiance is, it's a patriotic undertaking recited at the beginning of each day by students or civic workers as a way of focusing attention on one's obligation to country….

A self-righteous attempt to assert loyalty, some might say, but it worked for me!

Every day of my school life I either stood with my hand over my heart, reciting the verse along with my entire class or I stood in silence while the American anthem played.

I'll admit it was years before I completely understood what it was I was pledging my youthful allegiance to… but similar to saying prayers at a young age just because your parents tell you to, I eventually came to mean the words I delivered. And I can still say them now, even though it has been decades since I was encouraged to.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

This irrational action has come about because a father complained that his daughter is injured when forced to listen to public school teachers leading students daily in a pledge that includes the assertion that there is a God.

It wasn't enough that this man's daughter wasn't compelled to recite the words; a law had to be passed to protect her from even hearing them!

And my reason for mentioning this …

You may not think it relates to you and this country now. But let me remind you that what Americans wear, eat, think, say and do eventually end up a fashion, craze or trend over here.

Be prepared, in the near future, if this kind of thinking (and I use that word begrudgingly) catches on, we might find the expression God Save the Queen abolished. Or forced to remove all mention of God when singing the English National Anthem for fear it would offend a non-believer.

All I can say is … God help us!

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

Forget national pride in our World Cup football team. Ignore the money-wasting fracas surrounding President Blair and his media manipulating, ego massaging spin-doctors...
Suspend all interest in where Osama Bin Laden might be hanging his turban for the time being. Hell, even overlook that new research by the Radiation and Nuclear Safety Authority of Finland suggests that mobile phones do cause brain tissue damage after all…

We've got a real news story on our hands. Just in case you missed the news flash, Stephen Bing has been confirmed as the father of Liz Hurley's baby boy, Damian. What a load off that is, huh!
And what's more, we didn't even have to wait to hear the results of the DNA test once it was in. We were informed as soon as (if not sooner) than Ms. Hurley was, thanks to the six o'clock news interrupting its scheduled item to notify us. And then, as if that wasn't accommodating enough, the national newspapers were full of any further minutia that might have developed in the twelve hours after the initial disclosure.
I don't know about you but the world and all it's troubles suddenly looks a finer place to live. Just knowing that the gal's gonna pocket a gazillion bucks a year for her lack of birth control awareness makes me all goose-pimply with delight!

Gee, I hope Ms. Hurley is saving the newspaper clippings for her youngster. When he's a little older he's bound to ask questions like; How did you and daddy meet? Whose idea was it to name me Damian? And, What does DNA stand for? …

Yup, its summer! Although, such is the fickleness of our weather, by the time you read this, you'll probably have gotten the woollies out and turned the rads back on…

But it isn't summer just because we finally had the traditional three consecutive weekdays of sunshine before temperatures predictably plunged at the weekend.

Nor because a motorist can't even go to the local Spar shop lately without finding themselves stuck behind a convoy of caravans. And not because our inconspicuous summertime has been launched by an onslaught of pesky gnats and thunder flies.

For it is the time-honoured airport workers, taxi drivers and baggage handlers going on strike - not to mention the logjam of travellers sleeping awkwardly upon their luggage in airport departure lounges - which tells me British summertime has arrived.

Such is the regularity of this inconvenience, travel services taking industrial action signals the end of spring, as sure as Christmas cards being sold in September signals the beginning of overindulgence.

Evidently we have refrigerator mountains developing in this country thanks to overzealous government ministers not reading the small print! Mountains, it has been predicted, that will take at least two years and forty million pounds to clear.

By the way, is that two years including any new additions or two years for this particular mountain and another two for every mountain thereafter?

It is advised that the CFC's contained in these domestic appliances are a problem to the atmosphere and therefore it is no longer legal to crush them or recycle them to poorer countries as we have done in the past. But this all-important section of the contract dealing with new disposal requirements somehow went unnoticed by the assigned minister and we are now saddled with ever increasing icebox heaps for infinity.
Not to fan the flames of dissension here, but is anybody else a little uneasy to think that the same government also negotiates contracts with world leaders concerning war, conflict and weaponry?

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

I have never been to Las Vegas Nevada, USA, even though I lived practically a stones throw from "Sin City" throughout my entire youth. But I have heard the stories!
One common tale oft told by homecoming gamblers was that there are slot machines in the hotel rooms, public conveniences, and restaurants and even a few mounted on the exterior walls of non-gambling establishments - lest one should get the urge to gamble even when in an inconvenient location.
My first thought is … How sad that there are folk in this world that can't even go to the loo without having to chance their coins on the slots? Maybe that's where the saying, 'I'm just going to spend a penny', originated from!

Undoubtedly, if I were to ask a Las Vegas State official, I'd be told the purpose for the money abysses' sprouting up everywhere is that they are in keeping with the theme of the place. That they are merely positioned for the entertainment of tourists and guest with a few coins left in their pockets - no doubt, before returning home and filing for bankruptcy.

My reason for mentioning this is because I have noticed a worrying similarity with the placement of ATM's (automated teller machines) over here. Banks are increasingly making our money more available to us in more and more bizarre locations by supplying a hole-in-the-wall everywhere you go.

Don't get me wrong, I agree with the principal of being able to withdraw your loot when and if you decide you want it. After all, it's your loot! But am I alone in thinking that convenience and practicality aren't the only reasons behind these things being as abundant as the accommodating Vegas slot machines?
And wouldn't it be a lot easier to accept the 'convenience and practicality' theory if ATM's weren't located virtually on top of lottery tables, pubs, nightclubs and horse tracks. The fact that there's one outside the bookies more than makes my point.

Is it just a coincidence that banks choose to locate their ATM's at the site of the most addictive activities? Or is it, as I suspect, that we don't need much encouragement to overspend. And the banks, like the casino owners, want to be right there to profit from our bad habits!


What good will a new Transportation Secretary do when he'll only be churning out the old twaddle of his predecessor? What point is there in appointing a team to investigate the sinking NHS, when the conclusion will just be more governmental camouflage?

It is uncountable the times I have been stranded by our ever-decreasing train service. And a recent experience happened hot on the heels of having to endure the frustration of a slowly dying NHS.
One thought kept going through my mind while I suffered the inadequacies of both services…
Just once I'd like to avoid responsibility by sending President Blair an accompanying letter with my non-payment that states:

Dear Mr. Blair,

It is with great concern that I couldn't find the money in my family budget to put my outstanding debt to you and your government right. But rest assured my fellow indebted family members and I are working on a prompt resolution.
In addition, I have instructed my advisers to investigate ways to eliminate this from occurring again, I expect them to achieve a full and sound solution soon. I will be able to tell you more when I have had a chance to look over their findings.
For now, I expect you will just have to lump it!

Sincerely,
Anne deBondt

Anne's View
With Anne deBondt

What a shame there are troublemakers so lacking in self-control that they snap in half 37 beautiful and thriving trees in the Jubilee Gardens, because, undoubtedly, they were bored!

Fancy being so juvenile that you derive pleasure from killing the commemoration to our monarchy's service, because, unquestionably, you're an angry little oik with a big chip on your shoulders!

Conceive of, if you will, being such a mindless prat that regardless of the time and money spent on beautifying the area (and, no doubt, so that you can enjoy your sickening escapade being mentioned in the local press) breaking tree trunks gives you a thrill.

And what's an even bigger shame is that when, not if, the vandals (a much nicer adjective than the ones I used when I read about what happened) are caught, their little limbs won't be dealt with in the same way!

I delight in coming across absurd time saving gadgets, knick-knacks and convenience products. I used to frequently receive a catalogue through the door that had page after page of supposedly time saving devices that kept me rolling on the floor with laughter at the laziness of some folk.

Honest to goodness, there was a thingamajig that helped you locate your television remote control. Isn't enough that we don't have to leave the couch in order to change the channel, must we also spare ourselves the task of locating the gadget too? And then there's the cloth that contains its own polish! That particular gem had me screaming at the advertisement page, "Good God, what woman can't afford the time to spritz a little polish onto a cloth?"

I mean, you want my money, show me the duster with legs, an antenna for household grime, and we're talking!

It's a wonder my family ever allowed the booklet to be delivered in the first place, such was my verbal and often loud angst. But my amusement stopped all together when I complained about how the sender never collected the catalogues when they were supposed to…and consequently they stopped delivering it!
Nonetheless, I have to say, the absolute best examples of over indulgence and devices for the slothful come from the United States.

For instance, while perusing the shelves of an American grocery store I found self-milking cereal - just shake the carton vigorously and presto! What are you doing with your day that is so important you need to save that step?

Ready to use flannels impregnated with soap and lanolin so that you don't even need to dry off afterwards was another one. Yeah, that's what takes me so long to get ready, the towelling off! Then there was toothpaste and mouthwash all in one to spare one the exertion of gargling. And sewing needles pre threaded with your choice of coloured cotton (what, no button attached?).

So what, dare I ask, are we doing with all the time we have supposedly saved?

According to all the labour saving schemes I should be finished with my household chores, personal hygiene tasks and daily meals by 10 am, bearing in mind that I get up at 8:30. What's a person supposed to do with the rest of the day that's been freed up by such convenience?
If we're not careful, we'll end up with enough time on our hands to start missing the good old days when we were busy!

Just another reminder that the Farmland Museum and Denny Abbey will be holding their Royal memorabilia display this coming Sunday afternoon June 2nd, from 12:00 noon to 5pm.