Save your sympathy

A couple of people you don't need to feel sorry for this weekend:

'Gorgeous George' isn't looking too good this weekend, because he got a doing in the street in London last night. I don't know who did it, although I can guess, having heard his comments about banning Jews from the streets of Bradford. I believe his main defence today was that as he has been elected as an MP 6 - or was it 8? - times, he is entitled to express his opinion. I think George has missed the point: we live in a democracy and we are all entitled to express our opinion. Some of us do and some don't. Some don't because they feel pretty powerless and they react badly when people like George use their speaking skills and their media contacts to publicise views which I think I can reasonably describe as deeply offensive. 

Labour Party members (and ex-members like me) in Scotland know George well. I can remember when George was elected MP for Hillhead in Glasgow in 1987. It took a lot of work to get him the seat and he didn't do it alone, although to listen to George you might not believe it. Some of us were doubtful about George back then. And we were right. When it comes to courting publicity, he's an expert. But what's he achieved for his constituents in Bradford? Il reste à savoir.

Then there's this man, Jim Murphy, my MP:

Don't bother feeling sorry for Mr Murphy even if he did get an egg fired at him when he was campaigning for the Better Together people in Kirkcaldy. He is a Labour MP. I have a few beefs with him. We don't see much of him in leafy Giffnock but I believe he is very active in Barrhead where there are likely to be more Labour voters. Fair enough. But I was dismayed that last week he declined to comment on the ebola crisis in west Africa for Radio 4's PM programme, his 'aide' telling the presenter he was too busy working on the independence campaign - for the No side, natch. He is, of course, the shadow cabinet member for International Development, so his input might have been useful: the UK government says we're doing a lot to help. Are we? Does Mr Murphy not get paid extra for doing that job? And he can't spare the time to comment?

Today he has been on TV and radio telling us that the egg-throwing incident was part of a campaign of disruption orchestrated by the Yes campaign and he's sort of suggesting maybe the SNP are involved. To hear Mr Murphy, it's like the end of the world as we know it. It was an egg, people. It was not a stone or a bottle. The country was not invaded by flag-waving Russians intent on occupation or revolution. Planes were not shot down. Fifty years ago, getting egged - or, as a Facebook friend said, getting 'floured' because eggs were too dear - was a normal part of election campaigns. But I have to doff my hat to Mr Murphy: he's a great man for spinning a story to try to make the Yes campaign look bad. But it's nonsense and an indication maybe of a panic in the Better Together camp? 

But here's a wee soul that deserves our sympathy:

Ashya King is 4 and he's dying of a brain tumour. His parents took him out of a hospital down south and set off for their holiday home in Spain. It's August and the press in England are desperate for stories. (That's why the Scottish referendum is getting so much publicity, by the way. It's not just about the run-up to the vote.) So the media have focussed on the number of kids in the family and the religion the parents are bringing their kids up in. Have the parents done anything bad to this wee boy? Doesn't look like it. The father has described on YouTube how they are looking after Ashya. Why did they go 'on the run'? They didn't. They had no idea the hospital and Interpol were looking for them - they were travelling to Spain. Now the parents have been arrested and the boy taken to a hospital. And where are the other kids in this family? 

Let me put it to you very plainly: Ashya's illness could happen to any family. Children have very few rights. They depend on the adults around them to make sure they are safe. At this stage in his life, that's what Ashya needs: to be safe. What if Ashya dies tonight? Will it be in the care of some very kind people who are not his parents, in a place he doesn't know? I hope not. I hope someone somewhere - but I don't know who - will get the media and Interpol and the hospital in - was it Southampton? - to back off and let this wee boy die with his family around him.

Using the media

I watched the second debate between Alastair Darling and Alex Salmond on Monday night and found it fascinating, though probably for all the wrong reasons. Because I used to do a job that involved getting up on my feet and presenting to an audience, I love watching how other 'performers' play their public.













I don't know how Darling and Salmond decided who was going to stand where - a toss of a coin? - but Alastair Darling got the prime spot: in Europe we read from left to right and from top to bottom and we do the same with pictures, so Darling being the first face the audience sees after the presenter and also standing in the middle of the 'stage' is good for him. He's quite tall and also has a shock of white hair which catches the viewer's attention. Initially, Salmond looks as if he's a bit isolated on the right. And issues of left and right also matter in these events.

We're in the main hall of Kelvingrove Museum & Art Gallery, a vast Victorian building, pretty echo-y. There's a lot of free space on the set. And a lot depends on how you use the space around you.

You can, as Darling does here, go for the nonchalant look, leaning on the podium. But Salmond has clearly been tutored in this - either that or he has very good instincts when working with an audience. On three occasions, when the audience were asking questions, he abandoned the podium and stepped towards the audience. This reduced the distance between him and his questioners - and thus the remoteness between politician and public - but it also allowed him to make eye contact with the people who were asking questions. Crucial.

It's also helpful to have a good memory for who asked what and Salmond has that. On one occasion, he was asked questions by three members of the audience in pretty quick order. He stepped away from the podium towards the audience, remembered who had asked what, looked at each questioner directly (in the order in which they had spoken) and answered them directly.

There's also the matter of hand signals. Alex Salmond doesn't point. His gestures tend to be towards himself. This of course brings attention back to him and reminds the viewer who's talking.

Alastair Darling points a lot. People don't like that.

Then there's the matter of the presenter. 

Glen Campbell is an Islay boy (not that that would affect my view of how he mediated the debate) and pretty shrewd. He kept the debate going very smoothly right up to the head-to-head section. Then he let the two politicians off the leash. And they were truly awful, shouting over each other, asking questions and not waiting for an answer. In fact, politicians in the UK don't actually behave like that in either Westminster or Holyrood where they have speakers keeping them in order. 

But there's a good chance the undecided - that group of between 12% and 23% of the voters who haven't yet worked out who they plan to vote for - will remember this bit. It reinforces their belief that politicians are thugs: if they can treat each other this badly, what the hell will they do to the rest of us? 

A message for anyone?

New Shoon...

...or Auld Feet?

My sister is younger and slimmer than me but possessed of the same shoe fetish. Last week she was meeting a friend for lunch in the centre of Glasgow. Like any sensible person she decided to leave the car at home and take the train. The shoes she chose to wear were not new, fairly low-heeled, very attractive and well broken-in. By the time she'd walked from her house to the train station, the skin was off her heels. Yes, her shoes had turned on her.

This is a phenomenon I found out for myself years ago. I had to go to a conference in Glasgow. During the walk from Central Station to the Concert Hall (not that far), my lovely - and quite expensive - brown suede and leather, mid-heeled pumps turned on me. My heels were ripped to shreds. By the time I took my seat for the conference, I was already wondering how on earth I was going to get home at the end of the day. I was lucky: a colleague with a Mary Poppins handbag (she knows who she is) lent me a pair of mules she just happened to be carrying about and I made it back to Central without having to stop for a greet on the way. I'd had these shoes for a couple of years and had worn them regularly.

In both these cases, what on earth had gone wrong?

Here's my theory. You can't buy shoes in half sizes any more unless they are from the top of the price range and not everybody can afford that. My sister sometimes has to buy shoes that are really half a size too big for her. I don't. These days I just don't buy shoes as often and usually buy pricey ones so I can get a half size. So why can't we get half sizes? Well, it's not for our benefit that half sizes have been done away with. We often end up having to buy insoles to try to make the shoes fit. So is it for the benefit of manufacturers then? When they're commissioning cheap shoes from sweat shops in India etc, they can limit the different kinds of shoes they order. Maybe it's for retailers? With no half sizes, shops like Asda and co can reduce the amount of space they give shoes on their display racks.

Now this is fine for manufacturers and retailers, but can we rewind to the 1960s and have a look at what happened to women's feet then? A whole generation were so busy stuffing their feet into cheap stiletto heels and platforms they ignored the warnings of foot doctors (there must be a posh Latin word for them!) and chiropodists and ended up crippled. I have friends who in their 60s are paying for the fashionable but bad, bad, bad shoes they wore then.

So what's the difference between the shoes below?

These are from the 1960s. My sister wore shoes like the ones on the left. For a very short time, I had shoes like those in the middle. 

These shoes are from now, worn by a guest at my great-nephew's christening a few weeks back. Other than that, there's no difference. Most women can't walk in any of them. 

You can see women being oxtered along the road by their pals most Saturday nights in these shoes. These are the who get handed flip-flops by the police when they are too drunk to walk on their high heels. The lassie's shoes are definitely too small for her. 

Anybody else remember Josie from the Karen Dunbar Show? 

If the 1960s shoes stored up a world of trouble for us then, isn't it likely the shoes of today will do the same for today's women?

And I'm not even going into the issue of sexual stereotyping that puts pressure on women to wear shoes like this or why I think fashion 'designers' are having a laugh at our expense.

The hard sell

I've been on the receiving end of the hard sell in shops twice this week. First, in PC World. I'm looking for a tablet and with the help of my friend Geoff I've narrowed the choice down to three: Samsung Tab4, Lenovo Yoga and Asus MeMo. What I wanted to do on Sunday was feel the weight, eyeball the screen and see how fast the tablets reacted to a swipe. Sadly, I then got caught up with a sales guy who tried to persuade me I needed a cover, extended insurance, an in-store tutorial and Macafee security. Before I knew it, the £200 tablet was costing £370. I made an excuse and left. I messaged Geoff who assured me I would get a cheap security system and a free tutorial online. I don't buy extended warranties for anything. Voilà, £135 saved!

Later in the afternoon I went to Tesco at Silverburn where I knew nobody would bug me, mainly because there's never any staff around. That let me do a bit of comparison shopping but I didn't buy. I wanted to look online to see what Argos and Amazon were asking for the same tablets. And I was able to stock up on stationery while I was there.

Yesterday I had some physio and followed that up with a foot and leg massage in Whole Foods. Very pleasant, though I do feel the noise of the pop music outside was competing with the plinkety-plonk 'relaxation' music in the wee room and not conducive to relaxing, especially as I couldn't hear the lassie's relaxation patter. Next time I'll ask her to cut the music and the chat. I've got my own yoga relaxation techniques.

After, she gave me some bad news: my lymphatic system is in poor order. I couldn't argue since I don't know what it means. But I did argue when she told me I had fluid retention in my ankles. Nope, said I, I've got fat ankles - always have had - but that's a different thing. She wasn't fazed. I needed to build up my immune system and my gut. Since I've had Guilain-Barre syndrome, I reckon my immune system is as good as it's going to get. But what would she recommend? Cumin. £4.95. I'll bet it's cheaper in the herbs aisle. And for my gut, she suggested something the name of which I've forgotten. I declined on the grounds that my gut needs no more interference. She suggested aloe vera for my skin but I've got a house full of that. Gel? she asked. Yes. Cream? she asked. Yes again. She gave up but not before a bit more chat about avoiding processed food (well, you'd expect that - it's Whole Foods after all) and taking omega 3 or was it omega 6? If I bought the things she recommended, I think I'd be about £55 out of pocket.

Two things occur to me.

Firstly, the sales guy in PC World had me clocked for a pensioner (old, frail, easily confused) as soon as he saw me and, I suspect, tailored his talk accordingly. I don't like that. The lassie in Whole Foods omitted to ask any questions at all about my state of health but accepted everything I'd ticked on her obligatory form. That's the one you get at the dentist's as well, but at least the dentist wants to know what meds you're on and has enough knowledge to understand what they are.

Secondly, is it still the hard sell if it doesn't sell?

Poor Robin

I read today that Robin Williams had been diagnosed with Parkinson's and this may have contributed to his decision to end his life.

If that's true - and it is a fact that Parkinson's can affect behaviour and mood - it would mean his illness was more advanced than anyone thought and he should have been getting help much earlier. 

This is my friend Alex, who has lived with Parkinson's for 15 years now:

He's pretty remarkable is Alex. He worked at a whole range of jobs until he couldn't work any more and then he started volunteering. He and I deliver books to the 'homebound' in Cardonald, Mosspark, Govan and Ibrox every Monday and Thursday. When I'm not available to deliver books by car, he happily delivers on foot or on the bus using his bus pass. Alex has been volunteering so long that he is one of the volunteers who are called upon when Glasgow Libraries want to sound the volunteers out. 

He is also an active volunteer for Parkinson's Scotland, a magnificent organisation that supports sufferers all over the country. Till quite recently Alex was an office bearer in the organisation. He still supports them by telling everyone he meets with Parkinson's or relatives with Parkinson's how to access support and he fund-raises for them. He's done a sponsored walk in the past - not so easy with the big P - and he's shortly going to do a zip slide at Braehead. 

If you can spare a wee bit of cash, support his zip slide on justgiving.com: 

https://www.justgiving.com/alexander-anderson2/

Myself, I think he's nuts but he's a stubborn bugger - it's probably what has kept him going. 

Of course, a diagnosis of Parkinson's is not to be taken lightly but Michael J Fox is dealing with it well: 

It used to be thought of as an old person's illness but Michael J was young when he got his first symptoms, and we forget that happens often with terrible illnesses like Parkinson's...and stroke and dementia.

Stem cell research will help us find a cure for this and, let's hope, other neurological illnesses. Support that too whenever you can. 

Meanwhile, we can only wish Robin Williams's family well - and Michael J Fox and his family - and Alex. Heroes, all of them.

I'm not doing that again!

I was sitting looking at my bramble bush tonight:

Pretty healthy. Some nice berries on it already. Then my mind wandered and I had to remind myself: as a representative of the good life, I'm a total disaster. 

Yes, I've made jam from brambles in the past. It was awful. It took forever to pick the brambles and I got jagged all over, the juice dripped all over the kitchen floor and the jam had more sugar than a supermarket readymeal. I spent several winters wishing I'd just bought a jar with Bonne Maman on it - or even a jar of Lidl's peach jam at a third of the cost. So never again. 

That also goes for quiche. I used to make my own, usually with wholemeal flour which is, of course, good for you. Have you ever tasted pastry made with wholemeal flour? If they're ever looking for something to seal an exploding nuclear power station with, that's what I would recommend. 

Likewise I am never making scones again. The trouble with making scones is it's only economical if you make a dozen at a time (in fact, my recipe produces 12 big ones and 2 wee ones) and you know what happens then: you eat them! 

So I will pick the berries off my bramble bush and eat them, possibly in a wee mix with strawberries and raspberries and a red wine marinade. Instead of quiche, I'll buy a pizza base (ultra-thin, Roma type), add a fried egg and to make sure I have one of my five a day top it off with some mushrooms. 

The scones I will get from Whole Foods. I once spent a happy five minutes watching their baker kneading the scone dough - nae wonder their scones are so light and airy - they're pummelled tae bits! They have to rise - resistance is futile! 

Yes - No - Don't Know

This is Lesley Riddoch. I've just finished reading her book 'Blossom'.

I'm not going to write about the forthcoming referendum on independence. I think we're all enjoying that being put to the back of the stove while the Commonwealth Games are on in Glasgow. And anyhow, I don't think Lesley Riddoch's book is about the referendum or even, necessarily, independence.

It's about how Scotland is governed. And it's about how Scotland looks the way it does and we live the way we do because of how we're governed. She makes the point (and I agree) that we are over-governed: from Westminster, from Holyrood, from our local council HQs. But sadly, government doesn't reach down to the truly local level. We, the voters, don't have any say in how our communities work day to day. Other people do that. We don't make decisions on budgets and priorities for our community. Other people do. These other people probably act in our best interests but it leaves grown-ups like me wondering if we're that pathetic we can't be trusted to have a say in how our communities live.

And yes, we have community councils but they have no political power - that is, no money, because when you're talking about power, it's the budgets that matter. She compares how this works in Scotland with various other models that operate in Scandinavia and Finland. I've seen for myself how that works in Norway and Sweden. For example, the town of Ulricehamn in Sweden has a power station of its own. It burns wood pulp. The town grows trees, sells some on the open market, and uses the cash to plant more trees. The rest of the trees fuel the power plant. Cheap as chips. This was all the idea of a local farmer, who went on to become the mayor of the town. He wasn't making any money out of this personally and he was the humblest politician I've ever met but he was proud the town was doing well and proud it was doing it for itself.

I don't expect Scandinavian models of government and local involvement would work here but it's interesting to know how many other different ways there are of doing things in education, housing, care of the elderly, childcare, land use, even language.

In fact, I'd go further than Lesley Riddoch and say we're not governed so much as managed. And since capitalism is now the only game in town, in the UK we are managed capitalist-style: top-down (do what I tell you is the message I too often get from politicians), big gap in communication between them (the politicians) and us (the tax-payers who make the money for them to spend and to pay their wages), and a sneaking suspicion that the politicians don't really need to be too bothered what's happening at our level because they may not even spend much time in our community but live a lot of their working life inside wee government bubbles in places like London and Edinburgh remote from the people they represent or, in local government terms, commute in to manage the place and push off somewhere else at the end of the day.

I said I wasn't going to write about the referendum. I lied. I have to write a bit about the Yes campaign because I think it offers an example of how politics can be done differently, more locally and certainly more democratically. (I can't write about Better Together because I don't know how it's organised.) Even if the 18th of September doesn't bring the result I want, I will still be grateful to the Yes people for the way they've taken politics back to the 'grass roots.' The Yes campaign works with volunteers from local communities. There are no selection boards or forms to fill in giving your qualifications, no party membership to sign up to. Obviously the ability to discuss ideas with members of the public is what's needed and the Yes campaign seems to have attracted people who can and want to do that. Volunteers are trained in the sense that they come together with usually well-known speakers who give them ideas on how to present the case for independence. They 'work' in their own communities but they meet volunteers from other areas in training, so they have a reasonable picture of what's going on across the country. They use social media to get information from campaign HQ and to publicise what they're doing in their local community: 'town hall' meetings, door-to-door canvassing, stalls in town centres and at farmers' markets, etc. They are enthusiastic to begin with and their involvement with Yes and with each other keeps their enthusiasm going.

It will be interesting to see what becomes of these people after the referendum vote, whatever the outcome is. Some will be absorbed into party politics. Not necessarily for the SNP. There are a lot of Labour and Green voters working for the Yes campaign. They will I hope remember the big lessons from the independence campaign. There are other ways to run a country. We can have different priorities if we want to. We occupy a very interesting part of northern Europe and can take lessons from Eire, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Finland. Or not. It's up to us.

I'm grateful to Lesley Riddoch for setting out in her book some direction arrows for us to investigate the possibilities.