Travels with Boris

Ken Livingstone once ridiculed Boris's plans to scrap parts of the congestion charge ("How will you make money?" he chortled, forgetting that the charge was brought in ostensibly with the sole purpose of reducing carbon emissions.) Well, Boris has gone one further and brought bikes into the capital. Which is great, and very nifty they are too. But why no helmets? If you don't own a bicycle and are wandering about in London, it seems unlikely that you'll be carrying your own hard hat. So, by not providing suitable attire for our bonces, the mayor is actually encouraging us to go bareheaded. This strikes me as somewhat suicidal, on London streets – although I'm informed that statistically, the helmetless have fewer accidents, as drivers are more wary of them and drive more cautiously as a result. But who wants to be an unlucky statistic? 

Fortunately for Mr Johnson, whether his policies work or not, people vote for him because it's funny to have him as our mayor, just as it's funny for Californians to have Arnie as their Governator. There is also something rather comforting and Enid Byton-ish about having a mayor who chases muggers and litter louts and calls them oiks. Whatever will he do next...? 

In other political news this week; I know one of the Miliband brothers has been crowned leader of the Labour party, but I don't think it makes much difference which one. Whenever I see them, all I can think about is Frasier and Niles and their race to be Corkmaster. No wonder Ma Miliband can't watch.

I really, really like you......

"Hollywood's a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for kiss, and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty." Marilyn Monroe

I don't know whether to be depressed or cheered that The X Factor is back on our screens; depressed because it inevitably brings with it the onset of winter; or cheered, because frankly, Saturday nights aren't the same without it. (My life will only be complete once Harry Hill's TV Burp also joins the party.)

There is always controversy and it kicked off early this season with accusations of auto-tuning (coulda fooled me) and now; the "glamorisation of prostitution". Newspapers expressed shock that Simon Cowell wouldn't kick Chloe Mafia out of the competition purely because of her "profession". Simon insisted that The X Factor is open to everyone, and wasn't it a good thing if she was trying to better herself and get off the game?

No, because apparently she was glamorising the profession. Call me a big meanie, but that's like saying that the rest of the auditionees are glamorising bad singing and lack of self awareness.

Unfortunately there has been a "normalising" of the sex industry and young girls actually do idolise women like Jordan – because in their eyes, money equals power and it doesn't matter what you had to do in order to make your millions. Some "feminists" claim that being a sex worker is the ultimate in empowering feminism – but even Belle du jour Brooke Magnanti couldn't convince that she was perfectly normal and well-adjusted after coyly confessing that her dad "helped women", and it turned out he "helped" them by paying them for sex.

Frankly, the patronising edict that prostitution should be legalised for the sake of the women (with not a passing thought to the men, obviously) needs to be, er, put to bed. Should we really be condoning it as an acceptable career choice for women?

In the meantime, I'm not sure there is anything to be gained by shunning these women from society and singing competitions. Frankly, Simon Cowell is being the sensible one here, probably because he knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to the business of buying and selling young people and their dreams.

On a lighter note, now we can begin the X factor drinking games in earnest – one shot for every time Simon says "I really like you", Louis says "They're good, Simon!" or our Cheryl says "You're a proper little popstar!" I tried to include one shot for every time Nicole Sherzinger whooped and danced to mediocre warbling, but there is only so much I can take.

A perfect world

Gareth Malone's Extraordinary School for Boys

Watching Nigella making a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, it struck me that she is the sort of person you should really have running some sort of convalescent home for invalids. She would soon build up their strength with homemade chicken soup and extra-rich puddings. Similarly, if you were going to run a school, you would want Gareth Malone in charge of lessons and Jamie Oliver cooking the dinners. Both of these guys have recently had cameras tailing them as they try to improve standards, usually against stony-faced opposition. 

Gareth Malone first appeared on our screens as a choirmaster who took non-singers from schools, and later whole communities, and showed them the joys of trying something new, practising till it hurt, and competing as a team. He may look geeky, but he quietly has a will of steel and isn't afraid of naysayers, the reluctant or the lazy. Now he is taking his inspiring brand of innovation to that neglected group; pre-teen boys. As our schools seem pretty ineffective in general, the fact that boys get left behind girls is mere side note. Is it a lack of male role models? Is the current style of teaching / testing more suited to girls? Or are girls just ore academically minded? 

Gareth got the boys interested in reading, and involved their fathers in a camping trip with a good old-fashioned storytelling session around the campfire. Despite the headmistress's doubts, the boys did of course enter into Gareth's spirit of competition (the ace card when dealing with kids) and surpassed expectations. Being able to DO STUFF is empowering for children – whether it's reading, cooking, starting a fire or reading a map. With Gareth's regime, boys blossom and realise that they CAN achieve. 

Unfortunately schools are resistant to change, as Jamie has found out while taking his culinary expertise to Huntingdon, West Virginia (America's fattest city). Maybe it was a mistake to constantly refer to the "American diet", as if the rest of us aren't stuffing our faces with chicken nuggets and cream cakes (I know I am). It's all played for drama as Jamie has stand-offs with the burly dinnerladies, cries, and bemoans the carb, carb and double carb makeup of the school dinners. But he genuinely cares about the kids who are being trained up to be seriously obese, by the adults who should know better. Will Jamie change the world one meal at a time? With Oprah on his side, let's hope so!

A Woman's Right to Shoes

“I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot.” Marilyn Monroe

 Recently I read that women are "wasting their time" trying to attract men by wearing high heels. "Experts" at Northumbria University have studied the male reactions when watching some women walking in high heels and others without heels, and found that... men can't tell the difference. No surprise there – after all, men generally say "and she wasn't wearing a scrap of makeup" when a casual observer of the female variety could practically name the shade of foundation. But isn't this study a little bizarre? When did women ever say that they were wearing high heels for the sole purpose of attracting men? While they may put a wiggle in the walk, they also make us taller (why do I know so many short men?) and slow us down, occasionally becoming so painful that piggybacks are necessary. Thus, men seem fairly ambivalent about them, at best.

Furthermore, it's widely known among women that men don't *get* fashion. I don't think any man has ever expressed admiration for women wearing Uggs, beige nail polish, smock dresses, harem pants or dungarees. So I guess we just like "wasting our time" wearing what we like.

The Classic Ten (by Nancy Macdonnell Smith) is a fascinating book and one of my very favourites for dipping into. It features chapters on the origins and enduring popularity of the little black dress, the suit, jeans, white shirt, high heels, trainers, white shirt, trench coat, pearls, and cashmere sweater. 

The chapter about heels and how you FEEL when you're wearing them might be educational for some;  the only socially acceptable way (in Texas, at least) that men can experience this sensation is by wearing cowboy boots.  Consider this excerpt from James Herlihy's novel Midnight Cowboy:

"Something snapped in the whole bottom half of him: a kind of power he never even knew was there had been released in his pelvis and he was able to feel the world through it. Brand-new muscles came into play in his buttocks and legs, and he was aware of a totally new attitude toward the sidewalk. The world was down there, and he was up here, on top of it, and the space between him and it was now commanded by a beautiful strange animal, himself, Joe Buck. He was strong. He was exultant. He was ready."

Remember when the Trade Union Congress tried to ban women from wearing heels (Sept 2009) and convince us to wear sensible shoes? THIS is why.