How to lose credibility and alienate people

The third story which makes me want to bite my own hands off is that of Natalie Woods, her partner Elizabeth Knowles and their new baby Lily-May Betty Woods. You see, Natalie gave birth to their daughter via a sperm donor. Yet Elizabeth Knowles has been named on the certificate as “parent.”

This means that conveniently, Miss Knowles is granted parental responsibility for the child – rather than having to go through the courts. Miss Woods said: “We started forward on this journey together so it is fitting that we can both sign the register.” Which is fair enough – it must be a right palaver to sort out the paperwork, and if the two of you have committed to having a baby together, there should be an official way to record the fact.

However, the giant elephant in the room is that they will be, um, how can I put this? “TELLING BIG FAT LIES” on an official document. Elizabeth Knowles may be parent in the all important “love” sense, but the fact remains that she has no biological connection to the child whatsoever.

I’m sure there are plenty of people who would like to change the paper trail of their lives. A marriage you regret? Wish that loser hadn’t fathered your baby? Wanted a 2:1, not a 2:2? What a great solution – write what you wanted to happen, instead of what actually did happen!

If birth certificates are going to be nothing more than a record of your own wishful thinking, I’m sure an awful lot of women will be erasing the true fathers of their offspring and putting “Brad Pitt” as “parent.” (I can’t be the only one planning this, right....?)

100 lines - I must watch more Bruce Willis films until I see teenage boys for the weedy, illiterate little oiks they really are.

Yikes. Boys, postcards like this are a sign that your teacher needs to get out more.

The second news story to catch my attention was that of Hannah McIntyre, the teacher acquitted of seducing a sixth form student.

I’ve thought for a while that the laws should be changed to protect those accused of sexual crimes; they should be anonymous until they are found guilty. As the law stands, anyone accused of a crime has their name dragged through the mud before any evidence has been heard.

Having said this, wouldn’t it be prudent also to pay closer attention to the relationship between students and teachers?

Hannah McIntyre opened the door to three students while “drinking wine in her pyjamas.” Ok, that was stupid, but not everyone has a peep hole.

She told the court “They barged in. They were very loud and boisterous. I asked them to leave but they did not take any notice. I was trying to be non-confrontational – not trying to provoke anything.”

She tried to get them out of the flat by saying she had to go out to the local shop. They followed her and persuaded her to buy them cider, then returned to her flat to drink it.

Wait. Hold on a second. She was trying to get them out of her flat, this I can understand. It would be intimidating to have three large teenage boys in your house, and I would probably try to get them out at any cost, too. But they managed to “persuade” her to buy them drink, and then they “followed” her back?

In the end, she went to bed leaving the boys downstairs in her living room. She didn’t call the police, thinking the boys would get in trouble with the school and make life in her classroom even more difficult than it already was. (She was “bullied” in her classes.)

Another recent case of a teacher accused – and acquitted – of seducing a 16-year-old boy was that of Teresa McKenzie. Like Miss McIntyre, the whole situation was muddied by her own insane actions.

During the course of her supervision of the unnamed teenager, Mrs McKenzie exchanged hundreds of text messages and calls with him, as well as sending him love letters. In one, she described how she couldn't concentrate on a school meeting for thinking of his “beautiful eyes, strawberries-and-cream hair, soft hands, gorgeous laugh, strong shoulders and delicious lips,” and “Such sweet anticipation makes my heart race.”

(To think, the only notes I got from my teachers were “Could do better” and “This is not an hour’s work”.)

In another, she wrote to her “gorgeous pirate. Dreaming of hiring a pirate ship and sailing across the seven seas, finding a deserted beach, just palm trees and lapping waves, soft sand and hot sun. What do you think? Would you like to come?. . . Ah, it would be bliss, even for one day, to play...I will love you forever and ever and ever xxxxxxxx.”

She told the court that the first letter was an attempt to emulate the language of Shakespeare, since Romeo and Juliet was being taught in class, while the second was a “silly” idea to try to make John smile, sparked by the game of pirates she had played with her pupils earlier in the day.

Later she said “I'm the sort of person who sends a lot of gushing cards. To now think that they might be interpreted in the context of some kind of sexual relationship makes me feel sick.”

Let’s just say, it might be best if she didn’t teach any more.

Now, am I crazy, or has the teacher / pupil relationship got weird lately? There seem to be more and more of these stories popping up, always with a background of phone calls and texts. Is it etiquette now to be facebook friends with your students? Is it essential that they have your home number, in case they have a question about the homework?

Personally I can’t think of anything worse, as an adult, to be available to students 24/7. And thinking back to my school days, I can’t think of anything nerdier than wanting your teacher’s number and actually using it for non-prank calls. What’s wrong with the kids of today? Has Bart Simpson taught them nothing?

The only thing weirder is grown women even beginning to contemplate relationships with teenage boys. (Outside of Sweet Valley High books, they are uniformly sullen and unattractive.) The last time I fancied anyone aged sixteen, I was about twelve.

Is it just me or is everyone stupid?

Trust me, I'm a politician.

Before you ask, no. I am not suffering from PMT. I’m just finding the news especially IRRITATING this week.

First and foremost, I can’t quite believe how the great British public has taken Nick Clegg to their hearts. Yes, he was blessed with a) the novelty factor – it was the first time we’d really seen him speak – and b) the good fortune to not be Gordon Brown. But... was I the only one who found him kind of phony?

Never trust a man who starts every sentence with “I want to be straight with you...” Nick over-emphasised his honesty so much it was tempting to offer him a job as a second hand car salesman. Insisting that you are the one to be trusted – “Not like those other two” – can only be convincing if you're not a politician.

Meanwhile, Gordon Brown waffled incomprehensively about how we should save money by spending more, to “invest in the economy.”

Poor old “Call me” Dave actually answered his questions pretty well, but it was Cleggy’s night. Next time we have the three of them on screen together, I would like to propose a drinking game. A shot every time you hear the following:

Anyone: “What David / Gordon / Nick isn’t telling you...”

Nick Clegg: “I want to be straight with you...”

Gordon: “It’s a global problem...”

Dave: “What small business, or big business, hasn’t made cuts....”

Any others that will result in drunkeness and hilarity?

One last thing – have you tried http://www.votematch.org.uk/ ? It’s a great little tool which tells you which of the parties your beliefs line up with closely. Do it – with an open mind! You might surprise (shock / disgust) yourself.

If you haven't got anything intelligent to say....

"Beware of these teachers of religious law! For they like to parade around in flowing robes and love to receive respectful greetings as they walk in the marketplaces. And how they love the seats of honour in the synagogues and the head table at banquets." (Luke 20:46)

So, Jesus was saying it 2000 years ago, and it remains frighteningly true today. (Especially disturbing when said leaders actually claim to be followers of Jesus. The guy who explicitly disapproved of the kind of pomp and circumstance that surrounds them. )

Perhaps the Pope has tired of his "infallible" label? He seems determined to disprove it by being wrong about EVERYTHING. Every day seems to bring a new opinion on something utterly irrelevant. Who does he think he is, Peaches Geldof?

The latest news from the Vatican's newspaper L'Osservatore Romano concerns the Beatles. The front-page article proclaims: 'It's true they took drugs, lived life to excess because of their success, even said they were bigger than Jesus and put out mysterious messages that were possibly even Satanic. They may not have been the best example for the youth of the day but they were by no means the worst. Their beautiful melodies changed music and continue to give pleasure.”

So, let me get this straight. The Beatles were Satanic. But they made nice music, so that’s ok? Ummm.... Whatever you say.

You might also be interested to know that, two years ago, the Vatican "forgave" John Lennon for saying The Beatles were 'bigger than Jesus', saying it was the "boasting of an English working-class lad struggling to cope with unexpected success". Well, thanks for clearing that up. (Dare I wonder if that headline-grabber coincided with a bout of paedophilia, too?)

You’ll be happy to know that, while the Vatican may be iffy on child abuse, they DO want to tell you which films your children shouldn’t be watching.

When New Moon (the second of the Twilight movies) hit cinemas last year, Vatican officials were moved to condemn it as "a moral vacuum with a deviant message". Evidently the Pope’s thoughts on teen fiction are based on what middle-of-the-road Christians want to hear.

Said Monsignor Franco Perazzolo, of the Pontifical Council of Culture:"The theme of vampires in Twilight combines a mixture of excesses that as ever is aimed at young people and gives a heavy esoteric element. It is once again that age-old trick or ideal formula of using extremes to make an impact at the box office. This film is nothing more than a moral vacuum with a deviant message and as such should be of concern."

Nothing more? Sir, you jest. The Twilight series has awakened a generation of teenage girls to romance, passion, and the joys of sexual abstinence. You’d think the Catholic church would be grateful that finally someone has managed to make it seem cool, desirable and even a bit sexy to "save yourself" for marriage.

Just to make it really obvious that they have read no more than the blurb on the back of the books, they completely miss the religious symbolism which permeates every line. (Yes, I finished the book and I loved it. SPOILERS AHEAD!) Hands up if you can spot the significance of:

a) the transformation into a Heavenly, indestructible body with eternal life

b) a baby that is born to a human mother and immortal father, and 

c) a false prophet causing a battle over the child.

If you noticed the common thread, congratulations! You're more intelligent than a Vatican official.

It’s imperative to monitor what your children are reading, of course. But sexual abuse? Pah.

At a Palm Sunday service, The Pope claimed that Faith in God, leads "towards the courage of not allowing oneself to be intimidated by the petty gossip of dominant opinion". Dominant opinion being that PAEDOPHILIA IS WRONG?

On the plus side, he has managed to apologise for the abuse. Well, sort of.

Addressing the victims of abuse, he wrote: "You have suffered grievously and I am truly sorry. Your trust has been betrayed and your dignity has been violated... I openly express the shame and remorse that we all feel." He said those guilty of abuse must "answer before God and properly constituted tribunals for the sinful and criminal actions they have committed".

However, the massive cover-ups within the Catholic church is glossed over. The only direct reference is to "a misplaced concern for the reputation of the church and the avoidance of scandal".

Although the Pope said Vatican officials would visit Ireland to inspect some dioceses, he did not call for any restructuring of the church in Ireland. Nor has he called for the resignation of any bishops, although a few have already volunteered to leave their posts.

The head of the Catholic church in Ireland, Cardinal Sean Brady, has resisted calls to resign over his handling of abuse allegations in the 1970s that saw victims sign confidentiality agreements.

Sounds like they need to brush up on their New Testament reading – "How terrible that you should boast about your spirituality, and yet you let this sort of thing go on. Don’t you realize that if even one person is allowed to go on sinning, soon all will be affected?" (1 Corinthians 5:6)

And don’t even get me started on the ban on contraception. Rebecca Hodes, of the Treatment Action Campaign in South Africa, pointed out that if the Pope was serious about preventing new HIV infections he would focus on promoting access to condoms. "Instead, his opposition to condoms conveys that religious dogma is more important to him than the lives of Africans."

The Roman Catholic Church believes marital fidelity and sexual abstinence are the best way to prevent the spread of HIV. Which would be fine, if people weren’t raping babies in a bizarre effort to "cure" themselves.

The pope has pointed out that condoms cannot cure HIV. Cure, no. But prevent from spreading? Yes, yes, yes!

Three-quarters of all Aids deaths in 2007 happened in South Africa. Maybe it’s time to stop listening to ill-informed men in frocks and use some common sense.

The inward struggle; my thirst for blood wins out

I began my Twilight journey a little late – last summer – when I thought perhaps I'd better just see what all the fuss was about. I managed to find the first book in a charity shop, and spent the next couple of days reading breathlessly in the sun, rueing the day I had ever dismissed "weedy vampires" from my list of suitable heroes of literature. New Moon haunted me with the most convincing portrayal of heartbreak I can remember reading. More than just teenage angst, this book explores real emotions better than many "classics." I held out until January before starting my Christmas present of Eclipse; that book will now forever be associated in my mind with the pure bliss of watching snow fall prettily outside and the sounds of Low's Christmas album wafting ethereally around me. Despite my best efforts to make it last, I finished the book in 24 hours. (This made me feel slightly guilty; although in my defense it was a snow day from work, and such serendipitous events are rarely "productive" anyway.)

Of course, as soon as one book is finished, the natural instinct is to devour the rest in a vampire-like, bloody frenzy. Like the vampires, we must curb our natural urges; we will only live to regret them.

A friend was in a similar position, desperate to read on, but not wanting to lose the delicious sense of anticipation. In the words of Willy Wonka, "the suspense is terrible. I hope it'll last". We formed a support group, TWAT (Twilight Withdrawal: Addicts Therapy) in which we would call each other up every time the temptation to read got too strong. We came up with possible plot lines for the big climax. Would Jacob stop the wedding? Would it turn out that Bella's unexplained clumsiness and general immunity to vampire gifts would explode when she was "changed", and she would become the most powerful vampire yet? I just don't know. And I love not knowing. Yet not knowing could slowly drive me insane. I put off the big day by finishing books I'd been floundering in for months, the watching of adrenaline-fuelled movies and sheer will power. I knew that the moment I flipped open that hardback block of dynamite, it would all be over.

Stephenie Meyer may well be some kind of genius. She has managed to tap into something so powerful that it is recognised by the youngest tween (a junior member of TWAT is twelve, and has already read the books four times) to the driest of elderly spinsters (one assumes, anyway). Perhaps a clue as to why this is so can be found in looking around at heroes of stage and screen. We are starved of real men. Edward may technically be a teenager, but he also encompasses all the best bits of Cary Grant, James Dean and... well, a Greek god. He is suave, handsome, immortal, but most of all, IMPOSSIBLY chivalrous. While we have a hard time finding men who will so much as open the car door for us, he is telling Bella that she is his only reason for living. Which may be kind of tough for men to keep up with – no wonder they ridicule our obsession – but I believe these books should be taught in schools. Might as well give those boys a heads-up on what will reduce grown women to jelly.

So often books which are blessed with extreme financial success are dismissed as "really badly written". This cover-all excuse is somewhat nonsensical in most cases. What exactly does it mean? If a book is technically correct (eg in terms of grammar and punctuation) and it's exciting enough to keep you turning the pages, what's bad about that? Like The Da Vinci Code before it, Twilight may have its silly moments, and may require quite a bit of poetic license and suspension of disbelief, but it is also disgustingly addictive and impossible to put down. Sounds good to me. When reading Twilight I am never in any doubt that my narrator is Bella, a teenage girl. Stephanie Meyer, the 30-something Mormon mother of three, never makes an appearance. What's more, she is never betrayed by those footholes which so often trip other writers, such as teenage slang that is twenty years out of date.

The films have been brilliantly cast: Robert Pattinson effortlessly embodies his only brief – perfection. Kristen Stewart's acting ability gives Bella some real personality, making her clumsiness endearing and awkwardness believable.

So, will this beautiful swan leave her ugly duckling-esque life behind? I do believe the day to find out has arrived. What could be better than a holiday, sunshine, sangria, and an unread book?

And so, I must leave you. After months of stalling, I have finally given in to my vampire urge. The next time we speak, like Bella, I shall be changed. The idea of peeking at the last page is like a hungry wolf who snarls and rattles his cage if I so much as look in his direction, but I must resist if I want to stay sane.

Goodbye, old me! Who knows how I will feel when it is all over, and irreversible. But I must find out!

And this is why I should be in charge of the Brits next year

Once more the Brit awards have dazzled us with a veritable feast of musical excellence, spectacular performances and worthy winners. Or not, as the case may be.

The show was opened by British female solo artist winner Lily Allen, looking like a deliciously evil cartoon-strip temptress (later donning a bizarre orange wig; one thing you can say for Lily, she has her own style) and singing the most appropriate lyrics ever to be heard at an awards ceremony "I want to be rich and I want lots of money". Unfortunately this was about as clever and funny as it was going to get.

Andy Serkis is fresh from playing rock-n-roller Ian Dury, and Tom Ford is the man of the moment with his directorial debut A Single Man released this week. Even the appearance of Sam Fox reminded us of the good old days when the Brits really was broadcast live. Unfortunately, most of the presenters were an embarrassing display of how out-of-touch the organisers are. One can only imagine cigar-chomping execs saying "Now, if I were a young person watching this hip awards ceremony, what would I like to see? Ah yes, middle-aged, unfunny comedians and chat show hosts!” That's the trouble with the Brits. They try so hard to be edgy and cool, and then undo all their good work by nominating the same five artists for every category and using presenters who should have been forcibly retired some time ago.

Oddly enough, Jarvis Cocker's diversion from Michael Jackson in 1996 was not nominated for the most memorable performance in 30 years of the Brits. (Incidentally, where does this “30 years” come from? The awards began in 1977...) Instead, this award went to the Spice Girls for their electrifying show in 1997. Being an impressionable youngster at the time, I remember vividly the moment they launched into the previously unheard Who Do You Think You Are. It was simply one of the most exciting moments I had seen on TV.

Less edifying was the "Brits album of 30 years". As voted by listeners of Radio 2, nominees featured Coldplay, Dido, Keane, Oasis and Travis. In short, you would only have to add Westlife to the line-up and you could release an album of “The blandest music ever recorded”. With nauseating predictability, Oasis won. Liam Gallagher swaggered on stage looking for all the world as if he believed it was still the 1990s, and people still thought he was cool. It is impossible to see that man on screen without wishing to yell "Grow up! Nobody cares!" As for the award, I have one word for you: Radiohead.

Despite the tame nature of the Brits now that they have an audio mute button, there were still some shocks. Not least the fact that JLS won both British breakthrough act and Best British Single (with Beat Again) much to the chagrin of Fearne Cotton. What would have been really "controversial!" would have been SuBo winning, but there is a selective snobbery when it comes to Simon Cowell's protégés. One also has to wonder why Paloma Faith, VV Brown (now slipping undetected to the US) and Little Boots didn't make the breakthrough shortlist.

The best British single nominees featured La Roux (love them or loathe them, that falsetto has made an impact and is here to stay) and Pixie Lott, whose debut Mama Do was one of the most dynamic singles of 2009. It is somewhat depressing that genuinely impressive new acts such as these can be toppled by the kind of dreary R & B that has been churned out for the last 20 years.

The list of nominees for Best British Male Artist (including Mika, Paolo, and Robbie) had a whiff of 2006 about it; one wonders why the same old names turn up when other homegrown talent is storming the world. Jamie Cullum is selling out shows across the USA, Jamie Liddell features heavily in US soundtracks and Jay Sean's single Down cracked the USA as well as being enormously popular on this side of the pond. The winner, ubiquitous Dizzee Rascal, later performed with Florence and the Machine. In fact, roughly 99% of the winners also performed. Is it possible that (gasp) deals could have been struck? Or was it all just happy coincidence?

Kasabian, the Britpop-channelling winners of Best British group must have locked all of the health and safety officials in a cupboard before their rendition of Fire during which they were somewhat unimaginatively surrounded by, er, fire. Luckily Tom Meighan’s fall was not into the flames but rather, straight into Peter Kay’s ample frame. If only he’d kept quiet about slipping, we might have thought it was deliberate.

Among the nominees for best group were JLS (thank the Lord they didn't win that one too) but there was no mention of the Sugababes, or Girls Aloud. Was this absence of popular girl groups the Brits' attempts to be more credible? Too late.

Similarly conspicuous by their absence were the Noisettes, who didn't warrant a mention in the Mastercard British album nominations. Despite providing a bona fide disco classic for 2009 with Don't Upset the Rhythm, they lost out to nominations from all the usual suspects – Dizzee, Lily, Paolo, Kasabian, and deserving winner Florence and the Machine.

The Brits seem determined that best international male will be a rapper, awarding Jay-Z this year, after giving Kanye West the accolade in 2006, 2008 and 2009. Eminem (who is so behind the times that he was lampooning Sarah Palin in a music video released in April 2009) was also nominated. US stars like John Mayer and Gavin DeGraw were not mentioned, and surprisingly, nor was celebrity producer / artist Timbaland.

The nominations for international female were perplexing; why Norah Jones, for instance? Despite her obvious talent, she has never been a notable chart presence. Whereas the ever popular Beyoncé, who was not nominated, managed to start a dance craze with her single Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It). Alicia Keys’ lack of nomination seems almost rude when she bothered to perform; turning Jay-Z's Empire State of Mind from a mediocre rap to a sublime love song to the Big apple with her soaring vocals.

There was no denying that it was Lady Gaga's night, with the best act of the evening and her triumph in three awards (Best International Female, Best International Album, and International Breakthrough Act.) She appeared to be genuinely touched with each new statuette, to the point where it was tempting to say "Alright love, it's only a Brit award". She performed a more subdued set than expected, out of respect for Alexander McQueen’s recent death. However, her outfit did not disappoint.

The eagerly anticipated Cheryl Cole popped up to sing Fight for this Love; considering her troubles at home, it's hardly surprising that she could barely bring herself to mouth the lyrics. (Although I noticed she did manage to punch the air with some conviction.)

After winning the Outstanding Contribution Award, Robbie Williams sang a medley of his much loved hits, but after the fireworks of other artists, it seemed a little dull. I'm afraid I flicked over to watch the last five minutes of What Katie Did Next. Now that really is entertainment.

One last question; With both Alicia Keys and Lady Gaga in attendance, why is it that nobody suggested a duet, duelling-piano style? Here’s hoping for next year.

Presents! Chocolates! Flowers! Hooray!

See, there is every chance I could still marry a fireman from Queens. With dimples.

Is Valentine's day just a load of commercial rubbish? Well, maybe. The hearts and balloons start creeping into the shops just after Christmas, gradually increasing until they have built up to a screaming crescendo by the 13th of February. Unless you live on a remote Scottish island without a Tesco metro, it's unlikely you will be able to escape the onslaught.

If you are in a relationship, there is unavoidable pressure to be impossibly romantic with your partner, normally booking a table at a restaurant where you will pay twice as much as usual to sit in a room surrounded by other couples trying to our-romance each other. I once worked with a girl who received two dozen roses on Valentine's day, from the guy she'd started seeing at Christmas. (Delivered to her workplace = extra points.) I think I can speak for all the ladies present on that day when I say this is now the standard by which we measure the efforts of men we are involved with, poor suckers.

If you are single, you may feel pressure to find someone to date, resulting in an undignified scramble to attend every speed dating event in a 20 mile radius, of which there will be many. (One redeeming feature of Valentine's day is that clubs have now caught on to the fact that there is a whole bunch of single people wanting to go out, so as to avoid the takeaway for one eaten in front of a Tom Hanks film.)

Having played both sides, I can't say I'm a particularly big fan of V day. On occasions when I've had a boyfriend, it always seems to coincide with a big argument (2005 will forever be known as the St Valentine's day massacre). Any presents I've had have invariably been cuddly toys – normally bears holding little hearts. (If I were a more highly strung kind of girl, I might have some sort of "How could you think I would like this?!" tantrum, but being a more easy going type, I merely say thank you and then stuff them in a drawer, perhaps to be unearthed next time I'm doing a charity shop run. )

It took me a while, but last year I finally came up with came up with a sure-fire way to make Valentine's day an opportunity for fun rather than a grim 24 hours in which I must hibernate in case anyone asked me if I'd had any cards. I decided that, if I had a boyfriend, I would be spending money on him and hopefully receiving a few presents in return; in which case, why not just cut out the middle man and buy presents for myself? With this plan in place, I began to look forward to the 14th. I treated myself to some Lush products, chocolates, and flowers. So for once, I got exactly what I wanted on the big day. Self-love is the way to go! Women do sometimes have unrealistic expectations for their menfolk – so rather than stressing about whether he's going to get you the right gift, why not just buy yourself what you want? Then whatever he dredges up from the corner shop will be a bonus...

Meanwhile, for the singletons, why not just enjoy that rom-com without shame? It'll be more fun to watch it without sarcastic commentary, anyway. Pity the fool who is at his moment sitting in a beige living room and watching "The Ugly truth" because her boyfriend was in Tesco, where it was touted it as "the perfect Valentine's gift".

You see, when you are single, the future is unknown. There is still a chance, no matter how small, that you might marry a cowboy and end up living on a ranch in Texas. Or meet a swarthy Parisian while checking out art in the Louvre. Or get chatting to that cute boy who works in the record shop. The possibilities are endless, and nothing is set in stone.

Enjoy it while it lasts.... xx