...and wine

The esteemed Dr Thomas Stuttaford in his column in The Times proclaims that giving up chocolate and wine for lent is ridiculous, and potentially fatal. Your blogger could have told you that for free. Wine, obviously along with curry and chocolate form the 3 most important food groups and should be consumed every day for optimum cheerfulness.

Now the offspring came back from uni with some very strange ideas. Having survived for 3 years on lentils and organic veg boxes in the vegetarian, Jewish, hippie commune one found herself in, (an amusing contrast to the Catholic convent school she'd just escaped from), they arrived back post-finals with the glassy-eyed fervour of the born-again proselytiser, determined to convert me to the sanctimonious worship of brown rice. But then I reminded them of steak, and they got a lot more bearable.

Nevertheless, they cling to an unhealthy obsession with fruit and vegetables. I have no personal objection to these harmless botanical growths, I just don't feel the need to count my cauliflower florets to ensure I have assembled sufficient to meet the government-busybody-determined amount for 1 portion, and hyperventilate if they aren't joined by enough other garden rubbish to meet the 5-a-day target.

The other defining quality about one particular of the offspring is her wind. God help us all, its foul. I don't just mean a bit stinky. I mean Porton Down manufactured biological weapon. She's lost count of the times she has cleared supermarket aisles, shop and even pubs. She is particularly sheepishly proud of the time she cleared a Post Office on pension day. Old people generally have no sense of smell left. The highlight of their week is queuing at the Post Office. Yet they melted away like summer snow when Sprog 1 let rip her silent killer.

It is sufficiently bad that a contingent of her co-workers approached personnel and asked the unfortunate woman to "have a word - or don't renew her temp contract." So to save her blushes (and her workmates' concussion as they bang their heads on passing out), she now tramps the streets of the Barbican at lunchtime.

It was suggested to her during this squirming interview that she might like to visit her doctor for a second opinion. This she duly did, into the face of a silently astonished GP, who referred her on to a nutritionist. After a month, appointment day arrived. Off she tramped, food diary clutched in hand. The nutritionist was very thorough, went through everything with her and her verdict? You eat too healthily - too much fibre. Eat more crap for a while and see if that helps. Less veg. White bread. White rice.

Ha. Should have listened to your mother!

Fat Kids, Thick Mothers

Now far be it from me, a short, round woman as I may have mentioned, to get unduly fattist, but for God's sake, how thick must you be, how big a wet drip to let this happen? "He doesn't like it, he won't do it, I can't make him" For crying out loud, what is your existence as a mother for, if not to impel your kids to do things that they may not necessarily want to do, but are good for them. It's called being a parent.

I would say its called being an adult, but as I had twins at 15, and managed perfectly well to encourage them to eat sensibly, study hard, get qualified and start their own lives without the benefit of being old enough to vote at the start of the process, I will simply refer to it as common sense.

If the kid gets ill and needs antibiotics, are you going to acquiesce to his whines that they're too big to swallow? Are you going to avoid giving him his jabs cos he might cwy? Are you going to let him not go to school cos its a bit hard? Apparently so. This woman has it right, if you can't outwit a kid, what the fuck are you doing having one?