If you don’t know what food to buy or how to cook the food the advertisers tell you to buy, newspaper and magazine articles will tell you all you need to know, and television food shows will make you wonder if it’s all become a bit too much. So let’s go for a trip back down the years when food was less colourful and certainly less plentiful. Do you remember what you were eating when you were ten years old?
Posts by Chris Horan
Me and the dentist are strangers but I know I’m in good company there. It’s not the childhood memories – though these linger and range from the scary whine of the drill to the dull ache which often followed. It’s not the money either (okay, it is) – dental work these days is brutally expensive.
Within living memory there were many men and woman who kept secret the ‘shameful’ fact of growing up in an orphanage or similar homes for children who could not, for various reasons, be cared for by parents or extended family. Whatever the reason for their exclusion from society, the inevitable implication was that they were unwanted, by family and community.
While it was a shocking incident for those involved, for us, television viewers from afar, the Orlando massacre was not in the least surprising. Not surprising either that American politicians should exploit the tragedy even before victim’s families were informed of their loss.
I’ve always struggled to understand economics, which means I have a bit of cheek embarking on a view of the economics of the western world. Still, in my possibly naive view there are simple rules. Take Alzheimers for instance. By taking daily exercise, eating healthy food and maintaining mental and social stimulation, there is a good chance of avoiding Alzheimers. Similar rules apply for avoiding type 2 diabetes and heart disease, and probably many other diseases that swoop in when the rules are ignored.
Balham, London, 1961. I was twenty and my fiancé eighteen when we decided to get married. London was my fiancé’s home town. Being young and in love we discounted obstacles, the first being my girlfriend’s mother, who was not impressed by the idea. Not only was I from a northern tribe with a Liverpool accent, I was a labourer. We never did become pals but we learned to tolerate each other.
This week CYF social workers will be muttering, ‘another bloody review.’ But they’ll take it in their stride because new directions have become so characteristic of the department that old timers don’t even count them anymore. (I sometimes wonder if public service departments with a high political content would be better off if run by a version of Pharmac).
My brother, an Australian citizen, was once a strong trade unionist and Labour supporter.
When he retired he maintained his interest in politics and trade unions. In earlier days on the building sites he worked on, he rubbed shoulders with some of the young men who would later lead his union and other unions and eventually become public figures.