Spare the Rod? No, bring back hardcore discipline.

More outbreaks of thuggery took place last night and even more juvenile delinquents were out swarming through the streets like a plague of locusts, looking for a free pair of trainers, a new flat screen TV, or in the case of some, bags of Basmati rice and a wooden rocking horse.

TV? New Mobile? Designer Trainers? No, let's take the rice.

Many of these masked and hooded looters were only in their mid teens, but some of them were as young as ten. Yes, that’s ten. As in should be at home and under the constant supervision of an adult.

Quite why a child of this age, or even those of 14 or 15, are allowed to be roaming the streets with nothing but violence on their minds is a mystery to any parent who has even the tiniest bit of control over their child’s whereabouts.

But many of these parents I guess are too busy blaming the government and those who pay their taxes for the shitty life they feel they have, not to mention the disappearance of their ‘Layabout Allowance’ and ‘Dysfunctional Benefit’. The ones that are paid with those taxes.

So it’s not a great surprise they probably wouldn’t have noticed or batted an eyelid when Thug Junior and Minni Oik got down from the table without saying ‘Thank you’ and skipped off into town to hurl a couple of petrol bombs and rob a few shops.

Now I’m well aware that I exist in a totally different world to the one in which many of these rioters live, and for that I’m very lucky. Well actually that’s not true. It’s not all down to luck is it. Potentially the fact that many generations of my family made an effort to listen and learn at school and worked bloody hard once they left had something to do with it. There were certainly no silver spoons being shoved into any of our mouths as babies and no titles or inherited wealth to rely on.

One massive difference that’s very apparent between our 2 worlds is a small matter of discipline, something that these feral little rats out there have obviously never encountered.

Go back a generation (in most parts of society at least) and there was a little something called respect. Respect (mixed with a helping of fear) for teachers, parents, the police and anyone with authority really. And unlike today, where these yobs think they ‘deserve’ respect from everyone and their brother, children back then accepted, or were at least resigned to the fact that respect was something you were given as you grew up and earned it.

When I was at school (a good one admittedly) we didn’t really do anything more rebellious than carve our initials in the desk or pass notes. We were expected to stand up when a visitor entered the room and wouldn’t dream of addressing a teacher by anything other their correct name. We had to keep our socks pulled up, our mouths shut in lessons unless asked to speak and our grubby little feet off  ‘Central Hall Carpet’ – which we did, even though we felt it was a pointless rule.

So discipline was pretty much a given and the punishments for misbehaving ranged from being hit across the hands with wooden rulers, smacked around the face (unacceptable even then but it still happened) whacked with a cane, made to stand outside the classroom, being sent to see the head, given detention or being suspended and, in the extreme cases, expelled.

These days (at some schools) it’s the pupils hitting the teachers with rulers and fists, throwing books at each other, threatening violence if they don’t get their own way, leaving the classroom when they feel like it or simply not turning up to school in the first place.

And why do they act this way? Because they get absolutely no structure, guidance or discipline at home either. Some parents just don’t seem to care that the only qualifications their vile offspring will earn are an ASBO and a criminal record, or that the only lessons in life they’re learning are how to get free handouts for doing bugger all.

These riots are down to ‘poverty’ and being part of a ‘suppressed and ignored society’ these angry hoodies all say, but this is a little hard to take seriously when they’re out on the loot dressed in £100 designer jeans and organising the nightly violent get-togethers on a £300 smart phone. They really need to look up the definition of  ‘poverty’ in a dictionary, but apparently Waterstones have been left well alone, so that’s not likely to happen.

It’s also rather funny how these kids openly resent everyone in this country who works hard to earn their money, yet they idolise soccer players who earn in excess of £100k a week and rap stars who wear diamonds in their teeth and blow a years worth of benefits on one bottle of Champagne. This sort of wealth is OK is it?

So can the actions and shocking attitudes of this apparently ‘lost generation’ all be blamed on the area in which they may live, the state of the economy, the government in power, the high unemployment figures, the state of the education system and a society as a whole that seems to treat celebrity, material wealth and overnight fame as the Holy Grail? No, I really don’t see how they can.

There may be many problems in this country, but none of them can be used as justification by this small group of pathetic individuals who are rioting for fun, stealing for kicks and destroying countless livelihoods and homes because they think they can.

And if all of these reasons above were the only thing to blame, then every child from a single parent family at a badly performing school in a deprived area would be out on the streets. But they’re not are they. The majority are at home with their parents being disciplined, trying hard at school and going on to achieve something with their life.

So in answer to those who are now wondering if it might just be down to a generation of parents being a little too soft on their kids, the answer is yes, of course it bloody is.

These pint-sized hoodlums need to face the consequences of committing this sort of crime. They don’t need a caution, a slap on the wrist or even an ASBO, they need old-school, hardcore discipline. So never mind ‘Spare the Rod, Save the Child’, some parents need to start using sharp sticks and electric cattle prods to get their unruly brats inline.

London riots – why, oh why?

This isn’t a great week to be British and watching the news for the last few days has been something of a depressing affair. Following the shooting of Mark Duggan last Thursday by armed officers in north London, there have been 3 nights of mindless violence with buildings being burnt and shops being looted all across the county.

Mark Duggan - with his pretend gun.

The protest was meant to be in retaliation to the shooting of Duggan, but really it’s just an excuse for thousands of moronic, feral thugs to come out in protest about how incredibly tough their pitiful little life is.

There was no real justification for that sort of protest in the first place. Mark Duggan was a self-styled ‘gangster’ who was being chased by police at the time he was shot. He was also, let’s not forget, brandishing a gun. The fact that he didn’t fire the gun at the police first is neither here nor there. Nice people who haven’t done anything wrong don’t tend to roam the streets with a firearm. And quite frankly, if you don’t want to get shot then don’t carry something you shouldn’t have or give the police a reason to think you’re dangerous.

Of course Scotland Yard have apologised to Duggan’s family for the “distress” caused to them in the wake of his death. But it’s hard to imagine Duggan, his family or ‘crew’ apologising to a police officer’s family had the boot been on the other foot. Far from it, if he’d been the one left still standing on Thursday then he’d have probably high-fived his little friends and gone off to boast about how ‘he’s the man’.

So, injustice at this death aside, what the hell have these riots been about? From what I’ve seen it’s all about smashing windows, grabbing what they can and running away with their loot tucked up a hoodie. Wow, what a hard-hitting social and political statement they’re making. Why on earth aren’t the British public nodding with agreement and sympathising with their grievances?

Having seen footage of the rioters hurling anything they can at police, burning cars and robbing people as they lay injured on the ground, I’m not sure what’s scarier. That mob mentality can cause such wide-scale destruction in such a short space of time, or that people of a certain age in this country can be so incredibly thick.

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You only have to hear the comments they come out with when asked for their reasons for doing this. Apparently – and don’t quote me on this as none of them can actually speak anything resembling English – it seems their main gripe is that life’s not fair, they don’t have enough money to buy some sweets and they don’t get enough respect. Oh, where do you even start with that lot?

First off, you little low-life runts, life isn’t fair. Grow up and get over it. Secondly, perhaps if you’d shut your mouth a bit more, turned your mobile off and actually engaged your ears whilst in school, you might have educated your one lonely brain cell. Not to mention realise you need to take some responsibility for your own future and that Don’t Care + Won’t Try = Waste of Bloody Space.

If nothing more, they might at least have learnt how to speak properly when being interviewed on TV. And, come to think of it, realised that if you’re admitting to being a looting little thief, then perhaps it’s not wise to announce it to the nation.

These hard-done by kids complain that there is terrible unemployment where they live (which of course there is), that benefits are being taken away from them (which hopefully they will be) and that ‘the rich’ – that’s those of us who work to bring in an income – have too much. Oh yes, they also whinge that they ‘don’t get no respect’ from the police so they’re not going to give them any in return.

Quite why these weapon-welding delinquents think the world owes them anything is beyond me. And quite why they believe  the police should be respecting their ‘freedom of expression’ is probably passed anyone in my generation and beyond. If it wasn’t so deeply depressing to hear some snivelling little layout bleating to the camera about how ‘we’re going to get the Prime Minister and the government and the rich people’, it would be laughable.

Now Teresa May – that’s our Home Secretary who’s meant to stop the crime – may want to continue to use ‘traditional’ police methods to stop the riots, but perhaps she needs to face up to the reality that the sort of person involved in the riots need something a little more intimidating coming towards them than a policeman in a helmet. They need water cannons, stun guns and bloody tanks with spikes on the front if necessary.

Or, they could drop a large net on them from above, fly them off to the North Atlantic and drop the lot of them in. I’d like to imagine none of them ever listened long enough to learn how to swim. I don’t believe for a second that 99.99% of the British public would actually have an issue with this. In fact I think they’d happily chip in to pay to have it done.

Could you stomach a fat tax?

The other night I watched a rather good episode of Panorama called ‘Taxing the Fat’. For those who didn’t catch it, despite what the title might suggest it didn’t actually go down the obvious route.

It didn’t suggest that the very obese should pay more towards their own self-inflicted health problems – although they probably should. It didn’t suggest that mobility scooters should be limited to those who really deserve them – although they probably should. It didn’t even suggest that those who weigh more than a set of monogrammed Louis Vuitton suitcases should have to pay excess baggage – although they probably should.

No, rather the program was suggesting that everyone, regardless of their weight or size, should have to pay that little bit more for calorie-laden, high-fat, nutritionally devoid substances. The sort of food and drinks that serve no other purpose in life other than to fill us up quick, make us happy and pile on the pounds.

Unsurprisingly rather a lot of people are a tad concerned, no, let’s make that downright horrified at the very idea. But they shouldn’t be.

Don’t get me wrong,  I don’t particularly want to see the price of a chunky KitKat double overnight, but, as far as the principles of making certain foods a treat as opposed to a staple, I couldn’t agree with the theory more. The Danes have already imposed a ‘fat tax’ and it’s made them the healthiest bunch in Europe.

So how does that actually work for them you may wonder. Well, the forward thinking government over there has piled a 25% tax onto ice-cream, chocolate, sweets and soft-drinks, with margarine, oils, animal fats and high-fat dairy products to be targeted later on in the year. That’s not to say it’s all bad news of course, tax has also been decreased on sugar-free soft drinks.

But while it may have slimmed down their nation’s waistlines, can you imagine the outcry over here if Cameron N’ Clegg dared to try and stop people eating like pigs. Which is, after all, the whole point of such a tax.

People would be striking left, right and centre and coming out with all sorts:
They don’t have the right to dictate what I eat. They can’t police my fridge. They can’t make me healthy if I don’t want to be. They can’t prevent me eating my weight in pizza every night.

But why can’t they? The government already has to use taxes to pay for the disability allowances and stomach stapling operations that people who simply can’t and won’t stop eating say they need, so why not try some alternative funding?

After all cigarettes and alcohol are taxed are they not? And while you may say, but that’s because they’re drugs and bad for your health, well so’s food really. Well it certainly is for those who seem determined to eat their way to diabetes and a very large, early grave.

Of course those who live on junk and junk alone will always give the same excuse for doing so – it’s cheap.  And those who protest against taxing unhealthy food will always say the same thing – it’s not fair. Rubbish and simply not true.

The argument that lower-income families need BOGOF bargain basement food to just survive is a very flawed one indeed. Experts may well claim that the cost of such foods are ‘cheaper per calorie’ than healthier options (and therefore cost you less to fill your tummy) but when these cheaper calories are empty calories then surely that theory is knocked on the head.

Besides which, if you choose to stock your trolley with nothing but rubbish, processed junk and microwaveable crap, and fill your body with nothing but saturated fats, sugar and salt, then let’s be honest, it isn’t all about the low-cost is it. It’s about being bloody lazy.

To sum it all up, there was a woman on the program who came out with an observational gem that went something along the lines of this: “But if they put up the prices then we won’t be able to buy a multi-bag of crisps for ₤1 anymore..”

Yes dear, that is kind of the point.

BOGOF Brown

It’s probably been a good few years since I felt really proud to call myself British.

Of course I love the history and culture of the land itself. The buildings that pre-date other civilisations and the great moments in time that have helped to shape the world. I also love the stunning English countryside and the quaint old country pubs dotted around.  Not for their alcohol mind, but for the unbeatable character and charm.

What I don’t love however is the politics. Our government has been so damn useless for the last decade that it’s enough to have you packing away your Union Jack and heading Down Under. Literally.

But the recent elections have revived my patriotic spirit and reminded me how glad I am to have the passport that I do. The British one I mean, not the other one that entitles me to BBQ’s for 9 months of the year and skin cancer.

So a few months ago, with elections on the horizon, I arranged to vote by proxy.

Volcanic ash nearly stopped my letter arriving in time, but luckily for me, the plucky pigeon in question was obviously far to determined to be deterred by something as minor as misplaced dust.

Perhaps he was jealous of those lucky Labour ducks in their luxury accommodation – and was looking for some payback.

Being on the other side of the world certainly gave me the advantage of time difference. I was able to watch the seats come in while most people in the UK were fast asleep. Seeing the country turn ‘blue’ was a strangely exhilarating experience. It was as if the population was willing on change, and the opportunity to start digging our way out of the great big hole the nation has fallen into.

Unfortunately time zones were against me yesterday, when it came to the final result. I had to find out on Facebook this morning that Cameron and Clegg were in and Brown was well and truly out.

Truly a BOGOF offer that even Tescos would be hard pressed to beat. I suppose now the country has technically gone Green – seeing as Blue and Yellow have finally come together.

I think it was the image of our two new leaders outside Downing Street that made me want to bring out the tea and cucumber sandwiches.

The new Prime Minister and his Deputy standing there, side-by-side, both young, well-educated and articulate. They emitted exactly the sort of energy and charisma necessary to follow through with what  needs to be done.

It was like a scene from ‘Love Actually’ and Hugh Grant couldn’t have portrayed it any better. All that was really missing was ‘Tiffany’ and some dodgy dancing on the stairs.

Surely now things can only get better – in the long-term, if not the short. But only time will tell whether this new alliance can put the Great back into Britain and restore people’s faith in their elected government.

In the words of David Cameron, “We are announcing a new politics where the national interest is more important than the party interest. This is a remarkable and very welcome day.”

Indeed it is.  Now for god sake Prime Minister, just don’t f**ck it up.

jhbb

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How NOT to stop kids having sex

I haven’t had much time to write recently – work and migraines have been getting in the way – but today I saw a headline flash past my eyes and I had to have my say.

So what caught my attention? Condom’s for 12-year-old boys, that’s what. Yes, you read right. 12-year-old boys.

12-year-old boys who will, I guess, then be on the hunt for 12-year-old (or God forbid, younger) girls to test them out on. For many reasons, this has to be so, so wrong.

The ‘Hotshot’ condom, which has been ‘downsized to fit its 12-14 year old customer base’, is already available in Switzerland, and, if the manufacturers have their way, will be heading for the British high street and your kids wallet soon.

Lamprecht AG, the condom manufacturer behind this controversial contraception for kids, claim they set off down this path in response to a study conducted on behalf of the Federal Commission for Children and Youth. A study which showed that  not only were more 12 to 14-year-olds now having sex, but that an alarming number of them didn’t use any form of protection.

While as a parent, the idea of children so young having sex is a deeply disturbing one, and quite difficult to get my head around, it is hardly shocking news. It seems that every time you open a paper these days, there’s yet another pair of gormless babies staring back at you, sat there dressed head-to-toe in Mothercare’s finest and clutching their very own ‘hasn’t got a hope in hell’ baby.

When you see such a case of under-aged stupidity, it’s hard to know who you want to slap round the face first. The naive idiots apparently vying for the title of ‘World’s Youngest Parents’, or their own parents sat besides them, insisting that of course little Tracey and Dwain will make great parents – if they ever look up from their respective DS’s for long enough to notice what’s just popped out of Tracey and slid off the sofa.

So yes, there’s no getting away from the fact that (some) kids these days obviously have no fear of getting down and dirty with the person sat next to them in class. Nor that – judging by the sheer volume of pram-pushing girls in their Hannah Montana t-shirts – these kids ever think for a millisecond about the possible consequences of their actions.

England is now the teenage pregnancy capital of Europe, so I guess, on paper at least, arming kids with protection is a good idea. Or it would be if it wasn’t so wrong.

No child – boy or girl – could possibly be emotionally, physically or mentally ready to have sex at this young age. And  no 12-year-old boy is (or should need to be) emotionally mature enough to be trusted with something as important as preventing pregnancy or the spreading of a life threatening disease.

Most boys of this age aren’t even responsible enough to be left alone in a house with a box of matches. Some would probably forget to wash, eat or sleep if their parents didn’t remind them too. So who really believes that a randy pint-sized  man would ever want to make the effort, or for that matter feel comfortable enough to walk into a chemist and be asked – ‘Something for the schoolyard Sir?’

Of course there’s no disputing that such studies are needed to highlight how big a problem there is. Or that young boys must to be taught why they should be keeping it tucked away in their Ben 10 underpants until they are..  well until they are old enough not to be wearing Ben 10 underpants at least.

But that said, I think governments and Family Planning organisations are giving 12-year-old boys a little more credit than they actually deserve.

These kids in question aren’t having sex at ridiculous ages because they are maturing earlier than every decade that went before. Or because they are making an informed and intelligent choice about what they are ready to do. They are having sex because they see ‘Sex’ every which way they turn, and they think it’s cool to do it – and very uncool to have to admit they don’t. They aren’t going to suddenly get all responsible and grown-up just because they’ve got their own section at the condom counter.

So short of giving a free pack of 6 away with every computer game, or sticking them in with the fries when they up-size their Happy Meal, I really don’t see how providing  XS Junior condoms is the answer. If anything it gives out the worst possible message to horny young boys everywhere – that actually it’s OK to convince the girl who sits next to you in class to drop her High School Musical knickers, and hop onto the bean bag for some ‘recess’ action.

Really it comes to this. If you put aside every argument about whether selling condoms to and for kids is morally or ethically right, what about it being legally right? It’s bad enough that school nurses are allowed to hand out contraception at all, and that under-age girls can get the pill without their parent’s knowledge. But making condoms specifically for kids? The last time I looked the age of consent was 16 – and for very good reason.

Of course SWAT teams aren’t ever going to swoop in and arrest every person under that age for doing something they legally shouldn’t, but if you actually provide young kids with the means to have sex, surely it’s the same as encouraging them to break the law?

What’s next? School vending machine’s selling alcopops in pink plastic bottles endorsed by Brittany Spears? Or ‘extra light’ cigarettes, with packets that feature the latest Disney film.  After all, everyone knows that kids drink and smoke before they should, so why not make it more accessible and fun?

While we’re at it, why not go the whole hog and just let kids drive cars. I’m sure Toyota or Ford could design a ‘downsized’ car with booster seats and bigger peddles, so that their feet could actually reach the brake.

That would be crazy you cry, they’d end up killing themselves or someone else. Of course it’s crazy, and yes they surely would. Legitimising anything that kids are neither physically equipped to do or old enough to handle is a bloody stupid idea.

Yes, something needs to be done to stop young kids getting into bed and up the duff, but I fail to see how the solution will be found in a small, square packet labelled ‘Hotshot’.

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Taxing the fat to pay the thin

So, finally a doctor in the UK has been brave enough to speak out and voice what many people already think  – that instead of pandering to the needs of the morbidly and super morbidly obese with free mobility scooters and Disability Living Allowance, they should be made to contribute towards the massive strain they are placing on the health system, by paying more tax. And in turn, those who work hard to remain fit and healthy should be financially rewarded for their effort.

With obesity related issues draining every last penny out of the already overstretched NHS budget and £6.3 billion being spent fighting fat, this scheme sounds about on the mark to me. No doubt it’ll be met with cries of “You can’t say that”, but it has nothing to do with being judgmental or ‘fattist’, it’s just common sense. As is Dr Chand’s proposal to add tax to the type of fattening food that offers little or no nutritional value, yet guarantees maximum ‘junk in your trunk’.

Such a tax would of course cause outrage amongst the loyal Happy Meal brigade, all of whom would shriek loudly that it’s unfair to target those on lower incomes, who consider fast food a cheaper alternative. Quite frankly, tough. Tobacco and alcohol are already taxed in an effort to target smoking related illnesses and binge drinking, so why shouldn’t unhealthy food be too?

And as for the argument that junk food is the cheaper alternative, what a load of rubbish. It’s the easier alternative. With every supermarket offering cut prices bargains and more BOGOF offers than you can shake a stick at, it’s far cheaper to cook simple healthy food that it is to buy in a round of up-sized burgers, chips and coke. Even if you do have limited funds and an army of hungry mouths at home to feed. People who choose takeaways every night over cooking are just lazy, and parents who feed their kid’s junk for breakfast, lunch and tea should be done for child abuse. (see related post).

Strangely enough, many of these parents who claim they can’t afford to buy healthy food for their kids just so happen to smoke and drink. They think nothing of puffing £5 into thin air or pouring it down their throat, but they can’t stretch the family budget enough to incorporate something that hasn’t been regurgitated out of a deep fat fryer and into a styrofoam box. For £5 you can buy an entire chicken. So do you spend your money on 20 cigarettes, or a whole birds worth of protein to feed the kids? There’s the difficult decision of the week.

The argument that fast food is even fast is the biggest myth of all. At tea time it takes less time to scramble an egg, microwave a potato or even cook some pasta than it does to climb into the car, drive to the nearest nugget dispensing outlet, queue up, order, collect and scoff. Of course most children would probably prefer the nugget option, and as such be more likely to eat it up without a moan or a struggle, but since when was feeding them meant to be about taking the path of least resistance?

Children are just that, children. They should be eating what’s right for them, not what’s easiest for the parent, no matter how much money they have, how brain dead they are in the kitchen or whether by the end of the day they’ve simply lost the will to live. God knows I could well do without the constant battles about how many vegetables are lurking on my kid’s dinner plates, but I’d rather deal with the fuss they sometimes make than watch them both turn into Weebles, and wobble right off their Trip Trap chairs.

So is the idea of taxing the morbidly obese ever going to work? Nope, not a chance in hell. Why? Because many of those who fall into this category probably aren’t able to work in the first place. Their size, and the associated health problems that comes along with it, prevent them from carrying out even the simplest day-to-day tasks, never mind holding down paid employment. So if they were forced to pay more tax, they would no doubt need to be awarded more disability allowance to afford it.

Obesity is a problem that will carry on for many, many years to come. In part this is because many of those individuals who are contributing to the problem, simply refuse to accept any responsibility for their own actions. Instead they prefer to blame the government for its lack of support in helping them to lose weight. They complain about the shortage of free local sports centres and wide open spaces in which to jog. They claim that a bunch of carrots are exorbitantly priced and no one ever taught them how to cook.

In answer to that. It’s not up to the government (who lets face it can’t even run the country properly never mind a weight loss club) to prise the fork out of each and every chubby little hand across the land. There are 1000′s of miles of free pavements in the UK, go walk on them. If you can afford to upsize your £4.50 McDonalds meal you can afford a bunch of carrots. Go buy a cook book, or cheaper still, turn on the TV and listen to Jamie Oliver.

It seems incredible that so many people simply refuse to put two and two together and start addressing the problem, instead of comfort feeding and making it even worse. Even with all the fat fighting campaigns, health lectures and awareness raising TV programmes out there, all trying to ram the obvious message home, it’s hard to see what the solution will be.

Perhaps if those who need to shed the weight actually climbed out of their complimentary buggies and used their feet, they might be surprised to find the weight starting to drop off. Obviously there’s no miracle cure to losing this amount of weight, unless you see stomach stapling as a viable option, but it has been done, and is therefore not impossible.

I’m not even going to pretend to have a clue about the horrible vicious circle of a situation that you’d find yourself in, when you reach this sort of size. Or how demoralising and depressing it  could be to live with everyday.

I’m pretty sure that getting the weight loss ball rolling would indeed be painful, and a tremendous struggle of mind over matter to say the least. But any type of exercise was never designed to be easy, it was designed to be exercise. And anyone who’s ever tried a step class (and failed miserably) will know that exercise can be painful, complicated and downright humiliating whatever size you are.

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Educational rubbish

I cleared out our mailbox earlier, and as usual, there was at least half a tree trunks worth of junk mail in there. The usual stuff. All of which went straight into the bin. The recycling bin that is.

This isn't on my gate I hasten to add, still they make a very good point.

There were coupons for Dominoes, offering $1 off the XXL super deluxe -  if you order at least 5, collect them in person and consume them between the sociable hours of 3am and 6am.

There was an offer of a ‘Free house valuation’ from the local estate agent. Free? Free? I should bloody well hope so. With the housing market the way it is at the moment, agents should be so lucky to have a house on their books that they could actually sell.

There was an extremely tempting offer on some reduced rate security shutter blinds -  if we have a large billboard outside our house advertising their services. Ermmm, lets think about that one for a minute. Nope. I don’t think prison chic really does that much for a house’s curbside appeal.

Then there was one from the Government health department, inviting me along for my free mammogram. Well strictly speaking the letter wasn’t exactly addressed to me, but someone who obviously lived here before and fell into the right age bracket. Not to be deterred and curious to see what I have in store for me in years to come, I thought I’d have a read through the literature.

Who knew I would have such a choice of languages – 30 in total, or 31 if you decided to read it in bog standard, boring old English. The other options were Amharic, Arabic, Bosnian, Burmese, Chinese (Simplified and Traditional), Croatian, Dari, Netherlandic, Farsi, French, Greek, Indonesian, Italian, Japenese, Macedonian, Malay, Maltese, Khmer, Korean, Polish, Portuguese, Serbian, Somali, Spanish, Swahili, Togalog, Thai, Tigrigna and Vietnamese.

Blimey, I’ve never even heard of some of those languages. Who knew that the northern suburbs of Perth were such a international melting pot of nationalities. The last time I took a look around, the only people living in the area were Australian’s, English, more English, even more English and a spattering of South Africans.

What I want to know is how do they even decide what languages to include on this type of bumpf?* Is it really based on the population of Perth, or do they just pick out the prettiest sounding languages and simply try to pad out the list to cover the entire alphabet?

Of course if you’re going to be really politically correct, then the literature should also have included Braille for the blind, a taped recording for the illiterate and a dictionary for the incredibly stupid. Then, when the whole lot is printed out on half a rainforest and delivered house to house, everyone at least has the option of either landing a job as a linguist in the UN, or using the 6″ wedge to stop their front door flying open in the storms.

* Incidentally, incase you’ve ever wondered about the history behind the word ‘bumpf’ -  it orginated in England during WW2, when the soldiers, who were overwhelmed with unnecessary printed materials, decided to do a spot of recycling and use them as loo roll – or ‘bum fodder’.

So there you go, don’t accuse me of never writing anything educational on my blog!

Budget Changes for Superannuation

Now this certainly isn’t the sort of topic I normally have on my blog, but it is something of interest to most people in Australia right now – well those who are old enough to work, have wrinkles and worry about spending their golden years penniless and living in a cardboard box.

In light of the recent 2009/2010 Federal Budget delivered by Federal Treasurer Wayne Swan, I thought I’d share this information that I was sent from the BT Financial Group.

It is regarding what the Budget changes to superannuation mean, the various changes proposed to salary sacrificing and Government Co-contribution arrangements and some tips on how you could make the most of the remaining time
until the end of this financial year.

Enjoy…

Concessional Contributions (CC) cap reduced

Concessional contributions generally include Superannuation Guarantee (i.e. the money your employer pays into super), salary sacrifice contributions and personal deductible contributions. They’re taxed at a ‘concessional’ rate of 15%.

What’s the change?
Effective 1 July 2009, the concessional contributions cap (CC) will be halved from $50,000 to $25,000 (indexed) per annum.

Things to consider:
Do you have money you want to invest into superannuation this financial year? If so, you could consider maximising super contributions this financial year to fully utilise the current concessional contributions cap of $50,000.

If you make total concessional contributions of more than $50,000 per year, you may need to reduce your salary sacrifice (or personal deductible contributions from 1 July 2009 to ensure you don’t inadvertently breach the new contributions cap).

If you’re not currently making additional contributions to superannuation (i.e. in addition to SG), the ability to make large ‘last minute’ concessional contributions will be diminished from 1 July 2009. One idea post 1 July 2009 is to start a regular savings plan into super to ensure adequate retirement savings are accumulated.

Maximum Government Co-contribution reduced
Depending on what you’re earning and subject to certain eligibility criteria, the Government currently kicks in $1.50 for every $1.00 you make in personal non-concessional contributions for which you have not claimed a tax deduction, up to a maximum of $1,500.

What’s the change?
A temporary reduction of the maximum Government co-contribution from $1,500pa to $1,000pa has been announced. This will apply to eligible personal superannuation contributions made on or after 1 July 2009.

Things to consider:
If you qualify for the Government Co-contribution, this will be the last year for three years that you will receive $1.50 from the Government for every $1.00 you put into your super. That’s a 150% return! So if you have some spare cash, it may be worth considering.

An email from President Obama

This morning, as I do every morning, I sat at my desk, opened my email and waited to see what tripe flowed into my inbox.

I was expecting the usual of course. A chance to buy some alarming looking apparatus to improve my love life. An invitation to view photos of some ‘designer watches’ or my future mail order bride. Perhaps a heart wrenching story that I had to pass onto 10 of my closest friends within 5 seconds, or risk being struck by a falling meteorite the moment I set foot outside my front door. Even an email from a long lost Nigerian relative, letting me know that I was but only a set of bank details away from inheriting my rightful fortune.

Any of these would have been right about the norm. But this morning threw up something a little bit unexpected.

An email from the most powerful man on the planet – President Barack Obama himself.

Yes, I did do a little bit of a double take I have to say, especially when I realised the email address was legit and he wasn’t trying to sell me little blue pills – with worldwide shipping and a discount programme.

Obviously I know the President didn’t actually sent it from his own Blackberry, as he wondered through the hallowed halls of the White House. And yes, I accept that it wasn’t written specifically to me, but hey, his name is in my inbox and that’s good enough for me.

So why did I deserve the honour? Probably something to do with the email I sent him, asking what he and his administration intended to do about the growing problem of childhood obesity. A problem which, I believe, stems in part from the many fast food companies who market their products directly at the young.

The companies who use cheap plastic toys as a lure, in order to put a colourful box full of salt, sugar and trans fats in the hands of hungry young children. The sort of companies who are, for all intents and purposes, aiding and abetting those parents who slowly murder their kids everyday with an unhealthy diet.

Hopefully such an intelligent and forward thinking man, with 2 young daughters of his own, will acknowledge the issue and give it the attention that it deserves.

And now that The President is in my address book, I will certainly be keeping an eye on any new health care reforms he passes, and hope that at some point he finds a way to put some form of media gagging order on those who profit off the greed and ignorance of the young.

I’ll give him 6 months, and if I don’t see anything happening, I guess I’ll be forced to drop him another line..

For those who might be thinking that I imagined my email, here it is.

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When BIG really isn’t beautiful

Some people might have thought that my previous post about parents murdering their kids was a little extreme. And then a story popped up on the world news that backed up everything I had said.

It’s about Leanne Salt. A 24 year old girl who is happily feeding her 8 month old triplets towards a life full of medical problems, and all but giving them a helping hand into an early grave. A girl who should be locked up for the great big helpings of child abuse that she is dishing out to her kids, along side the junk food she’s filling them up on.

Despite the fact that only a moron wouldn’t know better, this 30-stone lump sees nothing wrong with how she is bringing up her triplets. Far from it. She is actually proud of the fact that her babies became card carrying members of the Happy Meal club at just 6 months old.

Refusing to acknowledge that she is doing anything wrong, she believes that because she takes the batter off their fish and chips, she is giving them a healthy diet.

And after all,  as she says, she does feed her babies vegetables every Sunday. Perhaps she believes that an onion ring and a pickled gherkin count towards their 5 a day? Or should that be their 5 (at a push) a month.

Now 8 months old, these poor babies are being fed around 1,249 calories a day, with a diet consisting mainly of junk food, fish and chips, crisps and microwave meals.

Seriously? Is this woman for real?

It goes without saying that such an eating machine has zero respect for her own body, or her diminishing life expectancy, but how can she be so incredibly selfish when it comes to her kids?

And there in lies the problem. As well as being selfish, the girl is obviously plain stupid. Certifiably dumb actually. Devoid of brain cells and missing any sort of solid matter between her ears. After all, anyone who seriously believes that watching what you eat and consuming healthy foods leads to anorexia is one stitch short of a lobotomy.

Her line of reasoning? “I do worry my kids could get picked on if they get fat, but I’d tell them that big is beautiful.“

Yes, that will make them feel so much better when their mother is harpooned in the school car park by Greenpeace. Or when they get diagnosed with diabetes. Or when they drop down from a fatal heart attack as they turn 21.

Of course beauty is very much in eye of the beholder, and big can be beautiful. But there are always exceptions the rule, and this has to be one of them. I don’t know when Miss Salt last looked in a mirror, I suspect it’s been a while, but beautiful is not one of the words that immediately springs to mind.

And that brings me to the question that everyone who has heard about this girl is surely asking themselves. How in God’s name did she even snare anyone mad, brave or drunk enough to impregnate her in the first place? And when she did, presumably with the aid of chloroform, how did the the deed itself (I shudder as I write that) even take place.

Now I’m certainly no physicist, but aren’t there some laws regarding mass, volume, weight and proximity that would have made this nigh on impossible? It would be like trying to mate Dumbo with Mickey Mouse.

So taking the fact that some poor bugger did somehow manage to put 3 buns in her cavernous oven, and then wake up with a hangover from hell and run screaming from the house, how did she even know she was pregnant? Did she wake up one morning and think, that’s odd, my stomach looks slightly swollen today?

Let’s face it, she could have gestated an elephant without attracting any attention. Well apart from the fact by the 9th month she had gained a further 10 stone.

And now for the bit of the story that really makes you believe that the world has gone mad. Being that she was the fattest mother of triplets that medical science had ever clamped eyes on, it took a team of 68 people to deliver her babies, at a cost of £200,000 to the NHS. This included the operating table that had to be specially-built for her Caesarean section.

Well come on, you didn’t think that she was going to have a natural birth did you? All the crow bars in the world and a forklift truck wouldn’t make that a possibility.

Now that she is back at home with her brood and securely wedged into her 5 seater sofa, she is happy to live off benefits with no future plans to ever lift a 20 kg finger and do any work again. After all the poor girl is apparently already too busy to clean, tidy up or prepare proper meals for her children. The family only get dressed to leave the house once a week – so that they can collect her benefits.

And let’s not forget that if the governments latest  hair brained scheme takes off, then one day she’ll also he paid to walk (roll) her kids to school as well.

On the upside, Miss Salt is making some plans for their future. She has decided that she now deserves to be given her own council house, and is completely ready to face the world alone.“I know how to microwave a meal and make up instant mash, so I think we’d all manage.” Stand aside Jamie, the girl’s got your job in the bag.

And what is the shocking truth about this tale of chips and child abuse? This girl is not alone.

A recent survey by the Infant and Toddler Forum found that 29 per cent of children under the age of three ate a takeaway at least once a week, while 23 per cent eat crisps and 16 per cent drink fizzy drinks almost every day.