Luckily everyone wants to find someone worse

Thwarted ex-Tory leaders must be breathing long-awaited sighs of relief with the recent splurge of comparisons between their own and Gordon Brown's unpopularity. First John (nice timing with announcing your views on 42 days and everything else by the way) and now IDS. Don't worry Michael, I'm sure you'll be next.

Sex in the City

Apart from the seeming growth in screeching levels, the long awaited film didn't disappoint. All the expected ingredients were there: clothes, shoes, cocktails and - of course- men.

Luckily the writers have managed to avoid the fate of fellow 90s show, Friends, in that the girls have been allowed to grow up more or less convincingly, thus not looking completely sad or ridiculous - except where it was intended. Certainly there were the familiar romantic faux-pas and more than a fair smattering of non-satisfactory males, but now in their 40s (and Samantha, we discover, about to hit the big 5 - 0 ) the girls are far more women who have begun to develop the capacity for self-criticism more than was ever evident in the television series. 

This is what makes the happy-endings credible. Even the Carry-Big saga is resolved to an extent through self-reflection on both parts. Carry is too easily swayed by the big - excuse the pun - picture and Big, well, not surprisingly realises he is paralysed by his fear of commitment. 

Miranda's full-time lawyer, mother and wife role is not the feminist fantasy it could have been, but a far more real portrait of how hard it is to have it all and not loose something - or yourself. 

Samantha - liberated femme fatal - embraces domesticity only to find she cannot let go of her more animal impulses - though this is slightly spoilt by the not particularly amusing use of a horny puppy. At least she facilitates an essential ingredient of any SITC product - beautiful, naked men. 

Charlotte is perhaps the least convincing and responsible for a large proportion of the shrieking. Her role within the plot, however, aside from providing a cheap 'poo-in-the-pants' laugh, is far more serious than it first appears. Her looks, remarks and actions are often the most-misplaced and naive, yet their consequences are immense. 

Whilst women everywhere may envy the four SITC girls before dismissing them as wistful fantasy creations (indeed, Carry's wardrobe is not that of any journalist I've heard of) the  national obsession with aligning ourselves with one or other of them may just have something to do with the very tangible human qualities they convey beneath the Prada. 

Human, but stereo-typical you might say. The popularity of the show has for a long time raised important questions about the way in which women view women. Whilst we like to find identification, we also lie open to accusations of reinforcing traditional male-authored female stereotypes. It's frivolous and it's fun, but it also a portrait of four very different 'types' of women. 

The question is, should the film be regarded as anti-feminist - because of the central role men play in the plot -  or 'post-feminist'? The men are only painted in relation to the girls (epitomised by the fact that even when we finally learn 'Big's name, presumably for the sake of realism, he is still rarely privileged with its use) and at the end of the day they all get what they want. Or so the story goes.

Oranges are not the lonely fruit

I have to admit, I wasn't brimming with excitement at the prospect of reading an article about how to peel an orange. (Times 2, Wednesday 4th June). It rather seemed something more suited to a Delia book - ready to be followed up by tips on where to pay more for ones with the peel already taken off.

But recalling the many articles I'd attempted to type on a gummed-up sticky keyboard and remembering the tell-tale smell which my friends unfailingly remarked upon when entering my room at university I thought I could do worse than to read on. I was becoming sick of buying the comparatively tasteless satsumas on offer in Sainsbury's. 

Amazing. 9am the next morning I am confidently peeling an orange in one piece in an office lift. No mess. No smell. Delicious. I am converted back to the original orange and hope many readers will now be able to enjoy the fruit without alienating the rest of the office.

Would it have happened were she a man?

Many who like to think of themselves as feminists welcomed Hillary Clinton's announced candidacy. It was certainly about time a woman ran for President and reassuring that this one seemed destined to be a winner. 

But then she and her team got scared and it became almost impossible not to cool towards a woman who appeared to be showing more and more of her aggressive, sniping feathers. Equally a sense of unease began to sprout as to the behavior of her increasingly tempestuous husband.

But how ashamed of this should those who deserted her feel? It might be worth considering how her aggressive and statesman-like campaign have been received were she a man. 

Throughout history the assertive woman becomes the shrew, particularly characterised by her reaction, often regarded as hostile and ungracious,  when under-threat. True, many of her comments were ill-judged. But so too were those of Obama and virtually ever other Presidential candidate one can think of to mention. 

Margaret Thatcher often met with criticism in her early days for what she put down to the female qualities in her voice which made her sound shrill and grating when perhaps a man would have just come across as convicted in his message. 

But there are other factors too which forced Hilary out of the 'liberal progressive choice' box and into the role of 'dragon'. Her rival stole her platform of challenging history and implicated her in his attacks on the establishment. Consequently she was forced onto the defensive and into what came across as a negatively charged campaign. 

It almost feels as if it was too late for Hilary. Whether America is ready for a female president is no longer the issue - it is far more interesting, and a challenging to see whether it is ready for a black one. But then, so far evidence suggests the answer to the first question is still 'no'.

Prescott at The Hay Festival

Prescott was certainly a highlight. He came across as a very likable and gentle human being who often had a twinkle in his eye as he inferred far more than he was prepared to say.

That is not to suggest that what he did say wasn't worthy of comment. On several occasions he implicitly challenged his stereotype image of the bullish trade unionist who could be seen as a bit of a loose cannon in the party.

Not only did he sustain a composed and amicable manner throughout the interview, but he claimed he only threatened to resign once. Over Paddy Ashdown's possible admission into the cabinet. If true this means he sat on his hands over issues fundamentally opposed to his old labour politics such as tuition fees, academies, foundation hospitals and the Iraq war.

He also expanded upon his unlikely respect for loathed ex-Tory PM, Margaret Thatcher. "She knew what she was doing", he said. "I may not agree with what she did, but she knew what she was doing". Luckily he didn't have anything but support to offer for the 'dithering' Gordon Brown, or one might have begun to think he was switching sides.

There seems to be a disturbing kind of bullying going on amongst women of a certain age and, dare I say it, a certain class. Gym snobbery.
Yesterday I went to the sort of gym I cannot afford to be a member of as a guest. It was the sort of place frequented by women who have not yet reached the official age of retirement, but perhaps still 'play' at a job every once in a while until their husbands stop working.
In the changing rooms I noticed a woman, skinnier than me, but at least twice my age, who had been examining herself in the mirror for about 15 minutes. Though her ribs stuck out, her body was still a bit curvy lower down, as is largely the case for those over 50. Another woman breezed through. She was extremely tall and had the uncomfortable resemblance of someone having been stretched. She had just been to the gym.
"Julie!", she exclaimed to the slightly more human woman. "Good to see you. We're going to the gym again later. You should come. "I don't think I can", replied the other, meekly, looking weary with exhaustion from her recent session. The tall one said: "Oh, do you still go? You don't seem to.... well, are you not getting there anymore?" The other said nothing and looked at her feet. "I know it is hard. Do try to get to the gym" she crooned before sweeping off.

Child Genius

The follow up series to Child Genius once again provides a showcase for parental obsession. The parents of Peter the would-be chess champion, Georgia the prodigious toddler and Adam the academic, are worthy of a series dedicated to their own psychoanalysis. At best they are troubled, at times they are little short of scary. The common theme linking them all is a repeated demonstration that they see their child's gift both as an identity and valuable commodity.

Watching Lucy Brown forcing her two-year-old daughter to share in her own anxieties about the child's talents was painful. To excitedly dangle an envelope from a school containing Georgia's acceptance or rejection in front of her, before bursting into tears in disappointment just seemed cruel. Georgia may be outstandingly intelligent, but she is not an adult and, not surprisingly, did not appear to act like one. However advanced she is her manner was still that of a child - and for a child to be dragged along an adult emotional rollercoaster is surely not a situation to be condoned.

Adam, the child who started Prep School this week caused concern to his parents because they feared he wasn't different enough anymore. Were they embracing the stereotype of the gifted child who can't socialise with anyone of his own age? Their compulsion to formally test their second son, Samuel to check they weren't 'missing something' special highlighted their obsession with quantifying their children. Luckily this had a happy outcome - well, relatively - he was gifted but not as gifted as his brother.

As for Peter the chess-player who doesn't go to school, at least his saddening failure to win the junior chess championship encouraged his parents to put him in contact with other kids, all be it the scouts rather than school.