Several
years ago – inspired by the latest diet of my then visiting sister
– I wrote here that I was having difficulty in finishing a book I
was writing. I had the title - The
secret to losing weight: Eat less and Exercise More
– but I couldn't think of what else to write in the body of the
book. So I was pleased to see the Sunday
Times
catching up with me yesterday. The paper claimed someone had reviewed
each and every diet of the last X years and come up with the only
prescription known to work – Eat less and exercise more. Sadly, it
doesn't look as though I'll be making any money from my prescience.
Talking
of diets . . . The author of this article says he was surprised to
learn that Spanish kids are the third fattest in Europe. So am I; I
thought they were number 2, after Malta at number 1.
Well,
the indicted nun may have died and the subject may largely have
disappeared from the Spanish media but the case of the
stolen-for-sale babies has reached the British press at last. This,
of course, is because one of the cheated mothers is British. And,
more than twenty years on, she's seeking to find the daughter she'd
been told was dead. But not getting much help from the Spanish
authorities, she says. Which is not awfully surprising, given the
scandalous nature of this Franco-inspired crime.
Here
in Britain we have the scandal of Mr Huhne and his ex-wife, Ms Pryce.
Mr Huhne was a senior cabinet minister in the current government
before Ms Pryce decided to end both of their careers and destroy the
family by revealing that he'd “perverted the course of justice”
by getting her to confess to a motoring offence he'd committed. Her
motivation was revenge but the upshot is that both of these two
allegedly brilliant people today started 8 month prison sentences.
And the moral of this Shakespearean tale? As someone once said “If
you seek revenge, dig two graves. One for yourself.”
Finally
. . . Today was a day of roads. Driving through a village I'd not
visited for a while, I saw the name Orchard Road on a wall and
went cold. This was where I used to be taken to the dentist at the
time when British teeth were not reared on fluoride and there was no
anaesthetic when you had fillings. Seeing the nameplate prompted the
memory that I had always complained that the dentist seemed to be the
only person who never had a day off work. Whenever we went, he was
there. The sadistic bastard. The second road was Trafalgar Road,
which I discovered was were my father was born in 1922. So my Spanish
connection goes way back. There was a third road but I've forgotten
what it was.
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