There is an article in today's Times about the pressure on young people to 'up' their glamourous looks. The case in point being Rebecca Adlington the Olympic Gold Medallist Swimmer, who the press keep pointing out, has a rather large nose. How dare they keep pointing out such a personal thing? Is it anybody's business other than Rebecca's and if she is quite happy with how Nature intended her face to be then so be it.
So many of the Olympic medallists, Wimbledon stars etc. have become Glamour models, appearing in all the glossy magazines, wearing designer clothes, and of course reaping in thousands of pounds in the process.
There is a cult of glamour/stroke beauty now in society which can be so very harmful to so many young people in my opinion. If you happen to be pretty/good-looking and can afford to dress in a so-called glamorous way then you are going to attract the cameras. The rest of society just has to get on with life - and surely that is better in the long run.
None of this attitude was around when I was young. I pondered on why not and came to the conclusion that television and the popular press should share the blame. People like Posh and Becks attract publicity whenever they step outside their own front door and women and men strive to stay slim like Posh, cover their bodies in tattoos like Becks, emulate their life style. The nearest we got to it when we were young was by going to the cinema and then trying to do our hair like Veronica Lake's.
And were we are the poorer (I don't mean in monetary terms because we never had much money to spend on ourselves anyway) for it? I don't think we were for one moment. To be honest, I don't ever remember giving that sort of thing a thought.
Now we are seeing people like Wayne Rooney earning £300,000 a week - I suppose every boy in the country will be striving to become a Wayne Rooney lookalike!
Hens. The farmer is going with friend T to collect the point-of-lay pullets after tea tonight. Our Buff Orpington Cockerel doesn't even bother to come out of the hen hut on wet days at the moment. All the hens come out, cross the yard and go and stand dejectedly in the straw barn. He stands in the pop hole of the hut looking out but doesn't bother - they are such old girls I don't think it is worth the chase. Reminds me of a little old bantam cock we had called McKenzie (he came in a box with McKenzie on the side) and outlived all his bantam hens. He used to wander sadly around the yard scratching and looking really lonely until one day we bought him three new bantam hens. We watched as he came disconsolately round the corner at dusk - he spotted the three hens, stood in amazement, puffed out all his feathers and crowed his little beak off. (He outlived those three too).