In an ideal world ... but have you seen one of those lately?

It was one of those dinner party conversations. The wine was flowing, good friends were nattering. We were mickey-taking, philosophising and reminiscing. We'd discussed the comparative merits of old films and new ones, debated whether nuns or metalworkers made the scariest teachers and tried to remember every FA Cup winning team since 1946. Perhaps no surprise then, that the random chat eventually shifted to our 'ideal' man or woman. For me it was a simple choice. In one of my favourite films, 'While You Were Sleeping' there's a character named Jack Callaghan.  Played by Bill Pullman, he's everything I would want in a man - good-looking (although not spectacularly so), kind, sensitive, bright and physically strong yet emotionally vulnerable. He's the kind of bloke that makes you laugh without having to resort to telling jokes. He has a fabulously quirky family.  He makes rocking chairs for grandmas and wears checked shirts and strong boots. Ok, I'm in danger of going off into my own private fantasy here, but that's just the point, isn't it?  It's a fantasy. That man does not exist. He is entirely the construct of a screenwriter, a director and an actor.  So there would, of course, be little point in expecting a  real-life version to exist. And that is perhaps why even those around the table who have found their 'other halves', made no attempt to identify their spouse as their 'ideal' someone. 
The problem with non-existent perfection is that it's impossible to attain, and yet this does nothing to stop us trying to achieve it. We can try to be the best we can, and of course we should - it shows respect for others and for ourselves, but there are plenty of chances in life to receive criticism without constantly heaping it on ourselves. And without heaping it on those we love.
As much as we might have preferred it, none of us live in a romantic comedy. Life is occasionally romantic and more often than not comical, but this is not the same thing.  Just as we rarely wake up on Christmas morning to find that it has snowed overnight, or enjoy a summer picnic without coming under attack from ants or wasps, people almost never meet the love of their life because of a case of mistaken identity or a mix-up at the poodle parlour. And even I have to admit few women marry the brother of the man who they lusted after from afar, whose life they saved and to whom they pretended to be engaged while he lay in a coma. It may work for Sandra Bullock's character but even someone with her undeniable lovability would struggle to pull that off in real life.  So we must I suppose, occasionally at least, be realistic in our expectations and accept that those we find ourselves loving will have their faults; they'll have smelly feet, they'll support the wrong team, they'll love (or hate) Marmite. It's unlikely that they'll catch three planes just to tell us they love us, or take a Prime Ministerial cavalcade through a London housing estate to knock on every door just to track us down. They'll not be perfect, but neither will we, so we'll love them anyway. But a girl can dream and, while we should have realistic expectations, I can't help thinking there's no harm in a little aspiration.
After all, there might just be a real-life Jack Callaghan out there somewhere ... if you find him, the email's on my profile ...

How protests can defeat democracy

I'm about to do something I've never done before. I'm about to stick up for the Prime-Minister-before-last Tony Blair. Not for his policies, you understand, and certainly not for his decision to take Britain into the war in Iraq. But for his right to publish his memoirs and, in particular, his right to attend book signings in this country. Believe me, as far as I'm concerned the less we see of Blair on our tv screens the better, but I was appalled that he'd felt forced to cancel two signings because as he'd entered a Dublin bookshop for a signing, protesters had hurled not just abuse, but eggs and shoes too.
I understand and support their desire to protest. But they did nothing for the cause of democracy. Blair pulled the plug on his London events because he was afraid that a similar, or worse, reaction would put innocent members of the public at physical risk and because he was mindful of the potential cost to the public purse of policing what was after all 'only a book signing'.
The protesters may well feel that they've succeeded, but I believe they've failed. This wasn't someone preaching hate or offending public morality. By provoking this decision the protesters haven't only denied members of the public the right to attend, they've silenced their own voices. No signing = no protest. In the UK we live in a wonderful democracy; one that we all tend to take for granted. Our right to peaceful protest is one of the most important aspects of that democracy. But by stepping away from peaceful protest and moving towards physical attacks those Dublin protesters have not only robbed their colleagues of the opportunity to speak out, but robbed the British public the chance to weigh up both sides of the divide.
Protest by all means, rail against what you object to. But don't be self-defeating.

Here it is - the secret of life!

They say your forties are a time of discovery, when you finally begin to understand who you really are and what drives you. I've always thought it ironic that you finally get to grips with life just as you start to realise you aren't going to live forever. I've written before about that disquieting sense that you are turning in to your parents. When you realise you haven't a clue what's at Number One. That you're sure today's children are a lot louder than you were at that age. And that teenage girls go to school wearing skirts shorter than the jumper you had to wear for your uniform. But there are a few advantages. You make many discoveries that make life so much easier. Firstly, you don't have to watch reality tv - because what goes on in the Big Brother House rarely comes up for discussion at the dinner table. Secondly, you don't have to feel guilty or embarrassed if someone asks you where you got a particular item of clothing and the answer isn't Topshop. Thirdly, when old school friends or their mums find you that you still aren't married, they no longer try to offer up their single brother or offspring and, rather than offer you an encouraging 'don't worry - there's someone out there somewhere', they are often admiring and even quietly jealous of what they now perceive as your unrestricted lifestyle (don't forget they are older now too!) But fourthly, and this I believe truly is the secret of life - you have discovered that the most important thing you own is a pair of comfortable shoes.