Fat? Try a spot of arsenic and wash it down with alcohol

According to the health police we're all going to obese and/or dead by the middle of next week. So it’s probably about time we went on a collective diet. Take your pick from the list below - all are tried and tested but whether any of them work or not is anybody's guess.

The alcohol diet
In the 11th century, William the Conquerer became too fat to ride his horse. So to lose weight he took to his bed and went on an alcohol-only diet. Sounds like a plan.

The arsenic and strychnine diet
Yes, that would work - it’s hard to eat when you’re dead. Arsenic, strychnine and washing soda were among the common ingredients in dieting products of the 1890s.

The grapefruit diet
Also known as the Hollywood Diet, this was created in the 1930s and allowed dieters to eat only grapefruit, hard-boiled eggs, green vegetables and - to glam it up a bit- melba toast.

The mineral oil diet
In the 1940s, some bright spark decided to promote indigestible mineral oils as an alternative to olive oil since it merely passes through the system. But mineral oil doesn’t just tippy-toe through – it bludgeons its way through the system with lots of mess and disturbance. Dieters experienced all sorts of nasty symptoms such as wind, bloating and diarrhoea.

The clock-watchers’ diet
Diet gurus in the 1970s instigated a weight loss plan that imposed rigid guidelines on which foods should be eaten when. Before noon the dieter could eat nothing but fruit and during the remaining hours, proteins and carbohydrates were never to be eaten at the same time. This was misguided for two reasons: a) some foods (such as pulses) contain both proteins and carbohydrates, and b) our bodies can’t tell the time.

The “eating less” diet
A recurring dieting suggestion during history has been that we actually eat less at each meal in order to lose weight. This "diet" didn't grab the imagination and sadly never caught on.

From very small, the cucumber is bent

OK, here are some more food idioms to help you celebrate the harvest.

I am as sad as a poor sausage (German – what else?) I’m very upset. According to the Germans, sausages are unhappy and easily offended (see yesterday's blog). Being eaten would have that effect.
From very small, the cucumber is bent. (Portuguese) Blood will out. Portuguese idioms lend an air of mystery to sayings that are actually faintly ridiculous in themselves. The other one I like is:
Women and sardines: you want them to be small. Do the Portuguese have a morbid fear of Amazonian women wielding oversized sardines?
You have the heart of an artichoke
(French) You are inconstant in love
Even if it rained milk, his bowls would be upside down. (Dutch) This refers to someone who is very unlucky, but I would prefer this scenario than falling with my nose in the butter any day.
He has the blood of a turnip (French) he is lily-livered, chicken-hearted, yellow-bellied…all perfectly good idiomatic expressions - but no, the French have to drag a vegetable into it yet again.

So much meat, and here I am with no teeth!

So here we are in thew middle of autumn, which is all about plentiful supplies of fruits and grain being harvested from the land. A tenuous link, I know, but it seemed as good as any to bring you some food idioms from around the world.

It's interesting to note the different themes that crop up from country to country. The agriculturally-minded French manage to bring a vegetable into practically every sentence. The Dutch have a bit of a thing about dairy produce. And can you take a wild stab at the Germans' food fixation?

He is a big vegetable (French) Interesting how we English find a man-made "big cheese" impressive whereas the French compare their VIPs with huge turnips or other large examples of nature’s bounty.

She's playing the insulted liverwurst (German) Yep, you guessed it. The Germans are always banging on about sausages. Pardon the pun. This means: "She is being very touchy."

He fell with his nose in the butter (Dutch) For some reason, this means: “He is very fortunate” though this doesn’t sound like my idea of a lucky day.

He is making like a leek (French) He is standing around doing nothing. Possibly wearing his best green suit and smelling of onions.

So much meat, and here I am with no teeth. (Spanish). Water, water everywhere…..I know it doesn't fit in, but I threw this one in because I liked it and it makes a great title.

Everything has an end: only the sausage has two (German) Weird. What about bits of string, phone lines, motorways….nope, just the sausage. This means: All good things must come to an end.

Don’t stand in the sun with butter on your head. (Dutch) Good advice. I'll get in the shade straight away. Though why people who live in glass houses should think of throwing stones either is another mystery.

This post is getting a bit long so I'll add more of these tomorrow if it's all the same to you.

Fill up your wine glasses, everyone - the revolution is on

This week the Government decided to metaphorically peer through our windows and wag its finger at us for drinking too much at home. Apparently our wine glasses are now too big and our wine too strong, which means we may be drinking more than we actually realise. The inference is that now the Government has pointed this out we'll have a new, enlightened look at our glasses of wine and exclaim: “My word! You’re right! I’ll cut down immediately.” Do they know anything about psychology at all? We parents understand that if we disapprove of our teenagers’ relatively harmless lifestyle choices they will imediately rebel and step up the forbidden activity. Of course, we middle-aged tipplers aren’t going to suddenly dye our hair in two-tone skunk colours and get a collective flesh tunnel, but we'll probably drink as much - if not more - than we ever did. And what does the Government have to lose from our drinking habits, anyway? Presumably alcohol shortens our life expectancy, which would save them a nice fat wad in pension money. Ah but no, they are probably more concerned about our livers all failing at once which would result in a huge drain on the NHS. Though they’ve got that one covered, too. They simply have to start up more of those MRSA and C. Difficile labs they operate around the country to prevent us from lingering, and that will be it. Job done.

A tattoo isn't just for Christmas - it's for life

I did feel sorry for steelworker Alan Jenkins whose girlfriend left him for a Latvian toyboy after he’d had a big smiley tattoo of her face etched permanently on his back. Tattoos are always a big risk – especially if you choose a loved one as the subject. We live in the age of the e-mail where nothing is permanent (until you press the “send” button, when you can land yourself in all sorts of trouble). But with no typewriter ink and no Tippex anymore, people seem to have this weird compulsion to leave a permanent mark on their bodies instead. True, most of those who do are drunk at the time. But if you’re thinking of having a tattoo, it’s worth bearing in mind that 75 per cent of the tattooed community eventually live to regret their actions. I'm sure that's already true of the young local guy who had the Mercury Radio logo tattooed across his buttocks to try and win Oasis tickets from the station. And win them he did - but the tattoo will live on long after the memory of the concert has faded.

Here are some other tattoo howlers:

David Beckham made a bit of a faux-pas when he misspelt his wife’s name as Vihctoria instead of Victoria in a Hindi tattoo. Why Hindi? Because David thought a Hindi tattoo was “less tacky" than an English one.

Johnny Depp had to have his Winona Forever tattoo altered to Wino Forever after breaking up with Winona Ryder.

Britney Spiers decided to have the Japanese symbol for "mysterious" tattooed on her hip. But the symbol she chose turned out to mean "strange".

A former sailor had to have "her" tattoos removed after a sex-change operation because they made her feel self-conscious in a sleeveless top.

Who wants to buy a rugby World Cup Final ticket?

Don’t you feel sorry for all those French and New Zealand supporters who suddenly find themselves owners of unwanted rugby World Cup Final tickets? No, me neither. In fact as the mad scramble to buy and sell tickets begins, it is interesting to see the many facets of human nature revealed in all their glory. There are the entrepreneurial chancers from England who are asking £25,000 for two tickets to Saturday’s final, claiming “they would like to see the match, but are open to insane offers”. Who isn't? Then there’s the grimly disappointed Frenchman who is asking £3,290 for his tickets to take away the pain of losing to the English (it still makes me smile just writing that). But you don’t have to dig so deep to secure your place at the final. Official tickets are still on sale for a relative snip at 1,590 Euros (£1,108) from: http://www.2007rugby.net/?gclid=CJzPnauJk48CFRUrlAodnyKtAQ And if you really want to pay over the odds, you can have a three-course buffet, drinks and souvenirs plus transport to the match with your Category 1, 3790 Euro (£2,641.70) ticket. from http://www.rugbyticketshop.com/hospitality_package.aspx?match_id=59 . But if I were going to the match, I would definitely buy my tickets from the rueful Ms Active247 who is advertising her two tickets on ebay at the relatively reasonable price of £1,470. Apparently, Mr Active 247 is a kiwi whose act of buying the tickets in advance was “possibly the biggest error he has made in the marriage so far”. She says the tickets are now available though unforeseen circumstances, but adds: “not sure why it's 'unforeseen' as this happens every time, but there you go.” Anyone who can see the funny side of a deluded husband squandering all their money on a dream deserves my business (and my sympathy) any day.

How many environmentalists does it take to reach the moon?

Today is Blog Action Day which means that blog-owners everywhere are writing about the environment. I figured you would quickly become sick of being told how materialistic you are and how plastic bags are your enemies, so I decided to bring you some interesting environmental facts instead.

Every year Americans throw away 18 billion disposable nappies, a sufficient number to reach the moon and back seven times.

Cycling is an environmentally-friendly way of getting around but we lazy Londoners only get on our bikes for four per cent of our total journeys compared with up to 20 per cent in Germany and 50 per cent in Holland.

Every year in the UK we use 13 billion steel cans. If you placed these end to end they would stretch to the moon and back three times. Again with the moon comparisons.

Each year in Britain we throw away 28 million tonnes of rubbish. This weighs the same as three and a half million double decker buses, which would go around the world one and a half times. Or part way to the moon. But only if you rocket-powered them, which would make them very environmentally-unfriendly indeed.

The energy we save when recycling one glass bottle is enough to light a traditional light bulb for four hours.

If you were to use 300,000,000 cans to make a giant pyramid out of recyclable cans, then climb to the top of this pyramid and extend both your arms, you would probably fall off.

Rugby World Cup final here we come!

England is going to be very, very quiet this morning as we all recover from last night’s mammoth celebration. Winning a place in the World Cup Finals of anything is something we don’t do very often these days. In fact as a nation, we’ve lost the knack of winning in general. Now that sports days in schools are strictly non-competitive and there’s a gift in every layer of Pass the Parcel we’ve pretty much had it drilled into us that “It’s not the winning, it’s the taking part that counts”. Try telling that to one of the losing French side and see where it gets you. But wasn’t it hugely exciting? Wasn’t Josh Lewsey’s try an act of sheer audacity, and didn’t Johnny Wilkinson manage to pull it out of the bag when he had to? And weren’t you on the edge of your seat at the end? So bring on the final. Apparently we are still only rated seventh in the World Rugby Rankings http://wrr.live555.com/ despite last night’s triumph. Yes, seventh. That’s lower than France (ranked third) and Australia (fourth), both of whom we've now beaten (in case you needed reminding). You want to know where South Africa and Argentina rank, don’t you? Well, South Africa is currently sixth – only one rank ahead of us despite that 36-0 trouncing the other week. For that alone, we definitely don’t want to meet them again in the final. But Argentina is ranked second in the world, so we don’t want to play them either. How about a world cup for every team - just for taking part?

Some European drinking tips for pub day

Why can’t Europe “do” pubs? Continental bars are as far removed from the English pub in style, ambience and general cosiness as a dentist’s waiting room is from a cottage sitting room. Maybe those Europeans like all those harsh lights, hard seats and goldfish-bowl like windows, but why? Don’t they understand the soothing effect of velveteen seats, an open fire and junk all over the walls? They have some very odd drinking customs in Europe, too which you should really be aware of before you set out. Here are some tips of what not to do.

Don’t accept an offer of a Grappa in Italy unless you’re made of stern stuff. It’s made from the wine harvest leftovers (that’s right - pips, stems, skins and stuff) and it is also around 45 per cent proof.

Don’t expect a French pub to look like a pub. Most of them double as a tobacconist, barber’s shop, hardware store or butcher’s which means that booze is just a sideline. So you’ve come to the right place if you fancy a smoke and a shave with your Ricard.

Don’t panic when your Dutch barperson brandishes a knife. It is customary to use one to slice off the froth from your beer. If he happens to be a psychopath, that’s pure coincidence.

Don’t start drinking with a group of Germans until you have raised your glass and met everyone else’s eye. It is considered very unlucky to do so and some Germans claim it can lead to “seven years’ bad sex”.

Don’t refuse a refill in Russia as it is considered rude to stop drinking until your host is ready to do so. And since your vodka is supposed to be downed in one, inebriation is a bit of a given.

In your Face, teenagers – now we too have a Space of our own!

Has Facebook exploded into your life yet? One minute we older people were using our well-thumbed address books to look up our friends while scorning teenagers for spending every second of their free time on MySpace. Though to be honest some of us secretly envied them, too, because we’d have loved a similar facility when we were young. Then, hey presto! Someone from Harvard sets up a MySpace-style site for graduates, and before you can say Superpoke the rest of us are piling on the virtual bandwagon in our hundreds. Facebook has only been around since 2004 but is already one of the top ten websites and the age profile of users is gradually rising. I was invited in by some Canadians I knew 30 years ago and at their suggestion, tentatively created an account. Then my young friend Dilan “added” me and wrote on my virtual “wall”, and I was away. I haven’t yet “poked” anyone (that seems a bit rude. How about a “half-smile of recognition” or “gentle tap on the shoulder” function instead?) Actually, that’s the crux of the matter for me. We older users more or less gatecrashed Facebook and are still a bit uncomfortable hobnobbing with the younger guests. How about a corner of Facebook just for us? It could have a cosy background with flattering lighting and nice soft furnishings, and perhaps a fire. The quiz section could include crosswords and Countdown, and we could even have our own Superpoke functions such as: “Mary gave Stan a back rub” and “Jim gave Sue a nice cup of cocoa”. I actually meant that as a joke, but am I giving away a fantastic new business idea?

Hampton Court? Sorry to hear that, sir

So. Those rude Cockney rhyming slang phrases I promised you. Hopefully you’ll know some of them already – Bristol Cities, Khyber Pass, bottle and glass, pony and trap, tom tit, Jimmy Riddle, rattle and hiss etc. Even if you didn’t know them you’ll no doubt be able to work them out pretty quickly from the rhyme. Then there is coach and four, raspberry tart and the rather elaborate Aristotle (bottle) that translates in turn to bottle and glass (arse). It was definitely some smart Aris who thought that one up.
My favourites though are those terms that seem to have been thought up simply to give your average Cockney a laugh at other (posher) people’s expense. Take for instance orchestra stalls, Hampton Wick and Berkeley Hunt. Orchestras in general are associated with the well-to-do so when we Cockneys (or neo-Cockneys from Herts) hear that Andre Previn was famous for his orchestras, we can’t help but laugh. Hampton Wick, meanwhile, is a pleasant Thames-side area where many of the residents probably live in happy oblivion of the fact that their home town means “dick”. Hampton Court has connotations of its own and can sound pretty painful when said out loud.
As for the Berkeley Hunt in Gloucestershire, they probably took themselves very seriously until the Cockneys came along and used their name as a euphemism for the unmentionable. This term (pronounced Barclay) is usually shortened to Berkeley. It caused much hilarity in neo-Cockney circles when a well-known bank recently launched an ad campaign that ended with the tag line: “You’re better off talking to Barclays”.

Give us a butcher's at your linen, would you?

How many people out there are still using Cockney rhyming slang? I’m pretty sure you know what it is (thieves’ cant, developed in the 18th century, spoken by anyone born within the sound of the Bow Bells, etc) but does anyone actually use it as part of their everyday language? It’s still very much alive in our house. My Dad used to use Cockney rhyming slang all the time when we were growing up and much of it has become interchangeable with “real” English in my head (or should I say “loaf”). The rest of the family has assimilated the slang, too. Here's an example of what you might hear round our house.
“Let’s have a butcher’s at the linen.” Could you see your way clear to letting me have a look (butcher’s hook) at the paper? (linen draper)
“Oi, saucepans! Wash your Germans for tea.” Children! (saucepan lids = kids) Kindly wash your hands (German bands). We are about to eat.
“How about taking the cherry to the rub-a-dub? I fancy a pig’s ear.” Shall we walk the dog (cherry hog) to the pub? I'd like a beer.
“I’ve got a pain in the Hampsteads and me Newingtons are playing me up again.” I am in the unfortunate position of suffering both from toothache (Hampstead Heath = teeth) and a stomach ache (Newington Butts = guts) at the same time.
OK so we may not use these actual phrases every day, but you get the gist. It would be nice to know we are not alone and won’t end up holding "save-our-language" sit-ins at Somerfields like the Welsh. Having a little-known-language in one’s repertoire is actually very handy when it comes to swearing, too, since few other people know what you are saying. More later.

True confessions from OCD 315

Why can’t our registration plates be more like the American ones? For a small fee US drivers can have their name, company or personal message emblazoned on their car for everyone to see. In the UK on the other hand, anyone with a personalised number plate is treated like a big loser and show-off. But that isn’t my main concern.
I have a confession to make. My name is Ann Laffeaty, and I'm a number plate addict. It all began in 1995 when my five-year-old son became bored and grizzly during the return drive home from holiday in Scotland. I suggested we play a game: we should look for a car with a registration plate containing the number 1 (such as BMW 1), then a registration plate with a number 2, and so on. Not surprisingly our son quickly became tired of this lame pastime. I, on the other hand, decided to carry on on my own for a while. And I did. For about 15 months. I was up to 254 then realised it was time to stop when I found myself automatically scanning cars on the way to my Dad’s funeral. I was so horrified with myself that I ended the game there and then. So that was that – until I confessed to this former addiction some years later during a visit to a friend. He remarked idly that the game would soon be obsolete, anyway, what with today’s numbers denoting the year of sale (056, 07 etc) instead of the old random number system. So on the way home I idly began playing the game again to see whether it was, in fact, still viable. That was three years ago, and I am now up to 315. I foresee several wasted years ahead visiting car pounds and knackers’ yards to see if I can reach 999. Or perhaps someone can suggest a cure?

If you wanted to know more about Flaming Nora.... bob's your uncle!

Here are some more of those historical characters whose names have been immortalised - though their actions are long forgotten.

Bob (your uncle)
In a move of unashamed nepotism, British prime minister Robert Gascoyne-Cecil appointed his nephew Arthur Balfour as Minister for Ireland in 1887. Balfour eventually followed in “Uncle Bob's” footsteps and became Prime Minister himself. So the phrase "Bob's your uncle" was coined to mean: "success is in the bag".

The Real McCoy
There are several theories, but my favourite centres around Kid McCoy, a US boxing champion in the early 20th century. A drunk challenged McCoy to prove that the boxer was, in fact, who he said he was and not one of the lesser boxers trading under the same name at the time. After a near knockout punch, the drunk concluded that, yep, this was in fact "the real McCoy".

Proper Charlie
Not, as you may think, a reference to Charlie Chaplin (though this would make sense) but to Charlie Smirke (who?). This particular Charlie, though a successful English jockey in the 1930s-50s, was immortalised simply because his surname happened to rhyme with "berk" (an English insult - see more on this and Cockney rhyming slang later). Charlie Smirke entered into Cockney rhyming slang lore as berk, and from them on "a proper Charlie" was synonymous with "a right berk".

Flaming Nora
Sorry to disappoint, but despite heralding this lady in the title of the blog I can’t actually find anything on her apart from the fact that she was also known as “ruddy Nora”. Presumably being set on fire would turn anyone a little ruddy.

Flaming Nora, it’s that Gordon Bennett again!

Who was flaming Nora, and who set her on fire? Who was the original “proper Charlie”, and was Fanny Adams really sweet? We constantly sprinkle our language with other people’s names with barely a thought for who they were and why they have been immortalised. So here are some explanations.

Hobson’s choice
Hobson was a stable owner who rented out horses. He used to insist that his customers took the horse nearest the door – ie he gave them no choice.

Gordon Bennett
As a rich 19th century playboy, Gordon Bennett had a reputation for doing wild and unpredictable things. He once set fire to a roll of banknotes; he apparently flew an aeroplane through the open door of a barn and he became blind drunk at his fiancee's father’s party and mistook the fireplace for the lavatory (with inevitable results). As a result, his name became immortalised as an expletive.

Sweet Fanny Adams
Sweet Fanny Adams was a little girl who was horrifically murdered and dismembered in the 19th century. Her murder occurred at about the same time in history as canned mutton was introduced as a new convenience food on British Naval ships. One gloomy seaman remarked that the unprepossessing-looking meal could just as easily be the remains of sweet Fanny Adams. The saying stuck and evolved to signify “nothing of value.

The inn next door has an even better name

Since it's Saturday (and therefore pub day) it seemed a good day to share with you some of my favourite pub names. I love the ones that are full of tradition and mystery. The Case is Altered in Harrow, for instance, has a faintly sinister ring to it. They say it's a corruption of La Casa Alta - Spanish for "tall house" - but surely not. Why call a sprawling pub a tall house, anyway? Then there are all those literary and historical pub names that have apparently been misinterpreted by generations of boozers. The Goat and Compasses is a corruption of "God encompasseth us"; The Bag o'nails was originally Bacchanals, and the Elephant and Castle was once the Infanta de Castile.

The Quiet Woman, York. The pub sign depicts a woman carrying her own severed head. That should shut anyone up.
Bull & Spectacles, Staffordshire. Used to be called the Bulls Head until some drunken wag climbed up and placed his reading glasses on the sign.
The Drunken Duck Lancashire. Named after an incident when the innkeeper's wife found her ducks lying in a drunken stupor after eating grain soaked in ale from a leaking barrel.
The Leg Of Mutton And Cauliflower, Surrey. Novel idea – naming the pub after the Sunday lunch menu
The Inn Next Door Burnt Down - Bedfordshire. Less of a pub name, more of a news flash.

Fame at last for Minty Badger and Peter Piddle

I’m glad to see that someone has finally written a book about silly British names: Potty, Fartwell And Knob: Extraordinary But True Names Of British People. The book celebrates the fact that our countryfolk can (and do) call their children unbelievably silly things such as Constant Pain, Florence May Pee, Nicholas Orgy and Gertrude Obedience Goose. So what do children think about their parents’ joke at their expense? Or were some of the names a genuine a mistake? I heard of two Liverpudlian girls called Pat Mycock and Adora Dick respectively whose parents hadn’t a clue what they had done until the playground enlightened them. Admittedly, sometimes the fault is not down to the parents at all but the result of a tragic decision to move to the wrong country. For instance, the little Chinese girl called Wi Mee (pronounced “why me” earned sniggers from her classmates and fury on the part of her teacher when asked for her name in class and forced to respond. Let’s hear it for little Wi and the owners of some of those other truly silly British names: Minty Badger, Peter Piddle and Matilda Suckcock.

Your baby's overdue? Don't phone the midwife - call the curry house

I was tickled to read about the woman who gave birth during her own dinner party and managed to steer her guests in the direction of dessert before being taken away in an ambulance. If anyone had an excuse to shirk their duties as a hostess, it would be her. One interesting aspect of the story was the debate as to whether the curry served up for the main course was likely to bring on the birth. This is an old wives’ tale of the first order. But is it true?

Old Wives Tales

• If your baby is late, a good hot curry will bring on labour. Actually, this is true. It's something about the proximity of the bowel to the uterus in a pregnant woman, coupled with the aggravating effect of spicy foods.
• If you suspend a wedding ring over a pregnant woman’s bump, a clockwise swing denotes a boy while an anti-clockwise swing heralds a girl. Who makes these things up? Actually you will find this to be correct – but only around 50 per cent of the time.
• Your baby is most likely to be born just before the new moon. Weird, but statistically correct - something to do with the gravitational pull of the Earth.
• If your bump is all out in front, you are having a girl, while an all-round bump heralds a boy. Utter rubbish. The only certainty is that your baby will be baby-shaped.