Jayne Howarth Media

It was with considerable relief that I read chef Antonio Carluccio’s comments this weekend about children’s menus.

Eat up - do you like children's menus?

In case you’ve not read it, he is disdainful of the whole idea of creating special menus for children. I have to agree.

Although I couldn’t say one way or another that children’s menus make them fat, as Carluccio asserts, I have long objected to the idea that you should have food that only children should eat and another, rather more sophisticated menu, that is suitable only for adults.

OK, so you might choose for your youngster – unless he/she is incredibly adventurous – a chicken vindaloo (and, to be honest, I wouldn’t choose that either) or liver and onions (ditto).

But why is there an assumption that anyone under the age of 12 wants to eat only sausage and chips, fishfingers and chips, burger and chips, or – if you are very lucky, pasta and tomato sauce?

Don’t get me wrong, I quite like fishfingers and chips, preferably homemade, but I baulk at the idea that when if we go out for a meal, my children should be offered some sub-standard fare while I enjoy something fresher, healthier (possibly) and tastier.

Of course, mine have had fishfingers, chips and peas for their tea, but that’s because I’d eat it. I’ve only ever had a policy of feeding them food I’d eat myself.

But when you go out to eat, you can’t always be sure of the quality. Have you seen how grey and mushy some of those fishfingers are? Or how revoltingly flaccid, fatty and wan-coloured those chipolatas are?

The thing about many children’s menus, I believe, and I appreciate this cannot be levelled at every restaurant or cafe, is that they perpetuate the idea of a “fussy eater”.

“Oh, Emily/Ben wouldn’t eat this food. It’s too rich, too creamy, got too many herbs, tastes of something like proper food … let her/him have the cheap sausage and chips. That’ll shut her/him up while we enjoy our organic rack of lamb and seasonal vegetables.”

No doubt there’d be a fruity drink and a scoop of ice cream (vanilla, chocolate or strawberry) to follow.

What does this attitude towards food tell our children? That we expect them to eat rubbish? That their diet doesn’t matter? And doesn’t it create an awful lot of work if you have to make a different dinner for the adults and children?

I want my children to eat what I eat. I have never given them separate meals. If they didn’t like it, so be it. I might or might not have tried it again, but as it can take up to 20 attempts for children to get a taste for something it’s likely I did until I realised they actually did hate it …

I love restaurants or cafes that offer small portions from the standard menu for youngsters or will split a main course between two plates. I don’t even mind children’s menus that offer “proper” food and look suspiciously like a plainer version of an adult dish.

But offering up chips, chips and more chips is doing them a disservice.

What do you think? Is Carluccio right to be critical of children’s menus?

And have you been anywhere that has offered children particularly good menu choices?

Do you have body confidence?

There aren’t many women who are happy with the way they look. We tend to complain about saggy backsides, wrinkly tums, bingo wings and wobbly thighs (or a combination of all these) and it’s easy to lose perspective.

The debates have raged for years about the controversy of Photoshopped pictures of celebrities and there have been furious column inches (quite rightly) published about how these altered images contribute to body dysmorphia among girls, teens and women.

And watching celebs apparently pinging back into shape after giving birth (I’m looking at you, Victoria Beckham and Beyoncé) do not help because they only help to reinforce negative body image and make stressed women feel even more wretched about their saggy frames.

So I was heartened to read (in the Daily Mail – sorry) that a woman has created a website called shapeofamother.com to counter the media obsession of the perfect figure (and yes, I can see the irony of it being in the Mail, which, alongside this feature, has a picture of Natasha Giggs in “tiny white shorts” and Emma Roberts in “see through dress and bikini”).

This website glories in women’s post-birth wobbly bits and stretchmarks and allows them to feel positive about their bodies. This online sorority also features positive comments from other women who have had similar negative body issues.

It’s fantastic; it’s inspirational.

What do you think?

According to the well-worn saying, there is a novel in every one of us.

I’ve long doubted it, although like most people who write for a living I’ve harboured a desire to pen a novel that people would enjoy reading.

It’s never come to anything, of course.

But over the past few years, I’ve thought about how I could use my experience – eight years and counting – of reviewing children’s books for The Birmingham Post (and occasionally Carousel, the magazine of the Federation of Children’s Book Groups) to write something for youngsters.

Writing for children isn’t an easy option – picture books are surprisingly sophisticated and complex things and some of the best books I’ve ever read are aimed at teens – and I began to formulate a few ideas.

Then a few months ago I had a “eureka!” idea.

I’d definitely not seen the subject before and knew that I could make it work. It would be unashamedly aimed at girls aged seven-ten and on a subject that I know a bit about.

A few weeks ago, I started a draft – and restarted and restarted and restarted (it’s not easy, this writing lark) – and began to think quite hard about how the character would develop, what the storyline would be.

I was quite pleased and while I appreciated I was a long way from getting published, being accepted by a publisher or even knowing if the subject was commercially viable, it gave me enough to start on it earnestly.

Until today.

The postman arrived today – armed with envelopes of books from publishers, as per usual, that hope I’ll review their latest children’s books – and I opened the first one.

You could have knocked me down with a feather: it was the first of three books on the same subject I’d thought about and even the storyline is similar to the one I’d begun.

I’m absolutely crestfallen. Back to the drawing board …

(And, no, I’m not telling you what it is … I may adapt my idea!)

It has taken a while, but today was the day I have to admit to you that it’s over.

After the umpteenth time of rolling my eyes and saying to anyone within earshot, “Why are they SPEAKING like that? What is this cadence they are using? Why do they all sound the same?” I knew that was it.

Radio 1, I think it’s best if we call it a day.

It’s not just that some of your presenters could be old enough to be my children if I had been a very young mum (Dev, for instance was born in 1984; Greg James, 1985); it’s not just that your demographic is 15-29-year-olds, despite the fact the average listener is 32; it’s just that I feel there is now a rift similar in size to the San Andreas fault.

It’s been building up over the past year or so, but I’ve tried to ignore it as I’ve mum-danced to One Direction and The Wanted in the kitchen

But I admit: you’re way too youf for me now.

Don’t get me wrong. I still enjoy listening to some chart music and I don’t mind listening to some daft banter on the airwaves, but, it’s gone too far for me and I think it’s time we parted company.

We’ve had some good times, you and I. Do you remember how I taped the Top 40 every week on my C90s so I could listen to it over and again during the week?

Do you remember that I even had a couple of messages read out on air! The thrill!

I loved the Radio 1 roadshow in Swanage. I thought I was really cool and despite the fact that it was Dave Lee Travis DJing and he was a miserable beggar to us after we’d queued for his autograph, it is etched in my memory as a brilliant, fun-filled day.

So, you see, it’s not you, it’s me.

But I think we part on good company. You’ll still be on in my kitchen when my children want to listen, but I’m going to have to look for new pastures when I want some musical entertainment.

I’ve tried BBC 6 Music and it’s OK for a while; I listen to commercial stations until the ads come on; I can handle Absolute 80s and 90s for short bursts, but I don’t want it to be my new radio beau. I have Radio 4 when I need something more heavyweight, but what now for music? I’m not sure I’m ready for Radio 2, though; it feels a step too close to comfy, beige, polyester slacks.

So for the next few weeks, I’ll be searching around, looking for a new home, although I’ll still sneak a bit of Scott Mills in every so often.

Thanks for everything, though, Radio 1. May you entertain the youf for a long time.

I’ve never been one for drawing up bucket lists – those lists of “must-do before I’m 20/30/40/50/I die …”.

I think it has something to do with my innate sense of pessimism, that little devil on my shoulder, which tells me I wouldn’t achieve the goals anyway, so what’s the point? (I always try to over-ride my inherited “glass half empty” stance by punching the little devil in the face and telling it to sling its hook – the optimistic gene from my mum’s side kicks in when it can. Sometimes it even works.)

Nevertheless, I applaud the National Trust today for its fantastic bucket list of 50 things to do before you are 11¾.

BEing buried in the sand - a rite of passage!

Its Elite Rangers have drawn up the mega 50 and it rather harks back to this alleged golden era when children played out from dawn ‘til dusk and got as grubby as hell.

The list echoes the kinds of activities that are outlined in those fabulous books for Daring Girls and Boys (which remain pristine on our book case), cocking a snook at the mollycoddling parenting that we mums and dads are usually accused of.

The National Trust wants us to get our couch potato children off the sofa and prise their hands off their mobile phones and electronic games. Hurrah for that (she says, as her daughter sits watching TV).

I put my hands up here and admit I probably allow them to watch TV and play on the iPod/Wii for longer than is good for them, but after an hour or so I get them to switch off their games and do something else.

Allowing them some sluggish, goggle-eyed brain much time is something else that makes me feel guilty, of course. You have to feel guilt as a parent. However, after all electronics are switched off, you can guarantee that within five minutes, my ten-year-old is complaining that he is bored.

He's there, somewhere

So I was rather heartened to see the National Trust list of 50 things and tick off many of the things on the list – 34, in fact, for my two.

I have ticked off the “watching the sun come up”, although I suspect it was when they were very young and we got up before the dawn chorus (does that count?).

So – 34. Not bad, I don’t think. My son still has a little time to catch up and achieve the 50 (and he’s in the Cubs, so may well do).

My daughter will be late to the party, but that’s OK. I’m not setting a deadline – I’ll just let them enjoy going out and doing some of the things that I used to do when I was young.

Long live a bit of risk, I say!

I’ve highlighted the ones mine have done – how about yours? And what do you think of the list? Would you add anything to it?

The 50 Things to Do Before you’re 11 ¾:

Climb a tree; roll down a really big hill; camp out in the wild; build a den; skim a

Trying abseiling

stone; run around in the rain; fly a kite; catch a fish with a net; eat an apple straight from a tree; play conkers (without safety goggles, I might add!); throw some snow; hunt for treasure on the beach; make a mud pie; dam a stream; go sledging; bury someone in the sand; set up a snail race; balance on a fallen tree; swing on a rope swing; make a mud slide; eat blackberries growing in the wild; take a look inside a tree; visit an island; feel like you’re flying in the wind; make a grass trumpet; hunt for fossils and bones; watch the sun wake up; climb a huge hill; get behind a waterfall; feed a bird from your hand; hunt for bugs; find some frogspawn; catch a butterfly in a net; track wild animals; discover what’s in a pond; call an owl; check out the crazy creatures in a rock pool; bring up a butterfly; catch a crab; go on a nature walk at night; plant it, grow it, eat it; go wild swimming; go rafting; light a fire without matches; find your way with a map and compass; try bouldering; cook on a campfire; try abseiling; find a geocache; canoe down a river (canal so far for one, but he’s going on an adventure holiday soon with school, so I am ticking this off now).

That wonderful BBC Radio 4 programme, Desert Island Discs, is celebrating its 70th anniversary this month.

The first programme was aired on January 27, 1942, with the incomparable Roy Plomley interviewing his first castaway Vic Oliver, the Viennese comedian, actor and musician. Since then there have been more than 2,000 editions of the programme, with castaways chosing more than 22,000 pieces of music to keep them company on their island.

Books and luxuries were added to the mix in the 1950s.

For those who don’t know the format, castaways are asked to choose eight pieces of music, a book and a luxury that they would take to a desert island.

Have you thought of yours? It’s very difficult to choose, but here are mine:

Music:

Guiseppe Verdi – Requiem (my favourite piece of classical music. I’m not an aficionado of the classical genre, but I’ve listened to it for more than 20 years and adore it).

Harry Connick Jr – It Had To Be You (the first dance with my husband. I prefer it to the Sinatra one).

The Prodigy – Breathe (it could be one of a dozen Prodigy tracks, to be honest. I reserve the right to change my mind on this one. It could be Voodoo People … they are the best band I’ve ever seen live).

All About Eve – Gold and Silver (one of my favourite bands from the 1980s).

Echo and the Bunnymen – Over the Wall (hmmm, actually. This was too close to call with Lips Like Sugar. And All I Want).

The Sisters of Mercy – Marian (or anything off the First and Last and Always album. Fabulous school/college memories).

Florence and the Machine – Rabbit Heart .

Spear of Destiny – Don’t Turn Away.

Book
Entire 20 volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary (all bound up as one book *cough*).

Luxury
Endless cases of good, white wine (to drink in moderation, of course).

What would be your choices?

I’ve given up on The Ultimate Blog Challenge.

The idea was to write and publish 31 blog posts in January. It seemed to be the perfect vehicle to get my flatlining blog back on track.

But post every day? As a writer, I produce thousands of words every week for different clients, but I just can’t muster the enthusiasm to fill my blog every single day.

It quickly began to feel forced and I don’t want a “never mind the quality, feel the width” feel to it.

I want to write about a subject – any subject – when I feel like it. It may be twice a week; it may be once a week. But every single day? If I want to, but unlikely.

I’m sure you’re devastated to read that.

But what The Ultimate Blog Chellenge – which has a hashtag blogboost on Twitter – has done is given me the chance to resurrect my blog and given me a reason to begin posting again.

I may have lost the challenge, but it’s given me a reason to return to blogging again. And for that I’m grateful.

Good luck to everyone else who perseveres!

Do you insist that your children write thank you letters for gifts?

We’re a bit late with ours, but slowly, yet surely we are getting through them. I mentioned this to a friend yesterday and she was surprised we bothered.

“We used to, but we just send texts now,” she said.

It wouldn’t bother me if I received a note of thanks via text – at least the recipient had made some effort to acknowledge a gift – but I’m not sure I’m ready to go down that route myself.

There’s nothing better than receiving a handwritten note from a child that thanks you for your gift. As much as anything, I know they have had to put a lot of effort into it as 99 per cent of children are practically tied to the chair to write them.

I know mine hate to do it, even though it actually takes very little time to do.But I believe that it is good manners to send them if you cannot thank them in person. It acknowledges the fact that someone has spent time and effort finding the gift and sending it. Who cares if they’ve just clicked the “buy” button on Amazon? It’s their hard earned cash.

However, timeliness is also a factor – and if I don’t get a move on, our thank yous will be woefully late, which is just as rude as not sending one at all.

Are there any toys you really regretted buying for your children? Those that seemed like a great idea at the time, but turned out to be a complete pain in the backside when the box was opened?

Meccano - what were we thinking?

This household has seen its fair share of bad purchases from the toy department: Star Wars monopoly – what were we thinking? Monopoly has to be one of the dullest games of all time, yet adding Yoda and Darth Vader to the mix added another level of apathy.

Scalextric – great idea, until you realise your lounge isn’t big enough for the track and it takes 30 minutes to set up, by which time your child has decided to pass time elsewhere.

Transformers – almost impossible to transform from vehicle to Optimus Prime, or whatever it is.

Operation – incredibly annoying, with all the little bits that end up inside the vacuum cleaner, and that infernal beeping noise.

Walkie-talkies – never worked when the person was more than two metres away from their companion, which means they could have had a conversation.

That sand you could sculpt and didn’t get wet – what a blooming mess.

Those art sets that you make with pins – PINS! Or sequins.

Make-up or perfume making sets. Invariably messy and rubbish.

Buckaroo – ‘nuff said.

And today – bought proudly with his Christmas money – son purchased his second set of Meccano. I have virtually got RSI trying to tighten a nut onto a screw. After spending ages trying to tighten the four that were needed for the vehicle, he discovered they were in the wrong place. Cue wails of frustration and flying pieces of metal – and that was him, not me.

These toy shops – they don’t half see us coming. Give me Lego any time …

To apostrophe or not to apostrophe? That is the question.

UK grammarians, lovers of the English language in general and book lovers have been united in their dismay at the announcement by bookseller Waterstone’s that it is to drop the apostrophe from its name.

Apostrophe abuse, by Weir thru a lens, Flikr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/weirthrualens/

A brief press release issued by the store yesterday (Wednesday, January 11) said the removal of the possessive “reflects an altogether truer picture of our business today which, while created by one, is now built on the continued contribution of thousands of individual booksellers”.

Eh?

This doesn’t make any sense (and probably doesn’t to Tim Waterstone, the founder of the business).

Twitter was all of a flap about the proposed change (search #waterstones), while, unsurprisingly, the rather wonderful Apostrophe Protection Society has also criticised the decision.

Its chairman, John Richards, described it as “plain wrong”, adding: “You would really hope that a bookshop is the last place to be so slapdash with English.”

I agree with him.

Grammar is an essential tool for anyone who writes – and that is all of us. Whether we are quickly typing an email to someone or constructing a formal letter, grammar helps us to convey our thoughts properly.

What it doesn’t do, if done correctly, is befuddle the reader. Instead, it offers structure and meaning to sentences; it allows us to understand more clearly what the writer is saying.

Consider the following sentence – it’s one that is often used to illustrate how punctuation marks change the meaning of a sentence:

A woman without her man is nothing.
A woman: without her, man is nothing.

Here’s another:

You will have to work twenty four-hour shifts.
You will have to work twenty-four hour shifts.
You will have to work twenty-four-hour shifts.

And as the photograph, which is taken by Weir Thru a Lens, shows, an errant apostrophe changes the meaning. Who is Bin, exactly?

I wish I’d kept the photograph of a bakery in my town that had a notice in its window that announced the goodies it had brought in for “Christma’s”.

So, James Daunt, managing director of Waterstone’s, I must disagree with your notion that Waterstones offers a “more versatile and practical spelling”. It is wrong.

But what do you think? Should we care? Are are you a defender of grammar and punctuation? Or do you think that it really doesn’t matter?