Drip drip drip...

My toilet is leaking so I'd like to nominate it as deserving to be slapped. Luckily, so far, there's an overflow that leads outside (nice puddle on the ground floor from me on the 2nd). Probably something wrong with the ballcock washer. My partner noticed the pipe dripping from the opposite side of the communal garden and banged on my door earlier to let me know. Kill the messenger I say! LOL! On top of that I can't turn the water off because the stopcock is rusty and the whole thing will crumble if touched. Obviously it's Sunday and tomorrow is a Bank Holiday. We called a plumber who might or might not come on Tuesday. In the meantime watching water level in cistern like a hawk. I also have a deadline on Tuesday and need a clear head to do my work. Yeah, fat chance of that! So slapping my toilet for its wonderful timing.

I'm menopausal; I must be a moron too

I couldn't think of anyone to slap this week (lucky me!) until about an hour ago, when I heard on the wireless (such a lovely retro word) that a UK publishing company had just launched a special series of novels for "women over 45"!!!

There are no words to describe how patronizing I think that is. I'm 57 and I haven't read half of all the books I want to read in my lifetime. I do not need books written especially for me and I don't believe other middle-aged women do either. What about all the Tolstoïs and Balzacs and Victor Hugos and EM Forsters and Edith Whartons and.... one hasn't read yet? One lifetime is not enough anyway. I've always hated genre fiction, especially the one aimed at women (detective stories, etc. have a place) and five years working at Mills & Boon/Harlequin didn't make me change my mind. Now there's a new genre - "menopausal fiction". Yuck!

Beauty at any cost?

I'd like to slap all the clever manufacturers who exploit women's insecurities and sell them products they don't need or stuff that doesn't work - from intimate deodorants to caffeine-infused tights to overpriced lotions and potions.

The bank that likes to say... stupid things

This week, guess what!, I want to slap the same person I slapped last week: the clerk at the Abbey National bank who told me that I couldn't use the title Ms because I wasn't divorced (yes, I know, preposterous and ignorant) AND her manager.

Not content with wasting my time with stupid and unnecessary questions during our interview, the clerk called me during the week and asked me to come back so I could show her the debit card that goes with bank account details I gave as proof of identity. It wasn't mentioned on the list of documents that I might have to produce, so I refused to talk to that person and asked to see the manager. This 25-year-old little girl, who, I suspect, is the one who told the clerk about the uses of the title Ms, finally acknowledged that the debit card was mentioned in *their* literature not in the one given to customers (therefore the latter cannot tell they might have to produce it). Had I been asked to show the card I would have shown it to the clerk during the first interview (I had everything that could possibly be shown with me) - except that this particular clerk was *not* aware of that requirement. I showed the card and with a bit of luck the savings account I want will be opened for me, but I'm not holding my breath. I also got an apology for all the aggro, but just just...

A catalogue is a catalogue is a catalogue

I don't feel like slapping anyone this week. Oh, maybe just a tiny little slap to my janitor (I'm so Americanized, LOL!) who called a catalogue I hadn't even sent for "a parcel" and thereby created BIG disappointment when I went down to reception to get it.

Oscar deprivation

This is rather trivial, but EXTREMELY AGGRAVATING.

For the past several years, the BBC has broadcast the Oscars live.

This year, Sky Movies has the exclusivity. So no trailers, no excerpts, no nothing on *any* terrestrial channels. The BBC is thus depriving me (and millions of others) of the pleasure of watching that fun thing.

Part of the pleasure was going to the Café Board (the only time I used to venture there) and reading the reactions of people watching it at the same time as me.

I can’t believe the BBC chose to spend thousands of pounds to commission more garden or decorating programmes, more silly reality shows. It's not free (we pay over £100 per year). This year, I feel my licence fee has been misused! A big slap to the BBC.

I will go to the Café tonight, but nothing will make sense… :-(

The colour of deception

On Friday morning I thought, "Wow! I've had a good week: nothing's really bothered me." Then I heard the afternoon news...

I would like to give a huge slap to whomever decided to add Sudan 1 - a cancer-causing dye - to chilli powder, which went into the manufacturing of Worcester sauce, which then went into the making of *hundreds* of products. From cook-chill stuff to sauces, etc.

At first, I thought I was completely ok, because I cannot eat anything spicy, so I couldn't have eaten any of the curries they mentioned in the news. But then I discovered that this dye, which "is used for colouring solvents, oils, waxes, petrol and shoe polish" was also used in all sorts of sauces, and I've been having a particular seafood sauce *every day* for the past four years. I have digestive problems, which I've managed to control for several years by eating the same thing every single day: my lunch is poached fish (mostly trout) with boiled potatoes. I need a dollop of that seafood sauce because it's all so bland.

So I spent an anxious few hours, until they released a list of contaminated products and I also saw for myself that the sauce was still on the shelves of the supermarket (it would have been recalled by then). So mine was not contaminated. The risks are probably small for people who's had the others, but they say that there is no safe level for that dye.

The cost of recalling the products is about £100 million.

I have no doubt that the inclusion of that dye was a criminal act. It's like when they used to add chalk to flour; wood shavings to tea. Anything to save money.

I will trample you underfoot for a cheap sofa

This week I would like to nominate the people who turned the opening of a new IKEA store in a London suburb into another Hillsborough (remember that horrible disaster where people were crushed to death?) - almost.

What happened? IKEA decided - not too wisely perhaps - to open the new store at midnight and they offered huge discounts (like sofas for £45) with a deadline at 3am. Seven thousand people turned up and when the doors opened the security guards were overwhelmed as the crowds pushed through. Hundreds of people were crushed and guards were attacked by angry shoppers, who then proceeded to attack each other while fighting over items.

The papers showed video footage of those crowds looking like packs of wild animals. It was disgusting. And truly depressing. This is what some British people are like now - they have forgotten how to behave like human beings. They used to queue in an orderly line at bus stops, now this. Disgraceful!

Hello? Anyone there?

Who on earth thought it would be a good idea to take people from pillar to post when they phone a big company? “Press this if you have a blah blah phone. Press 1 for xxxx; press 2 for yyyy. Press 14 for &%^$*().” I’m so fed up! And then, if you’re lucky you get to talk to someone in a call centre in India, who doesn’t have a clue where you live or how to solve your problem. Aaaargh!

Also I’d like to slap companies that force one to use the Internet to book stuff. The other day I spent 45 minutes trying to book theatre tickets. I used to make a quick phone call, now I have 20 minutes to finalize my booking otherwise the seats go back on the market and I’ve lost them. Twenty minutes sounds quite a long time, but it doesn’t take into account that not everyone has broadband and you can be disconnected at some point and have to try and go back to that page and …. oh, I can’t stand it.

Mothers, please respect your daughters

I know it won't be popular, but I would like to nominate all the women who have never worked for an employer (as opposed to in the home, bringing up children) and therefore do not have a clue about the demands of an outside job or about deadlines, or about what is required from you in exchange for a salary or freelance fees, and think they can phone you for hours any time of the day or night and insist you drop everything you're doing to entertain them or give them advice or just for a chat, or to ask when they can descend on you so you can take them out to lunch (and spend the rest of the afternoon with them). These women are often addressed to as "Mum" by the poor worker and unfortunately cannot be shaken off lightly. The pressure and guilty feelings it creates are enormous.

Mums (or Moms) of grown-up, working daughters, please let them do the jobs they're being paid to do.

A feminist icon with feet of clay

Germaine Greer was foolish enough to participate in Celebrity Big Brother on the telly. She's now left the house in a huff and has explained why, at length, in the papers. What I still don't understand is why she decided it would be a good idea to take part in it in the first place.

She deserves a huge slap (or several) for disappointing every woman for whom she was an important role model. It makes me so sad. :-(