My mother once said to me that if anyone thought for more than five minutes about the reality of having children — the sleepless nights, the cost, the worry — humanity would grind to a halt.
It was a throwaway remark I’ve never forgotten. Indeed, it may even have informed my decision to have children relatively late in life (I was 36 when my eldest was born), unlike my parents, who were both 21 when I made my appearance.
Like many females born in the Sixties, I was encouraged to pursue education and a career. I grew up watching Margaret Thatcher take on the world, styling myself as a second-wave feminist, embracing the defiant girl-power narrative of the Eighties and Nineties.
If the thought of having children ever entered my mind, I was reminded of my mother’s words and the chances she missed out on by having me so early. It wasn’t that she resented me or my brother, far from it; just that, inevitably, she had to put personal ambitions on hold.
When I did decide to take the plunge, I was still (just about) young enough to conceive naturally. And it seems I was one of the lucky ones. Because according to new official figures, my generation of women has levels of childlessness similar to those whose chances of a family were wrecked by World War II.
Nearly one in five of us has failed to exercise what a provocative male friend of mine refers to as our ‘biological imperative’. Only in our case, what stopped us becoming mothers was, in many cases, ambition. We were either not interested, caught up in our careers; or left it too late and missed the boat.
Now the worry is that we will be an extra burden on the taxpayer in old age because those sons and daughters who might have looked after us are not there.
Yes, folks: the escalating crisis in social care is nothing to do with an ageing population or successive failures in public policy: it’s all the fault of feminism.
When I did decide to take the plunge, I was still (just about) young enough to conceive naturally. And it seems I was one of the lucky ones. Because according to new official figures, my generation of women has levels of childlessness similar to those whose chances of a family were wrecked by World War II (file photo)
Honestly, what utter nonsense.
First, the point of having children is not to have someone to push your bath-chair in old age. If they want to, great. But you can’t expect it.
Secondly, what about men who don’t have children? Do they not bear some responsibility in this? And thirdly — well, thirdly just no. I will not accept this deeply offensive caricature of childless women.
For a start, if they’ve missed out on offspring because of their careers, they will have paid considerably more to the Inland Revenue over the years than their childbearing sisters. And while there is absolutely no guarantee a child will provide care for an ageing parent, those financial contributions stand.
Instead of having to spend their every last penny on extra bedrooms, bigger cars, more food and generally more of everything, childless women can afford to budget for their old age. And most, in my experience, do.
Because this idea that such women are either regretful, lonely creatures or steely career bitches is baloney.
I know several women who don’t have children and now never will. One made the decision through choice; another tried unsuccessfully.
A third, a little younger, says that when she feels broody she calls me because, as she puts it, an update on the antics of my teenagers is ‘the most effective contraceptive ever’.
Joking aside, women have only just succeeded in levelling the playing field. There are still far too many places on this planet where they have no say over what happens to their bodies or their lives.
If the price of equality, in a country that respects the intellectual and emotional choices of its middle-aged women, is a higher social care bill, so be it. It’s worth every penny.
Lissie is right, the law must change
I cannot be alone in being awestruck by the bravery of PC Andrew Harper’s widow Lissie in standing up for the memory of her husband — and defying the three ‘vile savages’, as she called them, who killed him. They appear to have treated the whole trial as an enormous joke.
I cannot be alone in being awestruck by the bravery of PC Andrew Harper’s widow Lissie in standing up for the memory of her husband — and defying the three ‘vile savages’, as she called them, who killed him
She is absolutely right to call for mandatory life sentences for anyone convicted of killing an emergency service worker. Police officers, doctors, firefighters, prison officers and paramedics risk their lives daily, often in impossible circumstances, to protect us all. The least we can do as a nation is to put in place proper deterrents for those who would do them wrong.
Scientists in America have invented an app that tells you when you’ve had too much to drink. In my experience, such a device already exists: it’s called a wife.
The puppets in a pickle
If the makers of Spitting Image end up having to pull their satirical punches for BAME characters such as Kanye West and Beyonce for fear of being accused of racism, they may as well not bother including them. Except then, of course, they’ll be accused of … racism.
If the makers of Spitting Image end up having to pull their satirical punches for BAME characters such as Kanye West (pictured) and Beyonce for fear of being accused of racism, they may as well not bother including them. Except then, of course, they’ll be accused of … racism
The news that Selfridges and John Lewis are to offer repairs, rentals and cheaper refurbished items brought back fond memories of lost High Street staples such as Radio Rentals and Blockbuster video.
Once, owning your own telly was a sign of unimaginable wealth; then globalisation came along and such luxuries moved within the reach of most. This time, however, it’s not so much about money as ‘sustainability’. Call it what you want: it’s still a sign of hard times.
According to a new study, smart watches and fitness trackers can lead to ‘obsessive behaviour, anxiety and terror’.
I wouldn’t know, I’ve never owned one. I don’t need a small computer strapped on my wrist to tell me how many steps there are between the sofa and the fridge. The worn groove in the carpet tells me everything I need to know.
A brake on boy racers
A judge in the case of an inexperienced 18-year-old driver who lost control of his new BMW, causing the death of a friend (another friend subsequently committed suicide), blasted the boy’s parents for buying him the car in the first place. He urged others: ‘Please, when your child passes their driving test, buy them a little, low-powered banger.’
Given this tragedy — and others like it — would it not be simpler to ban all novice drivers from certain categories of car until they have been on the road for a year or two? After all, pilots must clock up a set number of flying hours before they are allowed in the cockpit solo.
Given the power of many modern engines, and the testosterone pumping through boy racers, it’s not exactly rocket science.
Spare a thought for the parents of a 35-year-old Italian who has spent five years suing them for maintenance.
After he was initially awarded a monthly stipend of ¤300, the supreme court has overturned the ruling, stating he needed to ‘reduce his adolescent ambitions’.
And where did this absurd man-child get the idea from? Look no further than the father, who, at 60, having divorced the boy’s mother, moved back in with his own.
Ruff justice for the pandemic puppies
According to the Kennel Club, a quarter of people buying ‘pandemic puppies’ did less than two hours’ research beforehand. Perhaps that explains why a friend of mine was amazed to discover her neighbours had acquired a deerhound.
Lovely animals, don’t get me wrong, if you live in the wilds of Scotland. But hardly suited to a working couple in a semi outside Woking — the average adult deerhound weighs 45kg and needs at least two hours’ exercise a day.
In the wrong environment, a dog like that will develop behavioural problems and end up in one of the rescue centres that are already reporting a rise in unwanted pets acquired during lockdown.
Dogs may be man’s best friend, but we are not always theirs.
COVID-19 may have dealt a savage blow to the High Street but capitalism isn’t dead yet. At the entrance to my local Tube station, a vending machine has appeared that dispenses face masks for £4.99 a go — presumably for all those people who only realise they’ve forgotten theirs when they get there.
In any war, there’s always someone making a killing.