STEPHANIE

Many moons ago, just before I went to university, I decided to do a bit of traveling. I had read a few books and seen some TV programs which all seemed to indicate that this would be a good idea so that I could 'find out who I really was".

After a number of months visiting several countries on a shoestring, I finally made the rather surprising discovery that I am really Princess Stephanie of Monaco. I have no idea who that cheeky bint is who has been spending my money and wearing my dresses and tiaras all these years, but it's hard not to feel a certain amount of resentment.

RESOLUTION

On Christmas day I went to see my daughters who were spending the day with their mum. I spent about an hour with them that day, before collecting them on Boxing Day for the rest of the holidays. While I was with them on Christmas day, I noticed that my almost 5-year-old daughter Lottie had written something on her leg with a felt pen.

It said: "LOVE PEEPL"

When I asked her what it said, Lottie confirmed what message I suspected her not yet perfect spelling was meant to convey.

"Did someone tell you to write that?" I asked her.

"No, I thought of it myself," Lottie assured me.

"Why do you think we should love people?" I enquired further.

"Because it feels nice," Lottie replied with a tone which indicated she thought that ought to be quite obvious to everyone.

I am very grateful that I have the opportunity to benefit from Lottie's pure innocent wisdom and in that moment, my new year's resolution for 2009 was sorted out! :-)

QUINCY

For the past two weeks I have been engaged in jury service. Although the law strongly encourages me not to reveal any details of the case which is not yet complete, I feel a strong urge to write about the experience as a whole, which has felt more than a little surreal, like being part of a television programme for a fortnight.

The thing which has struck me most of all is the nature of the various characters who have appeared in court throughout the course of the fortnight. If I had been writing the whole thing as a piece of fiction, I could not have created characters who so closely fit the stereotypes which one might have expected when told their professions or positions. The accused looked and acted remarkably like Bill Sykes. The lead defence barrister appeared to have modelled his entire appearance and performance on Rumpole of the Bailey. Even more amusing, he had a female junior barrister sat behind him who looked like a younger version of himself, minus the moustache and with slightly longer hair (I speculated that by the time she reached senior barrister status, she may well have grown a suitable moustache). Most remarkable of all, a pathologist who gave evidence on the witness stand looked and acted precisely as one might expect of an individual who was far more at home dealing with the dead than with the living. She had a markedly drawn, skeletal, deadly serious face, a strange, nervous speaking style and peered suspiciously round the court room from behind spectacles which probably weighed only a few ounces less than she did.

Those were the most notable examples, but everyone who appeared in court seemed to fit remarkably with my pre-conceived notion of how they would be. The judge, the other barristers, doctors, nurses, police detectives. Every one of them seemed to confirm my mental stereotype. It reminded me of a webcast I had listened to a few weeks previously in which the way in which we tend to fulfil given roles had been discussed. In the webcast, the interviewee had discussed how he had met a person at a party and within a few seconds was able to guess that she was a teacher (which he subsequently confirmed by asking her). He went on to speculate that many if not most of us have a tendency to lose the individuality and unique identity that we have when we are younger by conforming to expected behaviour patterns associated with roles that we take on. Instead of being ourselves, we become more or less completely identified with our occupation, or some other role such as a parent, 'one of the lads', a trade unionist, a fat person, a runner, or a victim. How many of us are conforming to roles which we did not choose for ourselves but which we drifted into, or which we took on to please others, such as our families or which are based on something which someone said to us a long long time in the past, such as 'he's the shy one' or 'she's no good with children'.

Such identification with one, or a small number of roles, so strongly informs the choices that we make every day that to the outside world we appear to have become the personification of those roles. We forget that every minute of every day, we have the choice to be whoever we want to be, to act however we want to act, to wear whatever we want to wear, to say whatever we want to say and to do whatever we want to do. We forget that we do not have to do what is expected of us. We forget that our choices should not be based on how others want or expect us to be, but on how we want to be, on what makes us feel happy and truly alive.

As I think back to the pathologist mentioned above, I am reminded of one hero of the pathology world who managed to buck the trend and very certainly did not conform to any such stereotypes. I am talking of course of the legend that is Quincy M.E. Quincy did not confine himself to long hours in the pathology lab followed by the filling in of long and deadly serious reports. This maverick hero's talents could not be so confined and so we would often see him taking on the role of detective, barrister (attorney), counselor or public health champion. He more or less single-handedly solved every case in which he was involved and having done so, still found time to be an unstoppable love machine and to have a bit if cheeky banter and a game of cards with his mates in the pub afterwards.



We can all learn a lot from Quincy. Quincy teaches us not to accept limits and to refuse to be labelled by anyone. Quincy shows us how to be the best we can be in every moment of every day by remembering that in each one of those moments, we have a new choice about who we want to be.

Quincy M.E. , I salute you.

PASSIONATE ABOUT COMPASSION

Back in March I wrote about the acceptance speech of Karen Armstrong after she received her TED Prize. TED Prize winners are encouraged to make a 'prize wish', in which they detail their vision of how we can make our world a better place. Karen's prize wish was to see the creation of a Charter for Compassion in which leading members of all the world's major religions come together to recognise the common threads which underlie all their faiths.

Today I am very pleased to say that the creation of the Charter for Compassion is now well under way. Follow the link to visit the Charter for Compassion website.




If you know me well, you will be aware that I do not subscribe to any religion, yet Karen's message rings true for me too. In a world where fundamentalism, difference and conflict are on the rise, it is crucial that those of us who wish to promote acceptance and love of difference in the world take action to promote this. It is no good just sitting about tutting when the fearers and the haters are raising armies of destruction.

To some the idea of compassion may seem a little dull or boring, something they cannot relate to in our fast-paced, exciting and very self-centred Western culture. The word raises images of Mother Theresa toiling tirelessly to help people in desperate need. Many people cannot relate to the apparently massive level of altruism that she displayed.

But to me, this is something that raises a burningng passion inside me, not unlike that displayed by Bob Geldof during Live Aid. It is not at all unselfish and to show why, I will repeat some of what I said in my article in March.

My single overriding motivation is the protection of my daughters. I want them to grow up in a world where love is in the ascendancy. This is by no means certain in a volatile world in which resources are running out. We face a stark choice, between cooperation with our fellow humans to find new ways to sustain the species or bitter violent struggle over the dwindling resources we use now. There cannot be the cooperation without an understanding that we are all one. People need to stop thinking about stupid petty divisions such as nationality or religion, otherwise there will soon be no nationalities or religions because everyone will be dead.

Every one of us has to stand up and be counted. Stand up and say 'I choose love.' Then to do something. Whatever feels natural. To foster love and friendship with other members of our species. To show small minded people that there is another way, a better way. The only way in which we can survive.

Of course, not everyone can live a life of service like Mother Theresa. Not everyone has the influence of Bob Geldof or Bono. But we can all do something every day to help make it a better world. We can all choose to smile, to accept, to show kindness to the people we meet in everyday life. When we do this, there is a knock on effect. Those people who we touch are more likely to act in a positive, loving manner to the people that they meet. In that way, one smile or one compliment can create a wave of happiness that spreads across a nation. Likewise, a frown or an unkind word can do the same. Are you taking responsibility for the way you are treating the people you meet every day?

"Each time we stand up for an ideal, or act to improve the lot of others, or strike out against injustice, we send forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centres of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance." - Robert Kennedy (7 June, 1966)

Improving the lot of others does not have to mean giving away all your money or giving up your job to work in Africa. If we all committed to simple gestures of loving kindness on a daily basis, the world would be transformed and the fear which might otherwise lead us towards self-destruction can be relieved for good.

OLD BAG

I went to Sainsbury's the other day. For those of you in The New World, it's one of UK's major supermarket chains.

When I went through the checkout, the cashier gave me a free fridge magnet which had on it the instruction "TAKE AN OLD BAG SHOPPING"

Now, I think it is commendable to encourage our citizens to think about others, and shopping can be very heavy, especially if you are enjoyng your golden years and live a long way from the store.

But surely they could have have used a more polite turn of phrase.

NUTS

A few weeks ago I went for a picnic with the ever beautiful and serene Leigh to the Botanical Gardens here in Sheffield. For those of you who don't live here, it is a park in which trees and plants from all around the world have been brought. The myriad of shapes, colours and smells is very inspiring. This was a sunny day and unusually warm for the time of year. I was feeling very calm and almost in a meditative state. We walked around the gardens a little while before deciding on a place to have our lunch.

While Leigh was looking at some unusual trees, reading the labels which told what kind they were, I sat down on a bench and kept very still, drinking in the beauty that was before me. Suddenly a squirrel appeared and approached the bench where I was sitting. To my astonishment, the squirrel climbed up onto my thigh and sat there for few moments, looking me directly in the eye, before scurrying off. If that wasn't surprising enough, then another squirrel appeared and came up right in front of me. My hands were resting between my knees, my fingertips touching together. The squirrel reached up with his little paw and gently tapped my hands. He looked me in the eyes and then did it again. Then when he got no reaction from me, he too scurried off.

This was a remarkable experience. I am currently training hard to get better at running and my diet includes rather a lot of nuts. I wonder if the squirrels could sense that I was a kindred spirit in that respect, or maybe I just smelled of nuts. During the brief moments I was looking into the squirrels eyes, I felt a sudden sense of empathy for them, as if I got an inkling of what it was like to be a squirrel.



Sammy Squirrel: What are we going to do today, Sydney?

Sydney Squirrel: I thought I might charge round looking for nuts. What do you reckon?

Sammy Squirrel: Great idea! I love charging around looking for nuts. I think I will join you. Botanical Gardens?

Sydney Squirrel: Where else? Race you there.

Sammy Squirrel: You're on. Hey, hang on! That's not fair. False start!

Sydney Squirrel: Ha ha! Come on, slow coach!

A little later ...

Sammy Squirrel: So, how are you getting on, Sydney?

Sydney Squirrel: Not bad, not bad! This place is brilliant for nuts. But you can never really have enough can you?

Sammy Squirrel: You're right, Sammy. Here! Look at that!

Sydney Squirrel: Where?

Sammy Squirrel: Over there. Look. What is that?

Sydney Squirrel: Not sure. Doesn't look like any tree I've ever seen. Looks like one of those men if anything. But it isn't moving so it can't be.

Sammy Squirrel: Shall we check it out?

Sydney Squirrel: You go first.

Sammy Squirrel: OK. Cover me.

A few moments later ...

Sydney Squirrel: Well?

Sammy Squirrel: I'm not sure. I'm sure there are nuts there somewhere. I can sense nuts! If I didn't know better, I would swear it looked at me.

Sydney Squirrel: Hold on, I'll check it out.

Shortly afterwards ...

Sydney Squirrel: Weird! You're right, there's definitely something strange about that tree.

Sammy Squirrel: Sydney, Sydney! Look at the bushy tail on that!

Sydney Squirrel: [mesmerised] Ay ay ay!!!

Sammy Squirrel: Watch out, Sydney. Dog!!

MURDEROUS PLOTS?

November 5th is celebrated in Britain as Bonfire Night, or to give it its more correct name, Guy Fawkes Night. Firework displays and big bonfires will be seen throughout the land. This is a celebration of the foiling of the notorious Gunpowder Plot, in which a band of Catholic villains, including the very unfortunate Guy Fawkes, are alleged to have tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament with gunpowder and to kill King James I, his family and a large number of other aristocrats.



Some historians have speculated that the whole thing may have actually been staged by, or at least secretly allowed to progress by certain government agents, in particular Robert Cecil, the Earl of Salisbury. Conspiracy theorists suggest that Cecil may have fabricated the plot as an excuse for the persecution of Catholics in a land which was officially Protestant under King James (hence the production of the English King James Bible). These conspiracy theories strongly parallel those which are around today regarding recent terrorist attacks such as 9/11 and the London bombings. The Web is awash with those who would have us believe that these were staged by our respective governments as an excuse for a withdrawal of civil liberties. It also mirrors the Burning of the Reichstag in 1933 Germany which was blamed on Communists and precipitated Hitler's rise to dictatorial power.

Whether you believe the conspiracy theorists or not, you cannot deny the fact that nobody does a celebration of religious intolerance and hatred like us Brits. For over 400 years now we have been encouraging small children to make an effigy of the filthy Catholic scum and then chuck it on a massive fire. Then a crowd of smiling, sparkler waving onlookers smile and cheer at the reminder that those people who don't believe quite the same things as us will be dealt with by appropriate hideously cruel punishment.

Can any other country top 400 years? Or is it just that we can't muster virulent hatred quite as well as we did in the old days so that now such celebrations tend to peter out after 150 years or so?

In order to bring back some proper fervent hatred, I think it is about time the secret services of our nations upped their game a bit and used a scape-goat we can all get behind detesting. Amusing as some of their beliefs and antics are, I can't really bring myself to hate entire religious or political groups, even if a handful of them have been very naughty indeed. What I suggest is that perhaps MI5 could, under the guise of a sinister Spectre-style organisation, secretly recruit a number of easily seduced wasps and encourage them to formulate a dastardly plot against Princes William and Harry. Not the Queen, nobody really likes her. But there is still plenty of affection for Di's pretty kids. Then MI5 could expose the plot at the last minute and then the Daily Mail and Sun newspapers could spend a month or so banging on about the evils of wasps, prompting a national crackdown which could rid us of these pesky menaces for good. Obviously they would have to do all this when they were not busy advising the makers of Spooks. Once we have dealt with wasps, they could wait ten years or so and then frame The Tweenies.

Then maybe, just maybe, I would consider my taxes well spent.