Today the Prime Minister told the people of Briton to stop wasting food in order to combat escalating food prices while flying to the G8 summit in Japan.

His argument is if British people planned meals and shopped in a more prudent fashion it would halt escalating food prices.

Firstly Gordon just go round the back of supermarkets and take a peek at the mountain of food thrown way by these ‘efficient responsible firms’ into skips. There’s enough food in this metal containers to feed numerous families. Plus Gordon what about doing something about these Buy One Get One Free ‘deals’? These encourage waste and bulk buying, because the consumer doesn’t know what the real price is anymore, the powerful supermarkets rig the system so we consume more!

Besides Gordon, how about putting your own house in order first? Government waste is endemic to the extent you all feed yourselves from the public trough as if there’s no tomorrow. But then does this pale into significant when one considers the £500m lost by the MoD on the Chinook helicopter contract.

Gordon stop wasting our time with such patronising and empty rhetoric as the people you represent no longer have time to waste on your banalities.

The rapid growth in knife crime incidents is a tragedy for the victims, their families and UK society. Street crime is nothing new; neither is carrying a knife especially new. Thirty to forty years’ ago carrying a pocket pen-knife was de rigour for most boys. Yet in those days carrying a knife was closely associated with the principles scouting rather than as a weapon of aggression.  Somewhere between these decades there seems to have been a massive cultural shift towards aggressive behaviour.

However all that is based on the premise that media reports aren’t sensationalising the issue. The most up-to-date survey by the Metropolitan Police shows knife crime has dropped by 15.7 per cent in the past two years. Something a contradiction to the 17 youths killed in London alone during the first half of 2008. This contradiction is partly due to crime statistics themselves. Official police figures could be distorted to due police processes which don’t register all knife incidents between young people. In contrast the British Crime Survey (otherwise known as the victim study) doesn’t record data from people under 16 or anyone without a postal address. A recent survey by the Youth Justice Board (YJB) would seem to back this discrepancy up, reporting a 12 per cent increase since 2002 in teenagers carrying weapons.

Notwithstanding such statistical fillips along with scope for media exaggeration there are real victims of knife crimes mainly because more young people are carrying knives. Nowhere is this more poignant than in Ben Kinsella’s letter to Gordon Brown, which was sent just weeks before he falling victim to a brutal knife attack.

Ben’s solutions to knife crime were in stark contrast to those propagated by the News of World. Instead longer prison sentences the 16 year-old suggest the Prime Minister introduce parenting classes, curfews and youth clubs as possible solutions. Such an approach stills well with that of Camila Batmanghelidjh. Her organization Kids Company has helped around 12,000 vulnerable children integrate into mainstream society.

Batmanghelidjh’s reasoning is that if you grow up in a dangerous environment where your parents and authorities aren’t protecting you, then the conclusion is that human life is not worthwhile. The message, she says, is “the more violent you are, the more protection you’ll have”. It is hard for many people to appreciate what it’s like to be disenfranchised from mainstream society.

Being in a gang, carrying a knife to protect your patch provides young people with status when there’s not much else to do so you form a subculture. Our society is meritocratic. It’s a culture where to be someone in the world you have a big house, cars, and all the other material provisions money provides. Without money there is no status and for many young people the minimum wage will not provide them with the same status a gang will bring.

Maybe the knife carrying culture has changed over the decades because in the past young people had more opportunities to achieve with genuine apprenticeship schemes, and opportunities to create a life of your own. Now we have just created gangs or subcultures of young people frustrated by the lack of opportunity to enhance their status in acceptable ways.

Marks & Spencer’s decision to start stocking competitor brands must have come as a shock to the majority of loyal M&S customers in the UK.

From next week several north-east M&S stores will start to look like any other supermarket, as Colgate toothpaste sits alongside its own brand of toothpaste. Such an image erodes the exclusive dimension of M&S shopping. You shop there because it is different and because its many of its customers were born in a time when loyalty was everything.

I had thought Marks & Spencer’s early failed moved away from unsuccessful foray into cheaper garments had taught its management team a painful lesson. Though it would seem Steven Esom paid the ultimate price for his mismanagement of their food halls, his ridiculous idea will run even after his forced departure.

 By selling cheaper poor quality knickers, the company almost ran aground a few years’ ago. People still want quality products, it’s just we want them more competitively priced. Compromise and quality and where’s the exclusivity? Indeed Jeremy Paxman’s recent comments on the poor quality of male undergarments highlighted management’s shortcomings.

Quality generates loyalty and loyalty is reciprocal. Loyalty might sound old-fashioned but by stocking competitors products M&S are admitting their own brand is of a lesser quality and you erode customer loyalty. If I want to buy Tetley Tea I’ll go to Sainsbury’s, I shop at M&S in search of quality food stuffs that contrary to popular belief competing supermarkets fail to deliver on. Indeed I trust M&S food to an extent I don’t any other leading supermarket.

Marks & Spencer’s should market themselves on this basis rather than squabbling with the rest. Yes, times are hard and money is tight so, deliver quality even more competitively rather than simply sell your soul!

Pringles

It’s official that is if you hadn’t already realised, but Pringles have never had a meaningful relationship with potatoes.

A High Court judge in London recently ruled Pringles had more in common with biscuits, cakes and other such confection, rather than potato food stuffs. Something which could cause the traditional ‘dunking’ biscuit to be superseded by the ‘dunkable’ Pringle.

This fact was described in particular poetic eloquence by Richard Cordara QC, appearing for Pringle manufactures P&G, told the High Court: ‘The appearance and taste of a Pringle is not that of a potato crisp.

‘It has none of the irregularity and variety of shape that it always present in crisps. It has a shape not found in nature being designed and manufactured for stacking. A Pringle does not taste like a crisp, or otherwise behave like one. It is totally different.

‘A Pringle is designed to melt down on the tongue. It is not designed to present the kind of jagged sensations associated with a crisp or similar product.’

Crisps are made from slicing and frying a slice of potato, Pringles, by contrast, are made from dough like a cake or biscuit, but with some potato content’. He said.

The case came to court because UK Customs and Excise were argued Pringles were potato crisps and therefore subject to VAT at 17.5 per cent. Pringles sales are worth more than £100million a year in Britain and under UK law, most foodstuffs are exempt from VAT.

Someone ought to have told a leading NHS surgeon to beware of Greeks bearing

How can Kings Cross hospital be indifferent to the plight of around 400 UK nationals who are in desperate need for liver transplants?

The simple answer is money. The Mail on Sunday has discovered surgeons at the London hospital have struck a deal with the Greek and Cypriot governments to treat the patients privately. The hospital earns around £85,000 per operation, from which the surgeon’s fee is deducted.

Professor Nigel Heaton, 53, who makes the final decision on which patients he operates on, has earned up to £100,000 from five such operations in the past year on top of his NHS salary of between £150,000 and £200,000.

Heaton is never far from controversy. In July 2002 the transplant surgeon decided to give a transplant to alcoholic and former Manchester United football star George Best. Kings Cross surgeons are paid about £20,000 for each operation they carry out.

There is a worldwide shortage of donor organs. In Britain about 400 people are waiting for a new liver – 20% of whom will die before a suitable organ can be found.

Following on from the immunization blog I started thinking about other areas of life I’d like to inoculate myself from. Indulgent I know but here they are:

1. Loud and arrogant people
2. People with extreme amounts of wealth
3. Those drivers who think they can drive and talk on a mobile phone at the same time
4. Anyone who walks around with a Bluetooth earpiece in their ear thinking they are so cool…..believe me you’re not
5. Men who wear white collared short-sleeved shirts with a tie
6. Politicians – need I say more?
7. Adults having tantrums in shops because they can’t have what they want
8. Severely overweight people stuffing junk food into their mouths, while wearing shorts and a t-shirt – gross
9. Men who continually look for reflections of themselves in windows, mirrors, etc, hasn’t anyone told them narcissism is a real turn off
10. Speedos – why aren’t they illegal?
11. People who chat on mobile phones at the supermarket check-out! Haven’t they ever heard of “I’ll ring you back”?
12. Drivers who break the speed limit – there is no excuse

His lubricated hands moved up and down my thighs.

His fingers tantalised my mind with their innuendo. Each movement penetrated my consciousness with their provocation. I turned round and pulled his lips to mine. Our tongues tangled with each other. Arousal was complete. I ran my hands with wild abandon over his body with such intensity I felt my own moisture welling within me.

He disentangled himself from me and began kissing up and down my thighs. I writhed in abandoned delight. His hands moved gently to ease themselves inside my red bikini. I opended my legs slightly to let his thick fingers explore my aroused sex. I pushed hard against his fingers as they eased their way deep into my moisture. I pushed even harder against them, I groaned. He pulled his hands out and deftly began sliding my red pants down so he he see all of me. His fingers eased my lips apart so that my desire glistened in the sunlight. I groaned even more. He bent down and started kissing me there between my lips, my wet lips, wanton desire, his tongue licked deep within and around me; me his lips concentrated around my spot. He sucked hard on my erect bud, I moaned in delight.

His tongue continued to push hard against, in me. It explored me without compromise. I ached for more as his mouth seemed to devour my sex. I started to feel my passion trickle down my thigh. He reacted by placing his hands under my buttocks so he could taste me with even more desires, such an animal eagerness meant I came. My whole body cried out, it shuddered in delight as the waves of ecstasy swept over my body and between my groin. Oh his mouth, his gorgeous mouth was such an instrument of pleasure. I had to reciprocate.

I lifted my torso up and put my arms under his so I could begin kissing him. So much of my taste was on his lips it inspired me. I eased my hands down his trousers to feel the extent of his passion. His excitement wetted my fingers. Gradually I eased his trousers down to release his erect manhood. My caresses increased the intensity of his kisses until I pulled my mouth away from his lips so I could use my mouth in more pleasurable ways. His delight at my intimacy was equal to my desire to taste his with equal desire. I took him in my eager mouth and felt his desire throb between my lips. I caressed this desire with my own eagerness.

He shuddered and eased himself out of my mouth and eased me down on my back. He kisses continued to embrace me with such intensity I began to quiver uncontrollably until I my orgasm raced into every sinew of my electrified body. It was then he brought himself on top of me and eased himself into my eagerness. I kissed him with such wild abandon I lost myself in the moment as his rhythmic penetrations ran deep within. All the time his hands were all over me, while his hands kissed the nape of my neck, my nipples my mouth, biting, teasing, nibbling until the crescendo of my third orgasm married simultaneously with his.

As the pleasure subsided he remained within me. I ran my fingers along his back and felt the heat of the sun on his skin. This warmth ran along my fingers and up my arms. I was satisfied more than I’d ever been before…..my goodness the pleasure given by married men…….

He came round.

We didn’t stay in the pub for long as we both had something on our minds.

 It was obvious, self-evident in the furtive way we kept catching each other’s eye. Desire overwhelms absolutely. The casual brushes against the skin ignite the imagination. We made our arrangements and parted without a kiss so as to give nothing away.

As I was coming down the stairs in my house the door bell rang. It was him. My stomach fluttered with excitement. It was him. In the intervening time I had showered and changed into something more appropriate for balmy summer’s evening. I covered my red bikini with a long white dress; its fresh and airy feel complemented my feminine sensibilities. While underneath my little red bikini reflected the desire and passion burning within.

I took the bottle of wine out of your hand offering to place in the fridge to cool down and suggest a cup of tea while the wine cools off.  I take through the hall and kitchen to we could sit outside in my secluded south-facing garden. Evening though it was early evening the sun continued to burn in the sky. We sat beside each other. We chat about our lives, laugh and flirt a little. The atmosphere is warm and sincere, yet beneath I felt our desires burning with so much intensity I shuddered in its heat. The excitement is the anticipation.

 Every now and again, we’d touch each other, casually across the hand, on the shoulder, discreetly yet discerningly; anything for intimate contact. I notice how his glances towards my breasts become more regular. My top is firm, my breasts are held firm by my red bikini. I cross and uncross my legs to tease him with glances of my red bikini pants. He’s aroused. I smile; I know he’s reading my mind. I get out of my chair and brush against me saying I’ll return with the wine and a corkscrew. I’m aching within.

I return, with two glasses, the wine dressed and my red bikini. My long white dress lay scattered across the kitchen floor. He casts a knowing smile at me as he pours the wine. He teases me with a casual remark about the need for suntan lotion in this heat. I ask him to put some on me as long as he doesn’t mind. He lifts himself out of his seat and swallows a big up gulp of wine before picking up the lotion.

He pours the white creamy liquid over my back. His large firm hands press deep into my skin with the soothing liquid. I gently gasp as his hands move over my thigh…….. what came next?

I did snap out of my rueful pandering.

Bizarre they were as much for their content as much as their very existence. Existential meanderings aren’t quite what a girl has in mind after a hard day at the office. Especially as I’m very much more a Samantha in nature; I please myself. I pleasure I did receive since my last post.

I phoned back a couple of days later. I made him wait deliberately so I could have the initiative. It was not long after work had ended. I needed a change of place. It’s the exam season at the moment and to say things are intense would be an understatement. It’s more akin to traumatic, for all concerned and so a glass of for wine along with conversation was what a girl needed.

Going home to change was never on the agenda, there wasn’t the time. I wanted spontaneity in conversation, in actions in everything. I was looking something so I arrived early. It gave me the initiative, which I was to grab with both hands like I did the wine. It arrived chilled in contrast to my body which was still damp from working in the intensity of the classroom setting. It’s all a performance but then for me so is life. I perform, I act in order to experience.

His experience in these scenarios soon became evident. I must have stood out with my casual deportment on a long tanned lather settee by a main window which over looked the bustling high street full of people finding their way home.

He said over to me with a beaming smile of confidence, rather than arrogance. I reciprocated with my eyes which reflected the alcohol induced warmth I was beginning to feel. I nodded a yes a raised my glass so he could see my wine was red.

I leaned back so I could fall deep into the comfort of the leather and made my mind up. It was what I wanted, needed even. As I imagined the future he returned carrying two glass of wine and brushed his arm against me as he sat down. I shuddered alarmed at the extent of my wanting…..what came next?