An open letter to manufacturers of hair care products

Picture this (not too vividly if you don't mind) - I'm standing in the shower, stripped of all my usual clothing including, significantly, my spectacles. I reach for one of your excellent hair care products. What is the most important information to me at this time?

Is it your branding? Much as you might like it to be, alas it is not. I already made the decision to purchase, several days ago, in the supermarket.

Is it that it's new and improved? Well, no. I was actually quite happy with the old formula, otherwise I wouldn't have bought your brand again. I do have an optimistic hope that if change it then it will be to improve it - although I accept it might just be a cost saving exercise.

Is it the fact that it contains ceramide B? If truth be told, I've never heard of ceramide B outside of your TV commercials and have only your word for it that it's any better for my hair than lard.

No. What I really want to know, more than anything else at this precise moment, is which of your identically styled bottles contains shampoo and which conditioner. Unfortunately, this information is consigned to a tiny font and is hidden somewhere near the bottom of the label.

Please spare a thought for your more myopic customers who all too frequently end up putting conditioner on unwashed hair. Let's have it nice and big and obvious - what's in the bottle.

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Christmas Soaps

Did your household's Christmas festivities get brought to a shuddering halt by that scourge of the modern British family Christmas, the Christmas holiday soaps?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against Christmas TV on principle. It can help to fill the quiet periods or keep the children out of mischief. For those unfortunate enough to be on their own, it can be an invaluable public service.

A spot of light entertainment? Fine. You can even have it on in the background, if you must, whilst normal family life continues around it. A high profile film? Excellent idea. If it happens to hit a lull in the proceedings then the family can settle down to watch it together. If the party is in full swing, you can just let it go in the certain knowledge that it will be on again before too long. If you’re really keen you can always record it or rent it when the family have finally gone their separate ways.

Not so the soap. For those following any particular series, every episode is mandatory viewing lest some vital event be missed. The chances of anyone else wringing a crumb of entertainment from it are minimal. The witty one liners lose their sting, and the significance of those knowing looks evaporates, when you don’t even know who the characters are, who hates who (everyone hates someone in soap land) and what circumstances led to their current crises.

You can be assured, too, that every soap dweller's situation is one of perpetual crisis. Even during the supposedly happy festive season, practically everyone in soap land is thoroughly miserable. Perhaps this is supposed to make us ordinary folk feel more contented with our lot but, for the most part, it’s just plain depressing.

Recording the soaps isn’t an option because the episodes have to be watched in the correct order and in most cases there’s another one due along tomorrow. Once you start the recording game you’re into an ever increasing spiral of debt, like a painter on the Forth Bridge, desperately trying to catch up. Also, if it's for granny's benefit, you can bet your bottom dollar that she won't be able to play back whatever format of recording you use at home so you're committed to screening the lot before she leaves.

So, at the appointed hour, the TV has to go on and all other distractions must cease.

This Christmas Day was pretty typical, with back to back soaps monopolising many a living room from 6pm until 9:30 with just one, brief, half hour break. By the time that lot was all over, the magic must have evaporated in many households. "Quiet kids, Granny is trying to hear Coronation Street" is hardly conducive to the spirit of Christmas.

Most years I end up forced out of my own living room to do the washing up - an activity marginally more entertaining than Emmerdale. Come on ITV, don’t let the ratings war blind you to your obligations to British family life. BBC, we rely upon you to do what is right rather than what is commercial. Do you think we could possibly make next year a "soap-free" Christmas?

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Christmas - Bah Humbig

Christmas comes just once a year (thank heavens). Here's my contribution to the Christmas spirit. I call it Bah Humbug.

Christmas comes but once a year Just as well, ‘cause more I fear Would send me screaming up the wall I couldn’t cope with it at all.

The panic, starts as I remember Round the middle of November. Rush and tear, the crowds, the cookin’ Jesus doesn’t get a look in.

A neighbour calls. She looks unflapped. "My presents? They’re all bought and wrapped." Then adds, with face as smug as Larry, "The puds I made last January."

In every neighbourhood has he Who thinks his house a Christmas tree And buries it beneath a maze Of gaudy flashing Santas’ sleighs.

The ad men say the world will end If you do not go out and spend. The shops perpetuate the lie: It’s all about how much you buy.

And then those shops assault your ear With tacky songs of Christmas chear. Whilst products lined along the shelves Are daubed with Santas, trees or elves1.

"Stocking filler" Twenty quid? Just who d’you think you’re trying to kid? Stockings should hold simple things Like sugar mice on candied strings.

"Who’s turn is it for Auntie Joan?" "She cannot spend the day alone." How is it our more aged guests Get classified as household pests?

I do believe we’ve lost the plot True Christmas spirit’s been forgot Simple presents. Sing Wassail2 Help the meek, the poor, the frail.

Have a lovely Christmas day But love thy neighbour3 on the way. Enjoy yourself without a doubt. Just don’t forget what it’s about.

	1		Even my milk had Santa on it last year. What's that all about?
	2		Traditional greeting, to which the traditional answer is "It’s a sort of beer you daft ha’p’th".
	3		Yes, even the one with the eight foot flashing reindeer on his roof.

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Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross

I was amused to see that OFCOM's web site, complaints section, is still sporting a notice to the effect that it has had over 1900 complaints about the Jonathan Ross & Russell Brand phone calls fiasco and implying that enough is enough. I would be fascinated to know how many of those now voicing their righteous indignation actually heard the offending (pun intended) broadcast.

I must confess that I didn't. However I did take the trouble to look up transcripts on the Internet before arriving at an opinion - unlike the lady who phoned my local radio station. After a tirade telling us how offensive, disgusting and un-funny Russell Brand was, she then admitted that she never actually listened to him - apparently changing the channel whenever he came on, because he was so offensive etc. I have a nasty feeling this is not atypical of the multitude champing at the bit to condemn Ross and Brand, preaching to anyone who'll listen about the "filth" they've heard about but not actually heard. There's nothing like a good bit of righteous indignation to clear out the sinuses and generally allow you to vent your disatisfaction with the world.

My first impression from the transcripts was that it was Ross who started it. I feel a bit sorry for Russell Brand. He's not the first epicene youth to be led astray by an older man and certainly won't be the last. OK, he went along with it but once banter like that gets going it's much harder to stop than it would have been not to start it in the first place.

Did they go too far? Quite possibly, but not so far OTT as to merit the furore now raging. It wasn't a huge amount more than you'd expect from two broadcasters at the forefront of the modern "shock to amuse" school of comedy. A little ill considered, perhaps. About the most intelligent comment I've seen from the hordes of critics is the rhetorical question "how would you feel if Russell Brand claimed, publicly, to have had sex with your granddaughter?" I'm assuming here it was the claim, rather than the sex, which was public.

It's a good question and worthy of consideration, so consider it I did. I don't actually have a granddaughter but I do have a daughter which is a similar sort of concept. My first reaction would, I think, be silly girl. You can't associate with the likes of Russell Brand unless you're prepared to end up under public scrutiny. My second reaction would be wow - look at all that publicity. How can I capitalise on that? I don't think taking deep offense would come very high on my list of priorities but then everyone's different.

Talking of publicity, hands up anyone who had actually heard of the Satanic Sluts before this scandal broke. No? I thought as much. Do you think their ticket sales are up or down as a result of this row? I rest my case.

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With the imminent arrival of 5th November I thought it was about time for an educational account of what this bonfire night shenanigans was really all about. Read on for a humerous, but historically accurate, account of some goings on in 1605 - all in verse.

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot.

Copyright © Keith Sheppard, 1996

My story begins quite a long time ago
In the springtime of sixteen-oh-five.
When some angry young men vowed the king had to go,
They could no longer bear him alive.
	The reason that tempers were running so hot
	Amongst some of King James’ minions
	Was that he and a few of his subjects had got
	Wildly different religious opinions.
The king was a protestant man through and through,
And he drove all the catholics mad,
For his treatment of such folk, between me and you,
Was really a little bit bad.
	The leading dissenter was one Robert Catesby.
	His friends gathered round him and cried:
	'We agree James must go, so how long must the wait be?'
	Mr Catesby stood up and replied...
'Oh please do remember the fifth of November,'
'For that's when the evil King James'
'With his parliament sits. We shall blow them to bits.'
'We shall send the whole lot up in flames.'
	'It's a gem of a plan, but there's danger, that's why'
	'It's essential that nobody talks.'
	'And a gunpowder expert is needed, so I'
	'Have recruited some guy they call Fawkes.'
So Catesby and his group of like minded fellahs,
Who all bore the king the same malice,
Put their plan into action by renting some cellars
Which ran under Westminster Palace.
	Then into this pit the conspirators stowed
	Quite a number of barrels of powder.
	It was more than enough so that, should it explode,
	As bangs go, there are few would be louder.
Then, for the duration of summer recess,
The gunpowder plotters dispersed,
Believing the start of November was best
For powder kegs doing their worst.
	It was whilst the assassins were biding their time
	'Til parliament next was in session,
	That one of their number committed the crime
	Of careless unwise indiscretion.
It seems Francis Tresham's own brother in law
Was a member of parliament so
Of course Frankie warned him 'my lord I implore,'
'When the house reconvenes, please don't go.'
	'I hope you won't think that there's something awry,'
	'It's just that I think that it's best'
	'If you let the first day of the session go by.'
	'You look tired and in need of a rest.'
Young Frankie's relation, by name Lord Monteagle,
I'm sorry to say, smelt a rat.
'I'm sure,' he said, 'Frank's up to something illegal,'
'Else why should he speak out like that?'
	Suspicions thus roused, on the eve of the day
	That parliament met once again,
	A search of the buildings was put under way
	By some of King James' best men.
They searched and they searched to see what could be found.
They searched the whole place top to bottom.
If only they'd done it the other way round,
Then much quicker would they have got 'em.
	For down in the cellars, amongst all the rats,
	Was where the king's men apprehended
	The unfortunate Fawkes and his gunpowder vats,
	With which the king's life could be ended.
In those days, of course, people had no idea
Of a criminal's right to be silent.
Their questioning methods were sometimes, I fear,
A little bit gruesome and violent.
	And so it is only a matter of time
	Before our friend Guy Fawkes confesses,
	Revealing the nature of his would-be crime
	And accomplices names and addresses.
So that was the end of the violent schemes
Of Catesby and Winter and Wright
And others whose mark on our history, it seems,
Was giving us bonfire night.
	So please do remember the fifth of November,
	Gunpowder, treason and plot,
	When the guy they called Guy tried to blow them sky high,
	All that parliamentarian lot.

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