BLOG 206: Better than Apes!

“Talk in everlasting words and dedicate them all to me... it’s only words but words are all I have” Burt Bacharach

Not much I’ll hand to Boyzone but their take on the Burt Bacharach classic ’Words’ says it all.  I think the difference between us and the apes...the reason why we have top spot in the chain of evolution... are our words. We’re not the strongest... many species can knock us out, we’re not the smartest ... many species are better organised and can better share resources. But what WE do what the others don’t do even half as well... is inspire each other.

It is inspiration (JAXWORLD DEF: a belief in better that is as yet unproven) that makes our species... that can’t be underwater, in clouds or in difficult terrain without aid.... successfully survive, explore and dominate this planet. We inspire each other to believe in better, to strive to make our dreams reality and to actually walk the talk that previous generations dreamt about.

But how do we do this?

Words. Sounds daft but that’s what we do. The most valuable contributions we make to each other are the words we inspire and motivate with . Really .. the secret to our success is that pure and simple.

SO, where are these words then?  Over to the Tom Tom Club on this one:

Words in paper, words in books/Words on TV, words for crooks
Words of comfort, words of peace/Words to make the fighting cease
Words to tell you what to do/Words are working hard for you
Eat your words but don't go hungry
Words have always nearly hung me
Words of nuance, words of skill/Words of romance are a thrill
Words are stupid, words are fun/Words can put you on the run

Concrete words, abstract words/Crazy words and lying words
Hazy words and dying words/Words of faith and tell me straight
Rare words and swear words/Good words and bad words

Words are often at their most powerful in poetry. No disrespect to the current poet laurite  (Carol Ann Duffy) but most of us Brits come across poetry more often in  modern popular music (pop) than we do with tomes or volumes of the hard stuff. However there are those who would argue that with popular music it’s all about the tune... not the words.

Today I spoke with a very impressive colleague who knows a whole heap about stuff... it would kind of fuse your plugs if you had access to what The G knows about stuff. However we fell into the familiar row...music or lyrics. And (regular readers of JaxWorld Blog sigh with the ‘we so know what is coming' regular sigh) yeah Jax had to argue the corner  for words... even though The G was all for music.

I hasten to add in REAL TIME I lost the argument.

I was trumped by recognition that the reason why I love the ‘song of my life’ (How soon is Now by the Smiths) has fook all to do with the lyrics... it’s the north of England dispossessed interpretation of a Native Indian call to arms that runs at the start of the track (5 minutes on the EP) that stirs my soul and registers the fact with me that this is the best piece of music EVER put on any recording device. It is totally evocative. I hear it and all the times I’ve ever not come in first stop being a matter of shame or annoyance... they become my badge of honour and invite to being party to a revolution that is yet to come.

BUT

(oh blogger retrospect kicking in)... while the music is stirring, the hook for me is in fact the line “Oh shut your mouth how can you say,,, I go about things the wrong way.... I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does”  which runs so soon after the Navaho inspired back beat that actually is responsible for sealing the deal with me .

I caved too early on this debate today. I should have stuck with what I know to be true:

Lyrics are what people identify with.

Music sets the beat... sure. Music (melody probably is a better word as it is the repeated melodic phrases that we think of when we say music)...Melody gives me the mood. But it is the LYRICS that are the call to arms. There has been some great music during the later half of the 20^th century and the beginning of the 21^st. Music is a great motivator of action. For example: I don’t haul ass from London to Bournemouth on a mid week night regularly... however Snow Patrol made it essential when those were the only south of england tickets available. So why travel 100 miles on a midweek night for a band? Easy ...because of their.. LYRICS.

Okay the melodies were great, sure... they can strum a guitar and bang on those drums... but I can assure you the M3 and M27 were not negotiated on a winters night for that. What clearly was the motive was shown when the Bournmouth International Centre's roof was nearly lifted as the thousands of attendees belted out the lyrics reflecting the poetry that can be found in the trauma of everyday lives:

“Please keep your hands down, and stop raising your voice,
Its hardly what I'd be doing, if you gave me a choice,
Its a simple suggestion, can you give me some time,
So just say yes or no, why can't you shoulder the blame?
'cause both my shoulders are heavy, from the weight of us both,
You're a big boy now, so lets not talk about growth,
You've not heard a single word I have said, Oh My God...”

I can assure you ... no one heard the melody the band were knocking out. The capaity crowd drowned it out by singing those eighty words like THEY wrote them. Thing is ... the music was magic. We needed Snow Patrol to set the mood with their simpleback beat, almost lullaby-like in it’s compensation to give the lyrics weight. But make no mistake ... it was ALL about the words.

The simplicity of the melody with the lyrics of the humdrum of everyday couple life... “It seems I‘ve stepped over lines you’ve drawn again and again”. .. It became a closed eye anthem to those who really wish they were able to articulate their experience in a concert hall at least.

Words.

Words are the most amazing thing human beings have. Through describing our experience we found common ground. Through words we are one. La lala la la doesn’t quite cover it!

I’m not belittling melody. Rhythm is important as The G pointed out most eloquently (and persausively) today....But the fact it reaches the soul on such a basic animal level means that there must be something primeval about it.

Give them enough time and the apes may have music.

But ...words.

Now that is where we humans are AT.

Words

I went to Paris recently. Paris and I have always had a difficult relationship. I went to Paris for the first time aged 16 with my school friend. Post Paris we fell out and have never spoken since – but Paris was our great adventure.. we found places that aren’t on the map and did things that maybe a couple of suburban 16 year olds should not, but we, as fun and free as it was, ultimately, so paid for it....Paris was doom... we spiralled downhill after the experience.  I subseqently repeated the pattern often by consistantly being in Paris with EXACTLY the wrong people. So, earlier this year, I went alone to see if that improved the experience. Sitting by the Seine  thinking ‘ Really??? Paris, I  STILL don’t get it...wish I were in Milan... at least the shoes are cheaper’. Then randomly my old school friend wandered past just as a street musician started sing a Keane song ... in French.

“Assis par la rivière, et il a fait me compléter Oh, la chose simple, où êtes-vous allé ? Je vieillis, et j'ai besoin de quelque chose pour compter sur moi dit Si quand vous êtes gonna a

laissé m'est entrer je suis fatigué, et j'ai besoin de quelque part commencer je suis tombé sur un arbre tombé j'ai senti que les branches de lui me regardent ceci Est le lieu nous avons

aimé ? Est-ceci le lieu que j'ai rêvé de ? Et si vous avez une minute, pourquoi nous n'allons pas Discours de lui quelque part seulement nous savons ? Ceci pourrait être la fin de tout

Si pourquoi nous n'allons pas quelque part seulement nous savons ?”

[Oh  copy and paste into SDL free translation if you don’t parle Frenchy!!!]

Basically.... the lyrics told OUR story. It would have been juvenile to pretend we had not seen each other. I was sitting on the steps that she came down.  But it was not just geography... the song   “Somewhere Only We Know” (even being murdered by the French language) pulled the scab of a never healed wound. We really had no choice... So we went and had coffee and talked... and it was good. Not a cure. But a start. Who knows... we may be exchanging chrimbo cards this year ( a first since 17!!!) LOL. The catalist for this change... a set of someone elses words that resonated with our predictament.

This is a uniquely human experience  - surely! It’s almost the essence of we do as people.... exchange our experiences in words. We gather words.  When we have some idea what we wish to communicate We struggle to fit the precise words that mood, story, or theme.  When writing lyrics to a score (music/score usually comes first in this process and is usually the shortest process) we look for words that not only fit the mood story or theme behind the score, they also fit at key places in the melody. Every hit recording will have these important words appearing where the melody will bring them out - the end of a phrase, or the high point in a line. A good lyricist will ensure that they fit naturally with the melody so that when you sing the words, the emphasis comes on the right syllables. Of course take the words away ad you still have music.

However when lyrics fit naturally to a score... you no longer have mere music...  you have an anthem.

But that's the ideal. And we all know ideals aren't the siuaions we get most of he time. The truth of the power of words shows most in that crappy lyrics really damage great melodys/scores . In reverse truely crappy melody/scores can be totally transformed and uplifted by a great set of lyrics. Music dates... but the truth of human experience in the lyrics seems timeless.

A great example is Supertramps 1979 classic 'The logical song'. Early electronic music dates the score terribly – however - in a pub in May 2012, 'A' level students (17-18 yera olds) were belting out the lyrics as if it was just written yesterday.  Seems nothing much has changed since Roger Hodgson wrote this damnation of the British education system over 30 years ago. And despite the simple keyboard music... the lyrics ensure that it resonates with teenagers who think WTF when they go to school:

When I was young
It seemed that life was so wonderful/A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical
And all the birds in the trees/Well they'd be singing so happily
Joyfully, playfully watching me

But then they send me away
To teach me how to be sensible-Logical, responsible, practical
And then they showed me a world/Where I could be so dependable
Clinical, intellectual, cynical
I say, "Now what would you say for they calling you a radical/Liberal, fanatical, criminal?"
Won't you sign up your name? We'd like to feel you're acceptable, respectable, presentable;  a vegetable
And at night when all the world's asleep; The questions run so deep( for such a simple man)
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned?
I know it sounds absurd

 but please tell me who I am: Who I am, who I am, who I am

'Coz I'm feeling so illogical
D-d-digital
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Unbelievable
B-b-bloody marvellous

Words....
Its what we do.
Exclusively.

The apes have a way to go yet!

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BLOG 205: Cough! Cough!

“Thanks to nanny, I've got a deep understanding of legend.” Modest Mussorgsky

On the 31st of March 2012 the UK’s Central Office of Information closed forever. For over 60 years COI had the task of producing government information campaigns on issues that affected the lives of British citizens, from health and education to benefits, rights and welfare.  These information campaigns were often annoying and frequently intrusive, but the thinking behind them was that knowing something and doing it are quite distinct. And people need reminding.

But have no fear... because the COI has gone don’t think for a moment that public information campaigns will not continue. These are now in the hands of the Cabinet Office, who have been briefed to only blast us where essential. And so the latest government campaign is to remind the nation to beleaguer the already stretched National Health Service if we cough so much we forget we cough. Essential stuff apparently and despite the fact common sense tells you to shrug off these campaign messages... my word they are masters of making you believe you do so at your peril.

One of the key things about these public information campaigns is the sense of impending fatality they all carry. When I was a child there was a great campaign that put me off kites forever. I can just imagine the planning meeting “I got it!” says bespeckled government clone “Child playing with kite on glorious summer day, running through glorious English country side... straight into electricity pylon, volts pass through child’s body and he drops down dead while kite bobs up and down tangled in overhead cables”. “Yes!! Brilliant!!!” chorus other government clones “That’ll scare the bejaysus out of them”. Kite flying in the UK has never recovered from that campaign. We are NOT (at a least are no longer) a nation of kite flyers. However... accidential electrocution carries on much as before.

Okay not all these campaigns were counter productive... a boy helping his dad with the crossword filling in the boxes as I AM BEING BULLIED was powerful and I am sure opened dialogue channels, and yes, five fruit and veg daily was pretty successful also.

However, like most Britons, I spend an awful lot of time absorbing and rejecting the coddling of the powers that be. Aware that I am fortunate to live in a country that has free healthcare and education for all, so I do feel rather guilty when every time I am reminded by the government to look after either, I react like a child: “I’m too old to be told... I know best” I pout “Don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out for myself thank you – what a waste of public funds!”

Thing is as a nation we know that times are hard and the public purse is squeezed. Personally I am aware the NHS in particular is overstretched so I feel I really shouldn’t bother my doctor just because I saw an advert!  But that advert.... basically if you have a persistent cough and have got used to it.... YOU COULD BE DYING! A gently calm voice does add that it is more than likely nothing, but it highlights that sufferers of the symptoms should go to the docs... because you never know. Needless to say I have now convinced myself I am dying as I do cough at least daily. (Actually it has been noted that my cough seem to happen every time the ad comes on!) BUT thanks to that advert I can’t cough without wondering if I will ever see another birthday.

Conversely, I am not motivated enough to pick up the phone and make an appointment just because ‘nanny’ says so. But can I cough to clear my throat anymore?... NO.

Nanny is in my head.

It is a constant criticism of the UK by outsiders that we live in a ‘nanny state’. The image is of a populace of child-like persons being handheld through every area of their lives by an authoritive subsitute parent. "Unable to think for themselves, the state acts as a British nanny who knows best and firmly instructs them on what every course of action should be." Said one overseas newspaper recently. The unspoken criticism being that they (the outsiders) are perfectly capable of doing this for themselves, so why can’t we.

To be fair I just think they are miffed that they don’t have what we have. Unlike almost any other country in the world, Modern Britain has been structured around 2 basic tenants:

1.      An unhealthy populace cannot work

2.      An ill educated populace cannot work.

Modern British society is built around the equasion that more people who are healthy and educated= the more people who can work= the richer the nation will be. To make this happen, the populace contribute to a general pot, funds from which are set aside to ensure everyone is healthy and everyone can read, write and add up.  Since setting this up successive governments (since Labour sealed the deal in 1948) have done their best to dismantle the systems to save a quid or two, but in the main: the system remains.

And so it is that we Brits get blasts of official information about our health or education - just to ensure we are all on the same page. However, as I said in the opening of this article,these information campaigns are charectrised by frequently being annoying and intrusive. I kid you not, recently I have received information telling me to wash my hands after wiping my bum, and that my son should walk to our local school. Actually... we do both naturally, but need has little to do with the info blasts. You see, ‘nanny’ does love to communicate the perils of not doing as she deems I should! If she's not convincing me I am about to die from coughing, she's warning me to examine my poo and the perils of not following her hot tips on how to do a school packed lunch (probably hoping I’d remember to wash my hands after the poo and before the packed lunch...).

It can be a bit overwhelming having this hectoring voice reminding you of what is self evident daily! I am afraid that even though I appreciate the good intentions behind a lot of the public information - I have been guilty of just wishing Nanny would put a 'sock in it' and give us all a rest from being TOLD.

Well apparently there will now be a whole lot less of being told. The COI are no more and as their portfolio is now in the hands of the Cabinet Office (who quite frankly have far too many other more pressing jobs to think about) we certainly will all be hearing a lot less from Nanny going forward.

Be careful for what you wish... you just may get it they say.

As I have a feeling....

Actually it is more than a feeling.

I know The Moment.

And I mean the absolute the moment that anything (and I mean anything) goes wrong, I ...wisher for silence from the public information peeps... will be screeching like a banshee:

“WHAT do I pay my taxes for?! WHY didn’t anyone tell me?!!”

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BLOG 204: Kool Kats

“Cats know how to obtain food without labour, shelter without confinement, and love without penalties.” W. L. George

I’m not a great poetry lover but even I can recognise the source of a much quoted line. The source being Robert Burns' poem "To a Mouse". I cannot count the times I have heard people utter the words: The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry... Or as Scottish Robbie wrote it "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley."  Ah... my kilt wearing neighbour from over the border... you did not legislate for the disruption for plans that is a Cat... or on reflection maybe that was exactly what he meant.

I left my parents home at 18 years old. Back then it was the norm. Only extreme losers were still shacked up with mama and papa at the dawn of their twenties. Of course there were many who left home even earlier than I but I recall their grand schemes promptly fell apart due to inexperience or just shear folly – 18 was just about right. BUT to ensure I remained a bonefide adult (who was not going to run back once the going got tough) I got myself a feline dependent. I figured having something outside myself to provide for would ensure that I had NO OTHER option but to make it work. (Besides I had barely got to the bottom of the road before my parents had called in the decorators and converted my girly boudoir into a library for all my father’s books... seems ensuring a lack of return options is a family trait)!

Now before the dog lovers kick off, I’d just like to say I grew up with both pets. I have nothing against dogs. But.  I have an in born attraction to the more intelligent options in life and to me cats are just that... Cats are more independent, less demanding, more content in general and don't need sitters if you have to travel for a few days. Cats are clean, don’t have to be taken for walks, bathe themselves, are self grooming and don’t need haircuts. Cats pace food supplies and don’t woof it all down in one go. Cats really don’t mind being home alone, are not afraid of weather conditions, and don’t howl every time a neighbour walks by.

So on leaving home it was the obvious choice to get a cat. Actually not one but two. And since those early days, feline dependants have always lived with me... the majority to the end of their days. When feline dependant five died suddenly last year, the household not only was bereft  -we really felt it. It seemed very odd living in a big ol house with only another human to blame for what ever it is that goes bump in the night in here – but that wasn’t quite it. My good friend Jane commented that especially in a household of only two people it was kind of essential to have “Another heartbeat in the house”.  

Although this was initially resisted, this year we began the search for feline dependant number six. We’d kind of made up our minds that as all prior felines were either blacks, torties, or black and whites that we were not going that route again, and that a silver tabby (another long lived moggie breed) was the way forward. We were definitely going to get a male, and with our busy life-styles a rescue moggie of about 1yr old would be the way forward.

We are now the proud ‘owners’ of a female, honey coloured, ocelot look-a-like kitten.

Yep.

So much for the plan.

That’s one of the many things that feline’s teach you... “do not depend on the plan... it  will never happen that way, just be happy with what you can salvage and bluff that you have things under your control”!

I can appreciate that the thump thump thump of a dogs wagging tail may well thrill canine lovers and that their inbred obedience and desire to please means you can teach them stuff. But living with a cat is a completely different relationship; it’s less about what you can do for them and more about what they can do for you. In fact there are quite a few things that Little Miss Ocelot has been teaching this household since she moved in last month:

1.       Personal prejudice only inhibits experience
The cat we were looking for was older, a different colour and the opposite gender. We’d had plenty of experience and drew upon it to inform our choices. Little Miss Ocelot  challenged us to abandon what we thought we knew,  and as a consequence we’re currently enjoying a completely new and fulfilling relationship that would not have been possible if we stuck to our guns. Good call kitty!

2.       Clean up your mess
The big plus about felines is that they are so clean! From day one we have had NO ‘whoopsies on the carpet’. Little Miss Ocelot knows that mess is a natural state of affairs sometimes, but if you originate it then you must be responsible for it. If only all humans would have that attitude about the sh1t THEY leave behind.

3.       Play your own fanfare, don’t nag, look cute.
It’s a busy household ours, we are both at chapters in our lives where there is a heck of a lot going on. Distractions are many and we both find it difficult sometimes to find time for each other. Not so our new kitten! She can’t be asked to go seek company and so with a volume that belies her size will meow loudly, summoning company. Once she has you within eye line she then shuts up, puffs her fur into a ball and makes her eyes big... knowing damn well no human can resist.

4.       Keep to the schedule
Skipping meals makes you grumpy. Not enough sleep makes you grumpy. Not enough basking in the sun makes you grumpy. Not enough exercise makes you grumpy. Not enough affection from others makes you grumpy. Not investigating all the possibilities the day unfolds makes you grumpy. Little Miss Ocelot knows this so ensures she schedules in all of the above EVERY day.

5.       S-T-R-E-T-C-H
An action packed day of being kitten means a lot of exercise. Little Miss Ocelot knows that to exercise cold muscles will be bad.  Thus to increase flexibility and improve the range of motion of her joints she has a stretching routine. I am yet to see her carted off the pitch due to her joints seizing up something FIFA may like to take note of as stretching is NOT listed in their 11+ programme.

6.       Recycle your old stuff
We did go a bit mental on PetPlanet and ordered a shed load of kitten toys. Little Miss Ocelot half heartedly batted them. Then in series of events that would take too long to explain, a toilet roll tube and a feather from a boa came into contact with each other. Little Miss Ocelot was in raptures... her paw was in the tube in seconds. Over the last weeks old cardboard tubes have been taped together into a pyramid. By putting toys or even cat treats in obscure tubes, she happily hunts for content. Who knew recycling could be such fun!

7.       Style it out
When you’re a 12 week old kitten it kind of stands to reason that you are going to be doing loads of stuff for the first time. Little Miss Ocelot doesn’t let the fact that at least 80% of the first times will end in total disaster stop her... she gives it a go. And when she ends upside down, unexpectedly on the floor, or covered in talcum powder (don’t ask!)... she simply gets up and looks at you as if to say “Yep... thought that may happen – just checking” and carries on regardless.

8.       Believe you are the best
Little Miss Ocelot can sit in the cup of two hands and still leave loads and loads of room. She’s very small in a world that is very big.  However she emanates a self belief that would put most personal PR’s out of business. She totally believes she is fab, she totally believes it gives others joy to be her servants, she totally believe that she is the thing in this household. As a consequence... it pretty much pans out that way for her.

9.       Do not be ambiguous about approval
This household is a busy one. Between the two of us who live here we have a LOT of contact with other bi-peds. There are some visitors to our home who are more welcome than others but we suffer the bad with the good.  Little Miss Ocelot cannot be asked to put on a display of welcome for those that quite frankly do not cut the mustard. If she doesn’t like you – she leaves the room... if she likes you she’ll sit on you. No chance of misunderstandings...Simples! Equally when we permanent residents do something she likes, she dispenses cuddles, if she disapproves, be prepared for hours of your life being wasted on coaxing her from under the sofa.

10.   Appreciate being alone
I swear the reason why so many cats linger in rescue homes is that the well meaning people who run them insist on owners having to be at home with the pet. Little Miss Ocelot is quite a sociable kitty, but she often takes her leave of us and chills out in a completely different room of the house, or I hear her romping with her toys quite happily by herself. Although happy to seek the company of others she is pleasantly self contained. If only more people could be less needy eh?

And that’s what we’ve learnt in just the last month since feline six moved in!

Yes a feline is as dependant upon you for food and shelter as would be a dog, but for me there is a subtle twist in the balance of the relationship.  A dog owner is just that... someone who OWNS a dog. There is something more challenging about felines - they have a dignity and judgement that no canine has ever exhibited.

A ‘faithful’ dog must be caged within your property and taken out only a leash for fear of it running away. A cat (with the freedom of a cat flap and associated options, not to return if it so deigns) - chooses to live with you. Living with a feline presence is more of a partnership of equals. And yet... even knowing that ...once again I was unprepared for the life-force that is a cat within the home.

I have a feeling Little Miss Ocelot hasn’t quite finished with me yet!

The JaxWorld Blog can be followed on Twitter- @JaxWorldBlog

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BLOG 203: What Blokes Know

“Women have a wonderful instinct about things. They can discover everything except the obvious.” Oscar Wilde

What dress size does a British woman have to be to feel happy? The pursuit of looking completely gorgeous, toned and fit, in fact drop dead gorgeous through diet, exercise and all the rest of it is consistently pushed... and as a nation we are more body conscious than ever before... so what is the magic number that makes a woman comfortable within her own skin.

Prepare to be surprised...

In a poll of 3,000 women, it was the ones who were a size 14 who rated their general happiness higher than any other female shape. In addition a quarter of them said they were totally satsified with their appearance. Almost half said they were completely happy with their career, while a third rated their love lives as the best possible. 

Oh and before you think those women are deluded, the guys kind of agreed.

In the New Scientist research, the men were asked to rate the attractiveness of 200 drawings of female torsos of different sizes. The researchers then compared the favourite torsos with the vital statistics of eight groups of women, ranging from Playboy centrefolds and models to normal women. What the researchers discovered was that the woman that most closely matched the men's ideal female shape was a British size 14. 

Despite  magazine covers and movie sex scenes bombarding the bemused male brain with images of skinny women, real men will still pick out the shape of a curvaceous woman every time.... just how nature intended. Actually I guffawed when I read the comment from one of the guys in the survey:

'Give me a curvy girl any day...  sashaying around with full boobs and generous hips!.. it just says confident, together and incredibly sexy...every time. I see a skinny girl and I think Oh-oh... There goes Miss Neurotic, no-fun, picks at a salad instead of enjoying a good night out, probably holds her tummy in while having sex and worries about cellulite instead of admiring me.'

Is that right? Do women who aren’t a curvy size 14 let their body issues get so much in the way that they project the feeling that they are trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and crash dieting?

Well maybe not all. Close sisters to the bodylicious size 14’s, according to the research, were size 12 women, with almost three quarters saying they were okay with their packaging and had good relationships with home and work. Size eights came third in the happiness poll, closely followed by those who wear a size 16 - the average dress size for British women.

Trailing way behind the average woman was the size most diets aim for -a slender size 10s. Rather telling that the women who were the size most diet/fitness regimes tell you should be came out FIFTH in the poll of happiness. Mind you, drop down to a tiny dress size 6 and you drop of the happiness poll and turn up as number four on the unhappiest poll despite being the same dress size as Victoria Beckham!

But if it’s misery you want to connect to body size check out the results for the women who wear a size 24 or above. Some 18 per cent of this group said they were extremely unhappy with their lives. Only 4 per cent were happy with their work while more than one in ten admitted they were extremely unhappy in their love lives. As for the other larger sizes the dress size 20 group came in second in the list of the unhappiest women followed by those who wear a size 22.

So what the hell is a British size 14? Currently this means that your bust is full and can be anything from a 32DD to a 38B, your waist is indented and is anything up to 7 inches smaller that your hips or bust, and your hips/bootie will also be full which will duplicate the bust measurement if not go up to two inches more.

These are the happiest women, and the most desirable to men.... according to research.

I'm sorry to say this is where the great news from those the scientists run up against something that defies rational explanation: that is, women's capacity to be harshly critical of our bodies, even when there isn't a damn thing wrong with them. 

According to a recent survey, only a miniscule 6% of women have never dieted.  Your bog standard everyday British woman would have been on an average of 38 diets before she’s in her 31^st year! Oh... and one in three of all women began dieting before she even became a woman! Most long before they even turned 14. Most depressing of all, yet another study found that 47 per cent of girls aged between five and seven want to be slimmer than they are. Seems the scientists are not the only ones that should have white coats. That is bloody MADNESS!

But it is what it is.

The role of JaxWorld is simply to observe and rant. Better writers than I have tried to persuade women that the truth is out there... just see the quote at the start of this blog from Oscar Wilde.

However... I will close on a statement from a male of my acquaintance:

“I’m just a bloke, I don’t know what dress size is which, but I do know like curves on a woman... I mean...if I wanted a woman with the body of a boy..I’d just date boys”.

But like he says...what does he know... he’s just a bloke!

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