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Three Words We Shudder to See in the Same Sentence: Women, Childcare, Work...

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Today I had a message from a friend of mine. She is going to quit her job this morning. She has two children, and her childcare arrangement has let her down again. She is intelligent, educated and highly capable but when push comes to shove the juggling act that has been her life just doesn't make sense anymore.

Women, work and childcare are not three words that sit together easily on the same page. I spent a year with my son on maternity leave, which was of course a huge blessing but in the last few months of that I swear I could hear my brain dissolving. I had imagined myself taking easily to life at home, filling the days with joyful baking, hearty coffee mornings with other like-minded parents, and wholesome trips to story-time at the local library. It turns out that being a stay at home mum isn't quite as picture perfect as I had allowed myself to believe. Add to that the fact I need to work to help pay the monthly bills and the writing was on the wall - I would not be a stay at home mother, I would return to work. In my mind nothing could be simpler. Work was a luxurious and independent option; my son would go to a child minder and I would hop, skip and jump into work each day, with only a handbag, magazine and coffee to carry. Bless my naïve little heart.

Around that time I was also reading, rather earnestly, a book called 'The Feminine Mistake,' by Leslie Bennetts. 'Are we giving up too much?' the book boldly asks us. 'Yes!' I shouted from the side-lines (sofa) 'Yes, we are! And I for one won't put up with it.' With that, I marched back to the office, with a sense of purpose and determination (and that all important take-away coffee)... and so started the hardest year of my life.

It turns out that I can't condense the hour and a half commute to London into an hour simply through the power of thought. So, I was always late for work... every single day. I also had to leave at 4.30pm to do the whole thing in reverse. The office doesn't close until 6pm, so that was slightly troublesome. I felt like such a shirker plodding out of the door early every day, and even though my colleagues were calm and understanding, it just didn't feel right. Those, of course, were the good days. On top of all the 'smooth' days consisting of only being late in the morning and leaving early in the evening, there was also the fact that 'child minder' should really be code for 'child viral pit from hell...' Every other week the phone rang, usually just before a series of meetings, to inform me that my son was ill and would need to be collected asap. Cue cancellation of meetings, and a mad dash back to Surrey. We can't afford a nanny, the nursery presents the same issues as the child minder does, and despite the best efforts of family to be supportive and helpful, every week became a logistical nightmare.

It's not possible to sum up in words how hard it is work and have children - only those who do it can possibly know. Despite the fact that I am pretty sure that I didn't conceive my son without the help of my husband, somehow women are nearly always the ones left to manage this perilous arrangement. Despite seeming to have so much in the way of opportunity, we are still left paralysed by circumstance, and there has been no obvious cultural shift to help absorb the practical realities of families where both parents work. Our previous generations fought so hard for us - the right to vote, the right to work, the right to a life outside the home, so isn't it sad that all this choice and opportunity simply feels like a pressure all of its own? It feels more like an expectation than a right; and this expectation to work, manage the house, and find some magical childcare solution to last the best part of two decades of child rearing, is huge. Some describe it as a juggling act, but that assumes that all the balls are in the air - I dropped all of mine within a few measly months, there was no juggling, just mad-dashing, a fair bit of crying and, ultimately, failure. That awful word: failure. When it came to managing work and family side by side, it happened almost immediately in my house.

I worry about some of the messages out there - Leslie Bennett's book is wonderful; inspiring and full of belief that women should work come what may, which in theory at least is a valid viewpoint and one which she debates fully and intelligently in her book. 'A man is not a financial plan' is the core message and one which resonates with most women in the modern world. But men simply don't share the burden of childcare in our society so how can we really address this issue without coming apart at the seams? Do we really want to sacrifice everything in order to 'have it all?'

Cityfathers was launched in April 2014 to 'provide a forum for working fathers balancing office and family life,' Many men, my husband included, are hugely supportive behind the scenes and would love to step-up more often to help when a childcare issue rears its head. However, for most men the expectation in the workplace has not changed to reflect equal parenting, and without equal parenting being part of our cultural subconscious, satisfactory arrangements are more to do with what is manageable, practical, and actually acceptable than what is simply legal. Whilst it might not be ideal for men or women, we are still living in a man's world when it comes to work. As Emma Cahusac says; "Unless mothers mimic successful men, they do not look the part for success in organizations."

So, the debate, the battle, the cultural warfare continues. I usually like to end a blog on a fitting quote and oh the irony that this quote is actually from none other than Sheryl Sandberg, who is of course a great advocate of women and their choices and has plenty to say on the matter (although I wonder how real her childcare issues actually are when she is said to be personally worth more than $1bn):

''If I had to embrace a definition of success, it would be that success is making the best choices we can... and accepting them.'' Thanks Sheryl, I'll bear that in mind.

Easy Lemon Button Biscuits Recipe

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Photography by David Loftus.

My Nanna was a bespoke tailoress. She has tried to teach me to sew and knit over the years but I seem to have haberdasher's dyslexia. I miss stitches, misunderstand patterns, forget crucial knots and stages. Nanna was always patient minded, as Nannas should be. These days, this is as close to sewing as I get and my are they things of beauty. Dainty button-shaped biscuits, zesty, pretty, rich and beautiful. Perfect little gifts.

(This is a sneak preview of a recipe from my book which is out just next week. I'll be on Loose Women on Wednesday 9th talking about it.)

Makes 27

Ingredients:

• 225g salted butter, softened
• 170g caster sugar
• Zest of 2 lemons
• 450g plain flour, plus extra for dusting
• 1 large egg

Method:

Line 3 baking sheets with non-stick greaseproof paper. Cream together the butter, sugar and lemon zest until light and creamy using an electric mixer or wooden spoon. Adding a little at a time, gently beat in the flour until well combined. Mix in the egg to bind the mixture. Wrap in cling film and chill for 1½ hours.

Roll the shortbread out on a lightly floured surface until about 3/4cm thick using a floured rolling pin. Using a 7cm-wide circular cookie cutter, cut circles from the dough. Place the circles on the lined baking sheets about 2cm apart.

Then find something that is just smaller than the cutter that you used - either a smaller cutter or a glass that is at least 6cm-wide - and lightly press down on the centre of each button to make an indent, to represent the inner circle of the button. Do not press hard enough to cut through the dough. Use a skewer or the end of a straw to make 4 little holes in the middle of each biscuit in a grid fashion and then chill on the baking sheets for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180°C/gas mark 6. Bake the biscuits for 10-12 minutes in the middle of the oven until just starting to brown at the edges. Remove the buttons from the trays and leave to cool on a wire rack. Place a few in a gift bag and tie with a pretty ribbon, or thread some thin ribbon through the holes if you're feeling extra genteel.

More recipes from Holly at her blog Recipes from a Normal Mum.

Holly's first book is out next week on the 17th July, called Recipes from a Normal Mum.

Are All Children Compulsive Liars?

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Are all children compulsive liars? I'm waiting to find out. I know Anna is. I've had a few years to find that out. Iris' language is obviously only just starting to come out so it's hard to tell yet. She looks like a liar. Well she looks just like her sister so her reputation is already tarnished by association.

Although I know children do lie, I still continue to be amazed by the extent of it and how blatant they are with it. I was reminded of this last week when Anna asked if she could fill up her watering can and water the plants. I said that she could as long as she only watered the plants and nothing else. (She has a strange fascination with watering the paving slabs but each and every time fails to remember how slippery they get until she's flat on her back and complaining that someone made the slabs wet.) Anyway I left her filling her watering can from the water butt and carried some washing upstairs. Our stairs have a window overlooking the back garden so I looked out as I went up. Of course I saw Anna doing something she shouldn't be doing. I opened the window

- Anna, what are you doing?
- Watering the plants.
No hesitation, no quick check over her shoulder to see if I was watching.
- Anna I can see you pouring the water over your dolly's head. She is not a plant.
- Oh.

One of her most frequent things to lie about is names. Generally her own but sometimes other peoples. She once told an old lady in a shop that my name was John and that Iris was called Anna. On this occasion she refused to give her own name. When giving herself a fake name she tends to go for a reasonably normal name but occasionally she will make up a name. This is always good fun because it's a good test of the person she is talking to; sometimes they smile and nod, sometimes they ask me to repeat it, so I have to go along with the lie and on one occasion they turned to me and said something along the lines of "That is an unusual name, what made you choose it?" There is no way of answering that question without looking like a lunatic.

Another day we were out at the zoo and she met a boy. Anna strolled up

- Hello, I'm Arly. What's your name?
- My name is Benjamin.
They spent the next 20 minutes playing together. After a while I said it was time to go and Benjamin's dad thought the same. As we turned away Benjamin shouted
- Bye Arly
Just as his dad said...
- Come on Joseph time to go now.

Joseph? What?! He was doing it too! Benjamin wasn't his real name! Have I missed something here? Has playground etiquette changed since I was a boy? Has stranger danger moved on? Are children now taught from an early age to use fake names when in public? What are the chances of two children bumping into each other in a playground and both lying about their names without hesitation? She did bump into Benjoseph again later that day and they realised that if they got really close to the cheetah enclosure and ran up and down that the cheetahs would chase them, jump up against the fence and generally try to eat them. Which they both thoroughly enjoyed. Benjoseph was evidently an idiot too.

She briefly took to lying about needing the toilet when were out in the car. Not long after she was toilet trained she would announce whilst we were driving somewhere, usually once we had got onto a pretty big road, that she needed a poo. Anxious that we didn't want her to poo in the car we would pull over and get the travel potty out by the side of the road. We would be there a while without her going despite being insistent that she needed to go. How much time we wasted doing this I don't know. Then one day she was sat with her pants down at the side of a dual carriageway when she whispered into my ear

- I don't really need a poo Daddy, I just like looking at lorries with my trousers down.

She lies to get out of doing stuff too. Not big stuff but stupid little things like washing her hands. Is washing hands that much of a problem?
- Have you washed your hands Anna?
- Yes
- If I were to smell them what would they smell like?
- They would smell like the minty soap!
- Ok, let's try... Hmm, I think they smell like dirty hands...
- Whoops, I meant to say I forgot to wash my hands with the minty soap! Silly me.
Stop backtracking Anna, you can't talk you way out of it now!

Her favourite lies however are the ones she tells Carolyn when she comes home. Today she told her that we had to stay in all day because she had been poorly and I had to look after her when actually we had been out all day visiting friends. Recently when Carolyn came home after a couple of nights away Anna told her that I had gone out and left her at home so she stayed up late, watched television and drank wine. She frequently answers the question "What have you done today Anna?" with well thought out, elaborate lies. Answers so far have included...

- Nothing. Daddy made me sit on this chair all day.
- I had to look after Iris while Daddy went out.
- We did sticking but without glue because Daddy wouldn't let me have any.
- I hurt myself because Daddy tripped me up.

I'm intrigued by how long it takes her school to make a social services referral once Anna starts and spreads these lies to her teachers... It's not just me though; she tries to get Carolyn into trouble too.

- Daddy can I have some biscuits please? Mummy hasn't given me any breakfast or lunch...

She topped it off with one big blitz of lies on one afternoon when Carolyn came in from work. She started by denying that I had given her any breakfast (she had Weetabix). She then said I gave her old bread and water for lunch (she had risotto and apple juice). Her next line was

- I had to sit here all day waiting for you to come home Mummy and Iris has just been left on the floor in the living room.
She could obviously tell that her lies were funny as she then stepped it up a gear.
- And Mummy do you know... Daddy made me do all my poos and wees on the garden path!


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Five Truths About What It's Really Like to Be a Commuter

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London property prices are now rising at such a speedy rate, people are reportedly taking on longer commutes and buying houses in towns such as Colchester and Wellingborough. Spend more time travelling to work and you can make a saving of up to £380,000, according to research by Lloyds Bank.

However, before you forsake inner city, high-cost convenience for space and a mortgage you can afford, it's worth considering what it's actually like to do a daily commute.

greater anglia train

I travelled from Ipswich to London, Monday to Friday, for 18 months between 2011 and 2013. On paper, it seemed completely doable - an hour or so each way is nothing! But in practice, it was a nightmare that left me angry, depressed and broke.

Here are five things to expect from commuting before you chuck it all in for a reasonably priced house in the country (ish)...

1. Expense. Yes, your house is cheaper, but your monthly travel costs? Extortionate. Rail season passes are the most overpriced way to travel since Ryanair started trading (it's just never the deal it seems to be, right?). You're talking hundreds every month - my Abellio Greater Anglia pass wasn't far off £700. And it goes up every year - not that you'll see any improvement in service, time-keeping or cleanliness to justify the increase. Get used to giving a whole load of cash to a business that basically hates you.

2. Standing. So, you've forked out hundreds for a season pass. Now prepare to stand for at least two hours everyday, because paying the overpriced fee doesn't actually guarantee you a seat. If you manage to grab a spot on the floor outside the loo during rush hour you'll be doing extremely well.

3. Being late for everything. The timetable claims you'll be in London or home within an hour, but the reality is commuter trains and the lines they run on are knackered. Double the journey duration rail companies claim and you're closer to the truth. The delays are a daily lesson in how to bottle up a depressing level of frustration. You'll find yourself being about an hour late for work or home thanks to a million and one reasons. Signal failures, weather, short staffing, electrical failures, sheep on the line and even chemical spills (okay, that only happened once but it made me miss my anniversary). You can't guarantee you'll be anywhere on time and end up spending your life stuck in limbo between London and home. The bars on commuter trains do a roaring trade - everyone's so bloody fed up the best thing you can do for yourself is get a little bit blotto. Also, the Sunday night fear - ahead of it all starting again - is brutal.

4. Filth. The trains smell putrid and tend to be littered with papers, coffee cups and partially uneaten takeaways. The loos are another level of pure nastiness - that's if they're working. Expect journeys where there's a single working toilet servicing the whole train.

5. Complete dissatisfaction. Train staff are miserable because they get routinely blasted by the customers, but it's not like the person serving your coffee or punching your ticket is to blame for the mind-bogglingly poor service. They're fed up, you're fed up and there's no end in sight. So, my advice? Try before you buy. Check out the rail service where you're moving and don't assume it "can't be that bad". It can - trust me.

London Buses Going 'Cash Free'? Stoopid Idea

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Cash? Pah! Forget about it, sonny jim. Cash is over. Think you're gonna take a bus journey and pay for it with normal money? Sure. Sure you are. Then what'll you do for an encore, you bloody relic? Yell, 'What ho, buskeep!' and have your butler shower the omnibus povvos with doubloons?

Nope, the future is not having cash. You've probably noticed that yesterday (Sunday July 6th), TfL have stopped welcoming coinage on buses. Apparently only 1% of payments were made via real-life currency, so there was no call for it. Plus, it speeds up journeys if you can boot off grannies for rummaging after farthings in their petticoats. Time is money, guys! Time is money.

So let's cut to the chase. Yes TfL has started letting you bus it even if you have only one penny's worth of credit. And sure, if you're lucky enough to have a contactless debit card, you're probably fine. But let's face it: at some point, most of us are going to want to get a night bus, having run into negative Oyster balance. And then what, eh?

Then you're screwed. Really screwed. Allow me to demonstrate, via this emergency checklist:

1. Oh shit, you're stranded. Quick: is there a 24-hour shop nearby?

2. There is? Great! Time to top up your Oyster card. Ooh, except that you can't do that at shops after midnight, as the Oyster system goes offline to 'update'.

3. Okay, next step: does your bus stop have one of those street payment boxes? You know: the ones that look like postboxes from the future?

4. It doesn't? Oh, that's right: TfL decided to junk them as part of the cash-free scheme. But hold on! You can top up online! Just grab your phone, add money via the internet and it'll automatically transfer the funds to your card as soon as you swipe in at... a tube station. Bugger. How do you feel about eight-mile walks?

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Coins: even looking at this picture of them has probably slowed you down

Now, I'm no expert in transportation systems. But there's something I'd like to point out to TfL's Official Panel of Bus Guys (did I mention I'm no expert?). 'Hey, Bus Guys,' I'd say. 'May I call you Bus Guys? Okay, okay: I'll get to the point. If something's a useful safety net for the public, then isn't it a good thing to hold on to? After all, you know what else isn't used in 99 percent of bus journeys? The emergency door release. See where I'm going with this?'

What are TfL expecting here? That we'll accept being booting off a bus? Have they never encountered the cream-crackered tenacity of the London commuter? Newsflash: We thrust our faces between closing tube doors to avoid waiting for a train that's due in one minute. We are MENTAL about not missing public transport.

So at 3am, do you think credit-less Londoners will embrace a night on the street as a small price to pay for a futuristic transaction system? Nuh-uh. We'll do what anyone would do if they're facing a night under a bench and going to work in pavement-besmirched togs. We'll barter like motherfuckers.

'Half a kebab, Mr Bus Driver? What about this copy of the Evening Standard? It's not even been read! Hey, I've got nice shoes! Do you want my shoes? Here, have 'em! Take my shoes! Go on, take 'em! Please! TAKE! MY! SHOOOOOOOSE!'

Some futuristic payment system...

The UpShot of Being an Ugly Teen

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I was so confused by women when I was a teenager. I was confused by the girls with their short skirts, and their hair twirling, and the giggling at boys. They wore Impulse perfume and Australis lipstick and read Dolly magazine. At the time I would have told you they were idiots. That they were bimbos. Not being a bimbo was very important to me as an adolescent. The truth is, I was jealous. I had no idea how they were doing what they were doing, and I was even more baffled that it worked.

Because the thing I did have in common with a lot of these heterosexual lady-nagers (lady teenagers? Worth a shot), is that I was boy crazy. I was mental. I was borderline obsessed, and if anyone, other than my best friend, had read my diary, I would have been committed. One hundred years ago they would have given me that hysteria doctor vibrator treatment.

But it was like being a boy-crazy tree. Every dude saw me as a tree. Solid. Perennial. Funny. Tree. No one saw me as a prospective pash. There are myriad of reasons for this...

I was not a 'natural beauty' per se. Ahem. I was... gawky. I had pointy teeth at the front. I was whooping cough skinny. I had a big nose for my age. It's a shame it doesn't work for noses the same way it works for IQs. "My daughter has such a big IQ for her age." "Well my daughter has an enormous nose!" *awkward slow nodding.* Don't worry, I don't have low self-esteem now, and this is not an attempt for me to try and connect with you over our current body image issues. I'm cool. But this was the truth.

I had no sexual connection to my body. I desperately wanted to have a boyfriend but the idea of having sex or even getting fingered, as was the fashion of the time, terrified me. I didn't get my period until I was 15 and I was so A-cupped that I told my BFF I was born with a concave chest. She believed me until the summer of '97 when I won the boob lotto then she was devastated and betrayed. Getting boobs at age 17 was as likely as Steven Bradbury winning at the Winter Olympics.

Also, I didn't know what boys were attracted to. My grand plan was that I would befriend the boys. Be one of them. Get real close. Act all manly. Be super competitive. Make them laugh til we got in trouble. Never let them win at anything. Never humour them. Outwit. Outsmart. Outplay. Survivor style. I thought this was a water-tight plan. I was convinced that this would coax them over to the Wardy side. I was like the 'cool mum' trying to tell you that the Friday night church group band was "groovy" because the bass player wore a bandanna. (Co-incidentally for two years I also attended Friday night church group called Squids. And that bass player is now my uncle). You know in Monsters Inc. (spoiler alert) where they find out that children's laughter is ten times more powerful than their screams? That's what I thought would happen by me acting like a dude; that by behaving in the exact opposite way to "the girls" I would attract them in a way THAT HAD NEVER BEEN SEEN BEFOOOOORE! I should also point out, I liked being this way. I loved having heaps of male friends. Shout out to Ben Darling, Ashley Powell and Ben Hodges who I laughed with nearly every day for four years.

Lastly, I asked boys out. All the time. Repeatedly. The same boys. Who had said no. Repeatedly. They felt bad for me. I was hoping to catch a little sum-sum on the sympathy rebound, but no dice.

So where did this leave me? Virgining out. That's where. Fortunately I did not learn any lessons in the language of flirt until I was 17 or 18, right at boob o'clock. And I genuinely didn't know how to be sexually comfortable or use it to my advantage without feeling like I'd just snuck into the VIP section of a club I wasn't invited to, until well into my late 20s. I pretended that I did. But I really didn't.

So in the years leading up to the mammopolypse, I did well at school. Learnt guitar. Wrote a lot of bad poetry and bad song lyrics. Sung and played bad guitar in a grunge band. Studied Japanese at school. Tried to get political. Didn't. Just had a lot of attitude against 'the man' until I was about to get in trouble, then I'd do anything they said. I was vice-captain. I took up photography. I fell in love with drama. I saw more bands than I had money. Basically, I got interesting. And then when I was 19 I started travelling.

Now if I was pretty or sexually inclined, or had any clue how to get a boy to like me, I don't know if I would have been or done any of those aforementioned things. I don't. I don't trust teenage me. And this is no disrespect to any of the gals that could. As I said: I envy you. And I'm also sure that the pretty teenagers are interesting and cool women now, too. But what all those years of desperate clambering to be noticed did, was make me very noticeable as an adult.

Personality is a great currency. Sexuality is too. They're great bedfellows, no pun intended. But I'm glad I really had to work on my character exchange rate, rather than my eyelash batting.

High School is the worst. Even if it's the best, it's the worst, and I would never want to go back to the daily grind of paranoia in the harsh daylight of 1200 other insecure lemmings. But I would love to sneak back and leave notes in the lockers of every young girl. Go ahead, figure out how to be hot. That's awesome. But go and get sweet hobbies. Learn to ride a motorcycle. Get someone to show you sign language. Volunteer at a shelter. Do a knife throwing course (I'm sure they exist). Get heaps good at Judo. Learn to sculpt. Because you will never regret being interesting. You may regret trying to pretend that you're not. Stay weird.

Multi-Millionaire Philanthropist Worth Over £700 Million Says Money Doesn't Bring You Happiness

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Those of us not part of the Rich Kids Of Instagram And Snapchat set find it hard to believe that we wouldn't be happier with just a little bit more money.

However, a multi-millionaire philanthropist embroiled in a High Court financial fight with his estranged wife today told a judge that despite his vast fortune, money did not bring happiness.

Financier Sir Chris Hohn told Mrs Justice Roberts "you cannot take money with you".

happiness man

Sir Chris and his estranged wife Jamie Cooper-Hohn, who have homes in England, the United States and the West Indies, cannot agree who should get what share of a fortune said to run into hundreds of millions of pounds.

They are fighting over assets totalling more than £700 million at a private hearing in the Family Division of the High Court in London.

He says she should get a quarter of their fortune. She says she should get half because the wealth was created as a result of their ''partnership''.

Mrs Justice Roberts has allowed journalists to attend the trial - one of the biggest divorce money fights seen in an English court - but has placed limits on what can be reported.

Sir Chris said he had visited the Philippines aged 20 and seen poor children and he said by his mid-30s he had been in a position where he could retire and raise money for charity.

"I visited the Philippines and saw terrible poverty and said if I ever had the money to help children before I would," he said.

"My life is not motivated by money. I live a very simple life. I live day to day. My life has been about charity."

He added: "I learned very early on that you cannot take money with you and it doesn't bring happiness."

Mrs Cooper-Hohn had earlier told the judge that she worked long hours on behalf of their charitable foundation and travelled.

She said they had met when studying in the United States - at Harvard near Boston. She said both had wanted to "make the world a better place".

Sir Chris said it had "always been discretionary" as to what Mrs Cooper-Hohn did with her time. He said there had been "no deal or arrangement".

After being asked why their marriage had broken down, Mrs Cooper-Hohn had said that Sir Chris had been in "conflict" with his sister and "at war" with his sister.

Mrs Justice Roberts has heard how the couple, both thought to be in their late 40s, had married in 1985 and separated in 2012.

Mrs Cooper-Hohn could be awarded a record sum.

Lawyers have told the judge that despite their wealth the couple had not lived a "jet-set lifestyle". The judge said their way of life had been described as a "Swatch" lifestyle.

This Video Of Identical Quadruplet Babies Laughing Is Guaranteed To Make You Smile

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There's only one thing to do when you have quadruplets, make home videos of them laughing hysterically. That's when you're not rushing around changing four times as many nappies and preparing four times as many bottles, of course.

In the early 2000s, the Mathias family - most notably their identical quadruplet baby girls - took the world by storm when they appeared on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Sat in their mother's arms Grace, Emily, Mary Claire, and Anna are unable to suppress their laughter as their father goofs around behind the camera. And their giggles are truly infectious.

SEE ALSO:

This Chubby Toddler Is Officially The Best Dancer We Have Ever Seen

This Cheerleading Two-Year-Old Will Blow Your Mind


The video has won the family thousands of dollars, including $250,000 prize in 2006 for the “Funniest Video of All Time”.

Sure the foursome are cute when they giggle, but imagine what it must be like when they cry in unison... *shudders*

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Ikea In China Turns Its Stores Into One Giant Nap Room - Possibly The Best Idea Ever

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According to reports, a quarter of the population suffer from some sort of sleep disorder - but all that could be about to change thanks to one furniture store.

Chinese shoppers have been catching some zzz's in IKEA, as store managers have been encouraging customers to try out the furniture and have a little snooze whilst there.

The Chinese stores are designed with extra-room displays, given the tendency for customers to make a visit an all-day affair.

Sofas and beds even marked with signs inviting customers to try them out.

ikea

Considering we're a nation of insomniacs, we're wondering whether British IKEA stores might like to provide the same service.

Here at HuffPost UK Lifestyle, we're big believers in the magical powers of sleep. HuffPost founder Arianna Huffington has previously said that if you wish to succeed in business, you need to "sleep your way to the top"...literally.

"So many of us fail to make use of such a simple and valuable tool; in fact, we deliberately do just the opposite and make a fetish of not getting enough sleep, in the mistaken -- and costly -- belief that success results from the amount of time we put in, instead of the kind of time we put in.

"Indeed, there's practically no element of success that's not improved by sleep and, accordingly, diminished by lack of sleep. Creativity, ingenuity, confidence, leadership, decision making -- all of these can be enhanced simply by sleeping more." Arianna says.

Take a look at the pictures:



SEE ALSO:

Lack Of Sleep Can Make Brains Age Faster And May Increase Risk Of Dementia, Says Study

Sleep Disorders: This Handy Guide Will Tell You Everything You Need To Know


The moral of the story? If you want to succeed in life, get to IKEA and have a snooze - or better yet, get your eight hours at home...

'Argh, I've Had a Marecut'! - AKA When New Hair Cuts SUCK

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We've all been there. You need a haircut but you're not going to your tried and tested stylist. You're feeling devil-may-care adventurous, downright lazy, they're not available or you're just out of town. And you really fancy, nay need, some kind of trim that can't wait 'til your favourite follicle botherer can be booked.

Either way, you take a massive leap of faith and entrust your crowning glory with someone who has never brandished a pair of scissors in your general direction before.

And now, 30 minutes to an hour of talking about holidays and pretending you've got no arms under the protective smock, your smiling assassin has lain down their weapons whilst you're sat helpless on a wipe-clean, height-adjustable chair.

Your reflection in the mirror bears grimacing witness to your new but truly awful hairstyle, the exact opposite of what you asked for. Welcome to the realm of the 'marecut' my friends (nightmare haircut, geddit?). An hirsute abomination of your very worst dreams, a hairy horror that style didn't just forget, but Google would happily erase all trace of with nairy a court order. But you are just about to pay shedloads for the privilege.

This happened to me at the weekend. I've spent every moment since trying to see the good points, but no - I might as well stick a paper bag on my head or else just cut it right off. When I gaped in horror at the end of Saturday's mop murder, the stylist sussed my unhappiness, laughed and shrugged: "Ah well, curly hair is tricky, but it might start looking okay in a week."

What could I do? I couldn't refuse to pay as after all she HAD cut my hair. It's not like you'd refuse to pay a plumber if you don't like the way they fix your leaky tap. It might not be pretty, but job done, eh?

I had entrusted my limited locks to a local beauty salon I rate, as I've had major spinal surgery and can't go far from my flat. I said: "Literally just take the ends off, by ooh, a centimetre, max. Doesn't need cutting really, just a tidy". That apparently was translated by the non-stop chatting Aussie stylist to: "Scalp me, I want to look like Servalan from Blake's Seven." Cue tress slaughter.

Now with my hideously short, nowhere-to-hide crop, I hardly want to leave the house. Luckily, I can't really because of the surgery (yeah, probably more of a major blog topic but far less funny I feel).

I digress, but it seems that over the past few years, no hairdresser (apart from my usual, the miraculous Angela Morgan of Toppers in Hackney, currently on maternity leave) listens to a word I say when they ask me what I want.

I've had short hair all my life - it won't grow in a seemly manner - and that means precision is of the essence: one false move and too many milimetres snipped, and I can look like a star of cult Eighties TV show Prisoner Cell Block H.

A pixie cut is okay if you're blessed with the beauty and bone structure of a Nothing Compares 2U era Sinead O'Connor, but I don't. And anyway, I imagine even if you have lusciously long locks, it can be just as painful to be landed with a haircut you hate.

As much as it saves money this way (ie it will be at least another eight weeks before I need a cut rather than six) it's painful to look in the mirror at the moment (and I struggle to like what I see at the best of times being the polar opposite of vain - I need all the help I can get, so a decent haircut is vital).

And it's not the first time this has happened this year either. With my usual crimper on maternity, I thought I'd treat myself and spent a FORTUNE going to a highly-rated, globally known holistic hair and beauty spa in the capital, as they promised expert hair cutting, head massages, scent rituals and all kinds of bobbins.

I forked out 70 quid for the pleasure - and I might as well have had a workie let loose with some pinking shears and a skeleton key to the Body Shop's reject essential oils cupboard.

What's even worse is that I know if anyone else sees my hair when I've had a bad do, they'll probably wonder why I have the right arse and say it 'looks okay'.

As my friend Sarah concurs, the land of the marecut is a lonely place indeed. NO ONE ELSE SEES OR FEELS YOUR AGONY.

But it's not okay. It's awful. And it'll be at least two weeks before I'll be happy to go bare-headed in public. I know I should be grateful to even have hair etc, but this is not the issue here...

So what can we do to combat this pernicious menace of the mane? Are there any fringe benefits to this admitted hilariously first world problem?

Nope. I'll just have to wait for Ange to come back from maternity leave. And at least I can legitimately wear a hat. In summer. And conversely, that will make me so much cooler until it grows back...

Haircare Heroes

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I can't remember if I've told you this already but I recently had a deeply unpleasant experience with a Lush shampoo bar. I make a point of never calling out 'bad' products as what works for one may well cause havoc for another, but I have never met anyone who's had a good thing to say about these things. Helpfully I found this out after trying to use one of these dreadful little bars to treat a scalp condition I suffer from.

What it left me with was hair that smelled like a stable and was so broken, dry and brittle that it tangled itself up, as if it was trying to get away from me, into a giant candyfloss-style dread. It took a WEEK of gentle Tangle-Teezing, washing and dousing in argan oil, coconut oil etc, to get it to the point where I could cut the unsalvageable pieces out without having to go full on 'Britney in 2007'.

So, after that utter disaster and the semi-miraculous recovery via a scalp treatment at the Belgravia Centre (this is usually reserved for people undergoing hair loss treatment courses but I was treated to one as part of a training programme), all things hair-related - including what to cover it or push it back with when you just can't deal - have been on my mind this week. I've tried loads of new hair products in the past few months and these are the cream for your crop.

PS. Two of my absolute fav headwear designers, Eugenia Kim and Piers Atkinson, both have pieces in the Net-A-Porter.com sale right now. Race you...!


Julien Farel Anti-Aging Haircare

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Julien Farel, the mane master of Madison Avenue is upscaling to a new role as hair Prince of Park Avenue with a new salon and spa in the Loews Regency Hotel. And whilst New York may be a little far to go for a cut and colour from the man who's trimmed and tended everyone from impeccably groomed Manhattanites like Ivanka Trump, to Kate Moss, Olivia Palermo, Adrien Brody and Wimbledon winner, Novak Djokovic, the goodness that is his anti-aging Restore haircare range is now available from Selfridges.

Marketed as 'anti-aging haircare', I thought this stuff might be pretty good given its pedigree, but wasn't really expecting much more than a decent shampoo and conditioner. I was given a three step programme to follow for dry/damaged hair (my hair was both dry and damaged from the aforementioned incident and constant colouring) - this comprised a Vitamin Restore shampoo which should be used every time, then a Vitamin Restore conditioner and a Vitamin Restore treatment which should be alternated.

First up, it all smells INCREDIBLE. It's beautifully zesty and has the scent of an actual orange - not chemical orange but actual orange. Delicately zingy - it practically had me from there. I used the shampoo and it lathered really well, didn't need loads to clean my bust-length hair and didn't leave my hair dry or 'sticky' (fellow bleach blondes will know what I mean by that...). A very decent and wonderfully scented shampoo, but, on its own, nothing revolutionary. It's when you use it in conjunction with the other parts of the haircare programme, particularly the scalp treatment which is super easy to apply, quick to work and is basically like a nourishing moisturiser for your head, that the magic happens. As Farel says, "Grass does not grow in sand. Likewise, hair cannot grow in a dry or damaged scalp. The only products that actually work are those that reach the follicle, scalp and hair shaft."

After using it my hair feels the same as my skin does after using my Clarisonic - thoroughly clean, fresh and somehow healthier. Stock up while you can at Selfridges - I went to bolster my supplies at selfridges.com the other day and noticed the previously fully stocked website was down to just two Julien Farel products so I'd imagine word is spreading fast.

Julien Farel Anti-Aging Haircare, from £16.95 exclusively available from Selfridges and Selfridges.com in the UK


Catwalk by TIGI Oatmeal & Honey Haircare Range

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This was what all my friends' hair smelled of in the 90s (apart from Carly who was going through her dreadlocks phase). As we all experimented with dodgy DIY colours - and then bleached them back out again - we would buy the massive hairdresser sized bottles of the TIGI Catwalk Oatmeal & Honey products, as they were the most affordable products we could find that actually worked in rescuing such carelessly damaged locks.

And, OH the smell. As you may have gathered, I'm a sucker for products that smell good. This fragrance is so delicious and wholesome it's like a hug for your hair. The pure, milk and honey scent is as calming for the senses as the conditioning treatment is for your hair. It may have swanky new packaging but the product is an absolute classic and, as far as I can tell, hasn't changed a bit.

One thing that is different right now is that there's the coolest freebie EVER available with purchases of two or more TIGI Catwalk products from any TIGI salon. It's the pom pom hair accessory pictured above that was designed especially by Mara Hoffman. Isn't it adorable?! Find your nearest stockist at www.catwalkbytigi.com

CATWALK BY TIGI Oatmeal & Honey Nourishing Shampoo, 300ml £11.25, Conditioner, 250ml £12.50, and Deep Nourishing Mask, 200g £14.95, Mara Hoffman pom pom hair accessory free with purchase (details above)

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Some of my favourite haircare and temporary colour products:
1 & 4 Kevin Murphy Colour Bug hair chalks - wipe on, wash out temporary hair colour (there are loads to choose from) or try the rose gold one for a beautiful shimmer, £14 each from Beauty Mart at thisisbeautymart.com; 2 Bleach London Reincarnation Mask, £6, 3 Washing Out Liquid to speed up fading if your DIY colour doesn't quite work out, £6, from Bleach London or Boots; 5 The essential, ever-reliable Batiste dry shampoo is not just for those days when you don't have time for a wash and blow dry, it's great for adding volume to newly washed hair too - if it's good enough for Karl Lagerfeld etc etc (he uses the Klorane one but personally I find it smells funny...); 6 & 7 Bleach London hair crayons - semi-permanent colour in pen form for easy application streaks and touch ups, £4 each, from Bleach London or Boots.com.

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Hot Hair Accessories:
1 Valentino, embellished satin headband, £122 from £245, at www.theoutnet.com; 2 Fleet Ilya, bow head band, £172 from £215 from www.farfetch.com; 3 Acne Studios, Capote Chalk cotton-blend and rubber baseball cap, £35 from £100 at www.theoutnet.com; 4 Popband, £6 from Beauty Mart at thisisbeautymart.com; 5 Gigi Burris Millinery, Barbed headband, £144 from £240, from www.farfetch.com; 6 Finchittida Finch, Hmong hair comb, £30 from finchittidafinch.com; 7 Missoni Mare, crochet headband, £74.95, from Harrods.com; 8 Karl Lagerfeld cap from the St Tropez capsule collection, £45 from the Karl Lagerfeld London store, 145-147 Regent Street, London W1B 4JB; 9 Scrunchie, £ from Diva at Miss Selfridge; 10 Gigi Burris Millinery, Lola headband, £139 from £232 from www.farfetch.com; 11 Freedom at Topshop have got the festival essential flower crowns covered: floral headband, and 12 butterfly headband, both from a selection at www.topshop.com; 13 Cap, £15 from River Island; 14 Marc by Marc Jacobs, block print barette, £65 from www.stylebop.com

The 'Patronising' Gene

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One of the biggest things disabled people have to endure is patronising people. Whether it's a pat on the head or their assumptions we are stupid and/or harmless, disabled people are often the most susceptible targets for the patronising, who sadly often have no idea of their infliction and therefore can not help their poor choice of words or actions, very similar to Tourette's Syndrome but without the understanding they have done anything wrong. I have always wondered if there was a 'patronising gene'?

If a patronising gene could be found then this would be a huge breakthrough in ensuring that one day we can cure the patronising, or at least offer parents the option to have a test during the pregnancy of a child so they can have the choice of whether they are prepared to manage the burden of a patronising child, with all their special needs. I would be encouraged to set up a medical research charity to help find a cure for patronising people, whether that would be gene therapy, or an intensive form of psychological therapy to teach the patronising how to overcome their difficulties.

Because I care about these inflicted souls, I would lobby government to provide patronising children the specialist education they need to improve their chances in the world, and particularly improve their employment opportunities, as well as ensuring their disruptive behaviour does not affect sensible children. We would need to train a new generation of professionals to understand the needs of patronising people within schools and the NHS, as well as many other areas, as our knowledge of patronising people improves.

It is so important people understand the patronising can not help how they were born, and therefore I would also lobby government for new patronising people discrimination laws, to make it an offence to refuse to serve a patronising person within any service, or discriminate them within employment, so long as its reasonable for businesses. The police will need extra funding to deal with hate crime against the patronising, which could be on the rise if a gene was discovered.

It is also important we celebrate patronising culture and develop art, music and films about the patronising, for the patronising. It would be good to have patronising people who can be positive role models, and ensure patronising people are fairly represented on TV. I am sure Channel 5 would be keen to commission a documentary series exploring the lives of patronising people in their own usual down to earth way.

As the awareness of patronising people grows, I am sure many support groups, charities and other organisations will be formed, some led by sensible people, and some led indeed by patronising people themselves, to ensure they have a voice in the local and national government policies being made about them, as they demand the right to remain included into society, clearly until they can be cured. Some of these charities may fight for the most profoundly patronising to have the right to die because of the level of suffering they experience. Other charities may focus on the needs of those who care for the patronising, ensuring they have the support they need as they look after their loved ones, especially since their needs are so far not recognised.

A patronising gene would bring hope to patronising people and their families, as well as protecting disabled people from their disruptive behaviour.

I am aware many readers may see this light-hearted article as nonsense, but it is important to understand that despite the word play, the article shows how society already treats people who are defined as different, including myself as someone with cerebral palsy. Who we define as different is more random and socially constructed than we would care to admit, and therefore the medicalisation of patronising behaviour is not as far fetched as it may sound.

Cancer Survivor Chose To Have Her Head Frozen So That She'd Still Have Hair After Chemo

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A woman undergoing treatment for cancer endured agonising head freezing sessions to keep her hair during chemo - after her daughter begged her not to go bald.

Mum of two Shelley Cain was heartbroken when she had to tell her two children she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

But when her tearful daughter Ruby, 10, asked her not to lose her hair Shelley, 38, opted for painful 'cold cap' treatment which stops hair loss from cancer-killing drugs by freezing the head to -4C.

cancer

Shelley had to endure three-hour sessions of the treatment, which doctors admit is hit-and-miss. It meant the HR worker kept a full head of hair and eyebrows throughout her treatment.

She also forced herself to get out of bed, get dressed and put on make-up every day so that she didn't feel like a cancer patient.

She now says it was her hardcore beauty regime which saved her life - and kept her sane throughout the process.

Shelley, also mum to Ollie, six, said: "I didn't want it to look like I was dying to my children.

"I screamed for the cancer nurse to remove the cap when she first put it on as it was unbearably cold and painful. But I was so determined to stay looking well for her kids, it got me through the pain.

"I didn't want to scare my children by looking ill and losing my hair. I wanted them to recognise their mummy and not be frightened by my appearance."

She added: "It wasn't easy, but I think it was psychosomatic.

"If I looked in the mirror and recognised myself then I didn't feel like a cancer patient, it helped me beat the cancer."

Shelley, of Hertford, married to project engineer Richard Cain, also 38, was diagnosed with cancer in her left breast in June 2013.

She tried to play the illness down to her children - but they had seen a family friend die of the condition and were "devastated".

Story continues below the slideshow...




Doctors were positive about the diagnosis and told her she would probably just need an operation to remove the lump.

But when tests revealed cancerous tissue had been left behind, Shelley was told she would need to undergo chemotherapy and radiotherapy.

To ease the blow she promised not to lose her hair and went through the gruelling cold cap therapy, for all six of her two-hour chemotherapy sessions.

The process was so severe it left blocks of ice on her head. She also had to be really gentle with her hair and could only wash it once a week and couldn't brush it or blow dry it.

Now, eight months after her treatment, Shelley is in remission and no longer in need of treatment.

She said: "Ruby was terrified that I would lose my hair. She'd seen a cancer patient before and it really scared her that I would look that ill.

"But thanks to the cap, my kids didn't really notice any difference in me and I still read them a bedtime story every night and looked like their mummy.

"The last few chemo sessions were particularly painful but I still persevered with the cap. Psychologically, I'm sure not losing my hair and eyelashes helped me to keep my spirits up.

"More importantly, it meant the children could recognise the mummy they loved - which took away a lot of their fear."

Dr Bessam Farjo, co-founder of the Farjo Hair Institute and Medical Director of the Institute of Trichologists, said hair loss can be particularly traumatic while battling disease.

"For women, losing their hair can drastically alter their sensuality and how they perceive themselves - typically leading to a plummet in confidence," he said.

"Many women question whether their partner still finds them attractive, while others may become socially reclusive as they fear people may notice their thinning hair."

Selfies Anonymous: The Hilarious Fictional Support Group That Should Totally Be A Real Thing

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We're fast becoming a nation addicted to taking selfies - for many, the temptation to over-share over-filtered pictures is just too much to resist.

But how can a whole Instagram generation break the trigger-happy habit of a lifetime?

Maybe group therapy could be the answer.

In the above satirical video, a group of selfie-holics share their stories at the Selfies Anonymous support group.

As they share their hilarious anecdotes, the ridiculousness of the selfie craze is truly exposed.

This may be a fictional support group, but we're wondering if Selfies Anonymous could actually be a really good idea - perhaps those snapping dangerous selfies at the Tour de France would like to join?

SEE ALSO:

Rankin: If Selfies Get People Interested In Photography, That's Not A Bad Thing

Porn And Sex Selfies: The Habits Of People Who Cheat Are Revealed In New Survey


Ladies, Here's How To Ride A Bike Wearing A Skirt

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Trying to cycle while wearing a skirt is like trying to run in high heels - nigh on impossible.

But unless you're a lycra-clad super cyclist, us women like wearing skirts... even when we're on the bike. And so we find ourselves at a crossroads.

Because unless weather conditions are perfect - and let's face it, they rarely are - female cyclists find themselves up against wind, rain, traffic and sharp corners. And this means one thing: flashing our knickers.

Penny In Yo Pants from Johanna Holtan on Vimeo.



And that's where Scottish cyclist Johanna Holtan and her friends come in. They've devised an ingenious technique Penny In Yo' Pants (using a penny and an elastic band) to stop our skirts blowing up over our heads and causing a scene.

penny in yo pants

"We love bikes. We love skirts," they write on the website. "But sometimes these two don't mix well. Which is why we came up with Penny in Yo' Pants. An easy solution to making your skirt bikeable."

Here's how to make your skirt cycle friendly

1. Find a penny or something similar.

2. Find a rubber band.

3. Now put on your favourite skirt!

4. Push the penny from the back of your skirt to the front, through both layers.

5. Form a button at the front of the skirt, using both layers.

6. Wrap the band around the button making sure it’s secure.

7. Now get out there and enjoy your new freedom!

The invention was first devised as part of Cyclehack Glasgow, but after racking up more than one million views Johanna & co are now devising prototypes to replace pennies (which ruffle your skirt).



SEE ALSO: Cycling To Work: Best Safety Tips And Things You Shouldn't Leave Home Without

Nine Reasons Why I'm Freaking Out About Living With a Boy...

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Last weekend, at the age of 22, I moved out of my parents house to live with *cue dramatic music* ... a boy.

And, sorry boyf, but I'm kinda freaking out about it.

When we made the decision to move in together, I was pretty chilled about the prospect of living with my boyfriend.

We've been together for nearly two and a half years, and doing the whole 'what time are you going to be in so I can Skype you? Oh wait, I'm going out now' long-distance shebang was becoming irritating.

So moving in together seemed like the most logical thing to do.

young couple moving into house

That was, until I started to tell people our news. Instead of receiving the "congratulations" I'd anticipated, reactions from friends and family have ranged from harmless teasing - "whoah that's a big step" - to the downright accusational -"isn't that a bit soon?".

Now that I've let all those annoying, fear-mongering people into my head (yep, I'm talking to you, Pessimistic Paula) here are the things I'm scared about.

I'm shit scared that...

1) My mates will think I'm too 'mature' to have fun.
-Guys, just because I live with a boy, it doesn't mean I'm ready to swap nights out for Corrie and IKEA, okay?

2) He's going to find out how messy I really am.
- Unfortunately shoving things in cupboards and putting something in front of the door to wedge it shut (like I used to do when he visited for the weekend) will no longer be an option.

3) He'll soon realise that, in reality, my underwear drawer rivals Bridget Jones's.
- It's so easy to live a black lace lie when you only see someone once a week.

4) Friends will start asking if we're going to get married.
- It's already started with relatives. The quick answer: erm no, it's a house warming party, not an engagement party. Back off already!

5) He'll realise I lied when I said girls don't poo.
- Yeah, about that...

6) We'll start to argue about petty things.
- A debate about 'scatter cushion colours' has already occurred. It got pretty tense.

7) I'll throw his Xbox out the window within the first month.
- And we'll live in grumpy silence for the remaining 11 months of the tenancy agreement.

8) I'll never have sex again. Ever.
- Partly because of the aforementioned Bridget knickers and poo. Partly because we'll never need to do it RIGHT NOW again.

9) We'll ruin everything about our relationship that's been great up until now.
- In all seriousness, this is my biggest fear. Have we rushed into this too quickly? I guess there's only one way to find out...

Making the Pursuit of Happiness as Important as GDP

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The biggest cause of misery in the UK is poor mental health. Costing over £105billion one in six adults and one in 10 children suffer a mental illness at any one time in this country.

Over the past 12 months I have chaired a commission for the think tank CentreForum grappling with how we translate these facts into change.

Stigma breeds institutional bias even in the NHS, institutional bias leads to evidence being overlooked and ignorance of the evidence means mental health does not get its fair share of resources.

Despite the evidence the NHS remains doggedly stuck, separating the physical from the psychological and the social. Yet it is only by bringing them together that we can we hope to make the best use of the resources available and improve the wellbeing of the nation.

This institutional bias against mental health was brought into sharp focus recently by the decision of NHS England to raid the budgets of Mental Health Trusts to help Acute Trusts deliver the recommendations of the Francis Report, as if the same issues did not arise in mental health.

Over the past twelve months the Mental Health Commission has taken stock of where we are today and what a new ambition for mental health should look like. Our goal has been to identify the key changes that over the next five to 10 years will reduce the number of people experiencing lifelong mental illness and help those who suffer mental illness to recover.

The commission has identified five big shifts in policy and practice.

First, make wellbeing or the 'pursuit of happiness' matter as much as GDP. The tools are available to evaluate policy and measure its impact with wellbeing in mind. This needs leadership right from the top of government and sustained action to tackle stigma.

Second, a national wellbeing programme led by Public Health England to foster mutual support, self-care and recovery. Locally tailored by Health and Wellbeing Boards to make the best of the skills and talents in communities up and down the country, building up community capacity where necessary.

Third, prioritise investment in the mental health of children and young people right from conception. By ending the back passing and fragmented commissioning and by scaling up what works we can transform the life chances of millions of children. Good mental health will reduce the costs to society of low educational attainment, bad behaviour, worklessness, crime and antisocial behaviour.

Four, make our places of work mental health friendly. The cost to business in terms of sickness absence and lost productivity runs to £23.5billion. There is good practice, it should become the norm, and it would save money. Government should lead in its own employment practice and set the standard in its procurement.

Five, close the treatment gap that leaves one in 10 people needlessly suffering depression and severe anxiety. Equip primary care to identify and support the mental and behavioural health needs of its patients. Integrating mental health and social work expertise into the primary health care teams to ensure a holistic approach.

The Commission believe that NHS England should be set the clear goal of achieving parity of funding for mental health over the next decade. We are under no illusions about the difficulties of making these changes over the next five years against a backdrop of financial constraint. However, we believe that the case for spending to be rebalanced towards mental health is overwhelming. For example, poorly managed long term mental and physical health problems cost the NHS £13billion a year.

The cost of doing nothing or simply settling for gradual change runs to billions of pounds, but the real cost is measured in human misery, misery for want of determination to act on the evidence.

Paul Burstow MP, was Minister for Mental Health 2010-2012. The Centre Forum Commission on Mental Health comprises Lord Victor Adebowale CBE, Professor Dame Sue Bailey, Paul Farmer, Angela Greatley OBE, Paul Jenkins OBE, and Dr Alison Rose-Quirie.

This Girl's Illustrated Mirror Selfies Are The Best Thing On Instagram. Fact.

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Usually when you think of mirror selfies you imagine a pouting person popping their booty and failing to turn off their phone's flash - but the mirror selfies created by this woman couldn't be more different.

A Norwegian Instagram user living in Washington, DC creates humorous and quirky drawings on mirrors which come to life when she steps into the picture.

The talented artist has been posting the images to her Instagram account, @Mirrorsme, since last August.



"I started creating them after drawing on my mirror with lipstick, and leaving little messages for my roommate. I make them out of chalk markers, and posca markers, and some acrylic markers sometimes," the artist wrote on Boredpanda.

"I bought my last markers in New York, and the sales person just couldn’t understand why I needed all those acrylic markers to draw on mirrors.

"Normally, it takes less than 30 min to draw, but I can really get lost in the process and enjoy it."














Tour De France Cyclists Burn An Insane Amount Of Calories (If You Guess This Figure, We'll Eat Our Cycling Helmets!)

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Those cyclists competing in the 2014 Tour de France sure are impressive.

Over the three weeks of the famous competition, cyclists will ride 2,277 miles in the hope of achieving bike-riding glory.

And as they whizz by us mere mortals, the amazing lycra-clad athletes are burning a lot of calories.

tour de france

Over the 21 stages of the race, the 197 participants will burn nearly 20 million calories combined - 19,800,000 calories, to be exact.

Wowser.

An estimated 3.1 million people in the UK ride a bicycle each month – we may not pedal as fast, but just imagine how many calories we must burn altogether….

SEE ALSO:

Six Ways a Bike Change Transformed My Cycle to Work

REVEALED: Which Everyday Activity Burns The Most Calories?


Wondering If You Have A Problem With Alcohol? These Two Questions May Determine That

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Most of us have enough drinking experience behind our belts and on our waistlines, to have a) done something really stupid b) woken up full of regrets, c) had a massive fight with a mate or d) done something we never would've done sober.

Most of us also tend to chalk such regretful, idiotic behaviour as being the standard norm for being drunk.

But when does a practice go from harmless and very occasional, to regular tales of mis-adventure?

people drinking alcohol

University of Leicester scientists, led by consultant in psycho-oncology Alex Mitchell, set out to discover what GPs should be asking their patients.

The two questions include:

How often do you have six or more drinks on one occasion?’

As a result of your drinking or drug use, did anything happen in the last year that you wish didn’t happen?’

The team looked at 5,646 people to see whether the questions would give a bigger picture of hidden alcohol abuse. or would highlight whether people were in danger of abuse.

They found that two questions had a success rate of identifying abuse in 87.2% of cases, while asking four more questions "achieved an overall accuracy of 90.9%."

The extra four questions were based on the CAGE questionnaire, developed by John Ewing in 1984.

SEE ALSO:

Starting With a Stop Is F*cking Up Your Sobriety

This Guy's Kids And Wife Aren't A Fan Of His New Look


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