How come princesses are sexy?

"I have fat thighs", our eldest daughter Emma, said the other day. Apart from firmly stressing that she absolutely does not, I also showed her photos of anorexic women and men, and explained that these people were so caught up in their body size, that they were ill and sometimes died prematurely. She then saw some photos of Jessica Ennis as an example of a healthy body (to those of you reading this outside the UK, Ennis is a young Olympian Athlete). Finally, she claimed that by "fat", she had merely meant healthy. Hm...We now hope she will take up football again, learning to see her body as a powerful tool, not just a fashion accessory. The reason for us trying so hard to counteract any sense she may have of being fat, is that this is the second time in a few months, she has said this. She is 5 1/2 years old.

Throughout my life, I have struggled to accept my body as it is. In fact, there is nothing wrong with it at all, as I realise when I am in a confident period. I might even say I am slim and toned. A few days later, I may feel bloated and wobbly. Since I first heard Emma complain about her thighs, I have tried to refrain from mentioning my own body issues, and have made sure I eat even more cakes in front of her than usual (it's a tough job....). Clearly though, she may already have taken on board my own dissatisfaction. I used to imagine that when I became an old woman, I would finally allow myself to eat as many pie and chips dinners as I liked. Because clearly, I would no longer care what I looked like. I was therefore somewhat disheartened when I realised that a friend of mine, a lady in her 80s, still cares what her stomach looks like. Oh dear, it is a long road ahead.

But it is not just a child's relatives, who teach them about body image. The media is awash with totally unrealistic retouched images of female and male celebrities (if they are being interviewed) to make them appear unnaturally skinny, toned and blemish-free. Magazines also highlight and laugh at the slightest perceived imperfections, or praise women who have lost the baby weight. While male celebrities do not entirely escape, the focus is overwhelmingly on the women.

Though men are pressurised into these conventional roles too, the roles imposed on women are more damaging as men generally are stronger, more powerful, more prestigious and wealthier. Consequently, women need all the help they can get. But despite this, women are still brought up to believe that they shouldn't show off, be pushy or take what they want. Rather than putting each other down to make ourselves feel good, we need to teach our daughters to believe in themselves, and be whatever kind of woman they want to be. What most girls grow up with nowadays is a depressingly similar and limiting series of  role models. Starting with their storybooks, which usually feature men and women in strictly controlled stereotypical gender roles. Though we have a lovely Swedish book, featuring a girl who spends time at home with her dad, while the mum is at work, this is a rare find. While the children featured in books are often able to do whatever they want, the subtle underlying message is that the fathers go to work,while the mums stay at home. Which of course is generally true, especially in Britain, where this pattern is strongly encouraged by employers for whom the idea of a father taking several months paternity leave is still a foreign, Scandinavian concept. This is part of the reason why men generally earn more money than women, but women's reluctance  to ask for what they are worth, clearly plays a part too.

Many books also feature ballerinas (99% of these are female), princesses (who normally need rescuing by some random prince), pirates (nearly always male) and space travellers (usually male). So far then, the girls' media role models are passive and dainty.

As they get older, the vast majority of girls in the West, certainly in Britain, the US and Scandinavia start watching Disney films, thus continuing the dainty and often passive pattern. Admittedly, the girls in the Disney films of the past few years have displayed more gusto and strength, but they always have to look feminine, slim and pretty. Worse, while the Disney princesses in the past were dressed fairly demurely, the newcomers are sexier and sultrier in their off-the shoulder dresses. So, while they are stronger, this is counter balanced by their disturbing sexiness.Disturbing, because they are admired and emulated by our children, who innocently watch the films, wear the merchandise and read the books while the message is slowly but surely reinforced: Yes you can be strong, just make sure you look sexy at the same time!

The recent media storm surrounding Disney's less than subtle re-branding of Merida really emphasises this idea: As the strong-willed heroine of their successful film "Brave", Merida is a wild, curly-haired princess who is an amazing archer, an accomplished sword-fighter and she can even sew while riding a horse (yes, really!). In terms of a female role model, then, Merida seemed to have it all (except why she needed to sew is beyond me). Disney, however, clearly thought she could do with some work: The new Merida, now their newest official princess, features bigger, sultrier eyes, a lower-cut dress with exposed shoulders and the obligatory glittery fabric. Though Disney claim that this re-imagined Merida was never intended to replace the original, it is unclear why she needed to change for her coronation invitation. The message is loud and clear: If you want to be in our gang, you need to sex it up!

A friend of mine teaches in a primary school in London. A few years ago, he politely had to ask whether one of the Nativity angels (an 8-10 year old girl in his class) could please refrain from wearing a black thong, as it showed through her white costume. Shocking, I know, but this is merely the sadly logical conclusion that children will draw - looking slim and sexy is important, so they think. They will not yet be aware of what sexy really means, but they know what it looks like.

Not just from films and books, but through their toys too. Lots of brands have now been updated to look more boyish and/or girly. LEGO now sells Princess editions (I know because I must confess we have one), as well as more gender neutral toys like a zoo (again, we have one). My Little Pony used to feature chubby ponies in the 1980s, which were then severely slimmed down in the 1990s. Curiously though, I have noticed that Barbie appears to have gained a tiny amount of weight since her 1980s heyday - I would now merely book her into an anorexia clinic as opposed to a hospital emergency resuscitation station. So that is a small improvement at least.

Still, Emma already has very definite ideas about which presents are appropriate for boys and which for girls. I am not sure why, as we have given them the best of both. While boys may indeed often prefer different toys from girls, we are clearly making the difference more pronounced by sticking to the options suggested to us by the shops and the manufacturers. Certain retailers would have us believe that science toys are just for boys, for example. I hope Emma never sees that!

Boys too are pressed into a narrow range of roles. A friend of mine has a young son, who loves nothing more than dressing up as fairies or princesses. When he was 2 1/2, he proudly waddled up to his maternal grandparents, complete with dress and high heels, whereupon the grandfather shook his head in shock, then grunted and exclaimed "He's a boy!", while the grandmother agreed and said "No, no, he can't go out like that". My friend, obviously upset by the episode, then discussed it with her brother, who said that "It's not right if you allow them to make themselves look stupid though".

As boys grow into men, people are pleasantly surprised when they don't conform to fatherhood's expectations. My husband works from 9 - 5, approximately, 5 days a week. He is therefore around a great deal and spends lots of time with our daughters, both playing with them and looking after them generally. We also take it in turns to cook. I have lost count of the amount of times my peers and older people have commented on how "good" he is, how lucky I am and how great it is that he takes part in playing with them. As if his role is not intrinsically equal to mine. Certainly, nobody has ever told me that they think I am good, that he is lucky or how wonderful it is that I spend so much time with them. Because that, apparently, is obviously my role anyway.

As children are picking up this restrictive view of their respective options from the media and adults' throwaway comments, they pass it on to each other, and to us. When our eldest daughter started school last autumn, a child in the playground called her a boy, because she dared to wear trousers.

I still remember the conversation I had with her a few years prior to this. She was only about 2 1/2 and yet I realised, that she had already started forming the gender expectations in her mind: I was trying to explain how the moon seemingly changes its shape. However, astronomy is not my strong point, so I said that we would have to ask daddy (who is an space scientist). Emma replied "Yes, because men know about these things". To which I hastily explained that actually, it was just that this happens to be daddy's job. When she was about 3 1/2, she and I were struggling to put a big drawing up, to which she remarked that we "need a big strong man, like daddy". Now, as I said earlier, I am not denying that men are indeed, usually, stronger, but I worry about the idea that men are somehow superior.

The truth is, we are not equal - there are differences in the way we act and think, but also obviously within each gender, from man to man and woman to woman. But though there are differences, that does not mean that we have the right to press everybody into the same few, comfortable moulds, just to make our lives easier.

In the West, we may like to think that our women are more liberated than those in other countries, but ours is a psychological prison of restrictive conventions and expectations. And while I was appalled that so many Asian women feel the need to lighten their skin, a Pakistani male friend of mine wisely remarked, that throughout the world, people feel the need to change their skin colour. Though I still think getting a tan doesn't feel as compelling to Westerners as lightening your skin does to Asian women, I can see his point. I spent several hot afternoons in my teens, desperately trying to tan, only to emerge looking pink, sweaty and bored. The boys never did this of course - they were busy playing. A huge number of people throughout the world are consumed by this culture of inadequacy, thinking they should look and behave in certain ways in order to be accepted. Worryingly, The British Crime Survey recently discovered that young people are more likely to suffer from domestic violence than any other group. Worse still, a different survey found that a high number of girls believe that it is acceptable for their boyfriend to hit them, if they had cheated on him (though this has not necessarily happened to them). This is part of the oppressive attitude to women, that somehow means comedians still make light-hearted domestic violence jokes and t-shirts are made that suggest hitting is acceptable. In this toxic mix, no wonder we are confused. Our children deserve better than this, from us and the media.

When I grew up, I encountered sexism amongst my relatives, which shaped the way I saw my role in the world - like the time my aunt laughingly called me a feminist, because I was complaining that none of the men were helping us clear the table. However, while we may think that we have moved on from this oppressive culture, that our girls and boys will grow up with a sense of entitlement and equality, thinking that the world is their oyster, Emma and her peers believe in fairies, not equality. And whose fault is that?

How come we humiliate our ageing celebrities?

So, watched the Eurovision last night. Apart from Denmark winning (yeeeees) and the weirdly shiny, shrieky Romanian man with the oiled-up dancers, the thing that stuck in my mind the most was the sight of poor Bonnie Tyler, struggling on with "Believe in me". Honestly, I do think that it was one of the best performances of the evening, and a very catchy song, not that that is saying much. However, her voice, while always croaky, had reached a rather alarmingly deep level. My 5 year old watched the performance and asked in wonder: "Who has that voice?", as if she was expecting a burly man to pop up behind Bonnie, thus revealing her to have been miming all along. At one point during the performance, she started swaying dangerously, and I feared the worst. Turned out she was just dancing - well, swaying, with a slightly confused look in her eyes.

This is an appeal on behalf of Ageing Celebrities UK (formerly "Help the Ageist" and "I Thought He Was Dead"): The cruel exploitation of our ageing celebrities must stop. Bonnie Tyler is merely the latest in a long line of celebrity OAP victims. The Eurovision Committee is particularly high-profile, luring pensioners into their web with promises of glory, new-found fame and recording contracts. Witness Engelbert Humperdinck's performance at last year's Eurovision (he came second to last). Mr. Humperdinck had resorted to drinking and singing karaoke in his hotel during the performances and the wait for the results. The traumatised singer had warned Bonnie Tyler that it would be "the longest night" of her life. His fellow hotel guests shared the sentiment.

The ageing celebrities are not safe anywhere - being lulled into a cosy fantasy of a bit of extra pocket money and a string of tv appearances, if they appear on such undignified affairs as "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here" and "Strictly Come Dancing", where, if they are really unlucky, they get to eat bugs and do their backs in. So, if you, or an ageing celebrity you know, are contacted by a television producer, do not attempt to approach them. Contact Age UK, and we will do our best to help you regain your dignity. Many thanks.

How come they want us to buy superflous things?

Well, I know the answer really, obviously - those nice shopkeepers would love us to love all their stuff, and buy ourselves into a self-induced debt. Well, not totally self-induced. I bought a seductive-looking home and lifestyle magazine the other day, wanting to dream about the day when we are no longer renting a mould and damp-infested magnolia-coloured cramped and cluttered house. Our old house was totally different. For one, it was not even magnolia-coloured - it was "Picketfence", actually. As well as "Harbour" (pale blue) and "Cape Cod" (a slightly greener shade of blue). They were all shades in the "New England" range of paints, bought from a well-known DIY chain. Despite the fact that these shades were probably not that different from other paints available, I fooled myself into thinking that "Picketfence" would be the most perfect shade ever. To the point where my long-suffering husband resorted to scouring branches across a few counties in a desperate search for any remaining pots of it, just so that we could finish painting our dream home. So, I bought into the lifestyle dream, believing that the only the New England range would do. Which is ridiculous really. As if my everyday life would in any way be affected by the exact shade on the walls. I am not advocating slopping any old shade on your walls, but really, there are more important things.

Similarly, why on earth is a big kitchen accessories and lifestyle shop trying to convince us that we want to invest in an outdoor wood-fired oven, with stand? Granted, it looks gorgeous, and if you have nothing better to do with £800, you should go for it. It will come in really handy during those 14 days when it is actually warm enough to cook and eat outside. Perhaps I am more of a wuss than some, although my Danish heritage should surely have shored me up for some cold weather. I just prefer eating in comfort, not the cold. But according to the aforementioned glamorous magazine that I bought, I could really dine in style with this thing. So hey, maybe I should go for it : 0

But seriously, I always fall for the spiel - that is why our kitchen is a grave yard of broken dreams. Well, deserted dreams anyway. Dessert dreams in fact. Take my cute pink cake-pop maker - so gorgeous-and check out the perfect cake-pops. Aren't they just darling?Look at their little round, smooth faces - there's a pirate, complete with eye-patch and red and white-spotted scarf. There's a chick, just right for Easter. In fact, the only two times I have used the sodding thing, the cakes have been mediocre-looking at best, just embarrassingly drippy at worst. I imagined that I could simply slide the stick into the balls, but no. They slipped and slid and seemed very precarious, and occasionally fell off the sticks. As for the icing, it was an icky, gooey mess. Lumpy too, once I added the decorations. Then the pops would just stare out at me from the fridge with their sad, lumpy faces. I am exaggerating slightly to be fair, a few looked alright. Still, when I showed up with them to a child's birthday party, even the toddlers weren't keen. What happened there? Perhaps cake decorating and me just weren't meant to be. It may be in the genes. I still remember the time my mother insisted on leaving her marzipan and pistachio roll chocolate free, while my father duly covered his in the sweet stuff, to avoid the roll drying out. Consequently, when a piece of each dropped on the floor (conincidence?), our dog duly ate the chocolate-covered piece, and snubbed my mother's drier confection. Hm.....

I am not saying that I never use any of the sexy, seductive gadgets and accesories available for the modern kitchen. Merely that I sometimes buy things that I am practically destined to leave in the cupboard, because they belong in my dream life, rather than my real one. I do bake, but not things that require me to balance small cake balls on a stick.

Maybe it is time I stopped dreaming. Saying that, surely this year we can do loads of outdoor cooking.....right?

Why are we not supposed to blame God?

I was watching a programme called "The Murder Workers" last night, about people who counsel and guide the bereaved families of people who have been killed. One of the relatives was a grieving 12 year old boy, the oldest of 3 children. Their father had killed the mother. When the counsellors first visited the children and their granny, this boy stayed in his room, and was hiding his grief behind anger. On the second visit, however, he was sitting in the lounge, listening to his sister talk about how she witnessed the father stab their mother, and how her older brother (ie. him) had tried to protect their mum. This poor boy was hunched up on the sofa, and started crying quietly. Later, he admitted to the counsellor, that he had sometimes, or at least on that one occasion thought of stabbing his father, but had never been able to gather up the courage. He would have been about 10 when his mother was killed. So, this scene, and their life, made me wonder: Where is God in all this? And why are we not supposed to blame Him?

Traditionally, Christians, unless I am mistaken, thank God, or at least feel grateful, when something good happens in their life. They may even use this opportunity to praise the Lord. So, why is it not a two-way street? Praising and thanking God implies that He is somehow responsible. Therefore, why is it not common practise, or acceptable, to blame God when something awful happens? If we cannot expect Him to interfere, to save people or even help them out in their hour of need, then what is the purpose of praying? Is it merely in order to calm the praying person down; to provide them with some self-induced solace? We are expected to believe that He does sometimes interfere - whenever miracles have happened. So, is this a selective God? What has singled out the recipients of such miracles? What makes them so special? How are the rest of us supposed to feel about that? We just weren't supposed to have quite such a happy life?And wouldn't it be nice, if God could just occasionally butt in? Like the huge National Lottery finger maybe - he could just poke or wag his giant hand at the offending creature. Surely that would work : )

But really, this just bothers me. I do have a somewhat complicated relationship with God - as do, I suspect, lots of people. You see, God and me, we are not in a committed relationship. I suppose God may be committed to me, but I never hear from Him, or should that be Her? And as for me, God is my bootie-call. Basically, I tend to ignore Him, unless I am in dire need of some reassurance. If I really want something, or am feeling panicked or scared, I mean really scared, I will pray. Silently, in my head, because God forbid, ahem, that anyone else should hear me.

I would be very interested in hearing what any religious people, Christians or otherwise would have to add to this piece.