We all know that there are some really bad drivers on our roads. My research has revealed that the worst case serially bad drivers fall into five distinct categories. So here are the findings of my research and I hope they serve as way to recognise these maniacs much quicker and easier.

Audi Drivers : This large group of drivers are without a doubt the most dangerous and unpredictable drivers on our roads and highways. Indecision is their defining trait and this manifests itself right from the time of purchasing a car. Of course they wanted a German car and had looked at Mercedes and BMW but became rather frugal on the sight of the price. This of course lead them down to a Volkswagen, but they just couldn’t bear the embarrassment of actually being seen driving one. Hence the back and forth to an Audi dealer.

This seriously dangerous trait of indecision carries forward into their driving as can be seen by their habit of indicating four different ways before deciding to finally turn right; from the left hand lane of course. Another classic example is an Audi driver selecting a parking place. More circles than a dog looking to do his business before finally deciding to take up two parking spaces as it was easier to use the line to keep the car parked almost straight.


Nuns, Priests and Vicars : This collective group pose a hell of a danger to other drivers. We all know where they want to end up, and is there a faster way to heaven than a seriously good high speed collision? Pray that you are not in their path on a high speed freeway.


Very Pretty Young Women : This group is highly recognisable as they normally drive a yellow convertible Peugeot 206 and have a mobile telephone in one hand and are applying mascara with the other. Having only the knowledge that there is a ‘go’ pedal and a ‘stop’ pedal, this leads to rather sudden jerking movements of the car particularly at high speed in car parks. Another classic sign is the deformed thumb from one handed texting and chaffing of the inner thighs from trying to steer the car.

Balding Men In Old Red Fiats : So dangerous are these drivers, they really should be obliged to carry a special purple flashing disco light on the top of their vehicle. They can be generally described as middle aged, balding and have an extremely small penis. The cars they drive are always faded red, old and beaten up and have a motor only slightly bigger that their penis. These cars always blow smoke and fumes on anyone following and make an ‘elastic band’ sort of sound.

But is is their habit of having to pass any vehicle within a distance of ten miles that makes them truly so dangerous.

Arabs In Really Really Expensive Cars : I really shouldn’t include this group as bad drivers. In fact I withdraw any assertion that they are bad drivers immediately and without reservation. But I have to include them for their propensity of being the world’s most dangerous parkers. When you can afford a Hummer that is gold plated, bullet proof and diamond studded, would you give a rat’s arse about a parking ticket? You would leave it anywhere that totally suited you. Right?

So don’t get excited the next time you see a gleamingly golden Ferrari parked at the front door of Harrods. You would do exactly the same; if you could. Right?

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It is nearly ten years since I wrote and recorded this song No Smile, Big Tits and it has achieved some level of notoriety. For completely the wrong reasons though I might add.

When I sat down at my kitchen table in Jerusalem in 2001 during the second Intifada, completely aghast at the horrors humans can inflict on each other, a thought came to my mind. Quite simply, the suffering of women during armed conflict. I wanted to protest. But how could one voice be heard? Hence, this song.

The song is about the beauty of the women of Israel and Palestine and their courage in the face of adversity, violence and fear. I deliberately chose the word ‘tits’, as it is a vulgarity as is war, and it contrasted with the beauty of the image of a woman’s caring smile. It was also for me a clear reference to motherhood.

The song and video have now been downloaded over 30,000 times, but alas, probably for the wrong reasons and inducing massive disappointment for some. The demographic of 12 to 15 year old boys searching for sexual gratification by using the search keyword ‘tits’ has caused the problem. These poor young lads have been responsible for nearly half the downloads.

Oh well, I suppose any publicity is good publicity. Even if YouTube have put a age warning on the video!

If you are interested, you can listen to the song here, or watch the video here.

It is also available on iTunes, but Apple have decided to re-title the song No Smile, Big T**s.

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Wusband is a new word for me. The meaning I well know, but have used descriptions such as house husband, homme au foyer or simply lazy soul in the past. This new word however, is much better as it describes me perfectly, and in only one word and two syllables.

So what makes me a wusband? Well firstly, I have a very intelligent, educated, hard working and at times stressed wife who works an uncountable number of hours each week. Secondly, I am good at ironing, cooking, shopping and knowing which button to push on the washing machine. I am also a bit of a dreamer with projects that are a sometimes rather abstract and prone to long term procrastination, so setting machines running and then going off to have a good think really suits me.

I do have my responsibilities, and take these very seriously. When I remember to do them that is. But my wife seems happy with my application and near completion of my tasks. Our arrangement allows us time to be together on the weekends without any domestic chores, and although it may be strange for some, we are very happy with our socially inverted roles.

With the changes in our society over the last twenty or thirty years, it would be interesting to know how many true wusbands there are out there. I am sure there are more than we think.


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My 2.5 regular readers have probably realised that as an ex- Australian male now reincarnated with a Swiss nationality, I possess all the attributes necessary to claim a chauvinistic title. Misogynist, macho, arrogantly male and patriarchal. But then I moved to Switzerland nearly 10 years ago and changed my outlook. I became even more misogynist, macho and arrogantly male. It was such a natural progression in such a patriarchal country.

However, within a year of moving her, a woman named Micheline Calmy-Rey was elected to a seat in the Swiss Federal Council. Her election also made her the Swiss Foreign Minister. Within days, I realised that this woman was truly remarkable. Now, eight years later I realise I was wrong. She was not remarkable, she was uniquely the only woman I have ever known who has achieved the difficult balance of power, respect and femininity. She is what the feminists of the seventies were fighting for, but never realising what form it should take.

Micheline Calmy-Rey is a mother, grandmother, negotiator, pacifier, and ultimate politician. She infects you with a sense of pride in being Swiss and conveys the reality in what is meant by what we call in Switzerland, active neutrality. When she smiles, you fall in love. When she frowns and scowls, you listen and respect. When she reasons, you cannot help but understand. When she argues, it is with passion and true belief.

In my mind, the one quality that separates Micheline Calmy-Rey from other women in the world who hold political office, is that she never tries to be equal or better than her male colleagues and counterparts. She remains herself and doesn’t enter any form of competition. She is who she is. Take it or leave it. Truly beautiful and feminine smiles that would woo any man within 100 miles, counterpointed with a hard and politically savvy mind that can argue the most difficult political position with aplomb and conviction.

I have argued that the feminists of the seventies won the battles but lost the war. Their achievements were in many ways pyrich. But in Micheline Calmy-Rey I see what true feminism means and how she should be a role model for women who aspire to change the political realty and climate.

If every country in the world had a Micheline Calmy-Rey as their foreign minister, we would see a remarkable and rapid move forward towards true peace and two sided respectful understanding.

The other remarkable quality about Micheline Calmy-Rey is that I trust her. This makes her absolutely unique as a politician in my eyes.

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Sitting, staring into space and drinking very good coffee are three of my very favourite activities that I habitually combine into a singular act of imitating a work of still life. During one of my recent episodes of eyeballing space on a sunny terrace in Valletta in Malta, I happened to fix my gaze on a splendid statue of Queen Victoria. Many thoughts passed through my mind about the days of the Empire, British naval superiority and cucumber sandwiches.

The most telling thought I had was that Victoria lived for a very long time indeed. During which time she managed to reign for over sixty years. My thoughts then moved towards QE2. Like Victoria, she is also making her heir wait around a very, very long time. Poor Charles. Now over sixty years practicing to be king, and no hope in sight of his mother falling of the perch just yet. If he thought about his grandmother, the Queen Mother who managed to live to 102, he would probably come to the conclusion that all his practicing will be to no avail. He will be lucky to get a promotion before he is eighty years old.

It was then that another thought came trundling into my mind. Women in general do tend to live for a very long time indeed. A quick run through my descendants is more than enough proof I need to continue with this lumbering train of thought. Is it that women live a long time, or is it that men reach their use by date, and hence usefulness, much younger? The most immediate and simplistic answer I leapt upon was that men get fed up with playing bingo every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Then there was the possible explanation that men wear their bodies out by taking out too much garbage, mowing too many lawns and watching too much football accompanied by too many cans of beer. Another possibility was that women look after themselves better and for longer. Walks, moisturisers, vitamins, fruit and vegetables, doctor’s appointments plus informative and life changing magazine articles.

Somehow, none of these rational explanations satisfied me. More sitting, staring into space and drinking very good coffee was needed before I finally came around to what was somewhere near a logical thought process. The key was mystery, enigma and unsolvable puzzles. Just as one jettisons The Times after attempting its crossword puzzle over a period of agonising weeks, the same could be reasoned for men. After spending all of their breathing days trying to solve the puzzling mystery that women present, they finally give up. No closer to an answer than Douglas Adams came with his answer of 42, men just roll over and die in frustration.

Women on the other hand have men all figured out by age twelve, so they can live into old age happy in the knowledge that they know everything they need to know. Except that they now have to learn how to take out the garbage by themselves.

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Did you pass the odd one out quiz above?

It took a very long time to find any record of a man appearing in a detergent advertisement. Two hours web hunting to be precise. So, of course I start to think here of stereotypical sexism. As a stay at home husband, I am offended by my daily bombardment of know it all women in detergent advertising. Telling me how white my whites will be, and how ketchup stains will disappear from my kids trousers.

Get real. I don't have little ankle biters anymore!

I want to hear a man's perspective. How stiff and crisp will my Levi's feel after using X product detergent. Will my hankies be perfectly white and snot sludge free? I want to be assured that my jocks will not give me a detergent rash in the nether regions after using softener X.

And of course, tell me about a detergent that can wash my whites and colours at the same time and make my hands look young and wrinkle free. Laundry bliss!

Now, don't get me started on ironing!


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I read yesterday that successful blogs are very narrow in their subject focus. It was reassuring to read this, as my blog is clearly and narrowly focused on one subject. Life, the universe and everything. So I am unquestionably following a tried and proven formula for success. Yes, I know it's a bit Douglas Adams isn't it?

Which brings me immediately to the subject of sex goddesses.

You will notice from the small collection I have gathered below, that personal favourites tend to be pre-1970, with one or two latter day exceptions. I was wondering what the common thread of attraction was for me among these goddesses. Dark hair seemingly, as well as a hidden smile and gothic exterior. The other quality that arose from my pondering was that these women were all characters to admire, but had the good sense to keep their personal identities out of daily scrutiny or controversy.

Click on a pic if you want more info.







Unlike some of our modern day sex goddesses, who seem hell bent on creating a public persona of themselves, and not their characters. Who wants to admire shoplifting, adultery, adoption, cheating, drug abuse, foul language and alcoholism? It is quite possible that my little list of goddess characters had problems in their real lives, but somehow they didn't need to make them public to increase their popularity.

Or maybe it is just that black and white photos are more sexy!

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