Why we need dads

Are they mad?

And yes, of course, a single mother can do a fantastic job of raising a child. Many do. But even so, to deliberately start off that way seems already to limit your child’s world and its chances in it.

Many young mothers don’t want their baby’s dad around because he’s so immature he would be just another child to raise. Young men often have no idea how to be proper fathers – providing, supporting, nurturing.

Why not? Because in many cases they didn’t have fathers of their own so they have no role model and no idea of what the job entails.

And if you’re deliberately raising a son on your own, aren’t you telling that boy that basically, he’ll grow up to redundant, that there’s no space for him in a family? Not the most encouraging start, really.

My dad taught me all sorts of tomboyish, country stuff – how to use an axe and a saw, grow veg, take cuttings, paunch a rabbit – some of which have proved more useful than others.

He was a postmaster, a farmer’s son who went to war with a poetry anthology, Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, in his uniform pocket.

He gave me a puppy, taught me about money and cars and how to make the world’s best cheese and leek sandwiches.

But above all, like all dads, by his very existence in the household he provided balance. There was always another point of view, another way of looking at things. Different, but just as valid – which is one of those odd little concepts that children of single parents often find tricky.

While hands-on, active live-in dads are a dying species, celebrity dads are flaunting fatherhood like never before.

Think Brad Pitt, David Beckham, pictured below, all those footballers who parade proudly with their babies in their arms. Oh yes, that includes Ryan Giggs.

Still, he might be a hopeless husband, but he could still be a great dad. It’s not necessarily mutually exclusive – as many a divorced mum will grudgingly admit.

Dads are good. We need more of them involved in children’s lives.

Happy Fathers’ Day to them all.

Is this the Big Society?

IN just one week I have received nine begging letters from charities, plus two begging emails, two sets of raffle tickets plus three phone calls asking if I would like some raffle tickets and/or do a door-to-door collection.

Plus a reminder to renew my standing order to a charity lottery.

There are two empty sacks in the hall, waiting for my charitable donations.

I have emerged from shops to run the gauntlet of pleadingly offered collecting tins of at least two other charities and at least half a dozen friends are running, walking, biking, drinking coffee in aid of a host of good causes.

Is this the Big Society? Sometimes it feels more like Big Brother.

I already have standing orders for three charities, am a soft touch for disaster funds and I’m happy to give friends a tenner or two in their fundraising efforts, if only for their enthusiasm.

But as for the rest...

Charities are big businesses and have to operate accordingly.

No one ever got anything by sitting quietly and waiting nicely. And when times are hard, they have to be ever more determined. But the relentlessness of it is selfdefeating.

When I was getting only one or two charity appeals a month, I found it hard to refuse.

With nine a week, I find it horribly easy.

It’s not the reaction the charities want. So how can we come up with a better way?

Randy old goat... and great politician

LLOYD George knew my father...

Well actually he didn’t, but Lloyd George and his brother were my grandfather’s solicitors, so there is a sort of family connection and a shared Welsh chapel background.

But I have finally caught up with Ffion Hague’s brilliant biography of Lloyd George and the women in his life. (The Pain and the Privilege: The Women in Lloyd George’s Life, Harper Perennial £9.99). I always knew he was a randy old goat, quite how blatant for quite so long was still a revelation. For most of his married life he was having an affair with his secretary – later his second wife – who had been in school with one of his daughters. But there were plenty more. In our world of Twitter and gossip columns and injunctions, you could wonder how the likes of Lloyd George would survive. We are very quick to disapprove. But how relevant is a politician’s private life to the way he does his job? How much should it matter? Lloyd George was a womaniser, a devious emotional blackmailer. Yet he was a charismatic politician and pushed through legislation for the first ever old age pension and the super tax to pay for it. High moral standards or effective legislation – tricky one, isn’t it?

A little luxury now, Lily?

SINGER Lily Allen flies with budget airlines and has tweeted indignantly to prove it – Ryanair charged her £40 because she hadn’t printed off her boarding pass.

You could love her for the down-to-earthness in flying cheapo – though not so cheapo when you’ve paid for that boarding pass. £40!

But, be honest, if you were Lily Allen and had her well-paid success wouldn’t one of the pleasures be flying on a proper airline in ease and comfort and no sneaky charges?

Yes. Mine too.

Easily distracted

FEMINISTS shoot me now... Home Secretary Theresa May was standing up in the Commons talking about something very serious and worthy and important that I should have been listening to. But I’ve no idea of what it was because I was too busy looking at what she was wearing – a very smart jacket with a sort of waterfall front that I really, really liked.

You know, I have principles and ideals and a real interest in the way our country is run. And of course I don’t think politicians – let alone female politicians – should be judged on what they look like or what they wear.

But sometimes, just sometimes, the butterfly brain is so easily distracted.

And it was a very nice jacket...

Ferryhill streakers

HAD a lovely time last week at Ferryhill library with the reading group – great people, very interested and interesting, so a joy to be with. We laughed a lot – always a good sign.

But an intriguing story cropped up and it was nothing to do with books. All about the Ferryhill streakers.

Last week apparently, two young men were walking through the town stark naked apart from feeble attempts to hide their modesty with a crisp packet and a shoe – yes, my mind’s boggling too – in between trying to hide behind some trees.

They were, said my informant, who with commendable ladylike modesty didn’t look too long, “very fit” young men.

We’re presuming they were something to do with a stag night. But we are intrigued... Anyone know any more?