Beverley's metric dilemma

I'VE got a bit of a weighty issue on my mind at the moment, and no it's nothing to do with my size - although I wouldn't mind losing a few pounds here and there.

I'VE got a bit of a weighty issue on my mind at the moment, and no it's nothing to do with my size - although I wouldn't mind losing a few pounds here and there.

Unfortunately going the whole of last year without chocolate didn't have much effect, apart from making me long for it even more now.

Having to go into a sweet shop the other day didn't help. Honestly, I felt just like a kiddie as I cast my eyes over the assortment of goodies on display.

And I repeatedly nudged my hubby's arm, as I spotted more and more familiar names from my childhood such as sherbet pips, pineapple chunks, gob stoppers, pink candy shrimps and alphabet candies. I did buy a couple of tubes of blackcurrant pastilles purely for sentimental reasons you understand.

You wouldn't believe the agonies I went through as hubby prised my hand off the counter where huge slabs of chocolate honeycomb were piled several layers high.

And when the shopkeeper asked me what I wanted, well…I remained focused and was about to put in a request for a 100g of my mum's favourite toffees when I realised that they were in fact still being sold by the quarter pound.

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Talk about a blast from the past, I was positively shell-shocked. You see, I was under the apprehension that the whole of Britain had gone metric some years ago.

Sucking on a pastille later, I began to ponder this idea further. By the time I had got to the end of the tube I had come to the conclusion that this actually isn't the case at all.

Take bras for instance. Okay, so they are nothing to do with weight, but they are still measured in inches as opposed to centimetres. As are people's waists, hips, and heights in the fashion industry, at least. Can you imagine a size zero model wanting to say that her vital statistics are something like 80-60-80? I don't think even Kimberly Stewart who joined that debate and was recently voted FHM's sexiest woman in the world, would appreciate that!

Heaven forbid I should ever have to proclaim what mine are!

Pop along to any children's department though and you'll find their sizes all referred to in centimetres.

As I opened my one remaining packet of pastilles, even more examples of this mix of old and new weights and measures sprang into my mind, for example:

We weigh ourselves in stones and pounds but buy produce in kilos.

Fruit juice and water are sold by the litre but milk and beer by the pint.

Petrol comes in litres and yet cars do 'X miles to the gallon'.

Humans run races in metres while horses run theirs in furlongs.

The DVLA refer to distances in metres but signposts show them in miles.

Properties have acres of grounds and yet land is measured in sq. metres (hectares).

Eggs are sold by the dozen and not in packs of ten.

Goodness knows how youngsters cope who have only been taught the metric system.

When I finally finished pondering this topic I realised I had sucked my way through that tube of pastilles, too.

“Maybe I need to nip to that sweet shop again”, I remarked to hubby, as I threw the wrapper in the bin.

“Maybe you should just stop pondering”, he replied.

I shouted in typical Victor Meldrew fashion, when I read that a Greater Manchester headteacher will be banning pupils at his school from wearing knotted ties because they are a health risk.

He insists that they must wear the clip-on variety because “unexpected factors, such as running and having their ties pulled” could be a problem.

“I don't believe it!” As someone who was forced to wear a tie to school every day for over five years I can truly say that neither I, nor anyone else there, ever came a cropper as a result of having one tied in that way.

In fact, as far as I am aware, not a single person I know, who wears ties in such a fashion, has ever suffered an accident because of one.

But now I've got the idea of just how dangerous they can be fixed in my head I can't help thinking of all the hazards my hubby faces, because he chooses to sport such an accessory to work.

He uses car doors, lift doors, Tube/ train doors/ plane doors, supermarket doors, or indeed any sort of automatic or revolving doors, especially if he's hurrying to meetings.

Then there are turnstiles, and desk and filing cabinet drawers. And what if it dips in scalding coffee, or lashes him across the face when walking in a high wind?

Of course I think this headteacher is being completely over the top. Where's the common sense gone?

Yet I still cringe at the prospect of my hubby going anywhere near a shredder.

DREAMS are funny things, aren't they? Usually they seem to have no relevance to our lives whatsoever. Sometimes though, they may reveal situations and events that are playing on our minds.

I am currently concerned for my hubby, after he dreamed that the police team from Emmerdale came to our door and interrogated him about Tom King's murder.

He says he wasn't worried though, as he knew he hadn't done it.

I reckon this means that my hubby, thinks that this is one whodunnit which has overdone it in terms of possible suspects.

Although they haven't, as yet, taken Tootsie in for questioning.

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