Risk aversion: How safe are your children?

I remember a simpler time. The year is 2000. Freddos cost a mere 5p, and £1 would serve as a Victorian banquet to my 10-year-old self, spending endless hours in the local Spar deciding what sweets were best suited to my particularly distinguished pallet. It’s mid July, a bright sunny day and Mum had just made me my favorite lunchtime snack, lemon curd sandwiches, hold the crust. Having exhausted the sandy resources left behind from a recent renovation on the house next door (as I believed wetting the sand would ultimately create quicksand...of course) me and my 2 brothers grew tiresome of such novelties and took it upon ourselves to go on an adventure to the nearby “Apley Woods”, in search of the mythical beast known as “Howard the Tramp” who seemingly resided in the gloomy shrubbery.

Ready for the road, we saddled up our bikes and discussed the route we would take. Now Mum had always been conscientious as to our safety, and the quote “don’t talk to strangers” had been re-iterated consistently within the Cooper household. Today however, she was extremely tentative.

Today, Mum wanted to come with us. Now she wasn’t much of a rider and her sword skills left a lot to be desired, but alas we conceded to her will and allowed her to join the fellowship. The day was fine, and although we didn’t get a glimpse of Howard, we managed to find evidence of his existence (an old bottle of Frosty Jack and a retro copy of Escort, 60+ edition). However, Mums presence didn’t go un-noticed. That night, the fellowship discussed the potential reasons why mother insisted on accompanying us.

Adams ideas were a little lack-luster, suggesting that Mum secretly wanted to be a boy. He was 3 years older than me and even I found this idea moronic.

Shaun’s ideas however, were much more pertinent, the resonance of which still remain with myself, and the contemporary society we live in.

“It’s because there are loads of paedophiles out there. Don’t you know about Sarah?”

He was of course, referring to Sarah Payne.

Sarah’s abduction and murder back in 2000 acted as a catalyst to the nanny state from which we now reside. We seem so engrossed with risk aversion, that awareness is put on the back burner, and it is awareness that holds the key to overcoming our irrational fear of strangers.
Interaction and play is an essential part of child development, a notion that goes hand-in-hand with risk taking.

In-fact, children even seek out such interaction with strangers. It might seem a little disturbing to hear, but even we did it as children. Remember playing knock-knock run on the door of the grumpy bloke who lived 2 doors down? We did this because it was fun. Today, children don’t seem to be fulfilling such rites of passage, because we are so scared that every stranger over the age of 18 has ulterior motives when looking at our children.

I look at other people’s children all the time. A) Because they’re immensely funny. I saw a child the other day licking a dog, simply because he had the resources to do so. B) Because they’re interesting. The way a child’s mind works is one of the most beautiful and un-corrupt sights to behold. Alas, I’m not a paedophile, I’m just normal bloke.

A man that plays with a child below the age of 10 is not necessarily a paedophile, some people are just nice. It might seem like a strange concept, but it’s true. In-fact, the vast, vast majority of men up and down the country ARE NOT PAEDOPHILES.

Statistically, there are no more paedophiles now than there were 30 years ago. However, the suggestion that there is, seems to have embedded itself as fact in the minds of parents throughout the country by “professionals” over the past 20 years.

Take for instance the opinions of Detective Chief Inspector Bob McLachlan, head of Scotland Yard's paedophile unit back in 2000, who suggested that based on “the latest police intelligence on crime patterns and specialist research material” there were potentially 250,000 paedophiles within Britain. At the time there were a mere 5,640 people in prison for sexual offences alone, not necessarily against children, but just sexual offences. Now, with this in mind, Scotland yard can’t have been performing to their full potential if there were a quarter of a million paedophiles on the loose, and they had managed to bag up to 5,640 of them? Essentially, it was complete speculation, once again re-enforcing the moral panic surrounding stranger danger.
This idea alone has clearly had an impact on parents. Based on the Annual Review of Public Health in 2001, the percentage of children who walked to school in 1980 was 80%, whereas in 1990 it had dropped to a staggering 9%.

It’s clear then that our anxieties are completely irrational. Here’s another statistic that may or may not settle your nerves.“Stop It Now,” an American organization devoted to the prevention of child abuse found that 90% of victims knew their abusers, being family members or friends of the family. Maybe it’s Uncle Nigel the nonce we need to be more aware of, and not the weird bloke who lives by the pond shouting at ducks.

I don’t want to seem arrogant or insensitive, as I know there is a direct victim at the center of such statistics, but what concerns me more is the moral panic that will un-doubtedly ensue following cases such as Sarah Payne, and the detrimental effect it will have on the way parents raise their children. It’s not fair to ruin more children’s lives by seizing their freedom, irrespective of the potential, completely disproportional risks.

There is something amaranthine around the whole notion of childhood innocence. As children we seek to over-come both physical proximal boundaries, but also psychological ones. This is an essential part of growing up in the progression towards autonomy. Ask yourself where was the most special, exciting and magical place you played as a child? Now ask yourself whether or not it was outside? My favorite place was an old ditch 2 miles from my house. I would spend days jumping around in the dirt, sliding down the clay cliff-sides, cutting and grazing my legs in the process on old bits of corrugated iron in what seemed like the deleted scenes from The Deer Hunter. It was awesome.

Freedom was my friend, as I’m sure it was yours. Our obsession with risk aversion is ludicrous, just as the prospect of living a risk-free childhood is ridiculous. Instead, let’s create a culture enforcing resilience as opposed to protection. An environment where action is proportionate to the actual probability of danger, and an environment whereby children can play freely, interacting with adults as they wish.

2 primary school children are killed by strangers every year. There are 4,093,710 pupils in the UK. So, if you are foolish enough to withdraw your child’s childhood with such a disproportionate, irrational and downright neglectful mindset, then don’t be surprised when your 18 year old son/daughter takes to bungee jumping, sky-diving or extreme cliff diving as a nice, easy form of release. You have been warned.

Football's Ugliest Players

The contemporary, metro-sexual footballer. Designer stubble, skin as smooth as silk and a tan that makes David Dickinson look like an albino goth.

I’m not going to hark on as to the demise in masculinity that footballers seem to be criticised and credited for, because to be honest, It’s hard to ignore the fact that some footballer players are simply beautiful. It’s not gay, it’s fact, just look at Becks.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I want to take him out for dinner, have a bottle of red, pinch his cheeks and promise him the world, I’m merely stating that as a hetro-sexual male, it’s okay to appreciate the male form.

However, not all footballers are blessed with such style, charisma and allure that the likes of Beckham has become so famous for.

Here is my list, compiling some of the most frightful, ghastly and down right macabre footballers to have ever graced the pitch.

Nani: Ugly score-4/10

Is it a bird, is it a plane...yes, it’s a bird, good old pigeon head himself. Not only one of the most frustrating footballers to watch, he is also frustrating to look at. Seems he would be more comfortable waddling around Leicester Square picking up flat dog ends rather than playing football. Plus, it’s hard to take the man seriously having realised he is the spitting image of Wacko Jacko back in his Thriller days. Nani...check your bad self...in the mirror.

Mickael Silvester: Ugly score-5/10

Now Mickael is not a dreadful looking man. His charming french wit and accent make him particularly attractive to a female audience. However, based on the sheer circumference and mass of the mans cranium alone, it is hard to abstain from including him in the list. His head is huge. I mean, really huge. Rumours have suggested that Silvestre only owns one hat. It’s a beanie, tailor made from over 5 meters of felt, taking 2 hours to fit the garment, using copious amounts of lard and several shoehorns. What’s more, Silvestre is said to have had a 33 hour long “ram-off” with Gabriel Obertan in 2009, following a dis-agreement over a pack of jelly babies.

Carles Puyol: Ugly score-7/10

The Barca center-back is ugly. There’s no two ways about that. If your going to rock the classic cut that is the loose perm, you have to have the style and looks to back up such a bold statement. Look at keegan, perm and hot-pants. There has to be some sort of justification there. Puyol unfortunately, looks like Mr potato-head in a wig.

Iván Campo: Ugly score-7/10

Following an accident at a young age in which Campo’s face fell onto an industrial strength vacuum cleaner, his severe dis-figurement has not stopped him pursuing a career as a professional footballer. Since his retirement, Campo has been busy setting up his charity “The Iván Campo trust,” a cooperation that is dedicated to ensuring the welfare and dignity of repulsive footballers. It is said that the charity holds over 200 members, and the annual ICT Gala attracts media attention across the globe.


Wayne Rooney: Ugly score-8/10

What wazza lacks in wit, he makes up for in his ahm....considerable choice of ageing prostitutes? Well it certainly isn’t his looks anyway. I’m not condoning the force that is Coleen’s real women, as she too is as moronic as her other half, but alas, based on aesthetics alone, she is a little out of his league. My atheism is justified when looking at the star-strikers face, as it is clear to see the role evolution has played in the development of human life, and to what extent evolution is less active in the Rooney family.

Carlos Tevez: Ugly Score-9/10

Ahh Carlos, where do you start. I’m not even going to shrowd his description with metaphor and simile, we can all see what is wrong with Carlos Tevez when staring at pictures of the man himself, and that of course, is the shirt on his back. Cringe, that one was awful. But of course, joking aside, Tevez is truly grotesque. This was re-enforced when attending a Halloween party last year, in which someone was dressed as the city striker, in full kit, along with the bush-wacker hair, crooked teeth and un-sightful scar. Effortlessly the Premierships most hideous footballer.

Franck Ribery: Ugly score-9/10

The hideous love-child of Shane Macgowan and Jocelyn Wildenstein, Frank Ribery comes in with a gracious, yet acceptable ugly score of 9/10. The scarring on Riberys face is indeed a tragedy, but I believe if you look beyond that, you can still see the repugnant mush that resembles a piece of over-cooked popcorn chicken. Mr Ribery, you sir are one ugly, ugly
footballer.

Iain Dowie: Ugly score-10/10

Topping the chart is Mr incredible himself, Iain Dowie. Classically considered the most disgusting footballer to have ever played at professional level, Dowie is an avid Goonies fan, allegedly spending over £100,000 pound on cosmetic procedures to make him look like his childhood hero, The Sloth. Well I can say that it’s a job well done.

The Decemberists-The King Is Dead Review

The Decemberists: The King Is Dead review

The Portland quintet have returned with a country-infused concoction of American folk rock and blues to create a tracklist that makes it easy to forget their previous wrong-doings.

Their last album, “The Hazards of love,” was a convoluted mass of fashions and influences that left it difficult to distinguish the band, let alone the genre.

Since 2009, The Decemberists have been busy recording album no 6, entitled “The King Is Dead,” a record which off the back of previous work could have been over-willingly constructed around feelings of anxiety and a yearning to be liked.

This thankfully, is not the case.

In the opening number, “Don’t Carry it all,” we are welcomed by a screaming harmonica and thumping drum beat, swiftly accompanied by Colin Meloy’s gutsy yet soulful vocal, “Here we come to a turning of the season, Witness to the arc towards the sun.”

This lays the foundation from which the album builds its own sense of identity, with an emphasis on minimalism and simplicity, generating ideas around the smells and sensations associated with all four seasons.

This doesn’t mean to say you can disregard the slight whine heard from the violin in the beautifully crafted “Down by the water,” which when accompanied by Jenny Conlee’s backing choral makes for perfect listening.

Notation must be made to Meloy’s lyrical ability also. His progression as a writer is perfectly exemplified in “June Hymn,” an insightful peek into the plight of a young man’s love for his soul mate, environment, and the notion that someday he will lose both: “Hear the hymn to welcome in the day, heralding a summer's early sway, and all the bulbs all coming in, to begin, thrushes beating battle with the wind, disrupts my reverie again.”

Essentially, the album is a cerebral mix between the vocal tones of Michael Stipe, coherent with the lyrical prowess of Ben Gibbard within a country-folk context.

It would seem that a re-connection with the bands roots was all that was needed to create a masterful piece of music.

Songs to look out for: Calamity song, Don’t carry it all and June hymn.