Unicorn chasers and bagging the ultimate upgrade

STAGGERING through the post-apocalyptic wasteland that is the news agenda in a week following the General Election, we’re all in need of a unicorn chaser or two.

A unicorn chaser, for the uninitiated, is like a sorbet for the soul. It is something pleasant to cleanse the palate such as watching a funny cat video after seeing an internet nasty (or a photograph of a jovial Michael Gove sauntering out of 10 Downing Street following Theresa May’s cabinet reshuffle).

Thank goodness then for the bold Mervyn Wheatley, a man who managed to bag the ultimate upgrade mid-Atlantic.

The solo yachtsman ran into a spot of bother after being caught in a violent storm during a race from Plymouth to Newport, Rhode Island. His yacht was battered by 50ft waves and winds of almost 70mph. The mast went underwater and a porthole smashed, causing water to pour into the cabin.

As his stricken vessel foundered, the cavalry arrived in the form of Cunard’s flagship Queen Mary 2. Only a few hours later the newly rescued Mr Wheatley was dining at the captain’s table in a borrowed dinner jacket a la Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.

Even Hyacinth Bucket would tip her hat to that one. The captain’s table, Richard!

Mr Wheatley, a former Royal Marine, admitted he had previously turned his nose up at cruise ships. Yet, fondly reminiscing about his Princess Grill stateroom with private balcony, king-size bed and nine options of pillows, the 73-year-old concluded that funnily enough, he may now be a little less snooty.

Rumours that Tom Hanks will play him in the movie version remain as yet unconfirmed. Although stranger things have happened at sea.

Mr Wheatley was safely deposited at Halifax on Tuesday. His time aboard QM2 might have been fleeting, but I would hazard a guess that the waistband of his trousers was still a tad more snug upon disembarking in Nova Scotia.

This columnist once had the pleasure of sailing on the now-retired QE2 to New York. My holiday snaps resembled a set of reverse Weightwatchers before and after shots. Instead of gleefully holding aloft a pair of giant oversized trousers, said photos served as ominous portent that for the foreseeable future the tent department of Millets would be my clothing store of choice.

Like a maritime Henry VIII, I gorged on fine cuisine for breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and midnight buffet. Pure butter replaced the blood in my veins. If it hadn’t been for a nasty bout of seasickness, the crew might have needed a cargo crane to hoist me ashore.

Speaking of culinary matters, this week brought the grim revelation that many children have such poor knowledge of food sources that they think pasta comes from animals, cows lay eggs and fish fingers are made from chicken (Duh! Everyone knows pea and ham soup comes from a chicken).

The British Nutrition Foundation study found that nearly a third of primary school pupils claimed cheese came from plants, while among 11 to 14-year-olds one in 10 did not know that carrots and potatoes grow underground. Youngsters these days, eh?

Perhaps most jarring was that a quarter of 14 to 16-year-olds think strawberry jam contributes to your five-a-day, while 11 per cent cited fruit pastilles and eight per cent, erm, crisps.

In other food-related news we learned from Channel 4’s The Fabulous Baker Brothers that the amount of bread left uneaten in British homes each month could fill St Paul’s Cathedral. Which racks up to the equivalent of almost 600 million loaves each year. That is a lot of wasted dough …

Klaxon! We are still not eating enough fruit and vegetables. According to a Diabetes UK survey, two-thirds of Britons eat three or fewer portions a day and almost half have at least three fruit-free days per week.

Although there could a glimmer of hope as (yet another) piece of research found that we’re more likely to eat a sexier-sounding veg such as “twisted citrus-glazed carrots” than exactly the same dish when it was simply labelled “carrots”.

In a study carried out at Stanford University in California, the likes of “dynamite chilli and tangy lime-seasoned beets” and “sweet sizzling green beans and crispy shallots” proved more popular than when labelled merely as “beets” and “green beans”.

Are we really that gullible? Humph. I’ll take that with a wild truffle-imbued, lemon-drizzled pinch of salt.

Tackling the "manspreading" scourge

ALL hail transport chiefs in Madrid for launching a campaign to discourage “manspreading”, the practice of men sitting in public transport with their legs wide apart covering more than one seat.

Bus operator EMT has put up new signs showing a seated figure, legs akimbo, next to a big red cross. The aim is to “maintain civic behaviour and to respect the space of everyone on board the bus”.

It is part of a growing global fightback. In 2014, New York’s Metropolitan Transportation Authority began a campaign with the slogan: “Dude... stop the spread, please.” Seattle’s buses and trains, meanwhile, have signs showing an octopus with its tentacles draped over neighbouring seats.

Let’s see Scotland follow suit. I had the misfortune of sitting next to a guy on the bus recently whose lower limbs sprawled like a badly taxidermied frog.

While we’re on the subject how about a similar scheme for mansplaining? This would extend to subjects including, but not limited to, breastfeeding, flat-pack furniture and life in general.

Why we’re a nation of ditherers. Oh, hang on a moment …

IF you find yourself hesitating over the simplest of decisions, you’re not alone. Apparently we each spend nearly three years of our lives dithering.

Common dilemmas include what to have for dinner (seven minutes), picking an outfit (four minutes), viewing selections on Netflix (four minutes 19 seconds) and whether to go out (seven minutes 25 seconds), according to a survey by financial services group Scottish Friendly.

Why are we a nation of ditherers? Umm … One theory is we have just too much choice in modern life. Wait! Or perhaps not enough choice? Someone needs to create a wemakeanydecision.com website where you type in a quandary and it generates an instant solution.

Until then, let me help. I used to fret daily over what outfit to wear to work but a few years back purchased a set of five identical black dresses. Voila. Wardrobe woes abated.

Restaurant menu existential crisis? Go to a buffet. Netflix viewing? Watch anything with Tina Fey and avoid Adam Sandler. Go out? Stay in? Go out again? Get yourself a human-sized cat flap.