Rab McNeil
Chewing the fat 28 September 2009 On the face of it, the issue looks simple. The pupils have been banned from selling sweeties in their tuck shop and they want that ban lifted. Ergo, the solution seems simple: order the infantile oafs to be quiet, for their own good. We do not wish the little blighters to become bloaters, waddling hither and yon in a manner not uncommon in parts of Lanarkshire and beyond. However, there’s more to the debate than meets the eyelobe. The children say the tuck shop sold Fairtrade products, which allow shoppers to sook chocolate while entertaining worthy thoughts that their purchase has helped cocoa farmers in that Third World. Personally, I often buy chocolate simply to help poorer countries. In a petition to Parliament, the nutritionally cosmopolitan nippers say: “Our tuck shop, which was run by the pupils, sold Fairtrade sweets and drinks as part of our school’s involvement in supporting the Fairtrade movement. “Due to North Lanarkshire’s policy we can no longer run this. We have been taught at school that sweets are a healthy part of a balanced diet and would like to be given the chance to develop a responsible attitude towards this.” Ha! Who’s been telling them sweeties are part of a healthy diet? Isolate all the chubby pedagogues in that school and interrogate them immediately! Doubtless, the teaching was some realistic affair, pointing out that if you eat up your greens and suchlike sludge, you’re entitled to a wee treat noo and again. Unfortunately, “noo and again” is defined in Scotland as “every ten minutes”. Top health experts estimate that more than a third of children in Lanarkshire are obese by the age of 15. By 19, many have to be lifted everywhere by crane. Observers of Parliament will be well acquainted with the sight of Lanarkshire MSPs proudly boasting about the amount of illness, premature death and so forth in their constituency. But no one can help where they live, and we must not be hard on children doomed to grow where bad karma from past lives has put them. Besides, which of us noo and again, broadly defined, does not like a little treat, a sweetmeat for a salve on a soul battered daily by new health fears in the public prints, or what remains of them? North Lanarkshire Council denies being mean-spirited. It is only obeying orders, these having been issued by the Scottish Government in its Educational Directive number 437: “Ye better no sell sweeties to the weans, ken?” An “initiative” – uh-oh! – called Hungry for Success (replacing the earlier 1970s model: Hungry for Chips) discouraged schools from selling crisps, sweeties and fizzy drinks, all of which tend to the bloating of the body and the waddling of the leggies. A cooncil spokesman ululated: “As a result, we took the decision to withdraw such snacks and drinks from school tuck shops.” He added: “Understandably, some children are disappointed by that decision.” A number of interesting issues are thrown up by this debate and, while I cannot think what these are at the moment, I’d like to focus on the fact that at least the children have a Parliament in which to lodge their gripe. The public petitions committee is a repository for the whinges of the nation and is far more interactive, if you like, than anything the Hoose o’ Commons has to offer. MSPs there must weigh carefully the factors that comprise the Knowetop Conundrum. How can they balance the argument for Fairtrade involvement against the health implications of letting the little ones gorge themselves on sugary sweetmeats? Of course, it may be argued that the Fairtrade angle is just a wheeze justifying the urge to scoff crisps. Research shows that children are cunning little gets when it comes to obtaining sweeties. As a study by the University of Pittenweem concluded: “They will make up any old bollocks as an excuse to consume unhealthy comestibles.” However, in the Motherwell case, all the evidence shows that these are good children, motivated firstly by a love of mankind, and only secondly by a love of sweeties. A byproduct of their campaign is that they will become involved in the political process and, as a result, may never vote or take an interest again. However, one or two are likely to be attracted by the dowdy glamour of it all. Even at a young age, they may get a whiff of the scent of power – kind of musty, with notes of Lidl aftershave – and may see themselves one day strutting aboot in a stripey suit, saying “Let us be clear” at the start of every sentence and deploying verbiage whose meaning only Sherlock Holmes could detect after sending Watson to root around in the speaker’s dustbins and keeping a watch on his or her house through the night. They may be fascinated by the Parliament building, asking the sort of unanswerable questions that adults find amusing and frustrating: “Miss, why are the walls inside made of unfinished concrete?” Let’s just hope that, when it’s time to go home, they don’t find parting such sweetie sorrow. Related articles: Politics and principles 3 September 2010 Hello voters 25 June 2010 Off the menu 11 June 2010 Life but not as we know it 28 May 2010 Magnetic result 17 May 2010 See all articles in this category Submit a comment |
|
||||||||||||||||

