You Think You're A Man (Not For Another 14 Years)

In the UK, the legal age to become an adult is 18 years old so you can officially do grown up things such as buy alcohol, serve on a jury, open a bank account, vote in elections or get a tattoo but while the law says you are officially mature enough to do all these things at 18, Neuroscientists at the University of Cambridge say the human brain doesn't mature into Adulthood until you are 32.
The boffins scanned the brains of 3,802 people from infancy through age 90 and concluded that the age of 32 marked one of four key changes the human brain experiences among five phases: Childhood, adolescent, adult, early aging, and late aging brain.
They identified ages 0 to 9 as childhood (Rapid growth in volume and formation of initial neural networks), and adolescence beginning after this point (Long phase of refining communication pathways, peak efficiency, and continuous rewiring) and lasting until about age 32.
Adulthood lasts from 32 until 66 (Architecture stabilizes, marking a plateau in personality and intelligence), then the next phase shifts into early aging from 66 to 83 and the last major turning point occurs around age 83, which the researchers describe as late aging of the brain (Gradual reduction in overall network connectivity).
Different mental skills peak at entirely different times across your lifespan, meaning there is no single age when your brain is best at everything.
Psychological and neuroscience data break down the peak of your brain functions at distinct ages so your peak information processing speed is 18–19, the capacity to hold information is at 25, when you hit 35 you are crest of being able to perform complex mental calculations peaks, social and emotional intelligence is best at 40–50 and you are at your most emotionally stable at age 65–75 and your vocabulary and cumulative knowledge is at its height from 68  to 72.
So if you want to win at a pub quiz, get a team of 68 to 72 years old although their short term memory is way past its prime so you may need to repeat the question 5 or 6 times to them.

Special Guest Blogger: Ace Frehley

It was a wild ride from the Bronx kid who just wanted to make some noise, to Space Ace, the guy who looked like he was beamed down from a glittery, pyrotechnic spaceship. Who would've thought? My mum probably just thought I needed a haircut and a proper job. Little did she know, being a proper spaceman was the job.
We started Kiss, and man, what a concept. Four guys in makeup, platform boots that made me question the structural integrity of my ankles almost every night, and enough stage smoke to choke a brontosaurus. People always asked me did we ever take it seriously? and I always say, Seriously? We
were dressed like cartoon characters! We took the music seriously, and the show seriously. The rest was just glorious, loud, beautiful chaos.
I mean, imagine trying to nail a guitar solo while  knowing that at any moment, a rocket might shoot out of your guitar. Or that you might just trip over your own feet in those ten-inch heels. It built character, I tell ya. Or at least, it built a very strong sense of balance and an even stronger pain tolerance.
The smoking guitar. Ah, yes. My signature move. It started as a cool idea, right and then you try to make it happen and you’re backstage, messing with wiring, trying to rig up some kind of smoke bomb in the neck of your prized instrument. Half the time, it just fizzled. The other half, it worked too well,
and I thought I was going to lose an eyebrow. But when it went off just right, when that smoke came billowing out, and I hit that bend... pure magic. Or pure engineering failure that somehow looked cool. Either way, the crowd went wild.
I still remember the first time we tried it and i was told just hit this switch and a rocket shoots out the headstock. Sounds simple, right? It was, until the rocket decided to take an unscheduled detour towards the drum kit. Or the ceiling. Or, God forbid, the front row. We got better at aiming, eventually.
Mostly. My main goal was always to avoid hitting Peter Criss in the head. He was already a bit...temperamental.
I wasn't the most technically proficient guitarist. There were plenty of those guys, and they’re all fantastic. I don't need them to say I was the quiet, introspective artist. That wasn't me.
I want them to say, Ace Frehley? Man, that guy was cool. He rocked hard. He had killer riffs. He made you smile. And he looked like he was having the time of his life, even when he probably just wanted a nap.
The end came after I fell down a flight of stairs at home and severely injured my head which led to a fatal brain bleed but I want people to remember the pure, unadulterated joy of strapping on my guitar, plugging into a wall of Marshall amps and just letting loose. The way the crowd lights up when
you play that first chord.
Maybe they’ll remember the anthems, the solos but if it's the times I nearly blew up the stage, then I will take that.

Burnham Or Starmer, Still the Labour Party

I am hearing many calls that as Andy Burnham is the new Prime Minister, there should be an election because nobody, apart from the people of Makerfield, voted for him.
The truth is nobody, apart from the people of Holborn and St Pancras, voted for Keir Starmer because we don't vote for people, we vote for the Party and whoever happens to be the leader of the winning Party, by default, also becomes the Prime Minister.
That is why each parties Manifesto's are so important and as long as the new leader sticks to the manifesto, it should be the same trajectory regardless of who's backside is sitting inside number 10.
This is as true as when the Conservative Party went through their role call of Prime Ministers as it is for Labour, the only reason Labour would want to call an election early is if they wanted to change the Manifesto, otherwise it is business as usual only with a different face.
If a Member of Parliament switches sides then i would fully support a by-election because you may have voted for a Party Member who jumped ship to another Party and therefore switches one Manifesto to another which was rejected at the last election but otherwise whether it is Andy Burnham or Keir Starmer at the helm, it is still the Labour Party that the nation voted for who are in power.

Special Guest Blogger: Prunella Scales

I blame the Sunday supplements who used words like venerable, iconic and National Treasure when describing me. National Treasure is a particularly terrifying term, isn't it? It makes one sound like a dusty Ming vase kept behind velvet ropes in a drafty museum, or perhaps a slightly chipped gargoyle on the side of a cathedral.
I always said that i only became an actor to be people much more interesting than I am and would say things more intelligent than anything I can think of myself and i was cast in many comic roles  before my big break in 1975 when i was cast as a Hotel Managers wife.
To the world, I suppose, I am Sybil Fawlty. It’s a cross I bore with a certain amount of floral-printed pride. For decades, people have walked up to me in supermarkets, squinted at my face, and then shouted "BASIL!" at the top of their lungs into my ear. It is a testament to my vocal training that I haven’t reflexively slapped a stranger in the frozen pea aisle.
People seem to think I spent the 1970s trapped in a cupboard in Torquay, permanently holding a telephone and a cigarette, waiting for John Cleese to trip over a radiator.
Then, of course, there is my life with husband and fellow actor, Timothy West.
We have spent a significant portion of our golden years on canal boats, which is an interesting choice for two people who are supposedly venerable. If you want to test the foundations of a fifty-year marriage, I highly recommend steering a twenty-ton piece of iron through a hole the size of a needle’s
eye while your husband shouts instructions at you from the towpath.
There’s something remarkably grounding about a canal. You can’t be a Grand Dame of the Stage when you’re covered in duckweed and trying to fend off an aggressive swan with a wooden spoon.
Being an actor is a peculiar way to build a legacy. We spend our lives becoming other people, only to realize at the end that we’ve left bits of ourselves scattered all over the place. I left a bit of my heart in a rehearsal room in 1962, I left a bit of my sanity in the Fawlty Towers kitchen, I left my favorite pair of gloves in a dressing room in Birmingham and I’ve certainly left several layers of skin on various brambles along the Grand Union Canal.
Dementia claimed me but let it be remembered that Prunella Scales was a woman who was married to a very loud man, lived on a very slow boat, and occasionally shouted at a tall hotelier.

Special Guest Blogger: Norse Goddess Frigg

Is it just me, or is eternity getting a bit long?
I know, I know. I’m the Queen. I’m the All-Mother. I’m the one who knows everyone’s destiny but keeps her mouth shut because, frankly, spoilers are rude. But looking back over the last few millennia, I’ve started to wonder if I’m being remembered for the right things. Or if I’m even being remembered as me.
First of all, if I hear one more mortal confuse me with Freyja, I am going to lose my divine mind.
I get it. We’re both blonde-ish. We both like gold. We both have names that start with 'Fr' but Freyja has a chariot pulled by cats. Cats. Have you ever tried to get a cat to go where you want it to? It’s a logistical nightmare. I, on the other hand, run the most powerful realm in the nine worlds while my
husband is out hanging off trees and trading his eyes for a sip of water.
Freyja is the goddess of love, beauty, and... well, fun whereas I'm the goddess of marriage, wisdom, and keeping the household from burning down.
She’s the party girl and i’m the one who makes sure there’s a designated Valkyrie to fly everyone home. My legacy shouldn’t just be the sensible one. I have a sense of humor! I once tricked Odin into helping the wrong army just to prove a point. That’s top-tier wifely trolling right there.
My biggest claim to fame is Frigedæg, Freitag or Friday. It’s my day and what have you humans done with it?
You’ve turned it into a day where you stop doing your jobs at 2:00 PM, eat greasy appetizers at a chain restaurant, stay up late and drink in the pub but do you think you’re thanking me? No. You’re thanking the concept of not being at work.
I wanted Friday to be a day of sacred oaths and weaving the fabric of society. Instead, it’s the day people get too drunk on margaritas and text their exes. It’s a bit insulting, really. I’m the goddess of the home, and most of you spend Friday night trying to find any reason not to be at home.
If I had known my name would be synonymous with Casual Fridays I would have lobbied for Tuesday. Tyr doesn't do anything on Tuesdays anyway. He just sits around and sighs all the time.
Then there’s my husband, Odin. Want to know the secret to a marriage that lasts several thousand years? Separate bedrooms and a very high tolerance for ravens, Huginn and Muninn,  hanging around the rafters, eavesdropping on my conversations with the Valkyries.
His legacy is all wisdom, poetry and war whereas mine is being the woman who actually knew what was going on while he was off on a five-year quest.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain a royal household when your husband keeps inviting every stray warrior who dies in battle to come live in your guest house? Valhalla is a nightmare for the plumbing.
Odin thinks he’s the master of secrets, but I’m the one who knows how to keep them. I know the fate of every soul, but I don’t go around shouting about it to look edgy. That’s the difference. He wants the glory and I just want the realm to stay in one piece while he’s out.
When it came ot my son, Baldur, I did what any mother would do. I went to every fire, every water, every iron, every stone, and every infectious disease and said, 'Hey, don't hurt my boy' and they all agreed! It was a masterpiece of administrative genius but I missed the mistletoe but in my
defense, when i realised i thought what’s that floppy little thing going to do?
Turns out, if you give a blind god a mistletoe arrow and let Loki whisper in his ear, it can do quite a lot.
People often depict me with a spinning wheel but i'm not making socks for the gods with it, i'm weaving the very fabric of reality and if I drop a stitch, a star goes out. If I change the tension, a kingdom falls. It’s a high-stakes job with zero vacation time. But does it get the same respect as Thor’s hammer?
No. Thor hits a giant with a mallet, and everyone writes a poem. I prevent the universe from unraveling at the seams, and people ask if I can hem their trousers.
If you want to celebrate me, you don’t need to sacrifice a goat or a virgin. Just enjoy your Friday. Drink something nice, stay home if you want to, and for the love of the Aesir, check your yard for mistletoe and try not to cause Ragnarok before Monday.

Starmer To Burnham

We have no way of knowing this early into Andy Burnham's Premiership what sort of Prime Minister he will be but we had better hope he makes a decent fist of it because if not we are facing a future of yet more right wing madness and this time it will be even worse as the corrupt and god-awful Nigel Farage and his racist pals could be waiting in the wings.
Ever since the Makerfield byelection, Keir Starmer's job was on life support and Andy Burnham was hanging around the plug socket looking shifty and now he is gone so bring on the Coronation of the Labour Parties new leader, and by default, the leader of the Nation.
At Keir Starmer's farewell address he was warmly applauded but such was he so forgettable, his legacy lasted for 30 minutes until Andy got up to speak and now we can start to believe there may be hope after all as he set about dismantling the Cabinet and installing his own people.
After years of agony listening to Keir’s speeches, his started off well with a promise to bring down the cost of living which seems to have been hanging around ever since the 2008 Financial Crash and made the ending of rough sleeping his first priority which is worthy but we got very little else about what his big plans are except for a promise to flesh them out over the coming weeks of Summer.
Liz Truss (remember her?) made a speech at some right wing shindig that Burnham would bankrupt the country and she said it with a straight face and hoped that nobody remembered that it was exactly what she did four years ago, or did you forget that bit Liz?
So far then it’s all a bit vague of what the Burnham era will be, a ten year plan he said but he will need to get a wriggle on as he's the Prime Minister now but as someone once said, all political lives end in failure and even though we know deep down it’s most likely going to end in tears and disappointment, just as it has with every other former Prime Minister, but this time it could be different.
It probably won't, you can't please everyone and every Prime Minister gets a short honeymoon period but Burnham is further to the left than Keir Starmer so fingers crossed that we may get some of that much needed Socialism that the Labour Party was bought into existence for. 

Special Guest Blogger: Charlie Kirk

If you had asked me five years ago if i would be a certified martyr of free speech, i would say that all i wanted was getting another shout-out from the 47th President himself.
Fast forward to today and instead of being surrounded by a wall of Trump memorabilia, a bookshelf crammed with The Bible and The Constitution, instead i got assassinated by a rogue coalition of globalists and deep-state operatives.
I literally went from from standing on a university lawn explaining how birth control medication screws up female brains while brandishing my Bible and a copy of The Constitution  to having a permanent spot on the front page of every left-leaning Twitter feed.
Before getting to the end which suddenly, quite dramatically, ends in a bullet to the neck, let’s rewind the tape and I was born in a small town and my first words were, 'Jesus loves the United States.' My dad taught me how to fix a car and how to spot a liberal from a mile away instilled in me three core values: faith, freedom, and the unshakeable belief that the CIA is spying on us.
From the moment I could hold a pen, I was scribbling arguments that the Founding Fathers would have wanted women to follow the biblical model in relationships and the Civil Rights movement was wrong.
I remember the first time I saw a Donald J. Trump rally on TV. It was 2015, and my mom was watching The Ellen Show. Suddenly, Trump appeared, his hair a glorious, golden comet of confidence. I turned the volume up, grabbed my first MAGA hat (hand-made, of course), and thought, That’s the man who will finally put God’s name on the front page of every newspaper.
From then on, my life became a series of I’m right, you're wrong moments whether it was debating the true meaning of the First Amendment or why shooting big holes in schoolchildren is a sacrifice worth making for our second amendment rights.
Between Sunday school, high school football, and endless re-watching of The Apprentice for educational purposes, I cultivated a love for two things, the truth (as told by my favorite President, Donald J. Trump) and a good, old-fashioned, 2nd-amendment rifle.
When I started my own think-tank , Turning Point USA , I figured, Why not give the world a place where free-thinking patriots can gather and discuss the true reason behind why the Government wants to replace all public drinking fountains with overpriced juice bars.
We hit every campus, set up booths with complimentary red MAGA hats and held talk-outs on topics like Why the Bible is the original manifesto (and why you should read it before any other textbook), how gun control is just a fancy term for the government’s way of making us all defenceless and how the mainstream media can’t tell you the truth but you can always trust a YouTube commentator.
And let me tell you, nothing felt better than seeing a freshman’s eyes widen when i patiently explained that the Covid distancing prohibitions was a plot against Christianity.
My growing fame earned me a place on the Top 10 Most Likely to Be Targeted By The Illuminati list but little did I know that list would become, quite literally, a prelude to my own assassination.
Picture this: I was invited to debate American gun laws at Utah Valley University. It’s a crisp September afternoon in 2025. The birds are singing and I’m wearing my favorite red baseball cap, a 'Jesus & Trump 2024' T-shirt, and a custom-made GOD LOVES YOU (even if you’re a tree hugging lefty) badge pinned to my lapel while the audience was a sea of bewildered liberal arts majors who probably thought Constitutional rights were a new indie band.
As I step onto the stage, five-foot-nine tower of unshakeable confidence, Bible in one hand, a copy of the Declaration of Independence in the other, and my trusty Make America Great Again cap perched on my head like a crown. I see the student crowd and I open my mouth to deliver the opening line, 'The right to bear arms is God-given, and if you think we shouldn’t have guns, you might as well be asking God to take away your Wi-Fi and I’m here to tell you why.'
The debate went as well as you’d expect when you throw a handful of biblical verses, a sprinkle of Trump’s most famous tweets, and a dash of the deep state is trying to take your guns into a room full of philosophy majors and then I heard a pop of a gunshot echoing across the quad.
The crowd erupted. Some students screamed, others started a chant that sounded suspiciously like “Maybe we should have less guns?” In that moment, my mind was a whirlwind of  'What the…?' mixed with when i said that some gun deaths every single is worth the cost to have the Second Amendment, I obviously meant the death of other people and not my own.
It was a divine moment, proof that God is sometimes too busy to be always watching over us but now that the dust has settled, I’ve taken some time to reflect on what this whole episode taught me and each blessed by Scripture and Trump’s tweets so to my supporters, keep fighting the good fight, keep waving those flags, keep quoting the Constitution, opposing gay marriage and most importantly stay vigilant and armed because although a faith-based approach to personal safety never hurt anyone in America, a bullet proof suit of armour sure helps.
In the name of Jesus, Donald J. Trump, and all the patriots who refuse to let the Libs ruin our day...Amen.
 

Mamdani Looking To Arrest Netanyahu

All i really know about the New York Mayor, Zohran Mamdani, is that he is an Arsenal fan and is politically on the left so that makes him a good guy in my book but his latest utterings regarding War Criminal Benjamin Netanyahu have left me wondering if he is my new favourite current Politician.
With the horrific Israeli war monger supposedly arriving in New York in September, Mamdani is examining the legal options of whether Netanyahu could be arrested and sent to the International Criminal Court if he lands in America.
In September the Israeli leader who finds himself in the top 40 list of who had killed the most people in History, between the Spanish Inquisitions Grand Inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada and ruthless psychopath leader Vlad the Impaler, avoided European airspace as he flew to New York to dodge a potential arrest for alleged war crimes and now Mamdani is looking to bring him to justice also.
He said that Netanyahu is a war criminal who belongs in the International Criminal Court in the Hague and will be arrested if US law allows which is an opinion that is held by many and he will do whatever the law allows him to do in New York City.
Predictably, Netanyahu always claims that anything criticising him or Israel is antisemitic as though conducting a genocide on the people of Gaza is not a big deal but if he thinks he has a case for murdering over 75,000 Palestinians, bombing their homes,schools and hospitals and stealing their land and attempting to ethnically cleanse the area, then he should welcome a trip to the Court to make his case so I wonder why he is not so keen to do just that?

Special Guest Blogger: Georgio Armani

The name alone, it resonates, no? It whispers of impeccably tailored suits, the rustle of silk, the glorious, understated elegance. Mamma mia.
I remember, not so long ago in my youth, when my biggest problem was not burning the pasta. Yes, vero. My ambition, in my youth, was less about dressing the world’s elite and more about convincing my mother that a career in fashion wasn’t just an elaborate excuse to avoid becoming a doctor.
'Giorgio,' she'd sigh, waving a wooden spoon, 'A tailor? You want to spend your life with pins in your mouth?' but Mama, i would reply, i just want to make people feel beautiful! but that was part of being Italian, the passion, the drama, and the loud arguments over dinner that end with everyone hugging and eating more pasta.
My first foray into fashion wasn’t exactly a graceful ballet. More like a clumsy stumble into a fabric bin. I worked in a department store, La Rinascente. My job? Displaying window mannequins. I’d arrange them, pose them, give them little narratives in my head. This one, she’s off to the opera. This one, she’s just broken up with a terrible tenor. I’d spend hours, perfecting their stance, making sure their imaginary lives were as chic as possible.
I was learning. Learning how clothes spoke, how they moved, how they transformed.
Then came the suits. Ah, the suits. Everyone talks about the suits. The deconstructed jacket. The softness. The way it moved with the body, not against it. It wasn’t a revolution, per se, it was just common sense. Why should a man feel like he’s wearing a straitjacket when he could feel like he’s wearing a second skin?
And the fashion shows! Dio mio! The backstage chaos, the models tripping over imaginary obstacles, the last-minute panic when a zipper mysteriously vanishes.
The pressure to be Giorgio Armani was immense. People expect me to glide, to pontificate, to look as if I’ve just stepped out of one of my own ad campaigns. And most days, va bene, I do. But sometimes, sometimes all I want is to kick off my exquisitely crafted loafers, put on a comfortable, slightly worn tracksuit, and devour a truly enormous bowl of pasta al ragù. But no, the public expects the maestro. So, I adjust my collar, straighten my shoulders, and glide.
So will i be remembered for the thousands of suits that have graced red carpets, boardrooms, and even a few weddings where the groom wore Armani and looked better than the bride?
Will it be the perfumes that evoke sensuality and strength? The sunglasses that hide a multitude of sins and hangovers?
Will they remember my incessant battle against bad taste? Dio mio, the horrors I have witnessed! baseball caps, Polyester leisure suits, neon accessories, poorly fitting jeans that commit fashion crimes against humanity. I've spent my life whispering, no, shouting (elegantly, of course) that simplicity is sophistication. That less is more.
I may no longer be here to oversee impeccable behaviour but i still notice the fashion shows, tutting softly at a misplaced seam or a too-bright accessory so Ciao, for now and remember, always dress well. You never know who you’ll meet.

Everyone Loves China Now

Pew Research surveyed more than 42,000 people across 36 countries and asked them 'Who do you find less alarming, the Communists or Donald Trump' and the result was that the world now views China more favourably than the United States and have more confidence in President Xi to do the right thing than President Ding-a-Ling in the White House.
Americans’ nearest neighbors Canada and Mexico,  the poor sods actually bordering the Trump led insanity, viewed China more positively than the U.S. as did almost every European nation asked such as France, Greece, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Spain, Sweden, Turkey and the UK.
Of the 36 only 6 (Poland, Philippines, South Korea, India, Japan and Israel) preferred the child-like Tangerine Tyrant. 
The Mango Moron has single handedly done more for the global image of the Chinese Communist Party than 75 years of Beijing propaganda, a million little red books or every panda they ever loaned out and all Xi Jinping had to do was stand there quietly while the orange wrecking ball did his thing.
The reasons cited by those interviewed was that America interferes in the affairs of others (75%), it is an unreliable partner (52%) and doesn't contribute to the peace and stability (52%) and specifically America's reputation went spinning down the toilet due to the Iran war, the demands to take Greenland, kidnapping Maduro, the backing of Israel and the handling of Gaza and tariffs
Asked about the poll, the White House trotted out a flunky to declare that Trump has done more for global stability than anyone else, citing among his triumphs having obliterated Iran’s nuclear facilities which means that in the Trumps Governments eyes, responding to a poll that says the world thinks you’re destabilising the planet by bragging about the bombing campaign the pollsters literally identified as a reason the world thinks you’re destabilising the planet is a winner.
China didn't have to win hearts and minds, it just had to stay quiet and not be the loudest lunatic in the room and allow the dysfunctional Americans to do their work for them.
Maybe Xi should send them a bottle of something fizzy and a thank you card for making their Authoritarian regime seem more cuddly than the current one in Washington.