Keep your shirts on, girls!

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The problem started with reports in the Indian media. Indian consular sections, it was said, in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Russia and Ukraine had tightened visa application screenings for women aged 15 (yes, fifteen!) to 40 in order to prevent the travel of sex workers to India. Presumably that tightening included the inclusion of an extra question: "Do you propose to charge for sex during your time in India?"

In any event, the supposed screening got right up the noses of Ukrainian activist group Femen which decided to stage a protest outside the Indian ambassador's residence in Kiev by taking their shirts off and shouting "We're not whores" or words to that effect.

And whilst the women's protest may well have caught the attention of the world's media, (not to mention the Indian Ambassador who couldn't believe his luck when he popped onto his balcony to have a cigarette), I can't help thinking that Femen have done their cause more harm than good. For the fact of the matter is that whilst the majority of women aged 15-40 in the maligned countries will certainly not be sex workers, taking your top off in public, whether you're a sex worker or not, is really not the done thing generally, and would most certainly be deemed as unacceptable behaviour in a country like India. Seeing the four feminists cavorting outside the goggle-eyed ambassador's residence in Kiev, who couldn't be forgiven for thinking that this was just the type of behaviour which these days seems to be the trademark of drunken western youth? And who wouldn't be behind the Indian authorities on this occasion, in agreeing with them that it is precisely this type of exhibitionist behaviour - non-whorish though it may be - which they wish to keep off Indian streets?

Femen's case is further weakened by knowing that exposing their breasts is something they seem to make a habit of. "The price of sugar has gone up; off with our shirts! The cat's thrown up on my duvet; off with our shirts."

Oh, and by the way girls, it's "Ukraine is not a brothel" and "I am not a prostitute".

Moving on in England

We're moving house in a couple of weeks' time. I'm paying just over 400 quid to move the contents of one house less than 500 yards into the new house; and that' a rock-bottom rate. If I'd been so inclined, I could have paid closer to a thousand pounds.

My old friend and colleague Steve O'Donoghue reminded me yesterday that now would have been a good time to be able to call on 30 wiry Indian men and a battered old lorry. I still recall having a heavy fridge-freezer delivered to the first flat I rented in Bangalore. A little chap, probably not much over five feet tall, somehow managed to carry it on his back up four flights of stairs and still, incredibly, managed to slip off his shoes before entering the house. Delivery charges? About 100 rupees I think.

A taste of winter weather

We had snow last night; not a lot, but enough to send my wife into paroxysms of joy, and the children into various states of amused fascination. This photo was taken when I thought I'd be going into the office. However, I soon realised that the snow had also been enough to send the road and rail networks into chaos and so shortly after this photo opportunity, I abandoned the work idea and jumped into jeans and a jumper instead. Today has been spent watching snowflakes falling, and what a pleasant experience that is, after many years in the land of heat and dust. Mind you, we don't half miss the Indian temperatures.