Ignore the Puritans - mother knows best

13 April 2012

Pity the pregnant woman who has the audacity to contemplate a second drink. Caroline Williams, 26, five months pregnant, was thrown out of The Cricketer in Hove for taking a sip from a friend's glass. She herself had already consumed a pint of lager. Her friend had just been refused at the bar because they suspected one of the drinks might be for the "heavily pregnant lady".

See how far the tentacles of the vigilante foetal protection squad are starting to spread. How long before shoppers start snatching Camembert from the trolley of any woman who looks like she might have a baby bump? Will baristas start secretly serving decaf to unsuspecting mothers-to-be desperate for an illicit espresso? Fellow non-anorexics beware: soon we might need a badge saying "Don't worry, I'm not pregnant" if we're on a big night out.

There's a precedent for this. In New York you would almost certainly raise eyebrows in a bar if you drink at all while pregnant. Over there some liquor stores have stickers on their doors: a giant belly with a red line through it. Legally they can't refuse to serve you - yet. But the pregnancy police - motto: "mother doesn't know best" - want it to happen soon.

This attitude, imported from the US, is the worst in busybody con-descension. It's hateful. And pregnant women might as well get used to it. Because once you're a mother, suddenly everyone else knows what's good for you.

Once, a French friend of my in-laws attempted to censor my dinner while I was breastfeeding, murmuring that he would quite understand if I didn't drink any wine or eat the freshly picked mushrooms -"because you must know the risk to the baby". Little did he know that the only person whose life was at risk at that moment was him. I thanked him politely, discreetly drank a glass of white and nibbled at the champignons. The baby drank fulsomely from the breast afterwards and is still alive. Quel miracle!

A lot of the advice given in pregnancy is, in any case, mumbo. It treats women as if they are idiots who cannot look after themselves. Of course you shouldn't drink 20 cups of espresso a day. Nor is this the time to take your chances on a packet of prawns past their sell-by date. And if you're going to drink beer by the pint and a half, don't make too much of a habit of it -which Ms Williams assures us she doesn't.

Far more dangerous than a unit or two in pregnancy, though, is the increasing tendency to treat mothers as if they are stupid children who are a danger to themselves -and to their baby. This kind of intervention is pious self-righteousness, masquerading as altruism. Protecting the rights of the unborn always seems to involve removing the right of a grown adult woman to behave however she sees fit. And that's very wrong indeed.

Soft porn, the Picasso way

HOPING for a cleansing shot of culture in this tawdry world, I wangled my way into a private view of Picasso: Challenging the Past at the National Gallery, hosted by charismatic art historian Tim Marlow. The exhibition is breathtaking, although I recommend taking a shortcut straight to Room Six for Picasso's step-by-step versions of paintings by Delacroix, Manet and Velázquez.

Elsewhere it's all Sleeping Nudes of Picasso's many mistresses, including one I'm sure Jacqui Smith's husband would enjoy. Reclining Nude Playing with a Cat (1964) featured a woman with a black kitten between her legs. The artist's intentional "joke", Marlow tactfully explained. Oh dear. This was not exactly the highbrow highlight I was counting on. Shame on you, Pablo.

I'm so unmoved by the mob

Book now for your last chance to see On the Waterfront at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, adapted by and starring Steven Berkoff as a demented mafia boss (until 25 April). One of the best-reviewed plays this year, it's an admirable production, with a fine lead performance by Simon Merrells in the Marlon Brando role. So why wasn't I bowled over by it? I found myself irretrievably distracted by the self-conscious miming, gurning and slow-motion acting. And also by the fact that there seemed to be no one my age in the audience. They all looked way over 50 or well under 30. So that's who's filling theatres at the moment, I thought to myself: anyone who's too old or too young to have a mortgage.

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