I can’t see any ‘equal opportunities’ for the throne

One of the oldest established forms of sex
discrimination, the practice of ­ignoring girls in favour of boys in family succession permeates the royals, almost the entire aristocracy and beyond.

­Traditionally, families have controlled the dissipation of their wealth by favouring one child over the others, a necessary unfairness — when surely the unfairness of chronology is preferable to sexism.

Mr Brown's idea is that we should follow the lead of Norway and Sweden and allow the firstborn, as opposed to the firstborn male, to inherit the throne.

Sadly, the subject got swamped by the MPs' expenses row and Mr Brown's assorted woes: instead of greeting it with a cry of "about bloody time", MPs stonewalled, saying it would be "difficult" and "slow".

Historian Andrew Roberts blustered about the inadvisability of altering the Act of Settlement, as if it was akin to rewriting the Ten Commandments. David Cameron said Conservatives would "not be prioritising it".

But when William Rees-Mogg said: "I do not think the sexual discrimination of the monarchy is high on the agenda of most women," he wasn't speaking for me.

Girls! The most powerful form of oppression is when the oppressed help to endorse it.

Women have meekly accepted the status quo for centuries.

Those voicing an opinion against it are dismissed as shrill.

Dismiss the royal succession as nothing to do with your life and you are missing the trickle-down effect this could bring across society.

A sea change wouldn't even have to ruffle the Queen's deep conventionality when the next two generations of Windsors are men anyway.

She, as top hereditary dog — and a woman, for heaven's sake — is in the perfect position to support the idea, especially as the discrimination touches her.

As a woman she cannot raise her husband up to her status like a King can his wife.

We insult Prince Philip's long duty as her consort by thinking it's fine that he still shuffles behind.

Myths developed to back up the male sense of entitlement need to be punctured.

First up is the "family name" and the promulgation that it will be "lost" if there are only women to hand.

However, women don't legally lose their family name when they marry; changing surnames is a mere convention grown hidebound.

Woman have the same family blood running in their veins as men.

No, the only reason that there could be any difficulty in overhauling this iniquity is a lack of will.

And that would appear to be a problem for many of the great and good, rather than the supposedly sexist Mr Brown.

Mousetrap trauma

Looking out of my bedroom window something caught my eye; a mouse scuttling across the pavement.
How sweet, I thought.

Two nights later, tidying the kitchen, something caught my eye: a mouse scuttling along the skirting. You must die, I thought — so I bought an array of traps.

The vicious, plastic version of the old-fashioned trap proved too sensitive.

The "mouse maze" failed to lure them, as did an "irreversible tunnel", while the "electronic plug" deterred only my children, who were driven mad by the high-pitch peeping, to which adult ears are oblivious.

The only device I had any success with was a "sticky mat" but the results were horrific.

When I got home, a mouse had wrenched its tail off in its struggle to escape.

Trying to free it, I tore off its whiskers. I carried it to the local park in the wan hope that it could start over as a Manx mouse with impaired width judgment.

It was so traumatic that I have decided there is only one thing for it: re-brand infestation as co-existence.

On the road to nowhere

Inspired by the folk of Butt Hole Road in Yorkshire, who successfully changed their street name to Archer's Way, I emailed local councillors with an idea to help house prices in my corner of Brent.

I suggested that given the cult of the Notting Hill area, they should rename Chamberlayne Road — the northern continuation of Ladbroke Grove —"Upper Ladbroke Grove". The only outlay would be street signs.

The short-term costs to businesses would be for long-term gain, surely.

I fully expected to be ignored but far from it; I received six letters and seven emails on the subject — before being rejected.

It was "something that would need 100 per cent agreement" along the street, a referendum for which they had no energy.

Health and Safety feared that London Emergency Services would be confused by the similarities between the two names.

Maybe I should try again with Butt Hole Road.

Beeps to banish the bad breath brigade

On the rush-hour Tube yesterday, I nearly fainted from the sulphurous cloud billowing from a nearby traveller's mouth.

The worst thing about bad breath is that telling someone is almost entirely taboo.

Not even close friends tell each other and yet this affliction has a huge effect: on communication, friendships, romantic possibilities.

We assume that the toxic-smog purveyor has a cavalier attitude to their fellows' comfort — when, in fact, it is very hard for them to know.

Imagine a little instrument; let's call it Hali's Comment — something like an electronic harmonica that can read breath quality.

Strength levels would range from "Mountain Stream" through "Dying Labrador" to "Shut Your Mouth & Go Home".

That little baby would make someone a fortune.

Read Liza Campbell's blog at: lizaclizaclizac.blogspot.com