Be it stories of young yobs making decent people's lives a misery to the goings-on that have been exposed at St John Fisher RC School by Ofsted, the city council, and, most spectacularly, in the House Of Commons, by MP Stewart Jackson.

But this bad press is far outweighed by the many stories about the good work and achievements of young people and schools. And quite right too.

In this city in the past few weeks, we have seen some of that work recognised in grand and glitzy ceremonies. First, there were the city's Oscars – Peterborough Children's and Young People's film award nights. These were swiftly followed by the ET's very own Education Awards.
Both events spoke loud and clear of the talent and hard work of our children and schools.

Of course there are problems, and education standards in the city must be improved. We need a literate, numerate, confident and aspirational workforce if the planned growth for the city is to be a positive and not a negative. But we must be suspicious of assuming such an improvement is to be measured merely by exam results.

I was delighted to be once again invited to present one of the Oscars to some of the gifted young film-makers.

It was a fantastic evening but one thing struck me in particular. That was the number of nominations and victories for Bushfield Community School.

Could this be the same school that was named, shamed and threatened with closure just a few weeks before when it appeared on a Government hitlist of failing schools?

It is a clear indication that, whatever facts and figures the Government based that assessment on, it only told part – and arguably – a very small part of the Bushfield story.

I refuse to believe a "failing'' school can show up so well in such awards.

This belief is confirmed by the schools "value-added'' performance which is in the top 10 per cent in the country.

The staff and pupils at Bushfield have had an undeservedly rough ride. Not from the media, but from the politicians and their advisors.

Ready, steady, totter
In my endless quest to find summer sports to keep me occupied while footballers take a barely-earned rest, I have stumbled on a sure-fire winner – high heel sprinting.

Requiring pace, balance, lovely long hair and legs to die for it is a fine test of athletic ability.

Hopefully, it will soon be included in the Olympics to give what used to be an unmissable sporting treat a much needed shot in the arm (and not one involving performance enhancing drugs).

The only event in Beijing I'm looking forward to is the gymnastics to cheer on city prospect Louis Smith... and beach volleyball, of course.

MSF might be left with egg on her face
One of the things I adore about My Special Friend is that she can't bear the thought of any living thing suffering. With the exception of me, obviously.

Me and MSF are full-on carnivores but she likes to think that the plate of meat she's about to devour has enjoyed a happy life frolicking in the fields before some thug wearing an apron got to it.

I'm not so bothered. I've never so much as pulled a wing off a bluebottle, but, hey, it's a jungle out there.

I don't see much that's humane about a lion ripping an antelope to pieces. But why should there be? He's the king of the beasts. Being beastly is a compliment not a criticism to old Leo.

Which brings us round to the saga of Old Cotswold Legbar. Pardon, I hear you chorus. I'd never heard of them either until MSF staggered back from the supermarket with a box under her arm.

I now know they are a type of egg. An egg that comes with a shell in a pretty pastel colour. The ones she'd bought were blue and I half suspect she bought them to match our kitchen units.

As well as the snob value, they were free-range and what's more they included "50 per cent extra free'' so they ticked all her boxes.

But if they don't make good Yorkshire puds, she'll be for it.

North Westgate saga . . .
Great news on the revised plans for North Westgate. After the protests and petitions, the developers have listened to the people and decided to save the iconic Perkins multi-storey car park. Glad to see though that The Brewery Tap is still going to be bulldozed – nobody gives a damn about it anyway.

Are you chafing?
I may have dreamt this or perhaps I'd just got too far down that bottle of Rioja but I could have sworn I saw an advert on the telly for anti-chafing gel.

"Do you chafe when you move?'', the voice-over men inquired.
Incredibly, it wasn't aimed at sportsmen, the elderly, or the disabled or anyone who might have legitimate need for such products. This was aimed squarely at the average couch potato.

Have we become such a nation of fatties that we have created a market for a product that oils body parts that were never intended to need oiling ie your left and right thigh?
Where will it end?

Will chubby teenagers at the end of term disco inquire of each other
"Are you chafing?'' "Are you asking?''

For goodness sake, let's stop this madness now. Eat less, you porkers.

Right up my street
When I heard there was a plan to name roads after the great and good of Peterborough I let out a groan that could be heard all the way up Thornton Boulevard, oops sorry, I mean Bourges Boulevard. I feared we would be lumbered with a string of roads immortalising boring old councillors. Somehow I doubted we would get charming place names such as Voterigging Avenue or Benefitcheat Lane.

So I was pleasantly surprised by the suggestions put forward by Cllr John Fox who mentioned the former world sausage eating champion Walter Cornelius, Posh legend Terry Bly and pizzaman turned philanthropist Peter Boizot.

I could live with any of those, they're right up my street.

Is crime dropping, Julie?
New Home Office figures show a drop in crime in Peterborough.
I wonder what Chief Constable Julie Spence makes of them.
After all, she hit the headlines when she dismissed Home Office figures on the number of immigrants as "poor'' claiming they could be out by as much as two-thirds.