While the western world held its breath to wait for law enforcement officers to search streets and houses for a bomber, a powerful earthquake struck China. The quake has killed at least 70 people and injured at least 400 in China's south-western province of Sichuan. The human toll is expected to rise.

Reports from Beijing say electrical and water supplies have been cut to the affected area. Telephone lines are also believed to be down. 2,000 soldiers had been dispatched to the area to help with rescue efforts. Close to the epicenter, the city of Ya'an has a population of 1.5 million.

I'm a citizen of the World. Why didn't I take more notice of an earlier 8.0 magnitude quake in Sichuan in May 2008, which killed nearly 90,000 people? Does our press favor stories that are closer to home—closer to our hearts?

On checking the internet I found other reports for Friday. A 7.0-magnitude earthquake struck in seas off far northern Japan and far eastern Russia, but no damage was expected. A massive earthquake struck Iran, causing devastation across the country, in a tremor felt across the region in Pakistan, India and other areas of the Middle East. Early reports suggest the 7.8 magnitude quake is the most powerful to hit the country for nearly 40 years. Apparently, both major earthquakes were symptoms of India's ongoing, slow-motion collision with Asia, which gave rise to the Himalaya. In Qinghai, the two tectonic plates slide against each other, while in Sichuan, the Indian plate slips below its vast Asian counterpart.

Also, the largest earthquake to hit Britain for 10 years struck large parts of England and Wales today, triggering at least one aftershock. Thank goodness, there was no report of serious injury.

Back in America, the second Boston marathon killer has been caught. The USA has shown zero toleration for killers targeting innocent victims. Good. That's justice. This type of outrage should be stopped.

Look at the bigger picture. Earth's mighty force detonated 7.4 miles underground. The most worrying thing of all is: there is no way of disabling the next powerful eruption.

Last night, The British Animal Honors 2013 brought to light some wonderful, disgusting and heart-rending stories. All the animals featured in last night’s celebration had loving, devoted owners, and happily-ever-after stories. There were dogs, horses, cats, otters, even endangered fish.

A segment on cruelty to captive bears was harrowing. The large animals wearing metal appendages around their body were confined to a cage so small they couldn't turn. Resuced after a life of subjection to constant withdrawal of their fluids, they now live free in a large park.

The show showed the achievements of the country’s most extraordinary animals; there were the absolutely adorable, those who play a vital role in airport security, in international war zones, and many who have transformed their owners’ lives.

The first winner, Haatchi, the three-legged mutt who survived being hit by a train and befriended a seriously disabled youngster, didn't say much—not even a bark, although his wagging tail expressed happiness. A snippet from stage show War Horse showed some of the trials horses went through in the Second World War. Afterwards, most horses were abandoned overseas. There were a couple of genuinely jaw-dropping moments. The guide dog with the ability to tell its owner when a seizure was approaching, with exactly 42 minutes’ notice, for example, and the sniffer dog which escaped capture from the Taliban in Afghanistan.

And as lifetime achievement awards go in the animal world, Born Free ’s Virginia McKenna took some beating. Her standing ovation was richly deserved, and her passionate, inspirational, show-stealing speech moving. She spoke about how every human and animal on earth should be free, not confined to a cage and subjected to unspeakably cruel treatment.

Overall, I enjoyed watching the British Animal Awards. However, Virginia McKenna's impassioned speech left me wondering about pot plants. They are living things, confined to a container, and at the owner's mercy. Only last year, my prized (I mean respected and esteemed)bay tree died from a disease, despite my every effort to save it. Had the tree been free, maybe it could have overcome the skirmish.

After a gun carriage drawn by six black horses carried the coffin through the streets to St Paul's, the Queen led mourners in St Paul's Cathedral at the funeral of Baroness Thatcher, Britain's longest serving prime minister of modern times. Dignitaries waived their differences, and more than 2,000 guests from around the world paid their last respects at the biggest such occasion since the Queen Mother's funeral in 2002.

Thousands of members of the public and the armed forces lined the funeral procession route through London.

When historians look back at the Thatcher years, they will note: the savage battle over the economy in the early 1980s, the victory in the Falklands in 1982, the bitter struggle with the miners in 1984-85, the deregulation of the City in 1986, the disastrous introduction of the poll tax, and the high drama of her resignation in 1990.

Her supporters acclaim her as the woman who saved her country, her critics shame her as the woman who destroyed it. But historians will surely reach a more evenhanded verdict. The very fact that she was a woman may well have been the most remarkable thing about her.

When Margaret Thatcher first joined the cabinet in 1970, the Wimpy hamburger chain still banned women from coming in late on their own on the bizarre grounds that only prostitutes would be out at that time of night.

Thatcher, who loathed feminism, came to embody the extraordinary expansion in the horizons of Britain's women, which was arguably the single biggest social change of the 20th Century.

But Baroness Thatcher was subject to the common destiny of all human beings, and therefore prone to illness. Even her great strength couldn't save her from Alzheimer's disease during the last years of her life.

Dementia is caused by brain diseases; the most common are Alzheimer's and vascular dementia. One in three people over 65 will develop dementia. However, for too long dementia has been kept in the shadows and families have been left to struggle alone.  At this time, people should reflect on the impact dementia can have on a person’s life.  By speaking openly about the effects of the condition, we will begin to tackle some of the stigma that still surrounds dementia and ensure that everyone gets support.

My own mother suffered from dementia. The condition went undiagnosed for many years—even I didn't recognize it when I visited her in Australia from England. I thought she was acting a bit weird. My sister and I laughed about her forgetting things. If only I could take back that unkind action.

Of course, I wonder if the same thing will happen to me. Perhaps, by writing, I'll keep my mind sharp. Do we know what will happen to us in the future? Would we want a crystal ball?

I can feel a stubbornness rising up inside me. You see, we ate a late fish meal yesterday, forced on us by people we've grown to know well.

My husband has been driving the elderly couple around for eight years. From a common background in London, they had plenty to talk about. Although he's retired from work as a cab driver, my husband still helps them when called. Lately, Steward has asked Brian to deliver cooked fish from a shop about five miles away, once or twice a week. Each time, he's cajoled my husband to share the meal. I've learned that the Jewish people's generosity with food stems from the time when they were lost in the wilderness.

At Steward's insistence, we divided one piece of plaice, fried in a crispy batter of superb quality, between us. Since then, he's passed on the message through his wife that he wants us to order some fish for ourselves. Each time, my husband has refused on the grounds that he'd just cooked us a good meal.

Yesterday, I answered the phone and found myself unable to refuse their generous offer. They would eat their meal early so we could partake. What could I say? I accepted, although I didn't want the fish, which, although delicious, contained tons of fat which I found swilling around the backing sheet after the last portion I'd reheated.

                Now we were committed, my husband and I decided to eat a snack to tide us over the three-hour wait for our meal. I felt grumpy. My stomach wanted more at the accustomed time. When the fish arrived, I didn't enjoy it, either because I'd progressed past the hunger period, or the meal lacked the vegetables cooked the way I've grown to love.

The experience taught me how much I appreciate my husband, and also, how I like my life the way it is. Right, I know life is change—that we must bend before the wind like bamboo to avoid snapping—that something will force change in time. But I don't want to. And I don't want to be force-fed fish.

Anyway, all the fat content is bad for the health.

The Atkins Diet is still the source of unending controversy. If Dr Robert Atkins has instilled one message into the mind of the weight-conscious layman, it is that carbs make you fat. A decade after his death you'll still hear people attacking bread, pasta and potatoes as the root of all rotundity.

That's because the Atkins diet, first devised in 1972 but made famous by his second book, Dr Atkins' New Diet Revolution, in 2002, advocated a drastically reduced carbohydrate intake.  Followers of his high-protein diet could eat unlimited meat, eggs, cheese, fish and shellfish.

There is no perfect plan for losing weight. A person has to balance calorie intake against exercise and life-style. Let me say it again: Nobody is going to force-feed me. I'm in charge of my own body.

I feel better after that rant. And slightly silly. Are you happy with your normal diet?

I'm saddened after the horrific bombing in Boston yesterday, which killed four people watching the end of a marathon run and injured 140 others. It seems we can never be safe going about our lives in public places. We spout platitudes like: If your number's up or, if the bullet's got your name on it, to make some sense of the way aggressive perpetrators kill innocent bystanders. Some form of comfort is needed to help the families of all those affected. Perhaps faith will alleviate their suffering. The survivors will cling together, sharing their remaining love and the children will clutch their teddy bears while they drift into restless sleep.

I never had a soft toy to cuddle. The only doll I can remember is Betty and how she looked remains hidden by the mists of time. I went through mug shots of the contenders from the forties and this fright of a composition doll looks the closest to Betty. No wonder I never formed an attachment to a doll. My sister, who is four years younger than me, was presented with a softer version, forever known as Rubber Doll. Three years later, my baby sister had a celluloid doll.

My father took the picture of four-year-old me with the doll for a newspaper article for the Melbourne Herald newspaper. The print is marked: 4/- ea. That means four shillings. The cut-out on the back reads:

Can you remember your earliest toy, doll or Teddy Bear?

Today, I'm thinking about the first job I held. It's hard to decide which one came first 55 years ago. Let me see how it happened. In 1958, my mother, sisters and I moved from Melbourne, Australia to Adelaide. Uncle Peter's wife had left him and his two young children needed care. We arrived in Brighton by the coast, where my great-grandparents had built one of the first houses in the new settlement.

At the age of 16 years, I'd never had a boyfriend, but longed for my first encounter. I applied to transfer to the local high school. However, at my interview, the head teacher advised me to forget about further education because I obviously wasn't interested. He was right. At 5'10", I'd trained as a model and wore the latest trends. Can you imagine a teacher giving this recommendation these days?

Anyway, I landed a job at a receptionist job at an advertising agency. My tasks were answering the phone and passing on messages. I can't remember doing anything else. There might have been filing tasks. My grandmother, who worked as a deputy-head for a private school, made me delicious rye bread sandwiches with sour pickle for lunch.

The Glenelg tram took me on the 20 minute journey to and from work. The excitement of the venture never wore off. Those trams, with their timber bench-type seats, walnut paneling and brass fixtures, were splendid examples of Victorian engineering. They smelled of tobacco smoke and old oil.




After six months, my employer decided I would be better suited to something else and passed me on to his friend in the Adelaide Hills, where I worked as a doctor's receptionist for about a year.

On thinking back, I was intelligent, bright and personable, but completely lacking in the desire to learn—stubborn and self-motivated with a drop-out teenager mentality. Supported by a doting mother, I simply loved life and gave no thought to the future. Self-confidence, a belief in God, and a desire to remain true to positive principles, steered me through potential pitfalls.

I went on to experience amazing things, meet people from all walks of life, travel the world, live in different countries, work in many jobs and finally, write—poetry, songs and novels. You can see the four published books at the bottom of the page. Five more will be released in due time.

Perhaps my reminiscences will help you understand why some teenagers are seemingly dopey. Don't give up on them. Life offers a purpose that is sometimes hidden during these formative years.

A fact-based drama I watched last night set me thinking. Although not the usual type of film I would choose, the good acting from Al Pacino and Johny Depp held me enthralled and drew me into the plot. The astounding thing was: I loved the characters, despite their wrong doing. I could understand why they lived each day within the regime of the Mafia, and played by their rules.

Because of my comprehension, the bible's teaching rang in my mind. Love they neighbor as thyself. I loved the characters, despite what they did—and some of it was pretty gruesome.

Could the same thing be applied to everyone who lives around us—our neighbors. What about our enemies? Could we understand what drives them to act the way they do? Not just understand, but truly love them?

Each of us makes occasional mistakes, chooses the wrong path, lashes out in anger, or blurts hurtful words. And yet, we go on loving and forgiving ourselves, and vowing to change our ways. If we can do that, perhaps we could apply it to the people around us.

For instance: Mr. Bloggs upstairs leaves his clothes line in plain view for days on end instead of tidying it away. I could excuse him because, from his window, the bright yellow lines wouldn't clash with the green grass the way it does from my view below. Instead of bringing it to his attention, I chat to him each time he passes and sympathize with his problems. Okay, there are worse problems than this example. I'm sure you can supply your own. I live a sheltered life.

In Donnie Brasco, Al Pacino's character gave love in his own way to Johny Depp, his underling, secretly working for the CIA. At the end, the Mafia man forgave the betrayal from the youngster he'd taken under his wing. This love redeemed him as a character.

Life is just as complicated as the '97 film. Each person lives to a set of rules imposed by their own society, belief system, creed or gang. If we could understand what lies hidden inside the people we meet, our life would be so rewarding. Maybe we'd grow to love them despite the way they act.

The news today about the Paris sale of 70 Hopi tribe masks for exorbitant sums of money brings into question who owns early American heritage—or, for that matter, early mankind's history.

Lawyers for the Hopi tribe had asked for the auction to be cancelled on the grounds that the masks must have been stolen from the tribe. It considers them sacred and blessed with divine spirits.

However, auctioneers say the masks had been bought and sold in the past and were legally acquired. They claimed blocking the sale would have implications for the trade of indigenous art and could potentially force French museums to hand back collections they have bought.

In a linking report, the biggest survey of Native American DNA has concluded that the New World was settled in three major waves. The majority of today's indigenous Americans descend from a single group of migrants that crossed from Asia to Alaska 15,000 years ago or more.

Earlier, an archaeologist discovered caches of tools and animal remains from around 12,000 years ago, found on islands off the California coast, which give remarkable insight into the lives of the first Americans. Fine tool technology and a rich maritime economy existed there. The finds suggest that rather than a land passage to South America, early humans may have used coastal routes.

In 2004, the archaeologist from the University of South Carolina found artifacts along the Savannah River in Allendale County to be from around 50,000 years ago. The findings are significant because they suggest that humans inhabited North America well before the last ice age more than 20,000 years ago, a potentially explosive revelation in American archaeology.

For five years, Dr. Goodyear continued to add artifacts and evidence that a pre-Clovis people existed, slowly eroding the long-held theory by archaeologists that man arrived in North America around 13,000 years ago. See the full story here.

The dawn of modern homo sapiens occurred in Africa between 60,000 and 80,000 years ago. Evidence of modern man's migration out of the African continent has been documented in Australia and Central Asia at 50,000 years and in Europe at 40,000 years. The fact that humans could have been in North America at or near the same time is expected to spark debate among archaeologists worldwide, raising new questions on the origin and migration of the human species.

With archaeologist's theories clashing, it is clear we have more to learn.

Should individuals own mankind's early heritage? Contention still rages between Greece and the British Museum over the Eglin Marbles. Is it possible for everyone to return artifacts to their original place?

What happens to your data storage facilities hosted in the cloud after you're gone? With people increasingly placing content on social networks, Google offers digital afterlife to handle what happens to your data after you die.

"We hope that this new feature will enable you to plan [...]— in a way that protects your privacy and security — and make life easier for your loved ones after you’re gone." The California-based company also owns YouTube, photo-sharing service Picasa and Blogger. Click here to see details of the Inactive Account Manager.

Other companies have also attempted to tackle the questions after a person's death. Facebook, as an example, allows users to memorialize an account.

Nobody wants to contemplate their own death, but it's as certain as the daily change between light and dark for most of us. Not if you live in the North Pole, of course. There's always an exception.

Now cyberspace companies have raised the question, we are faced with a dilemma.  Should we plan ahead or duck under the quilt and snooze?

I plan to write a daily blog for 2013 as a lasting record of my perspective on what happened in the world. I hadn't thought about how that could be achieved. Because I use Weebly, I need to do some private planning to memorialize my account. Or should I care what happens? Would anyone read what I've written?

A friend who belonged to the Internet Writers Workshop died last year. All his writing was lost because his family was not interested in recovering his countless unpublished novels.

I can see the same thing happening to my blog. Most of my immediate family is deceased. Teenage grandchildren, scattered around the world, have yet to form into the people they were meant to be. The dilemma remains.
What will you do?

For someone like me, living a safe, protected life in the UK, it's hard to believe people are still fighting wars. The conflict is not one side of chivalrous knights against another. Modern trends target the innocent who want nothing more than to live their lives in peace.

However, a leading rights group has warned that the Syrian Air Force is carrying out deliberate air strikes against civilians and also indiscriminate attacks. 700,000 deaths are estimated to have resulted from the conflict, which targeted cities, towns and neighborhoods under the control of opposition forces.

Human Rights Watch says it visited 52 sites in north-western Syria, documenting 59 such unlawful attacks on opposition-controlled sites in Aleppo, Idlib and Latakia governorates in the country's north west. It points out that both types of attacks, estimated to have killed thousands, are serious violations of international law. Government forces had launched strikes and artillery attacks on bakeries and civilians waiting to buy bread, and on hospitals, with strong evidence those facilities had been deliberately targeted.

They can't even go out of their houses to shop. These people are mothers with children just like us. Grandparents, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters, babes in arms. Will the conflict pull communities together and make them stronger and more caring about each other? I can't help wondering what the children will reminisce about when, or if, they reach adulthood. How will their experiences affect them in later life? The young boys of today could mature with a burning need for revenge. And so, the cycle of conflict will perpetuate.