And another thing: New ways to be posh

It was much easier to identify the British upper classes in the olden days. You knew where you were when the lords and ladies lived in castles and palaces and hoi polloi doffed their caps. Now, according to a survey, indicators that mark you out as "posh" are rather more wide-ranging. They say that if you shop at Waitrose and drink Earl Grey tea you are positively top drawer.

Having a cleaner makes you practically regal. Being over-eager to let slip what school you went to is another indication, especially if it was a smart boarding school, while wearing clothing brands such as Hackett and Barbour and owning an Aga all mark you out as "posh" in this day and age. And although two out of three people hate the idea of being thought of as a cut above the rest, the study of attitudes by Opinion Research suggests they might have a point, because there's a lot of antagonism towards so-called posh people out there. Even the new British prime minister, David Cameron, refused to wear a frock coat to his sister's wedding in case people thought he was lording it.

In the music or movie business it certainly doesn't pay to appear to be too grand. Mick Jagger used to drop his aitches despite coming from a comfortable middle-class background and Guy Ritchie, the film producer, loves to give the impression that he comes from the rough end of London even though he was privately educated. Degrees of poshness tend to change over the decades. It used to be considered "naff" to say serviette instead of table napkin, toilet instead of lavatory or "pleased to meet you" instead of "how do you do". It was all quaintly and rather hilariously documented in Nancy Mitford's Noblesse Oblige, sub-titled An Enquiry into the Identifiable Characteristics of the English Aristocracy.

An essential guide for the social climbers of the 1950s, it defined what was U and Non U, the letter U meaning upper class. For example it was non U to eat dinner in the middle of the day. That meal was luncheon, according to the U people, who also spoke of vegetables rather than greens and writing paper rather than note paper. It was a perilous chicane for social adventurers with dreams of marrying upwards. Every time they opened their mouths, their true origins might be revealed for the simple mistake of saying they took afternoon tea in the front room instead of the drawing room. What would those arbiters of social etiquette make of a mug of PG Tips on your desk at work today?

It has been suggested that the word "posh" has its roots early in the days of ocean-going travel when smart people took cabins on the port side of the ship on their outward journey and the starboard side on the return journey - Port Out Starboard Home. On crossings to India this would mean sunny cabins in each direction. Other definitions include smart, swell, classy, fine, splendid, stylish and first-rate. Does anybody still care? I reckon they probably do. There will always be people who enjoy looking down on other people, whether it be for the way they speak, how they dress or the way they hold their knife and fork and a trolley full of Waitrose beef bourgignon, navarin of lamb or duck confit is not going to change anything.

Other people's love lives are always fascinating, especially if the lovers were two of the most famous actors in the world. Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor fell madly and passionately in love on the set of Cleopatra when both were married to other people. They created one of the biggest scandals the movie industry had ever known at the time, but their tempestuous love affair, which saw two marriages and two divorces, became as riveting to the public as any of their films.

They wrote searingly passionate letters to each other over the years, Burton especially using richly descriptive language of the purple prose kind. The terms of endearment he used, however, were never meant to be published. I suspect that the late great Shakespearian actor would be turning in his grave if he knew that we all now know he called Taylor "twit twaddle", "my little twitch", "dearest Scrupelshrumpilstilskin" and signed himself "Husbs". I'm not sure what Taylor is trying to prove by allowing the letters to be published but I feel sure it wasn't to make the great love of her life sound like a complete fool.

So is the swine flu pandemic over or did it never really happen? That's the question being asked of the World Health Organisation, which caused governments all over the world to stockpile vaccine at the cost of billions of dollars, dirhams, pounds and pesos.

For months we were warned of the dangers, we bought face masks, we worried about our babies and our old people, about air travel and going to big public events where people might cough on us. We watched news bulletins charting the progress of the virus across the world. In short we were scared witless by the threat that never really materialised. Predictions estimated that 7.5 million people would be wiped out by swine flu, but there were only 20,000 deaths worldwide and many experts believe that lots of reported cases were misdiagnosed.

We can't blame our respective governments for buying in stores of Tamiflu. They were simply acting responsibly, but it hasn't gone unnoticed that pharmaceutical companies benefited to the tune of £4.6 billion (Dh24.4bn) from the sales of vaccines that will probably never be used. Now the WHO is arguing about the definition of the word "pandemic", which they say means "a new virus to which human beings have little or no immunity and which has spread around the world". A WHO spokesman says that the fact that it spread from zero to 74 countries in the space of nine weeks means it was indeed a pandemic. That may be correct but they could have chosen a less scary word or invented a new one. The problem is what happens next time the WHO issues terrifying news? I for one will find it hard to believe.

Just a few weeks ago I was writing about how much I admired the way Kylie Minogue has dealt with her tussle with breast cancer and her new campaign to persuade women to get regular check-ups. I made an appointment shortly after that and last week popped into Medcare for what I thought were routine tests only to find myself facing surgery for the removal of a large ovarian cyst.

I hadn't had a check-up for three years and if ever there was a lesson to be learnt, this was it. There was no pain and I wouldn't have noticed it had it not been for an ultrasound test that revealed it in its considerable glory. Had it been left for much longer I would have faced all sorts of nasty problems. A wonderfully reassuring female surgeon, Dr Assa Gouda, firmly advised that it be removed as soon as possible and I am so grateful for her accurate diagnosis, quick and skilful surgery, a clean hospital ward and gentle, efficient nurses, one of whom was appropriately named Mercy. I should like to say a public "thank you" to them all for taking such good care of me.

When you're far from home, you wonder what medical care might be like, but I needn't have worried and it's worth remembering that in Gouda's native Egypt they were performing surgery when people in Europe were living in caves. As a doctor's daughter I should know better than to leave it so long, but I never expect to be ill and would do anything rather than bother the doctor. Three years without a check-up, however, is just plain stupid and I urge any woman reading this who keeps putting off making an appointment, to pick up the phone now. Even if I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach by a mule for a day or two after the operation, the pain soon went and I feel better now than at this time last week. Part of that is the knowledge that they caught this one in time.

There's a very fine line between being a fashion maverick with a unique look that encapsulates the global zeitgeist of an era and looking utterly daft, and Lady Gaga crossed it this week. She has made her name with her bizarre but weirdly wonderful fashion creations but the shoes she wore as she arrived in New York just made her look daft. It was as if a little girl had raided her mother's shoe cupboard and stuffed a lumpy pair of brogues back to front into a pair of her school ankle socks. Time to fire the stylist, Lady G!