The media is full of many ways to improve the way we feel about ourselves.

Psychiatrists, psychologists, lifestyle gurus - they're all at it - coming up with various health kicks or mental stimulations that will apparently make us feel better about ourselves.

Well I can categorically state that there is absolutely no other action that could possibly ever make you feel any better about yourself than Giving Blood!

Last Wednesday, Tommy and I donated blood at the Blood Donor Centre in Mandela Square. We were able to bring Gabrielle with us as the schools were off.

We like her to come with us when we visit the centre. To witness the act of giving blood for another human being is, I think, a worthwhile scene to see.

We figure that the vision of her parents giving blood will encourage her to become a donor and have memories of at least one good deed done by her parents. It's not the first time our daughter has accompanied us. She is warmly greeted, as are we, by the tremendous NHS staff and volunteers who are so welcoming and eager to make a trip there comfortable and fulfilling.

So forget all those experts I mentioned at the beginning. I promise, giving a pint of blood is a rewarding way of doing something good, not only for yourself but for others. In fact statistically each blood donor can help save at least three other lives. Plus, it's not sore. I am the biggest needle coward in Scotland. They terrify me. But I promise the whole process is painless. Painless but very uplifting. If I can do it ANYBODY can.

You've got to hand it to the French. They take no nonsense when it comes to being patriotic. I suppose their hard fought, 18th century revolution, gave subsequent generations the right to retain their own identity. For centuries France has held out against the compulsory requirement of its governing classes to master English. You never hear a French President deliver speeches in English. In fact, former President Jacques Chirac walked out of a European Union summit in 2006 when a French business chief spoke in English. He said that he was "profoundly shocked to see a Frenchman express himself in English". Well Mr Chirac will not be pleased with the Elite National School of Administration in Strasbourg, of which he is a former pupil and which produces the future leaders of France. This establishment have now told potential students that it will be compulsory for them to master English. When it comes to our political arena many of our publicly educated political leaders find difficulty understanding regional dialects let alone foreign ones. Maybe they should have a go at learning some local patois themselves. I can just see Eton educated David Cameron learning the language of the Glesga Ned.

Years ago I accompanied Tommy to Brussels when he spoke at the European Parliament. Everyone in the chamber was wearing earphones in order to listen to the various translations. When he was 'giving it laldy' in broad Glaswegian, I wondered if the English translator was even capable of keeping up with a proper translation. Sure it would be easier if we could all speak in the same language but it would be hellava boring.

My mother is always telling me to speak properly. By that she means not slang. When I worked with British Airways it was always a source of hilarity when I would jump from my usual Glaswegian dialect to a posh PA voice for the aircraft announcements. I was able to modify my accent when I needed to be understood by my English colleagues, especially the pilots who found a hard Glesga accent 'terribly funny'.

During my days as a union Rep I was hopeless at maintaining that ability. The more passionate I became the stronger I veered towards the Glasgow vernacular. I remember during a very crucial meeting in London, a shop steward committee meeting regarding a particular strike, I made a contribution which I believed was clear and pretty valid. Instead of agreeing nods and comments I was met with perplexed faces trying to catch up and translate my broad Glasgow accent which, although passionate, was too strong for my London counterparts. They couldn't quite get the translation for "spineinthebucket" or "bigfearties" right in connection with a strike proposal.

All in all, I suppose there are times when we have to make ourselves understood. Eventually we get there. The Glaswegian, I'm proud to say, has a knack of mastering that! Awrrabest, or as Monsieur Chirac would say, Bonne Chance!